As per usual, I own none of these characters.
I feel like I should apologize. I meant to have this chapter up weeks ago, but work and "A Song of Ice and Fire" kept me occupied. For anyone who hasn't read the Game of Thrones series I would highly recommend it, despite the graphic violence, it has some very entertaining and well written characters.
Chapter 4: The First Challenge
The first day of classes breezed by. A forgotten potions assignment led to a detention from a smirking Snape, but apart from that the day passed smoothly. Pretending to be a bored fourth year was easier than he had expected. It mostly involved not listening in class and taking down notes when a professor was watching. It was lucky that he didn't have Defence on Mondays, he wasn't sure he was ready to face Crouch Jr. yet.
The most difficult thing for Ron to come to terms with was that Harry and Hermione weren't his Harry and Hermione. Harry was one thing; Ron hadn't interacted with the boy in so long, the familiarity between them had dulled. Hermione was a different matter altogether. Despite being the same person as his wife, she wasn't the same person as his wife. She was still a child; a child closer to Harriett's age than his own.
Tuesday and the first task came all too soon. Ron was seated in the stands with Hermione, waiting to see which dragon Harry would face. Ron's knuckles went white gripping his seat as he watched Krum and Fleur retrieve their eggs. Both received some damage from their dragon. Ron's heart lurched when a plume of flame caught Fleur's robes. He may not know her yet, but she was his favourite sister-in-law. Though it was crass to think it, he cared more for her than he did for most of his surviving siblings.
Hermione was in a similar state. Her fists were bunched and tangled in her school robes. She was biting her bottom lip so hard it amazed Ron that she hadn't drawn blood. Tempting as it was to comfort her, Ron couldn't exactly tell her that he had already seen them all survive. The one good thing about the spectacle was that it kept his mind off the mess of his life. There wasn't time to worry about Voldemort, Harry's potential death months in the future, or even Ron's non-existent family. All he could do was watch as his friends and future family fought for their lives.
This time around Harry was third to face a dragon. His challenge was an angry looking, red Chinese Fireball. The task started out similarly to Ron's memories. Harry came out of the champion's tent looking very small and nervous. The Firebolt seemed to take forever to be summoned from the castle. Then Harry was in the air, and Ron was on his feet cheering with the rest of Griffindor. Harry bobbed and wove, his face a mixture of fierce joy and single minded focus.
Once during the long months of the Horcrux hunt, Ron and Harry had debated what type of animal their animigii forms would be. There was little doubt in Ron's mind that Harry was meant to be some kind of bird, perhaps a swallow or starling. Something darting and fast.
Unlike the last time Harry had faced the dragon, he now used a stinging hex to the animal's face, encouraging it to leave its nest and chase him. Ron wondered what had changed between then and now. It only took Harry minutes to get the egg and land at a safe distance. Ron and Hermione were out of the stands before Harry's feet touched the ground.
They congratulated him heartily while Madam Pomfrey fussed over him, making sure he hadn't been singed by the temperamental dragon. The party in the common room that night was boisterous, but Ron left early. Seeing his friends and peers celebrating made him nauseous. The butterbeer and chocolate no longer wanted to settle in his stomach. How stupid were they? How could they not know that this was all a lie; that in a few short years every single one of them would lose a friend or family member? He slipped up the stairs to his dormitory without saying goodnight.
Real grief was not an all-consuming pressure as often portrayed in the romance novels Ron found on the bookshelf at home. Hermione swore she didn't read them, but every now and then there was a new one on the shelf. It came in swells, a tsunami of emotion, bowling him over without warning. The reprieve that the first challenge had provided was not enough to keep it at bay for long. He sat on the windowsill in his darkened dormitory and cried softly. Seeing his daughter and wife's image twisted by the Horcrux had torn at him. This was the first time he had been alone since then, and the tears came unbidden.
There was no question that Voldemort's locket had been lying to preserve itself. Even if there existed some dark magic that could bring his family back, Ron knew that the real Voldemort would never help him. The mountains of bodies Voldemort had created in the death room shadowed Ron's dreams. He would never even want that monster to do something like that on his behalf. No matter how desperately Ron wanted his family back, there were lines he would not cross.
It was difficult to judge how long he had been alone in the room before she found him. He was resting his head against the cool glass of the window when the candles flared to life. Hermione was standing in the doorway, she was clearly disappointed. "I thought you had gotten over the jealousy?"
Ron was momentarily confused. As he wiped the tears away with the palms of his hands, he realized that Hermione probably though he was upset by the party in Harry's honour. How much of a prat had he been these last months? "Believe it or not, this has nothing to do with him."
"Are you certain?" She was not convinced.
Ron shook his head. "Really Hermione, nothing to do with Harry Potter." He gave a false grin as he finished wiping away the tears from his face.
"What is it then?" she asked, now genuinely worried. She joined him in his seat on the windowsill. Ron leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. Hanging his head, he let the exhaustion of the past couple of days catch up to him. Hermione tentatively placed a hand on his shoulder. "Please Ron, tell me."
-It isn't her. It isn't her.- Ron repeated in his mind. While Ron wasn't physically attracted to the young Hermione, he felt guilty even drawing platonic comfort from his friend. It was as though accepting comfort was a betrayal of his Hermione. Like he was replacing her. Without looking up, Ron shook his head. "I can't talk about it."
There was a long silence. "Th-the headmaster isn't doing anything inappropriate, is he?"
Ron's head shot up so fast he nearly fell off the sill. "What?"
Hermione flustered. "You were at his office awfully late, and then you disappeared for three hours on Sunday, and you have been acting so strange and closed off. T-they warned us about the signs of that sort of behaviour in primary school and I thought I should ask."
Her cascade of words was cut off by Ron's laughter. It wasn't meant to be derisive, it was simply that Hermione's concerns hadn't even crossed his mind, he had been so focused on other things. When his laughter subsided he could see that Hermione was upset with him. "I'm sorry Hermione, I'm glad you're looking out for me and all, but Merlin, can you really picture Dumbledore doing something like that?"
Hermione blushed, embarrassed. "Well, I suppose not, but I thought I should ask."
Ron leaned back against the glass. "I'm glad you did." He sobered. "Really Hermione, Dumbledore is helping me with something. I wish I could tell you what, but I can't." He looked up at the ceiling, "Sorry for letting you see me like that." He turned and smiled to show that he was fine.
"You're certain you'll be all right?"
Ron nodded. "Go enjoy Harry's party." When Hermione left the room, Ron began getting ready for bed.
The next two weeks of classes were remarkably stressful and surreal for Ron. At thirty-four he still had the occasional nightmare of being late for Snape's potions. He found himself repeatedly checking to make sure he was fully clothed, just in case he ended up going to class pantsless.
Finding sleep without Hermione next to him in bed was still difficult. When night came he couldn't silence his spinning thoughts. More than once he had snuck into the kitchens and relieved the house elves of a bottle of cooking sherry. A blessedly low alcohol tolerance was an unexpected boon of waking in his younger body. He knew Hermione wouldn't approve, but she didn't really exist anymore, now did she?
The most difficult task was making himself look like a typical fourth year both in attitude and aptitude. Some classes such as charms and DADA were completely trivial. Others, like potions, may as well have been taught in Egyptian hieroglyphs. He hadn't made a potion more advanced than soup since he was seventeen. Emergency-Medi-Wizards only needed to know which potions to give, not how to brew them themselves. His grades were even lower than Neville's; A fact that exasperated Hermione, but delighted Snape.
Ron found himself desperately wanting to visit Dumbledore, hoping for some kind of unguarded conversation. Unfortunately, it was too dangerous to be caught in the headmaster's company. They had scheduled a meeting Saturday, two weekends after the first task. So Ron played his part, goofing off in the classes he could afford to, paying more attention in those he needed to, and usually sleeping through divination.
The absolute lack of freedom as a student stifling. There were curfews, classes, scheduled meal times, and very little time in any given day to do what one wanted. All the while professors barked orders like they didn't trust the students to tie their own shoes. It struck Ron as odd that he was beginning to feel a certain kinship with the Moody impostor; trapped in a role he loathed.
Ron found himself craving the weekends and the free time more than his classmates. The Saturday of his meeting couldn't arrive soon enough. Moody was scheduled to be out of the castle by one, leaving the morning free. Ron rose early in the hopes of getting in a good long fly. Clear his mind before removing the memories to be placed in Dumbledore' pensieve.
The halls were nearly empty at nine in the morning. He was bundled against the cool November weather, broom slung over his shoulder when he heard a familiar, but very out of place voice. I do not understand how monsieur Dumbeldore expected us to find our way out of this maze? Ron recognized the French voice immediately.
Coming around the corner he spotted Fleur's parents the Delacours. They were accompanied by Gabrielle, Fleur's eight year old sister. Ron grinned, she was unbelievably tiny. He had a difficult time reconciling the girl in front of him with the gorgeous bombshell of a woman she would grow into. What were they doing at Hogwarts? "Bonjour, je peux vous aidez?" he asked, automatically slipping into the language he had used at work for the past decade.
Fleur's father and mother looked at Ron in surprise. Mr. and Mrs Delacour made a very odd couple. Mr. Delacour was short, plump, and good natured, while his wife was tall, blond, gorgeous, and slightly snobby, though unfailingly polite. Mr. Delacour seemed delighted to see someone who spoke his language, "Ah you speak French. Perhaps you can help us find our way to the Beaux Batton carriage?"
"I am going that way myself, it would be no trouble to show you." Ron smiled; it had been a while since he had seen his brother's in-laws. Mr. Delacour was always good for a game of chess.
"Oh Merci. We flued to the headmaster's office, but have gotten lost. The passages of 'Ogwarst seem to move about on their own." Mr. Delacour gave a self-deprecating laugh.
"They tend to do that." Ron held out his hand, "Ronald Weasley."
The Delacours introduced themselves and Ron chatted amicably with them as he lead them out the main entrance and towards the great carriage that held the Beaux Batton students. It seemed that the Delacours were in England for Fleur's birthday. Ron had enough trouble keeping track of Harriett and Hermione's, and felt he should be excused for not knowing that his sister-in-law's had been coming up. The coincidence of meeting the Delacours was not lost on Ron. Had Dumbledore orchestrated the meeting, knowing that seeing the Delacours would cheer Ron up? He wouldn't put such interference past the old man, but the result had been pleasant.
Fleur met them at the doors of the carriage, having seen them coming from one of the windows. She hugged her sister enthusiastically, showing more emotion than Ron had seen since he came back. Ron gave a parting wave to Mr. and Mrs. Delacour before saying to the girl, "Happy birthday, and good luck with the egg."
She looked at him, perhaps surprised by his candour, and answered, "Merci." Ron nodded and slung his broom off his shoulder. He pushed off the ground ready to enjoy a morning in the air.
Hours later he once again found himself in front of the gargoyle. Harry had lent him the map without asking too many questions, though Ron could tell that the boy was curious. Once inside the office he glanced at the map and was relieved to see that Snape was absent. It took him a while to locate Harry who was hanging around the kitchens with Hermione and, surprisingly, Ginny. Maybe Hermione had won them over to the SPEW cause.
Ron knocked on the outer door. "Enter." Dumbledore called from the opposite side.
The desk was cleared of all clutter and only the pensieve rested at the centre. He smiled, "How did Harry and Ms. Granger take the news of another meeting with me?"
"They're curious, but I think they'll leave off the questions. At least Hermione doesn't think your buggering me anymore." Ron laughed.
The headmaster's eyes widened in surprise. Ron couldn't help feeling satisfied at perturbing the normally unflappable headmaster. There was even the hint of a blush on Dumbledore's cheeks. After a moment he said, "I will admit that our meetings could be misconstrued by an outside observer."
"Don't worry about it, she was just trying to explain why I've been acting strangely." He shook his head fondly. "I should be glad I have friends who look out for me. She and Harry should leave it alone until after this mess is cleaned up."
It was Dumbledore's turn to look amused. He quirked an eyebrow, "Are you certain? You three have been remarkably adept at finding out things you were not meant to know."
Ron laughed, "Yeah I remember." He sobered and added, "I also remember that Harry and Hermione were rubbish at acting. If either knew what was going on, Crouch would smell something rotten in a week."
Dumbledore nodded, "It is of course your decision, you know them better than I."
"So the cup." Ron changed the subject to the issue of the Horcrux and away from the friends he was duping.
"Indeed. Were you able to calm your mind?" While Ron had used pensieves in the past, he had never tried extracting his own memories for someone else to view.
Ron nodded, "Yeah just like Occlumency practice." He did not elaborate on the fact that after three years, Hermione had given up trying to teach him that art as a lost cause. He could mount a small defence to an attack, but a legilemens would instantly know he was trying to conceal something, and if someone like Snape of Voldemort really wanted information, they would be able to get at it in seconds, minutes at most.
Dumbledore gave Ron a brief knowing look and Ron doubted that he had fooled the headmaster for a second. With great enthusiasm Dumbledore exclaimed, "Excellent! The spell is straightforward. Simply, focus on the memory you wish to extract." He paused, waiting for Ron.
Ron thought back through the years and tried to remember everything he could about the raid on Gringots. "Got it." He said after a minute.
"Now place your wand at your temple and say 'Preservas Veritas'."
Ron did so and felt one of the odder sensations of his life. The images and sounds of the memory suddenly jumped into sharp relief. Every detail was crystal clear. He could count the freckles on his face as he looked at his reflection in the polished marble floor of the bank. Somewhere outside the memory he heard Dumbledore's voice, "Now remove the memory."
As Ron pulled the wand from his forehead he saw the images get pulled with it, leaving empty tracks where the memory should have been. He knew what the memory was, and in an abstract sense what had happened at the bank that day, but they were memories of the memory. Examining the thought too closely was confusing, it felt like had dozens of tunnels in mind dug out by ants. He shivered as the shimmering mass of living memories separated from his temple. He stood and dropped it into the silver liquid of the pensive.
Dumbledore stood and dipped his wand towards the bowl. "May I?"
Not knowing the etiquette of inviting another into ones' memories, Ron shrugged and said, "Go ahead." As soon as Dumbledore's wand made contact, his eyes lost focus with the rest of the room. Ron watched a projection of Gringots shimmer across the surface of the pensive and placed his wand next to the headmaster's.
He walked the headmaster through the break-in though it was fairly self-explanatory. When the memory ended they were ejected from the pensieve. "Want to see it again?" He asked.
Dumbledore shook his head, "I have seen enough and it is getting late." A glance at the clock revealed that close to an hour had passed since entering the memory. Dumbledore walked Ron through the procedure for returning memories to his mind. Once done he felt whole again.
Out of curiosity Ron asked, "You never said how you were going to get it out."
Dumbledore smiled and winked, he seemed completely unconcerned by the impending bank heist. He may as well have been planning a picnic. "It is remarkable how many of the protective charms of Gringotts focus on keeping treasure in rather than intruders out. As long as I take nothing when I leave, I believe I shall be able to access the vault."
"Then how..." Ron trailed off as he realized that Dumbledore had no intention of bringing the cup back to Hogwarts.
Dumbledore's smile grew. "Indeed Ronald. I shall not move the cup from its resting space."
Ron leaned back in his seat and exhaled in a rush. "Are you going tonight?" Dumbledore nodded. Ron rubbed his face tiredly. "I was thinking. If you do set off an alarm, can you steal something from one of the other vaults? Make it look like you were after someone's gold. Might keep Riddle from getting suspicious."
Dumbledore peered at Ron over the edges of his half-moon spectacles, "You are unusually skilled at making these plans and accounting for details."
"Haven't been sleeping much, it leaves a lot of time to think." He paused, "Speaking of, do you have the potion?"
Dumbledore nodded, but looked troubled. "Severus will be bringing you a supply of dreamless sleep, but I must once again council against this. You must let yourself grieve. The loss of..."
He was cut off by a very adamant Ron. "I don't need to grieve, I need to sleep. The sooner we get this done, the sooner you can find a way to get them back."
"Ronald." Dumbledore entreated.
"No. That was the deal." Ron stood. Glancing down at the map he said, "Snape's still in the dungeon. I'll go get the potions from him." He had wanted to speak to the headmaster about the ring and the final task, but it seemed like Dumbledore was intent on talking to him about Harriett and Hermione. It was time to leave.
Dumbledore once again looked saddened by Ron's behaviour, but acquiesced "Very well. However I hope this will put an end to your nighttime excursions to the kitchens."
Ron flushed with embarrassment and tried not to look like a child caught with his hand in the cookie jar. Of course Dumbledore would have found out about the cooking sherry.
Several hours later, in a classroom on the other side of the castle:
Harry, Hermione, and Ginny watched the scene silently. Harry's omnioculars hovered over a large sheet of white parchment. Hermione had managed to charm them so they projected the scene they were replaying onto the desk. The instant replay function of the device had captured the pictures and sounds of Ron's meeting in crystal clarity.
