Chapter 2:

The Art of Relearning


It was already past ten in the evening.

By now, almost everyone in the Weasley household had already gone to bed after an enjoyable but exhausting day of celebrating. But instead of turning in like the rest or even doing some last-minute checks on the luggage, Bill found his immediate younger brother in the kitchen table, gaze fixed on a half-full mug of hot chocolate.

Bill coughed. "Something wrong, Charlie?"

Charlie's blank gaze moved from the mug to Bill's blue eyes. "Bill? What are you still doing up?"

"Oh, nothing much. Just checking on whether everyone's tucked in all right. You know, like the old days."

"I'm eighteen and off to Romania tomorrow morning. You don't have to check on me anymore."

"I'm well aware." Bill answered with a shrug. "But like I always tell all of you, even when you're already changing someone else's nappies, I'll always play big brother when I think I have to."

"Sod off." Charlie said without any real heat.

"But seriously, Charlie, what's bothering you? And don't say it's nothing." Bill added before Charlie could interrupt. "You wouldn't be staring at that mug for the last five minutes if that were the case."

"…How long have you been watching me?"

"Five minutes, Charlie, I just said. Pay attention."

The teen scoffed before downing a bit of the no longer ignored hot chocolate. Bill waited patiently.

"…He's been acting off all day."

"Who?" Bill had a sinking feeling who Charlie was referring to, and the shorter red head proved him right.

"Ron. You noticed it too, didn't you? Since last night?"

How can Bill not? Before then, Ron had been the way Bill had expected him to be: energetic and eager, excited about being a Hogwarts first year, so easy to rile up because the boy wore his heart in his sleeve.

But the Ron last night? The little boy who had become timid and unsure, with eyes seemingly older than Bill's? Who suddenly developed a sense of intuition and empathy beyond what Ron—or any eleven-year-old for that matter—should possess?

If Bill didn't know better, he would have thought his brother grew up another ten years older while sleeping.

(But that's crazy talk!)

It was relieving to know that Bill hadn't been the only one to notice. Charlie may tease the heck out of Ron, but Bill knew just as certainly the sun always rose east that Ron was Charlie's favorite. And nothing about Ron ever went past Charlie, not if the second Weasley son could help it.

The new dragon tamer breathed deeply. "I thought that, whatever it was last night, another bit of sleep would have put an end to it. But earlier, Bill, Ron he…I don't know how else to say it, but he looked like he was—"

"Acting." Bill finished with a tired sigh, having kept a subtle eye on his littlest brother throughout the day himself. Because he had enough practice in the art of acting engaged while his mind was elsewhere—a skill he needed to learn while toeing around the Goblins—Bill was sensitive to the difference between genuinely enjoying or merely pretending. And no matter how hard Bill tried to see otherwise, his baby brother was definitely the latter. Even more worrying for the oldest was the fact that Ron had been so good at playing the part that it literally went past everyone's noses.

Except for him and Charlie, who had gone white at the declaration.

"You've got to be shitting me! I—I wanted to think that—! I thought it was just me but," Charlie ran a hand through his unruly hair. "But why? Why does Ron even have to pretend to enjoy his own party? His bloody acceptance to Hogwarts party, for Merlin's sake? And over what? Over some stupid nightmare that he doesn't remember?"

Over a nightmare he claims not to remember. A voice in Bill's head piped up but he forced it quiet. Ron may be in that age where he'd try to play it tough—especially in front of Charlie who he so idolized—but he wouldn't lie about anything that disturbed him so.

Not to Bill.

"…You reckon we tell Mum and Dad?" Charlie asked quietly, sounding unsure for the first time in ages.

The Curse Breaker mulled over the query before shaking his head. "I don't think so. Not yet. But I won't let this go, Charlie."

The other Weasley gave him a flat look. Bill sighed.

"As much as you and I hate it, you know there's nothing we can do now. You'll be in Romania in a few hours and I'll be in Egypt within the week. The most I can come up with is to ask Percy and the twins to keep an eye on Ron."

"Ha! Percy will probably keep a better eye on his badge than Ron. And the twins? Really, Bill? The twins?" While Charlie trusted Fred and George with many things—like having good heads on their shoulders to keep the house safe from their pranks—taking good care of Ron was definitely not one of them.

"Charlie, don't be like that. The twins may be a bit…over the top with their teasing on Ron," ("Understatement." Charlie muttered under his breath) "But they do care. They and Percy. I know they do. I'm sure they'll watch over Ron if I ask them seriously. And to let us know if anything else is out of the ordinary."

"Are you going to tell them about the way Ron's been acting up?"

"No, and I hope it doesn't come to the point that we have to." Maybe it's just a phase. Something to do with that nightmare. Maybe given some time, hopefully without any more terrors, Ron would be back to the eager little bugger they all knew and loved. And then years later, Bill would look back and laugh at himself for worrying so much over nothing.

Charlie bit his lip while fidgeting with his mug.

"Charlie?"

"Tell me I'm going overboard, Bill. Tell me that it's just me being paranoid." Charlie met his brother's gaze again. "Tell me that Ron's going to be OK."

Bill couldn't help but smile. If Ron only knew how much of a soft spot Charlie had for him…

"He will, Charlie. He will be."

And Bill begged to Merlin that he was right.


Cold cruel laughter. Sharp wands poking and prodding. A scarred sneering man with a claw.

"Crucio!" "Crucio!" "Crucio!"

Searing hot pain. Splattering blood. Cracking bone. Hanging limbs.

"Least loved by the mother who craved a daughter."

White masks on cloaks. Jeering smiles with teeth. Mountains of corpses.

Black hair over dead green eyes.

Cold cruel laughter.

"I have seen your heart, Ronald Weasley. And it is mine."

"AVADA KEDAVRA!"

"NO!" Ron was jolted awake, eyes wild and groping desperately for his wand. Not again! Not this! I didn't escape just to get bloody caught all over again! I'm not going back to that pit! Come at me if you dare, you bastards! You're not taking me alive!

And where the bloody fuck is my—? But when his hand hit cool metal, grasped the smooth rectangle in his hand, his mind burst with clarity. – Oh.

The dark rocky walls turned into bright orange with Chudley Cannons posters. The stench of blood and excrement faded into the smell of grass, musk, wood and home. He raised his hand, its weathered palm and scratched fingers replaced by smooth skin and smaller digits clutching instead of a wand, a deluminator.

A dream. Ron swallowed heavily, eyes training worriedly on his bedroom door. Get a sodding grip, Weasley! It was a dream. You're not with the snatchers. You're not even seventeen anymore. You're eleven, in the Burrow, and Voldemort's still a shitload of his old self. Stop your damn shaking before someone sees you!

It was only after a few more seconds of blissful silence that Ron finally relaxed, lifting the hand with the deluminator to rest it on his chest.

The last time he had a nightmare brought all of his siblings in here. And while he did appreciate that they cared enough to do that, Ron really, really wished they wouldn't right now. The "I don't remember my scary nightmare" excuse can only go so far.

His eyes drifted to his desk, where a certain fat rat was snoozing without a care, and was tempted to fling the cage to the floor. Instead, he stood up with a stretch and made his way to the window.

Having the topmost floor of the Burrow to himself (not counting the ghoul) meant Ron had the best view overlooking his home. Harry always did like seeing the sunrise from the window, Ron remembered, from where the rays would peek out bit by bit from the green slopes and lush tree leaves beyond the glass.

Right now, however, there was no trace of the sun in the sky, but there were hardly any more stars either.

Still too early for the old Ron to be up and about, but the Ron now would not be able to sleep again after the nightmare he just had. Since the boy was planning on waking up earlier in the first place, he thought it was best to put his time awake to good use.

He grabbed a jumper and a pair of track bottoms.


Between nibbling his quill and scratching at the parchment last night, Ron was able to come up with a rough plan for the rest of the summer.

He would wake up at around five in the morning for a bit of a run and some exercises for an hour followed by an hour of reading in History of Magic. Come eight, Ron would join everyone in the kitchen for breakfast, afterwards he'd help around the house until nine, play some Quidditch or whatever game his siblings fancied until eleven, then lunch at twelve.

The whole afternoon will then be dedicated to reading—one and a half hour each for Transfiguration, Potions and Astronomy until seven, for dinner. After which Ron would resume his reading on nine until eleven, an hour for Herbology then half an hour each for Charms and Defense, before going to bed.

It looked like a load of work. But for the first time in his life, Ron was looking forward to the prospect of it. Not only did it make him feel that he was making progress with his second chance, but being busy also kept his mind too distracted to be occupied by nightmares.

Ron would later experience that the briefest of lull periods would bring in the most random images from the past, be it the face of a dead friend, the sensation of slick blood and pain licking his limbs, or the stench of charred wood and flesh. Even a hand on the shoulder could make Ron jump like his arse had been struck by a poker.

(And if the boy had a wand, the twins wouldn't have found his reactions as funny as they did.)

So the red head youth did whatever he could to keep himself occupied, not only through studying but also through being a constant presence in the Burrow. When back then the young wizard would keep to himself unless pulled out of his room for chores, or it was time for meals, Ron would now actively help out in the house, be it his mother in the kitchen, his dad in the shed, or in the garden.

He also made an effort to spend more time with his siblings, including Percy. Ron come to learn that, after seeing beyond the older brother's snotty, know-it-all façade, Percy was a pretty good teacher and was surprisingly patient and efficient in answering Ron's questions in most subjects, even History of Magic.

Especially History of Magic, in fact

"Wow, Percy! The way you know loads about History of Magic, I bet you can give the current teacher a run for his galleons!" Ron's words were no exaggeration in his part. Already, the young red head already learned more from a couple of hours with Percy than he ever had from those years with Binns.

If he didn't know that Percy wanted to become a Ministry official, he would have thought the guy was planning to become the next (and improved) History of Magic professor!

The older Weasley coughed, ears turning red. "Hardly, Ron. I just find History of Magic very fascinating and read a lot about the subject. That certainly does not qualify me to teach it."

"I heard that the current professor in that subject is a boring dud, though!"

"Been listening to Charlie and the twins, have you? Well, Professor Binns, the current History of Magic professor, is a," Another cough. "Very experienced and, err, passionate teacher, albeit in one particular period in history. But he has tenure and…"

That made Ron roll his eyes. Of course Percy would try his best to say something nice about an authority figure, even one that has hardly any redeeming qualities.

But then Percy suddenly dropped his voice. "All right, Ron, between you and me, the only thing Binn's classes is good for is that you get an extra hour and a half to do your own thing."

Good thing Ron wasn't drinking anything, or he would have spit it all out. "Wh—what?"

"Not that I'm encouraging you to gallivant around, mind you. But as you will experience yourself, Binns never really pays attention to what his students are doing in class. You could all be sleeping or quite frankly gone, but he'll still go on about goblins. Don't really know why he's so interested in them anyway…

The bespectacled brother shrugged. "What I'm saying is that after a few days, when he has most likely taught all he can teach you—surprise, it's all about the goblin-wizard war—it wouldn't hurt to bring books and homework on other subjects to his class and, well, make better use of your time."

To Percy, this must be something akin to admitting that he cuts classes. Ron thought, mystified.

"That's…pretty good advice, Perce. I'll keep it in mind. Thanks."

Who would have thought that that subject taught by the most boring professor in Hogwarts is actually Percy's favorite? Certainly not Ron.

(It certainly showed how little he knew about Percy)

The older brother had been very passionate in explaining just why he loved history so much too, but the phrase that stuck the most was, "How can we expect to not repeat the sins of the past if we don't learn from them?" It hit Ron in more ways than the new Prefect could have known, not only because Ron agreed, but because he also found it bloody ironic that it was Percy of all people who had that kind of mindset.

Still, the tutoring sessions he had with Percy had been enjoyable, and Ron learned from Percy far more than just about academics. Even if Fred and George took the mickey out of him for spending time with Percy, it was all worth it.

Though Ron found it quite strange, because he didn't remember the twins bothering him this much before. In fact, for the most part in the past, the twins kept to themselves more often than not; and whenever the weren't out to make fun of Ron and Ginny while not doing their experiments, they'll make sure that Ron stays out of the way (more specifically, out of their room).

Not to say that he stopped spending time with the twins lately—he certainly did not reject them when they'd invite him to tag along, even if it's just to be a victim of a prank Ron could now see coming—but with everything he's been trying to study and spending more time with the rest of his family, Ron found himself not hanging onto the prospect of being included by Fred and George as much as before.

You'd think that the twins would be a lot happier with me now that I'm not hounding them like I used to, like a kicked pup begging to be in on their fun or something. The time traveler thought. So why are they pranking me more than they did before? Or maybe I'm just looking too hard into it. It's not just me they're pranking more than usual. Percy's been complaining about it too.

And it's not like they're singling me and Percy out, are they? That would be—

"RON! STOP SPACING OUT! THE GNOME'S GETTING AWAY!"

…Bugger. Currently, Ron was out in the garden with Ginny for their daily de-gnoming. With Arthur already in the office, Molly hard at work in the kitchen cleaning up after breakfast, and their older brothers locked away in their rooms, the two youngest children had the garden to themselves.

Much to Ginny's chagrin because the place was crawling with the little snot faced critters.

To take her irritation out of the task, Ron had suggested to make a game out of the chore by making it a contest of how many gnomes they can catch and how far they can throw them. Problem was, Ron's mind kept wandering about too much that Ginny's irritation seemed to be switching to his inattentiveness instead.

"Sorry about that." The eighteen-turned-eleven said sheepishly after catching the errant gnome and with a few swings, threw the screaming thing an impressive three feet away. "So that's what, my fifteenth?"

"Nothing compared to my eighteen though!" Another gnome soared screeching into the air. "Make that nineteen!"

"You're getting pretty good at this."

"Only because you're not paying attention." Ginny huffed. "And I still can't throw as far as you!"

"Give it time, Gin-Gin. I bet you're gonna put those chasers in the Harpies to shame." Ron remarked teasingly.

Ginny's cheeks flushed. "Don't be ridiculous! I—It's not that I can play Quidditch! I can't even ride a broom yet!"

Oh, right. At this time, none of us knew that Ginny would sneak out and ride our brothers' brooms. Ron sighed. Not even me.

Wasn't there a time when he and Ginny used to share everything about each other? He always thought that the divide between them started during Hogwarts when he became too focused on his own troubles and on being friends with Harry that he began to neglect Ginny. But had it actually been this early?

First with Percy and now Ginny too? Man, I really suck at being a brother!

"Ron, you're doing it again…"

"It's just that who knows, right?" The boy finally shrugged in response. "Think about it, we've got a whole lot of cool Quidditch players in the family. It's practically in our bloodline! Maybe you'll be just as good as Charlie or the twins, is all I'm saying."

"Huh…" Ginny fell quiet for a moment, which made Ron sweat inside in concern.

"Err, Gin—?"

"You really think that?" His sister's query was so soft that the time traveler nearly missed it.

"Think what? That you could be a good Quidditch player?" Definitely. I've already seen it happen. "I might, but I'll need to see you fly first."

The ginger haired girl shook her head. "But I'm not allowed to—!"

"Bullocks! You're gonna be having flying lessons in a couple of years anyway. What's wrong with starting early?" Ron's eyes widened at what he said before hurriedly adding. "At least, that's what I heard from Charlie once. Bloke thinks first years not being allowed to have a broomstick or to join the Quidditch team is an injustice, you know."

"…You'll let me fly?"

"If you don't mind this scrawny git joining you, and you don't tell mum how much I've been swearing, then sure." Ron held a thumbs up. "Then we're gonna knock the pants out of the twins when we show them how awesome we are up in the air."

His mother might skin his hide if she found out he encouraged Ginny. But after seeing how a great flier she can be in the future, Ron figured it was going to be worth it.

(And it's not that the rest of his brothers hadn't snuck behind Molly's back to fly before. Ron was pretty sure even Percy tried it at least once!)

The way Ginny's eyes suddenly glittered like twin dark diamonds made Ron's heart lurch. The girl's smile was as brilliant as her gaze. When was the last time his little sister had looked at him like that? "Deal."

I may suck at being a brother, Ron thought firmly. But I'm going try to not be so bad at it anymore.

Saving the world, one baby step at a time, huh?

…Double bugger—!

"—O—OI, GINNY, THAT GNOME IS GETTING AWAY!"


Come mid-August, and right on schedule, Charlie's old wand finally arrived.

It was Arthur who handed the old thing to Ron as in the past, and the man chuckled the same way he once did when Ron waved his second hand wand around as if it were some sort of trophy.

The eleven years old Ron did so because it was tangible proof that he was a real wizard. The eighteen-turned-eleven years old Ron did because finally, finally, he can do some magic!

Back in the past, the thought of being tracked doing underage magic through the trace was something that loomed over the heads of all Hogwarts students, and even Ron, whose parents observed a strict policy of no underage magic use at home, had been right worried enough about that to not even try pull it off.

But as it turns out, according to Hermione's research on the subject, Purebloods (and Hogwarts students who live with wizards) don't have to worry after all.

It may not be clear to Ron when, where and how the trace was cast, but what Hermione found out is that it works like an alarm that signals the Ministry if magic has been used. However, while the trace does activate when an underage wizard living in a wizarding community (i.e. purebloods) uses magic, the amount of magic already present in the area and the fact that the trace also picks up magic used by of age wizards would often lead to the incident being ignored or sometimes even unnoticed.

The ones who are strictly monitored for underage magic are, in fact, the underage wizard students who do not live in wizarding communities, mostly muggleborns.

It was bloody unfair, Hermione complained strongly and really, Ron felt for her, but it was also the reality of it then. It is the reality of it now.

Knowledge that Ron intended to put into good use.

Making sure that Scabbers was fast asleep in his cage (stuffing the rat until his stomach becomes the size of a ping pong ball does the trick every time), Ron quickly performed the silencing and privacy charms—Hermione had all but drilled those spells into his and Harry's heads before they went into hiding—on the rodent's cage and in his room in preparation for what he called in his notes as "practical relearning."

He and Charlie's old wand did not get along, period. Even in his first year, the wand felt uncomfortable in his hands to the point that it felt like he was lifting a dead piece of wood. Hermione mentioned once that unicorn core wands are especially known for their loyalty, and do not switch allegiances as easily as the wands made of the other two prized cores. Ron had no idea how he'll go about winning Charlie's old wand over (he certainly wasn't planning on letting it snap this time), but for now he figured that he could at least practice the basic spells he knew with it.

Good thing, too, because it looked like his spell work was worse than he remembered.

A simple cast of Wingardium Leviosa, for one thing, sent several books shooting for the ceiling (something the ghoul had not been happy about). Another was that his attempt to transfigure a quill into a bird produced a hideous result of a flopping quill with a bird's head and one wing.

(At least his Reparifarge still worked)

This has to be a joke. Ron gaped at the frayed wand in his hand. I know this wand and I don't work well together, but I don't remember it being this bad! And I'm supposed to survive first year with this thing? Looks like I'm in for more work than I thought…

The boy massaged his temple with his free hand. From what I can tell, the problem is with me either overpowering my spells—like what happened with the levitation charm—or underpowering them—like with my incomplete transfiguration. So in a nutshell, it's about control then? How do I improve my control?

Practice, Weasley. The smartarse voice in his head rebuked. How else?

With that, Ron made changes to his schedule once more. Because he didn't want to risk getting caught doing magic by his family (or worse, Pettigrew) at home, Ron would take the wand with him whenever he'd go for his morning exercise. After a quick work with his privacy charms (making doubly sure that they do work despite his haphazard spellwork), the boy pored at least an hour on practice.

It was bloody murder, he found, since it felt that his core would burn in protest every time he'd try to control his magic. But bit by bit, he was starting to see the difference. When he was able to transfigure a rock successfully into a fish, his confidence in his method grew and he started branching out into more spells.

The effort left him so drained at the end of the day it was all Ron could do to not keel over at the sight of his bed, but the young wizard forced himself through the plans he made: study, do practical magic work, work around the house, spend time with family. It was tiring work, but Ron had never felt this energetic and driven before.

The benefits were becoming more apparent as well. The nightmares were still there, sneaking up on him when he'd least expect it. But because of the amount of work he was putting in, those times became less, and during those times they do catch up with him, he was better able to control his reactions.

There was also the fact that he could say he was in better terms with his family than he had been in the past at eleven. His parents had been pleasantly surprised when he volunteered to help out more, and while Ron can't say that he was close to them the same way they were close to their favorites in the family (Ginny for Molly, Percy and Bill for Arthur), at least they were spending more time together and it was nice to feel their approval of him every now and then.

He was also happy to say that he improved his relationships with his siblings. The tutoring sessions with Percy and the secret flights during the mornings with Ginny helped a lot on that. And dare he say it, he actually managed to earn the twins' respect when, during one of those times when Ron was actually allowed to hang with the twins, an off-handed remark brought about his nostalgia over the skiving snackboxes made Fred and George look at him in awe.

Fred whistled from the desk in the middle of the room. "It appears we are mistaken about you, little brother, wouldn't you say so, Forge?"

"A right brilliant mind of a prankster in the making, indeed, dear Gred." From Ron's right, George nodded. "We feared for a while that you would be a lost cause, Ronniekins."

"Lost what?" Ron shook his head at the twins. "Anyway, if you think it's such a good idea, you could start working on test products. I can see it selling well with Hogwarts students."

"And a budding businessman too!" Fred chortled. "Have any more secrets you're holding out on us, Ronnie?"

Loads more than I'll ever want to share. "For the fainting sweets I mentioned, maybe you can make something out flobberworm mucus and a bit of lavender? They're used in sleeping draughts, right?"

George hummed thoughtfully. "You may be onto something there."

"And they're first year level ingredients, so getting them won't be too difficult." Fred agreed.

"Well let me know how that turns out," Ron got up from his seat on George's bed. "I'm heading to Percy's now."

"What? Come on, you'd rather hang with the boring Prefect"

"than with your dashingly good looking and amazingly wicked older brothers?"

Ron snickered. "Wouldn't want to get in the way of your next big discovery, would I? Just send me the first batch as soon as they're out. Who better be your first victierr, taste tester of your new products than your favorite little brother, am I right?"

Ron quickly slipped out of the twins' room before either of them could say another word.

Surprisingly, the teasing and pranks on Ron went down dramatically after that, though the boy still noted that same can't be said for Percy. Ron thought it was still part of the twins teasing Percy on becoming a prefect, but Ginny once noted that the pranks started going up when Ron began spending more time with the Fifth year Weasley on tutoring sessions.

(Which is utter nonsense, if you ask him.)

Other than all that, life was fairly comfortable for Ronald Weasley for a good amount of time. He was able to finish reading up on most of first year material and his spellwork was finally becoming more manageable, he was in good terms with his family. He even managed to exchange mails with Bill and Charlie (again, something he hadn't done in the past).

But as the end of August drew closer, a sense of trepidation began blooming in his chest, even though he appeared looking relaxed and content on his bed, wand in one hand, his deluminator on the other hidden under his pillow.

Because in a few days' time, his reliving of his Hogwarts first year life was about to begin. Soon, he was going to see Harry and Hermione again.

As it was in the past, there wasn't a need for his family to go to Diagon Alley, since Ron got all his things for his first year from hand me downs from all his older brothers. So it had been easy for him to be so absorbed in the routine he established for himself that it took a reminder from his mum that September 1 was almost upon him.

Since then, the knowledge of it kept Ron sweaty with anxiety.

Bloody hell, this is it. The start of the rest of my second life. He tightened his grip on his deluminator. All this work, this planning, was all for this. But am I ready for it? Do I have what it takes to not screw this up?

His hand on the metal object suddenly felt curiously warm, making Ron pull his hand out into view.

The phoenix emblem on the deluminator was glowing, as if encouraging him.

How odd, but Ron found it surprisingly reassuring.

As if It was actually doing so from afar.

"OK, It, I'm still worried about what's coming for me from here on out. You did say that this world isn't entirely the same as my old one, and I have a feeling that it's in Hogwarts that I'll start to get exactly why. But…" His thumb brushed against the etching glowing a soft yellow.

Voldemort. Quirrel. The Stone. Hermione. Harry.

"First year at Hogwarts, here I come."


Notes:

The canon concept of the Trace is still not clear and there are several theories out there on how it works, when was it applied, why doesn't it work when the wizard becomes of age, etc. But since there is no solid system on it, I went with my own interpretation of the Trace's inner workings, making it another one up purebloods have over half-bloods and muggleborns. Real life is full of unfair advantages like that.

The tale of the bloody irony of Ron getting attention when he no longer looks for it (or even wants it) is about to begin. :D

Oh and also Ron's first year second life. Wonder how that's gonna go for him this time...

Many thanks to everyone who left their reviews and comments on this fanfic as well as those who followed and made it one of their favorites. Comments/suggestions/clarifications/corrections are always welcome.

And thank you again for reading this far. See you all in the next installment and the start of Ron's Year One at Hogwarts journey!

UP NEXT:

Ron on his first train ride to Hogwarts this second life. How will his first meeting with Harry and Hermione go this time? Will he still be the first friend Harry makes? Or will this trip be a quiet, uneventful interlude? But with Ronald Weasley front and center, that's not bloody likely.