Chapter 13
The next day, Hermione returned to the Ministry of Magic. As she walked through the grand atrium, the familiar hum of activity momentarily paused as colleagues noticed her presence. Several approached with gentle concern.
"Minister Granger," said Eliza Dawlish from the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, her eyes filled with sympathy. "We're all so sorry for your loss. Are you sure you're ready to be back so soon?"
Hermione offered a faint smile. "Thank you, Eliza. Keeping busy helps. There's much to do."
Others echoed similar sentiments, surprised by her early return. In the wizarding world, it was customary to take at least two weeks of mourning after the death of a loved one. As Minister for Magic, Hermione could set her own schedule, but she knew her swift return would raise questions.
Settling into her office, she allowed herself a moment's respite. Stacks of parchment awaited her attention, but her mind was elsewhere. The appearance of a seventeen-year-old Ron—unchanged, unaged—defied all logic. She needed answers.
"Where to start?" she whispered to herself, gazing out the window at the bustling streets of London hidden from Muggle sight.
Time travel seemed the most plausible explanation, albeit a perplexing one. She recalled her own experiences with the Time-Turner during her third year at Hogwarts. But time travel, as she knew it, allowed movement backward in time, not forward. The future was unwritten, inaccessible. And the present-day Ron had been laid to rest; his death witnessed by Harry and the Aurors. It couldn't have been a de-aged version of him with altered memories.
Frustrated but determined, Hermione decided that the Department of Mysteries' Time Division was the best place to begin. If anyone had insights into anomalies of time, it would be them.
Meanwhile, Harry had his own ideas. The smartest person he knew was Albus Dumbledore. Despite his death, Dumbledore's portrait hung in the Headmistress's office at Hogwarts—a source of wisdom Harry had turned to before.
But first, Hermione needed to speak with Ignatius Rowlehaven, the Chief Warlock of the Wizengamot and a trusted friend. His office was on the same floor as hers as are highly level members of the ministry.
"Minister Granger," his secretary greeted warmly. "He's expecting you."
"Thank you," Hermione replied, smoothing her robes as she entered Ignatius's office.
Ignatius looked up from a stack of scrolls, his eyes softening at the sight of her. A middle-aged man still in his prime, his silver-threaded hair gave him an air of distinguished wisdom.
"Hermione," he said kindly, standing to greet her. "It's good to see you. How are you holding up?"
She managed a small smile. "As well as can be expected. Thank you for asking."
"Please, sit," he gestured to a comfortable chair by his desk. "What brings you here? I thought you might take some more time."
She took a deep breath, choosing her words carefully. "Ignatius, something has happened that I need to discuss with you—confidentially."
His expression grew serious. "Of course. You have my full attention."
"An individual was apprehended at Shell Cottage," she began. "He looks exactly like Ron did at seventeen. We've interrogated him under Veritaserum, and his memories have been analyzed. There's no indication that he's lying or that his memories have been tampered with. Yet, we can't prove that he's not... actually Ron."
Ignatius leaned back, steepling his fingers. "That's... extraordinary. And deeply concerning."
"I agree. We're keeping this information tightly controlled. Officially, we're stating that he's using a powerful glamour charm and was working with neo-Death Eaters. But if this comes before the Wizengamot, I will need your support to manage the situation discreetly."
He studied her for a moment. "You're involving the Department of Mysteries?"
She nodded. "I believe they may have insights that could help us understand how this is possible."
His gaze was thoughtful. "You tread on delicate ground, Hermione. The Department of Mysteries is... enigmatic, even to us."
"I know," she acknowledged. "But I have to explore every avenue."
Ignatius sighed softly. "Very well. You have my support. I'll do what I can to quell any rumors and prepare the Wizengamot for a closed session if necessary."
Relief washed over her. "Thank you. Your assistance means a great deal."
He offered a reassuring smile. "Take care of yourself. And please, keep me informed."
"I will," she promised, standing to leave. "Thank you again."
Leaving his office, Hermione felt a renewed sense of purpose. Next, she headed toward the dimly lit corridors of the Department of Mysteries. The silence was palpable as she approached the Time Division, a place few were permitted to enter.
Rodolph Albertine, the head of the division, stood amidst a collection of peculiar devices—glowing hourglasses, spinning orbs, and clocks that ticked backward. He was a solemn man with sharp features and an air of intense focus.
"Minister Granger," he greeted without looking up. "To what do we owe this visit?"
"Good morning, Rodolph," Hermione replied evenly. "I have some questions about time travel that require your expertise."
He finally met her gaze, his eyes unreadable. "Time travel is a restricted subject, as you know."
"I'm well aware," she said. "But I need to understand if it's possible for someone to travel to the future—or for two versions of the same person from different times to exist simultaneously."
Rodolph's expression tightened slightly. "Theoretically, traveling to the future is impossible because it hasn't occurred yet. Our time-turners allow limited backward travel, no more than five hours. Moving forward is purely speculative and, frankly, forbidden by the International Confederation of Wizards."
"I see," Hermione replied. "But what about coexisting with oneself from a different time? I experienced this during my third year at Hogwarts."
He gave a curt nod. "Yes, temporal overlap is possible under controlled conditions. However, the risks increase exponentially with longer periods and greater temporal distances."
"Is there any known method for preserving someone in stasis—preventing them from aging over extended periods?" she pressed.
Rodolph hesitated before answering. "There are legends, ancient spells long lost to us. Some speak of enchanted sleep or suspended animation."
"Like the Muggle fairy tale of Sleeping Beauty?" Hermione suggested.
A flicker of surprise crossed his face. "Precisely. Though few realize that such tales often have roots in our world. There was once a wizard who placed a princess in enchanted sleep for a hundred years. In that state, time did not touch her."
"Is that magic still practiced?" she asked eagerly.
"Regrettably, the knowledge has been lost," Rodolph admitted. "And even if it weren't, tampering with time in such a manner is perilous."
Hermione's shoulders sagged slightly. "I understand. Thank you for your time."
"Of course, Minister," he said formally. "If I come across any pertinent information, I will inform you."
As she left the Department of Mysteries, Hermione couldn't help but feel a mix of frustration and intrigue. Ancient magic, lost to time, seemed to hold the key. Perhaps Harry would have better luck.
At Hogwarts, Harry made his way through the familiar corridors toward the Headmistress's office. The castle always filled him with a sense of nostalgia, and today was no different.
"Harry," Professor McGonagall greeted warmly as he entered. Her eyes held a hint of sadness. "I'm so sorry about Ron. He was a fine man."
"Thank you, Professor," Harry replied sincerely. "I appreciate it."
She studied him for a moment. "I suspect you're here to speak with Professor Dumbledore."
He nodded. "If that's all right."
"Of course," she said, gesturing toward the staircase. "You know the way."
"Thank you," he said again.
Ascending the spiral stairs, Harry entered the circular office adorned with portraits of former headmasters. The familiar figure of Albus Dumbledore gazed down at him from his gilded frame.
"Harry," Dumbledore's portrait spoke with a gentle smile. "It's good to see you."
"Professor," Harry began, taking a seat. "I need your help."
"Then by all means, tell me what's troubling you."
Harry took a deep breath and recounted the events—the loss of Ron and the inexplicable appearance of his younger self.
When he finished, Dumbledore's eyes were thoughtful behind his half-moon spectacles. "A most curious situation."
"Do you have any idea how this could be possible?" Harry asked earnestly.
Dumbledore stroked his beard. "Perhaps. Tell me, Harry, do you recall the Deluminator I left to Ron?"
"Yes," Harry replied. "He used it to find us after he... left during the Horcrux hunt."
"Indeed," Dumbledore nodded. "The Deluminator is a unique object, imbued with ancient magic. Its primary function is more than extinguishing lights; it guides the holder to what they seek, particularly when they are lost."
Harry leaned forward. "Are you suggesting the Deluminator could be involved in bringing Ron back?"
"It's possible," Dumbledore said. "Under certain circumstances, it could create a connection to realms beyond our own—places where time and space behave differently."
"Like a mirror dimension?" Harry ventured.
"A fitting analogy," Dumbledore agreed. "In such a place, reflections of ourselves exist, separate yet connected. If Ron inadvertently accessed this realm, it might explain his reappearance unchanged."
"But how would that work?" Harry pressed. "Wouldn't he have aged?"
"Not necessarily," Dumbledore explained. "Time may flow differently there—or not at all. The magic within the Deluminator responds to strong emotion and need. It's possible that in a moment of great distress, it acted beyond its intended purpose."
Harry considered this. "So, if Ron somehow entered this realm during the war, he might have been... suspended until now?"
"It's a theory," Dumbledore acknowledged. "Ancient magic often defies our understanding."
"How can we confirm this?" Harry asked.
"You might consult those versed in such lore," Dumbledore suggested. "Perhaps within the Department of Mysteries or among scholars of ancient spells."
Harry nodded slowly. "Thank you, Professor. You've given me a place to start."
Dumbledore smiled kindly. "Always happy to help, Harry. Remember, the answers we seek are often found where we least expect them."
As Harry left the office, he felt a mixture of hope and uncertainty. The path ahead was murky, but at least he had a direction.
Back at the Ministry, Hermione sat at her desk, poring over ancient texts she had summoned from the archives. Her thoughts were interrupted by the soft whoosh of the Floo network activating in her fireplace.
"Hermione?" came Harry's voice from the green flames.
She looked up, surprised. "Harry? Did you find anything?"
"I might have a lead," he said urgently. "Can I come through?"
"Of course."
In moments, Harry stepped into her office, brushing soot from his robes. "I spoke with Dumbledore's portrait," he began. "He thinks the Deluminator might be involved."
Hermione's eyes widened. "The Deluminator? But how?"
He relayed Dumbledore's theory about the mirror dimension and the possibility of Ron accessing it.
"That could make sense," she mused. "If Ron was somehow suspended in a place where time doesn't pass..."
"Exactly," Harry said. "It would explain why he hasn't aged and why he believes he's still seventeen."
She stood, pacing thoughtfully. "But how do we confirm this?”
"We might need to consult experts in ancient magic," Harry suggested. "Perhaps someone in the Department of Mysteries or even abroad."
Hermione nodded. "I was just there, but they were less than forthcoming. Maybe with this new angle, they'll be more helpful."
"Do you think we should tell Ron?" Harry asked gently.
She hesitated. "Not yet. Let's gather more information first. I don't want to raise his hopes—or ours—until we're sure."
He placed a reassuring hand on her shoulder. "We'll figure this out. Together."
She offered a grateful smile. "Thank you, Harry. I don't know what I'd do without you."
He returned the smile. "You'd manage. You always do."