A/N: We are sorry this hasn't been updated for so long. We have been having computer problems. It won't happen again, touch wood. Please give us feedback on this, because we do care. Thank you!

Disclaimer: JK Rowling owns it, we just like to play with it and mess it up. The old Malfoy is ours - not his surname of course, but his character.

6. The Break-in

In which Ron, while committing a criminal act, discovers that a little bit of friendliness goes a long way.

Ron was sitting behind a shrub near the Malfoy manor, occupying himself by reading that week's issue of Which Broomstick? He had decided he would wait until it was completely dark before making his move.

Waiting for the sun to set gave him time to mull over his sketchy plan, and silence his scruples. He shouldn't feel bad about robbing the Malfoys of a family heirloom they probably didn't even know existed, especially considering all they had done to him and his, he told himself firmly. Lucius Malfoy had tried to kill Ginny and had killed Harry and Hermione – almost killed, he reminded himself.

Where his plan was concerned, he felt uneasy. It was not so much full of holes as it was a bottomless pit with a very thin, unstable rope bridge drawn across it. Yet it was all he had.

He would definitely not be able to get a time-turner from the ministry. They had grudgingly lent one to Hermione, for strategic purposes during the war, but had refused to let him and Harry touch one as they had "repeatedly proven themselves disregardful of Ministry property". Privately, he suspected they had still been holding a grudge against Harry for not wanting to co-operate with them. They certainly blamed Ron for the crashed brain tanks at the department of mysteries, and probably for the destruction of all the old time-turners as well.

The new versions were improved. One could choose if one wanted to go back years or hours, without having to tweak it much. With the old ones, it had been either one or the other, depending on the construction of the time-turner.

As Ron sat reflecting over the past, the sky gradually darkened. Soon he came to his senses, realizing that it was freezing cold, and that he couldn't read his magazine anymore. The time had come to act.

He crept up to the garden gate, not very stealthily, but all the same. He had cast a disillusionment charm upon himself so that none of the house elves would see him from one of the windows. All the lights were out in the house, so he guessed Narcissa was asleep. She'd wake up soon alright.

There were probably protective spells in the garden as well as in the house, so he would have to do it from outside.

Waving his wand, he uttered the most powerful, colourful explosion charm he could think of.

A stream of lights burst through the gates, which shook in their hinges but did not open. Ron scratched his head and tried a simpler one.

"Reducto! Reducto reducto reducto!"

The gate did not open. However, the iron bars started to writhe, reshaping themselves into the semblance of an evil grin. Ron was growing more and more frustrated. There were crashes and curses coming from inside the manor, as the lights were switched on. He thought he could make out Narcissa's voice – it seemed like she was doing all the cursing. Soon she would come outside, and he had to get through the gates so that he could sneak in past her…

"Please, please open!" he begged.

To his intense surprise, the gates opened. He waited, expecting some sort of trick, but nothing happened. Carefully, he crept through them. Still nothing.

"I – thanks," he said awkwardly. The gates closed, but, he noticed, the grin did not appear less evil.

Sprinting through the garden, he dodged here and there as the occasional tree took a swipe at him and rosebushes tried to eat him. He thought he could see the glowing eyes of some extremely vicious garden gnomes through the thick hedges. The door was flung open, lights spilling out onto the driveway, and he ducked out of sight, hiding behind the door. Narcissa stormed into the garden, tailed by her house elves. She looked quite fearsome, despite the pink dressing gown and the curlers in her hair.

Ron wasted no time, sneaking in through the door and running as fast as he could so that the portraits wouldn't have time to see him. However, he did not get far. When he'd reached the end of the corridor, the ground disappeared from under his feet. He had fallen into one of the old Malfoy's famous traps.

He landed in a room below, on a strategically placed mattress. For a while, the air was misty with dust.

Ron didn't have to wonder for very long why someone had bothered to put a mattress there, for a minute later the floor started rising up to meet the ceiling. The trapdoor had closed.

Frantically, he tried every single spell he knew.

"Wingardium Leviosa! Expelliarmus! Reducto! Impedimenta!" Nothing worked.

Suddenly he realized how helpless he was. The room had no door. There was no escape. The ceiling was coming closer and closer, and he was going to get crushed against it, like a fly.

After a while, he began to wonder which death would be the more painful: suffocating in the mattress or getting squashed on the floor – which, by the way, was taking its time. The old Malfoy must have liked to torture his guests with the fear of dying first. It was working so far.

There was no one he could ask for help, or plead with for mercy. Or was there? All of a sudden he recalled how he had got the gate to open itself.

Rolling over to look at the floor, he said,

"Please, I would be very grateful if you would be so kind as to stop and let me out."

The floor faltered a little.

"Please?"

The floor jerked upwards, more slowly.

"You know," he said desperately, "I've always admired ancient stone structures like you. Er… the architecture is so… fascinating. And… good quality. You've lasted for centuries, haven't you? That's a mark of good craftsmanship, isn't' it?"

The floor had stopped moving, and, it seemed to him, was hanging on to his every word.

"You know, modern buildings are so boring and ugly, and weak too! It's pathetic, don't you agree?"

He was talking to a floor. This was a new low.

"But a manor like you… calling you a manor is almost insulting. I mean, you're a palace among manors! Look at your turrets, they're majestic! I've never seen turrets so… aesthetically pleasing."

It could be his imagination, but it sounded almost like the floor was purring.

"Your archways are wonderfully tapered… it's not quite Romanesque, not quite Gothic… it's original. Brilliant really. The architect must have been a genius. I'd really like to examine the rest of you as well. I have a passion for… architecture. And I've never seen a house like this one, like you. You're one of a kind, you know that?"

The words had their desired effect on the room. The trapdoor reopened itself, and the floor seemed rather happy to let him out.

Ron didn't think he'd said so many polite things at one time in his life before, as he had to this house.

At least the building now seemed more inclined to help instead of hinder him. As he made his way towards the portrait gallery, doors magically opened before him, and the shadows always seemed big and dark enough to hide him from view. At one point he tripped, and was about to crash into a suit of armour, when a carpet and a tapestry somehow managed to co-operate in catching him. Whenever something like this happened, Ron was sure to give the floor or a wall a pat and whisper a few encouraging words.

When he had clambered up through the trapdoor he found himself in a part of the house he'd never seen before, but the manor was keen to remedy the situation. All the right doors opened and various statues pointed him in the right direction. One door closed on his face as he was aiming to walk through it, saving him from being discovered, for behind it he could soon hear Narcissa striding up the stairs, shouting things to her house elves.

Sure enough, he quickly reached the entrance to the portrait gallery. The portraits worried him, since one of them could wake up and raise an alarm, but they all seemed to be sleeping very heavily. So he tiptoed through the corridor, searching the faces of the snoring Malfoy ancestors, for the one with the pointed teeth. Ron found him at last, and was, somehow, not surprised at finding him awake. The portrait was not as lively as it had been the first time Ron had seen him. This time the old Malfoy seemed deeply immersed in a large book, which, on close inspection turned out be a volume on the history of Goblin rebellions. Ron regarded the portrait for a while, then reached up and gave it a light tap. The old Malfoy ignored him.

There was nothing for it. Ron gingerly eased the portrait off its hook, and carefully placed it on the floor. Then he whispered, almost inaudibly,

"Puniceus!"

As it had last time, the wall melted away, revealing a small opening which contained the shelf with the many strange artefacts. He grabbed the time-turner. Then his eyes fell upon the wristwatch, which had given him such a start the day before. It seemed out of place in the collection of obviously magical odds and ends. This time he took a closer look at it. It was dark, and he didn't dare light his wand for fear of awakening the other portraits, but he could still recognize it. It was definitely Harry's.

Snatching up the watch, he backed away from the opening. The wall closed over it.

He would have to think long and hard about what Harry's watch had been doing there, but not right then. Stuffing the time-turner into his pocket, Ron bent to lift the heavy portrait and hang it back on the wall. As he heaved it up, however, he noticed its occupant had abandoned its book and was gazing at him, frowning slightly.

Ron nearly missed the hook. He almost stopped breathing entirely, and took a stumbling step backwards, prepared to run if the portrait raised the alarm. But it didn't.

"Now why did you take that watch? I liked it, you know," it said, sounding annoyed more than anything else.

Ron looked around, to see if any of the other portraits had heard it, but they were still sleeping soundly. Nevertheless he drew his wand.

"I wouldn't do that if I were you, my friend," said the old Malfoy. "I can assure you they will not wake up."

"You… but…"

"Yes, me. But what?"

"Er… you…"

The portrait laughed, it's eyes bulging slightly. Ron started to back away, clutching his wand tightly, ready to fling a curse at any moment. Suddenly he tripped on a flagstone, and would have cracked his scull on the floor if a carpet hadn't caught him.

"I see my house has taken a fancy to you. It is an excellent judge of character, my house is. Stay and talk to me for a bit, will you?"

"I… um… really need to be somewhere…"

"Can you not spare a moment for an old man's sake? Nobody ever comes to visit me these days. And won't you remove that disillusionment charm, so that I can see you properly? Nobody is going to discover you if the house doesn't want it. Tell me," he said, leaning forward a little. "How did you figure out the secret to the old girl?"

"What?"

"The manor! She has never taken such a shine to anyone since I was alive myself! Although, she does seem to have a soft spot for that Narcissa. First Malfoy in generations to have some proper respect for you, isn't she, my girl?" This last was evidently directed towards the building, and he reached over to give the wall in his painting a little pat.

"Not bad looking, either. Oh, but I miss walking through these halls…"

"Yeah," said Ron. "I have to go now…"

"Now that I think about it," said the old Malfoy, eyeing him thoughtfully, "I believe I recognise you. Have you ever been here before?"

"Yes," said Ron, nervously. "I mean, I was here yesterday, but…"

"Well, my old brain gets a bit foggy sometimes, but I think I have seen you, a long time ago."

"Yeah, that's a bit strange. Look, I really do have to leave, but maybe I'll come and visit you some other time."

"Have a safe journey, my boy, and don't forget to kiss the front door goodbye," the portrait said, still looking as if it was trying to remember when it might have seen Ron previously.

Ron beat a hasty retreat.

He didn't stop running until he was well out of sight of the manor. When he had reached the crest of a hill, he sank to the ground and concentrated on breathing for a while. Then he got up and started walking towards the cliff. He had decided that that would be the best place from which to travel back in time, partly because he thought it would be easier to track Harry and Hermione from where they must have landed, and partly because he didn't think there would be a risk of arriving in someone's house if he stood on the edge.

Once he had reached his destination, he hesitated. Should he have asked Ginny to come along? She did have as much right to come as he did, but if they both went, and didn't return, nobody would ever know the truth about what had happened. Besides, who knew what he might find there? He didn't want her to come with him; he didn't want to lose all he had left.

Pulling out the time-turner, he hung it around his neck and was about to turn it when he paused. Something had caught his eye. A magazine lay on the ground. Ron took a step closer. Was it a muggle magazine…? No, the picture on the front was moving. He took another couple of steps toward it, and was able to make out the title; Witch Weekly. It was lying on the ground right next to the shrub. This bemused him, but he shrugged it off.

Before he could begin turning the tiny hourglass however, he felt a hand on his shoulder.

He spun around, and found himself face to face with...

"Ginny!"

"Yes, Ron, it's me!" Ginny shouted. "I thought I'd find you here! I can't believe you were going off without me!"

"I wasn't going, I was - look, it was just because - what are you doing here?"

"What am I doing here?" Ginny shrieked. "Stopping you from making the most stupid mistake of your entire life, that's what! Tell me, how were you planning to survive alone in the seventeenth century? Do you know anything about muggle life back then?"

"Well, I just thought I… how do you think you're going to help me then?" Ron demanded, beginning to feel quite angry himself. He wasn't completely stupid after all.

"I was planning on coming with you," said Ginny, her eyes blazing. "Because, first of all, you wouldn't stand a chance out there on your own. I have taken muggle studies, so I think I know a bit more than you do about this. And second, Hermione's my friend and Harry's my boyfriend! How do you think I'd be able to just sit at home, waiting to see if you would be able to rescue them all by yourself?"

"Well, if I don't manage it, you could still go back and help us! I just thought there's no point in us both-"

"Go back? How exactly am I supposed to go back without a time-turner? Did you stop to think about that? By the way, where did you get one?"

"Nicked it from the Malfoys."

"Oh." Ginny looked nonplussed for a second. Then she rallied herself. "Well, if one of us was going back, why not me? Why must it be you all the time? I have just as much right as you do to help-"

"I just wanted to-"

"You just wanted to protect me, didn't you? I'm a grown woman, Ron! I've never needed your protection in my life, least of all now!"

"Don't put words in my mouth, I wasn't going to say that."

They glared at each other for a long moment.

"Fine, you can come," Ron muttered at last.

"I need your permission even less than I need your protection, Ron," Ginny snapped, grabbing hold of the chain of the time-turner and hanging it around her neck.

They stood huddled close together, while Ron turned the hourglass over and over. Luckily it was a year-turner instead of an hour-turner, but they still had to turn it more than three hundred times. Every now and then he looked up, trying to imagine what Harry and Hermione must have felt when they had stood at the same spot two weeks earlier, surrounded by Death Eaters.

At last they were finished. Ron had a feeling of getting jerked backwards, and for a split second he was afraid they were going to fall over the edge, before he realized they were travelling. Everything around them was a dark blur. They were travelling back exactly one year at the time, so it was constantly night, but there were occasional flashes of colour which Ron supposed to be humans. Every once in a while, lightning lit up the scene for half a second.

It seemed to go on forever. Just as Ron was beginning to panic, sure that something had gone wrong, they hit the ground.

They fell to their knees at the shock of the impact, gasping for breath. Then they both simply sat there for a while, trying to regain their sense of direction.

"We're in the sixteen hundreds now. Aren't we?" said Ginny, finally.

"I don't know. Do you want to ask someone?"

"There's nobody here," she said. "Except…" her voice trailed away. Ron looked up, and felt a shiver run up his spine.

A dark figure, silhouetted against the moonlight, was walking rapidly towards them.