Summer 1992

Ronald Weasley

A single crack, thinner than that of a hair, spread across the surface of the goblet, inching its way around the silver metal and passing through to the water inside. Like ink spreading through parchment, the freezing took hold in a slow, steady wave. It crept in jagged vein-like ways and covered the goblet in a latticework of white. The water clouded as all warmth was forced out of it before turning to an almost perfect transparency that was broken only by the slight reflection of the torches that hung high on the walls.

Ron took a deep breath and finally let a small smile spread across his lips. He looked to Salazar, who nodded at him in approval.

"It was harder than you anticipated?" Salazar asked.

Ron nodded. He had expected that transfiguring water into ice would be as easy as any of the other transfigurations they had done throughout the year. However, he found it to be harder. It wasn't simply reshaping something; it was depleting it of all warmth, and it made his own fingers feel frigid. He was sure that if it wasn't for the warmth his wand provided, his fingers would have turned blue by the time he had finally managed to finish.

Salazar seemed to flicker slightly. "It's not long before you will be leaving," he mused, his voice carrying something with it. "You will return to your homes and your families. I hope you both manage to enjoy your summers."

Nearby, Daphne let out a slightly irritated huff. "I'd rather not leave before we figure things out," she said almost bitterly. "We will be wasting so much time."

"Eager," Sal nodded approvingly, "but impatience is the enemy of wisdom, Miss Greengrass. Rushing into our fates does not resolve them any faster; it only allows us less time to prepare and more time to make mistakes. Mistakes in these circumstances could be quite… costly."

Daphne narrowed her eyes and nodded. "But can we still prepare?"

It was a question that Ron had been meaning to ask since they had met with Salazar that morning. It hung heavy on his shoulders and he was almost afraid of what Salazar might tell him. He wasn't against doing magic, but unlike the Greengrass', he didn't have any kind of special permission. If he tried it at home, he grimaced, his mother would be far more upset with him than she had been any of the times that year. And worse, he could expect to be expelled from school.

Salazar turned to him and offered a reassuring small thin smile, his thoughts obviously not having been entirely private. "You don't need to practice magic, at least not until you return. You are both still young, far too young to become great warriors and far too young to be masters of any particular discipline. However, there is something you could do."

Ron and Daphne shared a look of curiosity.

"Exercise," Sal continued, "will build your muscles, strengthen your limbs, and make it so that magic isn't as draining as it might be otherwise."

A look of disgust crossed Daphne's face. "Exercise?"

"Exercise," Sal nodded.

"It's not very lady-like, getting sweaty. Are you sure that's all we can do?"

The founder nodded, and a pleased look seemed to settle onto his face. "Not lady-like? I will have you know that two of this school's founders were the most proper ladies you would have ever met. And while they may not have looked the type, neither of them were idle."

Ron didn't groan audibly, but still he felt the same reservation as Daphne. Not because he particularly cared about sweating but more because he was, usually, not the type to go prancing around the Burrow looking for things to do physically. That was always Charlie's thing; Ron preferred the simpler chores. Yet, he swallowed dryly, he was sure he could manage something. After all, usually, he took a few days in the summer to go swimming, and while the water was cold even in the heat of midday, he wouldn't mind so much if he went more often. Perhaps, he thought, he might convince Percy and Ginny to join him. That wouldn't be so bad, would it?

"I'll stick to magic," Daphne mumbled. "Besides, I'm not going to be killing anyone."

"No one ever expects to kill until it happens," Sal said idly.

"I'll do it with a spell, not with my hands."

"Ah, yes, about that," Sal turned back to Ron. "Do you think you could perform that spell again? To freeze the water?"

Ron nodded. "Yeah, I need more practice, but I could do it again."

"I will let you know a secret, one that has not escaped the notice of dedicated alchemists: everything in this world is made of water. It runs through the ground beneath our feet, it pumps through the veins in our bodies, and it swarms the air we breathe."

A small shiver raced down Ron's back. "I could freeze the water inside of someone?"

"Perhaps, but you would need to be an exceptionally strong wizard, and they would need not to be. It would likely work on a muggle, but so would many other spells, ones which are easier to cast. No, what I am suggesting to you, is that you could freeze the air that surrounds us. Of course, you are not yet powerful, so the effective area would be small at best. But such a thing has its uses. One of which Miss Greengrass just touched on." Sal held out one of his hands in front of him, the air seeming to freeze into a large cylinder of ice that ended in a sharp spear-shaped head. He twirled the creation around in his hand, and with another wave, it shattered back to mist.

"Bloody hell," Ron looked at the founder in amazement. "I could do that?"

Even Daphne seemed impressed as both her eyes watched Salazar intently.

"In time," Salazar shrugged. "But for now, we should start with something simple." He waved his hand once again, this time the air thickening and freezing into a small knife that rested perfectly in the palm of his hand. ""It's not exactly magic, but many wizards have died from simple wounds."

"It's bloody brilliant!" Ron exclaimed. If he had known he could make a blade from the air, he would have been able to do things much more differently. He would have cut himself free from the binds that Quirrell had placed on him, he would have stabbed the professor in the back. He would have coated his hands in Voldemort's blood so that Harry didn't have to.

Ron reached out as Salazar had done with his left hand and used his right hand to perform the spell with his wand. It took a moment, but he managed to freeze a chunk of ice in the palm of his hand. It wasn't refined like Sal's, it was crude and not nearly as long or sharp. It probably wouldn't have cut his bindings, but it was enough to start with. Salazar shared with him a pleased look.

Daphne carefully outstretched her hand and did the same. Although she hadn't yet mastered turning the goblet of water into ice, she too was able to form some ice in the palm of her hand. Her ice was more like snow, broken and disconnected and piled rather than a single form. She frowned at herself.

"Transfiguration," she said under her breath.

Sal smiled at her just the same. "I believe, in time, you will both be able to master the skill. It's not particularly difficult once you learn; it will just take time. It's a dam sitting on a reservoir, and with each spell you perform, a crack is created. Soon it will crumble, and the reservoir will empty; it will become nothing but a steady stream; inviability."

"I think it's still bloody brilliant," Ron said eagerly, "even if I'm not the best yet."

"You would think that," Daphne sighed.

"And," Sal continued. "If you do as I say and exercise over the summer, perhaps at some point next year after that dam has been broken, I will teach you the next step. I will teach you how to do the spell without your wand, so you will never be defenseless again."

Ron's eyes lit up. He knew that powerful wizards and witches could do magic without a wand, but they usually could only do simple magic. It was the really powerful, like Dumbledore or Salazar, who could do almost any spell without their wand. If Ron could so much as form a small knife without the use of his wand, he would never have to worry in the way that others did. Even if someone were to snap his wand, he would still have a defence.

"I..." Ron's words caught. "Thank you for everything."

"Thank you, young Weasley. I have ruined your life, it is to you that my friends and I owe everything and not the other way around." Salazar's gaze softened into something more human, his eyes filling with a shimmer of regret.

To Ron's surprise, the man stepped forward and wrapped his arms around him.

Rom stiffened immediately, unsure of what to do. The sensation was strange, not quite like touching a ghost, nor like embracing a living person. It was though he had been swallowed in a dense fog, so dense and heavy that it had become solid. It pressed on him without warmth, and while he almost expected Salazar to be cold, he wasn't. It was as if he was hugging nothing and something all at once.

Salazar stepped back just as suddenly, his hands slipping away from Ron. "Farewell, Ronald," he said. "I will be waiting for you to return next term."

Ron swallowed, his mind reeling. "Yeah," he said softly, "I'll see you next term, then."

With a nod, the founder turned to Daphne. Daphne, unlike Ron, did not offer any kind of hesitation. Instead, she simply held out one hand and stood from the sofa.

Salazar nodded and took her hand gently into his and bowed slightly. "Miss Greengrass, I hope you have a wonderful summer."

"And may our next year be productive," she replied smoothly. She took her hand from Salazar's and stepped back.

Ron and Daphne left the Room of Requirement together, slipping into the quiet corridors of the castle.

"I think I'm going to miss him," Ron admitted, more to himself than to Daphne. "More than I thought."

Daphne was silent for a moment, then nodded. "That makes sense."

Ron glanced at her. "Yeah?"

Daphne sighed, tucking a loose strand of blonde hair behind her ear. "You've spent the whole year with him. He's helped you, taught you things you'd never learn from our professors. And, well, he's one of the few people who actually gets you. Of course, you're going to miss him." Daphne turned her gaze forward. "But you should be happy too. You're going home. To your family."

Ron let out a breath. "Yeah… my family."

Daphne flinched slightly. "Sorry, I know you aren't on the best of terms with them."

"Maybe it will be good," Ron shrugged. "Maybe we just need to spend some time together."

Daphne raised an eyebrow. "You don't sound happy."

"I am," Ron said quickly, but the words felt stiff.

Ron thought of his mother, waiting at the train station and the worried look that would probably be plastered on her face as she saw him wearing green. He thought of Ginny's eager chatter and of what she might think of him now that he was a Slytherin. He thought about how the twins might look at him, speak to him, and whether or not they would speak to him at all. It made his chest heavy as he thought about it. He was happy to be going home, but he was equally as worried.

- SS -

There were less than four hours until they would be heading to Hogsmeade and boarding the train back to London. Yet, Ron didn't feel the need to gather his things; instead, he roamed the nearly empty halls, trying to memorize every brick and every statue. He wondered if they would change while he was gone, if he would return to a castle that was similar but not the same.

His breath caught in his throat as he turned a corner and stared at a particular section of the floor. The section where he had found that Hufflepuff girl. Partially, he blamed himself for not interfering until the two other students had already run away. Had he stepped around sooner, maybe he would have known their faces, or maybe he would have stopped them entirely. Maybe the year would have ended differently, and maybe he wouldn't have been haunted by new dreams.

He closed his eyes and breathed in the air of the hall and tried to memorize the scent just as he had done for as many bricks as he could hope to remember. When he opened them, he was looking at one of the doorways at the opposite end of the hall. Something squirmed inside Ron's chest, something anxious and foreboding.

Carefully, he looked over his shoulder, and just as he expected, he was entirely alone. Even more carefully, he stepped through the hall and to the door at the end. He turned the handle and pulled it open, letting the dust beyond flow into the hallway.

The air inside the room was thick with dust, stale and undisturbed for what must have been years. It curled in the torchlight, swirling up in lazy, heavy plumes as Ron stepped inside. His shoes scuffed against the stone floor, kicking up a fine layer of grime with every step. The wooden desks, long abandoned, were coated in a dense film of gray, their surfaces slightly warped. The room smelled of old parchment and damp stone.

His footfalls echoed too loudly in the silent chamber. His eyes trailed along the walls, floors and desk. His heart pounded in his chest and threatened to explode out of isn't right.

He stopped and turned to a section of the wall beside him. It wasn't marred as thickly as the rest, the stones were dirty but as much. His breath caught in his throat, and he swallowed dryly. Carefully, he reached out and touched his fingersto the stones.

All at once, with a low grinding noise that reminded Ron of the Gargoyle outside of Dumbledore's office, the wall moved backwards and to the side, revealing a passage just large enough for Ron to squeeze through if he turned to his side. He took a deep breath.

Is this it?

Swallowing down his unease, he stepped forward, slipping through the opening with careful, deliberate movements.

The space beyond was small, too small to be a proper classroom. A desk sat in the center, its surface covered in books that were still open, their pages still flat and uncreased as though someone had only just been here. The dust that had choked the previous room was absent. Chills ran down Ron's spine, and he very quickly pulled his wand from its holster.

He ran his eyes across the rest of the room, and they caught on the far wall. A large flag hung there, its fabric stiff with age but still intact. Embroidered in the center, bold against the dark cloth, was the unmistakable image of a red saber-toothed tiger.

He let his eyes continue, and his breath grew shallow. There, on the cold stone floor, there were faint chalk markings, half-erased by passing shoes. His pulse quickened to an unimaginable was where they drained her blood.

Ron bolted; he almost flew through the corridors, his heartbeat hammering in his ears and his feet slamming against the stone as he sprinted for the dungeons. He nearly skidded as he turned a corner, nearly tripped as he thundered down a set of stairs, and nearly slammed into the door at the end of the dungeon hallway. Without hesitation, he raised his fist and banged against it.

There was silence for a moment before the door wrenched open, revealing Professor Snape standing on the other side, a frown on his lips.

"Weasley?" Snape asked.

"Please, sir," Ron panted, barely catching his breath. "I found it, I found where they hurt the girl."

Snape's dark eyes narrowed instantly, the irritation on his face vanishing into something unreadable. He did not waste time demanding details, nor did he sneer at Ron's frantic expression. Instead, he grabbed his wand and swept forward.

When they reached the neglected classroom, Ron pushed the door open and stepped inside first, his chest still heaving from exertion. He forced his way into the passageway.

He froze. Ice filled his veins, and his heart refused to beat.

The room was nearly empty. The flag was gone, as were the books, and the chalk markings had been smudged some more. Ron's breath hitched, and his fingers tightened around his wand. Someone had watched him leave the room, or they had been there all along. He felt incredibly sick.