Edit: Corrected a mistake I made in Chapter 8 based on newly learned information. Specifically, I ended up finding canonical proof (note: I already knew Pottermore says it's 19 September, 1979, but I don't consider Pottermore canon) that Hermione's birthdate is between September 2nd, 1979, and December 31st, 1979.
To make things simple, I decided her birthday is either in late September, or in early October. I edited Chapter 8 to reflect this.
This also means that, in this chapter and moving forward, the Hermione of this current setting/universe will be described as a 15-year-old.
Younger-Ron could not stop gushing over Viktor. Out loud, and internally.
I can't believe it - Viktor KRUM - why didn't you TELL me? I mean, you mentioned some Victor and Flew were Champions or something, but you didn't say - it was THE Viktor Krum!
Amused by younger-Ron's enthusiasm, Ron sent back, I wanted you to experience it for the first time just like I did.
Well, whatever, I just - this is incredible!
"I can't believe it!" Younger-Ron said, now out loud. "Krum, Harry, Viktor Krum!"
"For heaven's sake, Ron, he's only a Quidditch player," said 15-year-old Hermione, obviously with no idea yet of what would happen at the Yule Ball.
"Only a Quidditch player?" Younger-Ron said in shock. "Hermione - he's one of the best Seekers in the world! I had no idea he was still at school!"
As they re-entered the entrance hall, Ron noticed several sixth-year girls frantically searching their pockets, and overheard what they were saying.
"Oh I don't believe it, I haven't got a single quill on me-"
"Do you think he'd sign my hat in lipstick?"
"Really," Hermione said haughtily, as they passed the girls, who were now squabbling over the lipstick.
"I'm getting his autograph if I can," said younger-Ron. "You haven't got a quill, have you, Harry?"
"Nope, they're upstairs in my bag," said Harry.
Younger-Ron groaned. "Now I wish I had some lipstick." Then younger-Ron made sure to sit at the side of the Gryffindor table facing the doorway, where Krum and the other Durmstrang students were still gathered, so he could stare at Viktor Krum some more. Oh - oh Merlin. With growing embarrassment, Ron privately thought, Was I really that obvious? And oblivious about it?
"It's not that cold," said Hermione, sounding defensive. "Why didn't they bring cloaks?" Younger-Ron turned to see the Beauxbatons students sitting at the Ravenclaw table. They were looking around gloomily, and three of them were still clutching tightly onto their head coverings.
"Well, they are from France. And maybe cloaks aren't part of their uniforms-" Ron began, but then, younger-Ron seized control, with clear overexcitement.
"Over here! Come and sit over here!" younger-Ron hissed. "Over here! Hermione, budge up, make a space, will you -"
"What?"
"Too late," younger-Ron said bitterly. Well, I could have told you that, Ron thought privately, with some bitterness himself, but you just had to rush in.
Just as before, the Durmstrang students were settling down at the Slytherin table. Ron could see Crabbe and Goyle looking very smug over this... though Malfoy looked rather dull and uninterested. Well, no surprise there. Lately the only things Malfoy cared about were complaining about the skrewts, and working on the solution in the Room of Hidden Things. In that order.
"Yeah, that's right, smarm up to him, Crabbe, Goyle." It was younger-Ron. "I bet Krum can see right through them, though... bet he gets people fawning over him all the time... Where do you reckon they're going to sleep? We could offer Krum a space in our dormitory, Harry... I wouldn't mind giving him my bed, I could kip on a camp bed." 15-year-old Hermione snorted.
Okay, Ron was sure of it now: this was the moment he was going to die of second-hand embarrassment. Or delayed embarrassment? Whichever. Either way, it was completely humiliating.
Sure, Ron had already realised years ago, that he'd carried a torch for Viktor Krum when he was 14... but he never realised he'd been this ridiculous about it! Even worse, Ron was going to have to be audience to the whole thing, the whole teenage crush, and the foolish obliviousness, all over again... Oh, yes, whatever remained of his dignity was definitely dead now.
"They look a lot happier than the Beauxbatons lot," Harry said, saving Ron from his internal agony. Ron wanted to look over to see if he could spot Fleur, but younger-Ron was still in control, and so Ron could only look at the Durmstrang students, who were currently pulling off their heavy furs, revealing the blood-red uniforms underneath. Most of them were looking up at the starry black ceiling of the Great Hall in interest. A few were picking up and examining the golden plates and goblets, and looked impressed.
Krum looks so cool, doesn't he? And he's even wearing Gryffindor red...
Um, I don't think it's red for Gryffindor...
"Why's Filch putting out four chairs, who else is coming?" It was 14-year-old Harry.
"Eh?" said younger-Ron. He was too busy staring avidly at Krum to pay attention to what Harry was saying.
Wow, he has such strong eyebrows, don't you think? And he's so tall... even taller than I thought he would be...
Oh Merlin, this was just mortifying to watch.
When all the students finished entered the Hall and sitting down, the staff entered, with last in line being Dumbledore, Karkaroff, and Madame Maxime. When the Beauxbatons headmistress appeared, her pupils leapt to their feet. A few Hogwarts students laughed, but the Beauxbatons students looked quite unembarrassed, and didn't go back to their seats until Madame Maxime sat down by the left of Dumbledore. Ron wondered what kind of Head Maxime must be, to gain that much respect and obedience from her students. Then again, these were the contenders for the Tournament - Maxime had probably selected the cream of the crop. Dumbledore was still standing, and the Great Hall became silent.
"Good evening, ladies and gentlemen, ghosts and - most particularly - guests," said Dumbledore, beaming at the foreign students. "I have great pleasure in welcoming you all to Hogwarts. I hope and trust that your stay here will be both comfortable and enjoyable."
A Beauxbatons student still holding their head garment gave what was unmistakably a derisive laugh. Fleur! Ron was sure of it now, it was Fleur. Maybe he should wave at her-
"No one's making you stay!" Hermione whispered, bristling at her. Wait, was 15-year-old Hermione going to hold a grudge over this? Ron considered if he should say something, even if he had no idea what he could say, but Dumbledore began speaking again.
"The tournament will be officially opened at the end of the feast. I now invite you all to eat, drink, and make yourselves at home!" Dumbledore finally sat down, upon which Karkaroff immediately leaned towards Dumbledore and started speaking, though Ron could not hear what he was saying. Well, it wasn't that important. Karkaroff was an awful headmaster, but as far as the Tournament went, he was just a red herring.
The Hogwarts house-elves must have been asked to do more for this welcoming feast, because there was a much greater variety of dishes than normal, and several clearly foreign - some of the dishes looked like the stuff Fleur would make sometimes, actually. In fact, he thought he saw her favourite fish stew, with the name Ron still couldn't pronounce, something with a B-
"What's that?" It was Harry. He was pointing at the fish stew.
"Bouillabaisse," said Hermione. "It's French. I had it on holiday summer before last. It's very nice."
Harry looked at it, then went back to what was already on his plate.
After twenty minutes after the start of the feast, Hagrid came into Hall through a door behind the staff table. He slid into his seat at the end and waved at them with a heavily bandaged hand.
"Skrewts doing all right, Hagrid?" Harry called out.
"Thriving," Hagrid called back happily.
"Yeah, I'll just bet they are," younger-Ron said quietly. "Looks like they've finally found a food they like, doesn't it? Hagrid's fingers."
Then a French-accented voice said, "Excuse me, are you wanting the bouillabaisse?" Ron looked up to see... Fleur. She'd taken off the muffler, leaving her waist-length silvery-blond hair visible now.
Ron, without thinking, took over and spoke up. "It's fine, you can have it, Fleur."
Fleur frowned. "How do you know my name?"
Oh. Oh, shit. What have I done? WHY do I keep doing this?! "Uh... lucky guess?" Oh, this was bad. A fourteen-year-old Ron should not know what a seemingly random Beauxbatons girl's name was.
Fortunately, after a moment, Fleur's frown faded, and she simply said, "Have you finished with it?"
"Yeah, go ahead and take it," said Harry, handing it over.
Fleur picked up the dish and carried it carefully off to the Ravenclaw table. As she crossed, many boys' heads turned, and some of them seemed to have turned temporarily speechless. Oh, please don't let that happen with younger-Ron, it's bad enough I have to watch him moon over Viktor as it is. Watching that with Fleur would just be too much.
I do not moon over Viktor! And what's with this Fleur girl, anyways? I mean, sure, she's pretty, but why is she so important - wait, is she that other champion you mentioned? Is she - she's the Beauxbatons champion?
You weren't supposed to hear that... but, yeah, she's the Beauxbatons champion... and... our future sister-in-law.
Wait, WHAT?
Yeah, after the Tournament, she ends up working with Bill at Gringotts, and they fall in love and get married in a few years. Where I'm from, they actually have three kids. Oh, and I'm telling you because I didn't think there's any harm in telling this. But you know that you can't say anything on this, right?
Yeah, got it.
Yeah, it will happen on its own, so just don't interfere.
"Ron? How did you know her name?" 15-year-old Hermione looked inquisitive, and even... suspicious. Oh no. Merlin's saggy left- oh, he was so fucked.
"I told you, lucky guess," younger-Ron snapped. Well, at least one of them could recover and give a response.
Hermione looked as though that wasn't the end of it, but then she said, "Look at who's just arrived." She pointed at the staff table, where Ludo Bagman and Crouch Sr. were sitting. Bagman was sitting next to Karkaroff, and Crouch Sr. was sitting next to Madame Maxime.
"What are they doing here?" Harry said, sounding surprised.
"They organised the Triwizard Tournament, didn't they?" said Hermione. "I suppose they wanted to be here to see it start." Thanks a lot, berks. Bagman's just in it for the money, and Crouch Sr was a creep even before he got Imperiused. Real winners you sent us, Ministry.
Once the golden plates were wiped clean, Dumbledore stood up, and began to speak. "The moment has come. The Triwizard Tournament is about to start. I would like to say a few words of explanation before we bring in the casket -"
"The what?" Harry muttered.
"A container," Ron said.
"- just to clarify the procedure that we will be following this year. But first, let me introduce, for those who do not know them, Mr. Bartemius Crouch, Head of the Department of International Magical Cooperation, and Mr. Ludo Bagman, Head of the Department of Magical Games and Sports." While there was some polite applause when Crouch Sr. was introduced, there was a much louder round of applause for Bagman. Ron refused to applaud for either of them. Bagman was a gambler and a cheat, and Crouch Sr... well, enough said.
"Mr. Bagman and Mr. Crouch have worked tirelessly over the last few months on the arrangements for the Triwizard Tournament, and they will be joining myself, Professor Karkaroff, and Madame Maxime on the panel that will judge the champions' efforts." Now Ron felt disgust at Dumbledore for going along with this mess. Shouldn't he have known better? Shouldn't he have realised, at least based on the Triwizard Tournament's history, that it would definitely end in disaster?
Dumbledore, however, only smiled as he said, "The casket, then, if you please, Mr. Filch." Filch approached carrying the great ancient wooden chest, encrusted with jewels, with the infamous Goblet of Fire inside. Then Dumbledore went on and on, about the tasks, the points and the scoring, and the choosing of the champions. Ron had younger-Ron take control so he could drift off in the back of their head. Finally Dumbledore opened the casket, and took out the large wooden cup full to the brim with blue-white flames.
After placing the goblet carefully on top of the casket, so everyone could see it, Dumbledore continued, speaking about how to submit themselves as champion to the goblet, and how now they had twenty-four hours to do so, until tomorrow night, Halloween, when the goblet would make its decision. He also spoke of the Age Line, and how placing your name in the goblet was a binding, magical contract. Meanwhile, Ron showed great self-restraint by not jumping up onto the table and screaming out all the reasons why this was a terrible setup.
"An Age Line!" Fred Weasley said, his eyes glinting, once Dumbledore's speech had finished, and they were walking into the entrance hall to get to the dormitories. "Well, that should be fooled by an Aging Potion, shouldn't it? And once your name's in that goblet, you're laughing - it can't tell whether you're seventeen or not!"
"It won't work," Ron said. He knew he shouldn't say anything, but he was too tired to care "The Age Line can recognise if you've been Aged up by a Potion. It'll throw you out."
"How do you know that?" George asked.
"Do you really think Dumbledore doesn't know about Aging Potions? He'd definitely put something in there as a precaution for it, I'm sure of it." Yet apparently Dumbledore doesn't have the sense to put any precautions against older people entering in underage names, or even just in general people entering in other people's names? I mean, would it really be that hard to just add to the Age Line a magical check that detects if the parchment has the person's own name on it? And maybe something to make sure that they're also walking over the Line of their own will, not because they're Imperiused or something? Or at LEAST the name part. This is so basic, I don't see someone as brilliant as Dumbledore could miss it. Yes, Ron was bitter. Didn't he have a right to be?
"Think what you want," said George shortly. "You'll try and get in, won't you, Harry?"
Harry didn't say anything, and Ron didn't get to see Harry's face, either, because younger-Ron was now looking all throughout the crowd to see where Viktor Krum was. "Where is he?" said younger-Ron. "Dumbledore didn't say where the Durmstrang people are sleeping, did he?"
Younger-Ron's question was answered almost instantly, for they were next to the Slytherin table now, and could overhear Karkaroff.
"Back to the ship, then. Viktor, how are you feeling? Did you eat enough? Should I send for some mulled wine from the kitchens?"
Krum shook his head while pulling his furs back on, but one of the other Durmstrang students said hopefully, "Professor, I would like some wine."
"I wasn't offering it to you, Poliakoff," snapped Karkaroff. Clearly his warmly paternal air was only for Viktor. "I notice you have dribbled food all down the front of your robes again, disgusting boy -" Ron wished he could say something, but then Karkaroff turned and led his students toward the doors. Karkaroff reached the doors at the same moment as Harry, so Harry stopped to let Karkaroff walk through first.
"Thank you," Karkaroff said carelessly, barely glancing at Harry. And then Karkaroff seemed to have realised who he'd passed, for Karkaroff, then turned his head back to Harry and stared in disbelief, then fixed his gaze upon Harry's scar. Behind their headmaster, the Durmstrang students came to a halt too, and stared curiously at Harry. The boy with food down his front, Poliakoff, nudged the girl next to him and pointed openly at Harry's forehead. Ron felt his temperature rising. Did they have to create such a spectacle? Even in this time, even at Durmstrang, it must be common knowledge that Harry Potter attended Hogwarts. Why they couldn't just act like a decent person would, and try to act like they didn't notice anything? It wasn't like they were a bunch of starstruck first years who didn't know any better.
"Yeah, that's Harry Potter," said a familiar, growling voice behind them. Everyone turned to see Moody - well, fake-Moody. He was leaning heavily on his staff, and his magical eye was glaring at Karkaroff.
The colour drained right from Karkaroff's face. A terrible looked of mingled fury and fear came over him. "You!" Karkaroff said, staring at fake-Moody as though unsure he was really seeing him. Maybe it's because Crouch Jr. would hate Karkaroff for being a "traitor" of a Death Eater... wait, does Karkaroff know that this is Barty Crouch Jr.? Did he know all along, and that's why he was acting so suspicious... my head hurts...
"Me," said Crouch grimly. "And unless you've got anything to say to Potter, Karkaroff, you might want to move. You're blocking the doorway." Which was true, but Ron doubted that was what Crouch cared about. At any rate, Karkaroff, without another word, swept his students away with him. Crouch didn't stop watching Karkaroff until he was out of sight.
Ron made sure not to show it, but the whole scene left his mind reeling. What had really happened just then? Did Karkaroff know or not? How much did Karkaroff know? And was Barty Crouch Jr. threatening Karkaroff? If so, was he planning on framing Karkaroff, or was he just threatening to have Karkaroff pay for his "treachery" once Voldemort had risen again?
It was all an uncomfortable reminder that, even with his knowledge of the "future", Ron still didn't know everything for this time period. No doubt about it, he needed to be really thorough and careful in his planning and strategising. He especially needed to be very, very careful every time he made a change. With all the sinister plots going on, one wrong move could be deadly.
As expected, Ron wasn't the only one to wake up early the next day. Yes, Ron hated waking up early, but it seemed important today. When he arrived in the entrance hall, he saw most of the Durmstrang students putting their names into the goblet. Younger-Ron got quite excited when he saw Viktor enter his name. Ron reminded younger-Ron that they both knew Viktor would be chosen, but that did nothing to calm younger-Ron down.
Oh, well. I guess I need to get used to the reality that now my life involves having to watch a younger version of myself act foolish over his crush on Viktor Krum, and worse yet, refuse to admit it. Ron groaned, and then went over to the Great Hall, and chowed down on toast with eggs and fried tomatoes, bacon, baked beans, a load of pancakes, a few cinnamon rolls, and chugged down on some juice to finish it all off. After all, now that he had a fourteen-year-old body again, he might as well as take advantage of it. Being forced to pretend to be less than half his age was terrible, but the energy of this youthful body was one of the few perks.
Some time later, after Ron had gone back to the entrance hall, Hermione and Harry arrived. When they asked if anyone put their name in yet, Ron replied that all the Durmstrang students did, but no one from Hogwarts or Beauxbatons yet.
"Bet some of them put it in last night after we'd all gone to bed," said Harry. "I would've if it had been me... wouldn't have wanted everyone watching. What if the goblet just gobbed you right back out again?"
A laugh rang out. Turning, they saw Fred, George, and Lee Jordan hurrying down the staircase. All three of them looked extremely excited.
"Done it," Fred whispered triumphantly. "Just taken it."
"The Aging Potion?" Ron said. Oh, god, he really didn't want to watch what came next.
"One drop each," said George, rubbing his hands together gleefully. "We only need to be a few months older."
"We're going to split the thousand Galleons between the three of us if one of us wins," said Lee, grinning broadly.
"But that can't be an equal split with three people. 1,000 isn't a number that's divisible by 3," Ron said, caught up in thoughts about Rose recently starting to learn multiplication and division.
Fred, George, and Lee stared at him.
"Well it's true," Ron said defensively. "If you try to divide 1,000 by 3, you get a remainder of 1."
"Oh, who cares about one Galleon difference? We'll be rich and famous!" Fred said dismissively. "C'mon then - I'll go first -" Fred said, while pulling a slip of parchment out of his pocket. Ron couldn't read the words, but he could guess it was Fred's name. Fred walked right up to the edge of the line and stood there, rocking on his toes. And then Ron decided: he couldn't watch this. He couldn't watch them try to cross, and watch them fail, and see Fred old and grey, the only time that he got to -
I can't watch this. Let's switch.
What was with you going on about division? Do you want to make me look like a raving lunatic?
That's kind of - you know what, never mind, that's another issue - can we please just switch?
Younger-Ron reluctantly agreed. So, as younger-Ron watched the whole incident, maybe even finding it funny, Ron drifted far off into the mindscape. After what could have been a few seconds, or hours, Ron didn't know which, he became submerged into a setting filled with abstract shapes, was somewhere between flying and falling...
Wake UP! We're going to breakfast now!
Already- it's been a whole day? Why didn't you call me earlier?!
No, you moron, it's still October 31st, Halloween!
Well, why are we going to a second breakfast? I thought we already... ate... am I remembering wrong?
YOU ate, Harry and Hermione didn't. Now we need to switch, because I don't want all that food taunting me. You should handle that, since you gorged yourself earlier!
Oh, honestly, you're fourteen, you'll be fine. I'm 32, I never get to eat like that anymore, not if I don't want to gain 5 kilograms the next day...
But Ron gave in and switched. Now that he wasn't so busy stuffing himself, he could notice the Halloween decorations in the Great Hall. A cloud of live bats was fluttering around the ceiling, and there were hundreds of carved pumpkins around every corner. Harry led the way over to Dean and Seamus, who were discussing which Hogwarts students that were of age could be entering.
"There's a rumour going around that Warrington got up early and put his name in," Dean told Harry. "That big bloke from Slytherin who looks like a sloth."
Harry shook his head in disgust. "We can't have a Slytherin champion!"
"And all the Hufflepuffs are talking about Diggory," said Seamus, with contempt. "But I wouldn't have thought he'd have wanted to risk his good looks."
Ron opened his mouth in outrage, ready to give Seamus a good tongue-lashing, when Hermione said suddenly, "Listen!"
People were cheering out in the entrance hall. They turned in their seats to see Angelina Johnson coming into the Hall, grinning in an embarrassed sort of way. Angelina came over to them, sat down, and said, "Well, I've done it! Just put my name in!" Ron tried not to squirm. He knew Angelina wasn't actually in any danger, since she wouldn't be chosen, but it was still difficult to hear.
"Are you seventeen, then?" Harry asked.
"I had my birthday last week." That gave Ron pause. Would the Age Line accept it if I tried to go in to enter? I'm 32, that's definitely of age. Sure, I'm in a fourteen-year-old body, but if the Age Line's not fooled by an Aging Potion, maybe it would also recognise my real age. Not that I'm going to enter the Tournament- wait, should I enter the Tournament- no, can't go down that road. For one, IF I got selected, that would mean way too much attention.
What's wrong with getting attention? It would be nice to get recognised for once. It was younger-Ron.
Ugh, why didn't I make sure to think that privately... well, for starters: did you already forget that this Tournament KILLS people?
...Oh. Right.
"Well, I'm glad someone from Gryffindor's entering," said Hermione. "I really hope you get it, Angelina!"
"Thanks, Hermione," said Angelina, smiling at her.
"Yeah, better you than Pretty-Boy Diggory," said Seamus, causing several Hufflepuffs passing their table to scowl heavily at him. And, oh, that was it. Ron may have been distracted earlier when Angelina came in, but he was definitely speaking out now.
"Stop mocking Cedric, Seamus," Ron said, sharply. "It's all well and good to want a Gryffindor Champion, but you needn't stoop to personal insults."
Seamus looked at Ron with surprise, but Ron found he didn't care. Let the kid think what he wanted. Ron knew he'd said what was right.
Is that - did you say that, because, Cedric is going to - what you said about him being... offed?
Oh god, this younger version of himself was still so young, so green, he couldn't even say the word "death"... How was he was supposed to explain it all to younger-Ron, to this child? Well, he had to try.
Ron steeled himself, and began. Partly, yes. But it's more than that. Cedric... Cedric was a decent, good, and fair person. He was... the kind of person who tried to call off a Quidditch match he'd won, because he thought his opponent had an unfair disadvantage. The kind of person who never even said one unkind word to Harry, even when he thought Harry did put his name into the Goblet. And yeah, Cedric was the first casualty of the war. The Second War against Voldemort. Dumbledore... Dumbledore said it best, at the end of term, shortly after Cedric died. I couldn't put it better than he did.
What did he say? Younger-Ron's message seemed at once full of dread and inquisitiveness. Another reminder of how vigilant and responsible Ron needed to be.
Choosing his message carefully, Ron sent, ...I can't remember all of it. But there's one part, at the end of it, that - that's crystal clear. I don't think I can ever forget it. It went: "Remember Cedric. Remember, if the time should come when you have to make a choice between what is right and what is easy, remember what happened to a boy who was good, and kind, and brave, because he strayed across the path of Lord Voldemort. Remember Cedric Diggory."
For a while there was a sense of silence. Then Ron received, I - I don't know what to say... But what you said - I mean, what you said Dumbledore said - explains a lot. I'm going to think it over...
Thank you, Ron sent.
While watching Harry and Hermione eat their breakfast, Ron wondered what younger-Ron was thinking right now. But his younger self deserved some privacy, so he didn't try to check. Harry did ask why he wasn't eating, and Ron just said he'd eaten before they came. Once they finished, younger-Ron asked to switch, so they did.
As they left the Great Hall, younger-Ron asked, "What are we going to do today, then?"
"We haven't been down to visit Hagrid yet," said Harry.
"Okay," said younger-Ron, "just as long as he doesn't ask us to donate a few fingers to the skrewts. Or they don't burn our fingers off. Or they don't suck our blood. Or they don't lay eggs in us-" Ron sighed internally. Was Malfoy was rubbing off on younger-Ron? What a disturbing thought.
Suddenly great excitement dawned on Hermione's face. Brightly, she said, "I've just realised - we could ask Hagrid to join H.E.L.F. now! You want to come with me upstairs and help me get those patches Dobby made?"
"Uh, why don't you go ahead, we'll wait," Harry said distractedly.
"I'll keep Harry company," Ron said, apologetically. Idly, he wondered if Hagrid would still reject her offer, like before. After all, HELF was quite different from SPEW.
Of course, Hermione hardly waited for their responses. "See you soon!" Hermione shouted, as she ran up the marble staircase.
"Hey, Ron," said Harry, "look, it's your friend..."
The Beauxbatons students were coming through the front doors, Fleur obviously among them. Madame Maxime entered the hall soon after, and organised them into a line. One by one, the Beauxbatons students stepped across the Age Line and dropped their slips of parchment into the blue-white flames. As each parchment entered the fire, the flames turned briefly red and emitted sparks.
"Fleur, right?" Harry said, as Fleur dropped her parchment into the Goblet of Fire. "You should go say hi to her, since you know her so well and all..." He smiled teasingly. Oh, great. Ron knew perfectly well he couldn't just go over there and greet her, but at the same time, it was nice to see 14-year-old Harry in a lighter mood again, so Ron didn't want to just say no...
Ron took a third option, and decided to distract Harry, saying, "What do you think will happen to the ones who aren't chosen? Do you think they'll hang around to watch the tournament, or go back to their school?"
"Dunno... Hang around, I suppose... Madame Maxime's staying to judge, isn't she?"
"Makes sense." Ron already knew they would end up staying to watch the tournament, but now he had an actual question. "But then, who's going to teach the remaining students? I mean, they've got to be in their seventh year, or maybe sixth. Surely they have a bunch of important exams to study for?"
"...Madame Maxime? She's their headmistress, she probably knows her stuff... can't be that bad to teach only a dozen students..."
"You'd be surprised," Ron muttered, remembering how chaotic Rose said her classroom could get, despite it being less than 10 students.
"Well..." Harry had an expression of intense concentration now. "They're all contenders for champion of the Tournament, and champions are supposed to be the best of the school, right? Maybe that means they're the really studious type."
"Maybe..." Was he really finding another reason that the Tournament was a terrible idea? Not that Ron should be surprised, but really? These headmasters were risking the education of some of their best students for a proven-to-be-deadly Tournament, just for the glory? From someone like Karkaroff he supposed that was expected, but even Maxime didn't have any better sense?
Fortunately, before he could think too long on the subject and get even angrier, Hermione reappeared with the box of HELF patches. "I'm back," she announced. "I know Hagrid would use only one, but... well, I just thought it would be better to bring the whole box, don't you?"
"Why not," said Harry, with a tone of good humour.
When they neared Hagrid's cabin right by the Forbidden Forest, Ron spotted the gigantic Beauxbatons carriage, parked 200 yards from Hagrid's front door, with the students climbing back inside it. The Abraxan horses were grazing in a makeshift paddock next to the carriage.
When Harry knocked on Hagrid's door, Fang's barks was their first answer. Their second answer was Hagrid flinging open the door. "About time! Thought you lot had forgotten where I live!"
"We've been really busy, Hag-" Hermione started to say, but then stopped dead. Looking up at Hagrid, the poor girl was apparently lost for words. Ron didn't blame her. Hagrid looked just as awful - no, worse - than he'd remembered.
Hagrid was not only wearing an awful hairy brown suit, with a checked yellow-and-orange tie, but he'd slicked down his hair into two greased bunches. The look did not suit him. For a moment, Hermione goggled at him, then, probably remembering her social skills lessons, she chose not to comment, and simply said, "Erm - where are the skrewts?"
Hey, we should switch.
Why? So I have to stare at Hagrid's odd hairstyle, too?
No, because Hagrid is your friend, and I'd think you would want to spend time with him. And don't say anything about Hagrid's hair unless you have something helpful to say.
Suitably chastised, younger-Ron grumpily agreed to switch.
"Skrewts're out by the pumpkin patch," Hagrid said happily. "They're getting massive, must be nearly three feet long now. Only trouble is, they've started killing each other."
"Oh no, really? How awful," said Hermione, shooting a glare at younger-Ron, who was likely looking far too excited about finally hearing about the skrewts destroying each other.
"Yeah," said Hagrid sadly. "It's okay, though, I've got them in separate boxes now. Still got about twenty."
"Well, that's lucky," said younger-Ron. Hagrid missed the sarcasm.
They sat down at Hagrid's enormous wooden table and chairs, right by the fire. Soon they were immersed in more discussion of the Triwizard Tournament, with Hagrid seemed just as excited as Hermione and Harry - in other words, the perfect time for Ron to sink out. Especially since he knew for a fact they wouldn't go back for hours...
Ron tried to go deeper in than ever before. Slowly he drifted past the setting with the abstract shapes, and ended up in a setting he'd never been before. It was something like a sea of clouds, with waves flowing and breezing around him... Light and darkness shone in equal parts. As he felt himself slipping still further, images, scenes began to flash around him, disorienting and strangely familiar, all at once.
Lightning illuminating a boy holding a corpse, a broken being with snake-eyes being soaked into potion. A Ministry building exploding as a blue dragon carrying children broke through the ceiling, a tree-lady screaming as she was set on fire, a wand being forced into a brown hand. An Asian woman holding hands with a scarred blond man while walking in a garden filled with children. A shattering hourglass, a sign saying something about "Statute," silvery-blond hair shining in the dark. A boy in green kissing a girl in red. A voice saying "You Must Beware," a blond girl with radish earrings announcing something important, he knew it was important, but what was it, he couldn't hear anything -
An echoing, sonorous voice boomed out: "Learn to Trust, or Perish."
A single drop of dew slipped from a blade of grass, falling into serene waters, and the ensuing ripples started small but grew bigger, effects stretching farther and wider...
Ron emerged from the currents, eyes wide open and gasping for breath. Looking around at his surroundings, Ron could see they were just outside Hagrid's cabin now. It was rather dark outside.
"Ron, what's wrong?" It was 15-year-old Hermione.
Hey, what was that? I was perfectly fine watching Krum, and you just have to shove in and take over?
I didn't intend to - something... happened... look I'll explain later, okay?
Fine, but I'm taking over again now.
Ron didn't disagree, so younger-Ron took over, and fumbled out a statement about being distracted by the sight of Krum walking over to the castle, which they accepted. While they all walked over the castle, younger-Ron was occupied with staring at Viktor Krum, and Ron spent the time pouring over the... visions, he was fairly sure they were visions, trying to memorise every detail, so he could examine them properly later.
When they arrived in the Great Hall, Ron asked younger-Ron for a recap on what happened while he was out. Younger-Ron, though peeved at being asked to pause his all-important task of mooning over Viktor Krum, quickly told Ron about how Hagrid apparently fancied Madam Maxime, and how Hagrid refused to join HELF, which Hermione was not happy about.
As they sat down, Fred said, "Hope it's Angelina."
Hermione breathlessly replied, "So do I! Well, we'll soon know." Great, now I get to feel guilty Ron had already thought in detail, even explained to younger-Ron, why they couldn't do anything to stop Harry's selection, or warn him, but...it still felt wrong.
The Halloween feast seemed to take much longer than usual. Probably because Ron was internally in agony over the inevitable announcement about Harry. Ron tried to spend the time productively by scouring over the visions, but just couldn't focus. Younger-Ron was still in control, but even his younger self didn't seem that eager to eat. Many other students had impatient looks and were fidgeting as well, though they were certainly just wondering over three champions.
At long last, the golden plates returned to their original spotless state. A clamour rose up within the Hall, but died away almost instantly when Dumbledore got to his feet. Karkaroff and Maxime looked tense, but Bagman was beaming and randomly winking, and Crouch Sr looked uninterested, almost bored. Well, of course he did, Crouch Sr's mind was dulled from being under the Imperius Curse, wasn't it?
"Well, the goblet is almost ready to make its decision. I estimate that it requires one more minute. Now, when the champions' names are called, I would ask them please to come up to the top of the Hall, walk along the staff table, and go through into the next chamber-" he pointed to the door behind the staff table- "where they will be receiving their first instructions."
Dumbledore took out his wand, and extinguished all the candles except those inside the pumpkins, leaving the Great Hall in semidarkness, and the Goblet of Fire shining most brightly of all. Everyone was watching, waiting... Even both Rons, despite knowing the results, felt the tension.
The flames turned red again. Ron knew what came next. Sparks began to fly. A tongue of flame shot into the air, and a charred piece of parchment fluttered out of it. Everyone gasped. Dumbledore caught the paper, and, reading it by the light of the blue-white flames, said, "The champion for Durmstrang will be Viktor Krum."
A storm of applause and cheering swept the Hall, younger-Ron included in it. Viktor Krum rose from the Slytherin table, and walked through the door behind the staff table, to the next chamber. Karkaroff called out, loud enough to be heard over the applause, "Bravo, Viktor! Knew you had it in you!"
Can we switch now?
Why, because the only Champion you care about is Viktor Krum...
Shut UP okay I do NOT- I don't-
Younger-Ron wasn't even able to finish, he was that flustered. Ron, taking pity on him, sent, Fine, whatever, I'll switch...
Seconds after the clapping for Viktor died down, the flames turned red again, and the second piece of parchment was propelled out by the flames. I wonder if the Goblet of Fire has a sense of dramatic timing? It waited until the clapping finished, after all.
"The champion for Beauxbatons is Fleur Delacour!"
As Fleur stood up, Ron clapped politely. He immediately regretted it when, as she walked to the staff table, Harry shouted, "It's her, Ron, your friend, right?" Bloody hell, was kid Harry really not going to let that slip-up go? He could only hope no one else would think anything of Harry's comment...
"Oh look, they're all disappointed," Hermione said, nodding towards the other Beauxbatons students. Two had actually burst into tears and sobbing with their heads in their arms. Ron was grateful for the distraction, then guiltily wondered if he should say something comforting. But then, a strange Hogwarts boy trying to talk to them would probably make them feel more embarrassed. Never mind.
As Fleur went into the next chamber, Ron felt his anxiety grow. Because he knew what was coming next...
"The Hogwarts champion is Cedric Diggory!" The uproar from Hufflepuff Table next to them was massive. Every single Hufflepuff had jumped to their feet, screaming and stamping. And, oh god, the sight of Cedric, he was still so alive and healthy and well and young - forever young - he was grinning broadly, just a boy, with no idea of what lay ahead - the applause would not stop -
His face was wet. He'd been crying, Ron realised with a start. He rubbed his face quickly, trying to wipe it all away. It wouldn't do to let anyone else see such tears.
The applause for Cedric continued for so long, it was a while before Dumbledore could speak out again. Well, that's Hufflepuff for you: loyal and united to the end.
"Excellent! Well, we now have our three champions." And I now feel positively illI am sure I can count upon all of you, including the remaining students from Beauxbatons and Durmstrang, to give your champions every ounce of support you can muster. By cheering your champion on, you will contribute in a very real-" But then Dumbledore stopped speaking. The fire in the goblet had just turned red again.
Ron wanted to scream. He wanted to turn back time or freeze it. Hell, he wanted to Incendio the Goblet right now. But he could do nothing to stop what was already set in motion, nothing to stop what came next. Not the sparks beginning to fly out of the goblet. Not a long flame shooting out of it. Not the long flame spitting out the fourth, final, piece of parchment.
And definitely not Dumbledore holding out the slip of parchment in disbelief, and reading out: "Harry Potter."
Knowing what was going to happen didn't make it easier. Ron felt devastated.
Harry himself looked numb. "I didn't put my name in," Harry said blankly. "You know I didn't."
"I believe you," Ron said, partly because he did believe him, knowing about Crouch's plot and all, but partly because of guilt. Guilt for not preparing this child version of Harry for this moment at all, or guilt for not supporting Harry the first time? He didn't know. Stop it, stop wallowing, will you, Ron scolded himself. This isn't about you right now. Focus on kid Harry.
"Harry Potter!" Dumbledore called. "Harry! Up here, if you please!"
"Go on," 15-year-old Hermione whispered, giving a slight push. Harry ended up tripping over his robes, causing Ron to feel even more sorry for him.
And then... oh. Oh, Ron had not thought about the solitary walk.
Seeing him right there, looking so vulnerable, so alone - it must be because Ron was older now, but Harry was looking so terribly, terribly young...
He's just a boy! He's just a CHILD!
That was the final breaking point. Ron couldn't stand it anymore. He sent out, fiercely, I have to come clean now. As soon as Harry returns, and we're in private, just us? I'm going to spill.
I agree. In fact... I think we should have told him sooner. I know you said you didn't want a fight or something, but if we were going to tell him eventually anyway, why didn't we just do it in the beginning?
...You might be right. Either way, we should plan how we're going to do it - telling him - now.
Younger-Ron agreed. Which was good, because having another task to focus on, helped Ron in shoving down his rage when Dumbledore sent Harry into the next chamber without the slightest sign of reassurance or warmth.
Everyone was dismissed not long after Harry was sent away. The Beauxbatons students were led away by Maxime and Durmstrang students by Karkaroff, of course, and Dumbledore told the Hogwarts students to back to their common rooms or dormitories.
Ron went along at first, but in the chaos and the large crowds, he slipped away, and hurried off to... well, the seventh floor. Specifically, the left corridor of the seventh floor. Going around it three times, he and younger-Ron thought out as loudly as they could, "We need a place that helps us break difficult news to a friend going through a hard time." A door opened, and Ron stepped in to find a room with... pamphlets about social skills, handling grief, addiction, and other emotional issues. It also had some pamphlets on communication in healthy relationships. All had many pictures. A decent start, but Ron needed more.
I need some drawing paper. And pencils, coloured pencils, and markers, and crayons, Ron thought clearly. Printer paper, lined paper, and poster paper materialised, as did some neat seats of multicoloured pencils, markers, and crayons. Now Ron was ready to work. And so was younger-Ron.
Several minutes later, after much discussion they'd decided they were finished. Just one more thing...
I need some basilisk venom, in a safe container, Ron thought, trying to see if the Room could give it to him.
A transparent bottle with a dark liquid inside appeared in Ron's hand. Perfect. Now he was all set for what he was going to do next - no, wait, just in case something went wrong-
I need some bottled phoenix tears, Ron thought. A bottle with a clear liquid appeared. Now satisfied, Ron tucked the bottles into separate pockets, then stepped out of the Room, walked away from the left corridor... then walked back, and, walking around three times, chanted under his breath, "I need to get to the Room of Hidden Things."
When Ron was in, he didn't waste any time. He searched briskly for that blasted tiara, and when he found it, he ignored any effects it tried to throw out. He just placed the diadem on a nearby dirty handkerchief, pulled out the bottle holding the basilisk venom, and let a single drop fall onto the crown. The venom made a hissing noise, and the diadem began wailing. For good measure, Ron dumped all the venom onto the wretched horcrux, dumped the whole bottle of phoenix tears right after in case the poison seeped through to the floor, and then cast Confringo onto the handkerchief. You could never be too careful with destroying Horcruxes, or with basilisk venom.
Ron smiled down at the remains, merely ashes leftover from the Confringo. He might not be able to do anything to stop 14-year-old Harry from being dragged into the Tournament, but he could damn well destroy at least one fucking horcrux at Hogwarts. And that was... two horcruxes down, so four left to destroy, with a secret last one (Harry) to protect... And Crouch and Voldemort and their other allies had no idea what was coming for them, who exactly was up against them...
Oh, yeah, they were totally and utterly fucked.
...Several minutes later, after managing to squeeze through the chaos in the common room to get to the dormitories, Ron began reflecting, and he'd come to a conclusion. Destroying a horcrux? Easy, no sweat. Waiting in the empty dormitory for 14-year-old Harry to come? Pure torture.
Ron and younger-Ron tried to occupy themselves by going over the notes, but both Rons were so tense and full of nerves they couldn't focus enough to read anything. They sat on the bed, fidgeting so hard they ended up accidentally shaking off the bed's blanket, causing it to fall onto the floor. They paced back and forth, trying to get rid of the nervous energy, but their thoughts were swirling around too fast and their anxiety was too strong, to really get anything out of the walking. They tried switching back and forth, sliding like waves coming in and out, and the process became faster and faster, smooth as water sliding down a plane. That was the only thing that came even close to relief.
Finally, after what felt like hours, Harry dashed into their dormitory and slammed the door. He was wearing an odd looking cape - looking closer, Ron realised it was a Gryffindor banner.
"Where've you been?" Harry said. He sounded desperate.
"Erm - waiting for you... since you were sent into that chamber while we got sent to the dorms," younger-Ron said. They'd decided younger-Ron should be the one to start.
"Listen, I didn't put my name in the goblet. Someone else must've done it."
"I know. I know a lot of people don't believe you, but I do. I know you didn't put your name in... because I know who did."
Yes, I headcanon that teenage Ron, specifically 14-year-old Ron, had a crush on Viktor Krum. Evidence doesn't lie: almost everything younger-Ron says out loud about Krum in this chapter is directly lifted from the actual text of Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire. And, yes, "staring avidly at Krum" is exact text too :)
For the record, I don't think Karkaroff knew, at least not at that point, that Professor Moody was really Barty Crouch Jr. However, I do think that, with his future knowledge, [adult] Ron rewatching this scene/confrontation, would doubt and wonder.
That portion of Dumbledore's speech that Ron quotes, is directly from the text of Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire. Specifically, it's from the speech Dumbledore gave at the end of term about facing the hard truth about Cedric's death.
Harry will always be Ron's favorite horcrux. Definitely not considered expendable, not by Ron.
As always: 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.