A Draught In Time:

Chapter 2

-dutchtulips-

---

It was several hours later, and Ron and Hermione were pouring over their homework in the Gryffindor common room once more, on the verge of getting into the same argument as they had the day before. But as glad as Ron was to spend some time alone with his best friend, he was trying hard not to get angry with her.

"Look, Hermione, couldn't it just be possible that Snape did say that fluxweed was the key ingredient in the belladonna antidote?" He said to her, making an attempt to keep his tone compromising.

"No," she disagreed. "I heard him mention fluxweed as well, Ron, but I think you misheard what Professor Snape was talking about. Because you only pick or brew it under certain moon phases, fluxweed is only used in potions that alter or change things in the physical world, according to appearance or time. It's not for shielding things from the affects of the physical world."

Ron dropped his shoulders in frustration. "I still don't think so, Hermione. I was really trying to listen to Snape this time. Couldn't it be possible that it was you who misheard him?"

"No, it can't!" Hermione shot back. "The key ingredient has to be knotgrass! If you attempt to plant belladonna anywhere near it, the enzymes that the grass produces is enough to attack the belladonna's roots and kill the plant!"

"I don't remember hearing Snape say anything about that," Ron replied stubbornly. "All I heard him say about the main ingredient in the antidote was that fluxweed was essential." Refusing to budge on the subject this time, the redhead crossed his arms over his chest and looked back across the table at Hermione.

Instead of flinging a comeback at him, she flipped her quill to the tabletop and leaned back in her chair, crossing her arms as well. With a sigh, she finally said, "Okay, look. You've started brewing the potion upstairs already, haven't you?"

Ron nodded, relaxing his tone a bit. "Yeah. Yeah, I put in the two drops of dragon's blood, the gillywater, and then the asphodel, like you said. It's almost done simmering, I think."

Hermione sat forward again. "Good. Then let's go up to your dormitory and check it out, all right? I know a way we can settle this argument without either of us failing."

Hermione and I, up in the dormitory... alone? The redhead's heart skipped a beat, and he returned his best friend's heady glance, finally giving her a small nod. "All right."

---

Leaning over the table in the sixth-year boys' dormitory, Hermione dipped a ladle into Ron's cauldron, to gently stir his brewing antidote. Red vapors were emanating from the potion.

Ron stood next to her, looking down at his long roll of notes. "After the asphodel had already simmered for an hour, they changed to red," he told her, pointing out the vapors. "Was it supposed to do that?"

She nodded, setting the ladle aside and drying her fingers against her robes. "Yeah, when they turned red that indicated the asphodel had completely dissolved. By the time the two hours are up, the potion should have turned a pale blue -" Hermione looked inside the cauldron. "- which it has. Now," she turned to him, "at this point in the procedure you and I are at odds. I say that a cup of knotgrass stems should be mixed in next as the active ingredient -"

"And I say that it's a cup of fluxweed roots," Ron put in, holding out his Potions notes.

Hermione looked down at them, and then took the roll of parchment and set it next to the cauldron, picking up a glass tumbler and handing it to Ron, which he took.

As she reached over to grab the ladle, Hermione said, "I've reduced the measurements of the rest of the ingredients down for you to make up for the pint of the mixture that we're borrowing for our experiment. I've also reduced the cup of the key ingredient down for this pint. It's about ten stems, or roots, in your case." At this point she scooped up a small amount of what was in the cauldron and tipped it into the tumbler Ron was holding. "You take that, and add your fluxweed roots to it, and I'll take mine -" She picked up a second tumbler and filled it, "and I'll add my knotgrass stems to it."

As Ron reached into his bag and pulled out the tube holding the fluxweed, he asked, "How do we know which one of the ingredients is the right one, after we add them?"

Hermione had stuck her hand in her pocket and removed the knotgrass stems she'd been carrying, and replied, "Do we both agree on how Professor Snape said the potion would look after the key ingredient has been added?"

"Clear," they said in unison.

"Good," Hermione said. "well, let's do it, then."

Casting a look at her as he did so, Ron tipped the fluxweed roots into the potion, and they hissed in the liquid as he did so. Hermione's knotgrass roots made her sample of the potion begin to bubble and froth.

Suddenly Ron was struck with a thought. "Oh, remember? Snape said after doing that, the potion would begin to take on a distinct odor."

"Oh, you're right!" She exclaimed, looking down into the tumbler, holding it higher up near her face to gently smell the potion. As she did so, a curl of her nutmeg hair flopped down in front of her face, brushing against the soft skin of her cheek.

Raising his tumbler up nearer his face as well, Ron stole a glance at Hermione over the rim of the glass. Noticing the lock of hair hanging in front of her eyes, he had a sudden urge to reach over and tuck it back behind Hermione's ear.

Forgetting what he was supposed to be doing, Ron remained transfixed by her. I wish I could just tell her how I feel, he thought to himself. But if we didn't argue so much about dumb stuff, I might be able to. Like this ruddy Potions assignment, all this trouble we have to go through just because we're too stubborn to compromise... Stars, if I just tried to act on my real feelings for her -

But Ron would never have the chance to finish the thought, for at that moment, the closed dormitory door, which he had been standing right next to, suddenly swung open, smacking right into the redhead. Ron stumbled, and potion splashed from the tumbler, spilling onto the carpet, his robes, and into his face.

"Ron!" Hermione's voice cried out, her tone high-pitched and panicky as she immediately dove forward for him.

"Oh, I'm really sorry, Ron! Are you all right?" A familiar voice rang out. The owner of the voice stepped into view a few moments later, revealing himself as Neville.

Ron didn't answer. He tried to, but when he opened his mouth, no words would come out. Instead he was in too much shock, upon realizing what he had just done. Hurriedly he brought up a sleeve to wipe the potion off of his face, and from around his mouth before either of them noticed.

Hermione fused herself at his side. "Ron?" She said softly. "Are you okay? You've gone pale!"

Neville's eyes were wide and fearful. He looked back and forth between his two friends, saying, "Is he all right? Are you all right, Ron? All I did was knock into him with the door!"

"I'm certain he's fine, Neville," Hermione said with conviction, though it didn't quite reach her eyes.

"Are you sure?"

"Yes," Hermione said hastily. "I'm sure Ron just got the wind knocked out of him, that's all."

The redhead made a feeble nod, as if to confirm what Hermione had said. "Ye-yeah, I'm f-fine," Ron stammered, finally finding his voice.

"Well... all right," Neville replied, and said worriedly, "I just came in to get my Transfigs book, that's all..." He quickly stepped over to the trunk at the foot of his bed, grabbed the book and, stumbling slightly, Neville made his way back out of the door.

After he had gone, Hermione turned her gaze back onto Ron. "What happened?"

He looked at her, fervency in his eyes. "... Don't want to say..."

"Why not?" She demanded, nervousness edging her voice. "Even your freckles have gone pale!"

"Nothing... it's nothing," Ron replied, suddenly very aware of Hermione's hands holding onto both of his. "Are we finished with the potion?"

She blinked abruptly, and then turned back towards the table. "Oh, yeah. Yeah, I guess so. I'll put the tumblers someplace safe until later, when we can see which one's turned clear." Her hands slipped out of his then, moving forward to clear up their work. "Is that okay?"

"S-sure," Ron said, feeling an odd sense of loss as he realized Hermione's hands were no longer holding his. With a faint feeling of sickness building in the pit of his stomach, he reached over for his Potions notes to stuff away in his rucksack.

Hermione put a few jars of Potion ingredients away into her bag, and then slung it over her shoulder. Regarding him for a moment, she said quietly, "Are you sure you're all right?"

The redhead nodded quickly; though the nausea was feeling worse. "Yeah, yeah, I'm fine," he lied.

"Well... okay," Hermione finally said. She pulled at the cuffs of her robes for a moment, and then said, "I'm going down to the common room to finish my Arithmancy essay. You coming? I know you've still got some Charms homework to do."

"Actually, I'm kind of tired," Ron said reluctantly. "I think I'm going to take a nap." At these words, Hermione's eyebrows shot up, giving him an appraising look, so Ron hurriedly put in, "But I'll meet you down there in about an hour, okay? I promise."

She gave a sigh then, but a quick look at her and he could tell it was a sigh of relief, which made Ron do the same. "All right, but you had better get that work done. I don't want you getting so behind that you need bailing out again, okay?"

Ron managed a smile for her scolding. "Okay, Mum," he joked.

Hermione smiled back, and as she slipped out the door, said, "Have a good sleep, Ron."

As soon as she had gone, Ron ambled over to his four-poster and fell down atop it, face first. As his cheek met the soft red velvet of his bedspread, he let out a moan of dread. Oh no, what am I going to do? Maybe I should've told her... He thought. Hermione would've known what to do.

But she probably be rushing you down to the hospital wing right now, shouting hysterically to anybody that would listen that I've poisoned myself. At that thought, Ron felt his nausea rise up higher into his throat. And then we'll probably get into loads of trouble for concocting illicit mixtures, and Snape would probably fail us just for the bloody hell of doing it.

He rolled over, grabbing for the hem of the bedspread. Besides, it's probably nothing anyway. I'll probably feel perfectly fine next morning, nothing wrong with me at all...

The last of his thoughts drifted off as Ron closed his eyes, feeling sleep's whirlpool come along and sweep him up, as, unbeknownst to him or to anybody else for that matter, another flurry - of one much more magical - slowly unfolded around him...

---

Ron couldn't remember his four-poster feeling this comfortable. Sure, it always had been, but something was different. The bed felt bigger, somehow, as if it had sprouted to twice its own size. But as he rolled over into the plushness of the silk and velvet bedclothes, half-asleep, he was much to tired to pay it any real heed.

Something warm fell across his face then and, confused, Ron weakly open his eyes, wondering what it was. Breaking in from a nearby window, curtained high with gold-colored drapes, he realized it was sunlight.

For a moment it barely registered to Ron, but a moment later he bolted upright, knowing darn good and well that there was no way he could've slept all the way through the next morning. But as his bright blue eyes fell upon the room around him, he realized with a panic-stricken pang to his stomach that he wasn't in the sixth-year's dormitory at all. As a matter of fact, he didn't even think he was still in Hogwarts.

Where Ron was, in fact, was a grand-looking old bedroom, the years showing in the design but more than making up for it with the shiny and beautiful walnut furnishings, and the rich scarlet-colored carpet and bed-hangings. An antique-looking desk sat across the room, with a wide and handsome bookcase, crammed with books, resting some feet away. A tall mirror hung on the wall near the door, and books, quills, and parchment seemed to be scattered all over the place.

The calendar hanging over the desk read September, the same month it had been before Ron had awaken to this strange place, but the year definitely was not. Ron was surely dumbfounded by now. Where am I? He thought frantically, his hands scrambled for purchase, for the ends of the bedclothes, to pull them away. But as he did so, he caught glance of the nightstand beside him.

A photo sat there, captured in all its finery in its silvery frame, with some phrase in Latin carved around the edges. But the photo frame was not what awestruck Ron about the picture. The two people in it were surely two he had seen before, knew very well... Of course they were... because...

"That's - that's me!" The redhead exclaimed right out loud, snatching the photo from the table, to get a better look. And indeed it was Ron Weasley, but no way could it be the sixteen-year-old Ron Weasley that he was. The Ron in the picture looked much older, his once bright red hair now toned down to a more rustic, auburn color. He was more muscular and perhaps even a bit taller. And in the beautiful white satin dress robes, a veil of silky, silvery tulle flowing down her back and over her nutmeg curls, could only be...

"Hermione!"

Suddenly a voice rang out, sounding somewhat faraway but audible nonetheless. "Ron? Are you awake?"

Ron quickly tossed the bedspread off of himself, and looked down to notice he was wearing pajamas. Another confusion that crossed his mind, but none that was more perplexing than that voice... that voice that had called to him...

She burst into the room at that moment, stepping into the bedroom, her eyes falling upon Ron. They seemed to sparkle at him, with an emotion that Ron knew he had seen before, in some form...

As he stared at her, Ron realized that she, in some small ways, had changed. She too looked older, a little taller but not by very much. Her bushy brown hair, still the same as ever, was pulled back into a loose ponytail, though a few stray strands wisped across her forehead. She had rolled back the sleeves of her emerald green robes, where he could see that her exposed forearms looked slightly tanned, but her hands, before he noticed anything else about them, Ron did see - as it caught the sunlight and held it for a moment - the circle of gold that entwined her left ring finger...

"It's about time you got up and out of bed!" She teased him, balancing her book on one hand. "Even if it is your holiday, no more sleeping until noon, Ronald Weasley!"

Still very confused about where he was - when he was - Ron arched an eyebrow at her. "What do you mean, it's noon?"

Hermione turned around for a moment, setting her book down on the desk, and then back to looking at him. "Okay, so it's only twenty minutes past eleven. But nevertheless! It's a beautiful Sunday morning, and too good to waste staying in bed!"

Wearily Ron pushed the rest of the bedclothes aside and stood up. Immediately he felt strange, like he was in someone else's body. But then as he looked down at himself, he remembered the photograph on the nightstand. Somehow Hermione and I are ten years older... But she doesn't even seem phased by it...

The end of the last thought died somewhere in his head as Hermione moved closer towards Ron and gave him a warm, sweet kiss, wrapping her arms tightly around him.

Ron nearly jumped out of his skin when he felt Hermione's lips touch his, but slowly, as the kiss deepened and lasted longer, the terror drifted away. Carefully he slipped his arms around Hermione, kissing her back before he could even realize what he was doing.

But as abruptly as it had started, Hermione broke the kiss, beaming at him. "Lovely good morning, hmm?"

He grinned, though he wasn't entirely sure why. "I've... I've been wanting to do that for years..." He murmured before he could stop himself.

Hermione gave him a peculiar look. "Oh, and what have you been doing for the last four years, then? Do you have a secret twin I don't know about, coming in here and kissing your wife good morning instead?"

Now it was Ron's turn to be confused. "What?"

"Okay, okay!" She replied, holding up her hands. "Bad joke, I know. I guess I'll just never be as witty as you." She laughed.

He sort of just smiled at her remark, not quite sure how to reply. Ron could still feel that Hermione's arms were wrapped around him; there wasn't much he could say if he wanted to.

She was giving him a perplexed look. "What? No tactful comeback? No witty retort?" She inquired. "Is something wrong with you this morning, Ronald?"

"Yeah, actually there is!" He suddenly exclaimed, pulling away from her as he felt the confusion and anxiety seep back into him. "I - I don't know what's... I can't understand... Why are you... Why am I..."

Hermione reached forward and grabbed onto Ron's shoulders with both of her hands. "Love, you're scaring me. Please, tell me what's wrong!"

Ron sighed deeply. He didn't know what else to do. Slightly nodding his head, his decision made, Ron locked eyes with her, and opened his mouth to tell her -

Ding, dong!

"Oh, oh dear!" Hermione exclaimed, shooting a quick glance over her shoulder. "That's the doorbell, Harry's here." She looked back at Ron. "I invited him for brunch this morning, is that all right?"

At those words, a relieved smile found its way onto Ron's face. Harry! I can talk to Harry! Surely he'll be able to help me! He'll know what's going on! Out loud, he said, "Sure, why wouldn't it be?"

Hermione smiled sheepishly. "Don't know, just thought I'd ask... I know you said you wanted us to be alone for your holiday..." Her voice drifted off as she turned back round, to pick her book up off the desk. "I've got to get the muffins out of the oven, do you think you can let Harry in?"

"Um, yeah, sure..." Ron's said lightly, turning and looking around for the closet, for some clothes. But before he could take a step towards it, he felt a warm hand rest on his shoulder.

Slowly he turned around to see Hermione standing behind him, her deep brown eyes full of concern. "Ron... you're - you're really all right, aren't you?"

Subconsciously, Ron reached up and touched the hand on his shoulder, wrapping his fingers around Hermione's hand. A moment later, he noticed his hand was holding hers, but he wasn't entirely sure why he had done it. Sure, he had always wanted to, but it was strange to not even think about it. "I... I'll be okay," he said quietly, hoping to reassure her. "It must've been just a strange dream I had, or something."

The worried look on Hermione's face remained creased there for a moment longer, but then, inexplicably, it fell away and she smiled. "Well, if you're sure..." She gave Ron's hand a squeeze. "I'm going back down to the kitchen to get things ready."

"All right," Ron replied, not knowing what else to say. But as Hermione slipped out of the bedroom and out of sight, he called back to her. "Hermione!"

Quickly, she reappeared in the doorway. "Yes?"

"I... I think I was wrong," he told her, sort of smiling. "It wasn't fluxweed at all."

---

To Be Continued...