"Ron?" Harry spoke tentatively to the darkness. "Did you… before all that happened, I mean… you ever… thought about the future… how you'd ask Hermione out, or…"
Hermione's head snapped up in confusion at her semi-brother's request – and she was met by a beautiful, giddy light that engulfed the darkness, seemingly eager to comply to Harry's request; and she closed her eyes to better feel this warmth that she pretended for a second were Ron's arms around her.
When she opened her eyes, Hermione wasn't sure whether to cry, to laugh, or both at once.
The Great Hall's walls were covered by a magical frost that glittered softly, mimicking the stars on the enchanted ceiling. Long garlands of ivy were suspended to the walls, with the occasional puff of mistletoe acting as baubles. The floor itself was a shiny, silver mirror of enchanted ice. The entire atmosphere pretty much screamed "winter wonderland".
It was the night of the Yule Ball. Of course, of course it would be.
"Where is Ron?" Hermione pondered out loud, eyes sweeping past a crowd.
At her side, Harry snorted; she turned to him.
"It's just that Ron asked the same thing about you back then," he said fondly.
Hermione's mouth twitched into a smile before she went back to tracking Ron inside this different, and probably better Yule Ball.
She too, had imagined what could have been had she not accepted Viktor's invitation. Truth be told, it had been one of the most flattering things to have happened to her at the time. She'd heard about every possible compliment about her cleverness and maturity, but never had she been considered pretty enough to be taken to a ball. By an international star, no less! No way she would have passed on the opportunity.
And, well, she supposed the actual Yule Ball had been pretty successful, all in all; she might not have danced with Ron but she had showed everyone in the room that she could be beautiful if she wanted to, and gotten her first kiss. And she had gotten a reaction from Ron, though she hadn't been able to tell if it was just his overprotective brother nature or if he had really been jealous of Viktor.
But now, Hermione knew. Now, she wouldn't wait around. As soon as they woke Ron from his coma, even if they had to drag him kicking and screaming back to reality, she would not waste her time anymore. She'd have no more regrets about missed opportunities because she would seize any opportunity to hug Ron and kiss him - unless they were in class of course. She needn't a Yule Ball invitation anymore to tell her that Ron fancied her: she had seen the real deal for herself.
Harry's voice called her back to the present .
"Hermione! Hermione, I think I found… well, you."
The bushy-haired witch immediately followed Harry's gesture and…
And…
It was everything she'd ever dreamed of, but it was… strange.
Her counterpart looked absurdly beautiful for a start, but maybe she'll get used to the fact that it's how Ron imagines her. The problem is that she's dancing with someone who isn't Ron.
But everything tells her it's supposed to be Ron.
His hair is a muted shade of auburn, so far from the proud ginger flame that makes him so noticeable. He is oddly pale, and it takes her a moment to realize he's missing his freckles. His long, thin nose is shorter, his ears are smaller, and it somehow makes him look so… different.
He's not better-looking, nor is he ugly, he isn't, no, he's just… different.
Different, as in… not Ron.
There's just something missing from him, and it's not his freckles or long nose or firey hair, he's missing… something, she wouldn't know how to name it...
As her weirdly attractive counterpart and the Ron-who-isn't-Ron stop waltzing for a second, the Ron-who-isn't-Ron brings her counterpart's hand up to his lips and kisses it.
Hermione was greatly tempted to gush, but she was too busy mourning the loss of Ron's beloved freckles that make him look so childlike and innocent. Why did he think erasing his freckles would be a good idea? They're adorable, give his face such character, and make him so interesting to look at. They make him look like the night sky, if the sky was white and if stars were orange. Or at least, they made him look like the night sky before he decided to re-imagine himself as this freckle-less boy.
She was gaining momentum and would have begun lecturing Ron's mind on how freckles were a perfectly lovely genetic trait and that she very much approved of them, but this was the moment the different version of Ron kissed her - the Hermione he was dancing with - on the lips.
Hermione could do little but let out a squeal of delight at this.
Besides her, Harry snorted.
"Convinced?" he smirked. The gall of him!
She was going to answer but the world began to shift and wobble around them again, swallowing the kissing silhouettes in a myriad of colors to throw them into a different time, a different place that the two mind-dwellers didn't recognize.
It looked like it was in Hogwarts, at least, because they could still see the distinctive shape of the castle's windows, but the stone floor had turned into a plush red carpet, while an excessively extravagant chandelier hung from the ceiling. There was a massive Christmas tree plowing under the weight of several tacky ornaments and unremarkable crowds sitting on huge sofas all over the room.
Hermione was desperately trying to identify Ron among the sea of blurred nobodies - it was as if Ron couldn't have been bothered to populate his daydream with actual faces, the lazy bum - when Harry came to her rescue with his piercing Seeker eyes.
"Over here", he called to her, and Hermione managed to squeeze through the anonymous people to finally see actually familiar faces…
Or as familiar as they could be, anyway: there was the strangely beautiful version of her, in the red dress she's worn for Slughorn's Christmas party… she couldn't help the twinge of glee in her heart as she recalled feeling eyes on her as she'd left the common room on McLaggen's arm: Ron had been watching her!
Then there was the short-nosed, freckle-free, auburn-haired Ron, standing tall and his chest puffed out as he held the other Hermione's hand in his own. He bent forward to whisper something in her ear; she swatted him on the arm with an outraged look, but laughed nonetheless. Not-Ron straightened up, looking awfully proud of himself.
And that's our relationship in a nutshell, Hermione thought ruefully, fighting back a smile of her own.
"Miss Granger! How kind of you to join us."
Professor Slughorn's booming voice created some sort of shift in the world: the faceless crowd parted in two distinct lines, almost standing at attention, as the rotund Professor made his way to the couple of familiar strangers.
"Very nice," Slughorn muttered as he shook Hermione's counterpart's hand, an odd smile on his face. Then he turned to Ron and his demeanour changed completely, a sneer that would be more at home on Malfoy's face overtaking his features. "And you are… Rolph Weatherby, is it?"
Harry audibly groaned. Hermione grimaced. Even her Ron-imagined counterpart winced.
Not-Ron, however, didn't react. His ears didn't turn red with suppressed anger either. Instead, he gave a strange, cocky smirk. "Ronald Weasley," he corrected, then added "and you are?"
Harry snorted and Hermione winced; soon though, they both started as the other Hermione gave a great laugh, followed by some of the faceless people in the crowd. Not-Ron's smirk only grew wider.
Slughorn's face went cherry red and he squinted up at Not-Ron, before turning back to the other Hermione. "Miss Granger, perhaps you would like me to introduce you to a more suitable partner? I recall seeing Mister Potter around you, surely he would be better than Mister Weatherby here?" He flashed Not-Ron a look of utter malice.
Hermione stood bewildered. This wasn't like Professor Slughorn at all! Even Harry seemed disturbed.
Dream-Hermione, however, looked torn. "Professor, Ron is my friend…"
"Of course, Miss Granger" Slughorn said with an unpleasant smile, "it is in your nature to care for those that are… lacking. But that doesn't mean you should shackle yourself to such riffraff on a daily basis!"
Harry clenched his fist as he watched Dream-Hermione squirm, knowing there wasn't much he could do but wait for Ron's mind to finish. He was surprised, however, to see the real Hermione storm over to Slughorn.
"How dare you - you foul, greedy, horrible little man - calling Ron riffraff when he's done more for the wizarding world than you ever have! If you're so keen on the people who work at the Ministry, maybe you'd be interested to know that Ron went to the Department of Mysteries all to help Harry? He even got scars to prove it!"
She took a pause to catch her breath, seemed to realize something, and shook her head.
"And you know what? Even if he hadn't done this - should I need a reason to "shackle myself" to him? What does it matter that he's not rich, or into politics, or into reading? I am free to choose who I want! I don't need a reason to love him - aside from the fact that he's Ron, and it's more than enough! And you!"
Hermione turned to her counterpart, eyes flashing like lightning.
"How can you just stand there like an idiot? Get angry! Get mad! Don't let him say those things about Ron! How can you be so… passive?"
Harry was quite impressed by Hermione's vehemence. However, at some point in her tirade, Slughorn and Ron had started to talk, and now he had difficulty making out what they were saying through her yelling. Ron's mind probably didn't come with a replay button, so he decided to interrupt Hermione's tirade by gently shaking her shoulder. She threw him the most offended look ever.
"They can't hear you," he reminded her.
That wiped the anger off her face and replaced it with embarrassment.
"And what sort of talent could you possibly have, boy?" Slughorn's voice boomed, the disdain in it palpable.
"If you have any idea what a chessboard is, I could show you," Not-Ron replied. He didn't sound angry in the least; bored, maybe. Harry frowned.
"Chess? Please! Chess is for people of culture, for people of class! I've been Grandmaster of Hogwarts twice in my time, did you know that, boy?"
That… probably wasn't true. But this was Ron's mind, after all.
"I beat McGonagall with a handicap when I was eleven," Not-Ron said, something like arrogance in his voice. "Try me."
Slughorn went red-faced again. In a swish of his wand, he made two chairs and a chessboard appear. "You will lose, and once you do, you are forbidden from seeing Miss Granger ever again!"
Dream-Hermione gasped, as did the faceless crowd that was now moving to gather around the chessboard, but the real Hermione rolled her eyes. Harry had to admit that this last line had kind of ruined his immersion: nobody in Hogwarts, in the world even, could enforce such a threat.
Ron smiled cockily and sat down, before winking at Dream-Hermione. She blushed and looked down at her hands, while the actual Hermione looked like she'd bitten into a lemon.
Harry wasn't knowledgeable about chess enough to understand exactly what followed, but he delighted in the comical looks of fury, horror, and despair that crossed Slughorn's face as the game progressed. Even Hermione seemed amused, though she was also oddly… restrained. Contained. As if she didn't want to express joy at Ron's success.
Harry would never understand her.
Eventually, Ron declared checkmate, a very self-satisfied smirk on his face, as Slughorn scanned the board with desperate eyes.
The portly Professor didn't remain desperate for long, though, because he quickly adopted a snivelly, hopeful tone that would have made even Peter Pettigrew recoil in disgust.
"Well, well, that's… perhaps I misjudged you, my boy!" he announced while cheers and whispers exploded around the room.
"P'rhaps," Ron drawled, popping the 'p's.
"Would you care to join our little gathering? Maybe play another match or two?" Now it was just becoming pathetic, Harry thought.
"Oh sure, why not," Ron said, the very picture of nonchalance. The crowd gasped; Slughorn's eyes lit up. "On one condition."
Harry had glimpsed enough movies on the telly to tell that this was the part where dramatic music swelled up in the distance.
"What's my name again?"
Ron's challenge was met with billowing silence. Dream-Hermione was visibly holding her breath. Hermione averted her gaze, a small grimace on her face.
Harry couldn't say he wasn't enjoying it. Sometimes it felt like Slughorn's forgetfulness of Ron's name was deliberate - especially now, six months into the school term, Harry had never socialized with his schoolmates much but he still knew their names if only because of the roll call - but Harry knew it was probably cynicism on his part. It just felt mean for Slughorn to constantly butcher Ron's name when Ron wanted his name to mean something other than being "another Weasley".
After what felt like eons, Dream-Slughorn, with a look of intense concentration on his face that made him look like a constipated walrus, proposed an answer.
"... Romuald?"
Gasps from the crowd. Why was there even a crowd?
Dream-Hermione looked scandalized.
Dream-Ron merely smirked.
"Wrong answer."
And woah. Harry was not prepared for the burning feeling that suddenly permeated the whole dreamspace.
At the bottom of his heart - he knew his heart had to end somewhere, but it felt like he could pinpoint the exact location just by focusing on the angry feeling - there was something like… a burn, a scab, like those that cling on a past bruise even though the skin beneath is all new and ready to go; it was a dull, soft throb, not all that painful, but not pleasant either.
It was angry. It was stinging. And Harry could feel, underneath the thin veil of satisfaction Ron got from that daydream, there was something enormous lurking beneath that one tiny scab deep in his heart. Something huge, something bitter, something… something dark.
Harry wanted to scratch at the scab, rid his heart of it once and for all, but as soon as it had come, it was gone. Now there was the familiar territory of his own heart, raging against and drowning in apathy, and Ron's secrets had left along with the choking feelings of his dream.
Dream-Ron took Dream-Hermione's hand in his, and bowed his head towards the door. She gave him a nod and an odd smile, a bit like pride and encouragement all in one, and walked right beside him as the crowd parted in front of them, hushed whispers following in their wake.
"Wait!" Slughorn cried out. "Just what is your name?"
Harry almost groaned out loud. Mate, I know this is your mind and all, but calm down with the clichés.
Predictably, Dream-Ron stopped and tilted his head back, smirk widening a bit.
"Ron. Ron Weasley."
And he walked out to thunderous applause with Dream-Hermione right on his heels, a fuming Dream-Slughorn tugging at his mustache and cursing himself along with his whole family tree, like a foiled cartoon villain..
Harry had to admit, though, comical exaggerations and overt antagonism aside, that the Dream-Slughorn Ron had portrayed was surprisingly true to the actual Horace Slughorn. Harry could picture his Potions professor bowing till his nose touched the ground, presenting platitudes after platitudes in an attempt to get back into a scorned pupil's good graces.
"I can't believe Ron thinks so low of Professor Slughorn," Hermione hissed as the scenery all around them blurred into colors and nondescript shapes.
Harry had to bite back a sigh. "Hermione, you see how Slughorn treats him, right?"
"I know, I know, but -"
"And weren't you the one who called him a greedy, horrible little maggot that had no idea what Ron had been through?" he couldn't help but add, grinning.
"It was different!" she fumbled. "And I did not call him a maggot!"
"Are you really angry at Ron for thinking so low of Slughorn or is it your other self's reaction that you don't like?"
"You saw it, didn't you? She just stood there!"
"You're really going to tell me that had this been real, you'd have told off Slughorn? A teacher?"
Her eyes narrowed, but she bit her lip and averted her gaze.
Ha. Now she'd know how it feels to have someone be annoyingly logical and nitpicky with your emotions.
Harry wasn't bitter at all.
"Let's just leave," she said, her tone a bit snappish.
She shouldn't have bothered. The world around them was a blur of visuals blending together. Cloth, dirt, water, spring grass, autumn leaves, stone, bricks, bleeding into each other and fusing seamlessly. Parchment, straw, the steel hood of a Ford Anglia, snow, ink, the desert sand… skin… skin unlike his own, dotted with little moles here and there, a flash of her bushy brown hair as her lips parted in a gasp of pleasure -
Harry was already turning away but the images were snatched from him so vigorously he almost got whiplash.
All around them was nothing but black now, and it probably would stay this way until Ron's mind found something a little less… intimate to broadcast.
"Was that really what I think it was?" Hermione whispered.
Harry was not answering this question. Hermione could figure it out by herself.
She started to make sounds a little bit like hiccups.
… she couldn't be crying. Right? Why would she be crying?
He chanced a glance. Coincidence or dumb luck, she was looking right back. With the most impossibly stupid, gormless, ridiculously happy smile he'd ever seen Hermione make.
"Ron has -"
"NOPE, NO WAY, NOT LISTENING," Harry yelled as he walked into the darkness of Ron's mind with great hopes that it would swallow him whole and never let him out again.
"Harry, don't be a child!" Hermione chastised as she ran up to him. She sounded annoyed but her starry-eyed expression was still plastered on her face. "It's perfectly natural for hormonal teenagers to -"
"I've heard this once from Aunt Petunia, I am NOT going through this again," Harry said firmly.
The information was enough to douse Hermione's enthusiasm, at least temporarily. "Your aunt gave you the Talk?" She sounded both appalled and surprised.
"Can't let me go around bringing home support babies that they'd have to pay for, can I?"
Before Hermione could find words to express how much she despised Harry's relatives, the world around them lit up. They found themselves standing in 4, Privet Drive's living room, chunks of an electric chimney scattered all over the place.
Fourth year, Quidditch World Cup, Harry's own mind helpfully provided, and he stifled a grin. Seeing the Weasleys burst into the Dursleys' living room was still one of his most precious and treasured memories.
But this time something was different. There was nine redheads in Privet Drive's living room, for one.
For two, Ron wasn't here, but Dream-Ron, with his muted auburn hair and freckle-less skin, was surveying the ravaged house with a smile that oozed satisfaction.
Mrs Weasley was brandishing a spatula at Aunt Petunia, screaming something about proper meals and cupboards under the stairs.
Uncle Vernon was trapped between Percy, who was brandishing an official-looking form with a serious frown on his face; Charlie, who was not-so-subtly flexing his impressive scarred muscles; and Mr Weasley, who was speaking of signing papers and investigations.
Dudley, naturally, was cowering behind Bill Weasley's tall frame as he eyed the twins and Ginny, who seemed quite entertained by his reaction to their performance of basic Transfigurations and Charms on the bits and pieces of the chimney.
And Harry, Dream-Harry, was standing right next to Dream-Ron, an expression of wonder and amazement on his face, like a little kid meeting a giant that told him he was a wizard…
Dream-Ron smiled to his protégé before taking a deep breath. "OI!"
Instantly, the chaotic yelling around the room ceased.
Yep, definitely daydreaming, Harry thought in amusement. He had to focus the details, because his heart was hurting in a weirdly good way and his eyes were stinging a little. He had to keep himself distracted from the wealth of feelings that were swirling up in him.
With his family under control, Dream-Ron's smile widened. "Shouldn't we get Harry home? I figure he's feeling a bit peckish after all this excitement."
Mrs Weasley, true to form, was already bouncing towards the ruined chimney. "Well why didn't you say anything earlier, Harry dear," she fussed, her wand already out and making his luggage float into green flames. "There's no shame in being hungry. And there's absolutely no shame in being hungry when you have people like this -" a venomous glare to Aunt Petunia, who flinched, "- caring for you." She said "caring" like it was a swear word. Then she disappeared in the chimney.
Charlie clapped a hand on Uncle Vernon's shoulder. "Well it was nice meeting you. I certainly see where Harry doesn't get his temper from." He grinned. "You know, someday I'll take him to visit the Dragon Preserve in Romania. If you're real nice to him, maybe you could persuade me to make it a family thing. I know kids love dragons." His eyes briefly set on Dudley.
"Dragons?" Uncle Vernon stammered.
"Big, scaly, fire-breathing, ferocious flying dragons, yep. Real beauties. And they don't just breathe fire, you've got some with acid spit, or the ones with poisonous horns… Amazing, they are. Hope I get to show you someday!" Charlie finished as he disappeared into the chimney, voice warm and friendly, but his eyes like tempered steel.
Percy coughed and thrust his official-looking form into Vernon's hands. "I wouldn't want to impose but these adoption papers are not going to sign themselves. I thought you would have signed them five times over by now."
Uncle Vernon babbled something as he stared at the form. Mr Weasley kindly lent him a quill, which provoked yet more confused babbling. Eventually the Dursley patriarch handed the forms back and Percy nodded with a smile that was as friendly as a paper cut.
Fred and George couldn't help but dash after their uptight brother, chattering excitedly about what this meant for Harry and the family. Just before they disappeared in the green flames, Fred gave one last cheery "Bye, Duddikins!" that sent Petunia into a coughing fit. Ginny followed them, winking to Harry as she passed, her father on her heels.
Dream-Ron and Dream-Harry took in the Privet Drive scenery, one last time.
"Welp," Dream-Ron said, "it was not nice knowing you."
"Goodbye," Dream-Harry said, a savage grin on his face. Then he whirled around and into the remnants of the chimney.
Dream-Ron followed closely, tossing the Dursleys a rude hand gesture as the two of them disappeared, taking the entire scenery with them.
Inky blackness returned, and Harry's heart was pounding so hard it hurt.
Ron had dreamed this. Ron had wanted this. Ron was…
Harry had to wipe at his eyes.
It was probably corny to say it, but he really fucking loved Ron. (Adding swear words made everything sound manlier.)
Harry made sure that his face was extra-dry before turning to face Hermione. She was beaming, her eyes shining, and thankfully, she seemed to understand that this moment was not to be spoiled by words.
She did open her arms for a hug, though.
Harry rolled his eyes and complied.
And he knew that the warmth around his shoulders wasn't just due to Hermione's arms. He may not be present, but he was there. Hell, they were practically surrounded by his memories, his feelings, his whole being.
This was Ron… and they were going to get him back.
