Death comes through with its side of the bargain Ron dreamt of.

What Ron was up to at that moment, for a given value of that moment, that is, was self-congratulation. There he was, and there Harry was. From the shock and outraged glare, it was even the Harry from their time. Take that, Hermione, he thought. Not only hadn't he killed Harry, he had even advanced his cause. Now that his awareness of things Potter was heightened, he noticed a wispy ripple in the air heading for the Veil. That must be the Cloak, he concluded, happily. That meant that Harry no longer had an admission ticket for Veil travel.

Ron didn't hesitate for an instant. He knew he'd lose the Wand wherever he went, but so what? As the Boy-who-Lived, he'd have fans, rewards - maybe even have a wealthier Weasley family! There was something that nagged at his awareness when he had that thought, but he ignored the sensation - he'd puzzle it out later. This must be a taste of what it's like to be Potter, he thought. No time to ponder, it's not a slow game of Wizard's Chess, it's more like Exploding Snap. You trust your gut and cast from the hip.

Sûre enough, he felt his hand empty as he leapt through the Veil. Harry will probably be able to save Black in that timeline, he decided. No one understood where we left from - but who cares? And who cares about where I left Harry? None of those people matter anymore. My future is assured, and so is them not having a single clue about anything.

It was quite ironic they'd be cursing his name when he did Harry a favour, he mused. He'll probably get together with Hermione, he guessed. Those potions to make him and her notice us he'll probably block or even call out. Sad to be you, Fifth Year Ron and Ginny, if so. It wasn't like it had been Amortentia or anything. Dad had chuckled about it alongside Mom.

He had a funny, rather painful sensation of feeling himself come apart, and then black mist closed in on him.

When he regained consciousness, something had gone wrong. He felt weak as a kitten, and it was hard even to form coherent thoughts. He almost couldn't move, and in fact, was bound tightly in some sort of cloth wrapping. Bloody hell!

Something was wrong with his brain, he realized. It was just like in the Department of Mysteries. Had he gone back to the same time he left? If so, what was with his condition? Was he in the Spell Damage ward at St Mungos? That was the most sense he could make of it.

Then he heard his father's voice. It was distorted, as if there was something wrong with his ears, not that he didn't also notice his brain was having a hard time parsing English. Well, this is some bollocks.

With a tremendous effort, he made out the words.

« MOLLY! HE'S HERE! TAKE THE KIDS UPSTAIRS, I'LL HOLD HIM OFF! »

By the time he'd puzzled out, he was hearing several feet tramping up the stairs as fast as they could go. He, himself, was swinging through the air in a way that made him feel seasick. He heard his mother's voice. He'd somehow learned a little how to understand speech again, so it was easier, though still an effort.

"WE CAN'T APPARATE! THE PORTKEY WE GOT FROM ALBUS - IT WON'T WORK!"

Ron's barely functioning ears were picking up the sounds from down below. Sizzling noises. Explosions. Twice, his father's voice crying in pain. Then he heard the dreaded Avada Kedavra, for the second time. But this time, he thought he heard, faintly, the sound of something heavy hitting their wooden floor.

Ron heard a measured set of footsteps coming upstairs.

His eyes were similarly handicapped - perhaps worse than his ears - and the difficulty with his brain persisted with his vision as well. Nonetheless, he made out a very pale and thin male figure holding a wand out in front of him.

Ron heard a whooshing noise from behind him, and saw the air in front of the figure glow brightly. Then the figure spoke, with a high, very nasally voice.

"Mrs Weasley, I am here for the boy. I have already promised Regulus Black that if you step aside, you may live. What is the life of one boy in a family of boys compared to the rest of your children, and their mother? I offer you the chance to show reason."

Ron felt his mother's arms tense up. She stuttered but wasn't able to express a coherent response. He felt her body twitch as if she was looking from side to side, then she froze.

With that, he heard the dreaded Avada Kedavra again. Then his mother finally spoke. Or screamed.

"BILL!"

That must be the latest thump, Ron reflected. Even if he'd not been swaddled, he would have been paralyzed with horror.

Still, his mother was paralyzed. Apparently growing impatient, the figure cast two more curses.

*Thump* *Thump*

Ron saw something shadowing the faint light from the upstairs candle. His mother was bowed over Ron. He felt a kiss on his forehead, then what felt like raindrops that splashed where his mother had kissed him and ran down his face.

Two more green lights, two more sizzling sounds, two more dull thumps, and the twins were gone. He only knew that because Baby Ginny was visible being held in his mother's other arm.

"The Seventh child of a seventh child. The first Weasley girl in two generations. You already know I mean business, Mrs Weasley. This is your last chance."

The problem, Ron realised, finally girding his scattered wits, was that Voldemort hadn't really meant for her to take his offer. His proposition to his mother wasn't meant to be accepted, which is why he'd given her no time to react.

There was another nagging thought, but Ron was incapable of even looking for it. The gut feeling was that that was a mistake on Voldemort's part, but Ron didn't see how that was possible. Cruelly, the thought he had been chasing since he first pondered being the "Boy Who Lived" finally came to him instead: This. This is it. This is what I was trying to recall. He refused to admit Harry was right about anything concerning his fame, wealth, and the way he drew the opposite sex in. But he couldn't drive away a memory of Harry saying, in an angry tone, that "The Boy Who Lived is another way of saying The Boy Whose Family Didn't Live."

His mother had dropped her wand after her first Bombarda was blocked so effortlessly. But unless Ron was even more muddled than he thought he was, she had been moving it, pointed at the floor, non-stop, even through the horror of seeing her family slaughtered. She thinks the same as me, he realized. Voldemort is just mocking her. That's why she didn't jump to save the kids.

Now that he was focused on the floor, he felt magic rising up from it. Hermione had mentioned something like this after her … Runes class. Mum's activating runes. This must be how Lily Potter did it! Good.

Then another "Avada Kedavra" and a squeaky scream. He saw Baby Ginny go limp next to him out of the corner of his mouth. His mother only clutched her body tighter and more rain splashed on Ron's face.

After the next green light, and a quiet gasp, Ron felt himself falling. He landed on something small and soft, which was the only reason he didn't smash himself into the floor.

"At last," he heard the high, nasal voice say.

Without further ado, he saw a blurry image of a wand pointed right between his eyes. He heard the dread words and saw the green light.

With that, his whole body was on fire with pain. Is this Crucio instead of Avada?

But the pain in his forehead was many times worse than that wracking his whole little body, still swaddled in a rough cloth. He heard a painfully loud *BANG* and for the second time that day, everything went black.