Author's Note: Written for Round 1 of Finals — QLFC 6 — Theory of Relativity

Team: Pride of Portree

Position: Chaser 1

Prompt: Back to the Future

Add'l Prompts Used:

2 (colour) coral

4 (word) mindless

8 (poem) Youth — James Wright

Word Count (excluding Author's Note): 2807

A/N: AU

Even with the inclusion of The Cursed Child there is no canon in which Harry and Ron try to go back in time to do something differently from their past. With that said, and the premise of the Back to the Future franchise, this story can only exist in an alternative universe.

Also, I have altered how well hidden the Trio was while they were on the run and hunting Horcruxes. I needed at least some visual contact with the "young trio" (representing the past) in order to put the "future" into perspective. Again, this falls under the AU designation.

Inspiration from Youth, the poem by James Wright came in a few forms. It's reflection on life and the choices we make felt deeply personal, and I wanted this story to have that sort of feeling; that is was about the quality of Harry and Ron as individuals, but also as friends. It also inspired my title as I thought of Ron being haunted by this particular episode of his youth in his later years—as we all are like to do when we consider "the path not taken".

Finally, I only make cursory allusions to the physics-bending time travel that is used in Back to the Future with the assumption that most people are familiar with it—and that "getting it right" isn't possible since the science is pretty much invented. All we know for sure is, it works—sort of like magic. The important parts to me are the poignancy of the car, recalling some of H+R's first adventures, and how changing the past isn't always better for the future they might return to. Even though Marty McFly returns to something a bit better for his meddling in past events, ultimately, he gets his family back which is really all he wants; and that is what I try to convey here for Ron and Harry both.

Beta Love: Many thanks to all the support from Story, Please, crocheaway, and LitFreak89

His Ghost

Harry closed his eyes. It helped with the nausea. He hadn't ever been carsick before, but, then again, he was driving with Ron. Only Ron could have convinced me to do this. Again.

It had all started just a few short days ago. Harry awoke to women screaming in his small, overcrowded flat. Ginny, having spent a rare night with him rather than the team, had been sleepily wending her way through the small living room only to practically trip over a body on the couch. Hermione, still half-asleep herself and more than mildly affected by her war experience, hexed first and asked questions later. By the time Harry shrugged on a robe and stumbled out of his bedroom, the main room of the flat was a disarray of exploded pillows, floating feathers, and two very irate females—one of whom was in a full-body bind.

"What in the hell is this, Harry?!" Ginny shouted from the floor. Her body may not have been able to move, but the color of her face told him all he needed to know about how she felt. He looked across the room to Hermione, her wand still at the ready, her hair a fright of curls and knots. He knew that her instincts had kicked in; even all these years later, it didn't pay to sneak up on one Hermione Jean Granger.

"It's okay, Hermione," he said, softly. "You're here, with me. Harry." He reached out, slowly closing the distance between them, waiting for the fog of her adrenaline-fueled panic to lift and the recognition to dawn on her face. These days, it took less and less time.

"Harry?" She nodded, as if convincing herself. Her focus sharpened and she looked at him with recognition. "Harry," she breathed, her arm slowly retracting, along with her wand. "Ginny!" Hermione attempted to rush over to her, but Harry blocked her progress.

"Maybe I should do the honors?"

"Someone had better do something!" Ginny snarled. This was going to be quite a row.

"Ginny, I'm sorry. It's just— you—you startled me," Hermione stammered, her face crumpling with remorse as Ginny stormed silently out of the room. Harry shrugged, driving his hands deeper into his pockets. He knew how this would go.

Ginny reappeared in minutes, her coral jumper pulled unceremoniously over her wild, loose hair and one of Harry's pajama tops. She was still shoving her arms through the sleeves. "I don't know what this is, Harry," she yelled, looking from him to Hermione and back, "but you need to get it sorted. And quick!" She pulled a knit cap down over her head and flung on a coat from the rack before she stormed out into the hall of the complex, a whirlwind of jealousy and knitwear.

"Ginny?" Harry called after her, leaning out the doorway. "Come on, Gin…" Hermione heard him wander down the hall, and walked into the small kitchen to put the kettle on.

The kettle was at a boil when she heard only one set of footsteps come back inside. She leaned back away from the stovetop to peek around the corner. "Sorry," she said.

"It's not your fault," he sighed, flopping down onto the broken-down sofa that had served as her bed. "These Weasleys will be the death of us!" he said, flinging an arm over his eyes as he leaned back into the cushions.

Hermione brought over a steaming mug of tea and sat next to her friend.

"What did Ron do this time?" he asked, not looking up.

"It's not really about what he did..." she started, her voice choking up suddenly. "It never really is, is it?"

This scenario had played itself out so many times in the past he barely needed to pay attention. He sipped at his tea and let Hermione cry herself out.

Ron came by later, after work; Harry could always count on seeing him the night after he woke up to Hermione on the couch.

"Well, Ginny's got herself in a right tizzy this time," he announced as he slid the remaining lagers in the fridge minus the two he'd palmed for him and Harry.

"As always, I appreciate that you're family," Harry said, taking a swig from his bottle, "but as I've said before, I'm not keen on talking about my and Gin's romantic woes with you."

"Yeah," Ron nodded in agreement. "I get that. It's only…"

It's only that I'm having trouble with Hermione, and I need to feel like I've helped you before I lean on you to help me. Harry waited for Ron to get around to it. He always did. It was as reliable as the sun rising.

Now, as he sat in this blasted Muggle car—the very same one he and Ron had stolen all those years ago—as it hurtled its way down the narrow alley along the length of Gringotts Bank at an alarming rate, he wondered how in all of the Wizarding World he had gotten here.

I just didn't want to fight with my girlfriend about my best friend sleeping on my couch. He pressed his eyelids closed and held his breath. The light was blinding, and the jolt the car took stole his breath.

As the car coasted to a halt, they both exhaled. "She should've just given me the damn Time Turner," Ron groaned. Harry could only manage to shake his head—it was an argument they'd had a thousand times. Even if Hermione did still have a Time Turner—which Harry suspected she might—there was no way could have allowed it to be used by Ron, or Harry for any reason. Time Turners had been outlawed; and for good reason. Altering the past was a crime.

So why am I here?

"You ok?" Ron asked, finally breaking the silence.

"Honestly?" Harry asked, "It was worse than my first side-by-side Apparation, but I haven't thrown up, so I guess I'm alright." Harry slowly opened his eyes, pressing his hands to his face. From what he could tell, he was still all in one piece. "So, how do we know if we did it?" He looked across the seat at his red-headed friend. "How do we know if we've gone back to 1997?"

Ron stared down at red-lit console, mindlessly, his eyes just a bit glazed. "Well, it looks like we did."

"I'm going to need a bit more confirmation than that." Harry grabbed at the handle, pushing the car door open as he practically fell out into the street. His legs felt like jelly, and he was thankful for the stability the car itself provided. Getting himself re-oriented, he strode into the nearest shop before Ron had a chance to stop him. He returned with a small, brown paper bag and an anxious look on his face.

"We should get going," he said, hurriedly looking over his shoulder for the third time in as many seconds.

Ron's eyebrows shot up, asking without asking the critical question.

"Yes," Harry nodded anxiously. "Somehow, some way, you've done it. Look!"

Ron opened the bag and pulled out a Cornetto. Harry reach in after him and pulled out the receipt.

"November 10, 1997," he pointed. "Look—right there!" Ron grabbed up the paper, a smile spreading across his face as the reality of their accomplishment settled in.

"We DID it!"

"And I've just shown my face in a store where it's sure to be reported, being that I'm only slightly more wanted than you are. So, we'll need to get going and quick," Harry snapped, feeling frazzled and more than a little annoyed at himself. How could I have doubted that Ron would manage to pull this off? He always comes through when I least expect it.

Ron recoiled, and Harry instantly felt guilty. Still, he couldn't find a way to apologize, so they descended into tense silence. Ron slid the car into gear and glided out into the London traffic. They rode along that way for the better part of an hour—trundling past St. James Park and Buckingham Palace as they made their way to the M4. It was only after they left the jumble of London behind that Harry felt his own worry drain away.

Ron focused on the road, his hands gripping the wheel tightly. As they did, Harry could not help but think on how he'd gotten roped into this adventure to begin with. Somehow, after all the fights and all the breakups he and Hermione had been through, Ron had gotten it into his addled brain that his relationship was suffering because he'd abandoned them all those years ago. That if he had stayed on, then she would respect him more, and that would be all the difference.

"Tosh," Harry said, evidently aloud, as they passed over the Severn.

"What's that? Speaking, are we?" Ron was still sour, and rightfully so, Harry thought to himself.

"I was just thinking," he started, meekly, "that this whole thing is tosh." He could see Ron's glower grow deeper as he started out into the gloom of dusk, his hands tightening harder around the steering wheel. "Ron." Harry reached out, placing a hand gently on his friend's arm. "Ron, please. We should talk."

"I didn't think we were talking," Ron sniped. The speed on the car seemed to surge faster as they plunged down the A48. The river darkened into a black ribbon beside them.

"Maybe we weren't," Harry insisted, his nerves on edge with every kilometer of speed they gained, "but we should. It's important!" He clutched at his seat as Ron took a sharp left off the road onto something far darker and narrower. Within a few moments, he pulled off at a closed picnic site. It was the second time that day that Harry thought he might be ill.

"What is it?" Ron snarled. He'd been stewing over Harry's rudeness from earlier; that was evident. "What pearls of wisdom does 'The Chosen One' have to share with the meek and mild sidekick, Ron Weasley? Oh, please. Do tell!"

Harry pursed his lips in the interest of their friendship. He'd been unfair and unduly harsh. He'd had the whole ride to deal with his emotions, all the while never cluing his best friend in to his thoughts; or his regret. He had to allow Ron his anger; he deserved that much.

"Well?" Ron continued, snidely. "I thought we needed to talk?"

"We do. But I also need to know you will listen."

"I'm going to miss my window if we don't keep going, Harry," Ron replied, putting the car back into gear and skidding out on the gravel.

"What window?" Harry asked, fumbling to get his seatbelt back on.

"It's tonight," Ron mumbled as he strained to see out into the ever-darkening night. "If that date is correct, tonight is the night, Harry." He paused to look over at him, taking his eyes off the road. "Tonight is the night we all fight and I—I leave." The hurt Ron still felt was evident. He jerked his head back to the road, taking a hairpin curve much too quickly and churning up dirt along the shoulder as he skidded ever so slightly off the lane.

"Ron!" Harry yelled, grasping for purchase at the door handle. "You don't need to do this!"

"But I do." He was set, determination written all over his face. He had spend far more time convincing himself of the importance of this one, pivotal moment that Harry had realized.

They screeched to a halt at a small pullout atop a hill, and Ron jumped out, torch in hand, running for the barely discernible trail just visible in the headlights. Harry scarcely had enough time to find the trail himself before Ron's light disappeared over the knoll. He had so many questions he hadn't had time to ask; he never thought they'd get this far.

Finally, after what seemed like hours of chasing after the sound of Ron's feet crunching over stone and leaves with only the occasional glimpse of the torchlight, he tripped over Ron's long legs as they extended out into the path. He was splayed out on the ground looking out into the blackness. Harry crouched down beside him and tried to catch his breath.

"It's just over there," Ron whispered.

"How do you know that?" Harry gasped, still trying to figure out where in the world they were, much less how Ron knew where their silent, invisible, magically protected tent was. Ron only cracked a tight-lipped smile in return. Sadness overwhelmed Harry as he looked at his friend's utter anguish.

"It's the same way I found you the first time," Ron said, quietly.

He went to get up, but Harry grabbed at his leg, pulling him back down to the ground. "Oi!" Ron hissed, trying hard to keep his voice down. "You're going to give our cover away!"

"Ron, have you considered how this might affect the future?"

"Listen, Harry," he seethed through clenched teeth, "I know you think I'm an idiot, but I actually have considered it. More than once."

"And?"

"And I convince my younger self to stay, to fight my sadness and my jealousy, and help with the search." Ron's head drifted back towards the campsite neither one of them could see. "When I do, Hermione will see what a strong person I am. She'll respect me more than she does now." His head hung down. "Maybe we won't fight so much."

"And who will find the Sword of Gryffindor?"

Ron's head snapped up, his eyes wide. He pinched his lips together, thinking. "Neville," he answered, finally, hesitating. "Neville asked for it, and it came. It could just happen sooner."

"And then?" Harry prodded.

"And then what?" Ron frowned, his anger rising again.

"If Neville gets the Sword of Gryffindor sooner, how does he get it to us?"

"I don't know. Maybe we find him. We send him a message in the fire, like—like you did with Sirius!"

"Or maybe Bellatrix finds the real sword first and takes it back."

"Or maybe Bellatrix gets killed by a bear trap running through the Ministry!" Ron yelled in desperation as his plan unraveled. "We can't know how it all will change!" He clapped his hand over his mouth as if he could shove the words back in, but it was far too late. They both knew it.

"We can't know how it will change anything, can we?" Harry said softly. "And we can't change the future."

As if on cue, a flash of light fifty feet in front of them sent Harry and Ron both diving for the cover of the scrub as Ron's own younger self emerged from the hidden tent. Young Hermione was dogging him as young Harry stood silhouetted in the doorway. Their Muffliato spell was impenetrable, Harry noted, as not a sound of the row could be heard, but a row it most definitely was; their body language was more than enough to determine that. Fingers were pointed; arms were folded or thrown up in disgust; tears were shed—all in silence.

As young Ron made his last retreat, his cheeks flushed with anger, he reached out towards Hermione. She hesitated; looking at Ron and back to Harry before she folded her arms in a rejection of his offer. Harry hadn't realized until just then how close he had come to going it alone.

Ron tried to get up, but Harry kept a hand on his shoulder. "Let him go, Ron," he pleaded. "Please. Let him go his way so he can come back—so you can come back. Just the way you are now." He squeezed his friend's shoulder, tears in his eyes—tears of gratitude that he had such good friends in his life. "I don't know who the Ron Weasley who stayed would be," he whispered. "But I know I've already got my best friend right here." Ron only stared into the black and watched as his younger self made the most painful decision of his life.

And in a flash, it was over.

It was hard not to sit there and watch what came next, but Harry thought it would be in each of their best interests to get back. "We're both going to be in for it when we get home," Ron said.

"Do you remember when you came back?" Harry asked. "Do you remember how it was with Hermione when you finally tracked us down again?"

"Yeah," Ron said. "She hit me and cursed me, and hit me some more."

Harry laughed. "Yeah, okay. But what about after she was done being angry with you?" He waggled an eyebrow at his friend and watch the flush creep up his neck.

"Yeah," Ron mumbled. "I guess it wasn't that bad."

"No," Harry agreed, smiling. "It wasn't bad at all."