Chapter 1
Ron Weasley’s brilliant blue eyes opened with a snap and closed again just as quickly. With a groan, he turned to the side to block out the harsh sunlight falling directly onto his face. He moaned in protest at the intense headache that greeted him upon regaining full consciousness. Bloody Delphinus! He thought furiously. The bastard knows to cut me off before I get shitfaced.
“Ugh! I swear when I get my hands on him.”
Ron’s voice sounded wrong to his own ears. High-pitched and squeaky. Maybe it was the lingering effect of the Fire Whiskey he'd decided to drown himself in last night. Ron pushed himself up from the bed and somehow put enough strength into the movement to shoot himself straight out of the bed and onto the floor with an undignified yelp. Head spinning from the sudden movement Ron just laid there to gather his jumbled thoughts and remember how he got to wherever he was right now.
“How much did I drink last night? Damn.”
He wondered out loud and tried to blink his eyes open. It took an embarrassingly monumental effort just to get the cobwebs out of his eyes and look around the room from his position on the floor. The blinding headache made him dizzy enough that it took a minute for him to register where he was. The way the sunlight flooded the room didn’t help his predicament. The room he was in was vaguely familiar but not enough to ring any bell. What the hell? If he’d ended up being kidnapped last night by some creep he was going to be really pissed. And scared. But terror would probably hit him later when he’d made sure he hadn’t just ended up getting shitfaced enough to spend the night at a stranger’s house.
Really, if he ended up at some barmaids house, Harry would laugh his ass off at him were he alive. Harry laughing at him would probably be better than what Hermoine would have done had she found out. Ron ruthlessly squashed down that train of thought.
His hand automatically went to the necklace he’d taken to wearing around. A part of Hermoine’s broken time-turner and Harry’s wand molded together to make a rather ugly pendant. But to Ron, it was his only source of comfort these days. The only thing capable of grounding him in reality and reminding him of his purpose for fighting. Again, instead of clutching at his necklace Ron kept clawing at thin air half a foot above his chest.
Fuck! What was wrong with his coordination today? Were his arms shorter than he remembered or was he still drunk? He carefully sat up, putting his weight on one hand beside him, and leaned his head forward to get rid of the dizzy spell. Damn it. The redhead gingerly brought his hand to his chest right above his heart where his pendant usually lay and found to his horror and anger, the necklace missing. His eyes widened in alarm. Did someone steal it?
“What sort of bastard steals a bloke’s stuff when he’s sleeping?” Ron tried to bring a hand to his hair. Tried being the keyword as he, once again, overshot his strength and punched himself in the eye.
“Bullocks!” He cursed out loud and rubbed at the sore spot. With his hand already on his face, he easily brought it to his head to nurse the pounding headache and lingering nausea. What he found left him more alarmed than his lack of coordination.
“What sort of sick bastard steals a bloke’s stuff and cuts off his hair when he’s sleeping!”
Normally Ron’s hair hung down just above his shoulders. At first, he hadn’t noticed when his hair had gotten so long. There just wasn’t enough time to worry about such stuff. When there was a lull in the attacks from the Death-Eaters, just before he’d sent Ginny out on that accursed mission, they were hanging out on one of the rooftops of Hogwarts from where they could view the sunset. It was the last time Ginny and him had hung out before she’d died. His fault!
Ginny had pointed out how he looked so much like Bill with his hair down. They’d just lost Bill and his pregnant wife to a raid on the Shell Cottage and Ron, in honor of his late brother, had decided to grow it out.
With a sigh, Ron banished his train of thought. He had better things to do than linger on the ghosts of the past. The fog from his sleepy brain had dispersed like the dementors in front of a Patronus and his muddled eyes sharpened into focus taking in everything around him with the eyes of the tactician and strategist. The adrenaline rush got rid of his headache and lingering nausea in a matter of moments.
It didn’t look like a room a barmaid would keep. The wall was covered in a rather tasteful mahogany-colored paper. Though the wallpaper was peeling off in places. Someone had made a great effort to cover up the chipped parts with carefully placed posters and calendars and the odd bit of handmade paintings. Next to the wall with a big open window, was a large cabinet full of books and odd trinkets.
The window, framed by heavy-looking curtains, opened up into a balcony. Ron felt his heart stop at the familiar view of the outside. It looks just like Dad’s shed. Ron stared in awe at the chicken pen right next to the shed. Scratch that, it is Dad’s shed. The one that should’ve been destroyed. Along with most of the Burrow. Was he in the Burrow? Something was wrong. The room suddenly felt extremely familiar. At the same time, something felt misplaced. Like everything was suddenly an inch to the left. How was he at the Burrow? Was it some kind of illusion? Did he eat something he shouldn’t have? Did someone slip something into his drink?
There were only a few things that could cause hallucinations as strong as this one. He was hallucinating, probably passed out in some alleyway or something. It was the only explanation. There was a sudden banging noise as Ron heard a door slam open and footsteps ascending toward the room that Ron was in.
In an instant, Ron was on his feet, barely managing to stay standing as he leaned against the bed. His sense of balance was shot to kingdom come. “Crap” It came to his mind that he had been drugged or had taken some sort of curse that left him delusional and uncoordinated. Had he been attacked last night? Was he kidnapped somehow?
The idea was seemingly impossible. The hastily put together ‘War Council’ as it had been dubbed; had insisted on taking with him at least one guard wherever he went. What with being a well-known member of DA and also the figurehead of the resistance they put up against the Death Eaters, Ron's own protests against being assigned a guard went unheard and Delphinus Rivers, an unassuming but powerful wizard had been assigned to watch over him.
Even Harry, their most powerful Wizard and unarguably stronger than any of the guards assigned to him, hadn’t been able to escape this predicament; as much as he’d hated it. So even if he was kidnapped from under Delphinus’s nose, there was still the matter of Fidelius Charm they’d set up around their latest base of operation in Hogsmaed. Nobody should've been able to breach their security. Unless they were betrayed.
The quick footsteps seemed to have receded. Ron strained his ears to hear the faint conversation his captors seemed to be having behind the door. He reached out with his right hand towards the Wand holster strapped to his thigh delicately so as to not overshoot his hand again and accidentally hit himself in the jewels. Unsurprisingly, he found it missing. Of course, whoever kept him here wouldn’t leave him with his wand.
“-my room. He looked so tired I didn’t have the heart to wake him up. Now keep quiet I’ll get you the book.” A muffled voice reached his ears. Ron should wait it out. Whoever was behind the door wouldn’t stay there forever. Hermoine would probably scold him about staying in place and letting them come for him if she were around. But Ron had always hated looking weak in front of anyone friend or foe. It was better to confront them on his own two feet than be seen lying on the floor. Just like Harry, Ron didn't have a lot of patience. Nor did he have his wand his brain pointed out unhelpfully.
But it was not going to stop him from going out there and kicking someone’s arse for stealing his necklace and cutting his hair. And kidnapping him apparently. Oh and for drugging him too.
He let go of the bed and brought himself up to his full height. Damn whatever they gave him must have made him loopy or something. Everything around him seemed to be proportioned for a very tall person. Half giant? Either that or he was shorter than he remembered. Which was impossible considering his not-insignificant height of 6’2.
He waddled towards the door slowly and carefully in order to avoid another fall. He felt vaguely embarrassed for resembling a fucking penguin but there were far more important matters to attend to. Namely his kidnappers outside. Just as he made it to the door, the handle which should be below his waist but somehow was at his chest level, twisted and opened to reveal the scarless face of one Bill Weasley.
Ron’s breath caught in his throat. He stepped back hurriedly coughing and swallowing roughly as he looked up at the face that should not be around anymore. Impossible! It was the drug. He was hallucinating. Bill was dead without any shadow of a doubt. He was dead and Ron had buried his body. So why was he standing there, at the door, instead of having a tea party with Merlin or something?
“Oh! You’re awake already.”
A second head poked inside the room next to the mirage of his eldest brother. At the sight, Ron felt his legs give out from beneath him. Percy! Oh, Merlin, it was Percy. Percy whom Ron had failed. Percy whom Ron had rejected when he tried to make amends. Percy, who had taken his own life when he had no one to turn to. Percy whom Ron had abandoned and killed.
Get your shit together, you idiot! This isn’t Percy.
It’s just some fake apparition his fucked up mind conjured up from a drug.
“Ronnie?” Bill- Fake Bill called out. Alarm evident in the familiar blue orbs that had Ron revolting in horror. Percy entered the room behind the older redhead looking just as alarmed. Not-Bill must have seen something on his face as he crouched down beside him and touched his shoulder.
“Was it a nightmare-”
“WHAT THE HELL! WHAT THE FU-”
Ron skidded backward away from the touch that seemed to burn his shoulder until his back touched the bed. The two men, boys now, before him were dead. There was no way around it. But Not-Bill had touched him. Ron had felt the warmth of his hand through his threadbare shirt. His feet kept moving in a futile attempt to put more distance between him and the ghosts.
“Ronnie, what’s wrong?” Not-Percy asked, looking concerned and alive and everything Percy couldn’t possibly be. But Ron could only stare at the two familiar redheads before him in wonder. Whoever these guys were, they were good. Polyjuice potion? It has been months since their deaths. How did these sick bastards get their hands on his brothers’ bodies? Did they fucking rob their graves?!!
“Who the fuck are you?! How dare you! You think I will fall for whatever you’re trying to pull?! What is this? Some fucked up polyjuice potion?”
Not-Bill seemed to grow pale with each word.
"Percy, go get Mum."
Not-Percy left the room in a hurry. Belatedly, Ron realized that it was Bill’s old room. The only portion of the house that was left intact after the Death Eaters raided it right after Harry’s death.
“MUM! Mum something is wrong with Ron. You need to come up!”
He heard Percy’s voice shout out from the stairs. Not Percy. Bill reached out a hand to his shoulder but Ron flinched violently away from the touch. The older redhead retracted his hand as if burned. His scarless face twisted in confusion just for a moment before the earlier concern came back. Sacrless? Something was wrong. Not-Bill’s eyes sharpened before the older man grabbed his elbow in a gentle but firm grip and hauled him up to his feet.
In an instant, Ron was struggling and cursing up a storm. His feet seemed to have a mind of their own as they flailed around uselessly when he tried to kick his attacker. He couldn’t even stand properly and if Bill wasn’t leading him towards the door Ron wasn’t sure he would be able to stay on his feet. Merlin’s saggy pants! What the hell did these guys give me?
“LET GO! YOU GORMLESS GIT!”
Ron continued to struggle against Bill’s vice-like grip. Somewhere in the back of his mind, he realized that Bill wasn’t supposed to be this tall. He barely came up to Bill’s chest, whereas the last time they’d been seeing eye-to-eye.
“GET YOUR FUCKING HANDS OFF ME, YOU SON OF A-”
“RONALD BILLIUS WEASLEY! How dare you talk to your brother like that! What in the world-”
But Ron had stopped listening. He never thought he would hear that voice again. Mum. He didn’t even dare to look at her. He knew that if he did, he would break. His already barely tethered sanity would take a running leap out of the fucking window. How was she here? There was nothing left of her body to bury. She couldn't possibly be here. Was this real? Was he trapped in some kind of fucked up mind magic? He'd seen something like this before. Ron wasn’t sure he was even breathing. There was a protective arm wrapped around his shoulder. He heard shrill voices followed by the low timbre of Bill’s voice. Ron could barely hear anything over the ringing in his ears much less make out what they were saying.
A familiar scent of old book pages mixed with faint traces of sandalwood invaded his senses. His head was buried in Bill’s jacket as the older man was arguing over his head with his Mum. Mum! Suddenly, it was like a vacuum bubble had popped in his head. Feelings returned to his limbs and he realized that Not-Bill had let go of his arm.
Distantly, he registered Not-Percy blaming the twins for slipping something into his breakfast today. There was shouting from the stairs. Probably the twins shouting their innocence. Ron heard all the commotion but barely processed anything. It was like his War-earned instincts had taken over and his whole body screamed Danger! Run! Get Away!
"You just had a bad dream, that's all Ronnie." Bill smiled down at him. Ron found himself looking around the room for an escape.
He noticed the open window, took his chance, wrenched himself out of the older man’s hold, and dived towards the balcony. He hit his elbow on the window sill bloody son of a-, twisted his ankle at the wooden floor Fuckity Fuck, somehow managed to grab a hold of the railing without faceplanting himself, and had one leg over the edge before anyone could grab him again. Luckily, Bill’s room was on the first floor. It wouldn’t be a bone-shattering fall. Just as he let go of the handrail, an arm snaked around his torso, quick as lightning, and Ron yelped as he was yanked backward.
His head collided with the window frame with a resounding thunk that had him seeing stars. He didn’t have a moment to protest as Bill dragged him back to the room and sat him down on the bed.
“Shite, shite, shite! Are you okay?”
A hand rubbed at the smarting spot on his head. Ron was too dazed to care anymore. It felt like he was fighting a useless battle. Was this some kind of mind Magic? There were ruins designed to retrieve memories in great detail and make the victim relive some moments unwillingly. A skilled Ancient Ruins master could even alter and taint the memories to their bidding. It was the most fundamentally dark and forbidden type of magic. Something that required rituals and sacrifices. But who would put him under such a curse? Was he under some kind of modified Imperius charm? If so, where was his real body? Something must have happened that he couldn't remember. Had he actually gone out drinking? He couldn't remember.
“William!” His mum’s scolding voice rang out.
“He hit his head, Mum!”
A new pair of hands started probing at his head. They were familiar, smaller, and softer than Bill’s. His head was spinning so fast, that Ron felt like he might throw up. He'd been a victim of mind magic before. But he could barely recall anything with clarity afterward. The time spent under Imperius felt hazy and dreamlike. This was different. He'd been talking and recalling everything clearly enough.
“Oh, Dear! He’s burning up. Quickly Percy, Bring me the Pepper up Potion from the kitchen.”
“Mum, He’s delirious! I think he needs more than a Pepper up Potion, we should call in a healer.”
Someone laid him on his side and arranged his noodle limbs into a semi-comfortable position. There were voices speaking above his head but it felt like someone had stuffed his ears with cotton. Unbidden thoughts spun around his head like a raging tornado. Each one making less sense than the last.
“We didn’t do anything, Mum.” Fred was the first of his family to die.
“It was a harmless Volubilis Potion.” George who was supposed to be on a recon mission.
"It was just supposed to change his voice." Fred whose death left his other half broken.
“You stole my potion!” Percy whom Ron had failed
“yOu StOLe mY poTioN shut up, Prefect Percy!” George whom Ron had to drag out of ditches and alleyways just to find him there again the next night.
“Why were you even brewing a sixth-year potion?” Fred, whose death was the catalyst for all of Ron's losses.
“How dare you-” Percy, to whom Ron was guilty the most.
“OUT! Out all of you. I’ll deal with all of you later. Ron needs his rest!” Mum, who was mauled by Greyback until there was no corpse left to bury.
Ron listened to his family's bickering even when he could feel the tendrils of sleep tugging at his mind. His breath eventually evened out. Hopefully, when he woke up, the world would make a little more sense.