"Locked," Ron grunted as he rattled the second doorknob in the corridor, "Just my fucking luck."
The first door he tried was lined with huge storage cabinets that reached the ceiling and Ron had no desire to explore their contents. Seeing no portraits, he quickly moved on.
Sweat mixed with dried blood trickled down from his hairline and over his cheek, as his legs trembled slightly from the effort of carrying Hermione. He swept his fringe aside, his hair sticking to his forehead and neck and he thought of Harry in that cage. With a determined grunt, Ron adjusted Hermione on his shoulder and tried the third door which clicked open.
"Lumos! That bloody portrait better be in here somewhere," Ron croaked, lifting his wand to observe the walls. It looked like another storage room with odd chests and covered furniture. There were a lot of portraits in the room, but the best bet was always the largest when it came to secret passages. Hanging behind a shady-looking dresser at the back of the room was the portrait of a long-nosed ancient wizard with scruffy eyebrows. Ron only hoped that there wasn't a riddle or password involved. Approaching it carefully, he levitated the dresser aside and examined its frame, then tugged it cautiously. A thick layer of dust indicated nobody had touched it in a while. He pulled the other side and it gave in instantly and Ron almost let out a celebratory whoop.
"Some luck at last," he sighed, climbing the portrait hole with the hope that the passage led far away from the castle.
Some twenty minutes later Ron pushed a still unconscious Hermione out of an old stone well. The secret stairs leading there were slippery from the moss and mud and Ron had difficulty getting out. It looked like the castle's inhabitants were oblivious to its existence. When he finally did, he rolled over on the grass next to Hermione, panting heavily.
"Where…the fuck…do we…go…from here?'
He turned his head to look at the passed-out witch, his gaze drawn to the calm and steady rise and drop of her chest, which had an instant calming effect on him. Often, when he came home late from exhausting missions and couldn't fall asleep, he'd put his hand on her stomach or back, and slowly synchronize his breathing with hers, lulling himself to sleep. This Hermione felt foreign and he didn't dare touch her more than needed. The fact that she tried to… well, kill him a while ago only reinforced his aversion. It was her to a certain degree, but as far as Ron could tell, this world he landed in was twisted in more ways than just appearances. It was some sort of different plane, some upside-down place where things were warped and backward, but he would have to get to the bottom of it once they were safe.
"Time to go," Ron grunted, standing up to look around for the village lights. However, to his surprise, there were none. Too apprehensive to apparate, with Hermione back on his shoulder, Ron looked up at the clear night sky. As difficult as Auror training was, he had developed an acute sense of direction. He glanced at the castle, then back at the stars, estimated the village's location, and started walking.
Holding Hermione in place with one hand, and clutching his wand with the other, Ron approached the outskirts of the settlement. His senses were on high alert even though he could barely feel his legs.
All the street lamps were broken, and it seemed someone had done it deliberately and in haste. The main road leading to the square was blocked with cars - some looked as if they were purposefully placed to form a barricade, while others were completely devastated and had black burning marks all over. Ron didn't dare a 'lumos' yet as he walked the deserted streets into the village, past overgrown gardens, smashed windows and scattered personal belongings.
Something horrible had happened here a long time ago and when he noticed a silver letter 'M' glowing on one of the doors, Ron stopped in his tracks. The 'M' was accompanied by four lines beneath it. He quickly looked at the neighboring doors and soon discovered that most bore the same inscription and a varied number of lines. One house, however, had a maroon glowing letter 'M', split in the middle with three lines. While most houses were trashed, this house was set on fire. The pieces fell into place and Ron covered his mouth to prevent a cry of horror.
His father spoke of such a thing a few years back, one night after the anniversary of The Battle of Hogwarts when they were both going down memory lane after half a bottle of Firewhiskey. His good friend Digby died in the First Wizarding War when his town was attacked by Death Eaters who targeted muggles. Digby lost his life trying to protect his neighbors.
This was the same. This was a vicious, calculated onslaught of muggles and muggle-borns alike… and the lines... a tally...
They fucking kept score.
Ron couldn't take it anymore, he kicked in the nearest door and hurried into the house not even looking around if it were safe, he climbed the stairs and entered a large bedroom, then carefully placed Hermione on the bed. He turned to look out the window - the moonlit streets were even more haunting from this point of view, and all Ron could do was drop to the floor beside the bed and scream into a pillow.
It took Ron over an hour to collect himself enough to stand back up. It was just too much, too overwhelming. The castle, the village, Hermione, Harry…
Ever since he woke up here, Ron was tiptoeing around a panic attack. The most important thing he learned in Auror training was to control his emotions, to observe the world through a fact-colored lens in order to make life-saving decisions, but he was currently barely withstanding the urge to jump out of his own skin.
The headache was back too, and both his body and mind yearned to curl up into a ball and drift off into nothingness, if only for a little while.
The one person who could make sense of the madness around him was still out cold and Ron's gaze landed on her sleeping form. He took a moment to observe her more carefully.
The first thing he noticed even back at the castle was the hair. Ron had never seen Hermione with such short locks - it was even shorter than his, with curls sticking out at odd ends. Her face and arms looked like they had seen more than one battle and her skin seemed hardened, her hands calloused like she did extensive manual labor. When he tore off that hideous robe they put on her, it uncovered worn-out, dirty jeans and a ragged gray jumper. The belt on her jeans had at least two additional holes and even though Ron thought she was far too skinny, he could tell that she was toned and strong.
She let out a content snore and Ron decided to let her sleep for now.
And with that thought, Ron moved to set up protection charms and alarm spells around the house, then rummaged through the kitchen cabinets and bedroom wardrobes. With some clothes and two suspicious-looking cans of tomato soup in hand, he returned to the bedroom.
After a final check around the room, Ron tossed his cloak on the leather armchair at the foot of the bed, and magically filled the tub in the en-suite bathroom. He was eager to sink in, to dull his senses in the lukewarm water, and wash the grime and blood off his face and hair.
He was about to rinse out the only shampoo left in the bathroom (a pink shower gel which smelled delicious) when he heard a commotion coming from the bedroom. Instinctively, he checked his wand next to the tub, almost knocking over the essence of dittany he took to heal his cut. It wasn't glowing, so it had to be Hermione.
Hair still dripping, Ron put on his scourgified clothes and hopped into the bedroom, wand between his teeth as he pulled on his boots.
As soon as he popped into the room, Hermione crawled backward from the edge where she had been sitting to the headboard.
"You're awake," he said in lack of a better ice-breaker.
She just stared at him, utterly bewildered, eyes darting between his face and wand. Ron pocketed it and opened his palms to her, hoping his face wasn't reflecting the heartache within.
"I am not going to hurt you," He said in the softest voice, "Here, look! I found you some clean clothes, shrunk the trousers and jumper to your size and…"
Hermione kept glaring at him, distrust pooling in her dark brown eyes as she pulled the clothes across the bed with her foot.
"... and I can fill the sink or tub with warm water if you want to - oh! Ok, so this is…"
Ron turned around awkwardly when she began undressing on the bed, thinking how idiotic the whole thing was since he knew exactly what she looked like in her underwear and without it. However, watching this Hermione do it felt inexplicably wrong.
"I guess that's a no for the, uhm, bath…?" Ron continued, desperately trying to fill the uncomfortable silence that stretched out between them.
There was a dull plonk a moment later, like a spoon hitting jelly and Ron turned back instantly. Hermione was sprawled out on the bed fully dressed in clean clothes, looking equally surprised and frustrated when a rainbow-colored gelatinous substance circling the bed wiggled to a halt and disappeared again.
Ron smirked and she shot him an irritated look.
"Had to learn that one from Fleur, since her little buggers enjoy running off too."
"What do you want with me?"
Her voice was a dagger laced with poison and Ron's hope of lightening the mood and initiating a civil conversation was violently stabbed to death.
Ron stepped closer, rubbing the back of his neck and Hermione recoiled at the motion, raising one hand in front of her face, lowering it a second later.
"For fuck's - … Can you please just stop cowering from me for a moment?!" It was his turn to be agitated.
"I do NOT cower from you!" She shot back, matching his tone.
"Oh, alright then, flinch?" Ron countered, not even trying to hold back the sarcasm.
Hermione scoffed.
"Oh, here we go… What do you wanna call it then?" Ron sighed and crossed his arms.
"Excuse me?! Are we seriously quibbling over semantics?!"
"Semi-what-now?"
Hermione blinked at him, her eyes slowly widening with realization.
"You really aren't him."
"Finally… Wait, how…? Who -"
"Arrogant and articulate - you're neither," She spat with a haughty sneer.
"A compliment and an insult - all in one… I feel sixteen again," Ron grumbled and sat back on the squeaky armchair with a frustrated huff.
"But that's impossible.. unless…" She muttered, her eyes glazing over in that typical Hermione way, indicating that she was lost in deep thought and temporarily unavailable.
"Oi, no you don't!" Ron stood back up and snapped his fingers at her, "I need answers! I've been losing my mind here all fucking night! Like… What year is it?"
"2005," She replied, peering at her folded hands.
"Alright, so it's the same year, that's good… No time-traveling bullshit. But… What happened? The Death Eaters in the castle, and, and Harry and this village… Wait…Did… Did Voldemort win?" he asked, his voice not louder than a whisper.
"Yes."
But...How? I mean, Harry is -"
"My turn to ask questions," She shot, raising her head to meet his eyes.
"No, wait!" Ron called out. The excitement of finally receiving answers made his head spin and almost forget the most important question that boggled his mind.
"Why did you attack me? Who do you think I am?"
"Voldemort's hotshot lieutenant", she answered blatantly.
"Seriously?!" Ron's eyebrows shot up so far, they were lost under his fringe.
"What is your name?"
"You know my -...ugh… It's Ron, Ron Weasley," Ron obliged, ignoring her condescending tone.
"Well, Ron Weasley, I think you might understand my confusion then since the boy who used to go by that name is Voldemort's right-hand man now," Hermione said matter-of-factly.
"R-right hand m-... No, no… No, no, no, not possible. Not in a million bloody years, I-..." Ron shook his head in disbelief and scoffed, then dropped back into the armchair.
"Mmmm, yeah…" Hermione taunted, sliding to the edge of the bed, studying him carefully.
"Fancied himself a new name too," She whispered, as she settled opposite him and crossed her legs, then proceeded to tap the barrier with her foot.
"You've got to be sh-… W-what in the hell…?" Ron mumbled in a strained voice, completely out of his depths.
Hermione tilted her head, and her tongue darted out to wet her cracked lips, twitching into a calculating grin.
"Tut, tut, tut… Information is currency, Ron."