In more than one way, the days that followed Harry's twelfth birthday proved to be strikingly familiar to Ron. Not having flown the car all the way to Surrey meant that there were no arguments or extra chores to be had, but apart from that, everything else was just as he remembered.

Summers at the Burrow had always been brilliant, and this one didn't feel any different to the ones from Ron's childhood. The warmth of the sun was as playful as ever, and the grass was so fresh that it was almost a crime to stay indoors. With the sole exception of Percy, the family spent most afternoons in the countryside, if only to skip along the orchard or lunch under the shade of a bulky tree.

Inside the Burrow, everything was the same as well. Meals were merry, but a clattering racket nonetheless. And packed with kids as the house was, games and laughter could erupt at any given time, as sudden and noisy as the explosions coming out of the twins' bedroom.

Harry behaved quite similarly to the first time Ron showed him around, and the boy took to the Weasleys in no time. It'd been no surprise to see him fascinated with all of the Burrow's oddities. Yet, after all that had happened the previous year, it felt odd to not be smacked in the face with some unforeseen rubbish every now and then. At times, Ron would almost swear that he hadn't really travelled back in time, but that he was instead living through one of his old childhood memories.

If only that were the case.

Beneath all the smiles and games, things weren't really the same. Not quite. Ron's letters to Hermione always asked if she'd seen anything strange, and the Weasleys' outings were always restricted to the Burrow's enchantments.

Purple flames and stone chessmen visited Ron's dreams sparingly over the summer, and only worsened after Harry's birthday. That blasted trip had muddled things over, leaving Ron wary of his own shadow. His last encounter with the American had been enough of a disaster as it was. Seeing that bastard at Privet Drive—or believing he had—felt like a troll's punch to the gut.

Ron didn't know what to think anymore. The American had looked too bloody real back at Little Whinging. On the other hand, it made no ruddy sense for him to expose himself for nothing. He wasn't stupid. The prick knew there was nothing he could learn from Harry that he didn't already know. What was the point of showing up at Privet Drive, then? Finding out what kind of telly Vernon Dursley liked?

Yeah right, if he's interested in Muggles, I'll fight a dragon.

Whether it had been real or not, it kept Ron watching over his shoulder. He knew he was acting like a ruddy tosser. If Marcus Redfern saw him now, he would bark about how he should get a hold of himself. The older Harry would be in line too, ready to smack Ron on the head for acting like a blithering numpty. Ron didn't even want to think what Hermione would say.

Hermione.

It'd been almost a whole year since Ron had seen Hermione. His Hermione. The younger version of her was still out there, and he wrote to her as often as ol' Errol could handle. Still, Ron kept the older Hermione even more vividly in his mind, seeing a memory of her on every corner of the Burrow.

Ron ached for his future wife as one could ache for breathing air. He knew it would take some time before finding his way back to her—especially given how things had gone with that sniffy arse, Saul Croaker—but that didn't mean he'd stopped aching, or that he'd stop trying to get back to her.

Not like I can go back without first fixing all the bloody mess I've made.

The American was his fault. No one else's. The younger versions of Harry and Hermione shouldn't have to deal with him on top of everything else. Ron had been the one to let the American follow him into the past. He'd even slacked off and forgot all about him until it was almost too late. If anything bad happened in this timeline—anything at all that didn't happen last time—there would be no one to blame but him.

Only that something had already happened.

The memory of the young Hermione lying unconscious in that empty classroom haunted him. It made him wonder what would've happened if he'd taken longer to arrive. It made him realise what a lousy time-travelling hero he was.

If that was it—if he just wasn't cut for the task—Ron could accept it. Truly. Over the years, he'd come to terms with his own worth, but all the same, he understood he wasn't Harry. Ron only wished that fate—or whatever else had put him in this rotten position—would find a more suitable champion before he brought about something he couldn't take back.

Nothing scared him as much as that. Not being good enough. Making the wrong choice. Hurting a loved one due to his unfittingness.

One day, while contemplating all that could go wrong, Ron was hit by a very specific memory of Percy. It was from the day Ron had asked him if he was afraid of proposing to Audrey.

"Terrified," Percy had admitted then. "Audrey is so witty and kind, while I'm… not," he'd said, pausing to adjust his glasses. "So yes, the thought that I'm not worthy of her and may have misread the signs has crossed my mind. That perhaps she has envisioned a different future altogether."

A heavy silence had hung between the two brothers. At least until Ron spoke next, hiding his own doubts behind a good-natured quip . "Bugger. I'm pants at motivating people."

Percy had let out an honest chuckle. "Don't worry. You haven't deterred me."

"I haven't?"

"Not even remotely," Percy had assured. "A rejection would be painful, I'll admit. And I won't pretend I'm not afraid of her answer. But fear of knowledge is, probably, the most irrational fear of all. And, ultimately, fear goes away, but regret… that one lasts forever."

Ron had seen Percy fight Death Eaters fiercely, and still, he'd never been as impressed by his brother's nerve as he'd been then—a good couple of years before Ron had dared to pop the same question to Hermione. The words had proven more than Percy's courage, however. Ron had known then, as he did now, that the proposal hadn't been the only thing on Percy's mind when he'd talked about regrets.

War brought regrets to us all.

Even when he couldn't talk about the future, Ron wished he could spare his brother those old regrets of his. It wasn't as urgent as the American, but at least with Percy, he could do something besides waiting in the wings like a loafer.

It was so that a week after Harry's birthday, Ron ventured to knock on Percy's door.

"Who is it? I'm in the middle of something," the younger Percy's voice came from the other side.

"It's me. Can I come in?"

If there was one thing Ron had always respected growing up, it was the boundaries of others' rooms. It wasn't out of an abundance of consideration for his family's privacy, but rather because it had always been the way of things. While the twins would barge into his room unannounced whenever they felt like it, he'd never dared to reciprocate. The prospect of being hit by whatever was causing the latest explosion in their room wasn't all that enticing. Ron hadn't seen Ginny's room either. She was a girl, which had made her door a foreign threshold for most of Ron's youth. On the other hand, Percy's room had often been locked, and Ron had never believed anything fun was inside to begin with.

This time, Percy's door lock clicked, and Ron pushed it open.

Ron walked in, one step at a time. The room was mostly what he'd expected it to be. The bed was neatly tucked, and the second-hand books on the shelves were all perfectly lined. The plant by the windowsill was interesting, as he never took his brother for a plant person. What took Ron aback, though, were the photos and mementos from friends arranged on the chest of drawers. Growing up, Ron had never imagined Percy having much of life outside books and rules. It was stupid misjudgement, but being fair, it was far from the only thickheaded thing his younger self had believed in.

"Can I do something for you?"

Ron hesitated. "I just wanted to see how you were doing."

One of Percy's eyebrows arched. "I'm fine. Busy, as you can see."

"In case you haven't noticed, school hasn't started yet."

A huff escaped Percy, "That doesn't mean one should slack. On the contrary. Revising ahead for the upcoming year is a habit more people should foster, regardless of grades," he lectured. "Take me, for instance. I did well last term, but there are still many ways in which I can prepare for sixth year. It's more than just a placeholder between O.W.L.s and N.E.W.T.s, you know."

Ron cleared his throat unwittingly, suppressing the memory of his own embarrassing sixth year. "I can imagine," he said in his most casual tone. He took a step towards the desk where a book caught his attention, picking it up without a second thought—to Percy's chagrin. "Complex Locking Enchantments? Don't bother with those, Flitwick won't touch them in sixth year."

"You're only about to start second year. How can you possibly know?"

"A hunch."

"I would rather not rely on hunches," Percy said, reclaiming his book.

Nothing on the desk had moved one inch, still, by the way Percy rearranged everything, one would think a gnome had danced on top of it.

"The weather's great outside."

"I'm aware," Percy replied, not even turning towards the window.

"Are you also aware that you're a git and that we're going to the pond today?"

Even as he spoke, Ron could hear the excited chatter from downstairs. He knew his mother was almost done packing lunch, and it wouldn't take long before Harry came looking for him. To be honest, the trip had Ron a tad nervous, what with the pond being outside the limits of the Burrow's enchantments. However, his father had insisted on all of them going, and Ron couldn't stay behind. He planned to keep his wand close as a precaution, not caring if doing magic so far away from the Burrow's walls could get him in trouble.

Percy, however, had every intention of staying alone in the house. Something that didn't help avoiding his future break from the family.

"Come on, you've been cooped here all summer. A break won't hurt, and I bet the pond will be more fun than whatever you're planning to do here," Ron pressed.

"I suppose it will, but that doesn't mean I have time for playing."

It was frustrating how his brother kept missing the point. The older Percy was still a bookworm, but at least he had his priorities straight, and family always came first.

Hermione was never this stubborn. Not like this.

It wasn't that Hermione wasn't headstrong about schoolwork, because by Merlin's beard there was no one more nagging about exam schedules than she was. But Hermione also loved to laugh, and Ron could easily sway her away if there was no pressing deadline. Even during first year, when her passion for rules had been at its worst, Hermione always found time for her friends. She wouldn't miss a trip to the pond, an important Quidditch game, or even most practices, for fuck's sake. Sure, she would often carry a book along, but whenever she set it aside, it was as if grades were never invented.

Percy didn't understand that. Not this Percy.

For ages, the twins had taken the mickey on Ron about how alike Percy and Hermione were. It had gotten worse once they'd noticed they could get Ron riled up by suggesting that snogging her would be like snogging Percy. Joking or not, they had landed completely off the mark. Books aside, Hermione and Percy were nothing alike. Percy preferred to work alone, while Hermione thrived in heated arguments and breaking the norms. Percy was an overthinker, whereas Hermione knew what she wanted and wasn't afraid to fight for it. Ron was also sure as hell that kissing Hermione wasn't even remotely like kissing Percy, though he didn't care about ever proving that point.

After a moment of silence, Percy shifted in his place. Ron wasn't sure how to approach him. Percy was fifteen and may find any talk about regrets a bit too dramatic for his taste.

"Family is more important than grades."

"I'm studying, not leaving the family," Percy said, exasperated. "And don't give me that look. I'm half-way through a complicated topic, as you've noticed. I can spend time with everyone later, but a bad grade can't be taken back," he reasoned. "Besides, you don't need me to have fun."

"Rubbish. People are not forever," Ron shot back. The argument might've sounded too mature for his younger self, but his next words were even less expected, "And 'course we need you, Perce. Things aren't as brilliant without you."

Percy looked taken aback by the admission. "Um, thank you."

A shrug was Ron's response. He might still manage to make his brother see some sense.

"So, you're coming to the pond, then?"

For a moment, it looked as if his brother was considering it. However, Percy's expression soon sobered. "Sorry, I can't. I'd rather stay here doing something useful. Grades may not be as important as people, but they're crucial for our future. The best I can do for everyone, the best we can all do, is get good grades. That's what is expected of us," he said, "You'd be doing your part as well if you focused more on your subjects and less on fooling around."

A chuckle escaped Ron. "You want me to blow off a trip to the pond and stay here like you? With my nose stuck in a book? You're mental."

"I didn't mean the pond," Percy said, with the twitch of a frown.

"What did you mean then?"

A brief silence followed. Percy hesitated, then took a breath. "I—well, I had high hopes for you, Ronald. You had a great start of the year, excelling in a number of topics from what I could notice." His frown turned more evident. "But then, you started listening to Fred and George. Taking part in silly pranks, like what happened to Malfoy, and—"

"I had nothing to do with that!"

Percy went on as if Ron hadn't spoken. "— and then the forest detention. It's as if you were trying to sabotage yourself! Don't get me started on the end of the term. Going into a section of the castle that was explicitly off-limits? You disappointed me."

Ron was gobsmacked and, for the whole of ten seconds, he didn't know what to say. "Are you out of your bloody mind? I wasn't toying around in the park, you git. Someone was trying to kill me!"

"It wasn't your place to be. You should've gone to someone wiser. Such as Professor Dumbledore."

Percy had no clue how close he'd been to doing just that. Plenty of times. However, Ron had chosen his own path, and it had worked out, in the end. Ron was the first to admit his mistakes, but he had avoided the worst. Something Percy couldn't grasp.

"How many first years do you know who can fight off a grown attacker? I did fine, everyone else said as such," he shot back. "I kept my friends safe. Reckon that's something to be more proud of than your stupid grades."

"Proud? Are our parents proud? They're worried sick with all these enchantments we now have around the house. And those friends you saved, they wouldn't have been in danger if you hadn't dragged them there, would they? Really, I can't fathom why a great wizard like Professor Dumbledore would reward such a lawless behaviour."

The words struck a nerve. Percy had said them for the wrong reasons, but that didn't make them a lie. Their parents were indeed worried sick. Ron's mother chased him around the house with Calming Draughts, and his father worked hard on those protective enchantments. The trip to the pond was the first one they'd allowed themselves in the whole summer. Then there was that bit about endangering Harry and Hermione.

Ron boiled with frustration, unable to explain or tell him everything he'd gone through. Even then, Percy wouldn't understand. For all his self-important studying, he didn't know shit. He was just a boy.

"You have no bloody idea about anything," he said, gritting his teeth.

His murderous glare caught Percy off guard, but he didn't back down. "And you do?" Percy asked, looking at Ron as if he were the silly kid in the room.

"Yes! I do know better! So shut up and listen, you git," Ron blurted out. "You got it wrong. All of it. Your family won't be waiting for you until you have time for them. Top grades and school rules are worth dung if you're alone. If you don't get your head out of the arse soon and see what truly matters, you'll regret it."

Percy's face reddened, and his frown grew darker. "We'll disagree then," he said with his nose up high. "Now, if you excuse me. I'm busy, and you've taken enough of my time already."

"Fine! Suit yourself!" Ron spat, then stormed out of the room.

Fuck. There goes subtlety and not being too dramatic for a stupid trip to the pond.

o0o0o

The pond near the Burrow wasn't large by any means. It was over thirty feet long, and barely as wide as Ron's bedroom. At one end, where the water reached Ron's shoulders, they could get a few strokes out of it, but not much of a swim. Mostly, Ron and his siblings used it to take a dive, or to play along the shallows when they were young. Although, being in his younger body, made the memory feel alive.

Since carefree splashing wasn't enough, Fred pulled out the water trinkets—several Bouncing Water Bombs and a couple of Woozy Whirlpools. The pond erupted with sprays of water and shrieks of laughter, but despite the chaos, Ron's mind just wasn't into it. His bitter conversation with Percy remained fresh, and crossing the Burrow's boundaries had his shoulders tight and his stomach knotted, constantly scanning the perimeter.

Bloody hell. It's the summer before second year. Not sixth or seventh. It shouldn't be like this.

Ron forced himself to take part in the fun—as a normal twelve-year old would. Still, he didn't stray too far away from the shore, his wand within reach, and kept constant vigilance all around.

The twins and Harry plunged into the water, as if their only concern was dodging Bouncing Water Bombs—which aside from splashing from five-feet high, weren't really that dangerous.

"Lighten up," Fred said, noticing Ron's half-hearted dodging. "The prefect's where he wants to be."

"We told you not to bother, didn't we?" George added.

They had warned him alright, but Ron hadn't been willing to give up on Percy. He still wasn't giving up on him. Once their tempers cooled, he'd approach his brother, not holding onto silly grudges like a teenager. Still, Ron had no bloody idea how to make Percy see reason.

As time passed without incident, Ron's shoulders loosened. There were no signs of an attacker, or even of Dobby. Ron wondered how he should react if the elf suddenly popped into view, but it seemed unlikely Dobby would appear with his parents around.

Ron's attention shifted to Ginny, who had spent the entire morning under a large oak with their parents. Despite having her swimsuit and loving the pond, she hadn't dared touch the water so far. Ron knew she was still intimidated by Harry's presence, which made no bloody sense given how outgoing she truly was. He'd tried all week to get her to join their games, but she always chickened out at the last moment, retreating to her room with a squeak.

It had gone on long enough. Ron didn't want her snogging his best friend anytime soon, but she needed to start acting like herself.

"Hey, Gin! Toss me a sandwich, won't you?" he shouted from the water.

Calling her that wouldn't sit well with her—as Ron knew—and a frown formed on Ginny's forehead. Even so, after a few hushed words with their mother, she stood and walked towards the pond. Ron waited until she reached the edge, then pulled her in with a swift move. Caught off guard, Ginny fell into the deep water with a loud splash.

"Ron!" his mother scowled from the shore.

The next moment, Ginny emerged from the water, gasping for air, drowning out their mother's voice. Her blazing red hair was soaked, and she pushed it from her face to see.

"Ron! You prat! What the heck is wrong with you?!"

A wet sandwich flew in his direction, which Ron barely dodged. The twins laughed and howled, and Ginny splashed them furiously. That was until she spotted Harry smirking, and her frown turned into a blush.

"It was actually Harry's idea," Ron hurried to say.

"W-what?"

Ron rushed through the lie before his startled friend could deny it, "Harry dared me to pull you in. He said 'Ron, pull her! Pull her!'"

The girl's eyes widened.

"I didn't!" Harry said.

"You know what? I think I heard him," George chipped in.

Fred scratched his chin, "I think I did too. Maybe Harrykins thinks his guest status grants him immunity."

Despite everything, Ron couldn't help smirking, especially at Harry's distressed look.

"He said you splash water like a girl," Ron added, poking at Ginny's temper.

Ginny's gaze snapped to Harry, her eyes darting between him and the edge of the pond. She seemed to tense for a moment, but then a defiant look came to her eyes. With a small flick of her wrist, she sent a spray of water towards Harry. The boy blinked in surprise, and Ron could tell Ginny would have bolted away if Harry hadn't grinned and answered with a full blown splashing war.

The afternoon took a turn for the better. Fred pulled out a Bouncing Water Bomb he'd been saving, one that he and George had modified to follow people instead of just bouncing about. It was utter madness. The best kind.

Ginny briefly left the pond to change out of her soaked sundress, then dove back in, now in her swimsuit. By the time their mother left to start with dinner, Ginny was already laughing openly along with Harry.

Ron enjoyed the trip way more than he'd expected. At times, he even forgot he was a full-grown man instead of a boy. He splashed and ran. He jumped and dove. He enjoyed the water play as if there were no evil dangers out there. A lapse he'd later berate himself for, because he lost all of his constant vigilance.

Moody would've disapproved.

Eventually, the trip was over. Once out of the water, their father cast some hasty Drying Spells on them. Ginny's shyness returned to some extent, though Ron made sure to keep her close on the way back to the Burrow. He even filled the conversation with plenty of 'Oh, Ginny likes that' and 'Don't you, Ginny?'.

All in all, Ginny didn't say much, limiting herself mostly to pushing her hair behind her ear and smiling. However, she did give a few short answers and wasn't as afraid of speaking in front of Harry as she'd been at the start of the day.

Helped one sibling and yelled at another. More than enough for a day's work.

o0o0o

By the time they reached home, Ron was eager to call it a day, but not before a hearty dinner with his family. He was looking forward to his mother's pork chops, and his mouth watered just thinking of the pudding she'd made for dessert. However, after seeing her waiting anxiously by the door, none of that mattered.

"There's a man in the house," she said.

Ron's heart went into overdrive. They could've smashed the blasted pudding to the floor and he wouldn't have fucking cared. He reached for his wand, forcing his pulse to remain steady. Cold sweat trickled down his forehead as he imagined a pair of mismatched eyes waiting for him inside.

A quick glance confirmed everyone's shock. He needed to get them all away, and he'd just realised that they weren't even complete.

Bugger! Percy! That prat is still up there.

"A man?" Ron's father asked.

"Not a dangerous one, I believe. Someone from work."

That seemed to relax them immediately. Despite how flustered he still seemed, Harry's frown lessened. Ginny sighed and, along with the twins, turned to look at their father, still looking quite lost. Ron had recovered his breath, but he wasn't about to drop his guard. He rushed through the door, beating even his parents inside.

"Ron! Wait!"

He played deaf to their warnings and stormed inside, determined. But what he found left him dumbfounded.

It wasn't the American.

A shorter, portly man stood in the living room. He had glasses, small ears and a dignified look to him. Ron was startled at once, not because he didn't know him, but because he wasn't expecting him at all.

"Greetings, my name is Saul Croaker. You may not recognise me, but I work at the Ministry as well," the man said, extending a hand to Ron's father. For a second, his judging eyes landed on Ron.

Ron's father took his hand. "Hmm, why of course. I do recognise you. I'm Arthur Weasley, by the way."

Saul Croaker nodded.

What was he doing here? Hadn't that prick told Ron off when he'd been desperately seeking his help? Had he changed his mind? At the end of last term, Ron had sent him a letter to warn Croaker about the American. Although he never got a response.

"You have quite a security protocol here," Saul Croaker said, eyeing Ron's mother, who was standing still a tad nervous by her husband.

"Sorry for the inconvenience. It's a precaution. I don't know if you're aware, but my son got into an altercation with a man a few weeks ago."

Croaker nodded. "I've read the papers."

Ron wondered what his mother had asked. It couldn't have been much. She didn't know him. Perhaps he was an impostor.

Fear gripped Ron, his wand tightening in his hand. Yet, his fear was likely unfounded. If this man was the American, things would've been a bloody disaster by now.

"And… What can I do for you?" Ron's father asked Croaker.

With an indifferent tone, Saul Croaker explained he was searching for a document. One so urgent that it couldn't possibly wait for Monday, and which Croaker believed had inexplicably found its way to the Department of Misuse of Muggle Artefacts. A big pile of rubbish by all accounts.

"Wish I could be of more help," Ron's father lamented. I haven't brought any office documents home in quite some time. And I would've noticed it if I had your document."

"Would you mind taking a look regardless? It is, as I said, of the utmost importance," Croaker insisted, his tone petulant.

After a bewildered glance at his wife, Ron's father shrugged.

One by one, Ron's siblings went upstairs as dinner was obviously postponed. His father followed, searching for that document that didn't exist. Ron's mother lingered, offering the man a seat and attempting to make conversation, but Croaker pulled out a book, rudely dismissing her. She left with a frown, while Croaker remained standing with his book, as if he'd never been offered to sit down.

Ron made to follow Harry upstairs too, but a few steps later, he stopped. "Err… mate? I'm going to try and smuggle some food out of the kitchen, I'm peckish. Why don't you set the Exploding Snaps or something? I'll be up in a tic."

Harry looked doubtful, but nodded and continued upstairs. Ron watched him go, then turned back to the living room, where that wanker was waiting.

"What do you want?" Ron hissed at Croaker, once he made sure his mother wasn't around.

The man raised an eyebrow, putting his book aside. "You were the one who wrote to me."

"Surprised you didn't burn the letter," Ron snapped, "Wasn't that tampering with your oh-so-precious timeline?"

Saul Croaker frowned. "Is this some sort of mockery to you? Of course I never wanted this! I told you to have your memory erased. A warning you heedlessly ignored," he whispered, irritated.

It was hard to forget that day. Ron had been clinging to this man as his only hope, and he'd cared half a rat's arse about his distress. Which begged the question again, why was he bloody here now?

Ron glanced over his shoulder, ensuring no one was listening, then turned back to Croaker. "Erasing my memory wouldn't have done crap. If you must know, there's another one like me—another time tourist. One who doesn't care bollocks about preserving the stability of time."

Croaker wrinkled his nose. "No need to be crass. I am aware."

"Ha! So you did read the letter? Guess the world didn't end by listening to a time-traveller."

Red covered the man's face. He glanced around, groaning, "Hush! This is not the place."

It wouldn't take long for Ron's father to come back down, that much was certain. However, Ron was pissed at this man. And, considering the American was free and Ron couldn't return to his time yet, he was in no hurry to get info about Croaker's so-called Ageing Mirror.

Ron ended up sighing. "So, I take it you weren't attacked."

"Two can place protective enchantments."

"You want to help me then?"

"I want this man to be stopped. And to salvage as much as can be salvaged of this timeline," Croaker said, adjusting his glasses. "It appears collaboration with you is necessary."

Ron blinked incredulously. "Blimey. You'll help me, but you really, really, really don't want to. Got it."

A clattering noise echoed from far upstairs, and they both paused, looking up. His father must have stumbled while searching. Faint footsteps resumed.

"We don't have time for this folly. Write to me once you can. We need to set a meeting where we can talk freely," Croaker said, then gestured around. "I gather none of them know?"

Ron frowned. "No. My family doesn't know."

"Good. I would rather minimise the number of people aware of your condition. That being said, we need someone capable of taking action, and you don't strike me as particularly level-headed," Croaker said, scrutinising Ron. "Does Albus Dumbledore know?"

It was the second time someone suggested something like that this day.

Ron wondered why he'd ever sought this man's help. Croaker was infuriating and clueless. He was the kind of person Percy would become if he never pulled his head out of his arse.

"I've managed well enough on my own," Ron retorted.

Croaker narrowed his eyes. "Even if I trusted your judgment, you're still a twelve-year-old boy."

"I'm twenty four."

The gnashing of teeth was audible. "You know what I meant. This man needs to be stopped, and you cannot do that from your classroom."

Ron raised his head high to look him in the eyes. "I know what I'm doing. Dumbledore might not be in the loop yet, but I told him all he needed to be able to track this man."

"Oh, did you?"

"You're damn right I did. He wouldn't be any closer to catching him even if he knew who I was."

"Did you inform him of any of this man's place of operations? Goals? Common associates?"

Ron bristled at Croaker's dismissal. He rolled his eyes at the questions, knowing he had nothing more to tell Dumbledore. That was until he got to the last question, and he froze.

Common associates?... Garvan Ferrara. Aster Prince. Those men at the Department of Mysteries. He hadn't told Dumbledore about any of them. The American could've contacted them ages ago.

Crap.

Croaker noticed his expression, shaking his head and sneering. "I take that you didn't anticipate this man following you to the past either?"

Ron frowned. He didn't answer.

"I thought so," he mocked. "I've read of Ron Weasley's surprising duelling skills in the Prophet, but of your sloppiness… I never knew."

"Sod off. I'll tell Dumbledore when term starts," Ron muttered.

He'd have to talk to Dumbledore sooner or later, there was no way around it. He had to let him know about Ferrara and the others, and perhaps he could help with freeing Sirius. However, and regardless of what he would tell Croaker now, Ron was on the fence of when to do it. If Ron decided to tell Dumbledore, it should be on his own terms.

There may be a way I can tell him about Ferrara, and still have him think I'm a twelve-year old boy.

Croaker eyed Ron carefully, "The wait is pointless. I should speak to Dumbledore myself."

"No! What would you tell him? It's me who knows these things," Ron insisted. "Term starts soon. I'll deal with it, and I'll set that bloody meeting with you. Just wait."

The footsteps became louder. Someone was coming down.

Croaker gritted his teeth. He huffed and leaned forward. "Listen, boy. This is no game. I treat matters with due diligence, and expect others to do the same. From what I can tell, you don't. You just wing it, as they say," he whispered with a tone of contempt. "You're the kind who means well but keeps making mistakes. Foolhardy and unreliable. More a convenient tool than a leader. The sooner you let those who know best decide, the better. Otherwise, people will get hurt."

Ron's blood boiled, but he was speechless, gaping.

Before Ron could respond, his father entered the living room. "Ron? What are you doing here?"

"Oh, don't mind him. He was retelling me the story of how his headmaster saved him," Croaker said, causing Ron to clench his fist. "Any luck with those papers?"

"Unfortunately not. I'm sorry. They're not here," Ron's father said.

"Shame. I better keep looking then. I appreciate the attempt," the man answered, bowing before leaving the house.

As Ron climbed the stairs to his bedroom, he made an effort to push that prick's words away. Croaker was as clueless as Percy. Neither of them knew squat about what it was to be in Ron's place.

Yes, Ron had made mistakes. But he'd also managed to stop the American mostly on his own. He was an Auror; he knew how to deal with this rubbish. And Dumbledore… He had good intentions, but also plans Ron would rather not go through again.

Reaching the top floor, Ron heard a loud banging. Someone was jumping on his bed, and things were being shoved from his drawers. He was about to enter when he recognized the squeaky voice, and his hand froze on the doorknob.

Dobby. Brilliant. Just what I needed.

Ron hesitated, but decided to wait. Once the house-elf left, he would enter and ask Harry all about it, then he would take it from there.

You'll just wing it.

With a frown, Ron pushed the words out of his head. It didn't matter what Croaker thought. If it were up to that wanker, Ron wouldn't do anything that changed the timeline. And he had to. He had to keep Ginny safe, and avoid the whole Chamber mess as well.

It was going to be a hurdle of course, but if he'd handled the stone, he could handle this as well. He would show them.