The next morning, Harry said over breakfast that he'd woken up early and sent Sirius a letter saying that he'd just imagined his scar hurting and so Sirius shouldn't come back.

"But that's a lie, Harry!" Younger-Ron said. "You didn't imagine your scar hurting and you know it!"

"So what?" 14-year-old Harry curtly replied. "He's not going back to Azkaban because of me."

Ron could feel waves of both anger and worry coming from his younger self, and younger-Ron opened his mouth to argue some more, but, to Ron's surprise, Hermione said sharply, "Drop it. What's done is done. Let's just move on."

Ron was not entirely sure if Harry had moved on, but younger-Ron dropped it. As guilty as it made him feel, that topic indeed very quickly dropped off their list of high concerns. There was simply too much to do and to worry about in the next few weeks. Firstly, the professors were all increasing their demand and difficulty in lessons, which all the fourth years had noticed.

Trelawney had tasked them all to turn in detailed analyses of the way the planetary movements would affect them, with references to their personal charts, for the coming month of October. Binns was giving out weekly essay assignments on eighteenth-century goblin rebellions. Snape was forcing them to research antidotes, with implied threats of poisoning one of them to see if the antidote worked. And considering the things Dumbledore had allowed Snape to get away with, those threats being completely serious was disturbingly possible. Flitwick had assigned them to read three extra books as preparation for their lessons on Summoning Charms.

The extra work, except for the essays, wasn't that bad for Ron, being 32 and a graduate of Hogwarts. (Yes, despite not attending his seventh year, he was technically a graduate. Hermione had insisted that he take those specially designed tests McGonagall had created for those who would have otherwise have graduated in 1998. Honestly, it had been a trial, but he had...passed.) Younger-Ron, on the other hand, was struggling, mainly with the essays, but also with the extra reading, and so had decided that meant he was entitled to whine and nag Ron constantly to help him. Ron would have been fine with that, except that by "help," his younger self really meant, "do it all for me."

Ron, after getting increasingly annoyed, finally sent to his younger self, Look, if I could do it, so can you! And I AM willing to help you, because I know some of this can be really challenging for us, but I'm NOT going to do it entirely for you. Mainly because I don't plan on staying here to do your homework for you forever, so you're going to have to learn how to do it yourself, eventually!

Younger-Ron stopped asking Ron to do his schoolwork for him after that. Even better, he took Ron's offer, and actually listened to and followed Ron's advice and guidance. Ron helped by making sure younger-Ron stayed focused by sending out reminders anytime he drifted off.

All this being said, younger-Ron continued to whine and moan about how horrible it was and how much work it was. While that could get a bit irritating, Ron did have to agree that the workload was getting to be a bit too much, even for the typical student. Even Hagrid was adding to their workload. He'd suggested that they all come down to his hut on alternate evenings to observe the skrewts and make notes on their extraordinary behavior, proposing this with the air of Father Christmas pulling an extra-large toy out of his sack.

Naturally, after the announcement, Malfoy began to complain on the skrewts. By now this was an action that Ron had simply resigned himself to having to witness multiple times during every Care of Magical Creatures lesson until they got back home, or got to the point that the skrewts ate each other, whichever came first.

"If it's a 'suggestion', does that mean it's not required?" Malfoy said, coldly. "Because if it's not required, then I'm not going. I already have to see more than enough of these foul things during lessons. I'm not endangering my well-being anymore, thanks."

Hagrid's smile melted off his face.

"Keep talking like that, Malfoy and you'll be getting detention."

Malfoy paled further, then flushed in anger. "For what? For speaking the truth? Is that against the rules now? And I have things to do-"

"Looking forward to a night in the Forbidden Forest, are you?"

Malfoy had shut up then, likely not willing to risk losing more precious time needed for toiling away in the Room of Hidden Things. Still, Ron highly doubted it would last. He was sure that by the next lesson Malfoy would be back to his whingeing. And he was right. But speaking of spending time in the Room of Hidden Things...

That was secondly: Ron was also busy having plenty of Room of Hidden Things meetings. Truthfully, Ron had been a little concerned, since their first meeting had ended in a fight, but Malfoy seemed to have settled on the strategy of let's-pretend-that-never-happened, which was fine by Ron.

However, Malfoy also said that since Ron had already made changes, and was going to continue making changes, then he was going to insist to be told everything, because he needed to know in case it could interfere in the solution to getting back. Ron wasn't exactly happy to share, but had to admit internally that that was a valid point, so...

Malfoy didn't care about any of the changes involving house elf issues, and said so. Ron couldn't help feeling annoyed, but, well, it worked in their favor if Malfoy didn't care, so whatever.

When Ron told about how younger-Ron stood up to Crouch, though, Malfoy actually said, "You need to get your younger counterpart under control, Weasley."

Ron, in a burst of irritation (partly because he was impressed with younger-Ron's courage for that choice), said, "We actually switch back and forth, because we're a team."

"I really couldn't care less, but I am going to be mad if his attracting Crouch's attention gets us all in trouble."

"It won't!"

"Make sure it doesn't."

"I know it won't, because, when it happened originally, I said something in class to attract Crouch's attention - which didn't happen here, because we kept quiet during the class - and nothing came of it."

"So that's another change you didn't feel the need to inform me?"

"Well, you also didn't attract Crouch's attention for something you originally did, and don't ask what I'm talking about, because we both know what," getting turned into a ferret, he thought privately, "so what's your point?"

Malfoy, glaring now, said, "Just continue with the list of changes."

The rest of the changes were less important, and Ron said so, but Malfoy only said, "I'll be the judge of that. Tell me all of the changes." So then Ron, feeling annoyed, told about things like getting new robes or finishing Divination work early or not getting extra Divination homework. Just to be safe, he also told about Trelawney's aura reading, even though that wasn't actually a change that Ron had chosen to do. Unsurprisingly, Malfoy dismissed Trelawney's statements, saying that they were too cryptic for anyone else to understand.

"Now that I finished telling you all the changes, it's your turn to spill: what's going on with your weird investigator type? And what other progress did you make in the solution? I want to get back as soon as possible."

"For the highly skilled and expensive investigator that I spent a great deal of effort to find: I sent an offer in a letter, and before you ask why that takes so long, it's much more complicated than it sounds, since the investigator doesn't accept owls, or any mail-by-bird, actually, and has a far longer process for communication. Currently I'm waiting for an answer. As for other progress... you do realise that I've been doing all the work, right? Of course I want to get back as soon as possible, too... but there's only so much I can do when I'm working ALONE..." Malfoy looked at Ron pointedly.

Oh, great. Ron signed internally. He was probably going to really regret this later, but... "Is there... anything I can...help...with?"

Wait, you're volunteering to work with Malfoy?

Well I'm already working with him, aren't I? And I do want to get this done faster after all; if that means working with Malfoy some more, then so what, I've handled worse.

Ron could feel skepticism radiating from his younger self, but he wasn't complaining about it, probably because it wasn't like younger-Ron needed to do any work, but you know what, Ron was going to count this as a win anyway.

"Oh, I'm glad you asked," Malfoy gloated, "because there are so many tasks that need doing-" As Malfoy unfurled out a massive list of parchment and began to read aloud, starting with "Item 1, of 67, and Counting," all Ron could think was, I'm regretting this already.

After that, the meetings were more like workout sessions, where Malfoy had him carrying, dragging, pushing, and placing objects. Ron always went along with it, since it wasn't like he could reliably do the research and theory part, and someone had to do the manual labour part. Malfoy claimed the objects were important and rare ingredients and artifacts that were vital for the solution, but whatever they were, they could be heavy.

Predictably, Malfoy wasn't much for sympathy, only pausing from whatever book he was reading to either tell Ron that he'd placed an object in the wrong place or something, and needed to do it over again, or to tell Ron to "keep your grunting/muttering/grumbling down." The last part was a bit maddening, since it only happened when the things were AT LEAST 30 or 40 kilograms, not that the little snot cared.

Sometimes Malfoy would read aloud the letters he and the strange investigator exchanged, and based on what he was hearing, Ron found himself wanting to meet this bizarre person. He had the feeling that if she was here, his Hermione would call them "an eccentric."

Malfoy had also asked him to come to meetings during class, but Ron had put his foot down. As it was, the Room of Hidden Things meetings were already cutting into younger-Ron's time. Missing class, while tempting, would only make the schoolwork harder, and was a step too far. Ron felt it was too unfair to younger-Ron. He told Malfoy that he wasn't ditching class, not even for this. Of course Malfoy wasn't happy with Ron's answer, but since he couldn't actually force Ron to come, he'd had to accept it. That was probably why Malfoy didn't even bother to ask Ron to join in his many all-nighters. Ron didn't know how Malfoy wasn't falling asleep in classes constantly. Maybe he was having the Room of Requirement conjure up Pepper-Up Potions.

Ron felt he'd made the right decision. The schoolwork was growing so much that, despite putting genuine effort and following Ron's advice, his younger self was feeling deep frustration. Even the other fourth years were noticing the increase. In one Transfiguration class, when the class gave an especially loud groan at the amount of homework assigned, McGonagall finally explained why.

"You are now entering a most important phase of your magical education! Your Ordinary Wizarding Levels are drawing closer -"

Dean Thomas interrupted her, saying, "We don't take O.W.L.s until fifth year!"

"Maybe not, Thomas, but believe me, you need all the preparation you can get! Miss Granger remains the only person in this class who has managed to turn a hedgehog into a satisfactory pincushion. I might remind you that your pincushion, Thomas, still curls up in fright if anyone approaches it with a pin!"

Hermione turned rather pink, and was trying not to look too pleased with herself. Ron wondered that if McGonagall was being too hard on Dean Thomas, though. Hermione was hardly a typical student to compare to. Even at 14, Hermione was a student who could memorise entire textbooks by heart. If it really was only Hermione who could do the task, maybe these were unreasonable expectations.

Besides, Ron sent, I know for a fact that that's not the whole reason - preparation for O.W.L.s, I mean. I know the other reason: the professors are trying to get us into shape so they can impress the other schools coming for the Triwizard Tournament: Beauxbatons and Durmstrang. Good luck getting that to happen though. Ron scoffed internally.

Why's that?

I just don't think it's even possible to impress them, not in such a short time. Don't get me wrong, I love Hogwarts, but the other two schools are more advanced in some ways. I'm not even talking about magic: I remember all the students who came could speak English, while Hogwarts doesn't even offer other language courses. So yeah, there's no way we'll get up to speed fast enough to impress the foreign students.

And speaking of getting up to speed, Crouch's wretched Imperius lesson had come and gone. Now that he knew about Crouch's true identity and agenda, the lesson seemed stranger than ever. Ron didn't find it strange that Barty Crouch Jr. was perfectly willing to cast the Imperius curse on 14-year-olds, that seemed in character for the ruthless terrorist. No, what he found strange was, why was Crouch actually trying to teach them how to resist the curse, especially with Harry?

He'd wracked his brain, but the only explanation Ron could come up with was that Crouch wanted Harry to survive long enough to win the Tournament, and so he was making certain that Harry would end up in the graveyard... but that was such a roundabout way to do it. And it still didn't seem to make sense that he'd want to make Harry even more competent at fighting the Dark Arts. Maybe he'd figure it out later.

Ron had come very near to fighting against the lesson, actually. When Crouch announced at the beginning that he would be putting the Imperius Curse on each of them, to demonstrate its power and test any resistance, Hermione had spoken up.

"But - but you said it's illegal, Professor. You said - to use it against another human was - "

"Dumbledore wants you taught what it feels like. If you'd rather learn the hard way - when someone's putting it on you so they can control you completely - fine by me. You're excused. Off you go." He pointed a finger toward the door. Poor Hermione muttered something about not meaning she wanted to leave.

A red-hot shot of rage ran through Ron. It was only with every shred of self-control he had that Ron didn't lose it and try to strangle Crouch right then and there.

How dare he, how dare he just ignore, just dismiss her completely valid points - how DARE he emotionally manipulate a 14-year-old to get her to stop speaking about how you're OPENLY declaring to commit a serious CRIME of just about the HIGHEST degree - this is SICK, this is such FUCKING bullshit - you know what, that's it, I don't care anymore, I'm going to choke out that motherfucker, you just see if I don't -

A message cut through the burning fury. Um - you're clearly not - you're... upset, so... do you want to try that... breathing thing you did before - well, imagined before - you know what I mean... to calm down -

I don't WANT to calm down, I WANT to see that murderous, Voldemort-resurrecting prick, PAY -

Look, I get it, I really do-

No, you don't! You don't know what it was like to see Harry coming out of the maze carrying Cedric's CORPSE! Cedric died, Harry had to watch Cedric die, had to watch Voldemort come back to full power, and it's all! Because! Of! Crouch!

Ron felt an emotional jolt. Younger-Ron wasn't sending anything back in words, but Ron could sense, could feel his reaction. Ron had gut punched his younger self, and it was crushing the kid. The realization made Ron's anger wash away, replaced by guilt.

I shouldn't have snapped at you like that. It's not like it's your fault... You're right, there's nothing I can do right now, so I'll forget about it. I - I'll do the breathing... I'm sorry.

No, it's - ... yeah, it was awful, but I think I needed to know - I needed to hear it? At least now I know... I need some privacy, I think, to... think about all this.

Sure. And I'll do the breathing.

Ron, trying to let out his emotions, both the remains of anger and the new guilt, ended up using equal breathing: inhale six, exhale six. It wasn't the best technique for his issue right now, but it was both easy and not that noticeable. And not being noticed was the most important part.

Using breathing exercises and other calming methods ended up being vital for making it through, because the whole lesson was nerve-wracking to watch. Despite the ridiculous actions Crouch made the students do, both Rons couldn't find it the slightest bit funny. Knowing that Crouch was exactly the kind of person to use the Imperius curse in earnest, to torture or kill, removed the humour in watching Dean Thomas hop around the room singing the national anthem, Lavender imitating a squirrel, or Neville doing gymnastics.

But it was when Crouch got to Harry, 14-year-old Harry, that Ron gasped a little in spite of himself.

Ron knew it was stupid, really, because he'd seen this before, and knew that Harry would be fine... mostly, but it was still so stressful to watch. The only way he was able to force himself not to intervene, especially when Harry fractured both his kneecaps, was repeating to himself over and over, Fighting off Imperio is a good skill for Harry to learn, maybe even necessary, fighting off Imperio is a GOOD skill for Harry to learn, maybe even necessary...

Ron also talked younger-Ron into taking control when Crouch cast Imperio on them. He told younger-Ron that this was a terrible situation that shouldn't have happened, but the harsh fact was that he already had some practice with fighting off Imperio, while younger-Ron didn't. Younger-Ron reluctantly agreed.

Ron was surprised when younger-Ron actually showed a tiny bit of resistance. It wasn't noticeable from the outside, but Ron was able to observe it. Interestingly, Crouch's Imperio didn't seem to affect Ron at all, he hadn't even had to fight it. Maybe it was because Crouch had only aimed it at younger-Ron? Or maybe because the Imperius Curse was only meant for one person at a time?

Either way, even if no one else knew younger-Ron had resisted, Ron still found his younger self's performance impressive. When Ron had gone through the lesson, not only did it work completely, but the effects - skipping every alternate step - didn't even wear off until lunchtime. With younger-Ron, the effects wore off just seconds after Crouch removed the curse. Ron couldn't say for sure, but he thought... it just might be that, with all that younger-Ron had been going through, it had given the kid some new resolve that Ron hadn't had at that age.

Ron sent out thoughts saying all this to younger-Ron. Younger-Ron seemed caught off-balance, but sent back a clumsy thanks. He seemed shocked to get any compliment at all, reminding Ron that younger-Ron hadn't mastered their old insecurities yet. Maybe he should consider saying something about that... well, later, he could decide. It would take tricky handling, and Ron didn't want to make things worse.

Thirdly: he'd tried not to think about it, but - 20 October was Rose's birthday. And Ron had known early on that it was a long shot, but he'd hoped anyway, and... oh, he'd been so stupid.

Ron spent the whole day of 20 October in an extraordinarily foul mood. He grumbled and scowled at everyone. Professors scolded him for his bad attitude, and Ron only glared back at them. Even with 14-year-old Harry and 15-year-old Hermione, he was curt and grumpy. He went after his food with his fork and knife like he had a personal vendetta with it. Finally, after snapping much more than usual in that day's Room of Hidden Things meeting, Malfoy said irritably, "What is wrong with you?"

And that was the straw that broke the Granian horse's back. Ron started yelling.

"What's wrong with me? What's WRONG with me?! What's wrong with me, is today is my daughter's birthday, and I should be celebrating with her, I should be there for her, and I'm not, because I'm too busy running around pretending to be fourteen! But I'm NOT fourteen, I'm a grown man and a dad, and my little girl is turning six, and she's doing it without me! What kind of parent am I?!"

Having let it out, now Ron just felt dispirited, and... tired. And the guilt remained. Because, god, what kind of a parent was he? Sure, he could say that he didn't choose to end up here, but what would that matter to Rose? And more importantly, he hadn't been putting an awful lot of effort into leaving either, had he?

Malfoy had been the one researching on how to get back home even before they got to Hogwarts, he'd been the one to get the investigator who was speeding things along, he'd been missing classes and even pulling all-nighters in trying to work on the solution, and what was Ron doing? Deciding that, of all things, fourth-year homework was more important? And pushing around and moving things - literally anyone with a sound body could do that. Let's face it, he was only one step above completely useless throughout all this.

"...But nothing I say or do can do a damn thing about it, can it?"

Ron kicked a cobwebbed birdcage, rusted yet still gleaming. A few chipped cups and a parasol fell out of a pile the cage had been lying against. He hoped he'd broken something in the pile. For good measure, he kicked the pile again. Now he heard a crunch. Well, at least I can still do that.

Finished with his tiny destruction for now, Ron looked up to meet a blank expression on Malfoy's face. For a moment he felt disappointment, then felt peeved with himself. What did I expect? Actual sympathy? C'mon, this is Malfoy we're talking about. Sure, we're not at each other's throats anymore, we can even maybe be civil whenever we're forced to interact, but that's about it. I mean, what next, I'm going to be upset he doesn't send me a card for my birthday? This whole two-minds-one-body thing must be wrecking my common sense or something, that's the only explanation. Merlin's fucking beard do I need to get it together.

Interrupting his thoughts, Malfoy, looking away, said, "The investigator told me that the best point of time to return to, is, the time spent here, added to the original time of departure." He was looking away.

"What?"

Malfoy, still averting his eyes, said, "That would mean, for example, if we were able to set up the finished solution in 19 November, 1994, the time we would return to in our universe, would also be 19 November, preferably the same hour and minute as well, but in the year of 2012."

Ron tried to wrap his head on that. "Okay... and you're bringing this up now because..."

"The investigator said that was the best timeframe to return to. But they said the second best point of time to return to... is the original time of departure."

"Wait... but that would mean-" Ron couldn't finish his sentence. It was too much to bear, fear and hope clinging to those few fragile words.

"It would mean that we could return, and for everyone there, no time would have passed between us leaving and us returning." Malfoy's gaze had darted to a pile on his left, a wobbly-looking stack made up of hats, cloaks, jewels, what looked like the remains of a globe, a broken lantern, and even a few Fanged Frisbees. "...We could execute that option. If you want."

"I..." Ron was in shock. This was - this was really something they could do? They could - they could just go back, and it would be like they'd never left?

"It isn't the optimal course. That being said, it is the second best course. Furthermore, it has its... advantages. This makes it a reasonable possibility."

"I don't know what to say."

"Then you can make the decision once we finish the solution."

"Okay... what are we going to work on now?"

"Get me that mirror-encrusted chest over there, and we'll see what comes next. Which reminds me... I'm planning on getting a souvenir - a token, to show where, and when, I've been. I might ask the investigator for advice on what to get..."

While Malfoy continued talking, Ron walked over to bring the mirror-chest. Even walking back with the chest weighing on his arms, he wasn't feeling as terrible. Maybe this day wasn't the complete worst.

Another situation with unexpected returns? Fourthly: Hermione with the house elves. While every other fourth year was getting worn out, over the past few weeks Hermione had only become more energized, due to the current house elf efforts being so successful so far. The efforts had a steady rhythm now.

Dobby went and accepted Dumbledore's earlier offer to have weekends off (though he still refused the increase of Galleons), so he could spend his weekends going out and talking to house elves outside of Hogwarts, and find anyone who admitted they wanted to be free. Then he would convince those house elves to visit Hogwarts to talk to the rest of the House-Elf Liberation Front, members at first made up of Dobby, Hermione, Neville, and younger-Ron, but slowly growing in size as each rebellious house elf joined. Their meeting location was in the kitchens, and they'd ask questions and discuss with the house elves Dobby brought, with Hermione taking notes. Most recently, the members of HELF, humans and house elves alike, were working on brainstorming ways to gain liberation for freedom-thirsty house elves.

Ron was honestly astonished by the whole setup. He really hadn't expected it would turn out like... this. Yes, Ron was the one to help guide the efforts at the very beginning, but Ron, while keeping a careful watch, never drifting off, hardly even stepped in now. The name had been one of the few times Ron had stepped in; remembering with guilt how he and others had mocked Hermione's name of S.P.E.W., Ron suggested they call themselves the House-Elf Liberation Front instead.

Organization names aside, younger-Ron would pretty much always take control. Younger-Ron had gotten quite involved, actually. Every new house elf they met was so different, both from the stereotypes of house elves, and just from each other, it was fascinating... to everyone there. Well, to every human, including both Rons, and to some of the house elves there.

One house elf, Cantankerus, was insistent that history was most important, though she refused to talk about what that history was, aside from a fiercely dropped cryptic statement that elves had words of their own, that no wizard could take away from them. Neville and Hermione ended up finding out she meant that house elves had something like a secret language.

Another house elf, Tepper, didn't even want to be paid, but said they still wanted to be free, because they wanted to have the freedom to wear clothes, the freedom to come and go as they wished, and most important to them, the freedom to pursue an education, and the freedom to be "benefactor" to whoever they chose, rather than be enslaved and bound to only one family. This had given even Hermione pause, and she admitted, in a voice of shame, that she hadn't even thought about house elves getting an education.

There was even one house elf named Elsey, who seemed to be Hermione's dream, because she was mainly interested in things like contracts, wage negotiation, and even labor unions and healthcare. She often came to Hermione with long notes of her own, and their talks would get long and excitable.

All in all, things were going well for HELF. Hermione had an in-progress manifesto she was constantly updating that neither Rons had managed to read yet. They'd also made a logo, and Dobby stitched up a few patches for the members. Even Harry had gotten one.

Younger-Ron had remembered to ask Harry Dobby's request to see Harry, and of course Harry said yes. After that, Dobby began to visit Harry at the dorms sometimes, and eventually invited Harry to the kitchens for a meeting. While Ron got the feeling Harry might have joined just out of kindness for Dobby, he did show up. Dobby was delighted, and Harry actually seemed a little more relaxed, afterwards. After that, he came to a few more meetings, and Harry started to seem... better.

It was very stress-relieving for Ron, because 14-year-old Harry's misery and tension had been bothering him whenever he remembered (and made him feel guilty), but he wasn't able to figure out what to do to cheer Harry up. It wasn't like Harry had Quidditch to take the edge off, after all. Spending time with Dobby, and even sort-of joining the house elf cause, was really not what Ron had expected would pull Harry out of his gloom and stress, but hey, whatever worked, right?

In about the last week before the other schools' arrivals, the notice about the groups from Beauxbatons and Durmstrang coming on 30 October had been posted. On the day of posting, a large crowd of students all milled around the large sign stuck onto the foot of the marble staircase in the entrance hall. Because it was so crowded, 14-year-old Harry and Hermione couldn't see, so younger-Ron read out the sign. Ron knew it wasn't as easy as he made it look, and there might've been some words said wrong, but Harry and Hermione didn't seem to know or care.

Right after that, Ernie Macmillan came out of the crowd. "Only a week away!" His eyes were gleaming. "I wonder if Cedric knows? Think I'll go and tell him..."

"Cedric Diggory..." Younger-Ron said, maybe remembering what Ron had said. Ron himself briefly imagined tackling Ernie and physically preventing him from telling Cedric anything. But of course that was ridiculous...

"He must be entering the tournament," said 14-year-old Harry.

"Yeah..." younger-Ron said, just to say something back. Ron was feeling guilty now. He'd been so busy over the past some weeks, he'd only barely thought about Cedric... well, that had to change... this coming week, he needed to start, no, he would start, on working on those plans...

And he did. In the next week, every spare moment he had, he spent writing things out - well, his Quick-Notes Quill did. After firmly telling younger-Ron, there is nothing embarrassing about asking your best friends for a simple favor, younger-Ron finally, reluctantly asked Harry and Hermione if either could please get a Quick-Notes Quill for Ron, and Harry said yes. Using the things he'd learnt over the years - spells and muggle strategies alike - he ended up coming up with a lot to say, using a lot of parchment (oh, how he missed computers, or even just lined paper and pens!), which he regularly Charmed so others couldn't read it. After all, he didn't want just anyone to see his strategising on, say, preventing a future war, changing Cedric's fate, or the outcome of the Tournament.

Ron wasn't the only one drilling down. In general, the staff of Hogwarts seemed to be bending over backwards in preparing for the other schools' arrival. The castle was being cleaned more than ever, with the suits of armour now gleaming and squeak-free, Argus Filch yelling ferociously at any student who forgot to wipe their shoes, something that a distracted Ron/younger-Ron experienced more than once, and even dirty portraits were scrubbed clean. Many of the professors were oddly tense, including even... McGonagall. She'd actually lost her temper when, at the end of a challenging lesson, Neville accidentally transplanted his own ears onto a cactus.

"Longbottom, kindly do not reveal that you can't even perform a simple Switching Spell in front of anyone from Durmstrang!" Ron was so shocked by this outburst he hadn't even thought to say anything. Maybe it did happen the same way before, and Ron just forgot, but it just seemed so strange and... out-of-character for McGonagall. The woman who'd fought against Death Eaters during what would have been seventh year, and spent the following year as an unflappable Headmistress who almost single-handedly kept the school from falling apart, seemed a far cry from this.

As for poor Neville, he did get his ears back, but not without painful marks from several cactus needles. Maybe I should tell Neville to get a new wand sooner than later...

The morning of the 30th of October, they went down to breakfast to find the Great Hall decorated overnight like Ron remembered. There were four enormous silk banners hung from the walls, one for each Hogwarts House, and behind the teachers' table was an even larger banner, bearing the Hogwarts coat of arms: all four house animals united around a large letter H.

Fred and George were sitting apart from everyone else, and talking quietly. Ron, almost certain they were still scheming on sneaking into the Tournament did not want to sit next to them and hear it. Unfortunately, Harry led the way over to them, and then younger-Ron decided to betray him by telling him that, It would be suspicious if you didn't go! So Ron had drag his feet and follow Harry and Hermione.

George, speaking to Fred, said, "It's a bummer, all right. But if he won't talk to us in person, we'll have to send him the letter after all. Or we'll stuff it into his hand. He can't avoid us forever."

Ron was happy not to speak up, or, in fact leave, but unfortunately, Harry had to open his big mouth and say, "You two got any ideas on the Triwizard Tournament yet? Thought any more about trying to enter?" No, Harry, don't encourage them! They do enough as is!"I asked McGonagall how the champions are chosen but she wasn't telling," George answered bitterly. "She just told me to shut up and get on with transfiguring my raccoon."

"Wonder what the tasks are going to be... I wonder if I could handle them..." Harry said thoughtfully. Damnit kid Harry! Stop tempting fate!

"Well, you'd have to do them in front of a panel of judges," said Fred. "McGonagall says the champions get awarded points according to how well they've done the tasks." Out of nowhere, a sharp pain blossomed in Ron's chest. It really was both wonderful and terrible to be able to see Fred, alive, again.

"Who are the judges?" Harry asked.

Ron, without thinking, blurting out, "the Heads of the schools in the Tournament. Other people, too, but always the Heads."

"How did you know that?" It was Harry, curious. Younger-Ron started berating him for his stupidity, which Ron actually agreed with. Damnit, ME... Why do I keep doing this to myself...

Fortunately Hermione spoke up, saying, "It's all in Hogwarts: A History. Which you'd know, if you'd actually read it. Though, really," she added bitterly, "a more accurate title for that book would be A Revised History of Hogwarts - or, A Highly Biased and Selective History of Hogwarts, Which Glosses Over the Nastier Aspects of the School." She looked like she was about to start a rant, which Ron would actually be happy to join into, being extremely irritated with Hogwarts hosting the Tournament and all, but then she said, "Still, it's good to see you reading something on your own for once."

15-year-old Hermione looked so happy Ron hadn't the heart to tell her he STILL hadn't read Hogwarts: A History (not even after 18 years, or if you were starting from first year, 21 years). He'd listened to the audiobooks of some history books written by Luna and her husband Rolf. He'd also read the abridged history book for children that his Hermione wrote, the one that was part of the Hogwarts curriculum now, though he was only able to read parts of her longer original history book. But here, none of those were written yet.

"Well, too bad we still don't know how the champions are chosen," Fred said, sorely. At this point Ron was so tempted to spill the truth about exactly how the champions were chosen, he begged younger-Ron to take over. Younger-Ron accepted, but Ron got the feeling his younger self was a bit put out.

Either way, a few moments later came a sudden whooshing noise from overhead. Without even looking up, Ron knew what it meant: the arrival of the post owls. Fortunately, Harry and Hermione were so occupied by Hedwig's arrival, they didn't notice that an owl stopped for Ron, too. Still, it was too close for comfort. Merlin, we really need to get a better system - I'm not sure signing off as "Stubby Boardman" and "Penumbra Eadmund" in our letters is going to cut it anymore!

Younger-Ron quickly shoved the letter into his pocket, and the owl took off. Harry was too busy checking to make sure Fred and George were still talking about the Tournament to notice. Once satisfied, Harry read out his letter, from Sirius, in a whisper to Hermione and younger-Ron.

Nice try, Harry.

I'm back in the country and well hidden. I want you to keep me posted on everything that's going on at Hogwarts. Don't use Hedwig, keep changing owls, and don't worry about me, just watch out for yourself. Don't forget what I said about your scar.

Sirius

Younger-Ron asked lowly why Harry needed to keep changing owls, and Hermione answered that Hedwig would attract too much attention, being a snowy owl, a non-native bird, that kept returning to Sirius's hiding place and all. Harry rolled up the letter and slipped it inside his robes, like younger-Ron with his, or, Ron's letter.

Younger-Ron boldly decided to ask what Harry thought or felt about the letter. Harry said he wasn't sure whether he felt more or less worried than before, but that Sirius getting back without being caught must mean something, and admitted that Sirius being nearer was reassuring, since now he wouldn't have to wait so long for responses when he wrote to Sirius.

Ron received, I'm not sure what this means, or how to feel about it.

Honestly? I'm also not sure. I guess we'll just have to be glad your Harry at least isn't upset about it.

Yeah, I guess...

As the day went on, there was a definite growing air of anticipation. Hardly anyone was very attentive in lessons, Ron included, though he was less interested in the evening arrival, and more occupied with stressful thoughts about, well, mainly the Tournament. At least Potions was half an hour shorter. When the bell rang early, Harry, younger-Ron, and Hermione, hurried up to Gryffindor Tower, put away their bags and books as instructed, shoved on their cloaks, and rushed back downstairs into the entrance hall, where the House Heads were ordering students into lines.

"Weasley, straighten your hat," McGonagall snapped at Ron. "Miss Patil, take that ridiculous thing out of your hair."

Parvati scowled but removed a large ornamental butterfly from the end of her plait. Privately Ron felt sorry for her. Having a butterfly clip wasn't actually against school policy. But it wasn't worth it to fight over it, so Ron said nothing.

"Follow me, please," McGonagall continued. "First years in front... no pushing..." Filing down the steps, they lined up outside the castle. It was a cold, crisp dusk outside, with a pale, clear moon, and the stars already shining. They were on the lawns overlooking the grounds: a perfect view for when the Durmstrang ship emerged from the water of the lake. The Forbidden Forest was right by them as well: perfect for when the massive Beauxbatons carriage pulled by its flying horses arrived. Younger-Ron was in the fourth row from the front, right next to Harry, who was right next to Hermione.

Younger-Ron, staring down the drive that led to the front gates, said, "How do you reckon they're coming? The train?" Ron had made sure not to tell younger-Ron. Despite the Tournament ending in tragedy, the arrivals had still been spectacular, and younger-Ron deserved to enjoy the surprise. Younger-Ron was annoyed when Ron refused to tell him, but Ron was sure he'd appreciate it later.

"I doubt it," said Hermione.

"How, then? Broomsticks?" That was Harry.

"I don't think so... not from that far away..."

"A Portkey?" Younger-Ron suggested. "Or they could Apparate - maybe you're allowed to do it under seventeen wherever they come from?"

"You can't Apparate inside the Hogwarts grounds, how often do I have to tell you?" said Hermione impatiently.

"I didn't say they'd Apparate inside the Hogwarts grounds," younger-Ron said stubbornly. "Maybe they'd Apparate only just outside Hogwarts grounds. Like, I dunno, Honeydukes. You can Apparate there, I'm sure of it. And then they could come from there to here, on broomsticks or something."

Hermione looked torn between annoyance and grudging respect at that response. Then, as the sky darkened, they continued to wait. After what felt like too long, Dumbledore finally called out from the teachers' back row, "Aha! Unless I am very much mistaken, the delegation from Beauxbatons approaches!"

After much eager shouting, some sixth year spotted it, and pointed at the forest. Ron, even knowing what was coming, felt a thrill of excitement as the huge dark shape, growing larger as it came closer, hurtled across the deep blue sky.

"It's a dragon!" shrieked a first year, to which Dennis Creevey shouted, "Don't be stupid, it's a flying house!" But as the gigantic black shape skimmed over the Forbidden Forest's treetops, the caste windows' lights hit it, and now everyone could see it for what it really was: a magnificently gigantic powder blue carriage, being pulled through the air by a dozen massive, elephant-sized, winged horses. Being Abraxan, the horses were golden in colour, and when the carriage landed dramatically, causing the front three rows of students to draw back, one could see their huge, fiery red eyes. The carriage itself had Beauxbatons' coat of arms on its door: over a blue background, two golden wands were crossed over each other, with each one emitting three stars.

Then the door opened, and a dark-skinned boy in pale blue robes jumped down, bent forward, and after momentarily fumbling, unfolded a set of golden steps, then sprang back respectfully. Ron knew what he was doing: preparing for Madame Olympe Maxime's descent. As the Beauxbatons Head stepped out, a few people gasped. And Ron knew why: she was at least exactly the same size as Hagrid. Privately he thought, And there's a reason for that...

Now, in the light coming from the entrance hall, she looked the same as Ron remembered: dressed from head to foot in black satin, with many dazzling opals gleaming at her throat and fingers. She had large black liquid-looking eyes, a rather beaky nose, and a face that was handsome and olive-skinned. She must have long hair, too, it being drawn back in a shining knob at the base of her neck.

She's massive!

Ron internally sighed. Yeah, I know. Thanks for stating the obvious. He could feel younger-Ron's irritation for that response, but Ron couldn't bring himself to care.

Dumbledore started to clap, and so the students, following his lead, applauded as well. Madame Maxime smiled graciously, and walked forward to Dumbledore, extending her hand, which Dumbledore kissed.

"My dear Madame Maxime... welcome to Hogwarts."

"Dumbledore. I hope I find you well?" She spoke in a startlingly deep, distinctive voice, with a strong French accent. That last part was expected, since she was the Headmistress of the magical school of France.

"In excellent form, I thank you."

"My pupils," said Madame Maxime, waving a hand carelessly behind her, towards the Beauxbatons students who'd come out of the carriage. There were about a dozen of them, and had to all be 17 or 18. They were wearing robes made of fine silk, with some of them wearing headscarves. None of them were wearing cloaks, and all of them were shivering.

Fleur must be among them, Ron suddenly realised, and he tried to see if she was visible, but she had to be obscured by Madame Maxime's enormous shadow, because he couldn't spot her. What Ron could see was all the Beauxbatons students staring at Hogwarts with looks of apprehension.

"Has Karkaroff arrived yet?"

"He should be here any moment. Would you like to wait here and greet him or would you prefer to step inside and warm up a trifle?"

"Warm up, I think. But the horses-"

What followed was Dumbledore trying to convince Madame Maxime that Hogwarts' Care of Magical Creatures teacher, Hagrid, could indeed take care of the Beauxbatons horses. Madam Maxime was skeptical at first, but came around, though she made clear that the horses would only drink single-malt whiskey before agreeing.

As Madame Maxime and her students began to go up the stone steps, Seamus leaned over and said, "How big do you reckon Durmstrang's horses are going to be?"

Well, considering Durmstrang isn't bringing any horses, we don't really know...

Wait, what? Is that a hint?

Damnit, you weren't supposed to hear that! Well, you're not getting anything else, you'll just have to wait and see like everyone else!

At least I know they're not coming by horse...

"Well, if they're any bigger than this lot, even Hagrid won't be able to handle them," said Harry. "That's if he hasn't been attacked by his skrewts. Wonder what's up with them?"

"Maybe they've eaten each other already," said younger-Ron hopefully. Ron had made the mistake earlier of mentioning that eventually happened, and now younger-Ron kept hoping the event was right around the corner.

Now that the Beauxbatons party had arrived, everyone was waiting for the Durmstrang one. Most people were gazing hopefully up at the sky, which Ron knew for a fact was the wrong place.

A few minutes later, a loud and oddly eerie sound began drifting towards them from out of the darkness. It was a muffled rumbling and sucking sound, and it sounded like it was moving along the lake...

"The lake! Look at the lake!" yelled Lee Jordan, pointing down towards the smooth black surface of the water - but of course, the surface was no longer smooth at all. Great bubbles were forming, waves now washing over the muddy banks - and then, in the very middle of the lake, a massive whirlpool appeared... A long, black pole began to rise slowly out of the very center of the whirlpool, and then...

"It's a mast!" Harry said. And he was right.

Slowly, strikingly, the Durmstrang ship was rising out of the water, gleaming in the moonlight. It had a skeletal look about it, as thought it was a resurrected shipwreck, and the dim, misty lights shimmering at the portholes completed the ghostly appearance, making it breathtaking, in an eerie, shadowy way.

Finally the ship, entirely emerged from the water, began to glide toward the bank. After hearing the splash of a thrown anchor, and a lowered plank's thud, people on the ship began to disembark. As they reached the light, Ron could see they were wearing the old Durmstrang uniforms, with cloaks of thick, matted fur. Karkaroff was leading them, and he was tall, thin, and silver-haired. Ron remembered him now. Karkaroff had been a Death Eater, but he'd avoided being convicted after the first War by giving up many, many others. When Voldemort came back, instead of rejoining, Karkaroff had fled, but Voldemort had eventually caught him, and... well, Voldemort didn't like it when people betrayed him.

If I succeed in preventing Voldemort's resurrection, none of that would happen. Karkaroff would probably continue being Headmaster of Durmstrang. Ron shuddered internally. Viktor had said Karkaroff was a headmaster who was both terrible and deeply unpopular, intimidating and frightening most of the students, and even having quite a few students removed, just out of ruthlessness. The sooner Viktor Krum took that job, the better off they'd be...

"Dumbledore! How are you, my dear fellow, how are you?" Karkaroff had a fruity voice, the kind that would have been pleasant if it wasn't so... smarmy.

"Blooming, thank you, Professor Karkaroff," Dumbledore replied. Karkaroff was in the light, and Ron could better see Karkaroff's silver furs, and his goatee.

"Dear old Hogwarts, how good it is to be here, how good..." Karkaroff said, looking at the castle. He was smiling, but it didn't quite reach his eyes. "Viktor, come along, into the warmth... you don't mind, Dumbledore? Viktor has a slight head cold..." Karkaroff beckoned forward a student who had to be, who could only be-

Younger-Ron, catching a glimpse, punched Harry excitedly, and whispered loudly, "Harry - it's Viktor Krum!"

...Yeah, that's Chapter 8! I do like the result, but it surprised me a lot when writing it! And in case you're wondering about "[t]he sooner Viktor Krum took that job, the better off they'd be...": yeah, I just have a small headcanon that Viktor Krum eventually becomes Headmaster of Durmstrang, and then in that position improves the school. It's just a minor headcanon, pay it no mind if you want.

As usual: I may not update regularly. Please review if you can, and let me know what you think. If you have any questions, feel free to ask.