Chapter 2
Ron Weasley didn’t get sick. Much. But Bill did remember him getting struck down by Wizard’s sickness, a particularly nasty brand of muggle flu, at nine. Obviously, his youngest brother had not been pleased and had decided to make that everyone else’s problem. It was Christmas break and Bill and Charlie had been home from Hogwarts. Ron had whined throughout the entire thing, lamenting how boring it was to be confined to his bed. Anyone who entered his room had been viciously attacked by puppy blue-eyes demanding company so he wouldn’t be lonely. Surprise! Surprise! Bill had been too weak to resist and eventually caved into the little redheads' demands. He shouldn’t have been shocked when he began to feel terrible and sick by the time Ron was up and bouncing about.
But this time it wasn’t the Wizard’s flu that had left his brother bedridden. Bill was sure. At first, Mum seemed inclined to believe that it was just a common cold. But again, she wasn’t as sensitive to magic as Bill was, and he was sure that something was wrong with Ron’s magical core. His body seemed to be charged with enough magic to power a three-dimensional barrier seal.
It felt chaotic and violent. Like it was one startle away from exploding out in a burst of accidental magic. Like there was too much magic for his body to handle. Where his fever had gone down with the simple Pepper-Up potion, no amount of Vitamix or Wide-eye potion could get him to wake up. Even Rennervate wasn’t working.
Mum had called Dad home early from work on a cusp of panic and they’d both taken his youngest brother to St. Mungo. Charlie was left in charge of his wayward siblings since Bill had to leave for Gringotts. Thankfully, he still had a couple of days before he had to go back to Egypt. As a newbie and the youngest person on the team, Bill’s duties were mostly boiled down to being a glorified courier boy. He’d been tasked to deliver the cursed golden sandals found in Tutankhamun's tomb; to Gringotts.
It was a simple enough task, and on the plus side, he’d get to see his family. What he didn’t expect was the stupendous amount of paperwork that needed to be filled out before checking a cursed item in Gringotts’ Cursed Artifact Reservoir. You did this on purpose, Patricia! What he also didn’t expect, was for Dumbledore to track him down and coax him into accepting the position of DADA professor. With all due respect sir, I am not nearly qualified enough for this position. Seriously, what the hell. The old warlord was probably desperate at this point. Bill would pity him if he wasn’t so busy avoiding a confrontation with his old Headmaster. Speaking of Dumbledore, maybe the grand sorcerer could help figure out what was wrong with Ron’s magic.
Looking at the time, Bill realized he’d just half an hour before he needed to be at the bank. If he left now, he would be able to make a detour to St. Mango and check up on Ron. Mind made, he got dressed quickly and made his way down to the living room. Charlie had taken all of the kids to the backyard to get their minds off of recent events. Bill grabbed a butter-stuffed mini cottage loaf from the kitchen and made his way near the chicken pen where Percy was sitting down with his head buried in the book he’d borrowed this morning.
Honestly, it was a seventh-year ancient ruins book, Magical Hieroglyphs and Logograms by Grilco Wuthering, that the younger boy had no business reading. But again, Bill would be a hypocrite if he scolded Percy for burying himself in the books at the first sign of trouble. None of his other siblings were visible which must mean that Charlie had taken them flying. A quick look at the broom shed revealed the door open which confirmed his theory.
“You’re leaving.” It was more of a statement. Then again, it was Percy, he was allergic to asking stupid questions such as 'Are you leaving?'. His younger brother’s face was contorted in concern and though the boy tried hard to keep a straight face, it did little to conceal the stiffness of his jaw and the hunch in his shoulders.
“Yeah…..What’s wrong? You look troubled.” Besides Bill, Percy had been the only one of his siblings to witness Ron’s meltdown this morning. The pure terror he’d seen in those eyes had chilled Bill’s blood. Even now, it was hard to get the image of Ron’s panic-stricken face out of his head.
“Is… Is Ron going to be alright?”
His studious brother looked so small and unsure that Bill couldn't help but ruffle his carefully styled curly locks to distract him. He received a squawk of indignation and protest as Percy slapped his hand away and started fixing his hair. Bill paid him no mind and pulled him into a one-armed hug. It was as much for his own comfort as it was for Percy’s. Seeing their youngest brother screaming bloody murder in hysterics was a disturbing sight. Bill was sure he’d bruises on his side from where Ron’d punched him to get away.
“Of course, he'll be alright. It's probably just a bad infection. I planned to stop at St. Mungo on my way to work. I'll let you know what the healers say.” He gave a gentle squeeze and let go of the younger redhead before he gave him even more bruises in an effort to get out of the hug. Seriously, why did all of his siblings hate cuddling?
“Very well,” the prefect readjusted his glasses and fixed his hair ”Do give him my regards when wakes up.” He said trying and failing to maintain his posh demeanor. Bill tried not to smile. He really did. The growing scowl on his brother's face told him he wasn’t successful.
“I will. Now, stop worrying, Perce. Ron will be up and causing mischief in no time.” He really hoped so.
Percy didn't deign to answer, just nodded his head, and walked back inside the house. Bill suppressed a sigh. He didn’t know what goes on in his assiduous noggin most of the time. Trying to get Percy to open up was like trying to take shiny things from a Niffler. The boy had no funny bone in his body!
When he joined Hogwarts, the young prefect made it his mission to collect and absorb every piece of knowledge that could propel him beyond the shadows of poverty and the weight of the Weasley family's reputation. His relentless ambition strained his friendship with the twins and the other siblings too, but the twins especially, however, Bill couldn't bring himself to blame Percy for it.
For Bill, as the eldest among six siblings, assuming responsibilities and nurturing paternal instincts seemed to come as second nature. Hence his reputation as a worry wart. Moving to Egypt had felt like cheating his responsibilities as an older brother and he’d have cancelled his plan and applied for a desk job at Grongotts if it were not for Charlie literally smacking some sense into him. With a quaffle.
He shook his head to clear his mind, dispelling stray thoughts, and nodded firmly to realign his focus. He had a little brother to visit and a healer to hound.
Ron woke up from the most bizarre and wacky dream he’d ever had the misfortune of remembering. Honestly, what the fuck? This was even weirder than the time he accidentally drank Chelidonium Miniscula and…. It was better to not recall that specific dream involving exploding bonbons, licorice wands, and a pet Chupacabra named Antonio. Better not think about it. The fecking trauma!
The first thing he noticed was how eerily quiet it was. The second thing he became aware of was how oddly light his body felt. Like he was stung by a swarm of Billywigs. Ron was lying face down on a cold hard floor. Marble? It still felt as if he had been trapped in a bizarre, disorienting dream. He could hardly make sense of the whirlwind of sensations that enveloped him. What happened? The last thing he remembered was going out to drink with Seamus and Naville. Actually, no. He recalled Delphinus delivering a message from the War Council later that night, requesting an emergency meeting. There had been a battle. Yes! Ron was fighting someone. Multiple someones. But he couldn’t remember much else.
It took a moment for his head to stop spinning as he carefully brought himself into a crouch. Better to take stock of his current situation. It wouldn’t do well to be caught unaware. Ron found himself on a marble floor checked with white and black tiles stretching out before him in all directions with no end in sight. What on Avalon is this bloody place? His wand was missing but he wasn’t bound. Small mercies.
The redhead turned around and to his astonishment, came face to face with colossal chess pieces towering over him. Holy shite! The pieces cast long shadows on the floor though Ron couldn’t see any light source. What in Mcgonagal’s erotic dreams is this? Cautiously, he made his way past the white pieces and into the center of the chessboard, taking care to not make any sound. A sense of foreboding crawled up his spine and he suppressed a shiver and shoved down the gnawing panic. Stay calm, Ron. Deep breaths. Hermoine’s voice echoed in his head reminiscent of all the times she had to calm him down from a panic attack.
He wasn’t alone. There was a distinct sensation of someone watching him that had his hair on ends. Ron hadn’t survived this long without trusting his gut. A shuffling sound from behind the black knight caught his attention. Immediately springing into action, Ron deepened his stance, lowering his center of gravity, and stealthily made his way across the board toward the sound making sure to keep at least twenty feet between him and the unknown variable.
That unknown variable happened to be a young boy, no older than twelve, with short red hair and a scrawny frame. The boy’s unnervingly familiar face was set in stubbornness. Though his brows were furrowed and lips contorted in anger, there was a hint of fear and apprehension underlying the tension in his body.
Ron relaxed minutely and slowly approached the weary boy.
“Hello,” Ron did his best to keep his voice light but it didn't seem to work with the way the boy flinched back. Ron wasn't surprised. Most of the kids gave him a wide berth whenever he walked down a busy street. With his black enchanted robes, countless scars that littered his body, and even his face, most of the people found him intimidating. His voice, gruff from the harsh years, and his towering height didn't help matters. Anyone who woke up in an unknown place trapped with a man like him would be apprehensive, let alone a child.
“Hey, hey. Buddy, I am not going to hurt you.” he put his gloved hands out in a placating gesture. “What’s your name? Can you tell me where we are?” The boy seemed to take offense at his tone because his scowl deepened and his long nose scrunched up in distaste.
“Can’t you bloody tell for yourself? Ron!”
What! “How…” the older redhead took a moment to take another look at the boy again. He wore brown simple toujours, too short for his spindly legs, underneath a Chudely Cannons’ t-shirt. A very very familiar Chudely Cannons’ t-shirt. It was a Gordon Horton Christmas edition charmed t-shirt that Charlie bought him for his eleventh birthday. The realization dawned on him with the force of an exploding Erumphet fluid. It was like looking through a mirror. Only, the mirror showed you your past scarless child self. Holy Fucking Shitballs! Nope! Nu unh! This wasn’t happening!
“What’s this? You're ....me?”
Where the hell was he? And how he got here? Delphinus had delivered a message. Ron had called in an emergency meeting. George had come back from the south bearing the news of Dolohov gathering his men at Dufftown. There had been a battle. They were surrounded….and what happened? Think! You dunderhead, Think! As Ron racked his brain, attempting to piece everything together, he could feel the tendrils of a headache slithering into his mind.
“We’re in our head, dipshit. Or rather, you are in my mind.”
“In your mind…?” He let out a low growl of annoyance at the confusing reply. “The hell is that supposed to mean?" Delving deeper into his fractured memories brought up nothing. The headache grew with the subtlety of a gathering storm. Thoughts clashed like thunder, and his memories felt as slippery as flobberworms in a barrel.
“I saw your memories!” There was a quiver in his counterpart’s voice. “ I saw everything! And I know what’s going to happen! Your future has gone to shite so they decided to send you back and change it all!. You came back and you’re going to take everything from me!” the redhead continued to scream and shout making no sense whatsoever.
“What in the world are you blabbering about?” The world around him was made up of hundreds of chess boards as far as the eye could see. Was this his mindscape? Was the little Ron a manifestation of his fucked up subconscious? No. What he said implied something else. Can't just be my subconscious self in here, not when he accused me of invading his mind. Is this some kind of alternate version of himself? “The fuck is going to happen? Who sent me here? You’re not making a lick of sense!”
“You died, you fuckwit!” The Fuck? Ron felt like he was dunked headfirst in the Thames. His mind didn't even register the insult as the horrid reality of everything suddenly started making sense with stark clarity. "I am...dead?" "What?" While he wasn't entirely unprepared, Ron hadn't been one to dwell on thoughts of death and mortality—or engage in anything, particularly deep, for his own sanity for that matter. But being in a war where the chances of kicking the bucket were way up there, he had sort of made peace with the idea. Sort of being the keyword.
“You died, ” little Ron began, his anger subsiding as the red in his face receded. He wiped at tears streaks on his face, looking resigned. "And made a dying wish on your Timeflair Crystal."
“The what?” If he wasn't well and truly knackered from the constant state of bafflement he'd been stuck in, Ron would've felt a pang of sympathy for his younger self and made an effort to offer some comfort. But he'd been through more twists and turns than a Niffler in a jewelry store, and it felt like he'd swallowed a whole cauldron of Confundus Potion. If he had a Galleon for every time he uttered, "What?" he'd probably have enough money to buy a lifetime supply of Extendable Ears.
“Your necklace, it was a crystal made from a busted Time-Turner and The Broken Elder Wand. The mojo from all these things probably turned your necklace into a sort of Timeflair crystal."
Of course, Ron knew what a Timeflair crystal was. A mythical relic believed to have vanished since Merlin's era. Legend had it, if you wished on it, it could propel you through time, into the future, past, or perhaps even alternate dimensions. Most folks, however, dismissed it as pure fantasy, thinking it was just the fairy tale that gave the Ministry the idea for time-turners. Ron, too, figured it was just a load of waffles, until now that is. To say that he was flummoxed would be like saying Gilderoy Lockhart had a modest ego. Was he... Had he somehow traveled back to the past?
"How can you know all of this? If I've somehow ended up in the past, then you must be a younger version of me. So how do you know so much? And..." and there was one more thing that he wanted to ask. Something that was nagging at the back of his mind like a mutter thunderstorm. You came back and you’re going to take everything from me!
“What do you mean I am going to take everything from you?” Amidst the storm of confusion that left Ron's head spinning, both of them had settled down on the tiled floor facing each other.
The smaller redhead let out a small chuckle. It seemed forced with a hint of sadness and melancholy. So out of place on a child’s lips that Ron felt his chest tighten. He'd always loved children, even if most of them ran away from his scarred person. That mournful smile on a child's face pulled at the protective instincts he'd reserved for Victoire and Teddy. Little Ron's face bore a contemplative expression before the boy nodded to himself, seemingly coming to a final conclusion. He looked at Ron with determined blue eyes still carrying the twinge of fear but with doubtless conviction.
“I fell asleep in Bill’s bedroom after breakfast, " he began slowly. "and honestly, I only wanted to escape the chores. I thought I was going to wake up like normal....you know, with Mum scolding my ear off." He shuffled around trying to sit in a more comfortable position. Ron didn't dare urge him to hurry along. There was a persistent itch in the back of his mind. A foreboding feeling that whatever this conversation will lead to, it won't be good. "But I woke up here instead With you sleeping right behind the white knight. And I just knew, for some reason that this was my mind. The air felt completely different, like….I can't explain it but...anyways,”
A restless energy was brewing in his body that left his heart racing and his hands trembling with nerves. ”Out of nowhere, I was seeing these…these memories of the future. I saw myself going to Hogwarts, becoming best buds with Harry Potter and Hermione. I saw you-know-who coming back. And I saw…I watched all of them die. At first, I thought this was just a dream, and that I’d wake up soon. But even when the memories ended, I couldn’t get out of here. I screamed and shouted but nothing worked.”
His counterpart looked down at his small and blemishless hands which, Ron noticed, were trembling slightly, a mocking reflection of Ron's own large calloused hands. With a faint quiver in his voice, the boy continued. With each word, Ron felt his breath quicken.
“When I went to check up on you, your necklace... it was glowing so I had this sudden urge to touch it. But as soon as I did. It... It fractured! And there was this bright light. It was like... it's hard to explain. It was like my magic was telling me that we can’t stay like this. It’s not possible. You remember when Hermoine was talking about paradoxes right?”
Panic, cold and unrelenting, tightened its grip around his chest, each breath coming in shallow gasps.
“Hold on! Hold on!" But little Ron ignored him.
"You have to listen. You need to know. I can feel it...We don't have much time left." There was a small hand on his forearm. The warmth sinking in through his sleeves did little to abate his budding panic. “Only one of us can stay here, in my- this world. We're both the same person. The universe won't allow both of us to exist in the same reality. And because you’ve lived longer than me, it’s inevitable that your soul would take precedence. Your memories and experiences will dominate this mind’s subconscious.”
His heart raced as if attempting to escape the confines of his chest. The telltale feeling of a panic attack came crashing over him like an unforgiving wave, leaving him utterly defenseless.
“ A-and you! W-what will happen to you?”
"My soul will be absorbed by yours. Probably. Or maybe I'll just disappear. Maybe I'll go to the afterlife.....I don't know." Under the onslaught of panic, Ron could see the ragged and erratic breathing of his counterpart. The way the child hugged himself as if to hold his trembling body together. The sight made Ron's blood boil at the unfairness of it all. No child should have to carry the weight of knowing their inevitable demise. Even if said child was his past self. This wasn't fair!
"This...I didn't ask for this! I didn't ask FOR ANY OF THIS! What the fuck!"
Every time he thought he was finally getting a grip on things, some new magical curveball would be thrown his way, leaving him more gobsmacked than a Muggle at a Quidditch match. Time seemed to stretch into an eternity as Ron fought to regain control over his racing thoughts and pounding heart. Little Ron was shaking like a leaf. Like a strong gust of wind would whisk him away. No way Ron was letting that happen. No bloody way he was going to let a child die again.
"There must be another way. Am I supposed to just accept that I am killing a child?!! I should be dead already, isn’t there a way for me to go to the afterlife or whatever? I didn’t plan to travel back in time. There must be a way to save you. There has to be!” There was no way he could accept the death of an innocent child without doing something about it. There must be something. He stood up and paced around to focus his mind away from troubled thoughts. Keep a cool head Weasley! Think! Think! How did you die?
“I don’t know…. it’s probably not possible, you made a dying wish on a Timeflair crystal. No power can overcome that type of ancient magic. Even The Lady of The Lake won't be able to change it.” the younger redhead spoke up as he tried to stand up beside him but swayed dangerously. Ron was quick to grab his elbow.
" We don't know for sure. I can't- won't let you pay for my mistakes."
“ It's alright." No, it's fucking not! "Even if I am to disappear, you’re still me, although maybe, a less cool version.”
“No no no no no! It's not alright." A sudden idea popped into his head. "This is our mind, right? So if I want to conjure something up, it should let me." He closed his eyes extended his hand out and willed a sharp dagger into his palm. A sudden weight in his hand had him closing his fingers around the leather handle on instincts as he opened his eyes.
Perfect!
Without an ounce of hesitation, he brought it down straight to the left of his chest where his heart should be. Please let this work! A small but firm hand wrapped around his wrist in an iron grip stopping the blade just a hairbreth away from piering his chest.
"Stop!! Even if you kill yourself, you'd just wake up in your younger body. It's futile." Ron's insides fell numb at the words. His arms stayed positioned above his chest but his grip on the dagger loosened. Slowly the blade disappeared in a shower of glitters and lights. As if someone had tied his tongue in a knot and shoved a snitch down his throat, he opened his mouth but no sound came out.
Little Ron seemed to sense the change in the atmosphere as he closed the distance between them with a…..hug. The warmth of the hug flooded him with a mix of emotions he couldn't quite put into words. An overwhelming sense of loss encompassed his whole being bringing with it the detestable but familiar feeling of failure, of letting yet another loved one die.
"I didn't get it at first," the younger spoke into his robes. His words echoed in the surreal silence of their shared existence. "But if I have to have my soul merged with yours, I'm glad it will be for something worthwhile. You have a second chance to make things right. You can save our family. You can save Harry and Hermione. And If I have to di- die for it, then so be it."
As he spoke, a soft, radiant glow began to emanate from the seams and folds of the boy, casting a silver blue light, similar to a Patronus, around them. The wind picked up, billowing his robes and tousling their hair. He quickly brought his arms to hug the child back in a tight desperately mournful embrace.
“Wait! Please, just listen. Merlin! This can’t be happening!”
But the world around him started to blur. The giant chess pieces moved along the endless board in utterly nonsensical patterns. The younger Ron was fading away in his arms and there was nothing he could do but clutch him to his chest. Ron kept screaming in a nightmarish mix of horror and confusion but for naught. Little Ron slipped from his fingers in a shower of silver glitters that surrounded him in a brilliant glow before fading away.