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PART TWO: RON

Chapter One:

Harriet was tired that day. She was tired of quite a few things, actually, not the least of which was Guy's recent behavior. He could be the most frustrating man...sometimes she wanted to scream at him, to tell him everything that he was doing wrong, but he wouldn't understand. She was also tired of Charles. He was such a child! Always asking for more than she was prepared to give, and then throwing a fit when he didn't get his way. She was just about ready to give up on men completely.

Given her mood, then, it was a true example of her innate goodness that caused her to cry out and run to the side of a young man who had just been knocked into the street by a hurrying passerby.

"Are you all right?" she asked, helping him up. He shook his head a little.

"Yeah. Think so. Thanks."

"Are you British?" she asked curiously. She'd thought she knew all the British in Athens; perhaps she'd been wrong.

"Uhm...I guess so. To tell the truth, I can't remember much of anything."

"Much of anything about what?" she asked warily. She most emphatically did not want to be entangled in yet another game.

"About--about anything, really. Like..." A look of panic crossed his face. "Like my name. I can't remember my name. I just remember falling...and then I got up, and started walking around trying to figure everything out, and then I got knocked into the street, and now we're here. What's going on? Do you know me?"

This was too much. He couldn't possibly be feigning that confusion. And he was in trouble--she should help him, she knew that. Sighing as she realized that this would make Guy withdraw even more, she said, "No, I don't know you. But if you want, you can come to my house--we'll let you stay there until you get your memory back." His eyes widened in gratitude, and she led him down the street to the metro.

Guy actually came home for dinner that night.

"Hello, darling," he said as he kissed her on the cheek, "How was your day?"

"Well," she said, but she could tell he wasn't really listening. "I met someone today."

"Oh?" he said absently.

"Will you listen, please?" she snapped testily.

He looked at her, hurt, and she softened. "It's a boy. He's got amnesia, he doesn't know anything about who he is, and I thought we could give him a place to stay until he's cured. Heaven knows we've got the space."

His eyes lit up with interest, and he pushed away from the table. "Where is he?"

"Upstairs, sleeping."

"Is he English?"

"Yes."

And he would have been off, right then, had she not held him back. "Guy, he's sleeping. He's exhausted. Interrogate him when he's awake, okay? If you

were home for more than a few minutes at a time..."

Stricken, he rose and walked to her, rubbing her arms. "Darling, you know I'm busy. If I could be home more often, I would..."

"Yes, I know," she muttered mutinously, but she didn't really believe what she'd said. Guy would always busy. He would find some new and delightful acquaintance, and she would be out of his life again as usual, her own feelings inconsequential.

"I saw Ben Phipps today, darling," he continued, "He was quite happy about his role in the play."

"Bully for Ben Phipps." He didn't hear her.

"The thing is, the fellow playing Policeman 2 fell sick today. Got that flu that's been going around. And now there's no one to play the role. So this chap you found today really does seem like a blessing in disguise..."

"NO, Guy," she said ominously.

"Oh come on, Harriet, you don't even know if he wants to or not!"

She twitched her lip, and relented. "Fine. You can ask him. But later--" she said, exasperated, as he walked to the stairs, "when he's awake!"

So it was that the boy woke to see two pairs of eyes staring at him, one belonging to the dark, fragile-looking woman who'd helped him in the street, and the other belonging to a large, mild looking man with curly hair and thick glasses.

"Pleased to meet you," the man beamed at him nearsightedly, "I'm Guy Pringle. You've already met my wife?"

She smiled at him. "Yeah," he said, "Harriet, right?"

"Right. And you can't remember anything, how you might have gotten to Athens, who your parents are, that sort of thing?" He searched his memory.

"No, sir. 'Fraid not. I don't," he realized, "even know what today is."

"Tuesday, the sixth of April, 1943," Harriet chipped in.

"Thanks."

"Ah..." Guy seemed to be at a loss for words. Harriet rolled her eyes.

"Oh, for heaven's sake, Guy. Listen," this was directed at the occupant of the bed, "Guy is an English teacher here in Athens, and he's directing a play at the

moment, for the troops' entertainment. One of the actors fell sick, and he was wondering if you could take the part."

Guy looked at her, surprised. "Thank you, darling."

A little disoriented still, he said weakly, "Ah, sure--but, can I go back to sleep first?"

"Of course!" Harriet said, glaring at Guy. "I'll be here all night, if you need me."

As they walked out, he could hear them discussing, "So what name do I put on the program?"

"Easy," Harriet laughed, "Red Thin."

As their voices disappeared down the corrider, he stuck a hand in his pocket and brought out the long, thin, wooden stick he'd been examining earlier.

What on earth could it be?

Chapter Two:

Things settled down into a comfortable rhythm in the villa. Every day, Harriet took Red into the city on her way to work so that he could go to rehearsals, and then spent the rest of the day with him once they'd both finished for the day. In the evening, he'd be in the performance. He had a whopping three lines, but Guy was still fanatical about making sure that his character was firmly in place and convincing. He had a feeling that whatever he'd used to be, it wasn't an actor, as he was having difficulty finding character background for a policeman who only spoke a few times, and each time to say things like, "Cor!", "Blimey!", or "He's gotten away again, officer!" After each performance, he would go to a café with Guy and some of his friends from the pantomime. There they would sit until it got very late indeed, and he'd listen to Guy and Ben Phipps and some of the students talk about Marxist philosophy until they were blue--or perhaps the more appropriate color would be red?--in the face.

Occasionally they would ask for his opinion, and he'd give it willingly enough, but he had the uncomfortable notion that Ben Phipps didn't think much of it, though Guy was always tolerant.

The war was the first thing that he'd had to have explained to him, as he hadn't known anything about it. Apparently, there were Germans attempting to march on Athens. While Red found this slightly alarming, and there were a few other residents of Athens that obviously felt the same, most of the Greeks and English here seemed to be, if not ignoring it, laughing it off. There were Greek troops valiantly fighting the Germans at and beyond the border ("We are your only allies!" a tipsy Greek student had informed him, and Guy had confirmed it: the Greeks and the English were at this point the only opponents the Axis powers had, as the French had been conquered and the Americans were "being

isolationist bastards again," Ben Phipps said, disgusted.) and the thought that the Germans would arrive seemed far from anyone's mind--though Harriet did seem a little strained on occasion, which Guy seemed mostly to ignore.

That was another thing. The Pringles' marriage was a very strange creature, and Red was constantly trying to tiptoe around it. Harriet and Guy rarely saw each other, though they were usually perfectly congenial when they did. They seemed to be very different; Guy was beamingly accepting, and would befriend anyone, excusing their faults by whatever means necessary. Harriet was far more discriminating, and cynically looked at people as if already assuming that there was something wrong with them. At first, Red thought that he preferred Guy's point of view; after all, the man seemed to be a saint. But after he and Harriet spent more time together, sitting in cafés in the heady afternoon sun, he realized that Harriet's affection, far more reluctantly given, was to be prized much more highly; when she loved someone, she loved them totally, without restraint, with everything she had. Guy could never love this way.

He wouldn't have noticed this if she hadn't spelled it out for him. He'd been curious about Charles, a friend of Harriet's who always seemed to scowl when he saw that she was with Red, and who would duck out quickly whenever Harriet was with someone. He'd asked her about it one day:

"So who's this Charles bloke?" She flushed rather suddenly.

"He's...he's no one. A friend."

He raised an eyebrow. "Seems pretty jealous, for a friend."

Her lips twisted into something that attempted to be a smile. "Well, that's Charles." Suddenly, defiantly, "Guy doesn't mind."

Taken aback, Red said, "So he's more than just a friend?"

She rubbed her forehead. "Yes. No. I don't know. Not exactly. "

"Complicated? How can it be complicated?" She scowled at him.

"Now, there's proof that you don't have any memories left--if you had any faint scrap of remembrance of love, you'd know that there is no love that isn't complicated."

"You love Charles?" Wonderful. All he needed was to get involved in some scandal.

"He loves me." She said this with an air of finality, but he wouldn't let her

get away with that.

"You didn't answer my question. Guy loves you, too."

"Oh, Guy loves everybody!" she said with exasperation. "Guy doesn't consider my feelings on any higher level than anyone else's...actually, he considers them less! He told me once that he considers me to be a part of himself, and therefore, my concerns are as his are: negligible. It's nothing to be loved by Guy. But Charles and I are very much alike." She put her head in her arms.

"But you don't love him. And you do love Guy. Right?" He was somewhat proud of his analysis, and so was hurt when she answered.

"Bloody lot of good that'll do me," she muttered, "Neither of us has the right to ask the other to change for them. We'd be miserable if we did."

Red shrugged. "I'm sorry. I don't know what to say."

She smiled a little. "That's okay. Just let it be a warning to you--this is what happens when you marry someone three weeks after you meet them and then go off to Rumania with them a week after your marriage."

He widened his eyes. "Three weeks? That's it?"

"Yup."

"Wow." He contemplated this. Her words cut in on his thoughts.

"So...who's Myoni?"

He crumpled his forehead in confusion. "Who?"

"Myoni. You've been talking in your sleep, and last night you yelled it out quite a few times. Can you remember your dreams?"

He thought about it. "Nope. Come to think of it," he realized, "I haven't been able to remember any of my dreams, since I've been here. Do you think if I could, I might be able to figure something out about who I am?"

She shrugged. "Maybe. Odd, though, not being able to remember any of them."

But that night, he had a dream that he would remember.

He was sitting comfortably in a field, with the sun beating against his back.

Mmm, he thought happily, Feels like I'm back at the Burrow. Then he paused, frowned, shook himself. Burrow...I'm Ron, that's my name...I'm a wizard...what happened?...'Mione! He'd only just noticed that his friends were sitting around him, Ginny and Harry looking

just as confused as he felt. 'Mione didn't look confused, though--she looked strained.

"Hi," she said, "This is really hard, so it won't last that long. Just let

me...here." She took out her wand, pointed it to each of their foreheads, and said, quite firmly, "Memorium"

A Memory Charm. So we don't forget again. Good thinking, 'Mione, he thought.

"What--what happened?" he asked. "I couldn't remember anything..."

"Yeah, neither could I..." Harry said, "Hermione, what's going on?"

'Mione gave a sort of a grimacing smile.

"Something--probably one of Voldemort's plans--pulled us apart during our group Apparition--and Ginny, too--and threw us back in time. He would have had to summon a kind of Elemental--"

"Like Professor Silverleaf?" Ginny asked.

"Sort of, a Temporal, which is a different race of Elementals, with kind of different abilities. They can jump through time, and somehow he got them to drag us to different times."

"How do you know this, 'Mione?" Ron asked, amazed, "I've had no memory the entire time, I didn't even know I was a wizard!"

"Remember when I put that Memory Charm on myself? Well, I guess it held my memory in place. All I know is that I knew exactly who and what I was, but I was sick for a few weeks." Ron looked at her sharply and noticed that she did indeed have circles under her eyes, as if she'd been ill.

"A few weeks!" Harry said incredulously, "I've only been away for a few days!"

Only days? Ron wondered, So why's he look so spooked?

"I've been away months," Ginny told him.

"Me too, about a month," Ron said, as he absently realized that this meant that technically his sister wasn't very much younger than he was anymore. He wasn't quite sure how he felt about that.

"And I've been away about two months, too, but luckily I'm nowhere dangerous," 'Mione added, "I think that was a mistake on Voldemort's part--not that I'm complaining! What about the rest of you, when've you gone?" she asked.

"I'm in Venice," Ginny told her, "in 1505. It's kind of neat, but I think there's about to be a war."

"I'm in Athens, in 1943," said Ron, "I'm staying with a nice British couple--they just kind of took me in, even though I was wandering the streets in a daze! There's a war where I am, too, though--everyone's wondering if the Germans are going to get to Athens or not, and whether or not they should pick up and get out of there."

"Hey, you're kind of near me, then," Harry put in, "I'm in the same war, same year, but I'm in Warsaw, in the ghetto. They made me a soldier," he said, somewhat proudly. A soldier? Cool! I have to be an actor...How come Harry always gets the cool stuff?

"Harry, you're not in the Jewish ghetto, are you?" 'Mione looked a little freaked.

"Um...yes?"

"That's really dangerous!" Ah. Maybe not so cool. I feel better. And then he instantly felt bad about his thoughts.

"What month are you?" 'Mione continued.

He paused for thought. "May. May first, currently."

"Harry! Do you remember what happened in the Warsaw ghetto in the beginning of May 1943?"

"No...should I?" Oh, no. He hoped that 'Mione was just blowing this out of proportion, and Harry wasn't in any very real danger.

"Yes! I--oh, damn." He looked at her in shock. 'Mione--swearing? He could be able to use this...but he forgot about his evil plan when the dream began to collapse around them. He was able, much to his amusement, to put his hand through one of the trees near them. "Look, I can't hold this any longer," 'Mione said, pointing out the obvious as usual, "As soon as I figure out how to raise a Temporal I'm going to come and get you all, okay? And then we'll go back to our time. Just--remember!"

And he opened his eyes quickly in his bedroom, stilling his breathing and staring at the ceiling, his girlfriend's last words echoing in his mind.

Chapter Three:

He wasn't quite sure how to behave after that. Eventually, as he become familiar with the way things worked around the British Colony in Athens, he came up with an adequate enough cover story, and told Guy and Harriet that he'd started to remember things.

"My parents were living in Thessaloniki, and they didn't want me to be in any danger, so they sent me down here. I'd just gotten here, and I was looking for a hotel, but someone knocked me on the head, and I guess they took all my money. I'm awfully grateful for you to let me stay here, but if you want, I could always try to get back to Thessaloniki, since it seems that the Germans won't get there." It was an artful little speech, and he was rather proud of it.

"Well," Harriet said, with a worried look at Guy, "if you want to go back, we can't stop you. But you're welcome to stay here, and it's probaby safer. You could telegram them, and tell them that you're all right--they've probably been worried sick this past month!"

"Of course you're welcome here," Guy affirmed, "You're a much better Policeman 2 than Spiros was, and that more than pays for your keep!" Harriet threw him a Look, which he ignored.

"But," realized Guy, after Ron acquiesced happily, "we'll have to change the name on the program to your real name now. What is your real name?"

"Uh--Ron. Ron Weasley."

"W-E-A-S-L-E-Y?"

"Yeah." And with that, Guy bustled out of the house, leaving Harriet and Ron staring at each other.

"So..." said Harriet, beginning the washing up.

"Yeah, so..." said Ron, reflexively grabbing a drying rag.

She gave him a sideways glance. "So now do you remember why it's so complicated?"

He laughed unwillingly. "Yeah. Reckon so."

"Who's 'Mione?"

"My...my girlfriend, I guess you'd call her." It hurt to think about her, hurt to think that he might not see her again.

"Do you love her?" Her questions were definitely invasive--but then, he reasoned, he knew pretty much everything about her love life after the past month, the least he could do was return the favor.

"Yeah."

"How long have you been going out?" Damn, she was persistent.

"A few years...well, sort of...basically, yeah, a few years."

She let it drop.

"Do you have any brothers and sisters?"

He laughed shortly. "Do I! I have five brothers and one sister."

Her eyes widened. "Six siblings! How come your parents didn't send you all down to Athens?"

Damn. He'd forgotten about his cover story. Better think something up, quick.

"They...they're all older than me. I'm the baby," he lied fluently, "so they

always panic about me. It's not so bad, but it gets annoying."

"I guess it would," she said, absorbing herself in scrubbing the pot, and Ron

remembered that her parents had divorced--and neither had wanted her. She'd been brought up by an old aunt who hadn't particularly wanted her either, and hadn't had many--if any--friends, due to her discriminatory attitude towards people. Suddenly, he felt sorry for her. She was stuck in the middle of a war because of a husband who didn't pay any attention to her, and the only one who did love her--Charles--was far too jealous and demanding for her to ever love

him.

She decided that he'd closed off. When he hadn't had his memory, he'd been very vulnerable, very young, very innocent, (Like Sasha was? her mind whispered.) and had spent endless hours listening to her problems or Guy's theories, or...whatever. But now, he seemed older, more...well, more of what

she remembered a seventeen-year-old boy to be like. Which, she supposed, he was, so that was only proper and fitting. But still...for awhile, she'd actually been able to hold a conversation with a teenaged boy, and he'd been supportive and given good advice. And now he was back to being a teenaged boy.

She sighed. It was all very strange.

She wondered about his girlfriend. Did she live in Thessaloniki? What had their parting been like? Had he cried? She supposed not. Teenagers--boys,

anyway--hated to show their feelings. So probably not. How did he feel now that he might never see her again? She knew that he was worried for her, or scared--almost every night now, he had nightmares. She'd wake up (while Guy snored at her side) to him screaming her name, as well as some others--Harry, Ginny, Neville, Charlie. She supposed those were his brothers and sisters--although they might have been friends. The British Colony was small in Thessaloniki, however, so she doubted it.

Every morning he would stumble down to breakfast, pale and wild-eyed, and mindlessly eat the cereal in front of him. Guy, disapproving, noted that his

concentration had gone in rehearsal. He seemed restless, never at ease. She worried about him. Occasionally, he didn't show up at their usual café, and would return later that night, mumbling something about needing to "walk around". For a month, it went on like this, and she worried more.

Until something happened.

It was a typical day, pretty much. Harriet and Ron were sitting at the usual café, watching the passerbys. Chatting had basically been suspended; Ron made a

poor conversationalist these days. So as Harriet sat there and struggled internally with what she was going to do about Charles, it surprised her when Ron gave a start that brought him out of his lethargy, and then jumped out of his seat and ran into the street.

"'Mione!" he called, and the next thing she knew, he was hugging someone, hard. After a few minutes, he led her over to the café, and pointed her to a seat.

"Sit. Now." And when the waiter came obligingly over, he said, "Ena kafe, parakalw. Sketo."

"Ron," Harriet said curiously, "who's this?"

"It's 'Mione," he said, beaming with happiness. The girl, Harriet observed, who had curly brown hair and only came up to about Ron's shoulder, was tired and drawn. I would be too, if I'd just come from Thessaloniki."

"Pleased to meet you, 'Mione, I'm Harriet Pringle," Harriet said warmly, reaching over to shake the girl's hand. "We've been letting Ron stay in our house for the past few months while he's here--you'd be welcome there as well. Unless you've already got accommodations?"

'Mione smiled weakly. "Pleased to meet you as well. It's wonderful that you've let Ron stay with you, and thanks for your offer, but I do have accommodation."

"Oh? Which hotel are you staying at?"

"The--ah, I'm sorry, I can't remember. I remember how to get there, but my mind's so jumbled from travelling. I'm sorry."

"That's all right," Harriet said, and would have gone on, had she not seen the urgent looks passing between Ron and 'Mione. She assumed that they wanted to be alone (Dolt, she told herself, of course they want to be alone. How could they not?) and began to speak again. "I...I've got to go into work again this afternoon, Ron. I'll see you at the pantomime this evening?"

"All--all right then, yeah," he said, twisting a little in his seat. Was that--guilt?--that she saw in his eyes?

"Goodbye then, 'Mione. I hope to see you again."

"Goodbye, Mrs. Pringle, it was very nice to meet you," 'Mione said obediently, and Harriet got up and walked away. As she walked, she saw Charles. He raised an eyebrow at her, and jerked his head towards his hotel. She thought for a moment, and then shook her head at him sadly. She loved Guy too much.

When the waiter finally reappeared with a tiny cup of black coffee, Ron

murmured, "Eucaristw," and pressed it into Hermione's hand.

"'You figured it out, then?" he asked her excitedly. "How to summon and hold a Temporal?" When she nodded wearily, he grinned proudly. "Knew you would."

Unwillingly, she smiled back. "I missed you," she told him, squeezing his hand.

"I missed you too..." Seeing a look of extreme exhaustion pass across her

face, he furrowed his brows in concern. "Are you all right? There's nothing dangerous about this spell you're casting, is there? I mean, nothing you can't handle, right?"

Her eyes flew open. "No, no, of course not! It's just...well, it's difficult

to summon the Temporal, and he's a bit flighty...so I have to hold him. It's

nothing too serious."

"Hm," he said, but the worried look did not pass from his face. "So, where were you, anyway? You never said."

"I was in England in the early nineteenth century, in some prestigious mansion

or something...it was really interesting, actually, to get to live through part of history. I should've taken notes," she realized with disappointment, and he laughed.

"My 'Mione. No, you shouldn't've. That would have made you certifiably insane, which would send you to a hospital, and then I wouldn't get to see you anymore!"

She made a face at him. "Typical Ron, always slacking off."

He raised his eyebrows. "Don't I have the right to slack off?"

She laughed. "Yes, but you're not allowed to distract me from studying just so you can have company in your decadence!"

He had a devilish grin on his face now. "And am I so...distracting?"

She blushed. "You know what I meant."

"No, no, I don't think I did," he said innocently. "I think you should tell

me."

Bright red now, she mumbled, "Yes, Ron, you can be very distracting sometimes."

He grinned with triumph. "Nice to know."

"Like right now," she muttered, "when I want to strangle you. That's very distracting."

They both laughed. He was suddenly very, very glad to see her again.

"Well, I shouldn't get too...distracting..." he leered, "or you won't be able to steer us home right. Shall we go pick up the others?"

She stopped laughing, the tired look returning to her face, but she covered it up in a moment. He'd seen it, though, and was instantly suspicious again.

"'Mione, you're sure there's nothing dangerous about this...?"

"I'm sure, Ron!" She was impatient. "Stop hovering, and pay the waiter so that we can get out of here."

"Fine, fine," he said, still suspicious, and got out some drachmas to put on the table as they left.

"Harry first," said Hermione, "because I'm the most worried about him."

"Hermione," Ron asked curiously, "what did happen in the Warsaw Ghetto in May of 1943?"

She looked at him bleakly. "Ron," she said, "You probably don't want to know."