Chapter 2
Ron stumbles through the cool, salty air toward Shell Cottage, confusion gnawing at him. The sound of the waves crashing against the rocks feels both familiar and distant, like a memory from another life. He rubs his head, still disoriented. How had he gotten here? Why had he left Harry and Hermione behind? The weight of his decision to abandon them during the Horcrux hunt fills his chest with a knot of regret, but there’s no time to dwell on it now. He reaches the front door, his heart pounding in his ears. The cottage looks the same, yet it feels strangely deserted. Bill and Fleur should be inside, shouldn’t they? He grips his wand tightly, and with a cautious glance around, he steps inside.
Bill is standing somberly near Ron’s grave when the faintest vibration from the wards alerts him. His sharp, protective instincts immediately go on high alert. The warding spell around Shell Cottage, the one he cast after the war, never triggers falsely. He glances over at Fleur, standing beside him, her face still etched in grief. He doesn’t want to cause alarm, but he knows something is wrong.
He steps over to Percy and Charlie, who are huddled together at the edge of the gathering. "We need to go," Bill says quietly, his voice tense. "The wards at Shell Cottage were triggered. I am heading back, but I don’t want to make a scene here. Can you keep this quiet?"
Percy and Charlie exchange looks, their faces serious. "You’re not going alone," Percy insists. "With those Death Eater sympathizers still out there, it’s not safe. We’ll come with you."
Bill reluctantly agrees, though his mind is already racing. He leaves Victoire in Fleur care, giving his daughter a brief but reassuring smile before the three brothers apparate to Shell Cottage.
When Bill, Percy, and Charlie step into the cottage, wands drawn, they’re met with an unexpected sight. Standing in the kitchen, looking both confused and defensive, is someone who looks exactly like Ron. But younger—much younger. Seventeen, by the looks of it. The age Ron had been during the war. Bill’s heart skips a beat, a wild surge of disbelief washing over him. It can’t be. Ron is dead. He saw it with his own eyes. His jaw tightens as he steps forward, wand raised. "Who the hell are you?" he demands, his voice sharp. The younger version of Ron stares back at them, equally confused but clearly on edge. His wand is raised, too, and he’s breathing heavily as if he’s expecting a fight. “What have you done to my brothers?” the younger Ron snaps, his eyes narrowing. “You’re not them. You’re Death Eaters, using Polyjuice Potion, aren’t you?” There’s a tremor in his voice, fear and fury blending into a dangerous mix.
Bill’s eyes widen with a mix of shock and anger. "What are you talking about?" he growls. "You are not Ron!"
"Stop playing games!" Ron shouts back, his grip on his wand tightening. "Where are Bill, Percy, and Charlie? What have you done to them?" Dread fills his stomach as he looks at the men in front of him. They look like his brothers, but older, worn, and somehow different. It doesn’t make sense. His memories of them are clear—they’re much younger than this.
Charlie, always quick to anger, snaps. "You little snake!" he barks, furious at the accusation. "You dare impersonate Ron? You’re not fooling anyone."
Before anyone can stop it, spells start flying. Bill fires first, sending a non-lethal stunning spell toward the younger Ron, but Ron is quick. He deflects it with a shield charm, his own wand raised as he hurls a curse at Percy, who ducks just in time. The kitchen erupts into chaos. Spells ricochet off the walls, bright flashes of red and blue illuminating the dim room. Ron is fast, but he’s outmatched. There are three of them, and despite his determination, he can’t keep up. In a matter of seconds, he’s hit by a Stunner from Bill. His body crumples to the ground, his wand clattering to the floor.
Bill steps forward, breathing heavily, and gestures for Percy to help him. Together, they tie up the unconscious form of their brother—or the imposter that looks exactly like him—and secure him to a chair.
"Polyjuice potion," Bill mutters, his voice laced with disbelief. "It has to be."
The brothers wait in tense silence, their eyes fixed on the tied-up figure in front of them. An hour has passed since they subdued the imposter, yet nothing has changed. The younger version of Ron remains the same—no signs of Polyjuice Potion wearing off.
"It doesn’t make any sense," Percy murmurs, pacing in front of the bound figure. "Polyjuice should have worn off by now."
Charlie, still fuming, slams his fist into the table. "This is some sick trick. A Death Eater ploy. I say we end this now. He’s dangerous. We can’t risk it."
"Charlie, no!" Bill barks, stepping between his brother and the unconscious figure. "We can’t just kill him. We need answers. We take him to the Auror Corps. Let them interrogate him properly."
"Bill’s right," Percy agrees, though his voice is tight with uncertainty. "We don’t know what’s going on here, but Veritaserum will get to the truth."
Charlie glares at them both, but he knows they’re right. Still, fury burns in his eyes. "Fine," he growls, turning on his heel. "But I’m going back to the Burrow to get Harry. He needs to see this."
Harry is sitting in the garden of the Burrow, his head downcast, his eyes hollow and expressionless. He feels empty, a gaping hole where his heart once was. Ron’s death had left him with a weight heavier than anything he had ever carried before. The guilt, the pain—it’s consuming him. Charlie arrives in a rush, his face pale with urgency. "Harry," he says, his voice strained. "There’s something you need to see. It’s important."
Harry barely looks up, his grief too deep. "What is it?" he mutters.
"There’s been... an intruder at Shell Cottage," Charlie says cautiously, not wanting to alarm him too quickly. "We’ve got the situation under control, but we need you to come with us."
"An intruder?" Harry’s brow furrows slightly, though his grief is still overwhelming. "Why haven’t you called the Aurors?"
"It’s... complicated," Charlie says, avoiding Harry’s eyes. "Trust me, you need to see this first."
Despite the ache in his chest, Harry’s curiosity is piqued. He stands up slowly, his limbs feeling heavy with exhaustion and sorrow. "Alright," he mutters. "Let’s go."
When Harry apparates at Shell Cottage with Charlie, he’s greeted by Bill and Percy, both looking anxious. Their wands are still drawn, and behind them, tied up in a chair, is a man who looks disturbingly familiar. Harry’s heart skips a beat as his eyes land on the figure. "Who is that?" he asks, his voice tight, barely able to look away from the stunned figure.
"It’s Ron," Bill says grimly. "Or at least... someone who looks exactly like him. Younger. Much younger. We think it’s some kind of Polyjuice trick, but..."
Harry stares, his stomach twisting. "Ron is dead," he says quietly, the words like knives in his throat. "No one would be foolish enough to try this."
"We know," Percy says, his voice somber. "But we don’t know what else to think. The Polyjuice potion should’ve worn off by now, but it hasn’t. We’re at a loss."
Fury and disbelief flare in Harry’s chest. "Whoever this is, they’ll answer for it," he says, his voice low and dangerous. "We take him to the Ministry. I will sort this out."
Ron wakes with a start, the cold floor of a cell beneath him. His head throbs, and for a moment, he’s completely disoriented. Slowly, the blurred surroundings come into focus—stone walls, dim light. He tries to move, but his wrists are bound. Standing in front of him, looming like a shadow, is Harry.
But this isn’t the Harry Ron remembers. The man standing before him now is older, more weathered, with a grim expression that seems permanently etched into his face. His green eyes, once so full of life and mischief, now burn with a cold intensity. He’s wearing his Auror robes, the air around him tense and filled with authority. There’s no warmth in his gaze—just a harsh, penetrating scrutiny that makes Ron’s stomach twist.
Harry stands over him, arms crossed, his wand in his hand. "Who are you?" he asks, his voice low and dangerous. "And why do you look like Ron Weasley?"
Ron swallows hard, his voice catching in his throat. "Harry?" he croaks, his confusion deepening. "What’s going on? Where am I?"
Harry’s eyes narrow, and he steps closer, towering over Ron. "I asked you a question," he snaps. "Who are you? Why are you impersonating Ron Weasley?"
"I’m not—" Ron starts, but Harry cuts him off with a wave of his wand, tightening the bindings around Ron’s wrists. The ropes dig into his skin, and he winces.
"Don’t lie to me," Harry says coldly, his voice sharp. "Ron Weasley is dead. I was there when it happened. So, whoever you are, whatever sick game you’re playing—it ends now. I will get the truth out of you, one way or another."
Ron’s mind races. Dead? What was Harry talking about? He remembers the Horcrux hunt, walking away from Hermione and Harry in a fit of anger, but nothing about dying. He stares up at Harry, his heart pounding.
"I don’t understand," he says, his voice shaking. "I am Ron Weasley. I don’t know what’s happening, but I swear, it’s me."
Harry’s expression hardens. "You expect me to believe that?" His wand flicks, and the ropes around Ron tighten even further, causing him to gasp in pain. "The real Ron Weasley died saving me. So either you start telling the truth, or I’ll make sure you regret ever stepping foot in Shell Cottage."
Ron shakes his head, fear mixing with confusion. "Harry, please!" he pleads. "I’m telling you the truth. I don’t know what you’re talking about. I remember leaving during the Horcrux hunt, but that’s it. I’m Ron—your best mate. Please!"
Harry’s jaw clenches, and for a moment, something flickers in his eyes—doubt, perhaps. But he’s been through too much. Too many battles, too many lies. He raises his wand again, his voice cold and controlled.
"You’ll answer to Veritaserum," he says darkly. "We’ll see how long you can keep this up when the truth is pulled out of you."
Ron feels a chill run down his spine. He knows Harry is serious. The Harry he remembers would never threaten him like this, but this isn’t the Harry of his memories. Something has changed, something dark. He looks up at the man who was once his best friend, and for the first time, true fear begins to creep into his heart.