Not for the first time, an argument had broken out over breakfast at the Burrow. Ron watched it unfold, though he kept his attention centered on the ham and golden eggs on his plate.

"Seriously, Mother? What can possibly happen?" George asked. "It'll just be fireplace to fireplace. Shortest trip ever."

"And, let's not forget that we've promised to be on our best behaviour," Fred added, a dramatic hand over his chest. His crossed fingers, however, betrayed him.

Percy, the eldest of Ron's brothers at the Burrow, ignored them.

Crowded arguments were commonplace in that madhouse, but their mother never allowed them to muddle with tight schedules. "Oh, keep it down you two. We've gone through it enough already. A risk is still a risk, no matter how small," she told them as she served breakfast. "Besides, your brother said that those Muggles might not be fond of visits."

Ron felt his mother's look before he raised his head to see it. He'd been purposely vague in that regard.

"They're a tad scared of magic, from what I've heard," Ron said, his tone casual.

"And you're sure they won't mind us stealing their nephew on his birthday? I can't imagine how they wouldn't want to celebrate with him. It's not too late," she pointed out, drawing the attention of Ron's little sister, Ginny. "Dinner can still be sorted, and the more the merrier. If they all want to come over for dinner we can easily—"

"No!" Ron had almost choked at the suggestion, and coughed a couple of times before he could speak. "I told you. I talked with Harry over the phone. The Muggles are fine with it. They have other plans."

Ron's father nodded. He'd asked his fair share of questions about phones the previous week, when he'd escorted Ron to town to make that call. Telephones were just one of the many Muggle mysteries that fascinated his father.

In other circumstances, Ron would've sent a letter with the family's owl to arrange Harry's pick up, but his best friend hadn't answered his previous messages. He was dead certain who was to blame for that one.

"And you're sure Harry wouldn't prefer to come after his birthday?"

"Positive."

Not unless he'd rather be rescued from his room.

The Dursleys were a peculiar sort of people. They were Muggles—or non-magical people—and, as any other guardian of someone deemed magical, they were allowed to know about the Wizarding World. Unlike other Muggles that Ron had met however, the Dursleys were rather awful and close-minded people. They loathed anything that was even remotely related to magic, and by extension that included their nephew: Harry Potter, Ron's best friend.

Not like Ron had any intention of telling that to his family. Doing so would only complicate matters, and in any case, Harry was about to part ways with the Dursleys for almost a whole year.

The Weasleys were an entirely different type of family. They were all magical to start. More importantly even—and despite the fact of living in an old, rickety house and not having much money—they always welcomed family and friends into their home. The Weasleys found birthdays to be particularly special events that couldn't go by uncelebrated.

"Are we all set for today, then? We can pick up whatever is missing on our way back," Ron's father offered.

Ron knew his mother was determined to make this Harry's best birthday ever. A tall order, considering last year Harry learned he was a wizard and discovered a life out of the Dursleys.

"We'll manage with what we have. The only thing missing is the cake, but I'll start with it after breakfast. No need to expose yourselves."

There it was again. The concerned look on his mother. Ron kept eating as if he hadn't noticed it.

If truth be told, Ron wasn't just any twelve year old boy. Even setting aside the fact that he was a wizard, Ron was anything but normal. He was a time-traveller.

Ron would have loved for that to be a joke. He would much rather be a young boy about to start his second year in Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, than a war hero who had unintentionally thrown his arse twelve years into the past. He would have certainly preferred if his biggest worry involved remembering the date of this or that goblin rebellion for History of Magic rather than fretting over keeping the entire timeline stable.

When do things go as you'd bloody like, though?

He toyed with the food on his plate, trying to remember a time when he wasn't a boy. Before last September, he'd been a twenty-three year old Auror, a famous wizard who'd been eager for the next stage in his life. He had a wife and had left behind the dark times of the war. He had plans.

Then that bleeding night shift came and all that was flipped over.

Ron had spent almost a whole year in the past now. He'd tried to pull out all the stops to do the right things, but most of the time, he hadn't know what the fuck he was doing.

At first, Ron had tried to keep time unchanged. After all, they'd won a war just barely, and it would be a buggering nightmare if they now lost it because of something Ron did. Time, however, wasn't easy to handle—a fact Ron was constantly reminded of—and he ended up ditching his plan to keep things the same. His decision happened just in time apparently, because it turned out that Ron wasn't the only time-traveller around.

For a second, he felt the faintest of itches in his left arm. The white scars that had once covered both his arms were missing from his younger self's body, replaced by a single mark that went almost all the way to his left elbow. A much more fresh one.

Ron tensed at the memory as his grip on the fork tightened.

That scar had been given to him by a dangerous and mysterious man he'd fought at the end of last term. The man was an American, responsible for the incident that sent Ron to the past—and his family's fears.

Not like the rest of the Weasleys knew that the American was from the future —or even that Ron was too for that matter.

"We'll be quick about it. But, Mollywobbles, dear, there's no need to be this anxious. The protective enchantments around the house work. Professor Dumbledore saw to it in person."

"That doesn't mean he isn't out there."

That didn't reassure Ron either. It didn't stop him from staring at the clock whenever his parents left home. It didn't stop the many bad dreams filled with monstrous chessmen made out of stone. It didn't stop the urges to forget that Albus Dumbledore was the greatest wizard alive, or to race and double-check the protective enchantments over Hermione's house.

To his blasted luck, that wasn't even something Ron could do. No matter how old he may really be, he was still in his twelve year old body, and apparating to Hermione's house would land him in a ruddy load of trouble with the Ministry of Magic.

Ron sighed, gazing wistfully out of the kitchen's window.

What could she be doing right now?

Hermione Granger wasn't just any girl. She was Ron's friend and, in his old life, she'd grown up to become his wife. He missed her dearly—the older Hermione that was—but that didn't mean he hadn't grown fond of this new younger version of her as well. She was the only real connection Ron had to his wife, and the days between one of her letters felt endless. The attack on her had actually been the final straw that convinced Ron to change the timeline. It had scared him shitless, and allowing it to happen was the greatest mistake of this new life of his.

It hadn't gone unnoticed by his family. Another thing that was obviously different to last time.

"There he goes, daydreaming about that girl again," the twins would usually tease.

Ron would blush and shove them off. It was annoying. They couldn't possibly understand.

His relationship with his family had been as great as it ever was, yet it was also uncomfortable as hell. Not a single day passed without Ron being reminded of something he was keeping from them. Bill and Charlie lived abroad and didn't present much of a problem—which was a relief because they were both very perceptive in their own different ways. Nevertheless, Ron had to live with the rest of the Weasleys and knew he was lying to their faces every single day.

He tried to make the most of it. After all, Ron had the advantage of foresight. He knew what his past mistakes were and hoped that this second chance might help him do better. Each afternoon, he would make time to sit with his mother, if only to talk about trivial matters. He'd then go to the garage to learn something from his father. However, Ron's main focus this time around was on Fred.

Ron cast a glance at his brother across the table.

Witnessing Fred's death was Ron's worst memory from the future. It'd happened right in the middle of the final battle, when all the frenzied spells and shouts in the world had been silenced by a single, fucking explosion. It'd felt unreal even then, watching his brother so motionless. Without a warning or goodbye, Fred lay upon the cold stones of the castle, as if his laughter had never touched those same stones hundreds of times before then.

The yells of darker moments were replaced by those of his mother, "Ron!"

"Err… What?"

"Daydreaming again. He's got it bad." Fred exaggerated a lovesick gesture, blissfully unaware that the real reason for Ron's distraction had nothing to do with Hermione.

His mother shook her head. "Whatever the reason, there's no time for it. The Floo connection won't be up all day."

Ron nodded absently, promising himself for the umpteenth time that he would stop the dark fate hanging over Fred.

After gulping down the remains of his toast, Ron ran upstairs, catching Percy's annoyed glance on the way. In all honesty, Percy wasn't half as bad in the future. Once he sorted out his priorities, Percy turned out to be a bloke with a hidden sense of humour—as proved by his contributions to George's pranks. It was hard to admit, but Percy's knowledge, when not thrown snobbishly in one's face, often sparked interesting conversations. Ron missed the older version of his brother, and was determined to get it back. It might not be the easiest of tasks to get Percy's inflated teenage head out of his arse, but if he pulled it off, Ron could spare his parents a great disappointment and Percy the regret of his life.

Audrey would know how to handle him… Wonder if she'd have any interest in talking to a snooty git at the moment…

Ron entered his room in a haste. He took a look around, with little of the nostalgic awe he's felt at the start of the summer. The room was a riot of orange, as wild upon the eyes as it was overstuffed with posters. Living with Hermione had taught him the charm in more subtle decorations, but that didn't keep him from grinning like a madman whenever he stared at his bright walls.

As he dressed, Ron mused about what could happen that day. Harry's twelfth birthday—the one Ron had already lived through—had been quite an eventful matter. That's when Harry had met Dobby, a house-elf determined to save his life in the most painful of ways. He was barmy like that. Being fair though, Dobby had proven his worth countless times after. He'd died a hero's death saving them all, and rescuing the little devil was high on the list of Ron's intended change to the timeline. That didn't mean Dobby couldn't cause them a shedload of trouble in the meantime. As in Ron's time, the elf was surely blocking Harry from getting his letters, and if he wasn't stopped, he would end up costing Harry a warning from the Ministry of Magic by the day's end.

Ron couldn't let that happen. Picking Harry up the very day of his birthday was already a dangerous risk. Ron would've preferred to bring his friend over with plenty of days to spare. His parents and Dumbledore wanted to wait even longer—what with the American on the loose and his shady connections to the Department of Magical Transportation—but Ron managed to convince them to at least have Harry over for his birthday.

Hope it's not too late. If for some blasted reason Dobby decided to visit Harry earlier this time, then everything would be a bloody mess.

A high-pitch squeak drew his attention to the small cage by the window. Ron frowned instantly.

There was a time—when he was young and stupid—that Ron had valued that rat a big deal. A time before he'd discovered that Scabbers—the name of the supposed rat—was actually a wizard in disguise. And not just any wizard, but the traitor who was responsible for the deaths of Harry's parents.

Peter Pettigrew was a despicable human being who deserved nothing less than to rot in the deepest pit of Azkaban—the wizarding prison. Instead, that prick had enjoyed eleven years of sunlight while an innocent man—Sirius Black, Harry's godfather—paid for his crimes. Even in this new timeline, Sirius had been languishing in some dark rotten cell, hopeless and without a soul to talk to. For eleven years. To Ron's remorse, one of those years went by with him knowing perfectly well that Sirius was innocent and not doing crap about it.

That won't be the case for much longer.

For weeks now, Ron had been searching for a good plan to free Sirius. Something that didn't involve letting a killer loose in the Burrow, or using a spell that would expose him as a time-traveller. No such plan had occurred to him so far.

The cage would have to do for now. I'll figure something out once at Hogwarts.

With a huff, Ron pushed the plate of food into the rat's cage.

A voice from the open doorway said, "You should let him out more. He's been there all summer."

Not bloody likely.

Ron turned around and found Ginny, who stared at the rat with undeserved pity.

"It likes its cage," he said.

He softened his expression and approached his sister. "Mum asked you to come fetch me?"

Ginny nodded, looking every bit like the ten year old she was. No matter how many weeks he'd already spent at the Burrow, Ron still couldn't get used to it. Last time he'd seen her before coming to the past, Ginny had been very pregnant with Harry's child, and now she was this little girl again.

"Shocking that she didn't just yell."

"She still might," Ginny replied, sharing a smile with Ron.

Of all the things Ron had discovered at the Burrow, Ginny was by far the most precious. In the future, he'd mended his relationship with his sister, and they were much closer than they'd been during their school years. However, Ron couldn't shake the feeling that it'd happened in good part thanks to all the awful things they went through.

The little girl now before Ron was a completely different story. She was from a time before Ron soured their relationship by ignoring her during her whole first year—when she'd needed him most. She was from before all the misjudgements and accusations. Now, she was only his little sister. The closest sibling he had during his childhood and who had been his eternal partner in crime in those early days at the Burrow. More importantly, this Ginny was from before that rotten diary had touched her hands and tore a part of her forever.

I'll be damned if I let that fucking book get near her again.

The expression on her face pulled Ron out of his thoughts. "Is there something wrong?"

Ginny pressed her lips together and shook her head. "It's just— I wish I could go too."

"Mum won't have it. You heard how that went for Fred and George," he reminded her, "'We won't take long."

"But I wanted to see where he lives. I wasn't going to be a bother."

Of course. Harry Potter surely had to live somewhere exciting. Some adventurous den where he fought dragons day and night… Pff! The git's only faced a grown-up dragon twice, and I was there for one!

Who knows? Maybe dragons were easier to get along with than the Dursleys.

"It's a normal house, Gin. Tidier and smaller than this one, but way more boring too. You're not missing much."

"You don't know that for sure," Ginny argued, visibly offended by Ron calling anything related to Harry Potter 'boring'.

Ron scratched the back of his head. "Harry has talked enough about it. 'Sides, I bet there's more fun to be had around here. You saw Mum! She's dead set on making this Harry's best birthday ever."

A hesitant smile touched Ginny's lips before she turned away, her cheeks blushing. Ron didn't miss that she'd made an effort to tidy herself up that morning. She'd finished showering before he'd even woke up, and she'd spent an awful lot of time looking for her best outfit to put on. Ginny's long red hair was even neatly brushed and pulled back with a headband.

"You— You think he'll like me?" she asked.

She had no bloody idea.

That being said, Ron couldn't tell her that. In all honesty, he had struggled with how to approach the whole Harry and Ginny situation. She was his sister and the last thing he wanted was to see her snogging his best friend in each one of Hogwarts' corridors. It'd been bad enough having to endure it for a few weeks, and then all the glaring displays of affection after the war. Seeing it sooner was hardly what he wanted. On the other hand, he didn't want to cause the little Ginny any embarrassment or heartbreak. Not to mention, witnessing Harry pinning after Cho Chang would be downright uncomfortable at this point.

Ron placed his hand on Ginny's shoulder. "Don't fret over it. He might be in books and all of that rubbish, but Harry's a boy as normal as you'll ever find. If you're yourself, I'm sure he'll want you as your friend."

That seemed to raise her mood, but it lasted about four seconds before her face turned all mortified again, "And, does he like chocolate frogs? That's all I could get for him."

"He's a big fan," Ron promised, and Ginny beamed. "Just don't make a big deal out of it. He gets embarrassed and uncomfortable at first provocation. Honest word, putting him on the spot makes him twitch like that time the twins spread itching powder and it looked like all the gnomes were dancing."

Ginny giggled.

Would it be too weird if I specifically advise against singing dwarves?

He settled for something much less obvious. "I swear! He hates attention!"

It was hardly the first time he'd told her that this summer, but it seemed Ginny needed to meet Harry to truly believe it. She opened her mouth to ask something else, but that's when their mother's patience ran out.

"RON!"

"Coming!" Ron yelled back before turning to his sister. "He'll be glad to have you as a friend, just talk to him as you would talk to me. Being in your room, making no noise and pretending you're not there would be about the worst thing you could do."

After she nodded, Ron ruffled Ginny's long red hair playfully. She faked an annoyed expression, then smiled and pushed him away.

Ron left his room in a bright mood, hoping that a certain house-elf wouldn't be around just yet.

o0o0o

As expected, the Dursleys didn't take kindly to Ron and his father arriving through their fireplace. Stepping out, Ron was amused by their bewildered faces. Harry was standing a few steps away, as astonished as they were by the Weasleys' magical means of transportation, only that his face reflected the widest of grins instead.

"Oh, Mr and Mrs Dursley, I imagine? Hope you forgive our small delay, but you know how it is with kids. A pleasure though. I'm Arthur Weasley and this is my son, Ron," the redhead man made his keen introduction, brushing off the ashes. He extended his hand, though the Dursleys didn't take it. Looking baffled, he turned to Ron, who simply shrugged.

"Hi, Mr Weasley," Harry greeted, rushing forward.

Ron welcomed him cheerfully. "Happy birthday, Harry!"

Harry returned the smile, as the Dursleys reacted with awkward gestures.

The mood of Ron's father was effusive. "Why, hello Harry. And a very happy birthday as well. It's great to finally be able to meet you. Formally, that is. We caught a glimpse of each other at King's Cross, if you remember. Ron has told us a lot about you and the wonders of this Muggle life of yours."

Harry looked uncertain. "Reckon there's not much to tell, Mr Weasley."

"Oh, I highly doubt that. But everyone is excited back home waiting to meet you, regardless," the man said, noticing the plump boy in the back. "Oh, you must be Dudley. Harry's cousin?"

Dudley remained silent and quickly hid behind his mother, leaving Ron's father even more puzzled.

In stark contrast, bombarded Ron with questions about their arrival and the letters he hadn't received. Ron's heart lifted, for as much as the young boy was miles away from his older version, he was still Harry. With all his worries about the American and Hermione, Ron had almost forgotten how much he'd missed Harry as well.

"This— This— This is a travesty! This is not what we agreed upon!"

"Uh, well— What do you mean?" asked Ron's father, scratching his head.

"You came out of the fireplace!"

"Oh, yes we did. Sorry, it's only that I forget how different things are in the Muggle world. Didn't Professor Dumbledore explain the manner of our arrival?"

"We received no such notice! And I wouldn't have approved if I had!" Mr Dursley bellowed. His wife nodded stiffly nearby, stroking her son's back

"I, uh, how were you expecting us to arrive then?"

"By car, of course. What kind of question is that?"

Ron saw his father raise his eyebrows. "I, err, that would have attracted too much attention, don't you think?"

Harry looked as bemused as the Dursleys, while Ron could barely contain a laugh. Had his father assumed the Dursleys knew about their flying car? Even if Harry had been able to receive letters, Ron couldn't see how that information could've ever reached his uncle's and aunt's ears. Harry was young, but he wasn't stupid. He knew better than to tell them anything like that.

"What do you even mean? What kind of car do you drive?" Mr Dursley asked. The frown on his face hadn't relaxed, though he suddenly seemed more interested.

He couldn't possibly think they owned one of those luxurious cars Muggles obsessed over, could he?

"Err, Dad? Maybe—" Ron mumbled, trying to stop his father from spilling the true nature of their car's uniqueness.

Ron's father went to answer the question anyway. "Oh, it's an old Ford Anglia. It's fascinating, you see, because—"

He didn't get to finish his sentence, because a loud snort told them that Vernon Dursley had heard all he'd wanted to know.

Hearing the beefy man dismiss their car like that didn't bring any reaction from Ron's father. He probably hadn't even realized what the snort meant. Ron, however, frowned in annoyance.

That car had once saved their lives. And even when he didn't have any ruddy intention of bringing it to Hogwarts again, or following any fucking spider, Ron couldn't feel anything but gratitude for that old piece of junk.

"Regardless, coming out of our fireplace is hardly the way to arrive. And look at all this soot you've brought onto my carpet," Harry's aunt said, wrinkling her nose.

"Oh, right. My apologies," Ron heard his father say. With a swift flick of his wand, he removed all the soot, leaving the living room spotless.

A thud echoed as Dudley stumbled backward, landing arse first on the floor, panic written all over his face.

Mr Dursley turned so red, Ron thought he might explode.

"STOP THAT!" The man took a deep breath. "I want none of this jiggery-pokery or hocus-pocus nonsense of yours! Not in this house!"

"Y-You mean Magic?" Ron's father asked, stunned.

Mrs Dursley gasped, clutching her chest. Her husband appeared on the brink of bursting in flames, which made Ron think amusingly of his mother's earlier proposal of inviting them over. Seeing the Burrow would definitely throw the Dursleys over the edge.

Thinking about it, Ron wished he'd taken his mother up on that offer, if only to see that spectacle.

In any case, Ron tried to prevent things from escalating further. "Err, Dad? Me and Harry will go grab his stuff. Why don't you just wait here?"

And not say anything more, perhaps?

"Actually, my things are in that cupboard," Harry interrupted, pointing under the stairs. "Except for Hedwig. She's in my room."

"Brilliant. Dad, could you fetch those things while we go get Hedwig?"

That should keep him away from the Dursleys for long enough.

The man nodded enthusiastically and Ron followed Harry upstairs. Not before leaning over and whispering to his father that it might be better to avoid any Levitation Spell.

Frankly, Ron didn't care much about the Dursleys. If it weren't for Dumbledore—who considered them a necessary inconvenience—or the older Harry developing a more or less cordial relationship with his cousin, Ron would've taken his friend away from that house forever.

A part of him thought that he should do it anyway. The blood protections around that house might be crucial in the years to come, but on the other hand, sparing his friend from those dreadful summers sounded like too much of a splendid idea to dismiss. There was no point in chewing over it just yet, though. There was still a whole year ahead of them. Ron had plenty of time to plan if he should free Harry from the Dursleys and—most importantly—how to do so under Dumbledore's watchful eye.

There were no voices coming from the living room by the time they reached Harry's bedroom. Things were looking up, and with luck, they might end up leaving before having to hex any of the Dursleys.

Ron had glimpsed Harry's bedroom once before, in his previous life. Upon closer inspection, Ron could now say that the place was—for a lack of a better word—plain. It was more spacious than Ron's violently coloured one, but that wasn't necessarily a good thing. The empty spaces were begging to be filled, agonising for some sort of personality. The wallpaper alone was so dull and muted, it could give Binns a run for his money in knocking people asleep.

The worst part was that the room didn't belong to some boring bloke. There were probably tons of ways of making it feel more like Harry's. A broom hanging on the wall would do wonders for sure. The only thing unmistakably Harry's in this room was the bright snowy owl in the corner.

Hedwig gave an irritated hoot when she saw them, longing for freedom as much as Harry.

"It's not much," Harry said quickly. "Not magical at all."

"Rubbish! It's bigger than mine, you'll see. A few well-placed Quidditch posters would make a hell of a difference."

Harry chuckled, "As if they would let me put those up."

That hadn't stopped Sirius.

Guilt struck Ron at once, dark and unrelenting. He tried to shove it away, telling himself that he'd rescue Sirius as soon as he could. But it was hard to suppress completely.

When Harry walked to Hedwig and started gathering her things, Ron averted his gaze. Hedwig's fate did little to weaken his remorse, so he pretended to focus on the room instead. Clean as a whistle, and without a sign of an elf's wrongdoing.

Ron didn't want to dwell too much on Dobby, another victim of a vicious future. Someone that Ron could save, or someone he could fail in saving. Like Hedwig, or Lavender, or Colin Creevey.

Or Fred.

No, Ron shouldn't focus on that now. All of that was too far away, and might not happen with the timeline changes. Ron needed to set his mind on present problems. On freeing Dobby and dealing with the trouble he could cause before then.

"You haven't seen anything unusual, have you?"

Harry stopped to look at him. "You mean, like that man?"

Oh, right. There was that fucker too. How could I forget?

Ron shrugged.

Harry hesitated, a flicker of doubt in his eyes. He'd likely seen something odd, thanks to Dobby, but nothing concrete. "Not much. You?"

"Nothing."

Ron approached the window. At first, he thought of the iron bars they'd had to pull off because of Dobby. However, Harry had reminded him of the American, and that had thrown away any other thought.

What was that bastard doing?

Just as he turned to help Harry with Hedwig's food, a glance out the window made him stop dead. A chill shot up his spine like a speeding broomstick. Ron suddenly couldn't believe his eyes, because outside, standing mockingly at the far end of a Muggle street, was the American.

The bloody effing American.

"Stand back!" Ron shouted when Harry moved towards him.

With a swift movement, Ron drew his wand and pushed Harry aside, keeping his back against the wall by the window.

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. It couldn't be. It had to be a dream. He couldn't possibly be here.

"Ron! What is it?"

He didn't answer. With Charlie's old wand gripped tightly in his fist, Ron risked a peek out the window, and saw… Nothing.

What the fuck?

The street seemed undeniably Muggle again. A couple of pedestrians were walking over the pavement, and a lone car even crossed with leisure through the neighbourhood. Still, there was no sign of the American. He was gone. Had he ever been? Or had Ron imagined him?

Ron rubbed his eyes, unable to trust them anymore.

"Ron? Are you alright?"

Harry looked out the window, but seeing nothing, he turned to Ron with visible concern.

"It's nothing. I was confused, that's all. Come on, let's go."

Before Harry could protest, Ron helped him with Hedwig and practically dragged him out of the room. Downstairs, his father had finished packing Harry's belongings. He was so preoccupied that he didn't even notice Ron had gone dead pale.

Ron hurried them to leave, keeping his eyes fixed on the front door as his father instructed Harry in the proper use of the Floo powder. He didn't even care about Mr Dursley's impatient watch-checking and foot-tapping.

Thankfully, Harry pronounced their destination correctly, even when Ron forgot to remind him of it. The boy even looked excited as he disappeared in a woosh of green flames.

The fire was just as green when Ron stepped into it. It was a normal Floo trip, like hundreds of others he had taken before. However, for a fleeting moment, the flames had looked almost purple, and the floor almost checkered. The blasted memory was chilling, but it was gone a second later and Ron was transported to his house without any trouble.

The Burrow was just as Ron had left it, bustling with people and in the midst of a celebration.

Harry was welcomed with open arms, and the Weasleys were so focused on him that they didn't give Ron a second look. He was so lost in his worries that his attempts to follow the conversation were flimsy at best.

Eventually, he showed Harry to his room, where he dodged as many questions about Privet Drive as possible. Ron's mind was so far away that he nearly lost a game of chess to Harry.

At one point, Ron told his father he'd seen something strange at the Dursleys. He was purposely vague, but it was enough to prompt his father to make some calls. In the end, it was nothing but a false alarm, and his father assured him that everything was normal at Privet Drive.

The day went on, with games, chatter and laughs. Dinner came and went, and after the cake, some small presents were opened. Only when Harry accepted Ginny's chocolate frog with a polite smile did Ron realize he'd failed to include her in the day's activities as promised. Ginny didn't seem too bothered, beaming brightly when Harry thanked her. Then, she stormed back to her room.

In the end, Ron wasn't sure if Harry had enjoyed his birthday better than he had the year before, but the boy didn't seem unhappy. He went to bed with a big smile on his face, marvelling at all the tiny displays of magic he had discovered in the Burrow—and undoubtedly feeling way more wanted than he would have with the Dursleys.

Ron's rest didn't come as fast. He lay in bed for what felt like hours. He got up up several times to look out of the window, and kept his wand firmly grasped under his pillow. The last thought before he finally surrendered to sleep—completely knackered—was one that would surely not leave him any time soon.

I'm losing my fucking mind.