Another update from me, I can hardly believe it myself. I promise I will try not to have you all waiting 6 months for the next one and I hope to make up for the lack of Ron and Hermione in the latest chapter of my other fic with copious amounts here. Of course, nothing too steamy yet. They're only 11. But onwards and upwards.
Also I cannot tell you how much the response to this story has meant to me. I read all the well thought-out, passionate comments and it makes my heart soar. You guys are best. XOXO
Three
"Does the walker choose the path or the path the walker?"-Garth Nix.
Scottish Highlands, 10th Century A.D.
Gryffindor cursed his fate. Clearly, the gods had set him for up failure. He did not know who'd he cursed, hexed or disgraced, but clearly he should not have done so.
His sons, none of them had proven to be his heir, not his true heir. And now his beloved Callister, The Son That Should've Been, was dead. He'd known pain like this before, though it hadn't been as personal.
The other one, the one boy who could've been the true holder of the wand was lost forever, gone where no one could follow him.
He was quite inconsolable, but his temperament could not bear despondency. His son had been laid to rest nearly eighteen days earlier. He had not left his chamber since. He spent all his time making potions, inventing new incantations, any and everything he to avoid reflecting on the miserable truth.
The wand, the wand that he had worked on so carefully, that he had poured so much of his soul, his blood, his magic into was now locked away in a box, taunting him.
It seemed that the wand did not think anyone in his lineage worthy of it. The irony was quite bitter and hard to swallow, but it was not lost on Godric.
He lit a candle and prepared to write a letter to his eldest son, Almec.
Despite the wand not choosing Almec, he was very much his father's son and was currently in London purchasing property for his upcoming marriage. Godric wanted to make sure that whatever property he chose in that overgrown weed of a locale, he would have some seclusion from the Muggles.
He had to be a father despite his disappointments, and like with everything he did, he went at with his usual fiery, lively disposition.
He was finishing the letter when his owl, Jaxner delivered a letter in an all too familiar script. He nearly fell out of his chair when he recognized it. That note was clearly written in the hand of Slytherin.
"Damn him!" bellowed Gryffindor as he snatched the letter from Jaxner's beak.
He read over the letter with hurried enthusiasm and dread, his eyes quickly skimming over Slytherin's usual arrogant taunts and menaces.
As usual, his old friend turned foe gave nothing away about his locations or plans. The letter was completely devoid of scent or wear, anything that would give a clue as to where its slippery author was slithering around.
In any event, there was only one phrase in the whole letter worthy of any consideration: Present thyself at the graveyard in the Hollow tomorrow fortnight. Bring the wand or the boy dies.
Godric Gryffindor had a choice to make. He didn't honestly believe that Salazar would kill the boy, no the boy was far too valuable for that. Then again, no one could ever say for certain what Slytherin would or would not do.
His heart heavy and his mind even more distressed, he took up his quill again, barely knowing where to start, but knowing he could not face it alone.
7th
Diagon Alley, Late 20th Century
Hermione Granger was very aware of the seminal moments in her life thus far.
She could recall with ease the moment that she had discovered her magical ability. She had been four years old and had been attempting to get a thesaurus down from a high shelf in her father's library. It had been, of course, out of her grasp, but the book floated down to her on its own.
Always a highly rational child, she knew that there was something amiss about this. Her efforts to make her parents aware of the fact however had fallen short. They dismissed it as their only daughter having an overactive imagination.
That would continue to be their rationale of choice to explain away the series of bizarre incidents that marked Hermione's early childhood. While in nursery school, Hermione had insisted that her drawing of a butterfly had come to life and flown out the window. Once in while summering in Paris, Hermione had insisted that the Eiffel tower was floating.
Similar incidents would leave Hermione rather friendless throughout her early school years with her classmates labelling her everything from an attention seeker to a freak.
Unable to connect with children her age and unable to make her parents understand, Hermione withdrew into her main solace: books.
Books had always been her constant companions, and through her love of books and knowledge, she developed the esteem and praise of her teachers.
Being rejected by her peers and misunderstood by her parents led her to naturally crave and value the praise her teachers bestowed upon her with a dogged veracity that would come to mark all her pursuits.
Whatever Hermione did, she had to do it best. Otherwise, her teachers would think less of her.
Of course, things had turned drastically when her letter from Hogwarts arrived. So much then made sense. She was not a freak or merely prone to flights of fancy. She was a witch. An actual witch.
Her parents, though initially skeptical, had always been of the highly accepting sort. To own the truth, they were actually relieved because they had begun to worry if their daughter's overactive imagination was an underlying cause of something much, much worse.
But alas, no mental conditions no speak of, only magical ones.
For the last several months, Hermione had been engrossing herself in everything she could about Hogwarts. She wanted to know everything, she wanted to learn everything, she wanted to do everything.
She'd already been reading up on the history of Hogwarts and the history of the magical world in general. She'd read about the Goblin Wars, the actual truth of the Dark ages, and everything she could find about the most famous and powerful witches.
She had now decided to turn to reading things about spells and wand technique as well her actual coursework for the first semester. So on this particular morning, she'd dragged her parents out of bed as she wanted to get to Diagon Alley as early as possible.
She had just finished collecting all the books she wanted to purchase. Always being highly rational as well as highly impatient, she did not want to make two trips. So before entering Flourish & Blotts, she'd calculated the exact route she needed to take including the number of steps and paces she would need in order to get back to her parents without incident.
She was certain she could accomplish it without incident.
But as Hermione was soon to learn, in the Wizards' world, you could never be truly certain of anything.
7th
Harry Potter was trying very hard not to laugh at the humorous scene in front of him. Ron had been doing his very best to apologize to the girl he'd mown down in the Middle of Diagon Alley.
The girl, however, was not receptive, to say the least. She'd been berating Ron for the past five minutes and Ron, completely taken aback, was ready to respond in kind.
The girl looked about their age, with busy brown hair, rather large teeth and an expression that was nearly murderous as she sat, propped up on her knees carefully examining her stack of books for any signs of damage.
"You could've killed me, you know?" she said for the fourth time in irritation as she rebuffed the latest of Ron's attempts to help her to her feet. "Why don't you watch where you going?"
Ron's ears turned bright red. "Me, watch where I'm going?" he cried. "You're the one walking down the street with a stack of books taller than you! You can't even see where you're going."
Harry bit his lips even harder; he had never seen his friend so indignant
The girl however, was having none of Ron's logic. "I'll have you know that I counted the steps and the route I had to take to carry all my books back to my mother and father without incident in one trip. I would've pulled it off if you hadn't got in my way."
Ron's jaw dropped. He turned to Harry and his face clearly said Mental.
"You're mad," he said, nearly awestruck by her reasoning. "Who carts a hundred bloody books in one trip?"
"Someone who believes they're surrounded by people who use their eyes," the girl spat back.
Ron's ire was obvious. He couldn't remember being this angry at someone ever. He picked a book that had landed by his shoes, searching for a retort that would stop this girl in her tracks. "Standard Book of Spells?" he asked, picking the book. She grabbed it from him rather ungraciously. "Why are you carting this anyway? Don't you have one in your house?" Every witch and wizard Ron knew had one of those on the mantle.
The girl didn't respond right away. Her brown eyes filled with something other than anger. "No," she said in a much softer tone. "I don't have any of these in my house."
Ron bit his lip as embarrassment and understanding flushed over him in equal measure. The girl was probably muggle-born. And Ron had been taught better to disparage anyone because of their "blood standing". His entire family was disgusted by the very notion of pureblood superiority, despite being one of the oldest, purest families around.
"Oh," he said quickly. He stared at his shoes for a moment, cheeks as red as his hair.
An awkward pause followed in which Ron glanced at Harry as if trying to figure out what to do next. Harry didn't know what to do either, but it was clear in the moments that followed that he and Ron were not of the same mind on the matter.
"Um, would you like to come to Fortescue's with us?" Harry offered. It was honestly the best he could think of in the moment. Ron's jaw hit the floor. Clearly not his idea of a good time.
"Fortescue's?" the girl's face seemed to light up. "I'd love to. I've got to drop off my books first." And with that, she scurried off around a corner.
"What did you do that for?" Ron asked Harry. "She's mental."
Harry shrugged. "Well, you did run her over."
"She's the one walking down the street with a stack of books ten feet high,"
"Well," Harry said noncommittally. "We'll just run off once we get our ice cream. She's not going to follow us."
Ron hoped Harry was right, but he had a sinking feeling that he wasn't. He didn't even know the girl's name. He wasn't quite sure when he wanted to.
Before Ron could think of anything else to say, the girl was back falling into step beside them as they headed to Fortescue's. She instantly began talking, to the point where Ron was convinced that she must've gotten in the way of an anti-silence jinx.
"I've been wanting to try to Fortescue's since I read about it. But I haven't had time, there's been so much reading to do. It's supposed to have the best ice cream in all of Britain. At least that's what it says in A Comprehensive Guide of Diagon Alley. And I've been so busy reading that that I had forgotten to pick up the rest of my books, not to mention my cauldron and my wand and I still have to get more books, because I want to get a jump start on the reading for next year, but I've been dying to try the Raspberry Sparkle. It's jinxed to look like wand sparks when you eat it."
Ron and Harry's eyes widened and their jaws froze in unabashed wonder as they watched the girl talk incessantly about all the ice cream flavors she wanted to try, all the books she had yet to read and how excited she was to be attending Hogwarts. After five minutes (or to Ron's mind, five lifetimes) had passed, the girl stopped talking and inhaled a long breath. Ron was in the middle of a deep exhalation of relief, when she began speaking again.
When they at last reached the entryway of Fortescue's, the girl gasped. "Oh, I've completely forgotten my manners," she said extending her hand. "I'm Hermione Granger."
Ron didn't know whether to shake her hand or bolt off running, but Harry seemed more well-mannered and proper than Ron had ever seen him in his life.
"Harry Potter," he said effortlessly as he shook Hermione Granger's hand.
Hermione's big brown eyes widened again. Harry noticed that they did that a lot. "Potter? Are you related to Fleamont Potter?"
"He's my grandfather," Harry said slowly, a blush spreading across his cheeks. Did this girl know everything about everything and everyone?
"I read about all his inventions. Does his hair potion work?"
Hermione's eyes wandered up to Harry's spiky black hair, which was only tamed when his mother used a bottle of Sleak-Eazy, so he merely shrugged noncommittally. But wanting to get the attention off of himself, before this girl bombarded him questions about his entire family tree, he made quick work of introductions. He figured that anything if anything would silence Hermione, it was meeting Ron.
"And this is my best friend, Ron Weasley," Harry grinning at the ginger boy who looked absolutely livid.
Hermione Granger was, for the only time in Ron's brief acquaintance with her, silent. Her mouth gaped open as her eyes turned to look at Ron. She was obviously shocked and couldn't seem to think of anything to say.
Her silence, however, did not last as long as her awe. "You're Ron Weasley?" she said in an excited whisper. "You're a Seventh Son?"
Ron, who had long been sheltered from this type of reaction, nodded shortly. "I am," he said as he silently plotted where he was going to stuff Harry's body. Now they would never get rid of her
Hermione was clearly amazed. "I've read about you. You're the first British Seventh Son in a millennium!"
Ron turned red again and prayed that no one else was listening. He didn't want the whole of the Alley bombarding him.
"Yes," Ron said briefly. "Shall we go in?" the door seemed to open of its own accord and Ron wasn't quite sure if he had done that, but it didn't matter. All that mattered was they could get inside and possibly get away from Hermione Granger.
It was still fairly early in the day as they'd gone to Ollivander's very early in the morning, so the normally buzzing shop was very, very quiet.
Ron thought it was odd that the adults were letting them get ice cream that early but he surmised that they probably wanted to talk about him without him knowing it.
Mr. Fortescue smiled as Ron and Harry were already very well-known to him. "Young Master Ronald and Young Master Harry," he approached them as they sat down at a table. "And who is this young lady?"
"I'm Hermione Granger," she said eagerly as she shook Mr. Fortescue's hand.
"Granger," he replied slowly as if testing the name on his lips. "I don't know the name. Are you the first in your family to go to Hogwarts?"
"I am. I can't wait."
Mr. Fortescue smiled. "Well, I'm sure Hogwarts will be happy to have you. And these two will be glad to keep you company. Well, what can I get for you? Ah, I know for these two, two chocolate frog sundaes," he said smiling at Ron and Harry who had plastered smiles on their faces, trying to think of a way to escape. "And for you Ms. Granger?"
Hermione beamed. "I'll have the Raspberry Sparkle."
Mr. Fortescue smiled. "Coming right up." Somehow Ron got the sense that Mr. Fortescue understood the scene better than he was letting on, as Ron could clearly sense amusement from the older man. Of course, he wasn't exactly trying to hide it.
"Have you two been here much?" Hermione asked as she looked around in wonder as floating trays delivered various orders to the small amount of patrons in the store.
"Yes," Harry began as he noted that Ron didn't seem keen on talking. "We come here all the time with our parents, and our friend Neville."
"Do you have any friends that aren't wizards?" Hermione asked, in a somewhat hopeful tone.
"No," Ron said quickly. "I've got a cousin on my mum's side who's an accountant, but we don't speak of him. But my dad has met lots of Muggles."
A slightly deflated look crossed Hermione's features "Oh, so you don't like Muggles?"
"No, of course, not," Harry said. "I've met plenty of muggles. My mother's muggle-born. Her whole family is nothing but Muggles."
"Oh, really?" Hermione brightened at that. "What do they of having a witch in the family?"
Harry shrugged. "My grandparents are awfully proud. My Aunt Petunia is a toadstool, but according to Mum, she was always like that. What about you, do you have any siblings?"
"None," Hermione said. "It's just me and my parents. They're dentists."
Ron was confused "Dentawhats?"
"Dentists. They tend to people's teeth. Apparently, it's quite demanding."
For all of Ron's imagination, he couldn't picture what a dentist did or why on earth it would've been necessary.
"What do Muggles do with their teeth that they need them fixed so much?" Ron asked. His curiosity was only halfhearted, but that didn't stop Hermione from giving a long, full-bodied answer to the many, many ailments involving Muggle teeth. Hermione had full-bodied answers for everything, apparently.
"So have the two of you gotten your wands yet?" Hermione asked, once she had finished her soliloquy on Muggle teeth.
"No," Ron said quickly. He knew he couldn't tell her about his wand, he didn't know if he could tell anyone, save for the people who already knew. Mr. Ollivander had seemed to think that was quite important.
"No," Harry chimed in. "I'll get mine later on next month," he supplied. "Have you ever held a wand?"
Hermione shook her head. "Not yet, but I can't wait. I wonder what kind of wand I should choose."
Ron eyed Hermione curiously, he couldn't have imagined growing up without magic. He'd been playing with his brother's wands his whole life, not to mention his parents and grandparents and the rest of his family.
What was it like to not have magic in your life? He was genuinely curious, but he dared not ask the question for fear of being in his seventh year before he got the full answer.
"Well, the wand sort of chooses you," Harry said slowly. "At least, that's what my mother and father always said. As soon as you hold it, you know, or it knows...or something." He looked at Ron as if wanting to confirm this, but Ron merely focused on his ice cream. He didn't want to discuss wands anymore. There had been enough of that for day, in his opinion.
Hermione was clearly intrigued. "It just knows? That wasn't anywhere in Hogwarts: A History."
" There's a lot that's not in Hogwarts: A History," Ron said automatically. He was quoting Duncan who had objected to Dumbledore's insistence that the book be a core component of Ron's curriculum.
Hermione's eyes narrowed slightly. "Have you read it?" she asked him, a slight edge in her voice. "It's apparently the most comprehensive book on Hogwarts ever written."
"Which means that a bunch of witches and wizards got together and decided to leave a lot of things out," Ron countered. "There are some things about magic you can only learn by doing it."
Hermione rolled her eyes. "Apparently you can't learn how to use your eyes. We're going to spend eight years learning spells from books."
"And then we actually have to cast them," Ron countered. "There's no spell, charm or curse that casts itself off the page."
Harry bit back a chuckle, but if he'd known that this was only the first of the many, many arguments he'd hear between Ron and Hermione, he might've ran out the door and not looked back.
He watched the back and forth between the two of them like a game of lawn tennis and he didn't know whether to laugh or scream.
On the one hand, it was highly entertaining. On the other, it was acutely annoying. Ron and Hermione argued the point for what seemed an hour (five minutes, in reality) before their ice cream tray arrived floating and interrupted their dispute.
For a while, all three were silent as they relished in the taste of their mid-morning treat. Ron was devising ways to get as far away from this girl as humanly possible.
They were still engrossed in their ice cream when and Harry and Ron felt the strong presence of Duncan approaching from behind.
Harry, for one, had never been completely at ease when Duncan was round. But he was Ron's protector/mentor/whatever else, so Harry had never voiced his opinions, he was pretty sure Duncan already knew anyway.
That was the worst part, Duncan seemed to know everything without anyone every saying a word. Harry wondered if Ron would be like that when they got older. He was suddenly glad they were already best mates. There wasn't much Ron didn't know about him to begin with.
Duncan appraised the situation he saw in front of him with searching eyes, Ron, Harry and a person unknown to him: a young girl, clearly magical, potentially highly proficient and definitely Muggleborn.
He could smell the Muggle on her. Muggle clothes, Muggle mannerisms, Muggle conversation, he held back a deep sigh. That lot was always particularly predictable.
Duncan bore no ill-will to Muggleborns. He thought their magical education should be to top priority to all Ministries in an effort to reduce the risk of exposure, but that was as far as it went.
He took no pains to associate himself with them, and he would insist on Ron doing the same. Muggle ideas, in his opinion, could often be dangerous, and Ron had enough dangers to worried about.
"Ron, Harry," Molly called as she came up behind Duncan. "It's time to go home. "Oh, hello. Who's your friend," Molly said with a smile, taking note of Hermione.
Ron groaned inwardly. Now they would never get rid of her. Molly was president of the Muggleborn Outreach Committee, a committee of highly influential witches and wizards who advocated integrating Muggleborns into Wizarding society earlier than when they were approaching their eleventh birthday. Hardline pureblood supremacists took offense to the committee's very existence, but Molly payed them absolutely no mind.
"I'm Hermione Granger," replied the beaming girl not waiting for Harry or Ron to introduce her.
"Granger," Molly tested the name on her tongue. It was a name unfamiliar to her, and she could tell that the girl was most likely Muggleborn. She grinned over at Ron and Harry, she was proud of them for making new friends.
"Well, it's a delight to meet you, Hermione," Molly said as she approached the table with a smile. "I'm Molly Weasley, Ron's mother."
Recognition flashed over Hermione's features. "It's a delight to meet you as well, Mrs. Weasley. I've read your column in Witches Weekly. It's my favorite."
Duncan had heard enough "Yes, well, we really ought to be going," he said quickly. "Ron has much to do."
Ron's shoulders straightened. That particular tone of Duncan's usually meant Ron was in trouble for something. For the life of him, however, Ron couldn't think of anything he'd done. He hadn't even made anything accidentally float the whole time they'd been in the Alley.
"Hermione," called an unfamiliar voice. "There you are."
"Mum," Hermione said acknowledging her mother as a woman that Ron immediately knew was Jean Elizabeth Granger, though he had never seen her before. He knew she was from Stratford-upon-Avon, that she was in her early 30s, that she was allergic to shellfish, that her husband's name was William and that she had a pet hamster named Beatrice.
The information hit him in such a rush that for a moment, Ron was completely still, unaware of anything that was going on. When he came out of it, he heard his mother's cheery voice.
"...fine, it's all settled then, we'd be happy to have you over for tea, this afternoon, Jean. We'll send a car for the two of you. Our house is sort of hard to find if you don't know the way." If Molly noticed the scowl on Duncan's face, she ignored it rather nonchalantly.
Ron bit back a groan. Now, they certainly would never get rid of her. All he wanted to do was go home and practice with his wand. Now he was having tea with this unbelievably annoying girl and her mother. He shot a glance at over at Harry, who was had a rather large smile on his face. Git.
I'm certainly not going over there for tea.
Ron heard Harry's voice. He'd know it anywhere, but he'd been looking at Harry who hadn't opened his mouth.
If I have to suffer through it, you should too, Ron thought. You invited her here in the first place.
Harry started in his seat, blinking several times. He'd heard Ron, only Ron sounded much closer than he ever did in his life. Ron? Whoa, I can hear you inside my head.
What? You can? Ron turned wide eyes on his best mate who nodded in confirmation. How?
Haven't' the foggiest mate, seems like a question I should be asking you.
The two glanced at each other again, both bewildered and confused by the turn of events. Ron was used to being able to occasionally hear people thoughts but carrying out an entirely telepathic conversation was something quite new.
He sighed and shook his head, trying to make sense of everything. This whole day had been rather overwhelming, and it wasn't even lunchtime!
He longed to be back at home, racing brooms with Ginny, or maybe he could go and live with Bill. Maybe, just maybe he didn't have to be whatever it was everyone thought he had to be.
He'd barely even begun processing the fact that he was the Heir of Gryffindor. What did that even mean? He certainly didn't know. He wasn't sure if anyone did. These weren't the kind of things you learned from playing with your brother's wand or a toy broom.
This magic was Old Magic. It ran deeper than anybody truly knew, and although Ron was proud that he'd been chosen, he was also petrified.
What would Gryffindor think if he knew how frightened his heir actually was?
Ron didn't have time to ponder the question for long. His mother—just like his destiny, was beckoning him forward. There was nothing he could do but continue onward, despite not knowing what lay ahead.
7th
In the excitement of the morning, Ron hadn't realized until much later that one of his visions had finally come to fruition. He was walking along the massive grounds of the Burrow's East Garden with Duncan when it finally struck him.
"Duncan," his voice eager and earnest as he looked up at his mentor. "I think a vision came true today."
The elder Seventh Son turned his sharp green eyes onto Ron's bright blue ones. "Really?" his voice higher than normal. Usually, nothing ruffled him, but Ron noted just how surprised he looked.
"Yes. The girl I met earlier. Hermione. When I met her, she was carrying a stack of books taller than her. It looked like a walking stack of books, like my vision."
Duncan stood still for a moment, letting the information wash over him. He knew better than most than that the visions a Seventh Son had when he was young were usually especially significant.
But it was beyond his realm of imagination to fathom what possible significance a Muggleborn girl who wasn't even in her first year could have on Ron's life. Ron was burdened with great purpose; what role could that girl possibly play it in it?
Duncan had sized her up within five seconds, and there was nothing about her other than an above average tenacity and an extreme desire to attain perfection that distinguished her from any other student in the fresh crop soon to arrive at Hogwarts.
Why, why would Ron envision her? Duncan could not be certain, however, he would certainly try to find out.
"Ron," he said slowly. "A vision coming true is an important thing. As I've told you, no one can help you with those. You must take your path as it unfurls before you. I might make a suggestion: journal the event closely. Remember everything you can about it. Chronicle it carefully. The slightest detail may prove to be the most important."
Ron fought the urge to roll his eyes. Duncan was always cryptic about visions. Bloody hell, Duncan was always cryptic about things. At this point, he just wanted someone to tell him what to do and how to do it.
"You should not wish things to be easy, Ron," Duncan said in a soft, disappointed tone. "Easy was cast out of the cards for you the moment you were born."
Ron didn't even fight the urge to roll his eyes. It was highly annoying to be in the constant company of someone who could read your thoughts.
"Ron, believe me, you would find it much more frustrating to be taught by someone who couldn't understand you," Duncan said with a smile. He wrapped a shoulder around the young boy. "Remember, I'll help you as much as I can. But there are some things only you can figure out. I wish I could help you more. I'm here as a guide, not a map."
Ron smiled ruefully. "Guide me to a map then, will you?"
Duncan chuckled. "I wish I could. But I've found that map is somewhere no one else can look for it: inside your own heart. You'll get there, poikani, I swear it. Now, shall we begin?"
They had reached the most innermost part of the garden, it was secluded and surrounded by ivy and garland and greenery. Duncan Shielded a large circular area and walked a few feet away from Ron
He motioned for Ron to take out his new wand. Ron did so slowly. He gripped it and felt again as if it were talking to him, speaking a secret language that Ron seemed to know by instinct, though he had never heard it before.
And yet it made his arm feel heavy, like he almost couldn't hold his own limb's weight.
"I don't need to tell you to guard that wand with your life," Duncan said slowly. "But I'll tell you anyway. Guard that wand with your life, with your soul, with all the power and purpose you were born to. For it would take seven lifetimes to tell you all the blood that has been shed in search of that wand. It feels heavy, now, yes?"
Ron nodded in the affirmative. He wondered if he would ever be able to conceal anything from Duncan.
"That's because now you're thinking of it as a wand. Most witches and wizards always foolishly underachieve their capabilities because they think of their wands as wands and not as an extension of themselves. Your magic, Ron and the wand's magic are linked. Without a strong wizard to wield it, that wand would be useless. Become one with the wand, Ronald and it shall never betray you. Let's begin."
Ron nodded and gripped the wand even tighter.
"Now," Duncan said as he pulled out his own wand. "You won't begin dueling properly until your second year at Hogwarts, but I think in your case it's probably best to know something of it before you set foot on that hallowed ground. Besides I'm sure you've dueled a round or two with your brothers already, yes?"
Ron's cheeks colored slightly, and he merely shrugged in response. One simply did not grow up with five magical brothers and not duel a bit. Or a lot.
Duncan smiled. "Good, we'll build from there. Now don't grip the wand so tightly, think of it as of an extension as your arm, an extension of your hand, of yourself."
He walked a few yards away from Ron and stood opposite him.
Ron thought that thinking of the wand as extension of himself would be difficult, but it seemed that the wand knew what to do, it suddenly felt light in his fingers, suddenly as if it understood him. It was almost as if he could hear it inside his head. It was as if it way saying Right then, we've got this.
Ron watched as Duncan assumed the dueling position and mirrored him as closely as possible. He didn't quite feel equal to the task of dueling his mentor who had probably been dueling his entire life.
Duncan didn't speak much about his past, despite being well-aware of Ron's immense curiosity and Ron always felt it would be very rude to ask in case it involved killing someone or something like that.
Ready yourself, the wand seemed to tell him he aimed his wand at his mentor.
Though Duncan whispered the incantation, Ron seemed to hear him as loud as a church bell "Expelliarmus!"
"Protego," Ron said as softly as he could.
The wand did not disappoint, a magnificent streak of blue erupted from its tip and it met the reddish glow of Duncan's own spell.
Ron found it hard to believe that much magic could exist inside of him and in that moment of doubt and he felt the wand go flying from his fingers.
Duncan immediately rescinded his spell.
"Well you did better than I had anticipated you would," he called loudly as he walked over to Ron. "If you held that spell, it would have truly been magnificent, truly. But, very good for a first try."
Ron wasn't sure what he had done or what he hadn't done, but suddenly he felt very small without his wand. He looked around for it in the grass, but it seemed to have vanished. Duncan made no move to help Ron find it, and when he turned his bright blue eyes on the older man in bewilderment, he only smiled in return.
"The wand knows it Master, Ronald. You cannot ever lose it, really. Hold out your hand, summon it to you."
Ron was at first doubtful. He heard tons of stories about wizards losing their wands in duels and was slightly disheartened by the fact that he'd lost his so quickly. He'd only had it for two hours.
But he followed Duncan's instructions to hold out his hand but when he opened his mouth to speak, Duncan shook his head and told him once again that the wand knew its master.
Ron understood and focused on calling the wand without saying a word. At first, nothing seemed to happen and he found himself pondering the rather ridiculous notion that the wand may have taken his magic from him.
He was just about to drop his hand when he heard a soft whirring sound coming from the east of him.
He looked up and there was the wand spinning in the air like a boomerang, and no sooner than he'd seen it coming than he found it again firmly in his grasp.
"Bloody hell," he said, a wicked grin crossing his features. He turned to look at Duncan who was also beaming.
"Well done, my boy. Gryffindor would've been proud of that. Shall we continue?" there was a wry glint in Duncan's eye that almost suggested a challenge.
Ron was not used to seeing Duncan the slightest bit at ease about anything. He found it quite a welcome sight. It made him eager to try, eager to learn, eager for everything (or so he thought) that was going to come his way.
The elder and the younger Seventh Son practiced more dueling techniques across the lawn and Duncan had to admit that Ron was learning quickly. They'd gone over basic protection spells and several wand techniques that would prove invaluable in dueling.
Of course, Ron didn't know how valuable or invaluable any of this would be. As Duncan' watched the delighted redhead's eyes light up every time he improved the swish of his arm or the stance of his posture, all he could do is wonder how long it would before that innocent, beaming gaze would last.
7th
A few hours later, it was teatime and the Weasleys had long ago admonished Duncan that Ron was not to miss teatime with his family under any circumstances whatsoever.
Ron normally relished teatime with his family. It was one of those things where he could simply forget all about his destiny, all about the future, and all about the feeling of impending doom that had haunted him since before he could remember.
This day, however was a notable exception to the rule, as Ron knew that there would be guests invited and he would have to answer an innumerable amount of questions. At the very least, Harry would be coming as Molly had invited both he and Mrs. Potter to join them for tea. Ron was glad for it, he wouldn't have to suffer alone.
Lilly Potter, being a rather prominent Muggle-born, was also a member of the Muggleborn Outreach Committee, and Molly had thought it was a good idea to invite her. Thinking of Harry naturally made Ron remember their conversation or whatever it had been.
Before they reached the main house, Ron described the event of he and Harry communicating telepathically that morning at Fortescue's.
Duncan didn't seem surprised (although Ron could never work out if he practiced that nonchalant response). The question he posed to Ron, however quite the young boy rather off-guard.
"Do you trust Harry, Ron?"
Ron blinked several times at that. "Of course, he's my best mate."
Duncan gave a small smile. "Though you must always be careful of who to trust, I think it's very safe to say that in Mr. Potter you've found something rare: a true friend. Your heart knows that and your mind will follow. With those you are especially close, I do not think it will be uncommon for that form of communication. But I caution you: be careful whom you trust. For there are those that watch your back because they love you, and there are those that watch your back only to aim the knife."
Something in Duncan's tone made Ron pause, something told him that Duncan was speaking from experience. Duncan did not speak of his past, and his manner vetoed any inquiry on the subject. But something told Ron that Duncan not only believed what he just said, but that he knew it for a fact.
The words struck Ron in exactly the manner Duncan hoped they would. Betrayal, as he knew all too well, was inevitable. Of course the tricky thing about betrayal was one never knew what form it would take or what unsuspected corner it would creep out from.
Ron was still mulling over Duncan's words when they arrived back to the house. As it was a pleasant, sunny day, Molly had decreed that tea would take place on the gazebo in the main garden.
Duncan, never one to take tea with the family, asked Arthur if he could make use of his library for the time being, and promptly excused himself once he received permission.
Jean and Hermione Granger arrived promptly, and as Ron expected, Hermione was carrying a book with her. But at least, it was only one.
Ron longed for a moment alone with Harry so he could tell him all that had happened with the new wand and what Duncan had told him, but he knew his mother wouldn't hear of him leaving tea early under any circumstances.
He excused himself for a moment only to return his wand to his room. Duncan had put a powerful Locking Charm on the wand's case so that it could only be opened by himself and Ron.
He locked the wand in his case and put it on his dresser. He looked out the window down at the garden and watched his family prepare for tea.
He was getting ready to head out of the house to join them when something caught his eye. For a microsecond, he almost thought that there was someone at the eastern edge of the garden. But when he blinked, there was nothing.
Dismissing it as a trick of the light, he turned away and rejoined the tea party.
7th
Jean and Hermione Granger arrived promptly, and as Ron expected, Hermione was carrying a book with her. But at least, it was only one.
Hermione looked around in wonder as everything from the tea set to the tray of biscuits moved seamlessly across the gazebo of its own accord. She knew all that magic could do, but she had never been in a place that seemed absolutely brimming with it. Not even Diagon Alley with all its wonders had enchanted her so.
She watched as the house-elves attended to Weasleys with ease and grace and there something in her soul that somehow sensed that she was where (or at least, near) where she was meant to be.
This was what had been missing in her life, the magic that flowed through the very air of the Weasley's somehow lifted her spirits and made her feel an ease that she'd never known. All she knew really, was that she never wanted to leave.
She sat quietly in awe of everything around her, taking it all in and hoping that for the first time in her life, she would be a part of something that no one could take away from her.
Molly and Lily spoke to Jean about how she felt about having a witch in the family as Arthur chatted with Charlie and Percy about Ministry affairs. He felt it pertinent to talk to all his sons about the inner workings of Magical Government.
Ginny, happy to have another girl to speak to, engrossed Hermione in conversation about her upcoming arrival at Hogwarts and how peeved Ginny was to have to wait another year.
Hermione decided that she liked Ginny immediately. Ginny, having spent the least amount of time around Muggle of anyone in her family, was eager to ask Hermione questions.
Ron was merely happy someone else was keeping Hermione distracted. As he and Harry got ready to play a round of Wizard's Chess, he felt the hairs on the back of his neck stand up.
For some reason, he couldn't shake the feeling that he was being watched. Then again, he shouldn't have been surprised. There were Aurors everywhere. Of course, they had long been taught to make themselves invisible so Ron hardly noticed them anymore.
Still, there was a feeling he couldn't quite name and he couldn't quite shake. He'd long been taught to trust his instincts and he looked around the yard curiously.
"What is it?" Harry asked as he looked Ron nervously.
Ron shook his head. "I don't know…it's something."
But as he looked out in the yard, he saw nothing out of the ordinary. He decided not to worry about it and focus on his chess game with Harry.
The game caught Hermione's eye and she moved closer to observe.
"Wizards' Chess?" she asked with a smile. "I've never seen it before."
Harry nodded. "Ron and I play all the time."
"And he's never beat me," Ron chimed in with a smile.
"Quite humble, aren't you?" Hermione said with an eyeroll.
Ron, immediately offended, wasn't about to back down.
"All right. Let's you and I have a go after Harry, yeah?"
"It would be my pleasure," Hermione said with her jaw set in determination. This Ron had to be the most infuriating person she'd ever met in her life. So what if he was a Seventh Son and she wanted to know everything know about him?
So what if her father always trounced her rather soundly at chess? She was quite certain she could beat Ronald Weasley.
Two rematches later found Hermione seething with silent rage. Her pieces had been obstinate, not taking her suggestions and doing the opposite of everything she recommended. There had been no way for her to win. A point she expressed again and again as tea ended.
Ron, in a renewal of well-breeding, informed her not to be too hard on herself as he could tell that not winning really, truly bothered her.
"Don't worry on it," he told her with a smile. "My pieces just trust me. I've been playing with them for years. It takes a while for anyone."
Hermione smiled at that. "Right then. Well, tomorrow I'm going back to the Alley and getting my own set. Next time, I'll get you."
Ron laughed at that. "I wouldn't bet it on it, Granger. I wouldn't bet on it."
Harry laughed too, and something told him that despite Ron's best efforts, they would not be getting rid of Hermione Granger anytime soon.
The whole party prepared to go into the house and say their goodbyes. Hermione fell in step besides Ron. "Can I ask you something?" she said in a rather delicate whisper.
Ron hesitated, but nodded. He didn't know if he could handle anymore questions from this girl.
"Do…do you want to be…you know, a Seventh Son?"
Ron blinked. He couldn't recall anyone ever asking him that. "I don't really think I have much choice," he said finally.
Hermione shook her head. "There's always a choice. Or at least, there always should be. You could walk away, you know if you wanted to?"
"Maybe," Ron said slowly. "But I don't think it's that simple."
"Hermione, time to go," called Jean Granger.
"I'll see you two at school," Hermione said with a wave. "I can't wait."
And she was off, probably to read up on everything she could about Wizard's Chess.
I can, Ron thought to himself as he headed up to his room after saying goodbye to Harry and Mrs. Potter.
Whatever he experienced now, it was only going to get worse at Hogwarts. People would ask him questions, people would wonder about him. If he was good enough, what he would accomplish. If word got out about his wand, the whole Magical World would be in hysterics.
He wondered about Hermione's words as he looked over the amount of homework Duncan had left for him. Did he? Did he have a choice?
The answer, like all the other answers in his life, was not coming that night. Or, as it appeared, any night in the near future.