Well! I must say, it's been an honor to be asked to join an anthology. For those of you who do not know me, I am Silverlocke980, word-weaver and talespinner extraordinaire, come here to add what little I can to the mix of stories and skills that are met here. So, to those of you I know... to those of you I don't... and to those of you I never will know, welcome.

Just one note, before entering everything proper. Besides having no rights or authority to Harry Potter, I also have figured out a way to skip Fanfiction's Quick Edit system. The letters KT, capitalized, bold, and in italics, will represent a break in the story. I thought it appropriate to end each section in KT... and begin them too.

This story is a spin-off of an idea I once had, and- combined with the general setting of this anthology- it has gained a life of its own. Oddly, it was the very fact that I had never seen a story in which the Golden Trio- Harry, Ron, and Hermione, as we know them- stumbled into Diagon Alley with any success/seriousness/plot line involved, that made me dream of this...

And so, now, ladies and gentlemen, boys and girls, wild men and lovers and secret bearers and secret revealers. Welcome to...

KNOCKTURN ALLEY!

SHOWTIME!

Harry Potter

Tales of Knockturn Alley

Dreams of a Dark Knight

It's cold here, in this city that never sleeps. Of course, I guess I can't really say that without some form of copyright interfering- hell, isn't New York the city that never sleeps?- but in the end, I guess it's true. But then again, it's not. After all, this place sleeps.

Doesn't it? I mean, if it didn't...

Then why can't I shake this feeling that sometimes it has bad dreams? And that, every now and then, it dreams up a real corker... And that, sometimes...

Those corkers can be nightmares?

KT

It was supposed to be a darker night, for this young man. It was supposed to be a darker night, one where he couldn't shake off the feeling of something going on around him and something behind his back. None of his friends could shake the feeling; Hermione herself had felt it, staying up half the night with goosebumps on her arms, ready to blast the first thing that moved in to her sight. She'd already pointed her wand at several of their group, and almost attacked several of them by accident before Harry finally told her to settle down, and Remus had put a small mix of herbs into her night tea so that she could relax more. She'd just barely fallen asleep before Ron left. Snape had mentioned that if Hermione was so nervous and jumpy, Ron should be out of his pants with fear by now; but Ron had felt nothing, and only pretended a sense of general unease. In truth, he felt nothing.

Nothing.

Ron was not a man to hate. He never had been. He was a man, supposedly born to live and love, always ready with a smile and a joke or a good dose of over-played fear that somehow made his party members not feel so afraid, who lived to be happy. Ron did not hate; Ron loved. Ron loved the justice of the idea they fought for, loved the other members of his group in a way that almost kept them together by itself (though Harry's leadership and ability to communicate with all their disparate members was what really held them together; Ron's loyalty merely made things easier for him, smoothed things over, let them talk it out), and never, ever, mocked anything that the others held holy. Snape, for instance, found something in a small glimpse of a copse of deadened trees that made him stop for a moment; though Lupin heckled him, Ron motioned for them to go on, and stayed with Snape. After a few moments, Snape had walked off. Ron said nothing. He trusted him enough to know that whatever it was, it was important to him, and that had always been enough.

But...

Lately, Ron had wondered (in his own soul, way deep down where the almost preternaturally psychic Kingsley Shacklebolt could not sense it; it was Ron's first attempt at hiding something from others, and though successful, he thought his shield weakened every day) whether there was anything that was important to him. Whether he would ever be able to stare at a glimpse of half-seen things and, for just one second, dream.

He got his wish. But that's a separate note.

KT

There have always been places in this world where, for some reason, powers gather. There are always many reasons given for this; some say it's because God looked upon that place and smiled, and it became light. Some say that Fate, passing by, happened to brush its hand against a place, and so it received power. Some even say that a powerful wizard was born there or that some other mighty event took place, and so the memory of that greatness echoes down throughout the ages. I do not know.

I do know this, however. There are places in this world where that which cannot be is, and where the past can reach out and give part of itself- good or bad, black or white, Light or Darkness- to the future. Where futures are made and broken, and where one word said can have more weight than the speeches of a thousand men.

One of these places happens to exist in Knockturn Alley. It is a small bar, a little out-of-the-way place, where a few men and women come to drink and hide. It is notable for many reasons, one of them the odd conjunction of its light and shadows; the two seem to have reached an agreement, and that agreement is to work together to put everything in the bar into stark contrasts. When the two wish to hide something, they work together to make it so; the lights brighten and shadows become darker, and the whole room becomes impossible to see. Yet...

If they want to reveal something, then the darkness merely makes the light fall in harsher contrasts, almost forcing people out of the gloom, as though they were cut there, from obsidian bricks or blocks of purest black stone; and when something is thus revealed, it cannot be kept out of sight.

So it was when Ron stepped into the bar, and the tiny thing underneath the table in the corner of the bar gleamed.

KT

Ron knew not why he entered the bar; he was too young to drink and had too much knowledge of its possible effects to think much about it anyway, he was too far from his companions to seek help if he was attacked here, and he had too much riding on him to risk losing such a fight and possibly getting killed. He was not a man to seek out a woman's pleasures; the very thought of such a thing actually scared Ron, for fear of not being able to please a woman and be thought of as a lesser man. He was not a drug user, nor was he looking for a fight. So why had he stepped in here?

Ron looked about and saw only a few people in the bar. No one here would know him. Thankfully. The party had to be kept secret, and though traveling with Harry Potter made that slightly harder (doing away with his glasses and using a small cowl to hide his face made that easier, though; Hermione magicked his eyes into being perfect, hard to do but well worth the effort, as nobody had recognized Potter yet, despite their wanderings), it was better to be a nobody no one knew about. He half-remembered a conversation he'd just heard in his party, a few days ago...

Remember that last town we were at, Harry? All the people knew Hermione because her parents had been there, and what a mess that had made... funnier than hell, wasn't it, trying to get them to shut up about it?

Tonks... I remember it as being distinctly not funny.

Oh, you're just a spoilsport, Shacklebolt. Just because we're trying to save the world from ultimate evil doesn't mean I can't have fun while we're at it...

No, Tonks, it means that you have to remember not to annoy your party members, or you will wake up with a slit throat.

Hah! Humor, out of Mr. Shacklebolt! Oh, yes, this trip just got better! Woo-hoo! Go, Kingsley!

Ms. Tonks... do kindly shut up.

Yes, Mr. Snape.

The party had been making a long circle about England, starting near Hogwarts and moving south, eschewing the roads in favor of dirt trails as they went, turning west when they hit the coast and following it as far as they could, the party had managed to make an entire circuit of England and come back here, to old Alleys Diagon and Knockturn, ready in a few days to report back to Albus both all they'd seen and all they'd fought. Albus had sent them out to fight this war specifically as guerilla warriors, and their job as a special strike team had went marvelously well. Their resident military expert, Ron's big brother, Bill, had even said that they were like the commandos of the Muggle world, in their own way. Battles were getting fiercer here; Muggles were beginning to catch on that meteors couldn't be raining from the sky that often, and when they found the scorched patches of ground that usually indicated a Wizard fight, they almost always called the police. And the police brought the news.

These "burn scars", a hideously ironic name that always made Ron shudder when he heard it, had begun to be thought of by the Muggles as signs of alien invasion, or possibly a Chinese attack. Ron had no idea how the Chinese fit into it (he thought, from what little he knew of Muggle politics, that China was busy dealing with a crazed dictator in North Korea, or some other such thing), but he understood the increase of the war all too well. It was even affecting the natural world. Grin-souls, a hideous black flower that seemed to smile at you when you looked at it, were coming back. They only grew on ground that had been soaked with the blood of Wizards- and then only when slain in combat with another. They had not been seen in fifteen years, ever since Harry was born. Now, though, they were becoming all too common again. Ron killed them whenever he saw them. He didn't think such bastard things had a right to exist.

They always just smiled back at him when he tore them apart. It always bothered him, that damn grin. Like they knew something and you didn't. Or you were the funniest joke they had seen in a long time.

Ron staggered about for a while, the lights and darkness alternatively confusing and blinding him, but in the end, he found a seat. Somehow, he'd ended up near the right corner nearest the door. He plopped down in the small seat there, wtihout another word.

Years from then he would think back and wonder if he hadn't been guided there. Whether some great Voice had spoke to him in words that could not be heard and asked him to sit in that seat. And if, in his own heartfelt way, he had not said yes.

He sat down lightly, gently. The long days of travel, of minutely arranging every detail, of learning that at times you have got to be quicker or better than your fellow man to avoid getting killed... all of it conspired to make Ron the quietest man in the room. Ron sat down... Ron became quiet. Ron did not speak up. Ron did not move.

His cloak briefly brushed against something. He looked down and his eyes widened at what he saw.

A very long time ago, someone told Ron that there was only Light and Darkness in the world. That person was right... sort of. In their own way, Light and Darkness are the only two things in the universe... but that's when you are speaking of them spiritually. In that sense, a hell of a lot of people know them better as Good and Evil.

The helmet was huge; it gave the impression of vastness, of size. Ron could almost sense the gravity of the thing, as if it had a weight so concrete that it could drag all reality down with it. Ron looked at it, and realized that he could see other things too: knights standing in the rain, the shouts of men, the cries of darkness. A voice crying out Black Sky, and the world raining fire. A man, speaking in a tongue not his own, blood dripping from his arm as he slung out his sword at nothingness and sent evil flying back. A man, dying, giving his life to strike one last time at a crippled and wounded dragon, his body bursting into holy light as darkness became light in his soul and struck out while he died.

Ron bent over and picked the helmet up. He never was sure what he had been thinking at the time later; maybe he only wanted to see it. But every now and then, he thought that maybe it was because he saw in it a way to buck his own destiny.

Ron figured it out; the feeling in him was that of normality. He felt too normal, in a world of destined heroes and genius women and powerful Aurors running around to save the world. He was no Auror; he was not even a spy, like Snape was. He was merely a person.

All that was about to change.

Ron put the helmet on. He questioned it only once, and shut the question up in a torrent of roars. It felt as though the very bedrock of his soul rose up and put the darkness to shame. And then the helmet was on his face, and he was greater darkness. White darkness.

A long time ago, Light and Darkness met. Light was Good; Darkness was Evil. But one tiny Darkness- one not connected with the bigger Darkness, one not totally consumed yet in its evil- almost wanted to be part of Light. And when it met the Light- when this tiny darkness strove to defeat the One Great Light, as all pathetic Darknesses do- the Light had pity on it. And that pity became Good.

The little Darkness started to glow white, and was happy. And soon enough, that very Darkness had children. And it named them its own.

Ron felt the change rush over him; felt the knowledge of past years and former days enter his mind, his body, his soul. He felt strength flow into his limbs; he felt experience toughen his hands. He felt more thoughts enter his mind; he felt more souls, already dead, reach out and touch him across time. He felt holy.

And in that one moment, he knew.

Fate weaves its strands across time; no one knows why it bothers to, nor what destiny it will bring. God alone has any concept of how, when, why, where, or what Fate will do with its times; and sometimes, God has an answer.

Fate always puts forth the statement "You must". God puts out the statement "You can".

And sometimes, the people listen to the latter, and change.

Nobody is ever normal after something like that again.

In the end, Ron left the bar, walking out, ignoring it again almost entirely, pretty much forgetting it was there. With the odd and yet not absurd, not funny, greatly serious and powerful helm still striding atop his shoulders, Ron walked hom.

KT

Ron and his companions became famous. Though Harry was always supposed to have been at school, he was too powerful to leave somewhere learning while the War was being fought; that, and the fact that Harry was the only person who could kill Voldemort and end the suffering drove him to leave. Harry, Ron, Hermione, Tonks, Shacklebolt, Snape, Bill, and a few scattered Aurors with them (Mad-Eye being one of them, and possibly the greatest), they set out to save the world.

Each one of them changed; none of them were ever able to remember that summer without thoughts of nostalgia again. Kingsley spent a lot of time in his later life just remembering that summer, and to him, much of it was more real than the wife that was sitting beside him, or the kids playing in the yard. In a way, it was. Mad-Eye told them (before his death, anyway) that they were the only times when he was able to drop his terrible fear and, for once, be free. Even Hermione, despite the great introvertedness that she grew into as she got older, was never able to think of those days without somehow wishing she could go back to them. They were good days; they were spiritual ones. None of them were ever as in touch with their souls as they were on their wild journey to destroy evil.

Ron changed the most. The helm he found was the helm of the last Dark Knight, a great hero whose name was Arthur- legends were told of him throughout time. The helm was not the source of power in and of itself, but something higher- an emissary of the small Darkness that, for once, wanted to be Light. The creature the helm put Ron in contact with had once been known as a Baelrog, a demon of fire and suffering and hate, but something holy had made the creature Good, and when it contacted him, it was sometimes known as the White Steed. Ron talked with it often, as it taught him the powers of a Dark Knight.

Ron revived the practice in the world; he recruited many who would fight on for Good. A Dark Knight's power is their curse; their gift is simple, but deadly. It is only this. If a Dark Knight so chooses, they may give up a portion of their life in sacrifice to help someone in need. And...

If a Knight so chooses, they can die and become light. It was this power that saved the companions in the end.

Ron and the companions had killed Voldemort, but of all people, Bellatrix Lestrange was able to round up the scattered bands of Death Eaters and call them to her command. She built a fort in the north, and called it the Riddle Keep- funny, considering she actually did not know Voldemort's real name, and had only thrown the name out, seemingly at random, at a committee meeting with some of her officers- and when the best of the Ministry's attacks had failed, the great warriors who had slain Voldemort appeared to make their stand. They flew in and out of what soon became hell.

The fight had been going badly; they were all hurt and dying. Bellatrix herself came out only for the last, to mock and to gloat. Ron raised himself up and looked at her, and grinned.

No one has ever heard what, exactly, did happen there on that day. No Death Eaters survived the keep to tell of it, and none of the other heroes ever spoke of it, for their own reasons. But a few hints have dropped, and this we know.

Ron rose up and screamed out words in a language not his own. And as he died, as he felt his body crumble away beneath him, he felt something else. And he began to laugh.

He was light.

Light poured throughout the keep, burned away the darkness, shattered the walls and broke down the stone. Bellatrix screamed. Her face was torn off by the power of the light burning from Ron's very soul. It was standing by itself, Ron's dead corpse below it, laughing and singing as power beyond itself flowed through it. It looked much like him, but different- just like him, yet perfect. Like someone had done a Ron Redux and made all his attributes pure, and clean, and beautiful to look at. And then...

Something happened. Snape, the only member of the party conscious at the time, caught only a glimpse of it when the light broke. But somehow, he thought, he saw angel wings fly out the back of Ron's form, and Ron taken into light through a door that appeared out of nowhere, rimmed in fire and gold. Then Snape passed out.

They all woke up an hour later, healed of all their wounds, in the middle of the ruins that were all that remained of Bellatrix Lestrange's castle. And there, in the middle, lying dead next to his wand, was Ron.

On his face, beautiful and peaceful, heartwrenching and tearful, was a smile.

Ron became more than normal; he became extraordinary. And when his companions finally died, when they finally caught the last train home, they found him waiting for them there. And when they all stood together again, he found his worst fears destroyed; he found he could stand beside them, and not be ashamed.

Light.