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A Draught In Time:
Chapter 3
-dutchtulips-
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When Ron opened the front door, in response to the ringing doorbell, it almost shocked him to see his best friend standing there. Everything was happening so fast, and it was all so unearthly strange. For several moments, Ron didn't speak; he didn't even say hello when he opened the door for his friend. All he could do was stand and stare, not knowing what, exactly, to do.
Harry Potter cocked an eyebrow at his best friend, half in amusement, half in confusion. "Erm, mate? You going to let me in, or are you going to just stand there like a zombie?"
Ron blinked. "Uh, let you in, I guess." The redhead stepped aside slowly, and Harry walked in.
As the young man shrugged off his cloak, Ron looked him, realizing that he really hadn't changed much, either. He still looked the same, except he was taller and skinnier, if that were possible. But Harry looked more lean than gangly, more slender. And his black hair was still as messy as ever. But even in Ron's current state, and despite the age difference, Ron had the distinct feeling that something was different about his best friend.
Harry hung his cloak on the coat stand next to the door, turned back around, and gave Ron a smile. "So, what're we having for brunch?"
"Erm... whatever Hermione... made... I suppose," Ron stammered. And then suddenly, without warning, the redhead snatched Harry's arm, placing a viselike grip upon his elbow. "Listen, I really need to talk to you! Something crazy has happened. You're the only person who might believe me."
Harry's smile faded, and a look of worry creased his face. "What? What's the matter?"
"Come with me," Ron replied, and dragged him out of the front room, towards the direction of the hall. "Is there a back room somewhere?"
"You mean the den?" Harry was confused.
"Yeah, I guess so. Where is it?"
"Okay..." Harry said, planting his feet, and stopping himself and Ron, in the middle of the front room. "What's the joke? You're acting very weird, Ron."
"There is no joke!" He exclaimed back. "Just tell me where the den is! I'll explain everything if we can just find a quiet room in this palace."
Harry raised his eyebrows again, but decided to comply. "Go straight ahead, to the hall. It's at the end of corridor."
Without a reply, Ron started walking again, pulling Harry alongside, until they reached the end of the hall. He opened the shiny chestnut door and stepped inside the room. Harry followed, and once he was inside, Ron closed it. Finding the closest place to sit - an overstuffed, beige armchair - the redhead dropped hastily down into it.
Harry, however, didn't sit. He stood in front of his friend, and remained quiet for several moments as Ron composed himself. Finally, after his best friend looked up, he decided to speak.
"Tell me what's wrong, mate."
Ron sighed, at long last, and replied. "You'd better sit down, too. It's a bit of a story."
The jet-haired man looked behind him, and then grabbed the wooden desk chair. Pulling it near the armchair, he sat down, backwards in the chair, and looked expectantly at Ron.
"I don't belong here," the redhead uttered, returning Harry's stare. "Something's gone horribly wrong."
Harry's bright green eyes widened. "What in the name of Merlin are you talking about?" Pause. "Have you and Hermione had a fight?"
"No!" Ron vehemently replied. "Listen. How old am I?"
More puzzled eyes. "Uhm, last I looked, you were twenty-six."
"So, it was ten years, just like I thought," the redhead murmured. And then, to Harry, "No, mate. No, I'm not. I'm only sixteen. I was sixteen when I fell asleep. Then when I woke up, I was here, and twenty-six, and... married... to Hermione..."
"You're not making any sense."
Ron sighed, gathering his forehead in his hand. "No, I guess you probably don't think so. But it's true." He looked back up at Harry. "Give me veritaserum if you don't believe me. I promise I'm telling the truth."
Silence. Harry remained sitting in the desk chair, his arms crossed, but he was chewing his lip, thinking. "If you're this serious..." He finally said at last, his voice trailing off.
"Oh, I am."
"Well, then, tell me how it happened, and then maybe you can convince me."
Ron sighed. He ran a quick hand through his hair, in thought. "Well... I'm not sure where to start."
"You said you were sixteen when you last went to sleep," Harry replied. "That sounds like as good a place as any."
The redhead nodded in agreement, and at long last, he leaned back in the armchair, feeling himself relax slightly. "Well... we're in sixth year at Hogwarts, or... were, I guess. We have a potion due - the antidote for belladonna - for Snape's class next Thursday..." Pause. "Hermione and I were working on it. But we were having this argument about what the key ingredient was. I said it was a cup of fluxweed roots, she said it was a cup of knotgrass stems. We just couldn't agree. So I took some of the potion and put fluxweed in it, and Hermione took some and put knotgrass in it. We were going to see which potion turned clear, so we'd know which one was right. Only..."
"Only what?" Harry pressed gently.
"Neville opened the door and knocked into me and I accidentally drank the potion with the fluxweed in it!" Ron exclaimed. "And then I woke up here! Don't you see?" When Harry didn't reply, Ron charged on. "I remember Hermione had told me that fluxweed alters things in the physical world, like time. That must've been how I got here. The fluxweed combined with the other ingredients must have been enough to slingshot me ahead in time." He started to put his head in his hands again, but Harry suddenly reached over, grabbing his wrist and stopping him. Ron looked up at him, a mixture of curiosity and despair on his face.
"Do you love Hermione?"
The redhead blinked. "What?"
"Do you love Hermione?" Harry repeated quietly. "I mean... did you, then? Before you woke up and found yourself... here?"
Redness jumped into his cheeks. "I really don't see what this has to do with anything, mate..."
"Tell me."
Ron let out a long breath, suddenly feeling his heart beating a bit faster upon hearing Harry's question. "I don't..." His voice drifted off. "I don't... remember a time when I didn't, anymore."
A smile spread across Harry's face. "Then I believe you."
Ron almost wanted to laugh. "Thank goodness, I was scared to death nobody would..." But then a realization snapped him alert, and his ears turned slightly pink. "Wh-why would that make you believe me? Even then, you knew I did."
Harry chuckled softly. "Well, look at what you're doing now. Back in school, before you and Hermione started dating, whenever how you felt about her came up in a conversation, you would turn red and start stammering, much like you did when I asked you now." Pause. "You see, twenty-six year-old Ron doesn't do that anymore."
"I don't?" The redhead grinned. "What do I do?"
But before Harry could reply, the brass knob in the chestnut door turned and a figure materialized, standing at the threshold. She looked slightly confused, but there was a smile on her face.
"Harry!" Hermione exclaimed, stepping into the room and giving him a friendly embrace. "How're you doing? It's so good to see you, it's been awhile, y'know."
"Yeah, yeah," Harry replied quickly, turning his attention to her. "Sorry 'bout that. But surely Ron's told you how busy Auror life has been these days, being reassigned ambassadors by the Ministry and all. I envy him for being lucky enough to get a holiday."
"Lucky to stay home instead of out seeing the world?" Hermione laughed good-naturedly, and then looked at Ron. "What were you two doing in here?"
"Oh, uh..." The redhead stammered. "Just, er, talking and stuff..."
Harry picked it up for him. "I... I haven't written Ron in several days, so we were just having a visit." Quickly he changed the subject. "Something smells good, what're you making?"
Hermione smiled. "Banana nut muffins, of course. In honor of Ron's first day of his vacation, his favorite!" She stepped over to him and looped her arm in his. "Everything's ready, why don't we go to the breakfast nook and tuck in?"
"Sounds good to me," Harry replied, leading the way out the den. Ron and Hermione followed, her arm still entwined with his. As they left the room together, crossing the hallway to the dining room, Ron couldn't help but look down at Hermione and smile. She beamed back and slipped her hand down lower, wrapping her hand around his. Without even thinking about it, Ron automatically gave her hand an affectionate squeeze back.
As the three of them walked into the dining room, the table spread with a modest array of muffins, sausage, French toast, and fruit, Hermione started up a new bit of conversation, a warm glint filling her eyes. "Ginny's sure been at home bored to death without you. She asks me to Floo over just about everyday."
"Ginny?" Ron suddenly blurted, sitting down at the table. "What are you -"
But when Harry shot him a quick, poignant glance, Ron cut himself off.
"Oh, she probably has been, since she hasn't been working as much," Harry said to Hermione, pouring himself a cup of tea. "Sorry she couldn't come today, but she hasn't visited her mum in awhile and Molly wanted to take her out shopping."
"For the baby?" Hermione grinned.
Ron's eyes glanced up from his plate, staring at Harry. They were as wide as saucers. Hermione didn't see the look, but of course, Harry couldn't miss it.
"Er."
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After Hermione had cleared the brunch dishes away from the table and carried them off to the kitchen, Ron practically shoved Harry out of the dining room door and into the adjoining drawing room. He quickly shut the door and turned to his best friend, a frenzied look in his eyes.
"You've got a thing with shutting us up in rooms today," Harry mused, noting the tightly closed door.
"Fell through time, remember?" Ron replied. "Besides, d'you think I want Hermione to know what's going on? I hardly know what's happened to me; I don't need everyone in the world to know about it." Pause. "Listen, you're really going to have to fill me in, here. I was sixteen yesterday. I don't know a single lick about my life at twenty-six. I can't walk around empty-headed like this."
Harry put his hands on his best friend's shoulders. "Calm down, Ron. It's going to be okay, I promise. Listen to me," he gently pushed Ron down into a chair, and then sat down himself, across from the redhead. "I'm going to go to the Apothecary in Diagon Alley as soon as I can. The Potions masters who work there know the ins and outs of every potion ingredient that's on the market. I could go to St. Mungo's and speak to the Healers, but you know how complicated that can get. Diagon Alley would be the better trip; the apothecaries won't ask hundreds of questions.
"But in the meantime, you're going to have to get along as best as you can with life as a twenty-six year-old."
Ron nodded silently, feeling his racing pulse slow a little bit. "Then fill me in, mate. What about me and Hermione?" He paused momentarily, not sure whether to feel amused or shocked, "And you and... Ginny."
Harry laughed. "Well, we're all married, of course. Four years ago, you and Hermione tied the knot, and Ginny and I did, too. The four of us were wed only three months apart."
Ron smirked then. "Must've been a crazy year for my mum, planning two weddings that were so close together."
"Well, you and I were so busy with our Auror studies that we really didn't have much of a choice. Three years of studying, then another year of training abroad. We'd be home maybe for a few days, but then off again," Harry explained.
The redhead blinked. "So, we made it, mate? We're Aurors?"
"Yep. Four years now." Harry paused, and a bemused expression crossed his face. "Stars, it's so odd hearing you speak like this. You don't have any recollection of our studies, our missions, or anything, do you?"
Ron shook his head disdainfully. "Nope. There's nothing to remember." He looked back up at Harry, and changed the subject. "Okay, so I'm an Auror. What does Hermione do?"
"She owns a bookstore, in Hogsmeade. She's had it ever since we graduated from Hogwarts. Actually, she and Ginny run it together. When Fred and George opened the second joke shop there, they helped her open her store, too, right across the street," Harry replied.
The redhead couldn't help but grin then. "Hermione running a bookstore... why am I not surprised?" He laughed. "What'd she name it?"
A warm, yet faraway, twinkle appeared in Harry's gaze. " 'The Gardenia.' " Pause. "You don't remember, do you?"
Ron looked thoughtful, as if trying to summon up some distant memory. "Well... gardenias are Hermione's favorite flowers, I know. The perfume I gave her for Christmas fifth year smelled like gardenias, that's why I got it for her." Pause. "Is that why she gave that name to her bookstore?"
"Well, sort of..." Harry answered. "But there's more. Could you still recall it? It did happen in sixth year," he said matter-of-factly.
Ron pursed lip in thought, and then shook his head. "Should I?"
Something changed in Harry's face; it suddenly filled with doubt. "Well, wait. I... don't know if I should tell you. If you know too much about the future, you might jinx time -"
"Mate, I'm not even supposed to be here now. Time's already been jinxed," Ron replied. He sighed inwardly at that moment, his words reminding him of the problem at hand.
The jet-haired young man, however, didn't notice. "Well..." He considered for a moment. "All right. I suppose it couldn't hurt." He contemplated for a minute, and then continued. "Surely you remember how you always teased Hermione about reading so much, being such a bookworm."
He nodded, as Harry went on.
"Well, I remember... it was coming up Valentine's Day, and I was pushing you to finally do something really nice for her, to finally let her know how you feel about her. So, in Hogsmeade, you bought her some Arithmancy book she'd been wanting for ages. And in it, you signed... how'd it go?... 'You're the only girl I know who'd rather have a book than candy on Valentine's Day, but I wouldn't have it any other way. Love, Ron.' And then you put a flower - a gardenia - inside with it." Harry grinned. "That swept her off her feet, that one."
Ron's face grew hot. "R-really?"
"Yep," he laughed. "Not exactly a Shakespearean sonnet, but Hermione knew what you were trying to say. And besides," Harry's smile turned jaunty, "you know Hermione and books go together like salt and pepper. If there were some book she wanted badly enough, she'd probably wade through a river of blast-ended skrewts just to have it -"
"Hey, what's the big idea! Leaving me to wash the dishes by myself while you two lay around in the drawing room?"
Startled by the new voice, Ron jerked to attention. His eyes found Hermione, standing yet again in the doorway and staring at them. Her sleeves were pushed up and her nutmeg curls were still tied into their ponytail. "What is it with you guys and your disappearing acts today?" She said, smiling. "You keeping a secret from me? My birthday's not coming up, is it?"
She came over to sit on the arm of Ron's chair, and as she did so, he instinctively reached up to wrap his arm around her waist. He hadn't even realized it until Hermione put her hand on his and intertwined their fingers.
Harry got to his feet then. "Well, I hate to shove off so soon, Herm, but I've got a few errands to take care of -" he cast a furtive look at Ron - "and by then, Ginny will be expecting me home, and she'll probably be tuckered out from her day with Molly. I hate being away from her for too long, while her time is so close."
"Of course not," she agreed, leaning forward to give Harry a quick hug goodbye. "Ask her if she'd like to meet for dinner later in the week, if she's feeling well. It's been ages since the four of us have gone out to sup together."
He grinned. "Oh, I'm sure she'd love to. I'll definitely mention it to her. I'll talk you to guys later on. Brunch was great today."
As he started for the door, Ron abruptly got to his feet. "Wait, Harry, I'll see you out."
They left the room together then, walking side-by-side, mostly in silence, until they reached the front door of the house. Ron placed his hand on the knob, but before he opened it, he turned back to his friend. "I'm still kind of... afraid, mate. I don't know how to act around her. What if I slip up?"
Harry sighed and smiled. "Trust me, Ron. You. Are. Going. To. Be. Fine. She's your best friend, your wife. You'll know how to act around her. Believe me." He paused, plucking his cloak off the coat stand, and then changed the subject, "I'm going to make that stop at the Apothecary as soon as I leave here. Then I'll get in touch with you tomorrow."
Finally Ron nodded. "All right. I'll talk to you then," he replied, and opened the door for his friend. As Harry stepped out and started down the front walk, he waved and winked reassuringly. The next moment, he had Disapparated.
"I sure hope you're right," the redhead murmured to himself, closing the front door.
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To Be Continued...
