Chapter 3
After the Harry lookalike left, Ron sat alone in the cold, dark cell, shivering. The stone walls felt oppressive, and the air was damp, each breath making him more aware of the heavy silence pressing in on him. His mind was spinning, trying to make sense of what had happened. Why did Bill, Charlie, and Percy look so much older? Why was Harry saying that he was dead? The words kept echoing in his mind, but none of it made sense.
He leaned his head back against the wall, his heart pounding as he reflected on his last memory—leaving Harry and Hermione. He had been so frustrated, so lost in his own insecurities. The locket had weighed him down, clouding his thoughts, making him feel like he wasn’t good enough. But deep down, he knew it wasn’t just the Horcrux. He had let himself get overwhelmed by doubt and jealousy, and it had driven him to walk away from his best friends.
His chest tightened as he thought about them. What if something happened after I left? The idea that Harry and Hermione could be in danger because of him made his blood run cold. And now... this. Was this some kind of trick? A way to get him to spill information about them? The people who had captured him couldn’t be his family. They must be Death Eaters using Polyjuice Potion or some other dark magic. He prayed that Harry and Hermione had already moved on, that they were safe and far from whatever trap he had fallen into.
Ron looked around the small cell. There was nothing—just cold, hard walls, barely lit by the dim lights outside. It was like a prison, but he didn’t know where he was. He remembered his father once mentioning that there were temporary holding cells at the Ministry, places to keep people before trial or interrogation. Was that where he was? It would make sense if the death eaters has taken over the ministry.
His thoughts were interrupted by the sound of the cell door creaking open. Two men entered without a word; their faces expressionless. Before Ron could react, one of them raised his wand and shot a stunning spell at him. Darkness swallowed him whole.
When Ron woke, his vision was blurred by blinding light. He blinked, disoriented, as his surroundings came into focus. He was seated on a cold metallic chair, his hands cuffed behind his back. The room was brightly lit, spacious and sterile, with nothing but the harsh lights and the echo of footsteps. Standing in front of him was Harry—or someone who looked like Harry—but older, more severe. He wasn’t alone. Around the edges of the room stood several other figures in Auror robes, positioned like sentinels, their eyes fixed on Ron.
"Who are you?" Harry’s voice was sharp, demanding, as he stepped forward. His wand was gripped tightly in his hand.
Ron stared at him, still confused. "I’m Ron Weasley," he replied firmly, though his voice shook. "And I’m not telling a bunch of Death Eaters anything. I don’t know what kind of trick this is, but you won’t get anything out of me."
Harry’s jaw tightened, and he paced slightly in front of Ron, clearly frustrated. "Stop playing games. Why did you break into Shell Cottage? Who sent you? Are you working for the Neo-Death Eaters?"
None of this made sense. Ron’s eyes darted around the room, desperately searching for any clue about what was happening. Why was this Harry impersonator acting like this?
He shook his head. "I’m telling you, I’m Ron Weasley! I don’t know what’s going on, but I won’t let you use me to get to Harry and Hermione. I won’t betray them."
Harry stopped in his tracks; his expression unreadable. He let out a long breath before exchanging a glance with the Auror standing to his right. The man stepped forward, holding a small vial of clear liquid—Veritaserum.
Ron’s heart pounded in his chest. He recognized the potion immediately. His mind raced as he tried to break free from his bonds, but before he could move, one of the man raised his wand and cast a petrifying spell. Ron’s body froze, his eyes wide as he watched Harry approach the table.
Harry tilted Ron’s head back and, with a cold efficiency, forced several drops of the Veritaserum into his mouth. Ron felt the effects almost immediately. His mind became hazy, the world around him blurring as the truth serum took hold. His thoughts, usually so guarded, felt distant and numb, as if they were slipping out of his control.
Harry stood beside him, his voice calm but insistent. "Who are you?"
Ron’s lips moved before he could stop them. "I’m Ron Weasley."
The room fell silent for a moment. Harry’s eyes narrowed; disbelief written across his face. "That’s impossible," he muttered, more to himself than anyone else. He took a step back, pacing as he tried to process the answer. He knew Veritaserum couldn’t be easily fought, but he also knew there were dark spells that could manipulate a person’s mind. Anyone could be convinced they were someone else.
He pressed on. "Where did you come from?"
Ron’s mouth moved again without his permission. "I was with Harry and Hermione, hunting Horcruxes. We got into a fight, and I... I left. I Apparated to Shell Cottage."
Harry stopped mid-step, shock flickering in his eyes. Only a select few people knew about the Horcruxes, and even fewer knew the details of what had happened during the hunt. Harry stared at Ron for a long moment before glancing at the three Aurors standing on guard.
"You can leave," he said quietly.
The Aurors hesitated, exchanging wary looks. One of them opened his mouth to protest, but Harry’s voice hardened. "I said leave. Now."
Reluctantly, the Aurors obeyed, filing out of the room with uneasy expressions. As the door clicked shut, Harry turned back to Ron, his mind racing. He needed to be sure.
He stepped closer, his voice softer but still intense. "If you really are Ron, then answer me this: what did Hermione do when she found out you were kissing Lavender in the common room?"
Ron’s face twisted slightly, his voice still under the influence of the serum. "She... she conjured a flock of birds and sent them to attack me."
Harry froze, staring at Ron in disbelief. No one knew that but himself, Ron, and Hermione. That had been a private, embarrassing moment, one that had never left the walls of Gryffindor Tower.
A flicker of doubt began to form in Harry’s mind. He had been certain that this was some trick—a Death Eater ploy, or worse—but the answers Ron gave... they were too specific. Too real.
For the first time, Harry felt his resolve begin to crack. Could it really be him? Could this younger, confused version of Ron Weasley somehow be the real thing? But how ?