I am absolutely bowled over by the response to this story. It makes my heart sing. You are all so kind and so amazing to take the time to read this. This is going to be a long story. It's sort of an homage to all the great Romione stories that came before, particularly, "The Price of Love." And as much as I would to jump straight to the Ron and Hermione action, the story has to build first. But it's coming, no worries. But I've got a one-shot down the pipeline and another story that will not disappoint on the action, believe me. Again, please read and review. It literally makes me type faster.
Two
Your life was ours, which is with you. Go on your journey. We go too.- John Fuller
News of the astonishing birth spread like fiendfyre. There were hundreds of owls bringing everything from congratulations to prophetic warnings to the Weasleys' door within two days of Ron's birth. Molly's Aunt Muriel was overjoyed and happily telling everyone she knew.
Ron's grandparents, Setimpus and Cedrella had come directly to the family's side and hadn't left yet.
The Daily Prophet had been seeking an interview, as had the Quibbler. Not to mention so many people queuing all around the estate that Molly and Arthur felt compelled to take the whole family to Shell Cottage for some peace and quiet.
Things hadn't been fully explained to the other children yet. Bill was growing more and more curious by the day. Molly and Arthur knew eventually they would have to tell them something, but neither of them was quite sure where to begin.
Not all that Molly and Arthur could read on the subject of Seventh Sons was enough to make feel equal to the task of raising one.
After all, they had four other sons to look after. Despite being well-appointed and holding many numerous outside responsibilities, parenthood by proxy was simply not the Weasleys' preferred method. They knew their youngest son would face special challenges, they wanted to face them with him, but not at the expense of their other sons.
The evening after they arrived at Shell Cottage, they sat up, late in the night discussing what they were to do.
"Molly," Arthur said as he nursed a glass of Scotch. "We don't know the extent of his powers," though Ron was already showing more magic in the first week of his life than the rest of the Weasley children combined. He'd been flying out of his crib in his sleep, making Molly's jewelry float every time she picked him up, and he'd lit the fireplace more than once with a cry or two.
"I know," replied Molly as she looked over in the bassinet where the child in question lay sleeping. Arthur had placed a Sticking Charm on Ron to keep him his crib while he slept. They weren't entirely sure if it would hold, but it didn't matter. Molly had barely let him out of his sight since Dumbledore and Rufus had left.
"But you read the book," Molly continued. Dumbledore had dispatched some reading material to the Weasley family and told them to consider not only the Hogwarts library but his own personal collection at their disposal. "His powers could be innumerable, they could be dangerous, he might not be able to control them—,"
Arthur silenced his wife's rambling by taking her palm to his lips and kissing it gently. "Mollywobbles, love, whatever will happen. We'll help him through it. Dumbledore will help us. And I confess, I didn't read the books as thoroughly as you did. Was there anything useful in there?"
Molly sighed, having a newborn wasn't exactly conducive to what was far from light reading. "Some were quite informative, there's one Mark The Seventh Son, it's meant for children. It'll help us explain it to him. And then there was another filled with nonsense about ancient prophecies and Eros. Sodding rubbish, that one, I'm quite sure."
"Leave it to Dumbledore to hit the nail on the head," Arthur said with a smile.
"What would we do without that man?" Molly said with a sigh, a question she would often repeat.
Before Arthur could reply, two house-elves Apparated into the study. "Delivery for Master and Madame Weasley from Dumbledore," said one as they deposited a pile of scrolls neatly tied and a wooden carrying case filled with potions. One of the elves handed Arthur a note. "Thank you, Nibbly," Arthur said. "And might I remind you that tomorrow starts your week off."
"Of course, Master, Nibbly has been saving his wages. He is taking holiday with Zonk in Brighton. But Nibbly will miss Master and Madame very much."
The elves exited and Arthur read the note. "It's sleeping draught for Ron, supposedly it's strong enough to make sure he doesn't use his powers in his sleep. Apparently, it will only work until he six months old. He'll need a stronger dose then."
He looked over at the bassinet where his son slept. He thought of something his grandfather had always said, that nothing in the magical world happened by chance. That things were meant to be.
For whatever reason, whatever Powers that Were had chosen them. Had chosen Ronald, his Ron be this man, to be this Seventh Son.
For whatever reason, his family had been chosen. Dumbledore had been chosen as well, chosen to watch over Ron, to help them where they needed guidance.
But the baby in question had no idea that Dumbledore would indeed always be watching him. That, in fact, he was watching him right then.
And he was not the only one.
7th
To the majority of the people inside the Weasley household, things went on as normal. It wouldn't have seemed that Ron was garnering any more attention than any other newborn. Molly and Arthur were doing everything they could to present a strong front of normalcy to their children and their household staff.
Bill, who had lived to see four other siblings born, was having none of it and had gone from curious to outright suspicious. He didn't recall flowers, candies, chocolates and scrolls on top of scrolls being brought through the door when the twins were born, and there were two of them.
Charlie, being completely occupied with a book about dragons that his uncle Fabian had sent him, hadn't noticed a thing.
No one could say whether or not Percy noticed, he was far too busy being tormented by Fred and George to take a breath.
Fred and George, miffed by the decrease of attention they were receiving, were throwing five temper tantrums an hour, largely involving putting sharp or living objects in Percy's hair.
The outside world, however was a completely different matter. It had gone, to a coin a phrase, completely mental. There were well-wishers, naysayers, prophets and prophetesses, officials from other Ministries all writing requests to see the baby. Arthur was an inch away from putting a ward around the entire house to repel unknown owls.
Within two weeks, Shell Cottage was quickly growing into a circus and Arthur finally determined that there was nowhere on Planet Earth they could hide, therefore it was time to return the Burrow.
One early morning as the family was preparing to leave, Bill and Arthur were walking along the shore, picking up seashells when an owl arrived from Gilderoy Lockhart himself, requesting to meet "the unprecedented, the sure to be brilliant and magnanimous young Ronald."
All this pomp and circumstance for a seven-pound ball who couldn't hold his head up was too much for poor Bill to comprehend. He was ten years of age, not a sodding idiot. Who on earth did his parents think they were fooling?
"Dad, come off it," he said finally. "What's going on? Why is everyone on about Ron? Is he...cursed or something?"
Arthur chuckled at his son's outrage, noting at that particular moment, how much he sounded like Molly when she was in a temper.
"Son, come here," he said pulling his young son onto his lap as they sat down on the beach, propped up against a big rock, watching the waves crash against the shore.
"Do you remember the story of Godric Gryffindor?" Arthur asked.
Bill laughed. Of course, he did. Gryffindor was his favorite. He was almost ten and couldn't wait until he was at Hogwarts. It had only been his wish to be allowed into Gryffindor since the day he found out what it was. When he articulated this to his father, Arthur smiled.
"Well, do you remember what Gryffindor was, what he was called?"
Bill thought for a moment. "A Seventh Son?"
Arthur smiled. "Yes. Seventh Sons are very rare. In fact, there hasn't been on in England for many, many years. But you see, Ron is a Seventh Son."
Bill's confusion was evident. "But there are only six of us."
"I know. But when you were a little boy, your mother was going to have another little boy...but he died before he ever lived. So there were really six of you already. Ron is the Seventh."
Bill's blue eyes widened, his were just like his father's, like his youngest brother's. All he knew about Seventh Sons were from what he read or heard. It wasn't a such much discussed in England. They hadn't had one in so long. "So, he's gonna have more magic? He's gonna protect England?"
"Right now, we don't know. It's very early and he's only a baby. There's a lot to figure out. What I do know that he'll probably need protection. Dangerous people like powerful things, and there's no question that Ron will be powerful.
"I'm his big brother, I'll protect him," Bill said without a moment's hesitation. He didn't care if there were dangerous people, no one was going to hurt his baby brother if he had anything to say about it.
Yup, definitely a Gryffindor, Arthur thought with great affection. He wrapped an around his firstborn.
"I'm sure you will. But you must understand, Ron is too young to understand what all this means. We don't understand it yet. But when he does, he will have to help him, protect him, perhaps even from himself. Do you understand, Bill?"
Bill didn't, not fully, but he said he did. "Of course, Dad. I'll be there for him. Always." He knew that what his father was saying was important. He knew his little brother was important. He may not have understood everything then, but his courage wasn't going to waver then. If his brother needed him, he would be there.
From that moment on, Bill was just as protective of his youngest brother as his parents.
Meanwhile, a very pregnant Lily Potter arrived via the fireplace in the parlor of Shell Cottage.
She'd heard from Sirius, her husband's closest friend in the world and a relative of the Weasleys, that all hell had broken loose. Knowing Sirius to be more than a little dramatic (a family trait), she set off to see for herself.
To her utmost bewilderment, she found that Sirius had not exaggerated in the slightest. She'd been brushing the soot from her robes when one look outside the window told her that Sirius had, for once, been serious.
Hell had broken loose. Reports from the Prophet were swarming everywhere. They were outside the doors, on the nearby beaches and in the garden. The house-eleves and other servants were doing their best to keep them at bay.
"The Weasleys will not be in to no journalists," came the high-pitched voice of a House-Elf at the front door. "Master and Madame Weasley will not be answering questions. Good day!" He was yelling at Rita Skeeter, Lily recognized her immediately and a wave of nausea that had nothing to do with her pregnancy threatened to overtake her.
She had no intention of being spotted by that toad, not after she wrote a rather unflattering byline about her marriage to James. The house-elf slammed the door with a crack. "Filth and riffraff they are, simpering around for poor young Master," the elf mumbled to himself until he saw Lily.
"Madame Potter," he said with a smile and a flourishing bow. "What can Macey do for you?"
"Macey, I'm looking for Molly,"
"Ah, Madame is in the east library, Macey will take you there. She will be glad to see you, Macey is sure of it."
Molly was in the library, reading a thick book and rocking Ron back and forth in a crib. She looked happy, but slightly flustered.
"Molly," Lily said with a bright smile. "I hear much more than congratulations are in order."
Despite her stress, Molly smiled. "Lily, wonderful to see you," she said. "Nice to see a friendly face in all this mayhem. Thank you, Macey." the House-Elf disappeared with a pop.
"How are you?" Lily asked as she sat up in the chair opposite Molly. The older woman conjured her a cup of tea.
"Not sure really," Molly admitted. "It's all happened so quickly. He's a baby, just a baby."
"Well, I can't imagine a better family to have Britain's first Seventh Son in ten centuries. I mean, can you imagine if he was a Malfoy?"
Molly winced and then chuckled. "Heaven forbid. As if they need a reason to stick their noses any higher in the air."
Lily chuckled dryly. The Malfoy's well-earned reputation of being rather pernicious snobs with a rumored fondness for the Dark Arts definitely preceded them.
Before Lily could respond, an older and rather agitated looking woman entered the room. "Pardon Madame," she said in a voice that barely hid her exasperation. "But Masters Frederick and George are chasing Master Percival around the garden with a giant flobberworm."
Molly sighed. The twins had always been a handful, now with Ron and all the commotion, they were an absolute nightmare.
"I've an idea," Lily said with a glint in her eye. "Why don't I take the boys for a field trip, take them to Diagon Alley, get them some Fortescue's. That way you and Arthur can have a little peace."
Molly could've kissed her. "Oh, bless you, Lily."
From that day forward, Lily was nearly a constant presence at the Weasley household. It wasn't long before her own son, Harry James, was born and she was bringing him along as well.
Naturally, Ron and Harry became playmates. And as Ron's older siblings were made to understand just what was special about their youngest brother, they grew more and more protective, if not slightly envious.
Gradually the hysteria around Ron's birth subsided, and although Dumbledore and Scrimengeour popped up about twice a month and the Aurors never left, things mostly returned to normal. Ron's early underage magic seemed to calm, which was a blessing as Molly was preoccupied by the birth of her daughter Ginevra.
But of course, the calm would not, in fact could not, last forever.
It was May 1983. Three-year-old Ron had flattened twenty acres of forest at the Potters' country estate with a mere wail when he and Harry had been wandering the grounds during a garden party. Fred and George had been given charge of them, but of course, had quickly left them to their own devices.
Dumbledore, also at the party, promptly set the forest right and even more promptly reassured Arthur and Molly that this was perfectly normal and they were to expect such and much, much more.
How reassured the Weasleys were by such a pronouncement, was a matter of debate. Ron had not yet grown spoiled, for Molly and Arthur took great pains to make sure his childhood did not differ greatly from his siblings. They made sure that the Aurors knew to keep a safe distance. They taught him to share and to look out for his younger sister to whom he was already growing closer.
The normalcy the Weasleys worked so hard to provide, however, was rapidly coming to a close.
A year after the forest incident, on a routine trip to Diagon Alley, Ron had caused every building on the street to lift off its foundation and hover for nearly 10 seconds with a fit of sneezing.
Every Wizarding paper from Brighton to Geneva had jumped on that one and it was then Dumbledore decided that Ron needed training.
Less than twelve hours after the eventful trip to Diagon Alley, Molly and Arthur had been summoned to the Dumbledore Estate, a large sprawling property located on an island off the Welsh Coast. They'd brought Ron along as Dumbledore's request.
The property was guarded by every sort of magical protection one could muster. One could never be too careful when one held all the positions that Albus Dumbledore did. Of course, Molly often wondered who wanted to hurt him.
They were quickly escorted by a house-elf who looked older than Dumbledore himself to what clearly was the old Headmaster's study.
He was waiting for them, his kind but searching eyes locked onto them the moment they stepped in the door.
"Molly, Arthur, please sit," he said, a slight tilt in his voice that Molly couldn't recall hearing before. They sat opposite him and waited.
Ron, still cradled in his mother's arms, was dozing off, unaware of all the concern he was raising.
Dumbledore smiled at the little boy. He took a long breath, as if he, the man who always knew what to say, was weighing his words carefully
"As you two can see, the boy's powers are growing quickly. If he can lift Diagon Alley off the ground now, what he'll be able to do when he's five, no one can say. As you know, he's the first British Seventh Son in over a thousand years. But there are many Seventh Sons born all over Europe, the Americas, and Africa. I think it's time we arrange a tutor of sorts for Ronald."
"A tutor?" came the reply of both Weasleys.
"No," Molly said after a beat. "Ron's going to attend Hogwarts like the rest of his family."
"Molly, believe me, I am not suggesting that Ron not attend Hogwarts. He'll go when he's eleven just like everyone else. But he'll need to have much more control of his powers before then. We can't have him lifting Hogwarts off the foundation, now can we? He'll need special training someone that understands what he's going through and how to help him, someone who can him understand what's expected of him."
"Expected of him?" Arthur seemed surprised. "Dumbledore, what exactly is expected of him?"
"Very much," Dumbledore said solemnly. "The Laws surrounding Seventh Sons are intact as ever. It's a great responsibility. One he cannot take lightly, one he must be made to understand. His destiny is far greater than any of us can know."
"He's only a baby," Molly protested. "His destiny is up to him. We can't take away his choices. He does not have to be some sort of sacred warrior—,"
"Molly," Arthur said gently. "I don't believe Dumbledore is suggesting that Ron doesn't have a choice. Only that he needs to be aware and prepared to make a choice."
Dumbledore smiled at Arthur. "Of course, right you are, Arthur. Whether Ron chooses to take up the mantle that has been cast his way is entirely up to him. However, he will still need to be trained, he will still need to have control over his powers. Otherwise, it'll be pandemonium. There are forces at work, even as we speak perhaps, that would love nothing more than to exploit him. He'll need guidance, he'll need to know how to defend himself."
Arthur turned to look at Molly for a long moment.
"This tutor, Albus, do you have someone in mind?" he asked finally.
"I do. For years, it has been the International Confederation's policy to ensure that Seventh Sons are provided with the training they require. Ron will be well looked after. We can arrange for it to take place in your home."
"He's only a boy, Albus," Molly protested. She didn't like the thought of Ron having to train or what have you at such a young age.
"Molly, whatever path Ron takes, one thing is certain: his boyhood, perhaps unfairly so, is not long for this world."
Molly had very little time to process that statement as there was a knock on the door. The elderly House-Elf peeked his head in.
"Pardon me, Master Dumbledore, Master and Madame, but Master Gallen has arrived."
"Right on time," Dumbledore said with a smile. "Show him in, Meldy."
The elf nodded and quickly left the room. "Molly, Arthur, there is someone I would like you to meet."
The heavy door opened slowly to reveal a tall, slender man dressed in gray robes. The first thing Molly noticed was his eyes, green like fresh mown grass, piercing like a Seer who had instantly discovered your secrets.
He smiled warmly at Dumbledore who returned in kind. That exchange, reassuring though it should have been, did little to lower the raised hairs on Arthur's neck.
"Molly, Arthur, allow me to introduce Mr. Duncan Gallen, he is a Finnish Seventh Son. I think he will make a fine tutor for Ronald."
"Good morning," he said in a crisp Scandanvian accent as he stepped into the room. "I am delighted and honored to meet the parents of a British Seventh Son. You bring honor to all of magical Europe with such." He walked over to them with such ease and speed that Molly hardy registered his movements until he was there reaching for hand to kiss it.
He firmly clasped Arthur's hand in a strong handshake hand and smiled at them. The two could feel the magic radiating off of him as if he exhaled it with every breath and radiated it with every step he took.
Is this what Ron will be? Arthur mused as he took in the man with straight blond hair who couldn't have been a day over 35.
"We are very glad to meet you as well," Arthur said once he realized he and Molly had been quiet for too long.
Duncan's eyes locked onto little Ron. "He's a beautiful little boy," he said softly. "I can sense his power as we speak. This one will be strong." He stared long and hard at the boy as if he was trying to sense something.
"Duncan," Dumbledore said in a voice designed to pull his colleague back to the present. "Perhaps you should explain to the Weasleys what exactly your tutoring will entail."
Duncan's eyes widened briefly. "Ah, yes, quite right you are, Dumbledore." Duncan snapped his fingers and Conjured up a chair.
"I don't know how much the two of you know about Seventh Sons," he began, sounding more and more like a teacher with every syllable. "But they are rare, they are powerful and they are potentially dangerous and they are always in danger—,"
He paused when he saw the bewildered expressions on the Weasleys' faces.
"I've given you a fright, haven't I?" he asked with a slight smile. "Apologies. It's a lot to take in, I know. My parents were quite the same when the headmaster of Maaginenkoulu came to seem them," he said fondly referencing the Finnish equivalent of Hogwarts. "I assure you; I understand what you're going through. I also understand what Ron will go through. I have six older brothers, ones that have never fully understood. Like Ron does. I've had to cope with visions and prophecies haunting my dreams, as will Ron."
"Pardon me, Mr. Gallen," Mr. Weasley interrupted. "You speak of as if you know these already. I thought it was impossible to know what form Ron's powers will take."
"To people without the Sight, perhaps," said the wizard without smiling. "All Seventh Sons are Seers. There has never been one without it. So mote it be."
The vase on Dumbledore's desk rattled at Duncan's words. Even a room in one of the most magical houses in existence seemed to tremble at the power radiating from Duncan Gallen.
Molly's skepticism was apparent to everyone, her fear was only apparent to Arthur. Only he noticed the slight tilt in her voice when she next spoke. "Pardon me Mr. Gallen, but I must ask two things. For one, why are you not guarding your own country. I thought that was the solemn duty of a Seventh Son?"
Arthur sucked in a breath, worried that an insult to a Seventh son was some type of magical sacred no-no, but Duncan only smiled. "I can see you are not a woman to be trifled with, Mrs. Weasley. Finland is, shall we say, blessed. There were three Seventh Sons born in the year of my birth, and five born in the decade before that. Suffice to say Finland is in good hands. The kitchen I was born into already had more than enough cooks, so I have dedicated my life to the training of my brothers of Seven. Pardon me, Mrs. Weasley, you said you had two questions."
Molly nodded. "You and Albus speak as if this training is necessary for something more than control, as if Ron needs to be ready for...something."
Duncan and Dumbledore exchanged a glance. Dumbledore cleared his throat slowly. "Molly, Arthur, I'll not mince words. Legend and history tell us that Seventh Sons only appear when they are needed. This last millennium, Britain has been in magical peace. But there are many things, Ron's birth included, that tell us that the peace we have known and taken for granted is at an end."
Neither Molly or Arthur could think of a reply to Dumbledore's words. Their world had not been seriously disturbed by major conflict in generations. Occasionally Dark Wizards would wreak a little havoc, but the Aurors saw to them immediately and sent them back into the dark underbelly they frequented.
Pureblood supremacists also stirred up trouble intermittently, but it had been years since they had caused any real damage.
When it became apparent that Molly and Arthur had no words, Duncan took it upon himself to break the silence.
"Mr. And Mrs. Weasley, I know there is nothing I can to make this any easier. You have no reason to trust me, save what Dumbledore tells you. But if you trust me with your son, I will not fail you. I will not fail Ron."
"All right," Arthur said in the voice that immediately reminded everyone in in the room that despite his easygoing manner and kind disposition, he was the Weasley of Weasley. "You may tutor Ronald. But remember this, he is first and foremost a member of the House of Weasley and my son. You do not take him into your hands lightly. Am I understood?"
Duncan now understood that none of the Weasleys were to be trifled with.
"You are very understood, Mr. Weasley. I have never taken this particular duty lightly. A Seventh Son, in the wrong hands, is more than dangerous, it's catastrophic. But from what I can tell, Ron is the best of hands. I'm very glad we're on this journey together."
Ducan smiled down at Ron, wondering if the boy had any inkling of what was to come.
7th
September 3rd, 1990
"Neville, it's getting away," called Ron Weasley to his friend Neville Longbottom as a Golden Snitch buzzed past Neville's head. The two of them along with Ron's closest friend, Harry Potter were whizzing around on their brooms, chasing a Golden Snitch. They were currently at Ollam, the country estate of Harry's family, flying around the gardens while Molly, Lily and Neville's mother, Alice, were planning for an upcoming garden party.
While there was only three of them, not enough to play regular Quidditch, but enough to chase a Snitch for sure.
Besides it was good practice for when they all attending Hogwarts School of Witchraft and Wizardry. All three of them entertained notions of being on the Quidditch team. Harry and Neville, because they both came from long lines of Qudditch players and wanted not to scourge the family legacy. Ron, because it was probably the best thing he could share with his siblings, with his friends.
His early years had not been as carefree as his siblings. While they were tutored at home in arithmetic, English and other basic studies, Ron spent hours learning not only basics but about his powers and all the Seventh Sons that had come before them and their accomplishments. Quidditch, however, was something that had always united him with his siblings and his friends.
Ron's call to attention stirred Neville to action and he sat his broom after the Snitch, eyes fixed on it. Neville sat his broom to follow the whizzing, winged golden ball. It was by now fairly evident to both Ron and Harry that Neville was more cut out for commentary than the actual sport.
Still they cheered him on because they couldn't properly call themselves his mates if they didn't.
Ron was coming up behind Neville with Harry flanking the other side when suddenly he wasn't.
He was still on his broom, but he was no longer in the forest of Harry's house. No, he was somewhere else. Somewhere he didn't recognize. It was grey, it was stone and it was very dark, only dim lanterns lit the room and not very well, in Ron's uneasy opinion.
He looked around anxiously trying to figure out where he was, where he had gone. "Harry! Neville!" He called, though he knew they weren't there. He looked down from his broom and saw a small figure lying on the ground. It looked like a girl, a girl with red hair.
"Ginny!" he cried and he aimed his broom for the figure, racing as fast as he could towards the ground and crashing directly into Neville.
In less than an instant, the sky was crystal blue again, the air was ripe with the smells of pine and acacia, and Harry was screaming for both of them to look out.
But it was too late, Ron had went flying in to Neville and with the horrid sound of crunching wood and frightened yelps, both of them went seesawing towards the ground, unable to get control of their brooms. Harry circled around, trying to see if he could help, all while trying to stay out of the way.
But it didn't matter. The ground came to the rescue as it broke their fall with a loud, resonating crack.
Ron leapt to his feet with very little trouble and winced, he was pretty sure he'd bruised every limb he called his own. Harry raced down beside them.
"Are you two all right?" he asked.
"Sorted, mate" Ron said, trying to sound more unscathed than he felt.
"Ron," came Neville's voice in a weak moan. The two other wizards turned to look at their friend. Two gasps of shock shot through the forest like bullets as they took in the sight.
Blood. Neither Ron or Harry had ever seen so much of it. A deep, jagged gash had opened across Neville's head. It looked like a branch had sliced his head right open.
"Bloody hell," Ron screamed. "Harry, go get help, get your dad, get somebody, help. Get the Aurors! Go!"
Harry, who had been stood stock still only blinked in return.
"Harry, you're the faster flyer, go!" Ron urged. Something in Ron's voice stirred Harry to action and he took off.
Ron crouched besides Neville. "You're all right, mate. You're all right. Harry's dad we'll be here soon. And the Aurors, they're always watching me. They'll fix you right up. They've got healers and all kinds of stuff. You'll be fine. You'll be fine." Ron hoped he sounded reassuring, but in truth his eyes were burring with tears and his heart was thumping as loud as it had ever done. Neville was hurt. Neville was relly hurt and it was all his fault. He didn't know why he'd chosen that very moment to start daydreaming.
Only, he hadn't been daydreaming. He knew he hadn't. It was almost like he'd Apparated to somewhere else, only to reappear right where he was.
But he couldn't think about that right now. All he could think about was helping Neville who looked almost blue.
Ron fought his tears, but the lost the battle. He blubbered a little and then the tears were flowing.
He gripped Neville's hand to tell him to hold on again. But before he could get the words out of his mouth, Neville's head stopped gushing blood. The skin covered over within seconds. Neville sat straight up.
"Bloody hell," Ron said awestruck. He looked around for an Auror, for Duncan for Dumbledore, for Mr. Potter, for anyone who could've done whatever had just happened. But there was no one.
Neville sat up, shaky and disoriented. Their brooms were dangling above them, having gotten caught in a thicket of branches.
"R-Ron," he said slowly. "I think, I think I'm okay."
"But how?" Ron didn't want to cry because of fear, now he wanted to cry because he was confused. "Can you stand?" he asked his friend.
Neville nodded and though he was unsteady, he slowly stood, apparently no worse for the wear. Ron helped him to his feet, trying to brush the leaves off of him, but only succeeding his smearing his robes with blood.
"Did you do that, Ron?" Neville asked, although it seemed more of a statement.
"I...I don't know," Ron stammered, though he had a sinking feeling that he did know.
He can heal people? Neville's voice asked questioningly.
"Neville, I said I don't know," Ron shot back sharply. But from the look on Neville's blood stained face, Ron suddenly realized that Neville hadn't spoken aloud.
But the two boys didn't have time to worry about that as the adults were now Apparating around them. Alice Longbottom was rushing to her son in a panic.
"Neville! Darling, are you all right? Harry said you took a fall."
"I'm fine, Mum," Neville said as his mother reached out and wrapped him in what was definitely more of a smother than a hug. But Alice could see the blood as could Molly and Lily rushed over to tend to Ron with Harry bringing up the rear.
He saw Neville and stopped in his tracks. "Neville! You're all right, you're not bleeding. What the fu—."
Lily whipped her head around. "Harold James Potter, watch your mouth."
"What happened?" all of them seemed to ask in unison.
"Ron," said Molly reaching out for her son, but Ron pulled away, overwhelmed by the situation and afraid of what would happen if he got too upset, he wrenched his arm from his mother's grasp and ran into the forest.
He didn't know how long or how far he ran. He didn't know if they were coming after them. At that moment, he didn't care. He just wanted to be anywhere but where he was.
When he finally stopped running, he'd reached a large, open meadow. He did the only thing he could think of at that particular moment. He screamed.
He screamed and screamed and screamed until it seemed he would fall down to the ground, which he did.
He didn't want it, he decided. He didn't want to be whatever he was supposed to be. He was afraid, no he was terrified. Fear wasn't in the Seventh Son handbook, that much he was certain.
He just wanted to play Quidditch and go to Howargts like the rest of his siblings. He didn't want visions or to be able to heal people or whatever had happened He just wanted to get sorted into Gryffindor.
Of course, Gryffindor probably didn't accept cowards.
"Ron," a soothing voice called to him. He recognized it immediately. He turned around to see the concerned eyes of his father. Arthur Weasley was still in his Ministry Robes. He'd obviously just popped over from a Wizgamenot session Ron felt even more guilty.
His father was an important man, the head of a very important family. Ron knew that.
"Dad, I'm s—," but before Ron could get out another word, Arthur had scooped up his youngest son off the ground and into his arms.
"You're all right, son," Arthur said softly. "You're all right, aren't you?"
Ron swallowed the lump in his throat. "Dad, I didn't mean to—,"
"I know. Neville's all right. He's fine. Because of you."
"I didn't know…I didn't mean to...," Ron trailed off, not knowing what he wanted to say, only knowing that he never wanted to leave his father's arms.
Arthur placed Ron on the ground. "Why don't we go for a walk, shall we, son?"
Ron wanted nothing more than to go home, but he nodded and took his father's hand.
As they started to walk, Ron cleared his throat. "Dad, I'm sorry you had to come all this way. I know how busy you are."
Ron had sounded as contrite as he could manage but his words seemed to strike his father like a bodkin. He stopped moving and looked down at his son, with something akin to hurt in his eyes.
Finally, after a pregnant, searching pause where Ron had only grown more certain that he would receive a severe scolding, Arthur smiled.
He got on his knees, met Ron's eyes and gently held his shoulders. "Ron, you are my son. I am never too busy for you. Remember that as long as you live. You're a Weasley, first and foremost. Whatever else you are, whatever else you'll be, you are a Weasley."
Ron smiled, his heart and spirit lifting with every word.
"Dad…what if I don't…want to be a Seventh Son?" Ron asked slowly.
Arthur nodded. "Well, I'm not sure you can change it, Ron. Its who you are. You journey is a special one."
"But what if I hurt somebody? What if I can't control it? What if I'm not good enough?"
"Ron, I know you're scared. But that's okay. You will be all right. Your mother and I would like to follow wherever you go, but we know we can't. But know that we are always with you, when you get scared. That's what family is for."
Ron smiled and as he and Arthur walked along the meadow, laughing and joking and Ron soon forgot the day's troubles.
But of course, he was soon reminded. Just as Ron and Arthur were preparing to head back to the estate, they heard a whoosh and a pop, the telltale sign of someone Apparating.
They turned around to see Duncan Gallen standing a few paces away from them.
With concern in his eyes, but a smile on his face he approached them.
"Arthur," he said with a nod and smile to the older man. He turned his green eyes on Ron. "We've had a bit of a day, haven't we?"
Ron lowered his eyes to the ground. "I'm sorry, Duncan."
"Never apologize for your gifts, Ronald," Duncan said, his voice soft as a whisper, and yet somehow resonating more than a thunderstorm. "Your control will come. But now, you didn't crash into Neville on purpose, did you?"
Ron shook his head.
"You left the forest for a moment, long before you ran away?"
Ron nodded again, seemingly incapable of speech.
Duncan nodded. "It is time, then. Arthur, your boy has the Sight. What form it will take is, for the moment, unclear. Visions, prophecies, dreams, we shall wait and see. But that was not all that had happened, was it, Ron?"
Ron turned bright red and gulped.
Duncan turned his attention to Arthur once again. "He also has the Inner Ear, he'll hear the thoughts of others."
Arthur looked down at his son, who's expression seemed to confirm everything that Duncan was saying.
"Can you help him with that?" Arthur trusted Duncan to a point, but one could never be too careful about who they entrusted their offspring with.
Duncan smiled his peculiar smile. "I can. I shall. From this moment on, his training intensifies."
7th
August 3rd, 1991
Bill,
How is your first week at Gringotts? Are the goblins nicer once you get to know them? I miss you already. Duncan says I'm learning really fast. I can move all the pictures off the wall and make them float without breaking them.
We're going to Ollivander's today to get my wand. Duncan wants me to get it earlier than usual, so I have more time to practice, so I can learn to be careful.
Why do I always have to be careful? I mean I know I can do things other people can't, but that's all of us. Duncan says I'll understand someday. He always says that. Sirius and Remus are coming over for dinner and Dumbledore and Mr. Scrimegeour were here last night. They brought me more books to read. They're always bringing me books. Duncan says I have to read them all by next Wednesday
Do you like your new flat? Mum says you could've stayed here. Or she may have been thinking it. I can't tell sometimes. Duncan says I have to work on that. I don't know if I want to know what everyone's thinking all the time. I flew without my broom for fifteen minutes yesterday, which is the longest I've ever done. Can you come and visit soon? I know you just got there but I miss you. So does Ginny. She doesn't say it, but I can tell. And with everyone back at Hogwarts, there's nothing for me to do but study with Duncan.
I probably should go and do that now. Write when you can. Send chocolate when you can.
Always,
Ron. Ron Weasley, English Seventh Son, floated his mermaid bone and thunderbird feather quill back into its holder slowly. His telekinesis was the most developed of his extra powers, but he didn't have full control of it yet, a fact that tormented him. His healing abilities seemed to get stronger every day, yet he wasn't quite aware of the extent. He could heal a broken nose without a wand (a fact he had tested out on George), but that was about it.
Of course, he had to work very hard to stay calm. When his emotions were charged whether it was with sadness or excitement, his powers could go haywire, which wasn't good for anyone.
The last time he'd gotten seriously upset he'd conjured up a flame that had nearly engulfed his bedroom, but Morky, his personal valet and house-elf had quickly put it out with a snap of his fingers.
Of course, the fact that nothing had been seriously damaged didn't do anything to com Ron's nerves.
As he learned more control, it always seemed that more was expected of him. Duncan, while always praiseworthy, always made it clear that this was the very least of his potential.
There were times when he wasn't sure he wanted to be able to do anything else. Sure, flying was fun and slightly scary. Being able to move things without having to say "Accio," was pretty cool. But then was the mind reading and the visions. Ron had not yet learned to read people's mind
The visions. Ron would've gladly traded the visions for a case of spattergroit. He'd been having the same three visions his entire life. One was always of Ginny (or he thought it was Ginny) lying on the floor of what would looked like a dungeon. The second was snow in a graveyard. Nothing else, just snow in a graveyard.
The third was the one that frightened him the most. He saw himself looking in a mirror, but a face that was not his own staring back at him. The face was never very clear. It was so distorted that Ron couldn't really make out any of the features, except that he had black hair. That was how Ron knew it wasn't his own reflection.
The fourth, Ron was quite certain, made absolutely no sense as it was a walking stack of books. It was always outside and it looked like Diagon alley, but there was a stack of books with a pair of feet attached to it.
.He had no idea of what to make of his visions, but per Duncan's instructions, he chronicled every last one of them in a notebook. Duncan had often told him that the most important parts of visions were what often seemed to be unimportant, like colors and temperatures. And deciphering his visions was a huge part of his training, apparently.
What he was training for, he had never been quite sure of He knew that he was going to have special duties or something. If he chose, he added to himself. Duncan and Dumbledore and Mr. Scrimengeour were always quick to preface his duties with that particular caveat. But Ron still had had no idea what "special duties" meant.
As far as he could tell, Seventh Sons weren't the busiest set in the magical world. At least, not in Europe.
He knew that he was supposed to protect Britain's magical world from danger, but as far as he could tell, there wasn't much danger to speak of. Sure, there were dark wizards, but there always had been and the Aurors took care of them. He knew that from all the stories Mad-Eye Moody, a famous Auror and one of his godfathers, told him.
Still, just what he was supposed to do had never been fully explained to him. Ron sometimes wondered if the adults around him even knew. He had a feeling that any of them did know, it was Duncan.
He hadn't yet mastered hearing people's thoughts, but he got the feeling that Duncan was purposefully blocking him which only made him believe that Duncan knew more than he was telling.
Now with his first year of Hogwarts, approaching dread had set in like summertime heat. Everyone would think he was something he didn't think he was. Everyone would think he was exceptional.
Besides, if everyone expected so much of him, part of him was worried he would never quite be able to live up to it. Not that he ever said that out loud. But from everything he had ever read or been told about Seventh Sons, they were amazing. No, they were bloody wicked.
Godric Gryffindor had fought off twenty Dementors with the strongest Expecto Patronum on record. Pierre Costeau, a French Seventh Son had saved twenty families from Giants using Wandless Magic by himself. Rick Collin, the first Seventh Son from America had fought five dark wizards in a wizard's duel to keep them from an ancient magical relic that apparently could've ended life as they knew it.
Obviously, they hadn't been scared of anything, least of all failing.
Duncan often said that failure wasn't an option, wasn't even a possibility, but Ron had never quite worked out if that was supposed to be reassuring or scary. He had never quite worked out whether Duncan's presence itself was supposed to be reassuring or scary. On the one hand, he had someone who understood what he was going through. On the other, Ron had lately gotten the feeling that Duncan wasn't completely happy with being a teacher of Seventh Sons.
And Ron knew that his tutor would only give him more to do now that he was going to Hogwarts. Ron had wanted nothing more than to go to Hogwarts his entire life. But now, it was less than thirty days away. And everyone would be looking at him, expecting him to be able to do amazing things.
Now with Bill having moved out, Ron couldn't help but feeling slightly bluer than normal.
But he didn't have time to feel blue. Morky knocked on his door and announced it was time to go.
Usually, trips to Diagon Alley were a source of delight to Ron. It meant new brooms or at the very least, Fortescue's.
But this, he knew was no ordinary trip. They were going far earlier than they ever did. The sun was barely peaking over the clouds when the car the Ministry had provided for them rolled into the Burrow's drive.. Extra Aurors were present simply because no one could really be certain of what would happen when Ron got his wand.
Ron watched from his bedroom window as the Aurors, tall and striking, all whispered to one another, waiting for his family to present themselves.
Ron thought about the way his brothers and parents talked about the moment when they first held their wands. They all talked about as if they had finally found a limb they didn't know they were missing.
He wished Bill were there. But Bill was in Egypt. His parents and Duncan were all going to accompany him to the wand shop.
Finally when Ron knew he couldn't hide any longer, he made his way downstairs. Duncan was already there, chatting quietly with Ron's parents.
"I'm ready," Ron said with more eagerness than he actually felt.
His parents beamed at him. Though they had watched five sons get their wands already, they had been waiting for this moment a long time.
"Good," Duncan said before Arthur and Molly could respond. "It's time to go."
Duncan blinked and the solid applewood doors of the Burrow opened. Arthur rolled his eyes, he had always thought Duncan was something of an show-off.
They were all piling into the car when they heard what sounded like a broom and a yell.
"Wait, wait, wait for me!" cried the unmistakable voice of Harry Potter. He was racing down the lane on his broom, black hair sticking every which way.
Ron poked his head out of the car. "Harry, mate, what are you doing here?" he asked.
"Coming with you, of course," Harry said, not even asking for permission as he barged his way into the car.
"Harry!" came the incredulous, scolding tone of Molly Weasley. "What on earth are you doing out of bed at this hour? Your mother will have your head."
Harry blushed slightly. "Mum will understand," he said sofltly. "He's my best mate."
Molly couldn't help but smile at that, though she'd be owling Lily immediately to let her know that her mischievous son was quite all right.
Ron was trying hard not to show it, but he was over the moon that Harry was there. Something told him that he wanted his closest friend in the world to be there when he got his wand.
And with that, they were off.
When they arrived, most of Diagon alley was still closed. Knockturn Alley, of course. Practitioners of the Dark Arts liked to get their business done without a lot of witnesses.
They made their way to Ollivander's where they found the wandmaker outside of his shop.
"Ollivander," Duncan said with a smile, approaching the older man quickly. "It's good to see you."
Ollivander nodded cordially at Duncan, but quickly moved past him to approach the Weasleys. He bowed to them.
"A privilege and an honor," he told them with a quiver of emotion in his voice. "Truly a privilege and an honor," he said again taking a long glance at Ron, who had suddenly wanted nothing more than to hide behind his mother's giant pocketbook.
Something about Ollivander put Ron on edge, almost like his earliest memories of Duncan.
"Mr. Ollivander, we're just happy to be here," Arthur said with a smile which the famed wandmaker returned.
"As am I, Master Weasley. As am I. I know you would all like to be a part of this moment, but I think it's best that I go into the shop with Ron...alone. The wand chooses the wizard and with all of these wizards around, it may get a little haywire."
Everyone looked surprised, but before anyone could protest, Ron had taken Ollivander's quickly extended hand and was entering the shop, leaving his parents, his best friend and his mentor to watch from outside.
Once the heavy door closed behind them, Ollivander turned to the young boy and appraised him. "Something told you to come with me, did it not?"
Ron nodded. He didn't know what it was, but something told him to trust Ollivander, that the man knew what he was talking about.
"Ronald, there is no amount of galleons that can buy and no spell that conjure that instinct. Guard it with your life."
The shop owner quickly let go of Ronald, flitted across to the room with much more agility than his age and appearance would've granted and hopped up on a ladder.
"Now, we need to find you a wand. Do you know the last seventh son that passed through the doors of Ollivander's was—well, that's a story for another time. But I never thought I would see the day, never, never." He disaapeared into parts unknown leaving a slightly overwhelmed Ron in the middle of the shop, flustered, nervous and more excited than he'd ever been before.
He was going to get his own wand. He was finally getting his own wand. It wasn't going to be like using Bill's or the few time when Duncan let him hold his wand. This wand, whichever chose him, would be his.
Duncan had given him a very large book to read about wandlore in anticipation of this moment. Ron had read very little of it, but what he did gather was that some wands were very loyal, some were not. And the wands of Seventh Sons were something altogether different.
Ron looked around the store, awestruck at the shelves and shelves and shelves and shelves. They really did seem to go on forever. His entire family since long before him had gotten their wands in this very store.
But before he could think on it any longer, Ollivander came back to the front of the store, his arms loaded with boxes and Ron spotted at least fifteen more floating behind him.
"These are the wands that will you suit you, I think," he opened a box and pulled out a rounded, black wand. "Hawthorn, 12½ inches, unicorn hair." He extended into Ron's waiting hands. "Give it a wave."
Ron gripped the wand and though he felt nothing special, he did as he was told. In less than a moment, he found himself ducking for cover as all the glass in the splintered around him, and went flying into a million pieces.
He dropped the wand quickly and as he stood, an apologetic wince on his face, the glass slowly began to right itself until there was not a cracked vase in the room.
"Remarkable," Ollivander said as he rose from his crouched position. "But definitely not the wand for you. Let's try this, shall we? Applewood, ten inches, dragon heartstring, swishy. Very good for dueling."
Ron was more than a little reluctant to try again, but he knew he had to. But the fire that came roaring from the tip of the wand when he touched it assured him that particular wand was definitely not the one for him.
Neither was the 8 inch, alder and phoenix feather, or the 10 inch ash and unicorn hair.
Soon Ron had gone through 57 wands, each wrecking more and more havoc on the wand store, until Ron was almost convinced that no wand wanted him.
Was it possible the wands feared him? He remembered something in the book about wands not bonding with wizards that they viewed as too powerful. Something about knowing that power was more corrupting than the darkest magic. The thought made him shudder, it also made him even more confused.
Even Ollivander looked perplexed. "I thought sure that...well no matter," he muttered to himself. And then a thought seemed to strike him. He went stock still for a moment. "I wonder," he whispered softly.
"You wonder?" Ron asked as he dusted off another chunk of plaster from the roof that the 9 inch, yew and dragon heartstring had caused the moment he touched it.
"Come with me, Ron," Ollivander said as he flitted into the back of the stop, leaving Ron to hurry after him.
The shelves really did go on forever as it seemed at least half an hour before they reached the back of the shop.
And just when Ron was ready to catch his breath, Ollivander whispered something and the floor began to move. A staircase, winding and with no apparent end appeared and Ollivander wasted no time racing down it.
Ron, longing for a sandwich, prayed that there was food at wherever they were going as he sighed and followed after Ollivander. He wondered what his parents were thinking. He was sure this was longer than he'd ever been at Ollivander's, probably longer than anyone.
"Excuse me, Mr. Ollivander," Ron said as he followed behind him. "It is possible that I don't have a wand—,"
"Nonsense, Ronald. The wand chooses the wizard, that much is certain," Ollivander said gaily. He seemed to grow more excited by the moment. Clearly, he knew something Ron did not.
When they finally descended the staircase, Ron was even more baffled. He couldn't see a thing. It was completely dark. Blackness eneveloped the whole room.
"Lumos maxima," came Ollivander's voice and a thousand wands lit up the room, like floating torches to reveal more shelves. But these were different. They were very old, Ron could tell but they seemed almost...alive. Each was painted a different color, some were dark blue, others fiery reds and the designs on their sides almost looked like faces They floated, and they made a noise, almost as if they were breathing, or sleeping.
"Welcome to my collection, Ron," Ollivander said. "These are the rarest wands ever made. Used by some of the greatest wizards that ever lived. And I believe I have just the thing for you...and if I'm right, Merlin, what it will mean."
Ron wondered what was going on in Ollivander's head. He suddenly doubted if he could read minds at all because he hadn't the foggiest clue what was Ollivander was on about.
"Wait here," Ollivander said curtly and disappeared to the back of the room. There were banging and clanging and screeching, almost as if he was fighting with a grindylow...and the grindylow was bringing home the win.
But then Ollivander reappeared, seemingly unscathed and holding a large, box that seemed to be made out of glass.
He conjured up a chair and motioned hastily for Ron to sit as he conjured up one for himself as well. The wands seem to dim as Ollivander gently put the box down between and Ron's eyes with his own.
"My boy, has anyone ever told you the story of Almec Gryffindor?"
Ron shook his head. He had never heard the name.
Ollivander's eyes lit up with glee, the way a child's did when they had a secret no one else knew about. "Almec was the firstborn son of Godric himself by this third wife, Eleia. You see, old Gryffindor had a vision that he was going to have a son. He was so overjoyed because he already had eleven daughters and was incredibly anxious for an heir. He had great ideas and expectations for his son. So much so that he made his son a wand. This wand, Ron," Ollivander said grasping the box even tighter. "The only wand of its kind. The only wand known to have a braided core."
"A braided core?" came Ron's mesmerized query.
"Yes, the core is four strands: dragon heartstring, for Gryffindor hoped his son would be powerful and unafraid of force when necessary, unicorn hair, for Gryffindor wanted his son to be loyal and good at heart, phoenix tailfeather, as it was not only the core of his own wand but also a wand that would act in the best interest of its master, and thestral hair, for any son of Gryffindor could not be afraid of death. It is also the only wand to be made out of four different types of wood, blackthorn, alder, cedar and Elder. A wand made for the heir of Gryffindor," and wit that Ollivander produced the most ornate wand Ron had ever seen.
It was painted yellow, Gryffindor yellow to be exact, and studded with seven rubies or what Ron thought was rubies.
Ollivander held the wand tightly and as he spun it around slowly letting the light from the wands surrounding fall upon
the gems, as if the wand was the centerpiece of a chandelier.
Ron was absolutely enthralled. "Wicked."
"It was wicked, indeed, especially for Gryffindor. When his son Almec was born, Gryffindor placed the wand in his crib, trying to instill loyalty between the two from an early age. Alas, it was not to be. Almec would never cast a spell with this wand or any wand. Despite being born of two very old and very powerful magical lineages, the boy was a Squib. Completely unmagical. Gryffindor, of course, fell into despair and blamed his wife. But it was not her fault or anyone's fault. Gryffindor had five more sons, and though they were magical, the wand would not choose them. Finally his seventh son was born. The world waited on baited breath because the seventh son of a Seventh Son was bound to be one of the most magical creatures that ever lived. And indeed, Callister Gryffindor was magical. Very magical. He was said to be quite powerful from the moment he was born. But still, the wand did not choose him and he died in a goblin flu epidemic three days before his fourteenth birthday. Fiery being Gryffindor's natural disposition, he raged for weeks in anger and grief cursing the gods, his own magic and everything else he could think of. He rushed away from Godric's Hollow with this wand and he enchanted it, saying that it would take no master until the Heir of Gryffindor truly arrived. He brought it back and for a while he was determiined to find his heir. and once he thought he did, but it went to nothing. Finally, he gave up, and with some calmness that he was not known to possess, he wrote a letter writing that he would never meet his heir, that the heir was forthcoming. Convinced it would eventually belong to one of his descendants, he gave it to my ancestor, Garod Ollivander and told him to guard with his life. He said it would be obvious when his true heir arrived. After his death, his sons were furious and searched high and low for the wand, but none ever thought to ask Garod Ollivander. Now I'll tell you a story that you already know. Galena Gryffindor, Godric's youngest daughter grew into a great beauty and she fell in love with..."
"Veron Weasley," Ron said almost immediately. AFter all his family was very proud of their Gryffindor lineage. Although, Ron had known nothing of the history lesson Ollivander had just given him.
"A Seventh Son born into a family descended from Gryffindorr," Ollivander's voice had turned rhapsodic again. "Who better for Godric's heir?"
Ron was now baffled. "But I'm not even in Gryffindor. I haven't been sorted yet."
"The wand chooses the wizard, Ronald. Sorted or not, there's only one way to know if this wand is for you."
Ollivander extended the wand to Ron's trembling hand. Ron's apprehension was apparent by the loud thumping of his heart. He wasn't sure what he was more terrifed of, being the heir of Gryffindor or not.
He reached for the wand, not knowing what he would feel or if he would feel anything. His fingers grasped the smooth wooden base of the wand and for a moment, he felt nothing. He was about to voice his disappointment and hide his relief when he felt a jolt of energy surge through him. He suddeny felt as if arm has grown longer, stronger more powerful. He suddenly felt as if the wand was inside his brain, his memories, his thoughts. He could have almost sworn he heard the slightest whisper of a unknown, but somehow familiar voice calling his name.
There was no doubt to entertain. This was clearly his wand.
"Whoa," was all he said as he looked as his reflection in one of the rubies. His reflection winked back at him.
"Merlin's beard!" Ollivander said with a smile. "I was right. I knew I was right. Ron, I don't know what you will accomplish in your life, but I know this much no one destined for the mundane could ever take ownership of the wand. we can expect great things from you, Mr. Weasley. Great things indeed."
Ron, although excited about his wand, felt a certain amount of trepidation. the sinking feeling that he would eventually let everyone down. What did being the heir of Gryffindor even mean?
Of course, he would have plenty of time to think about that later. At the moment, he had to get back to his parents and Harry.
As he followed Garrick Ollivander out of the secret chamber and back into the main store, he wondered what exactly he would and should tell the crowd who was eagerly waiting for him. The whole truth seemed necessary, but terrifying.
If only he knew what it meant, Heir of Gryffindor. If only he knew what being a Seventh Son really meant. He wished Duncan would introduce him to Seventh Sons who actually did their jobs. Duncan had been a part of his life for as long as he could remember, and he was still the only Seventh Son he'd ever met.
Ron was still lost in his thoughts and clutching his brand new wand when he emerged from Ollivander's shop and saw the eager faces of his parents and best friend awaiting.
Before Ron could utter a word, Ollivander beamed down at the boy and began to rapidly explain the highly unusual circumstances surrounding Ron's wand.
The surprise, bewilderment and delight crossed everyone's faces in quick succession. But Ollivander quickly brought the discussion back to more serious ground.
"I fear this should not be made common knowledge. there are descendants of Gryffindor's sons who have been looking for that wand for generations. Caution cannot be emphasized enough."
"You may depend upon it, Mr. Ollivander," said Arthur looking thoughtfully at his son. "We will be sure to keep it a private matter," he added giving a pointed glance in Harry's direction.
Ollivander nodded and shook hands with all the adults, patted Harry on the head and squeezed Ron's shoulders firmly and took his leave.
"Well," Molly said after a beat. "It's a lot to take in."
"It is," agreed Arthur. "Ron, Harry, why don't you and run and get some Fortescue's. We'll meet you at Flourish and Blotts in an hour."
Ron and Harry nodded and headed to the ice cream shop.
Harry had been silent since Ron had came out of the shop, but he finally found his voice.
"So Heir of Gryffindor, huh? I guess we know what House you'll be in," he said with a wry grin.
Ron turned to Harry to reply as they were turning a corner, but before he could get a sound out of his mouth, he crashed into a walking stack of books.
The books went flying and Ron fell in a heap.
"Watch it!" came the voice of the shoes of the bookcase and Ron realized that the walking bookcase was a girl, a girl with very bushy, very brown hair.
Sorry for the delay. I went back and forth with this chapter a lot and then when I was editing it, my laptop died and I had to get a new one. If this chapter seems a little disjointed, that's why. But now that things have calmed down for me, I am going to try and update each of my stories twice a month. Xoxo Please read and review.-Kay.