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Chapter 3 – Time to Think

Clank… clank… clank…

The suits of armor fell one by one with a loud clatter as the magic animating them dissipated.

Still in shock, Ron whipped his head around and saw the slumped body of Professor McGonagall. Her glassy eyes were fixed on Harry's body, her expression was one of disbelief. Behind her a masked Death Eater was frozen with his wand in the air, seemingly shocked by his own audacity. The sound of the collapsing suits of armor shook the Great Hall back to life, and You-Know-Who laughed as people in the crowd started to scream and the sun rose on a nightmare dawn…

Ron opened his eyes and took a shaky breath in the dark of his room. He didn't usually have nightmares about the past – generally when he dreamed at all his subconscious brought up odd abstract horrors to entertain him. Though he thought of the fall of Hogwarts often, he wasn't sure why he would dream of it.

Clank… clank… clank…

Ron looked up at the ceiling and swore softly. The family ghoul was up in the attic banging pipes. It had generally woke him at least once each night whenever he slept at the Burrow, and the sound had never reminded him of anything… but now it sounded eerily similar to the hollow noise the school suits of armor had made when they collapsed on that horrible morning.

Tossing his sweaty blankets aside, Ron glanced at his clock – 3:26 am. He'd been asleep for more than 15 hours, and he was starving. He turned on the lamp and light flooded the room, giving the room and orange glow that was only magnified by the Chuddly Cannon posters hung all over the walls.

Ron sat up and swung his feet off the bed, hesitating a second before pushing to his feet. The room spun around him, but not as badly as he'd feared. He decided he wasn't in imminent danger of collapse, and it was worth the risk to make his way to the kitchen for more potions and some food.

Halfway down the stairs Ron was regretting his choice as his legs nearly gave out for the third time. He decided his dignity wasn't as important as avoiding discovery and sat down to inch his way down the stairs one slow step at a time. A few steps creaked alarmingly as he made his laboriously down, each time he paused until he was certain no one had woken.

It seemed to take forever but finally Ron reached the ground floor. He climbed wearily to his feet and stumbled to the medicine cabinet. It took a minute to find the right vials, and Ron felt weaker with every second. Gasping with relief, he pulled the corks out of a pair of vials (Pepper-Up Potion and Strengthening Solution again) and downed them in one swallow. Steam poured out his ears, and he felt nearly normal, and twice as hungry as before.

Ron pulled out bread, cheese, and some leftover soup, poured himself a glass of pumpkin juice and sat down gratefully at the kitchen table. He ate with concentrated intensity for several minutes until the growling in his stomach quieted, then began picking at his food as he thought.

He needed a plan; that was clear. Everything Ron and Hermione had talked about before she died centered on the idea that they would be going back to the summer after fifth year. Hermione knew the title of a potions book with a potion that would obscure the Trace for two hours for whoever drank it. Then they could sneak out to Grimmauld Place and find Slytherin's locket before Mundungus Fletcher did. Then they were going to kill the Lestranges so that Bellatrix's vault would be inherited by either Harry or Narcissa (as Harry was Sirius' heir they hoped it would default to him, but were gloomily certain Bellatrix's will would send everything to the Malfoys… unless she had been too insane to write one)…

And so on, and so on. They had decided they probably wouldn't be in time to save Dumbledore from the curse on the ring, but at least that particular horcrux would be destroyed without interference. And once they went back to Hogwart's for their sixth year, it would be simple to collect Ravenclaw's diadem and to smash the Vanishing cabinet and throw it away so that Draco Malfoy would never repair it.

But now, Ron had gone back too far and without Hermione to help him. All the plans were worthless, and all that he had of value was knowledge.

I need to write things down.

Ron finished his soup put his dishes in the sink, then grabbed some extra parchment and crept back to his room. He grabbed the dressing gown by the bed and put it on while doing a quick survey of his room. Where to hide his plans where no one would find them? Fred and George were especially good at finding his stuff, the Chocolate Frogs he had wanted to keep to himself, or the diary he had kept for a short while when he was seven.

Harry had told him Ron once that he kept all the things he wanted hidden under a loose floorboard in his room, and it was perfect because no one knew the space was there. Smiling at the memory, Ron began checking his floor for something similar. Finally he found what he needed underneath the wastebasket – a loose floorboard that didn't look loose, that had enough space underneath for books and parchment.

Satisfied that his secrets would be as safe as he could make them, Ron sat at his desk, loaded his quill with ink, and began to write.

First, he wrote everything he could remember about all of the horcruxes, including Nagini (who wasn't one yet). He filled a whole roll of parchment and at the very bottom wrote: What happened to Harry in the Forbidden Forest?

Ron bit his lip and stared at the parchment, then sighed and wrote: Is Harry a horcrux?

He didn't think so. Hermione had been convinced, based on what she had overheard before Harry and You-Know-Who dueled for the last time. They had never come to an agreement over what it would mean if Harry were a horcrux. Hermione was convinced that there had to be a way to exorcise the piece of You-Know-Who's soul without sacrificing Harry. Ron mostly refused to consider the possibility that Harry was a horcrux – despite everything, Harry was just too normal to hold an evil soul-piece in him.

But Hermione thought it was possible, so on the parchment it went.

Setting the first roll of parchment aside, Ron stretched and then started his next list: everything he needed to learn to help win the war. The first item was easy – he needed the potions book that hid the Trace so he could practice over the summers. But how was he going to get it? The first possible solution was to tell Fred and George about the potion and then stand back – he was sure they'd stop at nothing to get their hands on it. But then he would need to explain how he knew about the potion, a tricky proposition for a ten-year-old boy who spent the majority of his time cooped up at the Burrow.

Hermione was sure she'd seen a copy at Grimmauld Place before his mum had hidden away all the "unsavory" books she could find in the library, but he couldn't get to Grimmauld Place until Sirius broke out of Azkaban…

Ron's thoughts and quill shuddered to a halt. Wormtail!

Percy had given the rat to Ron on his last birthday, no doubt thinking a rat wasn't a very dignified pet for a student that wanted to be Head Boy some day. Even now, Wormtail spent the majority of his time sleeping on Ron's bed. Ron shuddered – he wasn't sure which thought was more disgusting: a Dark wizard being close enough to strike him at any time… or a grown man sleeping in boys' beds.

Ron kept himself from turning around from his desk and grabbing the traitorous rat with a wrench of effort. Instead he laid aside the roll of parchment with his truncated list of things he needed to do an learn, and laid a fresh roll on the desk. Across the top he wrote: Exposing Pettigrew and Freeing Sirius.

The first problem of course, was exposing Wormtail without giving himself away. Ideally, he should manipulate someone else into revealing Wormtail for him.

The second problem would be to translate Wormtail's capture into Sirius' release. Ron had little faith in the leadership of the Ministry – confronted with evidence of their mistakes, there was no guarantee that they wouldn't just cover the whole thing up, and keep Sirius in Azkaban until he rotted or escaped.

But if Ron could get Wormtail captured in such a way that the Ministry had no choice but to declare Sirius innocent of all the crimes he was put in prison for…

For long minutes there was no sound but the quiet scratching of quill on parchments, interrupted occasionally as Ron stopped to think or put more ink on his quill.

Finally he sat back, and surveyed the parchment. It was covered in his messy scrawl, with multiple crossings-out and arrows from one sentence to another. Sighing, Ron pushed his hair out of his face, not caring that his ink-stained fingers were probably leaving dark smudges on his hair and in his face.

It can work. Maybe.

It was a simple plan, really. It would take good timing and effort on his part to play a character that would put him beyond suspicion. And Ron would have to wait until the Christmas holidays to expose Wormtail, and it was only late September. What was he going to do with three months – when he was totally forbidden from using magic?

For so long, time had been his enemy, an elusive quarry that he always needed more of. There was never enough time to plan, to train, to sleep. Now he had weeks and weeks, and he couldn't do anything useful. It was maddening.

It would also be nice to have a chance to rest, to wake up and not wonder if he would survive to see the sun set.

Sighing, Ron moved to a new piece of parchment and continued to list all the things he thought he needed to know and facts about the future that he thought might be important. He wrote steadily, terrified that he would forget something important if he didn't put it to paper.

Ron put down his quill when he noticed the sky outside his window being to lighten. He surveyed the parchment littered across the surface of his desk, shaking his cramped fingers as he did so. He had written down every significant event from his school years that he could remember, and many that probably weren't significant. Hopefully somewhere in his notes there was the information to defeat You-Know-Who.

He stacked the parchment into a large pile and hid it under the loose floorboard, carefully making sure the trashcan covered it and didn't look like it had been moved. Satisfied, Ron went off to shower, surprised that he wasn't more tired.

He met his mother on the stairs as she was climbing up, probably to check on him before getting started on breakfast.

"Ron! What are you doing up so early? Are you feeling all right?" She grabbed his chin and gently turned his face from side to side. She must have seen something worrying, because her voice grew sharp. "How long have you been up?"

Figuring the truth wouldn't hurt, Ron replied, "A few hours, I guess."

"So you decided to write a book, then?" Molly replied, voice still sharp.

"Er, I woke up and couldn't get back to sleep."

Molly's eyes softened and she released his chin. "Oh, Ron. I didn't know you still kept your journal."

Ron blushed, remembering the times the twins had found his diary and used it to embarrass him horribly, culminating in an incident at dinner over the summer break and a lot of treacle tart. After that he had given up on the diary, an in general not writing anything personal on paper that could be used against him. Later, when Hermione would nag him to study or work on an essay, Ron would blame the treacle incident for his reluctance to write. It was a weak excuse, but then it was a very humiliating memory.

"I didn't want anyone to know about it." Ron muttered. He should probably start a diary again and leave it where his mum could find it if she went looking.

Molly sniffed, no doubt also remembering the treacle (she had refused to make any treacle tart for a year afterwards). "Well, hop in the shower and I'll have some breakfast for you when you come downstairs." She turned and started back down the stairs, leaving Ron feeling relieved in her wake.

Molly Weasley had always been able to tell when he was hiding something. A bad mood, an upcoming prank, a neglected chore, his mum had an uncanny sense for when her children were holding something back. Only the twins were really good at sneaking around her, but that was probably because they were suspicious all the time and so it was impossible to tell what they were up to at any given moment.

Now, when Ron had the biggest secret of his life to keep, his mum didn't seem to have any inkling of what he was up to. It was understandable; what he had done was unthinkable, and the thought of time travel would never cross his mum's mind. But Ron was so used to her knowing what he was up to that he was honestly surprised when she didn't confront him with his crime.

Ron shrugged, and made his way downstairs to the loo.

End Chapter 3