1. Thanks a lot to reallybeth, my always reliable beta for helping me go over this.

2. As always, any error here is mine and not from my reviewer. If you spot anything or have a doubt about the grammar used or plot just PM me, I'm always swift to answer. Open to concrit and whatever.

3. I honestly don't know how I managed to do this in 7k, it felt like I had material to go way above that.

4. I have a tumblr where I publish updated (jonriptide handle),

5. Enjoy. Thanks for the reviews. I don't think I have any Guest reviewers to answer, and I believe I have answered all the users with accounts in the reviews already.

The sharp cry cutting through the morning was in equal parts gruff and shrieky. It reminded Ron of the cries of an elderly baby, if such a thing even made sense. He watched the source of the sound wiggle its limbs while it made an arch over the garden, resembling a flying potato. It wasn't until the grisly gnome landed, on the other side of the fence, that Ron turned away with the smallest of flinches.

Pitiful. Bet I could've doubled that distance if I had my older body.

Ron picked up a new gnome, which swore as freely as the first one. This time around, however, he managed to get it a feet or two further away.

"Is that the best you can do?" George asked with a grin. He and Fred were both sending most of their gnomes to the hill on the edge of the orchard, a good ten feet beyond Ron's farthest. Like him, they were saddled with extra chores by their mother after last week's incident, but they were making the best out of it by turning the de-gnoming into a competition. Honestly, Ron didn't mind, but it felt somehow unfair to not have his future self's strength.

"You gits are leaving me all the heavy ones," he grumbled.

"Rubbish. Ours are just as stocky. It's you who can't measure up," Fred retorted.

Ron remained silent. The phrase hadn't been ill-meaning, but it brought back a sour memory.

Saul Croaker doesn't believe I can measure up either, he thought bitterly. Fat chance of him changing his mind after the whole mess with the car.

The next gnome that left Ron's hands had Croaker's face on it — or at least that was how he pictured it. The nasty little bugger had a wide enough head, and one could argue that it was only missing the glasses to be a perfect match. With pent-up fury, Ron flung the gnome away, managing to throw it closer to the others that the twins had already thrown, yet still not quite there.

George nudged Fred with his elbow, trying to get his attention. It was unnecessary, as Fred had followed the trajectory of the gnome and was shaking his head in amusement.

Ron huffed, ignoring them.

So what if I don't measure up? What if I can't throw gnomes that far, or if I'm not the best choice to save the ruddy timeline? I'm what we've got — which isn't that bad, all things considered. Even as he searched for another gnome to throw, Ron tried to convince himself he was doing good. It had been almost a year since he fell into that bloody time-travelling rabbit hole. Since then, his obstacles seemed to have doubled and his enemies felt far trickier than he'd first believed. Nevertheless, he was more experienced with this time rubbish now, and if he started doubting himself, this second push at Hogwarts would only turn complicated. And he still had that diary to sort out. No, Ron knew how easy it was to doubt oneself, and he couldn't have that now.

It's been a while since I landed arse first in this blasted timeline, and the world is still in one piece, he told himself. Sure, that American swept the floor with me last time around, but he didn't kill me, or anyone else. He didn't get the Stone either. I did get that ruddy warning from the Ministry the other day, but I also kept everyone safe from Dobby's little stunt… Sure, I might not be the best there is — as that uppish tosser of Croaker said — but I might as well be enough.

"Um, Ron?" Harry asked, startling Ron. He looked troubled, and that wasn't only due to the gnome he was pulling. "This might be a stupid question but— Are gnomes like house-elves?"

It took a brief moment before Ron answered. "Not really. They're half as tall, and nowhere near as pale. I wager you can also notice the shorter ears."

"I do, yeah, but their skin is wrinkled like elves, and, well, they can also talk."

"Barely," said one of the twins.

Harry threw his gnome, then hesitantly lifted another from the ground. The boy had been told by Ron's mother that the extra chores didn't apply to him, but he'd insisted on helping. His gnome grunted and shouted "Geroff! Geroff!" but nothing more elaborate than that. Ron knew gnomes' language was mostly mimicking. A step or two above parrots.

"Listen, mate. Elves are beings. Gnomes are technically still creatures. There's a huge difference," he explained. After those years of Hermione working for the Department of Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures, he ought to have picked up a fact or two. "Gnomes go by instinct. 'Sides, they don't follow magical laws or have complex societies. Not as elves do."

Astonishment shone on Fred's face as he turned to George. "Do my ears deceive me, or did I just hear Percy talking?"

There was no answer from Ron. He wasn't mad at Percy anymore, but he hadn't forgotten his stupid comments either.

"This is really about Dobby, innit?" Ron asked instead.

"The gnomes reminded me of him," Harry admitted.

Ron raised an eyebrow.

At least a gnome can't drop you from the sky and put you in trouble with the Ministry.

"I say you got it wrong there, Harry," Fred said. He picked up a big-headed gnome from the ground and tossed it to George as if the creature was a Quaffle. The gnome kicked vigorously, but Fred wasn't fazed by the struggle. "If these things were anything like house-elves, they would be less bawdy. Not to mention that they would clean out this garden themselves."

"True that. A shame we can't afford an elf. A sane one, of course," George agreed, before he started swinging. His gnome flew out of the garden, landing further than any other thrown so far. George brushed the dirt off his hands and winked at Fred.

"Lucky git," Fred muttered.

George smirked, turning back to Harry. "Anyway, Harrynkins, you're fussing too much over that dodgy elf. We've already told you, it's probably Malfoy trying to get even or something. He wasn't too happy about being Snape's son and is shooting in the dark to see if he can find the one who pulled that one up." Not far away, Fred smirked and puffed out his chest with an air of pride. "The elf won't be a bother once we get to Hogwarts."

If only that were the case…

Ron sighed, sparing a glance beyond the garden. The green fields surrounding the Burrow looked at peace, and there was no elf that could be spotted there. All in all, Ron couldn't stay mad at Dobby. Not as he would've liked to be. As much as Dobby's supposed help hacked him off, he wasn't an enemy — quite the opposite, really. They owed him too much. Ron didn't even want to think where he would be now if Dobby hadn't rescued them from that dungeon when he did. The war would've been lost, but that was beside the point. Hermione wouldn't have made it. Taking that into account, it was easy to judge the elf. Because, the way Ron saw it, Dobby could drop him from a hundred flying cars and he still would be in his debt. The very least he could do for Dobby now was to return the favour and rescue him from the Malfoys. Even if that wasn't precisely what one would call a romp of a task.

Need to do it though, and not only for Dobby's benefit. The longer I take to free him, the bigger the chance he'll mess with my other plans. That elf is just chaos waiting to happen. He'll save Harry by whatever means necessary, or he'll kill him trying.

Fred and George weren't too interested in discussing Dobby anymore. Even if a tad unsure, Harry must've thought they were probably right, and decided not to worry too much for now. They still kept their eyes open, but aside from Ron everyone else believed Dobby was a prank gone wrong — after all, the elf hadn't meant to drop the car before Harry caught him.

Last week, they had all agreed to tell Ron's story about what happened with the Ford Anglia, partly to spare their father from an even bigger earful from their mother. The man had managed to retrieve both the car door and the broom Ron had dropped in the fields, and most of his free time these days went into repairing the car. It was a shame that it had ended up battered, Ron owed that car a big deal.

What the twins were more intrigued about however, was the Trace. They had read the Ministry's warning, and could spot the few limitations mentioned there. They were specially offended because no one had ever bothered telling them that the restriction wasn't monitored inside the Burrow. Ron knew they wouldn't try anything wild with their mother as shirty as she was at the moment, but it would surprise him if they weren't waving their wands behind their bedroom door.

Ron glanced down, finding a mean-looking gnome behind a carrot's leaves just begging to be thrown. Despite the grouchy frown on the creature's face, Ron heard his wife's voice as clear as day.

"Is it really necessary to throw those poor creatures like that? They can feel, you know? It's barbaric," the imagined-Hermione chastised him.

A little smile crept over Ron's lips. He didn't even care if Harry, or the twins, thought him barmy for it. Memories were his treasure.

Before their fourth year, when she'd first visited the Burrow, Hermione hadn't even witnessed the de-gnoming. Her interactions with gnomes had been limited to Crookshanks chasing them across the garden. Hermione had first complained about the practice a few years later, but Bill's wedding had occupied most of everyone's time then, and she hadn't dared oppose the chores that Ron's mother had so earnestly dispatched.

Hermione never forgot about the gnomes though. Not a ruddy chance of it. Once an idea took hold of that beautiful mind of hers, there was no force on Earth that could get it out. She was brilliant as no one else, but as stubborn as a proud hippogriff.

Mental, that one.

She wrote a bloody law about it of course — about gnomes, of all things. It was the first project she ever worked on for the Ministry. The launching point for all of her reforms on House-Elf rights and other non-human beings affairs. Hermione couldn't contain her excitement when she'd shown Ron the first draft, a fifty-page sleeping-draught named 'Official Guidelines to Household Pests'.

Ron had read it all. The whole blasted thing. He wouldn't have done it for anyone else.

"So, what do you think?" she'd asked anxiously the very moment Ron put down the last page of the manuscript.

The question had caught Ron off guard. After all, what could he possibly think of that draft? Why would his opinion matter at all? He was no bleeding expert. He understood the gist of it, but not all of the implications. Nevertheless, and thick-headed as he was, Ron could tell the draft was solid — beyond that even. There was a shift of tone in those pages. A willingness to do things the right way, even if they appeared small or different from the old Ministry's traditions. Ron knew the manuscript would be ironclad too. Hermione was diligent to a fault and wouldn't leave a stone unturned. She would have gone through every little detail of her draft. Every little nuisance. Thrice.

"What do I think?" he had repeated back then, noticing the hopeful glimmer in Hermione's eyes. "I think that every git that has ever taken advantage of the old Ministry should watch their backs."

Hermione's reaction hadn't been the one Ron had expected. She had frowned, visibly upset. "There was no need to make fun of it."

"Hermione— I wasn't—"

His wife went on as if she hadn't listened. "I know it's just a small piece about gnomes. No one really cares about them, but I put a lot of effort into this. Believe it or not."

"Hermione—"

She kept talking, avoiding his gaze and hastily gathering her documents. "I don't know why I bothered. It's not like you care about these sorts of things anyway. All I wanted was your honest opinion, but I if you can't—"

"Hermione! By Merlin's worn-out pants, woman, will you listen to me?!" Ron had cut in, causing her to look at him with surprise. "I'm not joking. It's brilliant work," he had said earnestly. "Didn't get all of it to be honest, but it doesn't seem as if you left anything out. You even specified that gnomes can only be dropped from a maximum height of three feet! Bloody hell, who's even going to measure that?" A chuckle had escaped him. Hermione hadn't laughed though. She had stared at him as if engrossed in his words.

"You may say it's a small piece, but I think it's a start. And the right start, I reckon," he'd continued after a pause, looking at her intently. "This thing is not just about stopping cruel practices, as you call them, it's more than that. This is the kind of unwavering wording you should use in all your works from now on. It doesn't leave a crevice to be exploited. It's the type of wording that would make crooks like the Malfoys tremble. And they bloody should, because Hermione Granger is here, and she's a menace. She doesn't stop until she gets what she bloody wants, whatever it may be. If I know the witch well — and I sure as hell do — she's about to turn the whole Wizarding World upside down. Privileged snoots be damned."

Once he'd finished talking, Hermione had blinked two times before throwing her arms around his neck. It was a hell of a memory, but unfortunately cut short by a sharp pain. Ron let out a loud curse as he yanked his hand away from the gnarly gnome that had just bitten him.

"Looks like Ronnie just learned that daydreaming and good ol' gardening do not mix," George teased with a sly grin.

Fred chimed in with mock seriousness. "He better. Gnomes are fearsome creatures. They devour anyone who disregards the holy duties of de-gnoming. I've heard they're especially vicious against those who fancy bookworms."

"Piss off, you two!" he shouted, shaking his hand and wincing in pain.

Ron turned away from his brothers, well aware that they had guessed who he was thinking about. He couldn't help it. Even after a year without his wife, memories still assaulted him from every corner. As if that wasn't enough, he was going to see the younger Hermione the next day at Diagon Alley. She may not be the same Hermione he'd left behind, but it would be dishonest to say he hadn't been counting the days to hear her voice again. The young girl's presence was familiar, and was the only one who could make him feel close and — at the same time — impossibly far from his past life. It wasn't ideal by any means, but in this messed up life of his, it was the best connection to his wife he could hope for.

Now a little deflated, Ron picked up the mean-looking gnome and threw it just barely over the fence, trying not to be too harsh on the little bugger. There was a good spell that would compel the gnomes to leave on their own — the conscious manner of dealing with them, according to Hermione's future guidelines. However, he couldn't make use of it right now. His father had left for work, and their mother wouldn't approve of them using magic. Even if he dared, Ron wasn't supposed to know the spell. So for the foreseeable future, they were stuck with tossing gnomes out of the garden.

Hermione would understand, but she would still say I'm enjoying the de-gnoming a bit too much. It's not like I can do much about it. The twins are expecting me to act like a kid, and it's hard not to fall into old habits when they make a competition out of it.

Despite wanting to do things properly, it was clear one couldn't always follow through when playing a part. Such was the cost of pretending.

o0o0o

The next day, Ron's mother herded everyone in the Burrow through the shopping-day motions. At an unreasonably early hour — for Ron's taste — she started knocking on doors as loudly as she could, all the while announcing how behind schedule they all were. The wooden floor squeaked due to hurried steps, socks were thrown haphazardly over heads, and Ron had to pull Harry along though the chaos of the twins' shouting and Percy's rush to get into the bathroom. Breakfast wasn't any less hectic, and Ron had barely taken a few spoonfuls when his mother started arranging everything for the Floo trip.

Ron's heart pounded in his chest as he relived the familiar experience for what felt like the thousandth time. It was like being dropped into some old memory. After a whole year out of time, that feeling wasn't all that new to him, but it hadn't hit him with such force since he'd first arrived in the past.

It wasn't a day to be dazed like a wanker though. Not even a day to be carefree and lose himself in the excitement of Diagon Alley and seeing Hermione again. No, today he had a goal as he hadn't had in weeks, and he had to put all of his efforts into it.

Today was all about the diary.

Almost unwittingly, Ron turned to his sister. Ginny had tidied up and now stood quietly next to their mother, but for once wasn't entirely focused on Harry. She'd been the first one ready and Ron could only imagine how excited she was about her first shopping trip.

No way in hell that bloody book reaches her hands this time. Not on my watch.

As the family gathered around the fireplace, Ron thought as to how he would retrieve the book if they ran into the Malfoys at the bookshop — as he hoped they would. It was a first, but he was looking forward to seeing those pricks' faces. If they didn't show up… If he couldn't get the diary… Fuck, I'll cross that bridge when I reach it.

He was still going over his plans when they arrived at the Leaky Cauldron, in a thankfully uneventful manner. Ron had made sure that Harry understood how important it was that he didn't stutter in the Floo. A detour to Knockturn Alley wouldn't be of use to anyone.

Ron didn't miss his father looking over his shoulder. Dumbledore would have also sent someone to stay close, in case the American showed up. That wanker would be mad to try to attack them like that in the open. Still, Ron didn't lower his guard, and constantly had a hand in his pocket to make sure Charlie's old wand was ready for any eventuality.

All of that readiness puffed away when he saw Hermione casually waiting outside of Gringotts.

The girl's face lit up when she saw the Weasleys approaching. "Harry! Ron!" she exclaimed, her big bushy hair waving in the wind as she rushed to give them quick hugs. "It's so good to see you both. I hope you've been enjoying your summers."

Ron felt his heart swell at the sight of her. She'd grown in the few weeks since they'd last seen her, but not by much. After that long summer, her smile and presence had a bigger effect on him than he'd expected. He missed his wife a dreadful amount, but he had missed the girl in front of him as well. Her company during the last year had made being stranded from his future life bearable to a degree. When Hermione pulled away from him, she did so with a tentative smile. It was a friendly hug, though Ron couldn't remember if they ever hugged at this age in his own timeline.

Whatever the case, it would only increase the twins' teasing.

"Wait, there was something..." Hermione said all of a sudden, contemplative. When she remembered what that something was, she frowned. "What were you thinking?! You know we're not supposed to do magic outside of Hogwarts! And the car! What could've possessed you to—"

Now there's the Hermione I remember.

Ron smiled. "It was that or crash into the ground without bothering anyone," he said as Hermione pouted. "Save us the scolding. We read your letters telling us how reckless we were."

"It was almost as if you were yelling at us from the parchment," Harry added.

Not quite. Harry still didn't know what proper yelling parchment was like.

"Anyway, did you really bewitch the car to fly with accidental magic," she asked curiously, moving her look between the two boys.

"We'll tell you later," Ron answered when he saw the others approaching. They hadn't mentioned the whole Dobby business in their letters to her. It felt like something to be explained in person.

Introductions were made. Given the size of Ron's family and his father's desire to talk with Hermione's parents, it took some time. Ron's mother looked curiously at Hermione, but her tone was warm when she spoke to the girl. The twins thankfully behaved as well. Soon, Ron was greeting Robert Granger with an awkward handshake. His future father-in-law was typically a serious man, except when watching Muggle football games, as Ron had bore witness several times.

Mrs. Weasley bustled over. "Well now, let's get a move on shall we? Lots to buy today!"

They made a quick stop at Gringotts, where Harry had a chance to look uncomfortable when comparing his vault to that of the Weasleys. Ron was perhaps the only one at ease with his family's finances. Being poor still bothered him, but he knew it wouldn't last forever. Besides, he was well aware that money wasn't something his friends cared about.

Once that was done, they all made their way through Diagon Alley, stopping at various shops along the cobblestone street. Usually they would split up, as everyone had different interests and needs, but this time Ron's mother had insisted on keeping everyone within sight. Ron preferred not to dwell on the reason for the extra precaution.

There were some minor complaints about staying in a group, still, even with the slower pace, they all soon found themselves enjoying the trip. They went first to Scribbulus Writing Instruments, where Percy lingered outside admiring the fancy quills in the window display, all the while Hermione struggled to choose between two sets of parchments that to Ron, looked identical. Gambol and Japes' Joke Shop looked less crowded than usual, but the twins still scurried through the shelves looking at Dr Filibuster's fireworks. Ron stayed outside, helping his over-enthusiastic father explain things to his future in-laws.

An hour after arriving, Ron's father convinced his wife to split for a moment and led all of the boys into Quality Quidditch Supplies. Ginny — who had to stay with their mother for measurements at the secondhand robe shop — watched them part with a wistful look.

"What would you say is Ginny's favourite Quidditch team?" Harry asked Ron while the twins ogled the Nimbus 2001 and other trinkets they couldn't bloody well afford.

It wasn't until then that Ron remembered that Harry intended to buy Ginny a present. Ron had to shake his head a couple of times until Harry picked something that was in his not-so-expensive category, though still well above the simple chocolate frog card range that would have sufficed.

Harry could very well give her a used sock and she would still beam at him.

The shopkeeper was quick in identifying Harry as he asked for wrapping and a card. When he heard the present wasn't for any relative, the man smiled widely. "Mr Potter, you've got yourself a girlfriend!" he exclaimed.

Harry went scarlet and denied it vehemently at the same time he turned mortified to his side. Ron found the whole exchange amusing.

After the Quidditch shop, they reunited with the others. Ron skimmed the shop fronts as far as the crowds allowed him, but he found no sign of the Malfoys or their slimy blond hair. He was determined to intercept them before Lucius could slip that rotten diary to Ginny, however, those pricks had either eluded him or they just weren't at Diagon Alley today.

There's still time, Ron kept repeating himself. They'll show up.

He was silently keeping an eye for any sign of those pricks when the group came to Eeylops Owl Emporium and he was dragged inside. While Harry bought some treats for Hedwig, Ron walked slowly through the old aisle where the owls were, looking for the smallest and most skittish bird he could find. As expected, Pig wasn't there. He didn't know why he'd looked for him in the first place. Even if Pig was born already and on display, he wouldn't be able to afford him yet. The owl had been a gift from Sirius.

Flashes of an Azkaban cell came to Ron as he stared at all the cages around. He felt guilty about not having freed Sirius yet. He'd already suffered an extra year that Ron could've avoided.

Soon, he told himself. I'll do something about that as soon as I get to Hogwarts.

Ron was dragging his feet heavily to the exit, when something halfway there made him stop. He almost gasped.

"Hermione! Hermione, come here!" he called, hurriedly.

The girl rushed from a nearby aisle and promptly followed his eyes. Ron didn't know if she found the big orange cat that he wanted her to see underwhelming, but she stared at it, intrigued. The cat purred, and Ron could've sworn it gave him a distrustful look.

It would be a year early, but the ruddy beast was just what he needed to expose Wormtail without raising suspicions. "Look at this fat cat. Seems like he's been here forever. With what he must eat, no wonder no one has bought him yet," Ron said, knowing his future-wife all too well.

Needless to say, the girl frowned and came out of the shop hugging the nasty little devil.

Ron felt as if he'd scored a small victory, but he had little time to savour it as the next stop was the one he'd been dreading. Flourish and Blotts was bursting with people, and when Ron saw the banner outside, his stomach twisted almost involuntarily.

GILDEROY LOCKHART

will be signing copies of his autobiography

MAGICAL ME

today 12:30 P.m. to 4:30 P.m.

Magical my arse, Ron thought as he squeezed inside after Harry and Hermione.

"Isn't this great? We get to meet Gilderoy Lockhart in person!" Hermione asked with a giddy tone.

The man was smiling as he posed for pictures and signed books. Ron felt a searing passion to punch those white teeth out of him. "He looks like a peacock with a wig, if you ask me. Haven't you considered that he could be just some flashy phoney?"

Hermione huffed, "You don't mean that. He's a published author, Ron. He must be considerably talented to accomplish something like that."

Ron rolled his eyes. He opened his mouth to reply but a voice to his right spoke first.

"He's very handsome too," said Sally-Anne Perks. She was among the crowd with her friend Alice, who waved timidly at Ron and the rest. "How lucky are we to do our shopping the same day he's here? The man has fought werewolves, vampires and what not! All by himself!"

Hermione smiled at the girl, giving Ron a look.

"He has?" asked Harry.

"Oh, yes. Droves of them!" Sally-Anne added dreamily.

"That's what he says!" Ron shouted, exasperated.

Sally-Anne didn't back down and turned defiantly towards Ron. "There were witnesses."

Ron opened his mouth to retort, but just then Alice Tolipan chipped in. "Ron fought an evil wizard too, didn't you?" she asked, her cheeks flushed.

That caught him off guard. "Err, yeah, I guess."

Hermione gave the girl a suspicious look while Sally-Anne rolled her eyes at her friend.

Before anything else was said, Lockhart spotted Harry. Quickly, the bloody wanker dragged him to the front where he was and started his whole spectacle.

As sorry as he felt for his friend, Ron excused himself from the girls, saying he was going to look for the twins. He lost himself in the crowd, trying to spot Draco and his father as keenly as his mother tried to spot Lockhart. Ron knew all too well the Malfoys' facial expressions, which made them seem as if they were constantly smelling something foul. However, he couldn't find them anywhere. He spotted a couple of Hufflepuffs from his year and recognised Emmeline Vance in the crowd too — not that she would know who he was. There was no sign of the Malfoys though.

Blimey. Now what?

By the time he made his way back to Hermione and the others, Ginny, as well as most of his family were there.

"What's his name?" Alice asked Hermione as she patted her cat's head.

"He doesn't have one yet," she answered.

"Knowing you, you'll pick something like Crookshanks," Ron chipped in.

Hermione narrowed her eyes at him, but there was a hint of smile in the corner of her mouth. The cat seemed to like it too. "I might as well," she said.

That was when Harry returned to them, looking quite peeved. Ron patted his shoulder, and Harry set his set of Lockhart books in Ginny's cauldron.

"Have you seen Draco?" Ron asked his friend. Perhaps Harry had a better look at the crowd while he was in the front.

"No, why? Is he here?"

"I thought I'd seen him, but I must've been mistaken," Ron added, trying to hide his disappointment.

"Malfoy? You won't find him here. I heard from Megan Jones that he did his shopping already. Her cousin saw him with his father two days ago," explained Sally-Anne.

Bollocks! There goes my last hope.

Sally-Anne and Alice said their goodbyes as they went looking for their books. Alice waved at Ron as they left, but Ron only answered lazily. His head was lost in thought.

What was he going to do now? Did Malfoy give the diary to Megan Jones' cousin? Unlikely, the Jones weren't muggleborns, and Malfoy's intentions were clear. Perhaps Lucius gave it to someone else that day, or no one at all. It could be that he was so riled up at Ron's family that he'd intended the diary for Weasley's hands only. Since he didn't find them, Lucius could well send the diary with Draco to Hogwarts. A bleeding pain to sort if true, but it still gave Ron a chance to retrieve the blasted book.

What if he keeps it? Retrieving it from their Manor would be a fucking nightmare.

Ron shook his head. He had a feeling that Lucius did intend to give the diary away. He'd had it with him on his shopping trip last time. Why would he carry it about if he wasn't going to give it away?

That was last time though. He could do a completely different thing now. He could keep the cursed diary closer to his chest this time.

Time possibilities were one way to make someone's head hurt. Ron didn't know what his next step was just yet, but he knew it wasn't the time to decide when Hermione nudged him in the shoulder.

"Come on, your family is calling. Your Mum says she'll buy from the secondhand bookshop, that she still has most of the second year books from your brothers," the girl said, trying to hide the brand new set of books her parents had gotten for her.

Ron turned to the Weasleys leaving and at once felt baffled. It took him a moment to realise why. "What about Lockhart's?" he asked.

Hermione looked puzzled. "What do you need Lockhart's books for?"

"Thought you didn't like the bloke," Harry added.

"I don't, but, won't we need them this year? What with that tosser teaching Defence?"

"Gilderoy Lockhart's teaching Defence? Who said that?" asked Hermione, excitedly turning back to where the man had gone back to signing books.

Ron's eyes widened. "He'd just said so, to Harry," he muttered, turning to his mate, who looked lost. "I-I thought I heard him say that. Didn't he?"

When his friends stared at him bewildered, Ron took Harry's book list from him. He hadn't read his last week since he'd thought he'd already known what it said. Now though, he paled when he saw no mention of any Lockhart book in the letter.

Crap. Why did that change?

As Ron followed Harry and Hermione out of the book shop, his mind was consumed with the mystery. He didn't know what had changed, but it felt almost like a certainty now that Lockhart wouldn't be teaching at Hogwarts this year. What happened? Who would be their Defence teacher now? How would that impact the school term, or his plans?

Ron was still processing it when he got hit by yet another earth shattering discovery. They arrived at 93 Diagon Alley, the place where in about four years his brothers' joke shop would be. At this moment, the place was supposed to be a boring clothing shop, but instead it was occupied by a completely different joke shop bustling with people. The sign over the door read Zonko and Plank's Wizarding Joke Shop.

What in Merlin's wrinkled nose hairs?!

George stepped forward and whistled. "Look at that beauty. Wasn't expecting Zonko to open a branch in Diagon Alley. Business must be booming."

He wasn't supposed to. Zonko was only in Hogsmeade.

Fred also looked excited, unknowing that it was their own shop that was being displaced. "Guess we know why the keeper at Gambol and Japes looked so shirty. Wonder who's that Plank bloke?"

As if to answer that question, a man emerged from the shop. He was tall and brawny, but in posh and spotless clothing. His shirt was a deep blue and his vest a bold purple, though the colours were more subdued compared to Lockhart's flamboyance. The style of his suit was too eccentric for Muggle London, and too muggle to be found inside Dumbledore's closet.

The man stood at the entrance of the store with a wide grin, warmly greeting all the guests as they entered. However, when his eyes landed on the Weasleys, his expression changed. He quickly exchanged words with an employee, who then pointed in Ron's direction. The man confidently approached them.

"It can't be Ronald Weasley?" he exclaimed with enthusiasm, as if he were an old friend. His dark skin made his smile appear even brighter than Lockhart's.

All eyes turned to Ron, and he simply shrugged in response. His parents seemed wary, but not as much as Ron. The man's American accent immediately ticked him off.

"I've read all about you, of course. Quite a fit you accomplished a few weeks back," the man said, before hurrying to offer his hand. "What the heck, where are my manners? The name is Arwin Plank, and this is my humble establishment. Well, my partner's and mine."

Ron waited until the last moment to shake his hand. And he only did so with the other one in his pocket, firmly gripping at his wand.

Arwin Plank greeted Ron's family warmly, even complimenting his mother on raising such a brave son. And then, to make things even stranger, he turned to Harry. "Oh, but you must be Harry Potter, Ronald's friend."

Harry Potter. Famous for being Ronald Weasley's friend. Now that was a first.

Ron squinted suspiciously as Arwin Plank chatted with his parents, using his uncanny charm and story about being new in the country to win them over. He excused himself in the name of the man who had attacked Ron, saying not everyone in America was a raging evil lunatic. Ron didn't buy it. There was no way Plank's sudden appearance could be a coincidence. He must have some connection to the American Ron had fought. He couldn't help but feel like Plank was an ally of that man, and had been sent to catch him off guard. In Ron's opinion, it was a sloppy attempt.

Plank politely invited them into the shop and even offered discounts to any family or friends of Ron. Before Ron could protest and warn them of the terrible idea, his mischievous twin brothers rushed inside, pulling him and their parents along with them.

The shop was filled with bright colours and silly gags, just as any good joke shop should be. However, Ron found it to be lacking in comparison to the chaotic and wild Weasley's Wizard Wheezes that Fred and George would later create. The twins seemed to love the new shop though, eagerly browsing through each shelf in amazement.

After a few minutes, Ron became convinced that they were safe from any potential attacks. The shop was too crowded and the Plank bloke would be outnumbered if he tried anything. Ron's grip on his wand still had not loosened in the slightest. He remained tense and on edge. So, when a different man stood at the back door with mismatched eyes and a playful grin, he noticed him at once. Panic surged through him. There was no mistake. It was the same man he'd faced on top of a chaotic chessboard, not too long ago.

Fuck.

Ron's eyes widened as the American stared him down before walking out of the shop, one step at a time. Without hesitation, Ron turned to make sure his family was still too preoccupied with the merchandise to notice. Then, he stormed out of the shop.

"Ron!" someone called out, but he ignored them. He would put an end to this bloody madness now.

The blinding rays of the sun hit Ron as he stepped outside, wand at the ready. Onlookers gasped and hurried away as they saw him pointing his wand with a fierce expression on his face. Ron paid no attention to them. He frantically searched in all directions, desperate to spot that slick bastard amongst the crowd. It only took him a moment before he saw him in the distance, grinning smugly before disappearing to the left.

Ron pushed his way through the crowd, struggling to keep up with the person he was chasing. He cursed his small stature and wished he were in his older Auror body. "Get out of my way!" he yelled as he dodged and weaved past people's backs and shoulders.

The chase continued on, with Ron occasionally losing sight of his target but always managing to find him again. He couldn't let him get away. The prick was taunting him. Letting him know how close he could get to his loved ones.

The crowds thinned as they entered Knockturn Alley, but Ron didn't falter. He pushed forward, ignoring the dodgy wizards and miniature heads displayed in shopfronts. Some tried to catch his attention, but he paid them no mind.

Ron's determination paid off when he finally caught sight of the American again, closer than before. That prick had surely expected him to give up by now, but Ron wasn't going to stop, even if that meant duelling him in the middle of the alley.

With his wand raised and ready, Ron tried to get a clean shot at his opponent who seemed to anticipate his move and changed direction just in the nick of time. But suddenly, in a smaller alleyway, the American turned just a few steps from where he was, giving Ron the opportunity he needed. Despite his exhaustion from trying to keep up with a grown man's pace on his shorter legs, Ron lunged forward and aimed his wand as he reached the corner.

"Stupe— !"

Where the fucking… ?

His spell was cut off when he realised that the American had mysteriously disappeared. The alleyway stretched for at least fifteen yards, but there was no sign of the man anywhere. Confused and frustrated, he noticed only a mean-looking witch and a dwarf speaking to a blond man. The two men were fluent in some language that Ron couldn't understand, and neither of them were the right height or appearance to be the man he'd been chasing.

He did come this way. I saw him. I'm not off my trolley… Am I?

Ron gasped for breath. "Has anyone seen a man running through here? About this high, slick black hair…?" he asked, raising his hand above him.

The men stared at him blankly and muttered something unintelligible, their gruff expressions making it clear they were not interested in helping. The one-eyed witch among them grinned wickedly."I haven't. Was he your friend, gorgeous?"

"Err, no. Thanks anyway," Ron said, stepping back.

Baffled, he ran his hand through his hair and lowered his wand. As he turned to leave, he suddenly heard his father calling out his name.

"Ron! There you are! What got into you!?" he said. Pulling his son in for a hug, he led Ron back, giving the eager witch a suspicious look. "Excuse me," he told her, before turning to Ron again. "Come on now, son. Your mother is in a tizzy looking for you, better not keep her waiting."

With a weak nod, Ron followed his father, casting one last glance towards the shabby alleyway. As he walked away, doubts plagued his mind.

How was that bastard so fast at apparating?... Did he really apparate?... Or, was he even here at all?