The remaining days of the holiday slipped by with Ron in a constant state of agitation. No one else at the Burrow shared his uneasiness. Almost everybody was in high spirits; either prattling over the dashing summer they'd had so far, or already planning their first weeks at Hogwarts.
As difficult as Ron found it to join in on the fun, he didn't have a choice. He was supposed to be a twelve year old, so he had to pretend all was fine and dandy. He spent whole afternoons with Harry and Ginny, and neither of them had the slightest clue about Ron's tribulations. Not even the twins found anything strange with his behaviour whenever they teased him; and when they made their grand display of Filibuster fireworks, Ron was the first in line for the show.
Ron's parents were more attentive. He got the feeling they were watching him, and talking about him in private. They couldn't suspect he was from the future, but Diagon Alley gave them more than enough to worry about. Ron's half-arsed excuse that he'd thought Seamus was calling for him didn't convince his mother, and the only reason he wasn't awarded with a new batch of chores was because his father had purposely left out that Ron had landed at Knockturn Alley.
"Not a word to Molly," his father had said.
Away from his mother's vigilant eyes, Ron's nightmares worsened. Ron was so on the edge that he couldn't even take a bloody shower without remembering his sly voice, taunting him. If he let his guard down for even a moment, the steam would feel like black dust, and the tiles on the wall would blur into a chessboard pattern.
Had that bastard been there at all?
Ron had many theories about his pointless pursuit; from the American only toying with him, to the very real possibility that he'd imagined the whole damn thing. Ron couldn't be sure which guess was closest to the truth, but either way, he felt restless and burdened.
September first eventually came around. That morning, the Burrow was once again a loud racket of people rushing through last-minute packing.
They reached King's Cross Station with only a few minutes to spare. Ron's father had arranged for a Floo connection beforehand, without which they might've not made it. After making the headlines of the Daily Prophet, the Ford Anglia had to stay home. Although Ron wasn't particularly crushed about missing the flying ride to Hogwarts, it still felt strange to imagine the second year train ride.
As the Weasleys scurried through the crowded station, Ron's thoughts drifted back to the previous year. He hadn't seen King's Cross then, as his arse had been thrown straight into the Hogwarts' Express. Landing in the past had been jarring, but Ron couldn't help but realise that he did keep some sense of normality for a few months. Whatever changes had occurred early on were mild compared to what was happening now: missing Tom Riddle's diary, having a new Defence teacher, and dealing with a time-travelling madman. This time around, everything was starting off on an entirely different track, and Ron didn't know how much his prior knowledge would help him navigate this new reality.
"Percy, you go first," Ron's mother instructed once at the platform.
Without wasting a second, Ron skipped ahead of the twins and gave Harry a gentle shove forward. Dobby might want to lay low after his little stunt with the car, but Ron didn't want to risk being left behind if that jittery elf closed the entrance again.
They scrambled onto the train, where Ron caught a glimpse of his mother's teary face waving goodbye to Ginny. It was the first year that his parents would be alone at home without any children, something that hadn't crossed his mind on his own timeline. He waved back at his family, even nudging Percy to do the same.
It didn't take long to locate Hermione's compartment. She was sitting by the window, completely absorbed in a book, a plump orange cat curled up next to her. It felt like a picture-perfect memory rather than reality.
"Starting on second year books? Please don't tell me we have homework already," Ron joked, feeling his weight lift.
Hermione smiled, closing the book. "Actually, it's one of our books from last year. I'm reviewing to keep it fresh."
Ron chuckled. "You mean you haven't memorised all of last year's books by heart?"
"I— Well, it never hurts to review, right?" she said, fidgeting, then putting the book away.
They placed their trunks on the top shelves, and Ron shoved Scabbers' cage just beside them. He wouldn't touch that filthy animal again unless it was strictly necessary, and as tempting as it was to put the cage next to Crookshanks—whose gaze followed the rat with rapturous attention—it wasn't the time or place to reveal that secret yet.
The train roared, signalling their departure. Ron moved Crookshanks aside and sat next to Hermione, forcing a blushing Ginny to take the seat next to Harry.
Over the past weeks, Ron had encouraged his sister to open up more around Harry, hoping to make her part of the group early on. Diary or not, he wasn't leaving her alone this time around.
It was sometime later that Hermione noticed the green and yellow scarf around Ginny's neck.
"Where is that from? It's not from any Hogwarts house."
"Oh, it's a Holyhead Harpies scarf," Ginny answered.
Hermione raised an eyebrow, and Ron clarified, "That's a Quidditch team."
"Oh, I see. it's quite pretty."
"Thanks. Harry gave it to me, for my birthday." Ginny said, beaming.
Hermione turned to face Harry, who seemed suddenly very interested in the scenery rushing past his window. He'd given Ginny that scarf the day after Diagon Alley, and she hadn't taken it off since. The twins nagged them the first few days—even forgetting to tease Ron about Hermione for a while. Eventually, they'd let it go, but Ron doubted Hermione was going to be the last person to ask about the scarf.
Maybe next time he'll listen to me and stick to the good ol' Chocolate Frog. Those never fail.
They fell into an easy conversation. At one point, the twins stopped by to say hello, and Ron caught glimpses of other students passing outside the compartment—like Neville searching for his missing toad again, and Katie Bell chattering with her friends. Ron knew it was only a matter of time before Malfoy made an appearance. It was a tradition for the git to invite himself into their compartment on the train ride to Hogwarts. Ron couldn't believe he wanted to see that tosser, but he could use clues about what to do next.
The diary must be somewhere on this train. If only I knew where, I'd be out there looking for it.
Ron cast a worried glance out into the aisle, hoping to see someone waving the diary around in front of them. But he knew that was as likely to happen as Dumbledore appearing clean shaved at the feast.
"Any guesses on who our new Defence teacher might be?" Harry asked a few hours later. "Now that we know it's not Lockhart."
"That was a close one, mate. You laugh all you want, but you should be thankful we dodged that git."
Harry looked amused, but Hermione frowned. "Honestly, Ron, I don't understand your problem with him. Gilderoy Lockhart is a renowned author in the field of Defence Against the Dark Arts. We'd be lucky to learn from him."
We'd be lucky to keep our memories, if he found us too pesky.
"I just hope whoever it is, they're not like Quirrell. I still can't believe he was helping Vo—" Harry stopped, glancing at Ginny. "You know."
It'd take time for Harry and Hermione to trust Ginn. At the moment, she was just Ron's quiet little sister to them. Ron knew her better. Underneath her shyness, there was a feisty and quick-witted girl waiting to be freed. Even now, she looked at Harry with her brow furrowed, suspecting he was hiding something.
"Quirrell was an ally of that man. The one Ron fought last term," Hermione explained. A brilliant save, as Ginny knew about the American. "But don't worry. I'm positive Professor Dumbledore will be extra careful choosing teachers."
"The man we fought," Ron corrected her. "And I wouldn't get my hopes up. Don't believe there are many jumping to take the Defence position. Reckon Dumbledore is scraping at the bottom of the barrel to fill that one."
"Whoever we get, it can't be worse than Quirrell," Harry said.
Ron nodded, shivering at the memory of a certain toad-faced woman.
Frankly, it'd been a while since Ron thought about Quirrell. Last he heard, the man was still unconscious at St Mungo's, and no one knew if he'd ever wake up. Ron didn't know how he should feel about putting him there.
Harry stood abruptly, pulling Ron from his thoughts.
"What is it?"
Harry didn't turn. "It's nothing, I think I saw...Never mind, I'll be back." And with that, he left their compartment.
"What was that about?" Ginny asked.
"It could be Draco Malfoy," Hermione answered with a hint of bitterness. "He loves to bother people, and unfortunately, Harry hasn't learned to ignore him just yet."
She was wrong. Malfoy wouldn't pull Harry away. The git wouldn't miss the opportunity to gloat about some stupid rubbish in front of an audience. Ron had a bad feeling.
"I'll go look."
He shut the door, scanning both directions. Harry was a few compartments away, chasing after someone. Ron couldn't tell, but whoever it was had to be small, probably a first year or… Damn it, Dobby.
Ron sprinted, berating himself for forgetting about the elf. It wasn't until he caught up to them that he could make out Dobby's dishevelled clothes, pointed ears, and effing large eyes.
"You have to understand. There's no place for me other than Hogwarts," Harry pleaded to Dobby.
"You! What are you doing here?" Ron asked.
Dobby jolted at the sound of Ron's voice. "Dobby is protecting Harry Potter. He mustn't go to Hogwarts. Terrible things will happen there."
"We'll be fine. At least we won't be plummeting to our deaths like we almost did in that old car you jinxed," Ron reproached him.
A pang of guilt flickered across Dobby's face. "You must forgive Dobby. No one was supposed to be left inside. Dobby didn't mean to kill anybody, only to severely injure," Dobby said, his tone casual and apologetic. He then hit his head against the compartment wall. "Bad Dobby! Bad Dobby!"
"Stop that!" Harry exclaimed, pulling him away.
Ron already knew Dobby was a bit barmy, but the elf punishing himself helped no one. Not only would he get hurt, but others might notice and come out to check the kerfuffle. If Malfoy caught wind of Dobby's presence in the train, it'd mean nothing but trouble.
"Can we talk about this later?" Ron whispered.
Determination filled Dobby's eyes as he shook his oversized head. "Dobby will do what he must to keep Harry Potter safe."
Ron's heart raced, watching Dobby reach for Harry, fingers poised. Without hesitation, Ron lunged, grabbing Harry just in time. An unknown force pulled them both away, compartments and windows to twisting before their eyes.
A peaceful second year train was obviously too much to ask for.
o0o0o
As Ron took in his new surroundings, his hand instinctively reached for Charlie's old wand in his pocket. His training as an Auror kicked in, but it was clear they weren't in immediate danger.
King's Cross. Brilliant. Just bloody brilliant…. Of course we're stranded at the platform again, because I'm such a big fucking fan of cosmic jokes.
Ron sighed, checked on Harry, and scanned the place for any signs of threat. Muggles hurried across the station, blissfully unaware of the two kids who had just appeared out of thin air. Dobby was nowhere to be seen, while Harry—who hadn't had much experience with apparition yet—was leaning against the wall trying not to retch out whatever he ate off the trolley earlier.
A minute passed before Harry regained colour. "What happened? Is this... King's Cross?"
Ron was calmed and fully aware of their situation by then. "Dobby must have apparated us here. That little devil is dogged on keeping you from going back to Hogwarts."
I swear, once I save that elf, I'm going to— Oh, forget it.
Harry rubbed his eyes, studying their surroundings. "What do we do now? The train is more than halfway there, and when it shows up at Hogsmeade, they'll know we're not in it."
If his past experience was any indication, Ron could say that Professor McGonagall—their head of house—wouldn't be thrilled about it. However, whatever they did now couldn't possibly be worse than being seen by muggles and harming a supposedly valuable boxing tree.
They couldn't return to the Burrow. Not if they wanted to avoid explanations about how they left the train.
"We'll have to catch up with it," Ron said, considering their options. Flying was out of the question—not like that worked too well last time. "Reckon our best shot is taking the Floo to Hogsmeade. We'll have to get to the Leaky Cauldron, though."
To their rotten luck, the Floo connection arranged by Ron's father wouldn't be available anymore.
Harry's brow furrowed. "The Underground would be quickest, but we need muggle money for that, and it's been ages since the Dursleys gave me any pocket money."
"Do you have any wizarding money? Around twenty sickles, maybe a little more?" Ron asked. When he nodded, Ron urged him towards the exit. "C'mon, we'll take the bus."
The Knight Bus left Harry awestruck, though he wasn't as surprised as the conductor—a pimpled lad who hadn't expected to meet Harry Potter that day. The lad blabbered, but Harry, still recovering from the apparition, barely noticed. It was a small miracle Harry didn't barf out the contents of his stomach with the violent driving.
"Couldn't this take us all the way to Hogsmeade?" Harry asked as they sped through muggle London.
"Ah, you'd like that, wouldncha? Not the first one to ask, you know," the conductor said, amused. "We're not allowed to ride all the way there. Not on this day, we aren'. Ministry regulations an' all that."
Ron had taken the Knight Bus back to Hogwarts before, during Christmas break, but for September first—the busiest day of the year—everyone was required to take the Hogwarts Express. It was part of the protocol, Ron imagined, as even the people using Floo arrived at King's Cross Station instead of Hogsmeade. Normally, Ron wouldn't mind—he'd always enjoyed the train ride—but today that bloody protocol was nothing but a pain in the arse.
The Leaky Cauldron was nearly deserted at their arrival. Dusk had settled since they left the station, and with most of the Diagon Alley shops closed, Ron hadn't expected a bustling crowd. Tom, the innkeeper, was nowhere in sight, but the fireplace was readily available to them.
"Where should we Floo to?" Harry asked. "I don't know much of Hogsmeade, other than the train station."
A few remaining customers glanced up, then quickly returned to their drinks and hushed whispers.
"There are plenty of shops. One of them must have an open connection. Let's try Honeydukes first," Ron suggested.
Mr Flume had always struck Ron as a cheerful man. However, Ron couldn't predict how he'd react to a couple of kids tapping into his Floo connection without warning. Not like they had many alternatives.
Harry appeared nervous, and Ron shared this concern. Even at his age, getting on McGonagall's bad side still sent shivers down his spine. That being said, the prospect of running into the American again was far more worrying, regardless of whether they landed their arses in detention or not.
They were discussing how to obtain Floo powder when a booming voice cut into their conversation.
"What a surprise! If it isn't Ron Weasley and Harry Potter!"
None other than Arwin Plank strode into the pub from Diagon Alley's direction, looking quite confident in his bright green vest and fancy dark grey trousers. Ron couldn't guess what the man would want with them, but it couldn't be in any way good.
"Mr. Plank? What are you doing here?" Harry asked.
"Why, I work down the street, in case you've forgotten," Plank said. "What about you two? Weren't you supposed to catch a train?"
Ron and Harry shared a quick, uneasy glance. They couldn't lie about not being in the train, but they didn't have to Dobby either. "Someone had a portkey on the train—a silly prank. We somehow ended back at King's Cross station," Ron said.
At his side, Harry looked confused, but didn't contradict him. Ron made a mental note to explain to him what a portkey was later.
The man raised an eyebrow. "I see. And now you're using floo powder to get to Hogwarts?" Plank guessed, noticing their location near the fireplace.
"Hogsmeade," Harry corrected, glancing at Ron. "We're looking for some floo powder so we can get through to Honeydukes."
Plank's face lit up. "You don't have any floo powder? You should've started with that! I have heaps of the stuff back at the shop, and I would be happy to share." Without waiting for a response, he turned around and motioned for them to follow him.
Harry appeared flabbergasted. However, before Ron could come up with a proper way to decline Plank's offer, the boy sprinted towards Diagon Alley's entrance. "Let's go!"
"Wait, Harry!"
Bleary lamps illuminated Diagon Alley as they followed Plank's brisky steps. Ron was on high alert. As far as trustworthy people went, Arwin Plank was very low on his list—white charming smile and all. The fact he'd showed up in Diagon Alley when Ron had never heard of him in his timeline seemed too coincidental. Plus, Ron had just recently battled an American time-traveller at Hogwarts, and now another American happens to show up? Yeah, he was not fucking buying it.
"I don't like this," Ron whispered to Harry.
His friend hesitated, but kept walking. "How else are we going to get floo powder?"
Ron frowned, watching Plank. Following the train in a flying car felt suddenly less stupid than this. Plank couldn't have possibly known they'd be at the pub, but he could very well take advantage of his luck. For all Ron knew, there could be an ambush waiting for them at that dodgy shop.
"We don't want to be a bother. We can find powder elsewhere," Ron blurted.
"Is that so? Where?" the man asked, gesturing to the closed shops. "It's no inconvenience, truly. I'm glad to help."
It was hard to argue against that logic, though Ron's unease grew. Something over a week ago, he'd been running through this very place, chasing after a different American.
It didn't take long to reach their destination. In the dim light, Zonko and Plank's Joke Shop looked like an eerie shadow—the unworthy ghost of what Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes should be. A faint light shone from inside as Plank unlocked the door.
"Worried you'll need that soon?" Plank asked. Ron wasn't sure at which point he'd pulled out his wand, but Plank seemed unfazed by it. "No need to explain. I was warned against strangers in my youth too. As good as my intentions are, you barely know me. Wise thing, to be cautious." Plank stepped inside. "Would it help if I said you're more likely to harm me than the other way around?"
Harry, wary since seeing Ron's wand, looked befuddled. "How so?"
"I'm a squib," Plank proudly declared, smiling. "I possess as much magic as this stool or that notebook," he added, gesturing to items as he made his way to the counter.
Ron wasn't convinced; it could be a ploy to lure them in. Nevertheless, he took the opportunity to explain to Harry what a squib was.
"Uh, I'm sorry?" Harry muttered, stepping into the shop.
Ron gave Harry a panicked look that his friend didn't meet. He had no choice but to follow the boy inside, his gaze scanning for any potential dangers in the empty aisles. Devoid of people, the place reminded him more of his brothers' future shop, of all those times he closed the business for the day and the shop appeared uncommonly quiet. Just being there felt like a massive betrayal.
"Sorry? Silly thing to apologise for," Plank chuckled. "Me being born a squib isn't your fault, Harry—can I call you Harry?—and frankly, it doesn't bother me at all."
"It doesn't?"
"Nope. Nada," Plank replied festively.
Rubbish. If this man truly was a squib, he wouldn't be so casual about it. Being a squib was often a cause of shame. It meant either leaving the wizarding world behind or becoming a second-class citizen. No one said it was fair, but as much as Hermione and Kingsley intended to change that, the truth was that squibs didn't have it all fine and dandy at this point. Plank was lying; he couldn't possibly be so at ease.
Plank, sauntering behind the counter, seemed to read Ron's thoughts. "Magic is my life. I wouldn't deprive myself of its wonders just for the happenchance that I can't cast it myself. And in case you haven't noticed, I'm doing quite fine without a wand." He gestured at his whimsical establishment. "I find the brandishing of money distasteful, but I admit it does even the playing field."
From one of the drawers, he retrieved a small bag, tossing it to Harry. The boy tried to catch it, butRon raised his wand and blasted the little bag in the air. There was a small puff, and a soft shower of green dust fell upon them. Plank soon found the tip of Ron's wand aimed at his chest.
"Floo powder, Ronald. See what I meant when I said I posed no danger to you." Plank raising his hands.
Fuck.
When Ron had set foot in the shop, he'd been expecting a duel. Instead, he felt like the villain, menacing an unarmed man who by all accounts appeared at his mercy.
Harry's eyes widened, looking between Ron and Plank. "We're really sorry, Mr Plank. We appreciate your help." Harry pleaded with Ron, who reluctantly lowered his wand.
Ron couldn't blame Harry. The American accent may have made Harry suspicious, but he didn't know what was coming. He didn't know that Plank was an intruder—a mysterious figure in what second year was supposed to be. All Harry knew was that his friend had threatened a seemingly harmless man whose only apparent sin was offering them help.
Plank waved off the incident and handed them a new bag of Floo powder, leaving Ron feeling like dung.
They turned back to leave. Far away, Hermione and Ginny were on the Hogwarts Express, with no bloody idea of what might've happened. The train wouldn't have arrived at Hogsmeade yet, but Ron and Harry had to hurry.
"Back to the Leaky Cauldron? Because my fireplace is just steps away," Plank said, gesturing to the door behind him. "I have a convenient connection to Mr Zonko, and I can ensure a quick passage to Hogsmeade without troubling the Honeydukes keepers."
Harry looked bewildered. "Would you let us use it?"
The man pushed the door open. He seemed to have forgiven Ron, since his easy smile had returned. "Why, of course! I remember what it was like to sneak back into school. Granted, mine was a muggle school, but I swear we had teachers just as fearsome."
"I doubt it," Harry said. Ron didn't have to be a seer to guess his friend was thinking about Snape—the git they had for a Potions teacher. "Come on, Ron. It's the fastest way back."
Ron had a mountain of misgivings, but after nearly assaulting the man, he couldn't argue. He followed Harry.
Blimey. I even cast that spell non-verbally, Ron berated himself. Still, a quick glance told him that Harry hadn't given much of a thought about it.
The back room had plenty of whimsical objects. Some appeared muggle, but most were clearly magical in nature. There were stacks of books, and quills apparently taking inventory by themselves. On the wall, a moving tapestry showed a horse running through American-looking settings. There were bouncing balls, and muggle speakers; gloves labelling boxes, and an espresso machine too. It was the right combination of magic and muggle trinkets that could turn Ron's father nuts.
Half as mad as it was when the twins owned it though.
Ron made his way past the tables, never losing sight of Harry or Plank. He kept his wand in hand, still not quite convinced that Plank was as friendly as he appeared to be.
"These are brilliant," Harry said, marvelled.
Arwin Plank smiled, smugly. "They are, aren't they? I did say I loved Magic, and not being able to enchant items doesn't mean I can't buy them from others."
"So, you're really a squib?"
Before Plank could reply, a chiming yet confident voice echoed. "Ignore those with no manners. Bigots spew such nonsense to make up for their narrow-mindedness."
When Ron turned, he found himself face to face with the portrait of a middle-aged woman, dark-skinned and poshly dressed. She looked beautiful, though there was a certain wilderness in her eyes too. The picture in the frame didn't seem to be moving.
"Uhm, I'm not a bigot," Ron responded.
The woman in the portrait spoke again, her painted lips not moving. "A troll can believe it's a dragon all day long, but that doesn't mean it'll sprout wings," she said. "It's like that girl, you know who I'm talking about, the one with that god-awful fringe. What was her name again? Oh yes, Beverly. She lived next door to Mr Miller's cousin's wife. Do you remember her? Charming woman, but as likely to become a curse breaker as a cursed tomb is to turn into a bubble-headed girl. I don't know what was wrong with her, but whatever it was, it must've been difficult to pronounce."
"What the hell?" Ron blurted out.
"Watch your words, young man. I raised you better than this. Tuck in your shirt too, you look like a hobo."
Ron shifted from confusion to embarrassment. His shirt was tucked in. He'd checked. Arwin Plank chuckled in amusement.
"Sorry about that. I must've left her on." Plank turned towards the portrait, cleared his throat, and commanded, "Backroom Portrait. Silence." Instantly, the portrait stopped waffling rubbish. Plank faced them again with a smile. "Gentlemen, allow me to introduce my mother: Nuna Plank, the famous widow of Marina District, and the mouthiest witch in the whole West Coast."
Confused, Harry asked, "Did you just turn the portrait off?"
Ron was puzzled. He'd seen plenty of portraits in his life, but never one quite like this.
"Handy trick, right? My mother never had the patience for magical painters. She was always saying she'd get around to having her portrait done at some point, but disease found her first. Family is not forever, you know, but it always comes as a surprise when you actually lose someone," he explained with a hint of sadness. The man clearly cherished his mother, though it seemed as if she'd been gone for quite some time.
Ron felt conflicted about finding a human being behind the person he'd convinced himself to be his enemy. And, without meaning to, he found himself relating to the man's grief. He thought of Fred—the one from his timeline—who had built his dreams around the place where he was standing now.
"It's a tad unfair, isn't it? That he doesn't get to enjoy this with us", the future George had often told him, in his most earnest moments.
Unfair was such an unfair word. It felt so bloody small to convey what one truly meant.
Staring at the image of his mother, Plank's smile grew wider. "Anyway, I commissioned this portrait after her passing. I had it enchanted to repeat phrases from my memory. There are certain triggers that activate it, similar to a muggle tape recorder. That's where I got the inspiration," he said. "Mr Zonko has the instructions. I'll tell him to share them, if you're interested."
Ron thanked him, but he had no intention of accepting the offer. There could be a trap hidden in those instructions.
"I have a collection of items like that. I come up with the ideas and hire skilled wizards to bring them to life. Most of them are based on muggle inventions. Muggles do know more than the magical community gives them credit for, don't they?" Plank asked with excitement, before letting out a wistful sigh. "But enough about that, I can show you my collection some other time. Now, I believe you're in a hurry."
The fireplace burst into green flames with the powder Plank had provided. As if that wasn't enough to go by, Plank loudly called for 'Zonko's Joke Shop' and the person who answered on the other side was obviously the real Zonko. It baffled Ron, since he'd been expecting a ruse to be hidden somewhere.
It was safer to let Harry go first. Plank didn't complain, and never gave any indication that he planned to attack them. It wasn't until the two of them landed at Zonko's without any sort of trouble, that Ron finally allowed himself to doubt his previous assumptions.
Maybe he'd gotten it wrong. Maybe Plank wasn't really an ally of the man with the mismatched eyes, but some sort of freakish coincidence instead. Whatever the truth was, it was sure to keep Ron wondering for a while.
o0o0o
Ron couldn't believe his luck, and for once, he was genuinely happy about it. Not only had they arrived at Hogsmeade without any trouble, but they'd made their way to the station without drawing any attention. As soon as they heard the train whistle and saw it pull to a stop, they scurried in the opposite direction of the gathering crowd.
"Harry! Ron! Where did yeh two come from?" a familiar voice boomed out.
"We'll explain later, Hagrid," Harry replied, rushing onto the train.
Hermione and Ginny were taken aback. They stood up from their seats as the boys barged into the compartment, instantly bombarding them with questions about where they'd been. But there was no time for explanations, and by the time Harry and Ron changed into their school robes, the train was nearly empty.
Outside, most of the people had left the platform, leaving Ginny to scuttle after Hagrid and the rest of the first years. Ron followed Harry and Hermione towards the carriages, a ride he hadn't taken in several years. He was welcomed by the melancholic stillness of thestrals, exhaling puffs of cold air through their skeletal noses.
"What are you looking at?" Hermione asked, seeing him stare.
Knowing she wouldn't be able to see the thestral, Ron shook off his wistful memories of Fred and followed her up the carriage. "Nothing. Let's go, I'm starving."
There wasn't much of a chance to talk about their crazy day on their ride to the castle. Sue Li and her friend Mandy had climbed on the same carriage as them. The Ravenclaws shared their excitement for the upcoming school year, along with the obligatory "Did you really crash a car over the summer?" questions.
The majestic Great Hall was soon in their sights. The enchanted ceiling, displaying a fraction of the starry night sky, was as breathtaking as always. Ron navigated through the mass of eager students to reach the Gryffindor table. He didn't feel as out of place as he did when he'd first arrived in the past—swearing he'd gone mental, or was lost in a crazy dream— however, having not been present for the Sorting Ceremony during his second year meant that the setting before him still felt unfamiliar somehow.
It didn't take long for Ron to spot Malfoy on the opposite side of the hall. He was engrossed in conversation with his two podgy bodyguards. If Malfoy truly had the diary, it'd unfortunately require more than a mere glimpse across the room to find any evidence.
As everyone settled in, ghosts began to glide above their heads. Ron and Harry exchanged greetings with the other Gryffindors, avoiding questions about their whereabouts during the train ride. Ron's mind kept going back to Arwin Plank. The man had seemed genuine for a moment, but Ron couldn't shake off the feeling that he was an impostor.
At the teacher's table, a woman sitting a couple of seats away from Snape caught his attention. Her skin was bronzed and she wore her long, dark hair in a braid. Her robes were of a deep teal colour, with intricate beadwork designs that Ron couldn't fully appreciate from the distance.
"Is she the new Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher?" Neville asked.
"She must be. She's the only one I don't recognize," Parvati replied.
Ron's curiosity took a backseat as the first years entered the Great Hall. Among them was Ginny, and when she waved in their direction, Ron eagerly returned the gesture.
One by one, Ron listened to the names being called, and he could easily predict the house where those he knew would land. His stomach clenched when he saw the over-enthusiastic Colin Creevey make his way to the Gryffindor table, remembering the boy's motionless body at the end of the battle.
"Everything alright?" Harry asked.
"Yeah, it's just— Yeah," Ron assured, joining in the cheers.
Brilliant. I'd almost forgotten the other ghosts that haunt me here.
By the time Luna skipped happily to her table, he was composed, and applauded almost as loudly as the Ravenclaws. More names came, and Ron was keenly waiting for his sister's sorting—which he'd missed the first time around—when a different name caught his attention.
"Penelope Padgett," McGonagall called.
Ron almost toppled over. He saw a plucky girl walk towards the hat, undoubtedly the same person who'd fought alongside him in the future. Ron leaned in closer, curious to see which house she'd be sorted into. He owed Penelope Padgett his life, and it was hard to believe they'd shared the same school for five years and Ron had never noticed her. At least, not until they were frantically seeking shelter from curses in the ruins of the Ministry's Atrium.
The girl sat on the stool with easy determination, and the hat fell on her head. Then, in the most unexpected of turns, it yelled, "Slytherin!"
Ron was left open-mouthed as Penelope Padgett, beaming with joy, made her way to the other end of the hall. The woman who had fought at his side in the future had never given him Slytherin vibes—she'd had a sense of humour for god's sake. This must've been some mistake. Or maybe something Ron did had already altered her sorting. Stranger things had changed.
"Do you know her?" Dean Thomas asked.
"Uh, no. It's just— Got the feeling she'd end up in Ravenclaw for some reason, and I'm usually a good guesser," Ron answered, weakly.
He was still trying to remember his interactions with Penelope Padgett when Ginny was finally called. He forced himself to focus on his sister, and soon he was standing up with the rest of the Gryffindors in roaring applause.
Dumbledore rose. "Welcome back to another year at Hogwarts!" he began cheerfully. "Before we begin our feast, I'd like to introduce our new addition to the teaching staff—the only one this year. Please join me in welcoming Professor Sequoia LockLear!" The tall woman with braided hair stood up, waving at the students. After a round of applause, she took her seat again. "We are fortunate to have Professor Locklear as our Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher, bringing in a fresh perspective. She joins us all the way from America, making her presence here an exciting cultural exchange and learning opportunity. Let's make sure her stay is enjoyable and we give her the best impression Hogwarts has to offer."
The twins—who Dumbledore had stared at for the last part of his speech—went on to whisper animatedly as the rest of the students cheered.
Bloody hell. Another American? What the hell is going on? This can't be another coincidence, can it?
Throughout the feast, Ron couldn't shake off his unease. Plank. Locklear. Penelope Padgett… He wasn't sure what to make of any of it. Thoughts and plans swirled in his head long after Percy escorted them upstairs. Even so, lying in his bed while staring at the canopy above, a sudden realisation hit him. One that was even more shocking than anything else that had happened that day.
We got away with it... We left the train and snuck back into Hogwarts; and Snape was none the wiser. Now that was a first.