AUTHOR'S NOTES: Okay. I don't know what the flim-flam-dangle just happened, but FanFiction ATE the A/N I just spent the last hour writing! It tells me it was successfully saved, and YET here I am with a BLANK FRICKIN' AUTHOR'S NOTE!!!!!! I'm pissed. I'm bloody pissed and this ain't funny!!!
DISCLAIMER: JKR's, not mine.
MIRROR, MIRROR
Chapter 8
"Broken Mirror"
The sudden cessation of the memories hit Ron like a thunderbolt to the brain. He started to convulse violently in the chair, shaking so badly that he fell to the cold washroom floor and promptly vomited.
"Sweet Merlin…I-I just died…" Ron whimpered, tears rolling down his cheeks, "S-somebody help me…"
"Mr. Weasley!" Dumbledore called, pulling him up off the floor with surprising strength for someone who looked so frail. He put Ron back in his seat and then quickly waved his wand to clean up the vomit both on the floor and on Ron's clothes, "Ronald, listen to me, please! You're not dead…do you understand?"
Ron was shaking too badly to answer and Dumbledore was forced to cast several Calming Charms on him before he regained enough composure to communicate.
"Can you hear me now, Mr. Weasley?" Dumbledore asked, leaning over him and looking Ron in the eye, smiling apologetically, "I'm sorry, Ronald…I should have warned you about the final memory."
"Y-you knew it would f-feel r-real?" Ron asked, digging his fists into his eyes to wipe away his tears.
"I had an inkling, yes," the headmaster responded, frowning.
"Thanks for the w-warning," Ron replied bitterly, giving Dumbledore a mutinous look.
"I am sorry, Mr. Weasley," Dumbledore sighed, sitting down in his own chair once more, his shoulders sagging tiredly, "Would you like to discuss what you saw in the other Mr. Weasley's memories?"
"You do know Harry's lying, right?" Ron asked, the tremors running through his body finally subsiding.
"About what, Mr. Weasley?" the headmaster still looked tired, but his eyes were twinkling again.
"About the basilisk, for one thing," Ron said, thinking back to the memories that had been flashing through his mind, "It took the Sword of Gryffindor to kill the basilisk on my world…no way this world's Harry killed it with a wand."
"I see," the old professor said, nodding and stroking his beard, "Anything else?"
"I doubt very much he killed You-Know-Who, either," Ron continued, "On my world he barely escaped with his life.
"Is there more?" Dumbledore asked, with rapt attention.
"Bloody Hell…Moody!" Ron exclaimed, jumping forward in his seat, as if about to launch up out of it, "He's an impostor, Professor! He's a Death Eater named Barty Crouch, Jr.! He killed his father! You have to stop him…he's got the real Moody locked in a trunk!"
"If what you are saying is true, Mr. Weasley, then Barty Crouch, Jr. is no longer masquerading as Alastor Moody," Dumbledore replied, sounding grim.
"Oh, good," Ron sighed, not noticing the headmaster's tone, "So, you caught him, then?"
"Unfortunately…no; Alastor Moody was found dead in his quarters at Hogwarts shortly before the end-of-term banquet," the old wizard explained, looking tired, "It appeared as though he had died in his sleep…an ignominious end for a former Auror such as Moody."
"Bloody Hell…" Ron said unbelievingly.
"Indeed, Mr. Weasley," Dumbledore nodded solemnly, "It would appear, if you are correct, that Barty Crouch, Jr. no longer has need of disguising himself as Alastor Moody."
"So…he's out there somewhere?" Ron asked nervously, "He's completely mental…Harry told me about him…he's totally devoted to You-Know-Who; he'd do anything for him!"
"Then Voldemort has yet another loyal and capable ally," Dumbledore said, pretending not to notice Ron shuddering as he said the Dark Lord's name, "Another agent to aid him in his dark deeds…another stepping stone in his rise to power."
"Then you don't believe Harry killed him, either?" Ron asked, looking relieved.
"You believe Mr. Potter to be lying?" the professor asked, answering Ron's question with a question.
"My world's Harry barely managed to escape with his life back in June," Ron explained, "I can't see him managing to kill You-Know-Who here just because he's a Slytherin."
"Very astute, Mr. Weasley," the headmaster smiled, "You are much more observant than you are given credit for."
"Yeah, I'm not as dumb as I look," Ron said wryly, "But I still don't know why you dragged me away from my world and brought me here."
Dumbledore gazed at Ron appraisingly for a moment or two, making the redheaded boy nervous and uncomfortable, and he squirmed under the headmaster's scrutiny.
"Do you recall the memory that took place following the Welcoming Feast…with Professor Trelawney?" the bearded wizard asked, "Do you remember what happened?"
Ron nodded. "She came in and started going about blood traitors and the chosen one and the dark lord; she seemed a bit pissed to me."
"Professor Trelawney was not intoxicated, Mr. Weasley," Professor Dumbledore said humorlessly, his eyes flashing sternly for a moment and making Ron uncomfortable again, "Sybil Trelawney is a seer, Ronald, and that night in the Great Hall she had a vision."
"A vision?" Ron echoed, "So that was…"
"A prophecy," Dumbledore said, nodding, "It is not the first true prophecy that Professor Trelawney has given, though I must admit it was the most widely observed."
"Does that mean…the things she said…are they going to happen?" Ron asked, trying to think back to the exact words of the prophecy.
"Possibly…the future is always subject to change, of course…our actions dictate the outcome of our every experience," Dumbledore said cryptically, "Do you know of whom the prophecy spoke?"
"Well, 'the Dark Lord' is a bit obvious, isn't it?" Ron said, thinking back to the memory of the prophecy in the Great Hall, "That would be You-Know-Who…"
"Indeed, it would…" Dumbledore nodded.
"And the blood traitor…well…that would anyone from a pureblood family who doesn't hold with the old blood purity beliefs…someone who doesn't discriminate against half-bloods and Muggle-borns…"
"And do you know anyone like that, Mr. Weasley?" Dumbledore asked, half-smiling as he watched Ron working things out.
"Well, yeah," Ron nodded, "My whole family…"
"Exactly!" the old headmaster said excitedly, his eyes twinkling as Ron got nearer and nearer to the end of this particular road.
"So, you're saying this prophecy is about someone in my family?" Ron asked, eyes wide with shock and a touch of fear.
"The prophecy was more specific, if you recall, Mr. Weasley," Dumbledore said, wanting to get Ron narrowed in on the right family member, "The beginning of the prophecy spoke of someone with 'the purest of blood and the humblest of hearts'; does anyone in your family fit that description?"
"Humble…in my family?" Ron laughed sardonically, "None of my brothers, that's for sure…and Ginny…well…she's a bit spoiled from being the baby and the only girl. Dad's pretty humble…don't know if you'd consider Mum humble or not…I mean…she's not showy, but…"
"There is another Weasley, Ronald," Dumbledore said softly, "Who has never been one to grab the spotlight, no matter how much he might crave it."
"You don't mean me…?" Ron asked, eyes wide as understanding finally blossomed within his brain.
"I do, indeed," Dumbledore nodded.
"I'm an idiot," Ron said bitterly.
"I'm sorry?" the aged headmaster looked surprised at the sudden statement.
"Of course it's me!" Ron exclaimed, jumping to his feet and pacing like a caged lion, "Why else would you take me from my world and bring me here to replace your dead Ron Weasley if you didn't need one of us to fulfill this prophecy of yours?!"
"Finally, we have come to the crux of the matter," Dumbledore nodded, his features once more looking tired, "Do you know who the Chosen One is, Ronald?"
"No," the ginger-haired boy replied, shaking his head, "But if it's got anything to do with You-Know-Who, I reckon it might be talking about Harry."
"Once again, I am impressed with your powers of observation and intuition, Mr. Weasley," Dumbledore replied, "As you no doubt saw through the other Ronald Weasley's memories, Harry Potter is not the heroic young boy he is on your world."
"He's a right evil little prat, he is," Ron agreed, nodding, "The Harry I know would kick his ar--…err…bum…kick his bum."
"With you and Miss Granger faithfully by his side as always, no doubt," the professor nodded, smiling slightly at Ron's penchant for inappropriate language, "This world's Harry Potter did not have the influence of Miss Granger and yourself to help him become the hero you know him to be on your world, and the unfortunate circumstances that surrounded him have made him…susceptible…to Voldemort's siren call."
"So that's it then…Harry's definitely working for You-Know-Who…?" Ron looked frightened as he considered that prospect: his best friend, You-Know-Who's minion.
"Nothing is ever definite, Ronald…all things may change with time," Dumbledore responded, infuriatingly vague and cryptic, "However, all signs do seem to point that way."
"And you brought me here to…what…make him like the Harry I know?" Ron asked, dropping back into his seat as the enormity of the situation and the task that lay ahead of him weighed down on his shoulders, "How the bloody Hell am I supposed to do that?! I'm just the stupid sidekick…I crack jokes and make sure everyone has a laugh every now and again…you need the brains of the outfit…you need Hermione for this!"
"Mr. Weasley…Ronald…you are by no means stupid, and you are far-and-away more than merely comedic relief. Without you, Harry Potter would have never known true friendship…he would have never known the love of a family…your unwavering loyalty and your bravery are what drew me to seek you out above all the other Ron Weasleys living throughout the infinite number of parallel universes in existence."
"Without you as his sidekick, as you like to call yourself, Harry Potter would not have become the hero you know. Surely the memories you've seen tonight are proof enough of that!"
"If you knew you were going to need a Ron Weasley to help make Harry switch sides," Ron said a bit harshly, "Why didn't you protect the one you had?"
Dumbledore sighed and shook his head, his eyes showing defeat instead of the twinkle Ron had grown accustomed to on his own world, "An error in judgment. Ronald Weasley was being guarded around the clock by associates of mine…"
"You mean the Order," Ron said, interrupting.
"Yes, Ronald," the professor nodded, "A member of the Order of the Phoenix was charged with standing guard over Ronald Weasley twenty-four hours a day until such time that a secure facility could be established as the Order's secret headquarters."
"What about Number 12?" Ron asked, "Aren't you using Sirius' home on Grimauld Place?"
Dumbledore smiled wryly and nodded, "I keep forgetting you are much more in-the-know than our own Mr. Weasley was. Yes, indeed, Ronald, we are using the Black family manor as our base of operations…however, it wasn't until after Ronald's death that the house was made available to us. And unfortunately the person chosen to guard your counterpart until the house was available was…less-than-reliable." As he said this, Dumbledore frowned bitterly.
"Sounds like 'Dung," Ron laughed, "He abandoned his post on my world and Harry wound up getting attacked by Dementors near his uncle's house in Surrey."
"I see you are familiar with Mundungus Fletcher," the headmaster said, nodding, "He left his post early to seek --…"
"A 'business opportunity'," Ron interrupted, grimacing.
"I'm sorry," Dumbledore said, shaking his head, "Had I known he would be so irresponsible…had someone else been watching Mr. Weasley…I would never have needed to drag you into this."
"And you can't just send me home?" Ron asked, looking hopeful.
"I…am afraid not," Dumbledore said, hesitating slightly, "Until you fulfill the prophecy, the Borrowing spell which brought you here will not reverse itself."
"I wish Hermione was here," Ron said clasping his hands and looking down at the floor, "She's so much better at spells and research and potions and anything else that might be needed for this job you've given me."
"Perhaps," Dumbledore nodded, "But I have watched you, Ronald…you are much more formidable in high pressure situations than Miss Granger…perhaps it is the chess player in you."
Ron laughed; a bitter bark of a laugh, "Right, well, that's it then…I'll challenge Harry to a chess match…loser switches sides."
"Ronald, please…this is not a time for sarcasm…" Dumbledore said, frowning. It was obvious he felt bad for the seemingly impossible task he was putting before the young man sitting in front of him.
"No…maybe not," Ron said, shrugging, "But I think it might be a time for sleep…I feel completely spent. I think I need to sleep on all this…maybe it won't look as cocked-up in the light of day."
"That is an excellent idea, Mr. Weasley," Dumbledore replied, clapping him on the shoulder, "A good night's sleep can cure a world of ills…it can rejuvenate one's soul. But I must insist that you tell no one of what we have discussed here tonight. We must behave as though everything is as it should be; no one must be allowed to suspect that you are not this universe's Ron Weasley. Only by achieving our objectives here and completing your mission will you be able to return to your own world. No one can know that you have met with me tonight."
"Who would I tell?" Ron shrugged, getting to his feet, "I'm all alone here."
Ron's head was swimming as he left the Prefects' Bathroom. Everything Professor Dumbledore had told him and everything the aging headmaster had shown him seemed completely ridiculous – parallel dimensions, alternate universes, infinite Earths. The very concept was too complex for him to grasp; it boggled his mind, and Ron couldn't help wondering if even Hermione, in all her brilliance, would be able to make heads-or-tails of it all.
"Who'm I kidding? Of course she would, she's Hermione…she's a bloody genius!" Ron snorted to himself as he made his way down the hall towards the stairs leading up to the Seventh Floor, "She'd probably be able to dumb it down and explain it so even I could understand it, too."
Thinking of Hermione made Ron homesick, and he started to pine away for the two best friends he left behind. He didn't know if he would ever get to see them again, and he missed them terribly. Dumbledore said that the "Borrowing" spell he used would not permit him to return home until his purpose in this dimension was fulfilled. Unfortunately, Ron had no idea how long it would take to fulfill, since Dumbledore had yet to explain to him how to fulfill that purpose.
Worse than just being ripped from the comfort of home and the presence of his friends, Ron had left with bad feelings between himself and Hermione. They had never resolved the row they'd had in King's Cross before he was Borrowed, and a great feeling of guilt overwhelmed him because of it. What if he never saw her again? Would she forgive the harsh words he had said? Could he forgive the things she had said to him?
He figured that he would have to forgive her; after all, what she had said was the truth, and this world was the proof. Ron's mind flashed back to the heated and hurtful conversation that had been raging between them before he rushed off to the men's restroom to nurse his bruised ego.
"I'm starting to think the only reason you and I even associate with one another is our mutual friendship with Harry."
"But…"
"I seriously doubt that you and I would even speak to each other if we weren't both friends with Harry."
"You're wrong. You and I are friends, Hermione…with or without Harry."
But it wasn't Hermione who had been wrong; Ron had seen what it would have been like without Harry around during First Year when his tentative friendship with Hermione had first formed. It wasn't pretty; in fact, it was horrible. He could never imagine himself acting that way, but there he was, in memory-after-memory, being more-and-more hateful to the girl he, himself, had come to secretly care so much about. A girl who, on this world, now despised him and who, on his own world, in his estimation at least, not only thought he was worthless as a friend but as a person as well.
"They're probably better off without me," Ron muttered as he thought of his friends back home.
Ron's self-pity was cut short by a sharp hiss from several yards in front of him. He looked up to see Mr. Filch's cat, Mrs. Norris, blocking his path to the stairs and glaring at him with her huge lamp-like eyes.
The redheaded boy cursed under his breath. It was nearly Two O'clock in the morning – well past curfew, whether he was a prefect or not. Dumbledore had told him to keep everything they had discussed…their very meeting, in fact…a complete and utter secret, so he couldn't very well use "a bathroom conference with the headmaster" as an excuse.
In fact, as he put those words together, forming a sentence in his head, they sounded somewhat ridiculous. Who would believe he was having a world-changing discussion with Dumbledore in the bathroom of all places?
Ron was quickly snatched out of such a random thought, however, by the keening wails of the caretaker's cat in front of him. The sound was like a rusty fork being drawn down a blackboard, and Ron simply stood there, frozen on the spot. The voice he heard next, however, moments after the caterwauling had stopped, spurred Ron into action and he tore off down the hall in the direction opposite that of Mrs. Norris.
"I'm coming, my pet," Filch's nasally voice echoed off the stone walls as he skulked towards his cat, "Have you found one of those retched little students out of bed after hours? Perhaps we'll get to beat the hideous little child before turning them over for punishment."
Ron dove through a tapestry that he knew concealed a secret passageway, thankful that the layout of Hogwarts seemed to be the same in both universes lest he barrel head-first into a tapestry that concealed nothing but a skull-cracking stone wall. He ran as fast as he could down the dark passage, trying to gain as much distance as possible, knowing that Filch knew the castle's secrets pretty well – it was his job, after all – so the sadistic caretaker would undoubtedly be right behind him.
Blasting out through another tapestry onto a back hallway, Ron found himself near a set of stone steps. These steps only came up as far as the Fifth Floor, however, so there was no chance of taking them up to Gryffindor Tower. Running down the stairs to the next landing, Ron intended to cut across the Fourth Floor corridor and backtrack towards the main staircase and take that to the Seventh Floor where the portrait of the Fat Lady guarded the Gryffindor entrance.
That was Ron's plan, at least, until he came across Peeves the Poltergeist pulling globs of the most vile-smelling mud out of a burlap sack that he carried and smearing it across the canvases of the paintings lining the walls of the hallway. The occupants of the paintings were protesting loudly at this sort of mistreatment, but Peeves continued on with his mischief cackling happily to himself until he caught sight of Ron skidding to a halt in the corridor in front of him.
"Student out of bed!!" Peeves cackled, reaching into the burlap sack and producing a large ball of mud that he proceeded to throw at Ron, "A Weasley student's flown the coop, so Peevesie'll cover him with poop!"
Ron dodged out of the way of the disgusting ball of mud, and only as it splattered on the floor and Ron got a good look (and a regretful whiff) at it, did he realize that it wasn't mud…it was dragon dung!
Before Ron could take the time to ponder where a poltergeist might get his hands on a sack of dragon dung in the middle of the Scottish highlands, the poltergeist in question began singing at the top of his lungs (did a poltergeist have lungs?) and tossing more dung in Ron's direction.
"Weasel, Weasel, hair so bright,
Running hallways late at night,
Not even prefects have that right,
You don't belong, so have some shite!"
Ron dove through yet another tapestry just as Peeves lobbed the entire sack of manure at him. Unfortunately for Ron, this tapestry didn't conceal a secret hallway, but a hidden staircase, and by the time he had tumbled all the way to the bottom, Ron was bruised, battered, and somewhat bloody.
He had landed on his face at the bottom of the stone steps, and as he pulled himself gingerly to his feet and looked back up the way he had come, he was immensely thankful that the extent of his blood-loss was just a trickle from a busted lip.
Limping just a bit, Ron moved slowly out from behind a fourth tapestry and found himself on the Second Floor corridor. He sighed as he began making his way back towards the main staircase near the center of the castle. The further down he went, the better his chances of being caught trying to get all the way up to the Seventh Floor again.
Doing his best to move quickly and quietly, Ron made his way along the Second Floor hallway; he was passing the girls' lavatory…nearly halfway to his destination of the main staircase…when a familiar-sounding keening had him practically jumping out of his shoes.
Ron whipped around and looked behind him, expecting to see Mrs. Norris glaring at him, but the hall was empty. From the direction of the hidden stairwell Ron had fallen down, he could hear the sounds of far-off shouting; Filch had obviously come across Peeves and his dragon dung.
Ron breathed a sigh of relief; no doubt Filch would have his hands full cleaning up the mess made by the troublesome little mischief-spirit, and that meant he, Ron, wouldn't have to worry about Filch catching him…at least for a little while.
He leaned against the wall, next to the girls' bathroom door, in order to catch his breath. His knee was throbbing and his side was tender after his tumble down two floors' worth of stone stairs. Ron was tempted to take a trip to the hospital wing; of course, at this time of night, Madam Pomfrey would be full of questions that Ron just didn't want to have to answer.
Another loud, woeful wail sent shivers up-and-down Ron's spine and had him searching the corridor for some sign of Mrs. Norris…until he realized the sound was coming from the girls' bathroom.
"Moaning Myrtle's really got herself in a strop tonight," Ron chuckled as he realized just where he was and thought back to Second Year when Hermione had brewed Polyjuice Potion in this particular bathroom.
Yet another despairing screech came echoing from the beyond the lavatory door, and as much as Ron wanted to get out of there and return to Gryffindor Tower and get some rest, his curiosity was piqued, and he just had to see what had gotten the schoolgirl ghost so distraught.
Quietly opening the door, Ron poked his head in, looking around for the howling ghost. When he didn't see Moaning Myrtle right away, Ron limped into the lavatory, keeping his eyes peeled for the temperamental ghost.
This time, when the mournful howl sounded, it was so close and so loud that Ron inadvertently jumped back. It was coming from inside one of the toilet stalls, and as he carefully approached it, Ron realized that it sounded nothing like Moaning Myrtle.
Ron pulled his wand from his robe a he cast a glance over his shoulder at the bank of sinks across the room; this was the entrance to the Chamber of Secrets, he suddenly remembered, and there was no telling what might be on the other side of that stall door.
"What are you doing in my bathroom?!"
Ron jumped as Moaning Myrtle literally appeared out of nowhere and began screeching at him. She floated up to him, an angry look across her face. For a second Ron was poised to remind her that this wasn't his first time in her lavatory, until he remembered that the whole Polyjuice Potion/Chamber of Secrets episode didn't happen here.
"Err…sorry, Myrtle," Ron said, trying to come up with a reasonable explanation for his presence, "I was just…err…dodging Filch, you see, and…"
"I don't mind," Myrtle said, suddenly changing her demeanor and smiling as she batted her eyelashes at him, "I like it when boys come to visit me."
"Err…do boys visit you often?" Ron asked, taken aback. He seemed to recall everyone…boys and girls alike…avoiding Myrtle's bathroom like spattergroit.
"Oh no, not usually," the ghost, replied, her voice full of despair, "Usually everyone ignores poor Myrtle…because everyone hates me!!"
Ron's eyes widened as Myrtle raised her voice and seemed about ready to throw a tantrum and flood the bathroom, "Err…we don't hate you, Myrtle," Ron said, trying to think of something to tell the ghost that wouldn't get her started with the, literally, waterworks, "But…err…you see…if boys were caught visiting you, we'd get in trouble."
"Oh no, don't want to get into trouble," Myrtle said sweetly, before her face screwed up into a mask of anger, "Wouldn't want to risk a punishment for disgusting old dead Myrtle!!!"
Before Ron could reply, the howling cry from inside one of the stalls could be heard again. Ron's attention was immediately drawn away from Myrtle and he turned back to face the toilet stall, aiming his wand at the door.
"What the bloody Hell is that?!" Ron asked Myrtle, keeping his eyes locked on the wooden stall door beyond which the dreadful noise originated.
"That's my darling new pet," Myrtle cooed, giggling.
Ron shot her a look that said he thought she was completely cracked.
"Since when do you have a pet, Myrtle?"
"Oh…Myrtle's not allowed to have a pet, is that it?" she screeched, railing at him and floating up to get into his face again, "Only the living can have pets! Myrtle doesn't get one because she's dead!!!"
"What kind of pet is it?" Ron asked, rolling his eyes. It really was much too late at night, and he'd had to deal with way too much already to have to put up with a temperamental ghost.
Myrtle giggled, once again going from distraught and angry to flirtatious and bubbly in the course of a few scant seconds. "It's a precious kitten…he's just the cutest thing!"
"In a toilet?" Ron asked, flabbergasted that she would be keeping some poor animal trapped in the school's plumbing.
"I live in the toilet!" Myrtle snapped, once again back to angry, "Or is the U-bend only good enough for measly, miserable, Moaning Myrtle?!"
The creature in the stall let out another mournful yowl, and Ron moved closer to the cubicle, wand still trained on the door, just in case Myrtle's idea of a "precious kitten" was something Hagrid would use for his Care of Magical Creatures class – a manticore, or a chimera or some such.
"Come and see," Myrtle urged, giggling as he floated through the door to the cubicle.
"Actually," Ron said, looking from the ghost to the door leading out of the bathroom, "Maybe I should just leave…err…it's late, you see, and I really need to --…"
"COME AND SEE MY PET!!!" Myrtle screamed, sticking her head back through the stall door, her eyes furious and her face a mask of rage.
He was letting himself be bullied by a petulant and ill-tempered ghost, and Ron wasn't quite sure why he didn't just do an about-face and quit the bathroom; Merlin knows the longer he remained outside Gryffindor Tower, the better his chances of being caught and punished.
Still, morbid curiosity is still curiosity, and Ron's was piqued. He pushed open the wooden door to the cubicle and entered, being reminded immediately of Second Year, when Hermione brewed Polyjuice Potion in this very stall.
Myrtle was floating above the toilet, near the back wall; her expression kept shifting from mischievous giddiness when she looked at him to open adoration as she gazed down into the bowl of the toilet.
Steeling himself for the horror within, Ron took one final step forward just as the poor creature gave another sorrowful yowl. Ron wasn't quite sure what he was expecting from Moaning Myrtle's "pet", but this certainly wasn't it.
Fairly stuffed into the toilet, its head barely above the toilet's water level was a drowned-looking ginger cat gazing up at him pleadingly with its great yellow eyes.
"Bloody Hell…Crookshanks!" Ron exclaimed, pocketing his wand and plunging his hands into the toilet without a second thought to try and extract the cat, "How'd he get here?!"
"The two boys gave him to me," Myrtle giggled.
"What two boys?" Ron snapped, angry that anyone would do something so cruel to Hermione's pet.
"The two large, lumbering boys," Myrtle cooed as if smitten, "The ones with the burly arms and blank expressions."
"Sounds like Crabbe and Goyle…" Ron said, more to himself than to Myrtle, "Was that blonde ferret, Malfoy, with them?"
"They were alone…except for my sweet little kitty," Myrtle chirped, "He was asleep when they brought him in, so they stuffed him in the toilet and when I came out to ask them what they were doing, they said they brought me a pet. Such wonderful boys," she sighed, and then her visage hardened and she glared at Ron, "They brought me a present…why didn't you?!"
"Because it's not your bloody birthday!" Ron shouted, trying unsuccessfully to lift Crookshanks out of the toilet. The cat wouldn't budge.
"Not my birthday?!" Myrtle screeched, "It's not Myrtle's birthday because she's dead!! Let's all laugh and point at Myrtle because dead girls don't get birthdays!!"
"Let's all shut the bloody Hell up while Ron tries to get this bloody cat out of this bloody toilet!!" Ron yelled, aggravated beyond the point of remaining calm.
"You won't be able to," Myrtle laughed spitefully, "They stuck him in there with a spell!"
"Well that just bloody well figures, doesn't it?!" Ron shouted at the ghost girl.
Ron pulled his hands out of the toilet and took his wand out of his pocket. He stood there for a moment, trying to think of the best spell to use. When he'd decided on one, Ron leaned back over the toilet where Crookshanks continued to look up at him, mewling pathetically.
"I'm sorry, Crookshanks," Ron said as he stuck the tip of his wand into the toilet, "This may get a bit…warm."
"Relashio!"
A heated blast of water shot forth from Ron's wand, churning up the water in the toilet and surrounding the miserable-looking cat in a cloud of bubbles. When the spell ran its course, the sopping wet ginger cat fairly launched itself out of the toilet that had been its prison and into the arms of the ginger-haired boy who was now his rescuer.
"Alright, Crookshanks, I've got you," Ron laughed, despite the fact that hiss robes were now drenched in toilet water and wet cat hair, "Let's get you dried off…"
"Put him back!" Myrtle wailed, keeping pace with him as he left the cubicle, "Put back my toilet-kitty!"
"He's not yours, so bugger off, Myrtle!" Ron snapped, out of patience for the temperamental ghost.
"Bugger off?! BUGGER OFF?!!" Moaning Myrtle threw herself into the nearest toilet, screaming and wailing as she did. The toilets immediately began flooding the bathroom. The sinks went next, and Ron had to flee the lavatory so he wouldn't be completely soaked.
Once he and Crookshanks were well-rid of Myrtle's bathroom, Ron began heading back towards the Seventh Floor. Figuring that Filch was probably still cleaning the dragon dung out of the Fourth Floor corridor, Ron decided against using the hidden staircase he had fallen down, instead opting for the main staircase to begin his trek back up to the security of Gryffindor Tower.
Considering he was soaking wet and had spent the last day-and-a-half literally stuck in a toilet, Crookshanks was very well-behaved on their journey upstairs, never even once trying to squirm his was free of Ron's grasp.
Luck was with Ron this time around, as he didn't see hide-nor-hair of Filch or Mrs. Norris. As he passed the Fourth Four landing, though, he did hear the cantankerous caretaker complaining about Peeves loudly and in no uncertain terms from somewhere far off down the hall.
When Ron reached the Seventh Floor and made his way to the painting of the Fat Lady concealing the entrance to Gryffindor Tower, he was faced with a new set of challenges. The Fat Lady was asleep in her portrait, and even if she wasn't, Ron had no idea what the password was since he missed the prefects' meeting on the Hogwarts Express.
"Bugger me, Crookshanks, we're in for a long night," Ron sighed as he took a seat on the floor with his back against the cold, stone wall. Crookshanks mewled commiseratingly and Ron couldn't help but chuckle, "We still need to get you dried off. In fact, the both of us could do with a bit of drying-off."
Taking out his wand again, Ron cast Tergeo on himself and Crookshanks to siphon off the excess water from his robes and the cat's fur. He then cast the Hot Air Charm to blow them both dry. Ron couldn't help laughing at the way the cat's ginger fur poofed up once it was blown dry.
"You almost look as though you've have a bath, Crookshanks," Ron laughed before scratching the huge cat behind the ears. Crookshanks gave Ron a mildly indignant look before curling up on the redhead's lap and purring contentedly, closing his eyes as if to sleep, "Good idea, Crookshanks; it's been a long bloody night."
Leaning his head back against the wall, Ron closed his eyes and waited for sleep to overtake him. Before it could, however, the sound of the portrait hole opening up had Ron wide-eyed and jumping to his feet, clutching the large cat tightly to his chest.
"Who's out there?"
The sound of the voice coming from the portrait hole made Ron tingle with anticipation and cringe inwardly at the same time. It was Hermione.
"I heard someone talking…"
"It was me," Ron said, quickly stepping in front of the portrait hole before she could come all the way through, "I don't know the password."
"Then you shouldn't be wandering around the castle after curfew!" she said nastily, "As a prefect you should know that – not that you deserve to be a prefect, mind you."
"I am well aware of your views on me being a prefect," Ron snapped as she hit a sore spot with him, "Now, kindly go back through the hole so I can come in…or I won't give you what I have for you."
"I assure you, there's nothing you have that I want!" Hermione hissed as she backed out of the hole and into the common room.
Ron crawled through the portrait hole once Hermione was clear, being careful to keep Crookshanks tucked close to his chest. When he entered the common room, Hermione had her back to him as she stood at one of the work-tables, packing books and rolls of parchment into her already-bulging schoolbag.
"Hear that, boy?" Ron said to the cat, smirking as he did, "Your mummy doesn't want you anymore; I reckon you'll have to kip with me from now on."
Crookshanks meowed as if in understanding, and Hermione gasped and spun about quickly, her hair flying, wide eyes settling on the large ball of orange fur nestled comfortably in the redhead's arms.
"Crookshanks!" she cried, tears actually falling down her cheeks at the sight of her beloved cat.
She flew across the room and Ron handed the ginger cat over to Hermione; she snatched Crookshanks roughly out of the redhead's hands and began nuzzling the cat affectionately and cuddling it tightly to her chest. Ron smiled at the scene before him until Hermione noticed and began scowling at him.
"Where have you been keeping him?" she spat, looking angry enough to hex him into oblivion.
"It wasn't me," he said, knowing even as he did that she wouldn't believe him, "It was Crabbe and Goyle. I think they probably stunned him while you were at the Welcoming Feast and then stuffed him in one of Moaning Myrtle's toilets using a Sticking Charm. She sort of adopted him, so she was in a real state when I brought him out…flooded the whole place."
"Do you really expect me to believe that…that…load of dung?!" Hermione snapped hatefully, "It was you!"
"I know you hate me, Hermione," Ron sighed, casting his eyes down at the floor as if in defeat, "Considering the way you've been treated in the past, I don't blame you; but I'm telling you the truth when I say that I didn't do anything to Crookshanks."
"I don't hate you, Ronald Weasley," Hermione said, glaring at him. For a brief instant, when Hermione said that to him, Ron looked up at her and smiled with his eyes shining full of hope. It was short lived. "I don't hate you…I nothing you. You mean absolutely nothing to me, and I have no feelings towards you one way or another. In fact, until you enter a room with that hideously red hair of yours, I quite simply forget you even exist."
Her harsh words caused Ron's face to fall, and had anyone been in the room watching the exchange between the two Fifth Years, they would have said that Ron Weasley looked positively heartbroken. He paled considerably and his mouth gaped open, but no words came out.
"I don't believe you had nothing to do with Crookshanks' disappearance," she went on, seemingly undaunted by the crushed expression on Ron's freckled face, "You just better hope I never find proof that you did anything to him, because if I do I won't rest until I get back at you!"
With that, Hermione turned on her heel and stormed up the girls' staircase, leaving what was left of Ron Weasley standing alone in the ever-darkening common room; alone with the knowledge that the two people he cared for most despised him to the fullest in this Godforsaken world.
AUTHOR'S END NOTES: Thanks to my beta, CutewithAcapital-Q for checking this over for me beforehand. I appreciate it as always (and sorry again for leaving you out in the cold last time). Thanks to HoplessRomantic79 for letting me bounce ideas off of her. You're a big help. And thanks to anyone and everyone who takes the time to read this story and especially to those who go the extra mile and review.
See you in two weeks.