1. DISCLAIMER. The obvious. I do not own anything. Thanks to Ms Rowling for giving us such wonderful stories, even if I don't agree with her recent statements.
2. Round 2. Here we go again.
3. Thanks a lot to reallybeth, my reliable beta. Without her, the grammar of this would be way off.
4. As always, any error here is mine and not from my reviewer. If you spot anything or have a doubt about the grammar used or plot just PM me, I'm always swift to answer.
5. As with the first entry, I will keep that feeling of familiarity to the original books, even when the plot and character work might be completely different. This chapter is a vivid example of this.
6. GKB chap4 is ready to be beta'd. It'll come to you in the upcoming days or weeks, depending on betaing speed.
7. I opened a tumblr (jonriptide), I'll provide links to new chapters there as well as a schedule of my next chapters to write and I will see what else. You can usually find me in discord as well.
8. Enjoy
Not for the first time, an argument had broken out over breakfast at the Burrow. George Weasley had been insisting on joining his father and Ron on that day's trip, and Fred had summed his voice to that of his twin brother.
"Seriously, Mother? What can possibly happen?" George asked in his latest attempt to convince her, "It'll just be fireplace to fireplace. Shortest trip ever."
"And, let's not forget that we've promised to be on our best behaviour," Fred added, putting his hand solemnly over his chest, though Ron caught the fingers crossed behind his back.
Percy, the eldest of Ron's siblings still living at the Burrow, groaned and pretended to ignore them.
Their mother answered in a tired tone, though she didn't stop serving breakfast to do so. She was used to crowded arguments and never allowed them to muddle with tight schedules. "Oh, keep it down you two. We've gone through it enough already. A risk is a risk, as small as it may be," she told them. "Besides, your brother said that those Muggles might not be fond of visits."
Ron felt his mother's concerned look before he raised his head to see it. He had been purposely vague in that regard.
"They're a tad scared of magic, from what I've heard," Ron explained, as casually as he could.
"And you're sure they won't mind us stealing their nephew on his birthday? I can't imagine how they wouldn't want to celebrate with him. It's not too late," she pointed out, attracting blatant looks from Ron's little sister, Ginny. "Dinner can still be sorted, and the more the merrier. If they all want to come over for dinner we can easily—"
"No!" Ron hurried with alarming speed. He had almost choked at the suggestion and coughed a couple of times before continuing. "I told you. I talked with Harry over the phone. The Muggles are fine with it. They have other plans."
Ron's father nodded attentively. He had asked his fair share of questions about phones the previous week, when he had escorted Ron to town to make that call. The man was as enraptured about the mysteries of the telephone as he was about Muggles in general.
In other circumstances, Ron would have sent a letter with the family's owl to arrange Harry's pick up, but his best friend hadn't answered his previous messages. He was dead certain who he could blame for that one.
"And you're sure Harry wouldn't prefer to come after his birthday?"
"Positive."
Not unless he was looking forward to being rescued from his room.
The Dursleys were a peculiar kind of people. They were Muggles — or non-magical people — and, as any other guardian of someone deemed magical, they were allowed to know about the Wizarding World. Unlike other Muggles that Ron had met however, the Dursleys were rather awful and close-minded people. They loathed anything that was even remotely related to magic, and by extension that included their nephew: Harry Potter, Ron's best friend.
Not like Ron was going to tell that to his family any time soon. Doing such would only complicate matters, and in any case, Harry was about to part ways with the Dursleys for almost a whole year.
The Weasleys, on the other hand, were a wizarding family, and as different from the Dursleys as they could possibly be. Despite living in an old, rickety house and not having much money, they always welcomed family and friends into their home. The Weasleys found birthdays to be particularly special events that couldn't go by uncelebrated.
"Is everything in order for today, then? We can pick up whatever is missing on our way back," Ron's father offered, knowing that his wife was committed to making this day the best birthday Harry had ever had.
An ambitious goal considering that last year Harry had learned he was a wizard and found a way out of a life with the Dursleys.
"We'll manage with what we have. The only thing missing is the cake, but I'll start with it after breakfast," Ron's mother assured. "No need to expose yourselves."
There it was again. The concerned look. Ron went on with his food as if he hadn't noticed it.
If truth be told, Ron wasn't a normal twelve year old boy. Even setting aside the fact that he was a wizard, Ron was anything but normal. He was a time-traveller.
Ron would have loved for that to be a joke. He would much rather be a young boy about to start his second year in Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, than a war hero who had unintentionally thrown his arse twelve years into the past. He would have certainly preferred if his biggest worry involved remembering the date of this or that goblin rebellion for History of Magic rather than fretting over keeping the entire timeline stable.
When do things go as you'd bloody like, though?
Letting his fork push around the food on his plate, Ron tried to remember a time when he wasn't a boy. Before last September, he had been a twenty-three year old Auror, a famous wizard who'd been looking forward to the next phase of his life. He had a wife and had left behind the dark times of the war. He had plans.
Then that bleeding night shift came and all that was flipped over.
Ron had spent almost a whole year in the past now. He had tried to pull out all the stops to do the right things, but most of the time, he hadn't know what the fuck he was doing.
At first, Ron had tried to keep time unchanged. After all, they had won a war by just barely, and it would be a buggering nightmare if they now lost it because of something Ron did. Time, however, wasn't easy to handle — as Ron was repetitively reminded — and he ended up ditching his plan to keep things the same. His decision happened just in time apparently, because it turned out that Ron wasn't the only time-traveller around.
For a second, he felt the faintest of itches in his left arm. The white scars that had once covered both his arms were missing from his younger self's body, but even so, they had been replaced by a single mark that went almost all the way to his left elbow. One much more fresh.
Ron tensed at the memory as his grip on the fork tightened.
That scar had been given to him by a dangerous and mysterious man he'd fought at the end of last term. An American who was responsible for the very incident that had sent Ron to the past, and whose recent attack and following escape at Hogwarts were the reason for his family's fears. And justly so, because it was a miracle Ron had made it out alive.
Not like the rest of the Weasleys knew that the American was actually from the future though — or even that Ron was from the future as well for that matter.
With a weak smile, Ron's father tried to ease his wife's worries. "We'll be quick about it. But, Mollywobbles, dear, there's no need to be this anxious. The protective enchantments around the house work. Professor Dumbledore saw to it in person."
"Yes, I know that. But that doesn't mean he isn't out there."
Ron could understand her worries. Knowing that he was safe in the Burrow didn't ease Ron either. It didn't stop him from impatiently staring at the clock whenever one of his parents left home. It didn't stop the many bad dreams filled with wicked smiles and monstrous chessmen made out of stone. It didn't stop the urges to forget that Albus Dumbledore was the greatest wizard alive and race to double-check the protective enchantments over Hermione's house.
To his blasted luck, that wasn't something Ron could do. No matter how old he may really be, Ron was still in his twelve year old body, and apparating to Hermione's house would land him in a ruddy load of trouble with the Ministry of Magic.
Ron sighed, looking wistfully out of the kitchen's window.
What could she be doing right now?
Hermione Granger wasn't just any girl. She was Ron's friend and, in his old life, she had grown up to be his wife. He missed her dearly — the older Hermione that was — but that didn't mean he hadn't grown fond of this new younger version of her as well. She provided the only real connection Ron had to his wife, and the days between one of her letters felt endless. It was actually the girl being attacked that had pushed Ron over the edge and convinced him to change the timeline. It had scared him shitless, and allowing it to happen had been his greatest mistake of this new life of his.
It hadn't gone unnoticed by his family. Another thing that was obviously different to last time.
"There he goes, daydreaming about that girl again," the twins would usually say to him whenever they caught him with an absent look upon his face.
Ron would blush and shove them off. It was annoying. They couldn't possibly understand. Still, he would rather endure a thousand teases from them than face an interrogation from his mother about that girl the twins kept talking about. Mentally, he might be an adult, but there were still some questions that could very much kill him from sheer embarrassment.
His relationship with his family had been as great as it ever was, still, at times, it was uncomfortable as hell too. Not a single day passed without Ron being reminded of something important he was keeping from them. His family also thought he was a young boy, and every time they treated him as such it made him feel awkward and guilty. Bill and Charlie lived abroad and didn't present much of a problem — which was a relief because they were both very perceptive in their own different ways. Nevertheless, Ron had to live with the rest of the Weasleys and knew he was lying to their faces every single day.
He tried to make the best of it. After all, Ron had the privilege of foresight. He knew what his past mistakes were in relation to his family and hoped that this second chance might help him do better. Every afternoon, he would look for a time to sit with his mother, if only to talk about trivial matters. He would also head to the garage and try to learn something from his father. However, Ron's main focus this time around was on Fred.
Ron couldn't avoid looking at his brother from the corner of his eye.
Witnessing Fred's death with his own eyes was Ron's worst memory from the future. It had happened right in the middle of the final battle, when all the frenzied spells and shouts in the world had been silenced by a single, fucking explosion. It had felt unreal even then, watching his brother so motionless. Without a warning or even a chance to say goodbye, Fred had laid upon the cold stones of the castle, as if his warm laughs had never touched those same stones hundreds of times before then.
"Ron!"
The yells of darker moments were suddenly replaced by those of his mother, who was looking at him from the other side of the kitchen, not without worry.
"Err… What?"
"Daydreaming again. He has it bad," Fred exaggerated with a lovesick gesture, blissfully unaware that the real reason for Ron's distraction had nothing to do with Hermione.
His mother shook her head, slightly annoyed. "Whatever the reason, there's no time for it. The Floo connection won't be up all day."
Ron nodded absently, promising himself for the umpteeth time that he would stop the dark fate hanging over Fred.
Ater gulping down the remains of his toast, Ron ran upstairs to get ready. On his way up, he noticed Percy's disapproving look, which bothered him more than he'd been expecting. If the prat had an issue with the twins, fine, but if he also wanted to say something about Ron being distracted by Hermione, he might soon find his secret fancying of Penelope Clearwater exposed.
In all honesty, Percy wasn't half as bad in the future. Once he moved past his pompous ways and sorted out his priorities, Percy was a good bloke who even turned out to have a hidden sense of humour — as attested by his occasional contributions to George's pranks in the future. It was hard to admit it, but Percy's knowledge in numerous matters, when not thrown snobbishly in one's face, often proved to be interesting and brought about the most unexpected conversation starters. Ron missed the older version of his brother, and was determined to get it back. It might not be the easiest of tasks to get Percy's inflated teenage head out of his arse, but if he pulled it off, Ron could avoid a massive disappointment to his parents and the regret of his life to Percy.
Audrey would know what to do with him… Wonder if she would have any interest in talking to a snooty git at the moment…
Ron entered his room in a haste. He took a look around, with little of the nostalgic awe that had come along with his early days at the start of the summer. It was a plaster of orange, so loudly-coloured and wild upon the eyes that Ron couldn't understand how he had ever chosen to overstuff the place so many years ago. Living with Hermione had shown him the charm in more sober decorations, however, that didn't keep him from smiling like a madman whenever he stared at his bright walls.
He dressed rather quickly, taking care to not throw any piece of clothing carelessly around. It had taken him several rows over dirty socks splayed on the floor with Hermione, but Ron had grown more conscious of his habits. Not exceedingly so. He was no cleaning maniac by any means. Even so, Ron was indeed more thoughtful, which made him wonder if his mother might have noticed any change in his behaviour.
Not a time to mull over that, though.
If there was anything Ron had learned in the last year, it was that Time was a prick. You could work your arse to keep it unchanged to the best of your abilities, but one little thing would come back out of the blue and smack you in the face. You could also not give a rat's arse about any of it, only to find out that the most trivial of matters remained in place.
Ron hoped that this day was one of those times when things remained as he'd expected them to be.
Harry's twelfth birthday — the one Ron had already lived through — had been quite an eventful matter. A house-elf named Dobby had tried to save Harry's life, but only ended up making things more complicated at every turn. Even if unintentionally mischievous, Dobby was actually a well-meaning elf, and he'd died a hero's death by saving them all. Saving him was among the many things Ron intended to change. However, that didn't mean the elf couldn't cause them a shedload of trouble in the meantime. As in Ron's time, Dobby was surely blocking Harry from getting his letters and if he wasn't stopped, the elf would end up costing Harry a warning from the Ministry of Magic by the end of the day.
Ron couldn't allow that to happen. Waiting until the very day of Harry's birthday to pick him up from the Dursleys was already a dangerous risk. If it had been up to him, he would've preferred bringing him over to the Burrow with plenty of days to spare. His parents and Dumbledore had been planning on waiting a few days longer, what with the American on the loose and his unclear connections to the Department of Magical Transportation in the Ministry. However, Ron had managed to convince them to at least have Harry over for his birthday.
Hope it's not too late. If for some blasted reason Dobby decided to visit Harry earlier this time, then everything would be a bloody mess.
Ron was about to leave his room when a high-pitch squeal by the window got his attention. A small rat inside its cage.
He frowned instantly.
There had been a time, when he was young and stupid, that Ron had valued that rat a big deal. That had been before though. Before he'd discovered that Scabbers — the name of the supposed rat — was actually a wizard in disguise. And not just any wizard, but the traitor who was responsible for the deaths of Harry's parents.
Peter Pettigrew was a despicable human being who didn't deserve anything less than to rot inside the deepest cell of Azkaban — the wizarding prison. Instead, that prick had enjoyed eleven years of sunlight while an innocent man had paid for his sickening actions. The man who had been imprisoned in Pettigrew's place was Sirius Black — Harry's godfather. He'd been languishing in some old rotten, dark cell without hope or even a soul to talk to. For eleven years. To Ron's remorse, one of those years went by with him knowing perfectly well that Sirius was innocent and not doing crap about it.
Well, that won't be the case for much longer.
Now that nothing was stopping him from changing time, freeing Sirius was one of Ron's top priorities. For weeks now, he had thought about it over and over again. Searching for a good plan that could unmask Pettigrew without putting anyone in danger. It would be all sorts of brilliant if it could be done without revealing that Ron was secretly a time-traveller as well.
To Ron's blasted luck, that just wasn't possible while he remained at the Burrow. He couldn't just let a killer loose in the house, or use an animagus-revealing spell without raising a few eyebrows. Turning Pettigrew over to Dumbledore couldn't be done without warranting an interrogation either.
The cage would have to do for now. Something else will surely come up once I'm at Hogwarts.
Ron huffed and forcibly pushed the plate of food inside the rat's cage.
"You should let him out more. He's been there all summer," a voice said from the open door. It was Ginny, who stared at the rat with undeserved pity.
Not bloody likely.
"It likes its cage," Ron blurted out.
He eased his frown and walked towards his sister, pretending to be a twelve-year old again. "Mum asked you to come fetch me?"
Ginny nodded, looking like the ten year old girl she was. No matter how many weeks he'd already spent at the Burrow, Ron just couldn't get used to it. Last time he'd seen her before coming to the past, Ginny had been very pregnant with Harry's child.
"Shocking that she didn't just yell."
"She still might," Ginny replied, sharing a smile with Ron.
Of all the things he'd discovered living back at the Burrow, Ginny had been the most precious of it. In the future, Ron had managed to mend his relationship with his sister, and they were way closer than they had been during their school years. However, Ron couldn't shake the feeling that it had happened in good part thanks to all the awful things they'd gone through.
The little girl now before Ron was a completely different story. She was from a time before Ron soured their relationship by ignoring her throughout her whole first year — when she had needed him the most. She was from before all the misjudgements and accusations. Now, she was only his little sister. The closest sibling he had during his childhood and who had been his eternal partner in crime during their earlier days at the Burrow. More importantly, this Ginny was from before that rotten diary had touched her hands and tore a part of her forever.
I'll be damned if I let that fucking book get near her again.
"I'm ready. I better get going," he told her just before he noticed her expression sobering, "Is there something wrong?"
Ginny pressed her lips together and shook her head. Still, Ron waited until she spoke again, "It's just— I wish I could go too."
"Mum won't have it. You heard how that went for Fred and George," he reminded her, "'We won't take long."
"But I wanted to see where he lived. I wasn't going to be a bother."
Of course. Harry Potter surely had to live somewhere interesting. Some adventurous den where he fought dragons day and night… Pff! The git only faced a grown-up dragon twice, and I was there for one of them!
Who knows? Maybe dragons were easier to get along with than the Dursleys.
"It's a normal house, Gin. Tidier and smaller than this one, but way more boring too. You're not missing much."
"You don't know that for sure," Ginny argued, apparently offended that Ron had called anything related to Harry Potter 'boring'.
Ron scratched his head. "Harry has talked enough about it. 'Sides, I bet there's more fun to be had around here. You saw Mum! She's dead set on making this Harry's best birthday ever."
There was a hesitant smile from Ginny before she turned away, her cheeks tinted pink. Ron didn't miss that she'd made an effort to tidy up herself that morning. She'd finished showering before he'd even woke up, and she'd spent an awful lot of time looking for her best outfit to put on. Ginny's long red hair was even neatly brushed and pulled back with a headband.
"You— You think he'll like me?" she asked.
She had no bloody idea.
That being said, Ron couldn't tell her that. In all honesty, he had struggled with how to approach the whole Harry and Ginny situation. She was his sister and the last thing he wanted was to see her snogging his best friend in each one of Hogwarts' corridors. It had been bad enough having to endure it for a few weeks, and then all the glaring displays of affection after the war. Seeing it sooner was hardly what he wanted. On the other hand, Ron didn't want to cause the little Ginny any embarrassment or heartbreak. Not to mention, witnessing Harry pinning after Cho Chang would be downright uncomfortable at this point.
Ron put his hand on Ginny's shoulder. "Don't fret over it. He might be in books and all of that rubbish, but Harry's a boy as normal as you'll ever find. If you're yourself, I'm sure he'll want you as your friend," he told her with a casual smile.
That seemed to raise the mood of the girl, but it lasted about four seconds before her face turned all mortified again, "And, does he like chocolate frogs? That's all I could get for him."
"He's a big fan," Ron promised, which made Ginny beam brightly. "Just don't make a big deal out of it. He gets embarrassed and uncomfortable at first provocation. Honest word, putting him on the spot makes him twitch like that time the twins spread itching powder and it looked like all the gnomes were dancing."
Ginny giggled.
Would it be too weird if I specifically advise against singing dwarves?
He settled for something much less obvious. "I swear! He hates attention!"
She must've thought that Harry was more used to the spotlight, because her eyes reflected genuine surprise.
It was hardly the first time he'd told her that this summer, but it seemed like Ginny needed to meet Harry to get convinced of it. She opened her mouth to ask something else, but she didn't get the chance because that's when their mother's patience ran out.
"RON!"
"Coming!" Ron yelled back before turning to his sister. "He'll be glad to have you as a friend, just talk to him as you would talk to me. Being in your room, making no noise and pretending you're not there would be about the worst thing you could do."
After she nodded, Ron ruffled Ginny's long red hair playfully. The girl faked an annoyed expression, but she smiled and pushed him away.
Ron left his room in a bright mood, hoping that a certain house-elf wouldn't be around just yet.
o0o0o
As expected, the Dursleys didn't take kindly to Ron and his father arriving through their fireplace. As soon as they stepped out, Ron noticed their frightened and bewildered faces, not without amusement. Harry was standing a few steps away, as astonished as they were by the Weasleys' magical means of transportation, only that his face reflected the widest of grins instead of fear.
"Oh, Mr and Mrs Dursley, I imagine? Hope you forgive our small delay, but you know how it is with kids. A pleasure though. I'm Arthur Weasley and this is my son, Ron," the redhead man introduced himself enthusiastically after shaking away some ashes. He extended his hand, though the Dursleys were too shaken to take it. Confused, he turned to Ron, who gave him a shrug for an answer.
"Hi, Mr Weasley," Harry greeted, dashing to the front of the group and taking the hand of Mr Weasley.
"Happy Birthday, Harry!" Ron rushed quite cheerily.
Harry replied with the brightest of smiles, as the Dursleys reacted with awkward gestures.
The mood of Ron's father was effusive and curious when he answered. "Why, hello Harry. And a very Happy birthday as well. It's great to finally be able to meet you. Formally that is. We got a glimpse of each other at King's Cross, if you remember. Ron has told us a lot about you and the wonders of this Muggle life of yours."
Uncertainty was reflected upon Harry's face as he turned to Ron, who limited himself to an amused shrug. "Reckon there's not much to tell, Mr Weasley," the boy admitted.
"Oh, I seriously doubt that. But everyone is excited back home waiting to meet you regardless," the man told him before noticing the plump boy in the back. "Oh, you must be Dudley. Harry's cousin?"
Dudley didn't seem to find his voice and instead hurried to hide behind his mother's back, which left a puzzled expression on Ron's father.
In stark contrast, Harry had moved to Ron's side and was bombarding him with tons of questions on their arrival and all the letters he hadn't received. Ron's heart lifted, for as much as the young boy was miles away from being the older friend Ron had left behind, he was still Harry. With all his worries about the American and Hermione, Ron had almost forgotten how much he'd missed Harry as well.
Unfortunately, before Ron could answer any of the boy's questions, the thunderous voice of Vernon Dursley boomed. "This— This— This is a travesty! This is not what we agreed upon!"
"I, well—? What do you mean?" asked Ron's father, scratching his head.
"You came out of the fireplace!"
"Oh, yes we did. Sorry, it is only that I forget how different things are in the Muggle world. Didn't Professor Dumbledore explain the manner of our arrival?"
"We got no such notice! And I wouldn't have approved of it if I'd been told beforehand!" Mr Dursley bellowed. His wife nodded high-nosed nearby as she stroked her son's back.
"Oh, well, how were you expecting us to arrive then?"
"By car, naturally. What kind of question is that?"
Ron saw his father raise his eyebrows in surprise. "I, err, that would have attracted too much attention, don't you think?"
Harry looked as bemused as the Dursleys, while Ron could barely contain a laugh. Had his father assumed the Dursleys knew about their flying car? Even if Harry had been able to receive letters, Ron couldn't see how that information could've ever reached his uncle's and aunt's ears. Harry was young, but he wasn't stupid. He knew better than to tell them anything like that.
"What do you even mean? What kind of car do you drive?" Mr Dursley asked. The frown on his face hadn't relaxed, and he suddenly seemed more interested.
Surely he didn't imagine that they could have one of those luxurious cars some Muggles fret over, did he?
"Err, Dad? Maybe—" Ron mumbled, seeking to stop his father from spilling the true nature of their car's uniqueness.
Ron's father went to answer the question anyway. "Oh, it's an old Ford Anglia. It's fascinating you see, because—"
He didn't get to finish his sentence, because a loud snort told them that Vernon Dursley had heard all he'd wanted to know.
Hearing the beefy man dismiss their car like that didn't bring any reaction from Ron's father. Probably he hadn't even noticed what the sound had meant. Ron, however, frowned in annoyance.
That car had saved their lives once. And even when he didn't have any ruddy intention of bringing it to Hogwarts again, or following any fucking spider, Ron couldn't feel anything but gratitude for that old piece of junk.
"Anyways, coming out of our fireplace is hardly the way to arrive. And look at all this soot you brought onto my carpet," Harry's aunt said, wrinkling her nose.
"Oh, right. My apologies," Ron heard his father say shyly. With a swift flick of his wand, the man got rid of all the soot and left the living room looking nice and clean again.
A thud echoed as Dudley took a step back and landed arse first on the floor. Panic was written all over his face.
Mr Dursley turned so red that Ron thought he might explode. He struggled between fear and outrage for a few seconds before shouting, "STOP THAT!" The man took a deep breath before continuing, less loud, but just as scandalised as he'd started. "I want none of this jiggery pokery or hocus pocus nonsense of yours! Not in this house!"
"Y-You mean Magic?" asked Ron's father, stunned.
Mrs Dursley gasped, putting a hand over her chest. Her husband appeared on the brink of exploding, which made Ron think amusingly of his mother's earlier proposal of inviting them over. Seeing the Burrow would definitely throw the Dursleys over the edge.
Thinking about it, maybe Ron should have accepted his mother's suggestion. If only to witness that spectacle.
At any rate, Ron tried to stop things from heating any more. "Err, Dad? Me and Harry will go grab his stuff. We'll be quick about it. Why don't you just wait here?"
And not say anything more, perhaps?
"Actually, my stuff is in that cupboard," Harry interrupted, pointing under the stairs. "Except for Hedwig. She's in my room."
"Brilliant. Dad, could you fetch those things while we go get Hedwig?"
That should keep him away from the Dursleys' for long enough.
The man nodded enthusiastically and Ron followed Harry upstairs. Not before leaning over and whispering to his father that it might be better to avoid any Levitation Spell.
Honestly, Ron didn't care much about the Dursleys. If it weren't for Dumbledore — who would insist on having them around as a necessary inconvenience — or the older Harry developing a more or less cordial relationship with his cousin, Ron would have tried to get his friend out of that house forever.
A part of him thought that he should do it anyway. The blood protections around that house might be crucial in the years to come, but, on the other hand, sparing his friend from those dreadful summers sounded like too much of a splendid idea to dismiss. There was no point in chewing over that matter just yet, though. There was still a whole year ahead of them. Ron had plenty of time to plan if he should free Harry from the Dursleys and — most importantly — how he would get away with it under Dumbledore's attentive watch.
There were no voices coming from the living room by the time they reached Harry's bedroom. Things were looking up and — if they were lucky enough — they might end up leaving before having to hex any of the Dursleys.
Ron had seen Harry's bedroom once, in his previous life, though it had been barely a glimpse. After looking at it at his leisure, Ron could now say that the place was — for a lack of a better word — plain. It was more spacious than Ron's violently coloured one, but that wasn't necessarily a good thing. The empty spaces appeared to be begging to be filled. Agonising for some sort of personality. Sure, the wallpaper was in much better shape than Ron's, but it was so dull and muted that it could give ol' Binns a run for his money on who was the most efficient in knocking people asleep.
The worst part was that the room didn't belong to some boring bloke. There were probably tons of ways of making it feel more like Harry's. Ron had seen his house in the future and could surely think of a few. A broom hanging on the wall would do wonders for sure. Still, the only thing unmistakably Harry's in this room was the bright snowy owl in the corner.
Hedwig gave an irritated hoot when she saw them. It was obvious she was begging to be set free, but she was just as caged as Harry was living in this bedroom.
"It's not much," Harry said quickly. "Not magical at all."
"Rubbish! It's bigger than mine, you'll see. A few well-placed Quidditch posters would make a hell of a difference."
Harry chuckled, "As if they would let me put those up."
That hadn't stopped Sirius.
The guilt came almost at once. Dark and unrelenting. Ron tried to shove it away, telling himself that he'd rescue Sirius as soon as he could. But it was hard to make it disappear completely.
When Harry walked to Hedwig and started gathering her things, Ron looked the other way. Hedwig's fate did little to weaken his remorse, so he pretended to focus on the room instead. Clean as a whistle, and without a sign of an elf's wrongdoing.
No Dobby yet.
He didn't want to dwell too much on the elf, as he was another victim of a vicious future. Someone that Ron could save. Or someone Ron could fail in saving. Like Hedwig… or Lavender… Or Colin Creevey.
Or Fred.
No. Ron shouldn't focus on that now. All of that was too far away, and might not happen now, what with the changes to the timeline. Ron needed to set his mind on present problems. On achieving Dobby's freedom and the trouble he could cause before then. Not on how he ended.
"You haven't seen anything unusual, have you?"
Harry stopped to look at him questioningly. "You mean, like that man?"
Oh, right. There was that fucker too. How could I forget?
Ron shrugged.
There was a moment of doubt on Harry's face. Most likely, he had seen something odd due to Dobby lately, but not blatant enough to be sure of it. "Not much. You?"
"Nothing."
Ron approached the window. Initially thinking about the iron bars they had to take out of it once because of Dobby's actions. However, Harry had reminded him of the American, and that had thrown away any resemblance of peace.
What was that bastard doing?
He was about to turn around to help Harry with Hedwig's stack of food, when a glance out of the window made him freeze. Cold came up his spine as fast as a speeding broom. Ron suddenly couldn't believe his eyes, because outside, standing mockingly at the far end of a Muggle street, was the American.
The bloody effing American.
"Stand back!" Ron yelled when Harry started walking towards him.
With a brisk movement, Ron pulled out his wand and pushed Harry aside, keeping his back against the wall next to the window.
Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. It couldn't be. It was surely another dream. He couldn't possibly be here.
"Ron! What is it?"
He didn't answer. With Charlie's old wand firmly held in his fist, Ron dared a glimpse out of the window, and outside he saw… Nothing.
What the fuck?
The street seemed undeniably Muggle again. A couple of pedestrians were walking over the pavement, and a lone car even crossed with leisure through the neighbourhood a moment after. Still, there was no sign of the American. He was not there. Had he ever been? Or had Ron imagined him?
Ron rubbed his eyes, unable to trust them anymore.
"Ron? Are you alright?" Harry asked again.
The boy looked out of the window, but when he once again saw that there was nothing out there, he turned even more concerned towards his friend.
"It's nothing. I was confused, that's all. Come on, let's go."
Before Harry could protest, Ron helped him with Hedwig and practically dragged him out of the room. Downstairs, his father had finished arranging Harry's belongings. The man was so distracted that he didn't even notice that the face of his son had gone dead pale.
Ron hurried them to leave, keeping his eyes fixed on the front door as his father instructed Harry in the proper use of the Floo powder. He didn't even care that Mr Dursley had stopped looking at his watch and tapping his foot impatiently on the floor to glare at the green flames roaring on his fireplace.
Thankfully, Harry pronounced their destination correctly, even when Ron forgot to remind him of it. The boy even looked excited as he disappeared in a rush of green flames.
The fire was just as green when Ron stepped into it. It was a normal Floo trip, like hundreds of others he had taken before. However, for the shortest of moments, the flames had looked almost purple, and the floor almost chequered. The blasted memory was chilling, but it was gone a second later and Ron was transported to his house without any problem whatsoever.
The Burrow looked exactly as Ron had left it, crowded with people and in the brisk of celebration.
Harry was welcomed with open arms, and the Weasleys were so focused on him that they didn't give Ron a second look. Ron was so lost in his worries that his attempt to follow the conversation was flimsy at best.
Eventually, he showed Harry his room, where he dodged as many questions of what had happened back at Privet Drive as he could. Ron's head was so far away from there that he almost lost a game of chess against Harry.
At one point, Ron told his father he'd seen something odd at the Dursleys. He'd been purposely vague, but it was enough to get his father making some calls. In the end, it was nothing but a false alarm, and Ron's father said everything was normal at Privet Drive.
The day went on, with games, chatter and laughs. Dinner was served, a cake was eaten, and — when all was said and done — some small presents were given. It was only after Harry took Ginny's chocolate frog with a polite smile that Ron realised that he had forgotten to include her in the day's activities as much as he had promised to. Ginny didn't look all too affected by it though, as she beamed brightly when Harry thanked her. Then, she stormed back to her room.
In the end, Ron wasn't sure if Harry had enjoyed his birthday better than he had the year before, but the boy didn't seem unhappy. He went to bed with a big smile on his face, marvelling at all the tiny displays of magic he had discovered inside the Burrow — and surely feeling way more wanted than he would have been with the Dursleys.
Ron's rest didn't come as fast. He laid in bed for what felt like hours. He stood up several times to look out of the window, and kept his wand firmly grasped under his pillow. The last thought before he finally surrendered to sleep — completely knackered — was one that would surely not leave him any time soon.
I'm losing my fucking mind.
Next Chapter: Croaker's Warning
