1. Thanks a lot to reallybeth (formely known as romioneB) for helping beta this chapter. Also thanks to Ana-DaughterofHades who helped me years ago on the initial and considerably-different version of this.
2. Any error here is mine and not from my reviewer.
3. So I'm back at being slow. I am getting close though. This chap is something, be prepared. I think it gives last one a run for its money in terms of length and how packed it is. About other stories, Half-Blood Weasleys chap7 is with my beta for that one, should come at some point in the near future.
4. I have a twitter account (TimeTravelFFics), though I'm starting to wonder if Tumblr is better for this fanfiction thing, many people seem to have that one. You can find me at some discord servers and reddit as well.
5. Moxxy1, I hope this clears your doubts from last comment.
6. Enjoy
Large, fleeting clouds loomed in the distance as they all headed outside the next Friday, thankfully too far away in the horizon to bugger an otherwise beautiful day. Ron and his friends climbed down the slant grounds at the north end of the castle, glad to spot a shy column of smoke rising from Hagrid's Hut. Ron thought a cup of tea might be just the thing to take his mind off his worries, though — for the sake of his teeth — he hoped rock cakes weren't around.
"Ah, buck up those chins, yeh lot. Wha's wrong?" Hagrid asked after they took their seats at the luckily cake-deprived table. "Don' tell me Professor Snape's still givin' yeh a rough time?"
"He had us brew a Cure for Boils," Harry said flatly, making no effort to hide his irritation. "Halfway through I turned to ask Ron how he was crushing his snake fangs, it was only for a split second, but Snape wasn't having it. By the way he reacted, you'd think I'd poured my potion all over his face!"
"Not like boils could make it look any worse," Ron added, earning a smirk from Harry.
Snape had been crucial for the war, but he was such an insufferable git that Ron had no qualms bad-mouthing him. He would honestly dare anyone to spend even a few days as his student without madly hating his guts.
Notwithstanding, Hermione rolled her eyes at them.
"What?" Harry fussed. "You can't possibly defend him. You know what he's been up to."
Hagrid shifted uncomfortably on his feet. Even when they had already told him of their Flamel discovery and theories, the half-giant wasn't sold on Snape's guilt.
The accusation from Harry didn't sit well with Hermione. "I'm not defending him! Aside from whatever else he might be up to, his behaviour is certainly unbecoming," she admitted. "But that doesn't mean I support disrespecting a professor." The girl crossed her arms, pouting.
Harry huffed loudly, averting his gaze.
It went without saying that the young Hermione still needed to question a thing or two about her beliefs, and Ron wished Harry wouldn't take her disagreements so personally. Nevertheless, Ron couldn't complain too much, at least the three of them were together now.
They would get there. Eventually.
Hagrid knitted his eyebrows before rubbing his large beard. "Snape's a moody one alright, but I'll be a bowtruckle if he isn' gifted in this potion business," the half-giant pointed out. "Could it be tha' he misunderstood? An honest blunder or the sort?"
Snape wasn't the enemy, but Ron wasn't willing to brush over his faults either.
"No bloody way! He may be a Hogwarts teacher, but he's also a git," Ron grumbled, noticing Hermione's scandalised reaction. "Besides, he ignored Hermione the whole class. She's still recovering after what happened, and it's unfair Snape doesn't give a rat's arse if she has a question to ask."
Hermione granted him an uneasy smile. It had been a month since she'd been attacked and Ron still couldn't get over how close he'd come to losing her. He had a mad plan to prevent it from ever happening again, but he couldn't carry it out until Quirrell answered the blasted letter Ron had sent to him from the Hogsmeade Post Office.
Why's that bastard taking so long?
Hagrid gave Hermione a sympathetic smile. They'd known each other for such a short time, yet Hagrid had heard plenty about her before they'd finally been introduced.
"Really sorry about that Hermione. You're doing great catching up though, an' I'll wager anything on yeh bein' one o' the most talented firs' years I've ever seen," Hagrid told her as he stirred the pot he had on the fire. "Don' worry now. Professor Dumbledore will get ter the bottom o' it, yeh'll see."
The compliment brought a fleck of pink to Hermione's cheeks. "Thank you. But my marks aren't much better than Ron's, and quite frankly, I don't think I'm doing that well getting back on track," she confessed, disappointed. "So many missing months made it difficult to organise what I'd already learnt, and to make matters worse, the exams are just around the corner. In all fairness, we should've started prepping for them ages ago!" she exclaimed, giving Ron a reproachful look.
Ron had been determined to get her to relax. He had argued that she shouldn't overwork her mind after what happened, assuring her that she would be back to the top of the class in no time. Hermione had made an unusual effort to listen, but naturally she hadn't heeded to any of his words in the end, and carried a book with her even to their visits with Hagrid.
"It was Snape," Harry blurted out all of a sudden. "He poisoned Hermione and now he wants the Philosopher's Stone."
Before Hagrid had a chance to speak, Harry once more stormed him with every piece of incriminating evidence they had on Snape. Hermione wasn't as unmoving in her stance, but when required she backed Harry's claims without a hint of doubt.
Taking an uncommon interest in the drawn curtains, Ron stayed silent through most of the arguing. He knew bloody well that Snape didn't want the stone, but the farthest Harry and Hermione were from suspecting Quirrell, the better.
That two-faced prick should've answered by now…
Quirrell had undoubtedly read his letter, it was obvious by the way he now constantly looked over his shoulder. Still, Ron was getting impatient, and even afraid he'd made a mistake. He only wished Quirrell would take the bait soon, otherwise, Ron wasn't sure what his next step would be.
To be honest, planning had never been Ron's strong suit, but botching this one was not an option. There was too much at stake. Whatever was going to happen though, at least he had the small reassurance that Harry and Hermione wouldn't be near the bloody forest this time. Not without Norberta's shenanigans.
Ron instinctively touched his hand at the dragon's memory, noticing the closed curtains and Hagrid's pot for the second time. His eyes widened in panic.
Bollocks! If I was too late and Voldemort already gave Hagrid the egg, then all my plans might as well go to hell!
"Hagrid! What do you have there!?" he yelled.
The arguments about Snape stopped and everyone turned to Ron. Hagrid was momentarily bemused as he followed Ron's gaze to the fire, "Tha's, well… Potato soup o' course! Wan' some?"
Harry winced.
The soup was horrid. It was a mystery how, but Hagrid managed to leave the leek strangely undercooked while the potatoes were overboiled and watery. The flavours didn't quite blend, and Ron was all but certain that dirty old socks had been cooked to season the broth. However, and to his unusual good fortune, there were no dragon eggs in that pot.
"It's… well…" Hermione faltered, staring apprehensively at her bowl. She seeked the boys' help, though they in turn suddenly found the walls more interesting. "Delightful. It tastes very homey and… gingery?"
As Hagrid beamed proudly, Ron leaned into Hermione. "I knew I recognized the flavour of my red hair in all this," he whispered.
Hermione frowned at his lack of tact, warning him with a glare to keep his voice low. However, Ron saw the little jerk from her shoulders and the hint of a twist on her lips. He knew her gestures better than his own, and he'd be a bloody gnome dressed as Father Christmas if she hadn't been holding back a chuckle.
With a triumphant grin splattered across his face, Ron took another ghastly spoonful from his soup. "So, how are things going in the forest?"
Hagrid then went on a detailed explanation of his latest excursions into the forbidden forest. He didn't mention the beastly spiders he had for friends or anything particularly exciting, but reiterated that the forest was dangerous and no place for a curious student.
"It's not like we'd ever willingly stroll into it," Harry said.
Ron wished he could laugh at that. "Yeah, especially with what's happening to the unicorns."
"Wha' d'you mean? Wha's happened ter the unicorns?"
Well, crap.
"I… Ehm, well, weren't they missing? Might've heard something about it."
Hagrid looked concerned and promised to ask Professor Kettleburn about the unicorns. Ron just hoped he didn't end up being the boy who predicted the unicorns' attack before it happened. He didn't want Dumbledore suspecting him even more, or to be lauded by Trelawney as the second coming of whatever Divination nutter she admired.
At any rate, Ron left Hagrid's hut that day feeling somewhat relieved. He wasn't going to get his hand bitten by a poisonous dragon, and that was a small victory in itself. When one was short on help and a fight against Voldemort drew near, anything positive counted.
o0o0o
Four days later, Ron got the awaited answer in a concealed paper left for him inside an old hollow tree near the Shrieking Shack — the place he had specified in his letter to Quirrell.
As he had done every day since his time-breaking plan was put into motion, Ron had snuck out of the castle behind a Disillusionment Charm, careful to not be discovered. He took his trips to Hogsmeade only when he knew Quirrell was in class or otherwise occupied, and always watched the battered tree for a reasonable time before inspecting it up close.
Ron unfolded the short answer.
'Who are you?'
Scribbled in decisive strokes, the three words were all the response there was. Not like Ron needed a formal greeting, but it wasn't precisely the quick outcome he had hoped for. He had Voldemort's attention though.
He took out a quill.
'Do you want the fucking stone or not? I have intel on every trap the old man made, like the Devil's Snare that's waiting for you once you cross that cursed dog', he started. That was the best thing to offer, it was safe and would make Voldemort believe that he meant real business. 'Give me the blasted egg and I'll tell you about the rest'.
Satisfied with his words, Ron cast a spell to disguise his handwriting before leaving his letter inside the same hollow tree and making his way out of there.
The next letter came only a couple of days later, another short message demanding Ron to reveal his identity and sources of information. Ron wasn't about to yield to the dark wizard's requests, but he'd be lying if he said each new letter didn't send a chill down his spine.
I have seen your heart, and it is mine…
Writing those letters was harder than he had thought, especially since Ron knew Quirrell to be only a puppet and not the real person who he was writing to. He couldn't allow his plans to be derailed by the memories of darker times or long forgotten voices.
Ron sucked in a long breath, then wrote back, telling Voldemort that if he wanted answers, a meeting was the only way to get them.
Having run all the way back to the castle meant that Ron was gasping for air by the time he reached the Great Hall.
"Where were you?" Harry asked.
"Told to the loo," Ron reminded him, still panting. "I left my book for History of Magic back in the tower though. Had to go fetch it after."
"You've been forgetting a lot of stuff lately," the boy observed, his brow furrowed.
Ron shrugged a little too casually.
Hermione handed him the toast basket, begrudgingly so. "That's what breaks are for, Ron. You left in the middle a fascinating Transfiguration topic, not to mention that the other day you missed most of the lesson on puffapods!" she chastised, as if his life was now in peril because he had not heard about frigging puffapods.
Ron didn't see the direness in missing first year lessons, but he was bound to get caught one of these days if he continued to skive classes. Most of the professors had been focusing more on him since Hermione's attack — an attention he didn't want or deserve. Flitwick had made Charms especially awkward, praising Ron's feat with the Feather-Light Charm at every opportunity.
McGonagall had noticed his absences as well, and wouldn't hesitate in sending his pale and freckled arse all the way to the detention if she discovered he was sneaking into Hogsmeade.
Not long after Ron started eating, Quirrell arrived at the teacher's table. The man's fluttery behaviour appeared genuine now, probably having little to do with his stuttering act. It made Ron wonder if Voldemort was nervous as well.
"If it isn't our new ragged celebrity, the memoryless Weasley," Malfoy sneered then.
"Sod off, Malfoy!" Harry spat.
Ron snorted, though his gaze remained fixed on his plate.
For the last several weeks, Ron had avoided any thought of Malfoy. He hated what the little tosser had done with the Forgetfulness Potion, but he blamed his own distraction even more. Ron tried to ignore him, though — as was usually the case — Malfoy found the right words to set him off.
"They should've kept wandering the castle, don't you think?" Malfoy asked his cronies. "Whatever they were doing, it couldn't have been more useless than rescuing some girl who was stupid enough to poison herself."
Crabbe or Goyle hadn't yet moved when Ron jumped to his feet and thrust his wand under Malfoy's chin, the git's eyes bulging as he gasped in terror. Before Malfoy's bodyguards could react, Harry was up as well.
"Weasley! What's the meaning of this!?" McGonagall's voice thundered.
The old witch had appeared out of nowhere, ordering everyone to their seats. Not without first warning Ron that his performance would account for little if she found him taking part in senseless fighting.
Hermione made it obvious on their way to Binn's class that she didn't approve of them being so easily provoked. However, when the twins found out later that day, they grumbled that Malfoy could do with a good punch on his smuggish face.
"Don't worry Ronnie. Gits like those always get what they deserve, one way or the other," Fred had told him, suspiciously eyeing George.
Ron was still wondering what the two of them were up to, when on Sunday he found the letter he had been waiting for. A message from Quirrell setting a meeting for the next weekend.
Everything became more real in a second. Ron was going to blast the timeline away. For good. And his genius idea for that was to face the most evil fucker there ever was in a bloody duel.
I must be out of my fucking mind.
Ron had the element of surprise on his side, and fighting Quirrell — even with Voldemort firmly plastered to the back of his skull — wasn't the same as fighting Voldemort in the proper sense. That being said, Ron wasn't used to fighting with the shorter arms he had now, and who knew what nasty trick Quirrell could pull out from under his sleeve.
On top of that, he had to do it all by himself.
A fight against Voldemort sounded like the sort of event where you'd want Dumbledore by your side. However, Ron had long decided not to involve him until the timeline was so smashed to bits that the old wizard couldn't argue in favour of erasing his memories. Before facing Quirrell, Ron would leave a letter for Dumbledore in his trunk explaining everything, just in case the duel turned… awry. But he wasn't about to reach out to the man before the fight.
Unfortunately, Harry was out of the question as well.
Months ago, Ron had descended the Ministry's lifts towards what he believed to be his final mission as an Auror. A seemingly boring night that ended with a blasted atrium and a high-stakes battle through the Department of Mysteries. The help provided by Penelope Padgett had been invaluable, but in the midst of all that chaos, Ron was relieved that it had been Harry who stood by his side up until the end. Not only was the future version of his friend a skilled duelist, but he and Ron had also shared more adventures than he could count. Both good and bad, with the occasional bloody-fucking-bad thrown in for good measure.
The young Harry lacked most of that.
'And how will he get any experience if you don't let him?' countered a voice inside Ron.
Destiny was such a ruddy prick. It had its bleeding claws set firmly around Harry's shoulders, even if the boy didn't know it. Confronting Quirrell had been only the beginning, as the path to gather the strength required to defeat Voldemort was packed with basilisks, suffering, and loss. For all Ron knew, Harry skipping the Forbidden Forest rendezvous with Voldemort could have world-shattering consequences down the line; him not being prepared could turn out to be a bloody disaster in the end.
And still, Ron couldn't bring himself to do it. It was a fight against Voldemort for fuck's sake! Who said Harry would come out of it unscathed and with nothing but an enlightening experience?
He's just a boy, Ron thought to himself one afternoon as Harry went over a book.
Honestly, all of Harry's so-called preparations had been one stroke of mad luck after the other. They could have easily died a hundred times before the Battle of Hogwarts. How could Ron prepare Harry for something like that? He didn't have the skills to be entirely sure he'd bring the boy back safe and sound every ruddy time. Even if he had, Ron wasn't as cold as Dumbledore when deciding over someone else's life.
No. Ron couldn't willingly put Harry's life in danger just because an experience might help his friend level up. It might turn out for the worst at the end, but he simply didn't have the heart to go through with it. In the end, it was Harry's life that was on the line, and — just as Hermione was more important than the timeline — Harry was more important than preparing for all the bloody wars out there.
"Maybe you're wrong," Harry muttered suddenly.
"What?" asked Ron, befuddled.
"Snape might already know how to pass… Fluffy," Harry elaborated, checking to see that Terry Boot and his friends at a nearby table weren't listening.
Oh, that.
"Don' think so. We still have time," Ron assured him. "And, 'sides, Hermione's right. Quirrell doesn't look like he's caved to the pressure."
"I suppose so," Harry said, casting an unconvincing glance towards the distant shelves, where Hermione was skimming through the book spines.
Ron didn't miss that. "You still don't trust Hermione."
"It isn't like that. I mean, she's helpful and not as bad as I thought," he conceded. "But I think that if it came down to saving the stone or learning more about puffapods, she'd ditch us and let Snape get away with it."
"You're wrong. She'd never ditch us," Ron told Harry, his tone unwavering.
"How can you know?"
Because she wasn't the one who ditched you during the Horcrux Hunt.
"I just do, alright?" Ron grumbled, sparing a wistful look at the girl. "We're her friends, and she wouldn't abandon us. Not in a million years. Friendship is everything to her."
Harry raised an eyebrow, "More important than books?"
"You have no bloody idea. It's not even a fair match," Ron argued. "Listen, I know she has this blasted thirst for knowledge that blocks people from seeing anything else, but that's just the surface, mate. It might sound barmy to you, but she's more brave than she is smart; and she's more caring than she is brave. Her sense of right and wrong is also completely mental, and you can always trust her to do what's right."
After a long pause, Harry stared at him with suspicion "You sound terribly sure of all that. How can you know her that well?"
Ron shifted in his seat, realising he might've sounded like he'd spent years next to Hermione. "Well, I've known her longer," he admitted before noticing Hermione heading back to the table. "Just give her a chance, mate. She won't let you down."
Harry nodded weakly.
On Friday, the twins' plan for Malfoy was revealed. Ron had no idea how they'd done it, but the git lost his memory in a much more visible way than what had happened with the Forgetfulness Potion.
That was the day Draco Malfoy thought he was Snape's lost son.
The typical air of snootiness surrounded him as he stepped into the dungeons, but he was sporting two black curtains of greasy black hair instead of his usual blond. Ron had almost lost it then and there. He wasn't the only one. The laughter erupted all around, though the sound of Snape gritting his teeth was hard to drown. The professor demanded to know what mockery Malfoy was trying to pull, but the boy just stood there as if confounded by Snape's reaction. His answer was to be remembered for years to come.
"What's wrong Daddy?" Malfoy asked, in all seriousness.
God bless the twins.
People were still musing about it the next day when the owls swooped into the Great Hall for breakfast, delivering letters to the students and even some professors at the front table. Malfoy — whose hair was blond again — sunk in his seat, hiding his face behind his hand.
Ron didn't join in the smirking that morning, as he was engulfed in his thoughts. Today was the day he would face Quirrell.
For some twisted reason that he couldn't understand, the day he travelled back in time was also very vivid in his mind as everyone opened their correspondences. He thought of that brain tank again, and of the Party Blasters raining down confetti on Aster Prince. Most of all, he thought of the American, and that stupid grin on his face.
But Ron had his hands full enough with the present as it was to muse about the past. Or the future, whatever.
He made his way to the Hogsmeade's secret entrance in relative peace. No distractions pulled him away from his task. He'd gone over his plan a million times, placed Dumbledore's safeguarded letter in his trunk, and had even seen Hermione one final time before leaving. Though that had felt painfully unfulfilling, as the only thing he managed to tell her was to take care.
Before long, Ron arrived at the Shrieking Shack, not far from where Saul Croaker had left him to his good fortune. The wretched place appeared truly haunted and far from a perfect place to battle, but it would have to do. The trees could give decent cover, and it was well out of the way of any unsuspecting passers-by. Ron had initially thought about the Forbidden Forest, but considering Voldemort had no idea he lived inside of Hogwarts, it hadn't been the best place to propose. Besides, Hagrid and Kettleburn had started investigating the unicorns, so Hogsmeade was probably the safer bet.
Ron waited impatiently, agitated by every blow of wind and every rustle of leaves. He stayed much past the agreed-upon time, until almost an hour later when he accepted Quirrell wasn't going to show up and ventured out of his hiding spot. Inside the hollow tree, Ron found a piece of paper he didn't expect, and when he read it, all the colour drained away from his face.
'You lied. You're a student,' the note said.
o0o0o
Ron spent the whole Easter break on edge, unwilling to let Hermione or Harry out of his sight even for a second. He kept close tabs on Quirrell as well, though the man barely let himself be seen most days.
It was a mystery when or how Quirrel had discovered him. The most likely explanation was that Ron must have fucked up during one of his trips to Hogsmeade. He had been careless and Quirrell had seen him from afar.
Whatever the case, Ron didn't write again. It was too risky to go out in the open, and with no classes, sneaking away from his friends would have proven quite difficult anyway.
Ron remained on high alert throughout the break. Now that he'd lost the element of surprise, he lived with the constant fear of Quirrell catching him with his pants down. Regardless, Ron continued to prepare himself, even locating a particularly valuable spell one evening.
It was around that time that Silvanus Kettleburn announced that he had seen the first dead unicorn. Ron knew who was behind it, and kept a close look out the windows at night, hoping to catch a glimpse of a passing shadow.
Luck didn't want it that way though, and by the time Easter break ended, Ron was seriously considering ambushing Quirrell in a deserted classroom. Anything was preferable to making Voldemort feel cornered, as there was no saying what he might attempt then.
Soon, Ron realised that he had waited too long.
"Where's Harry?" he asked Hermione one evening in the common room.
The girl raised her eyes from her book. "He was here some time ago. He said he had to… go some place."
"Wood was looking for him, yes. But he should've been back by now, it's no hour for practice."
Ron started asking around to see if anyone had seen Harry, and was about to leave the common room when Seamus heard him.
"Dean knows where he is," he said, turning to the dark-skinned boy at his side, "Don't you?"
Dean nodded, "Parvati told me Hagrid was looking for him. I passed the message along and he left at once."
"What message?"
"Something about Hagrid needing urgent help. That Harry should follow a silvery trail of something."
The unicorns.
Leading Harry into the Forbidden Forest for a good cause might sound like Hagrid, but Ron wasn't sure. There was no urgency, and Hagrid knew it was almost curfew. Still Harry wouldn't follow a dodgy trail into the Forbidden Forest all by himself. Would he?
Fuck.
At that precise moment, Parvati came into the common room followed by Lavender. As usual, Ron got a shiver looking at the girl who would be his girlfriend, though Lavender was unfazed and blissfully unaware of her fate. Ron battled his uneasiness and walked to them.
"Yes, that's what Hagrid said," Parvati confirmed. "Well, I didn't actually hear it from him."
"What do you mean?"
"It was Professor Quirrell who told me Hagrid was looking for Harry. It was an odd message, but Hagrid's an odd man, isn't he?" Parvati said before she and Lavender left, untroubled.
Double Fuck.
Ron paled, hurrying back to Hermione.
"I have to go," he told her.
"What? Where?"
"To Hagrid's. Harry is there."
"It's almost curfew! And we have Astronomy tonight."
He didn't have time to have a discussion about rules now. "Precisely! I have to bring him back, something could've happened to him! Snape's out there, and Harry's daft enough to go into the forest if he doesn't find Hagrid and thinks he might be in trouble."
"The forest!?"
"Shhhh!" Ron put a finger over his lips. When he saw no one had heard them, he turned back to the girl. "Look, I know schoolwork is important to you. I'm not asking you to drop Astronomy or anything. But, if I take too long…"
"I'm going with you," Hermione said, putting her quill down with a surprising determination for a girl who hadn't gone through the troll incident.
"But the Forbidden Forest…"
"It's an idiotic idea. It could get Harry expelled, and we should stop him. We're his friends, aren't we?"
Ron smiled despite himself, "That we are. Still, what about Astronomy?"
"It wouldn't be the first class I forget about, and I'm getting practice by revising afterwards," Hermione told him cheekily. "Besides, Harry needs us."
There was the Hermione he knew… at the worst possible time. Ron didn't want to take the young girl there, it was insanely dangerous. He hadn't been a fan of Harry being near Quirrell, much less Hermione after what had happened.
"I can do this alone. It's probably nothing."
Hermione stood up and crossed her arms, giving him a pointed look. Ron knew her well enough. She was barking and stubborn to the bloody end. Mental that one. She reminded Ron of his wife for some reason.
Time was running out.
"You get back if it looks like it might be dangerous in any way," Ron allowed in defeat.
Hermione ignored him. "How are we getting out? Filch won't let us leave so close to curfew."
Not simple. Not when she insisted on tagging along. Not unless…
"I've got an idea."
It took little convincing to borrow the map from the twins. They were disappointed that it wouldn't be used for pranking, but in the end they seemed to agree that stopping Harry's arse from getting expelled was as good a cause as any.
They made it outside without a problem, where the grounds were dark and quiet. There was no light or columns of smoke coming out of Hagrid's hut. Harry might be in the forest with Quirrell by now.
What now? How was he going to have a fight against Lord effing Voldemort with Hermione next to him?
"The rule-breaking starts here," Ron warned her as a last attempt. "You can still go back. Take the map, I won't need it."
"And leave Harry alone?"
"It doesn't strike me as a matter of life and death," Ron lied. "Probably he just lost track of time."
Hermione huffed, "It was a matter of life and death for me. And you didn't turn back then."
Well, she did have some sort of troll incident after all.
He didn't know how to respond to that, but he didn't have to. The next moment, the girl dashed downhill, forcing Ron to hurry up to catch up with her. As they had feared, there was no one at Hagrid's, so they turned towards the edge of the forest. They walked along the border where they had last seen Harry's name on the map, until they found the trail of glimmering silver blood.
The tip of their wands illuminated after they used the Wand-Lightning Charm, and they pushed forward.
Chilly gusts zigzagged through the wildness of the forest. Aside from the small critters scurrying over the ancient trees' bark and the odd howling, their surroundings were in some sort of anticipating silence. They tried for at least twenty minutes to push away branches and shout out loud for Harry, but they couldn't find him.
Ron felt every second of it, frantically moving in every direction, shielding Hermione with his body from any unexpected attack.
I should've stunned her, he thought. Bringing her was the worst boneheaded idea I've ever had.
"What could've done something like this?" Hermione asked when they got their glimpse of a dead unicorn, the poignant smell of its blood flooding them with its silvery scent.
Who.
"Something vicious."
Crack.
The twig Hermione stepped on echoed in the quiet forest. Between that and the constant brightness of their wands, something stirred. Ron heard the hurried huffing and rapid moving of branches. With droplets of cold sweat dripping from his forehead, he forced Hermione behind him against the girl's protests.
"Expelliarmus!" he shouted the moment his large attacker appeared.
A weapon much too large to be a wand flew into the air, landing in Ron's arms, the sheer weight of it nearly knocking him off his feet. It was a bloody fucking crossbow.
"What the—!"
"In the name o' Merlin's shaggy beard!" Hagrid boomed. "Ron? Hermione?"
"Hagrid!" Hermione exclaimed with relief, stepping out from behind Ron.
Ron was taken aback when he noticed another man levelling his wand at him. He was white-haired and vivacious, despite the fact that he was missing many limbs. Silvanus Kettleburn, the current professor of Care of Magical Creatures.
"Students?" The man with the strange appearance lowered his wand. Below his eye bandage, a pleased grin developed. "Well, if I'll be damned! I wasn't expecting young adventurers tonight. What brings you to this mysterious forest at this unholy hour, young miss?" Kettleburn inquired, too theatrically for someone wearing a prosthetic hand.
Hermione's eyes widened, realising they had indeed been caught breaking a few rules. "We're deeply sorry, professor. It wasn't our intention, but we were—"
"Looking for unicorns, eh?" The man dared to guess.
"Not precisely. We—"
Hermione was not given the opportunity to explain herself to Kettleburn. With a gleeful grin, the man scratched his moustache and turned to pat Hagrid on the back. "I'll tell you, Hagrid. Never met a damsel who wasn't smitten by one… Lucky buggers, those unicorns. Even my sweet Marla, who never got to see one, the poor lassie."
The barmy smile on Kettleburn's face dropped, and he went from beaming to glooming sorrow in a tic.
Ron returned Hagrid's crossbow, earning a compliment from the half-giant for his fast reflexes. When Hermione appeared ready to ask about his use of the Disarming Spell, Ron abruptly changed the subject to the first thought that sprang to his mind. "So, Marla? You couldn't show the unicorns to her?"
Kettleburn laughed like a cracking bell, "Oh, I did take her to the unicorns. She dumped my boney arse well after."
"But you said she couldn't see them."
"Well, she was blind, boy. Show some sympathy."
Hagrid cleared his throat at Ron's loss of words. "Reckon now 's not the time fer one o' your ol' romantic tales, Silvanus," he cautioned.
"It never is," the pirate-looking man lamented before shifting his mad gaze to Hermione, "Nor is this time to chase unicorns, little miss. There's something out there hunting them, you must know."
"We do know!" Hermione cried, exasperated.
"We came here looking for Harry!" Ron blurted, before Kettleburn could interrupt again.
That got Hagrid's attention, "Wha' happened ter Harry?" he asked.
For the next half-hour or so, the group searched for Harry in the dense forest. With every moment that passed, Ron's worry increased tenfold. The concern got serious enough that even Kettleburn stopped prattling on.
"There!" Hermione finally screamed.
They all raced in the direction the girl had pointed. Following a hint of red sparks, they fortunately came across Harry in a small clearing. Even though the boy appeared to be terrified and had landed on his arse, he appeared to be largely unharmed.
"You alright, mate?" Ron asked as they knelt beside him. Harry nodded weakly, showing surprise at the sight of Hermione.
When Ron noticed Harry rubbing his temples, he followed his stunned expression to the far end of the clearing.
"The hell is that?!" Kettleburn shouted.
A shrouded figure hovered in the air, attempting to flee through the thick woods. Ron's earlier relief disappeared.
"Hagrid, take the kids!" Kettleburn called out, chasing after the dark figure.
This madman has less senses than limbs!
Taking advantage of the commotion, Ron stood up and stepped back into the cover of the trees.
"Fumos Pallium," he whispered, once out of earshot.
The dark clouds of the smokescreen spell, usually expanding, clung to his body this time. Once the spell was performed, Ron was effectively clouded in darkness.
Ron quickly rushed away, sliding through the trees in a hurry as he heard Hermione calling for him. He felt guilty for worrying his friends, but this might be the only chance he was going to get, and he wasn't willing to wait any longer. He was done with planning.
As he ran further into the forest after Quirrell, the silence grew heavier. There was still no trace of him, or of Kettleburn. Among the trees, the air was suffocating and invigorating at the same time.
Covered by his shadowy disguise, Ron felt like a ghost. In a way he was one, as nobody knew who he really was. He might just die now without anyone being any wiser. Regardless, he wasn't putting anyone else in danger, aside from Kettleburn that was.
Ron found the old madman soon enough. The professor was out cold and bleeding from his forehead, but thankfully alive. The woods were loud with creaking sounds, and over a high rock before him, a black hooded figure was studying his movements.
Ron gulped, casting a non-verbal spell on himself to deepen his voice.
"Who are you?" Quirrell's voice vibrated, as his cloaked figure hovered down from the cliff.
"Again with that? Is that the only thing you ever ask?"
It took a moment, but the truth soon dawned on his foe.
"You? You wrote the letters?"
Ron stepped away from Kettleburn. "You stood me up."
"You tried to fool me!"
"Call it even," said Ron, his heartbeat quickening. "I know what you are. I know who's behind you."
"Do you?"
Quirrell revealed his face. Ron had never seen him so pale and physically shaken, as if drinking the unicorn's blood had sapped him of all his strength. It was a given that Quirrell wouldn't even try to pass himself off as the shy teacher in front of him.
"You got Voldemort stuck to your head like some blood-sucking tick," Ron answered. He raised his wand, which appeared unnatural in his shadowy hands. "Not for long. This is as far as you get."
"Shut up you fool!" Quirrell screamed, a tense vein visible on his scalp. Around the same time, the man brought out his own wand, and a purple beam was launched directly at Ron.
Having been expecting it, Ron brushed it aside as though the curse didn't bother him.
Then, he had to fight back a shiver as a new voice came. One that had haunted him for many years now. "Not bad," the voice hissed. "For a student."
There was no point in faking that now. Even in the shadows they could see the size of his body.
"How did you find out?"
Voldemort snarled cryptically, "I... have my sources."
All of a sudden, Ron felt Voldemort pressing against his thought walls. It was incredibly powerful for an indirect attack, but Ron was well-trained and there was no way he would give up for that. Voldemort would have to cast a direct spell to gather information, and Ron wasn't going to let him get that far.
"Incarcerous!" he screamed, pointing his curse at Quirrel, who leaned in and retaliated. Ron ducked behind a nearby rock, yet Quirrell's hex split a massive tree in half.
"Curious... True shadows are unafraid of being hit," Voldemort sneered.
"Reveal yourself!" shouted Quirrell.
Ron took advantage of his shadow form to slip into the darkness. He sent a disarming spell at Quirrell's right, but the fake professor deflected it. Voldemort's presence lingered in his mind at all times.
"Who are you?" demanded the nasty fucker, revealing once and for all that he had no idea who Ron was.
"It's only a child, master," said Quirrell, noticing Ron's size. "A young one."
"Skilled for his age. Who could it be?" Voldemort pondered. "Perhaps... No, it's not possible. Potter?"
"It can't be. I drew him to you and we both saw that the boy is unremarkable."
"Don't question me!" Voldemort thundered. Meanwhile, Ron jumped over a fallen log and took cover behind a wide tree.
"Sorry, my master! It won't happen again!" Quirrell was visibly shaken.
"Potter has shown no talent, but he has a secret. He could've been pretending just now…"
Ron heard them discuss. They didn't know who he was, which worked out well for him. He wasn't sure if their suspicions that he was Harry were for the best, but he wasn't jumping to confirm or deny them.
"Stupefy!" Ron shouted, momentarily leaving his shelter.
The spell almost hit Voldemort, but it wasn't going to be that easy. For his next attack, Quirrell levitated a good-sized rock and catapulted it towards Ron at great speed.
"Reducto!"
The boulder crumbled to pieces, but Ron's opponent already had his next move in line. Ron's eyes widened as Quirrell turned the rock debris into small blades, and without wasting time he levitated an old log from the ground and transfigured it into a large shield. Most of the sharp blades crashed into his shield in a rapid succession of thumping sounds, however, the first one managed to get through.
Ron's cheek stung, and even though his shadowy presence wouldn't reveal it, he knew he had been cut. He took cover again, waging a more careful attack from there.
The dark forest was soon brightened by wicked charms. Ron worried that his friends might be drawn to the battle, but that was the least of his concerns at the moment. Quirrell retaliated well, forcing Ron to stay on the move, evading and diving. One rotten lucky-hit, and Ron would be done for. His limbs were too short though, and Ron wasn't used to duelling with them.
"I can sense your thoughts, boy. There's no point in hiding," Voldemort hissed.
Ron, to their surprise, followed the tosser's advice and came out into the open once more. He summoned a Shield Charm just in time to deflect a handful of curses, and got a small window to shoot back beams of red light. Returning the fire, the man proceeded to hurl hexes at Ron, which landed as small raindrops against his shield. The man then aimed to the ground, causing an explosion that tumbled Ron onto a tough pile of rocks and mud behind him.
"Bloody hell..." Ron grumbled as he leapt to his feet to evade an onslaught. Sharp as knives, the cold air intruded his lungs.
He dragged himself behind a boulder, not far from Kettleburn's unconscious body.
I can't die here! What would happen to my family? Or Harry? What would happen to Hermione?
"You're just a rotten parasite, Tom! Nothing without this stuttering pillock!" Ron called out, heaving.
The words seemed to throwVoldemort off balance. "My name is Lord Voldemort! The most powerful wizard there ever was! Bigger men than you have crumbled at my feet!"
Quirrell was startled, apparently unaware of his master's real name.
"Well, you'll have to forgive me, Tom. From here, you look like a face plastered onto a head!"
Even if his strikes became stronger and more erratic, Quirrell didn't stop firing. Ron kept teasing Voldemort with his Muggle name as well, and whenever he saw an opening he would try to shoot back.
"Dumbledore is way better than you! He's waiting back at the castle, you know that, don't you?" Ron bluffed.
"Lies! The old man would be here if he knew of my presence!" the hissing voice shouted.
In a desperate attempt, Ron threw an exploding spell to Quirrell's right, and when the man turned to block, Ron threw another to his left, sending dirt and debris into the air. Quirrell's vision was obstructed long enough, and he barely had time to turn before Ron charged uphill at the man. A wicked curse came towards Ron from behind the dirt curtain, which he dodged at the last second. A faint silhouette appeared in front of him, not five feet away.
"Avada—!"
"Stupefy!"
Ron was faster by just a tic, smacking the prick in the middle of his chest. The figure fell to the floor with a thud as the clouds of dirt dissipated. Apart from Ron's frantic breathing, only complete silence followed.
Was that it?
One step at a time, Ron walked towards Quirrell, pushing his cloak all the way back with a flick of his wand. The look on Voldemort's face was hideous.
"You stupid fool! You won't be able to stop me!"
Before he could register it, Ron felt the strongest push against his mind yet. Voldemort was desperately trying to enter his head and Ron couldn't help lowering his wand.
"You're worthless. It makes no difference if you're Potter or not! You're no match for me!"
Had he faced Voldemort instead of Quirrell, Ron might have not stood a chance, much less in his twelve-year old body. Right now, the same despair he'd gotten when he'd worn the locket was suffocating him, but he forced it aside. He remembered his family, and how he'd already seen his mother mourn a son. A haunting memory he couldn't bring upon her again. He remembered Hermione, and how she didn't know anything about this yet. He remembered his older wife as well, and the memory gave him strength.
"Enough!" Ron yelled, "I—I know you're not done for, not yet. But you have lost today, Tom. So don't be a sore loser and get the fuck off already!" he pointed his wand at the surprised face of the dark wizard.
"This isn't over!"
"You're bloody right! I'm just getting started!"
Ron remembered the right spell from the dusty book in the restricted section. "Expellianimus!"
Voldemort contorted and screamed in agony. A blinding light shone, and then the disembodied face flew into the night.
Properly knackered, Ron fell to his knees. Quirrell was out, and barely alive. He reckoned that Kettleburn needed a healer as well.
Ron had just picked up Quirrell's wand from the ground when an unexpected voice made him freeze.
"You're not supposed to be here."
Startled, Ron turned around at once. A figure was now standing at the bottom of the hill. For a moment, he thought it was a man mounted on a horse, but he soon realised that it was a centaur. And not just any centaur, but Firenze.
It didn't look good. He had just been caught red-handed with two knocked out professors at his side. The centaur didn't look like he was about to fight him though, or even question him. Firenze just stood there with his white-blond hair waving in the cold night breeze.
"I—I didn't— Voldemort was possessing him!" Ron shouted.
"That's besides the point," the centaur stated, raising his gaze to the sky. "You're not supposed to be here."
At that moment, Ron felt defenceless. It was as if Firenze knew everything about him, as if he could see right through his disguise and even deeper.
He was right. Ron wasn't supposed to be there. Ron didn't belong, and it wasn't hard to imagine the world being broken because of him.
For a second, Firenze and Ron stared at each other. Then, without any more words, Ron nodded in understanding. He raised his wand and then flaming red sparks brightened the sky. Ron moved his shadowy body away from Quirrell, and Firenze didn't try to stop him as he fled into the night.