re-edited 2015, see first chapter for notes

Chapter 12: Beetle Eyes

It had been a month since Ron had woken up in the past, and he had done as much of the Potion as he could do with only the ingredients he could get easily, from the house or by foraging himself. So, late one night, he took the broom he'd hidden under his bed, and opened the window, looking out. There was a light breeze, but the moon was full, so he'd be able to find his way to Diagon Alley easily. He swung himself over the broom and flew out.

It was very late by the time he got to London, though he'd been going as fast as he dared. He landed in Diagon Alley and crept into the Apothecary. He was wearing a cloak, so he wouldn't be recognized. He did look rather short, (because he was rather short). But he thought, a lot of people are rather short. So, that'll be okay. Although he was still nervous as he walked up to the counter.

There was a man standing behind it. Ron walked up and handed over his list.

The man glanced over it with a raised eyebrow, but told him how much it was.

Ron took a deep breath and said, "I don't have that much money."

"I'm sorry—" the man started to say.

"I could work for it," Ron said.

The man looked down at him. "How old are you, anyway?" he asked suspiciously.

Of course, he had the voice of a little girl. Ron coughed. "I meant, I could work for it," he said, trying to make his voice sound deeper.

The man frowned, but answered, "Fine. How are you going to trade me?"

"What do you want me to do?" Ron asked.

"You could help me with some beetle eyes," the man said. "I have a barrel from my collector," and he took Ron into the back of the shop and showed it to him.

Now the thing with beetle eyes is that they come on beetles. So there they were, a huge big pile of them, filling the barrel to the brim.

"I get these beetles in bulk," the man was explaining, "and then I have to pick the eyes off them. If you can get the eyes off all those beetles before dawn, I'll give you everything you want. OK?" then he left the room.

Ron looked at the barrel hopelessly. Take the eyes off every beetle in there? That was impossible. He couldn't do that whole entire thing.

So Ron sat there, on the floor. He remembered that story Hermione had told him once—what was it, some Muggle story—Cinderella. Yeah. She had to do something like that, and a lot of ants helped her.

He looked around. No ants.

Well, birds then? They'd helped her too, hadn't they? With the lentils and rice?

No birds came to help him either.

"Figures," Ron muttered, and, reluctantly, set to work.

It was late at night, and doing such monotonous, tedious work, his eyes began drooping, and he started yawning—after all, he was only ten years old.

But he kept on doing it.

Halfway through the night, Ron awoke to find himself slumped over the barrel, which was, he saw with a wave of dismay, still almost full of beetles.

He had only got one third of the way through when dawn came. But he was still doing it. Leaning over, tired and dejected and miserable, he was doing it as fast as he could. Sometime in the night, Ron's cloak had fallen off, and he hadn't bothered to put it back on.

The man came into the back of his store and saw what he was doing. Finally, he came and put a hand on Ron's shoulder and said, "That's enough. You did a very good job."

"I'm sorry," Ron started, "I couldn't do it all—"

But the man said, "You did a very good job. I think it's fair that you should get the ingredients you asked for."

"Really?" Ron asked.

"It would have taken me a week to do that much," the man answered.

Ron grinned.

He left the alley just as the sun began to shine over the houses, with everything he needed. In fact, he was so happy he even skipped a little.

And he went back to his broom, and he set off.

Of course, by the time he got home, he'd been missed. Everyone was looking for him. He was in trouble. In fact, he got in so much trouble that he was grounded for the rest of the summer. That was useful for Ron, as he could get to brewing the Polyjuice Potion. So he sat in his room and started.

He needed this to work.

It was a lot of work. Even more work than he had ever done in his whole life! (Especially on essays.)

He was going to get to Hogwarts, though. He had to.

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