Autumn 1991

Ronald Weasley

Madam Pomfrey stood at the foot of Ron's cot, her hands latched to her hip and her lips thinned in an almost straight line. She looked, Ron decided, almost like a hawk. As if he was a mouse which she might grab with two talons and drop a hundred feet. After all, it was her decision to let him go. He had begged of course, to be let free of the infirmary, but the healer seemed undeterred by whatever he had to say. 'Only after I'm content with your wellbeing,'he repeated her words in his head.

"Well, Mr Weasley…" She narrowed her eyes one last time. "... I suppose you're fit enough to leave," she said, her voice clipped but softening at the edges.

Ron smiled up at her brightly. "Brilliant!"

"But you must rest and you also need to be cautious, understand? No more heroics, and if you please, do not explode any more sections of the castle."

Ron nodded, and a small tightness settled in his throat. He was glad to be dismissed, desperate to be free of the clinical smells of the infirmary and to finally feel the comfort of his own bed, but something else pulled on the back of his mind. A small feeling that sent his heart racing and willed his fingers to scratch against his palm. He was afraid.

His fear confused him, Hogwarts was the safest place in all of Britain, wasn't it? It had seemed like it only a week ago, before the troll had found its way inside. Now, he found himself biting the inside of his cheek, he was no longer so sure. After all, he was meant to protect the school and Salazar certainly seemed to think it was in a grave amount of danger. As if from the walls at any moment could pour a threat so dire as to leave the building nothing but a smouldering ruin. It made Ron nervous to think that it was his responsibility. That he might step outside the large doors of the infirmary and find corpses waiting for him. That he might step outside and be face-to-face with another troll.

Madam Pomfrey seemed to notice his reluctance. "It's alright," she said quietly. "I know it can be hard to go back after spending a great deal of time here, but I can promise you that it will not be so different."

I killed a troll… it has to be different.

Ron nodded back politely and swung his legs over the edge of the bed, a dull ache in his limbs reminded him of why he was there in the first place. He took a deep breath and tightened a hand around the bed frame. The large doors of the infirmary and the corridor beyond seemed to wait for him. As if they called out to him like a siren, urging him to face the bloodied mess that rested behind them. He blinked hard.

He wondered, once again, if he had gone crazy at some point. After all, it wasn't likely that there was anything wrong in the castle. He ventured that maybe there was something wrong with being a false seer, that maybe it made him paranoid. After all, he had seen the past and the future and he wasn't even sure which parts of both were real or just his imagination. He was anxious all of the time. It seemed better to blame those thoughts and feelings on something he couldn't control: the ritual that the founders had done. If they were entirely his own fault? He struggled to come up with what that might mean. Naturally, he thought of Azkaban again, but even that didn't seem to fit. Was he crazy? Maybe. Was he crazy enough to be committed to Azkaban? He doubted it. At least, not yet.

Once again he felt as if he was doused in warm troll blood, and a sudden flash of warmness coated his skin. He took another deep breath, trying his best to forget what little he remembered from the moment that the troll had died. Still, his thoughts lingered on the way the flesh seemed to vaporise and explode like a large balloon only a second after he had said the word. He loosened his grip on the bedframe and stared down at his hands, hands that had been bloodied with the mark of death. His vision tinted green and he forced himself to stand to his feet.

"Thank you," he mumbled. "For.. uh— saving my life."

"It is my job, Mr Weasley. Should you need someone to save your life again, I will do so. But please, try not to make a habit out of it."

He faked a smile and moved past her, taking his time to stroll the few steps to the infirmary doors.

The hallway beyond seemed wider and more reserved than Ron remembered. The floor didn't seem to shine quite so brightly, and the torches seemed dimmer. He wondered if it was merely the way he was thinking, or if there was an actual difference. At some point, while he had been in the infirmary, the air had grown even colder, a chill having settled into the Scottish castle, with small waves of heat bouncing off of the few torches.

He turned towards the stairs and stopped at once, freezing in place as he laid his eyes down the hallway.

They leaned against opposite sides of the hall, their faces affixed with small mischievous smiles. The kind that sent a wave of panic up through Ron's chest. He had known they would speak to him eventually, he just wished they would have waited. Waited until at least he had time to think about what he was going to say. He felt, all at once like someone had punched him in the stomach and set him on fire. He wished he could just turn around and go lay back down on the cot.

"Well, look what the troll dragged out," Fred said, letting a crooked grin play up one side of his face. "Should we have prepared a feast? Or a lecture? We couldn't decide."

"Indeed, Fred," George added. "Not sure if we should be happy that Ronnikins has returned from the dead or be scared that he might kill us next."

Ron frowned at them. He felt a sudden pulse of anger race up both his arms and it took everything in him to stop himself from clenching his fists. His brothers had spent the last month or more completely ignoring him and slandering him behind his back. And that's what they had to say for themselves?Wankers!

"What do you want?" he said coldly.

"Not happy to see us?" Fred asked. "A shame really, we haven't seen you in such a long time. You know, because of what happened."

"My sorting?" Ron raised an eyebrow. "I didn't choose to be put in Slytherin."Salazar had.

"We were surprised that you went that way," George added. "Ronnikins falling into the dark and becoming an icky little snake. Convincing Charlie that he should buy him a wand with a snake in its handle, and then joining the Slytherins?"

"Seems like he had it all planned out." Fred agreed.

Ron had to admit that he couldn't explain the coincidence between his wand and his house. He had never even imagined he would be a Slytherin, and he didn't think much of a snake being inlaid on the design of his wand. After all, it wasn't like he had picked the wand. The wand had picked him, hadn't it?

"I didn't plan anything," he said back softly. Despite his anger, there was also an incredible amount of hurt pooling inside him. His own brothers thought he had conspired to be a Slytherin for some unknown reason.

"Sure," Fred shrugged. "You simply started looking into Percy's things."

"Reading his journals," George added.

"Befriending Blaise Zabini," Fred said more carefully.

Ron couldn't help but take a step forward. "Don't talk about him."

"Don't talk about how your friend's mother is a killer?" Fred asked.

"A shocking rumour," George added. "Did little Ronnikins know that when he joined him?"

"Asked his friend to teach him the exploding charm? So that he could kill a troll?" Fred asked.

"No, I didn't know any of that," Ron said hotly. "I didn't choose to be a Slytherin, and I'm not some monster!"

"You're not a monster, little brother," George said. "But certainly a monster slayer. I think, somewhere along the way you were misguided. I don't know how Fred?"

"No, I can't say I know. Mum and Dad always taught us right from wrong. It's strange that we all seem to know it except for Ron. Well, I guess the lesson wasn't as well taught as we thought. Percy is your greatest defender, isn't he?"

"What's the point?" Ron asked. "Of saying all of this to me? It's not like I can go back in time and not be a Slytherin. That's not how it works, and you telling me all these things isn't going to change anything. You two hate me, because of your own bloody prejudices."

Fred frowned. "We don't hate you…"

"Not at all," George agreed. "In fact, we love you very dearly."

"We're just worried about you," they said in unison.

"So you've been ignoring me!?" Ron scolded.

"We thought it could help, but I think we were wrong. We hoped that you would improve because you would be worried about what we would think. We had hoped you would remember how to be a Weasley." George said.

"Remember how to be a Weasley!?" Ron clenched his fists tightly. He could barely restrain his feelings. He felt his eyes begin to grow wet. "I've always been a Weasley."

"Until recently," Fred countered. "None of us have ever murdered a troll. None of us have ever bullied a muggle-born until she cried."

"I wasn't bullying her!"

"Don't lie!" George scolded. "Lee saw her talking to you before she left the library!"

"And did you speak to Hermione!?" He asked desperately. "Did you ask her what she thought?"

"It's worse than we thought," George nodded. "You convinced her that killing the troll somehow washes away all the other things you've done."

"What other things!? Be sorted!? Being a Slytherin!?"

"We see you all the time, hanging around with blood purists!" Fred said back, struggling to stop himself from shouting. "Theodore Nott and Blaise Zabini! Don't you know what their families did Ron? How they killed our uncles?"

Ron knew of course. But what was he supposed to do? Make himself a leper and blame all of the other first years for what their parents or grandparents might have done? How was that fair? He was completely alone, and Blaise had offered him friendship when even the twins were giving him uncertain looks. And, he bit his lip, Blaise's family weren't followers of you-know-who, they just had different ideas about muggles. Ideas which Ron was going to change.

He couldn't exactly ignore Theo either, they were roommates. And despite the questionable things that Theo said, he wasn't entirely all bad. He was annoying, he was rude, and he often insulted Ron but he was quite friendly with Tracey, a half-blood. He also had never threatened to break Ron's arms like Draco Malfoy had. He had also never accused Ron of being some sort of manipulator like the twins were.

"And what about Aunt Muriel?" He said back.

"Great Aunt Muriel?" George asked with a hint of confusion.

"Oh, you didn't know that, did you? That she came to the school and told me that she was proud of me for not being such a waste of breath. That she was proud I wasn't like you two!? No, I guess she wouldn't have told you. Because while you're pushing me about being a Slytherin, and about letting down our uncles, our real Aunt, a real Prewett, is proud of me. Proud of me for being who I am."

"You're lying," Fred said. "We haven't spoken to Great Aunt Muriel in years."

"No," Ron shook his head. "You haven't spoken to her. And it's because of you two that an old woman sits alone on the holidays with absolutely no family because you two made it your mission to punish her! Don't you see how unfair that is!?"

Fred shifted a little uncomfortably.

"And, did you know that our grandmother, a Black, was a Slytherin? Does that mean that Dad is the son of a horrible person?" Ron could feel tears forming in the corners of his eyes. They traced down the side of his cheeks.

"Ron…" George said softly.

"Just leave me alone!"

Ron turned around and walked briskly in the other direction, struggling to contain his emotions and letting tears fall down his face. He didn't know where he was going, the main stairs were back the other way, but he just didn't care. He just needed to be away from them. He had never hated his brothers more in his entire life. And, he knew, they were going to tell his parents about the troll if they hadn't already. He wasn't sure if he could ever forgive them.