Chapter 4
Ron blinked in what could only be described as a lethargic daze and took another wobbly step, almost as if he'd just been enlightened to the fact that he was, in fact, walking. Memories, precious and otherwise, appeared to be playing hide-and-seek in the far corners of his mind, buried under a hazy fog. Thinking felt like he was pushing a Hippogriff uphill, thoughts seeping in at a rate that could rival the most cautious of snails. Where the bloody hell was he going? How had he gotten here? But the questions couldn't be arsed to pique his curiosity as he continued walking.
Beneath his next step, he crushed a red bloom. Baneberry, perhaps? He wasn't exactly the resident herbologist, but the squishing sensation underfoot wasn't quite in line with the usual standards for floral interactions. Which usually involved them trying to strangle me to death or walloping my arse to Avalon. He thought, bemused. Flowers shouldn't squish like that. Maybe it was the Witch’s Ganglion. Those were nasty. When he raised his bare foot, something thick and sticky clung to him, oozing between his toes. It elicited a disgusted wrinkle of his nose. The sensation was thoroughly unpleasant, shattering the fog that had enveloped his thoughts like a rogue Bludger on a Quidditch pitch. He halted, glancing around in bewilderment.
Ron found himself in a field, surrounded by strange red, possibly-Baneberries, and unmistakably black roses stretching as far as the eye could discern. The flowers reached up to his knees, their bright red petals forming a relentless sea of crimson and black, extending as far as his eyes could see. The crimson and black stretch continued without a break as if the world had been consumed by these colors.
His legs felt stiff and weightless at the same time. Like he’d been walking for days without rest. But there was no disturbance in the field of flowers that could mark the direction he came from. Except for the crushed Baneberry (or Witch’s Ganglion) beneath his feet. A scent of rot reached his delicate nostrils, and Ron rushed to cover his nose. The whole scenery was disconcerting. Like it was missing something. An unfinished potion missing that one crucial ingredient.
The sky was stark blue he looked around in the direction of the sun and found to his horror, the sky empty of the celestial bodies. No clouds, no Sun, and not even a moon. The blue stretched out across the sky like someone had painted the canvas blue but forgot to add details. He reeled back in shock but winced at the sudden sting on his ankle. Those thorny, twisted vines adorning the black roses had decided that his foot made for a fascinating accessory. The odor was so rancid that when Ron bent down to tear the thorny menace away, he took care not to breathe too deeply.
As soon as he bent down another thorned step struck like a Devil’s snare and wrapped around his scared wrist. What the Fuck! The thorns from the stem pulled painfully at his skin, drawing out blood from the small cuts. “Ow.”
Ron yanked his hand, tugging it and his ankle free but not without deepening the wounds. He yelped as another one shot out from the ground, faster than a devil’s snare and wrapped around his other foot. The more he moved the more the sharp vines and stems seemed to ripple and sway. The noxious blend of rot and death, a scent all too familiar to him, taunted his nose. The redhead only refrained from covering his nose because he was too busy trying to avoid the baneberry vines.
Distantly, his mind drew parallels between the sea of red flowers and the river of blood that he was lying on when he’d died. Not the time! In his struggle, he crushed the flowers underneath his feet with a sickening squelch, staining his pale skin and white robes. Wait! White? White robes, that he was reasonably certain had never graced his wardrobe in this lifetime.
More and more plants started to lash out at him. A squished Baneberry here and a torn black rose there. For every vine, he snapped there were two more ready to take its place. There was no landmark or tree or building in sight where he could take refuge. There was no sun to indicate any direction. Are those clouds? Dark, ominous clouds loomed far away on the horizon, towards his left. They seemed to draw nearer with every passing moment, moving like an impending storm. An unsettling sensation sent shivers down Ron's spine. The clouds were bad news. With a growing sense of unease, he wasted no time, turning on his heels and sprinting in the opposite direction.
The thorn cut and flayed at his legs that if the ground wasn’t covered in red gooey flower sauce, he’d be worried about leaving a bloody trail. Leaving a trail for whom? The clouds? Where could he go? The air, carrying the scent of death and decay, tore past his thin figure blowing his long crimson hair into his eyes. He didn’t have his wand. The more he ran, the farther the horizon got. He swerved his neck around, despite knowing that it was a bad idea, to look for any break that could get his feet off this Merlin-damned garden and hide him from the clouds. He needed to hide from the clouds. Finding nothing and becoming increasingly lethargic– if he remembered correctly, baneberry was poisonous– he gritted his teeth and doubled his efforts to run faster. Or at least tried to.
One of the stray roots managed to wrap around his ankle and try as he might he couldn’t find any purchase to stop his descent and fell face first in the field. Ron felt like his heart had floated to his throat his breath being knocked from his lungs. Without wasting time he managed to get on his knees but the choking grip of these plants had already managed a firm foothold on his calves and thighs.
Desperation crept in as he reached out to pry the relentless plants from his legs, but the moment his hand came into contact, a searing pain lanced through him. Panic gripped him as he realized thick roots had coiled around one of his wrists, forming a grim knot as blood dripped onto the soil below. The situation had rapidly shifted from unnerving to downright terrifying. But Ron Weasley had never been accused of lacking courage- maybe once or twice- He growled, his voice shaking with an irrational fear, and used his free hand to claw and rip at the relentless plants, desperately trying to break free.
The air suddenly shuddered violently and Ron knew his time was up. The clouds were on him. He let out a guttural grunt, beads of sweat forming on his furrowed brow as he summoned every ounce of his strength to break free. The roots were creeping closer, stealthily snaking their way around his waist. A shadow loomed over him and Ron’s breath froze in his lungs, and a shiver ran down his spine. The hair on the nape of his neck stood on end. His eyes welled up in pain when the vines became impossibly tight against his wrist, and yanked him into a kneel. A pitiful whimper escaped his lips as he continued to battle against the relentless flowers that threatened to suffocate him. He needed to keep them away from his face and neck.
Suddenly, there was a snapping sound that seemed to echo from behind him. The redhead froze, A wave of nausea washed over him as the putrid scent of decay hung heavily in the air, even reaching the taste buds on his tongue. Another wet crunch, this time much closer, sent Ron's heart into a frenzy. An instinctual terror held him rooted in place, hyper-aware yet completely immobilized. A hunted rabbit in the presence of a wolf. Not even the slight tightening of the roots around his wrists could divert his attention, as yet another squelchy crunch echoed nearby. This one was dangerously close.
His breath stuttered, terror gripping his chest as he strained his ears to detect any sign of movement behind him. A shiver rattled his body as an eerie warmth brushed against the nape of his neck, a gentle caress of his hair, once, twice. Every instinct screamed at him that he was in Danger, with a capital D. Immobile and devoid of viable options, he remained rooted to the spot. His breaths came quicker, and thoughts raced through his mind, his entire frame trembling as a warm, viscous liquid began to ooze through his hair and trickle down the back of his neck. He couldn’t stifle a whimper.
The tender touch glided down from his hair, tracing the curve of his jaw before coming to rest on the vulnerable skin of his neck. Ron's gaze remained fixed on the ground as droplets of blood trickled down, splattering onto the earth beside his face. A warm break tickled his ears smelling of death.
“Shhhhhhhhh.”
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Ron jolted awake, gasping for breath and clutching his throat, panic surging through him like a bolt of lightning. Uncontrollable shivers wracked his body, turning his limbs into quivering jelly, and beads of sweat rolled down his forehead, soaking the pillow beneath him. His stomach twisted and churned dangerously, and he was familiar enough with the feeling to waste no time in turning his head and vomiting into the basket. Only there was no basket and the tent looked suspiciously clean. His stomach must be empty because he gagged for a good minute but nothing came out.
The choking sound from his throat was suspiciously high-pitched. It took several quivering breaths for Ron to regain some semblance of control over his racing heart and trembling body. The same dream…again! What does it even mean? As his senses slowly returned, he glanced around, realizing that the sterile white surroundings were not the familiar tent he'd expected. The harsh overhead lighting and sterile hospital scent hit him like a quaffle and almost had him gagging over the side of his bed again.
Dolohov’s cruel laughter rang through his mind. Haunting music to his funeral. Stormy grey eyes of his former classmate looking at him with contempt. I am dead! I died. The red-haired and tear-streaked face of his counterpart disappearing in the shower of silver light like a mockery of a Patronus. HOLY SHITE! No! This can’t be! A fresh bout of panic surged when he remembered everything— he'd somehow traveled back in time. Impossible!
Yet as he looked down at his small, scarless hands, a sinking realization settled over him. I really am in the past? The guilt and fear gnawed at him, making it impossible to stay in bed any longer. With a frantic burst of energy, Ron managed to swing his legs over the side of the bed and pushed himself to his unsteady feet. The room spun around him, and dizziness threatened to send him tumbling to the ground. He clung desperately to the side of the bed for support, his knuckles white.
The sound of footsteps cut through the fog of panic threatening to consume him. A familiar magic touched the end of his senses, it was Bill.
Bill strolled through the cool morning air, the cobblestone streets of London were still bathed in the gentle blues of dawn's light. He could've used the Floo or had the option to Apparate directly to St. Mungo's Hospital, but with the night spent in the dark and humid dungeons of Gringotts, his body needed some fresh air to clear his head. The rhythmic sound of his footsteps on the wet pavement did help to settle his nerves.
There was a reason he never liked a safe desk job at Gringotts. The initial mandatory two months he’d spent there with a bloody Goblin breathing down his neck had been the worst time of his career. The inner infrastructure of the Wizarding Bank was not built for humans to spend so much time in there. The general atmosphere was….off. He really couldn’t put a finger on it but working inside the bank building for a long time always left him with a budding migraine and queasy stomach.
It had been an excruciatingly long night, and depending on the situation with Ron, he would be in for a tiring day as well. While he'd been close with all of his siblings, Ron in particular had always grabbed more of his attention than the rest. Maybe it was because out of all of them, his youngest brother looked like him the most. Or the fact that Ron might be the only one out of his siblings that he could relate to the most. But the younger redhead never had Bill’s self-assured nature that came with being the eldest of seven kids.
From the time Ron was born, his mother's attention was grabbed by his demons of twin brothers lest they accidentally killed themselves, or their brothers, or blow up the house, or all of the above really. Their mum's “what’s good for one is good for all” philosophy didn’t take into account that Ron might have needed more support than his brothers and even sister.
Now, as the eldest, he couldn't help but feel responsible for what was happening to his younger brother. Approaching the entrance of St. Mungo's, he suppressed a yawn. Not wanting to appear too fatigued he fixed his hair in the window reflection of Purge and Dowse Ltd. but his eyes betrayed the trouble he carried.
Not wanting to look at the bruise under his eyes, he quickly asked the dummy for entrance which he was granted swiftly. Ron had been a vibrant and confidant, young boy with an indomitable spirit. But lately, it was as if the light in his brother had dimmed. The freckle-faced, red-haired boy who dreamed of becoming a Quidditch star and a hero seemed to have become meek, a shadow of his former self.
And Bill had been blinded by his ambition to notice how his family was starting to fall apart. How the insults and banter were more bitter and cruel than friendly. How the rift between Ginny and Ron had grown bigger. How bitter the twins had become of Mum. How Mum in her unmoving support of Percy had unintentionally singled him out from the rest of them. How Charlie would prefer to spend most of his day outside than in the presence of his family.
As he walked, Bill couldn't help but wonder how it had come to this. Why had he allowed himself to be so absorbed in his studies and then his work at Gringotts? It was as if he had been so focused on the treasures buried deep within the earth that he had neglected the treasures of his own family. Approaching the receptionist's desk, he couldn’t help but wonder if Ron hadn’t fallen ill, would he have noticed how frayed around the edge they were?
"Good morning," he greeted the receptionist, his voice tight. "I'm here to see my brother, Ron Weasley. The receptionist, an elderly witch with neatly braided hair and glasses looked up from her paperwork.
"Of course, let me check that for you." She scanned her records and said, "Yes, he's been transferred to the normal wards. His room number is 21-C on the third floor."
Bill thanked the receptionist for her assistance, and with a brief nod, he turned and made his way toward the hospital's elevators. The news that Ron had been moved to the normal wards wasn't exactly reassuring, but it was a step in the right direction. At least it meant there was some improvement in his condition.
When the elevator arrived, Bill stepped inside and pressed the button for the third floor. The ride up was quiet, save for the soft hum of magic and the faint muffled conversations of hospital staff and patients. The familiar scent of antiseptic and potions filled the air. It didn’t take long to find the room. He prepared to open the door quietly, out of nothing but proprietary, but to his shock, the door swung open revealing his youngest brother.
Bill gasped at the sight, the little redhead’s hair was falling loosely around his face, and his blue normally shining eyes were dull. So dull and cold that Bill almost recoiled physically, but somehow, he stood his ground. He looked skinnier than the last time which shouldn’t have been possible considering the last time he saw his brothers was not even twenty-four hours ago. His wrists were too thin and his cheeks were sunken in. The deep almost completely black bags under his eyes didn´t make matters any better.
He looked like he’d aged a decade in a single night which was absurd to even think about. Ron pursed his lips ever so slightly and he could see the way his pupils were small as pins as they locked onto Bill with an emotion too complex to be described with a single word.
The older man pushed himself to move. His hand reached out towards his brother but pulled back when Ron flinched violently. The little redhead's shoulder jerked, and he stared at the hand as if he might bite it off.
Bill gulped. “Ronnie, are you okay?” Which in hindsight, was a dumb question to ask seeing as how not okay the boy was. The air was feeling dry and drained, heavy with something that made his heartbeat quicken. Healer! He needed to call in a healer. But first, he must get Ron in bed. He gently pushed him inside the empty room and closed the door behind him.
“Bill…?”
Merlin! His voice was rough. As if he’d been screaming.
“Yeah…oomph!”
He staggered as a too-light body crashed into him. Small, slender arms wrapped around his waist, and Ron buried his face in Bill's stomach as if he were attempting to smother himself. Bill spluttered but held on as if for dear life, just as Ron was.
This did little to soothe his concerns. His youngest brother wasn't usually so clingy, not like this. Bill held back a gasp as he felt the small body in his arms start to shake. Intense shudders wracked Ron's frame as if the young redhead were scared. Terrified of something. Something that Bill couldn't shield him from.
“Ronnie? Hey, what´s wrong?” His tone was soft, softer than what it usually was. Anything to make the child in his arms calm down for now. He wanted, no he needed Ron to please, please stop trembling.
“I´m sorry. I´m sorry, Shite! I´m sorry. I´m so sorry, please, forgive me. Bill, I didn´t mean to, I´m sorry!”
Ron was now openly sobbing in his arms, on the verge of collapsing. Apologies poured out of him in a jumbled, repetitive mantra, as though he believed he had committed something so unforgivable that seeking forgiveness was the only way to keep going.
His body began to sag, despite Bill's efforts to support him. Ron continued muttering apologies, repeating them over and over, each utterance accompanied by a tighter grip on Bill's jacket and more pronounced tremors. Bill gradually lowered to the floor, letting Ron release his hold on him.
“What are you sorry for? What happened, Ron?”
There was no answer. There was nothing that would provide Bill with a starting point to initiate a conversation with his brother and somehow soothe him.
“Please, Billy. Please!”
Bill blinked, swallowing hard. He felt a lump form in his throat at the use of his old nickname.
“Please what? What do you need, Ron?”
Then came a gasp, followed by a gut-wrenching sob. The sound was horrible. Bill felt as though someone had seized his heart and was wrenching it out with all their strength, pulling even harder with each of Ron's louder sobs.
"I'm sorry, I'll do anything, just stop it!"
Before Bill could even begin to comprehend what Ron meant—stop what? Was he in pain? Why was he suffering? What had happened?—his brother’s body went slack in his arms, all of the boy's strength draining away.
A nurse barged into the room, hair frizzing out of her bun and huffing and puffing like a hound was on her tail. She had standard white robes, wrinkled and stained, probably a night staff, and at the end of her shift.
“Is the patient awake?” Her voice was hoarse. The white streaks visible from the auburn hair. Bill just nodded at her, not trusting his voice. He gently shifted the boy in his arms into a comfortable position as the nurse hurried out of the room. She came back a minute later with another nurse, a male in his mid-twenties, and a Healer. Middle-aged female with platinum blonde hair in a ponytail.
They quickly took Ron from his arms and settled him on the bed. Bill could see his eyes were slightly open though unseeing. The sight was unsettling enough to get him into action. He explained the situation to the Healer, Evergleam, in a subdued tone and she nodded along.
“Mr. Weasley.” She snapped a finger in front of Ron’s face. Her delicate features remained impassive when Ron didn’t so much as blink at her voice. Bill had situated himself in a corner to not get in the way. The healer continued pocking and probing at Ron. She did something with her wand that had Ron grunting in pain.
“Low sugar. Miss Abbasi pass me the Pepper Up potion.” The frantic nurse with auburn hair compiled instantly. He watched as she practically shoved the potion down his brother’s throat. “He’s stable. Remarkably so.” Evergleam’s voice was light. It eased his nerves enough for his brain to function properly.
“He had a meltdown as soon as he woke. What the hel-What happened? I’ve never seen him like this before. When I got to him, he looked so-” Bill didn’t have any words to describe the state he found his brother in. There was a haunting quality to his eyes that sent chills down his spine.
"Ronald’s quite weak, having gone without food for the entire day, which led to his low sugar levels and ultimately the fainting episode.” She didn’t seem too worried so that was a plus. “I will provide a detailed explanation once your parents arrive at the hospital.”
“If you’d please fetch them. I need to retrieve my department head, Consultant Aurelius Thorne.” Evergleam’s tone was a blend of authority and a touch of relief. If he wasn’t so worried he’d be annoyed at being ordered around.
As it was Bill nodded quickly and rushed out of the room. He recognized the name from last night. Thorne had been a Head Prefect from Slytherin in Bill’s third year in Hogwarts. The only Slytherin Head Prefect who’d been decent enough to not incur resentment from Gryffindore's house in his time. The redhead shook his head to rid it of stray thoughts. He approached the Floo fireplace finding a quiet spot in the hospital corridor, and threw a handful of Floo powder into the flames. The flames turned green, and Bill called out, "The Burrow!"
In a moment, he was connected to the fireplace at the Burrow, and Percy's face appeared in the flames. "Bill!”Percy’s voice broke in shock. “what's going on? Why are you at the hospital?"
"Percy,” He wasn’t surprised to see that Percy would be the only one awake this early in the morning. “ Are Mum and Dad awake yet?” He didn’t bother to answer the last question. Percy took it in stride.
”Most probably. They would’ve been alerted when you activated the Floo. Is Ron okay?”
“Yeah. He’s alright.” Bill fought to keep his voice patient. A thousand questions reflected from Percy’s eye through the ablaze face but his studious brother refrained from saying anything, nodding his understanding.
“Get Mum and Dad to the hospital as soon as you can.” With that Bill cut off the connection and practically ran back to Ron’s room.
Ron cringed at his momentary loss of control. What the fuck is wrong with me? Currently, he was decidedly ignoring everything and everyone around him. If he didn’t, he’d go insane. Bill was sitting near his bed and Ron could practically feel the worry radiating off of his brother. The familiar presence of his warmth was enough to drive him to the brink of insanity once more.
“His vitals are normal.” The male nurse was telling Bill. Ron could feel the cogs turning in his brain and could so clearly imagine his furrowed eyebrows and the way the scar on his face scrunched up from thinking too hard about something. He doesn’t have a scar anymore. The thought almost made him laugh but he stopped himself lest Bill thought he’d lost his marbles. Well, Bill probably thought he'd misplaced a few, given the glorious breakdown.
“There´s no need to worry, Mr. Weasley.” Ron could tell that Bill was annoyed with the nurse from the way he kept exhaling loudly from his nose. The young redhead hadn’t dared to look up from his hands small, soft, all wrong but he could tell Bill would have the ‘look’ on his face – the one that makes people seriously reconsider their life choices. The nurse, sensing that a fiery doom awaited if he lingered, scurried away faster than a Blast-Ended Skrewt on a hotplate.
Bill could be downright scary when his mama bear instincts were triggered. Bill's usual easygoing demeanor gave way to a fierce and intense aura that could be downright intimidating. Ron had witnessed it multiple times in the last two years.
“Ronnie.” The younger redhead was not used to being called so gently. With the way his shoulders were hunched up, Ron was sure he looked like a bloody turtle. He hoped Bill didn’t mention the incident where he threw himself all over the older boy, so he could pretend that he didn´t remember because he had been so out of it, maybe his brother would eventually forget. Fat chance. Bill was about as likely to let it go as he was to start tap-dancing with a hippogriff.
The room was silent, save for the annoying beep here and there and the constant ticking noise from the clock. The momentary shock had somewhat subsided (or unhealthily suppressed). His brain was too tired to process the extent of the changes that had happened in the past twenty-four hours. Unhealthy as it might be, Ron couldn’t deal with all of it without going insane so might as well suppress every confusing thought until he had a chance to deal with them in privacy.
His older brother was as speechless as Ron felt. He hadn’t said anything besides his name. Not that Ron had given any indication of having heard him, but he didn’t know how to respond. He had no idea what had happened for his family to admit him to St. Mungo. His instincts were telling him that telling anyone about the whole time-travel business was a Bad Idea. Especially since he didn't completely understand the situation himself. At best, it could earn him a free admission to the Permanent spell damage ward. Ron didn’t even want to imagine the worst.
He shuddered just thinking about it. Bill immediately went to grab his shoulder. Ron just about gave him a shiner at the sudden movement but controlled his reflex. The warmth of Bill's hand on his shoulder and the rhythmic patting on his back did manage to coax some tension from his hunched shoulders.
“Relax Ron. You know you can tell me anything right?” Bill's voice was gentle, and it held a reassuring tone that tugged at Ron's heartstrings.
He had no idea how to respond. He couldn’t exactly say " Oh sure, Bill. I think I have just traveled more than a decade into the past. I have seen all of you die, and have actually died myself. Oh, did I mention? I killed your actual little brother while I was at it so kudos to that, mate .”
He barely managed to nod before the door to his room opened. His parents, not his, they were dead! Entered with two unknown healers. Bill was on his feet within seconds. Molly came rushing to his side. Ron only looked up from his lap because his instinct screamed at him to keep the strangers in sight. His mother looked tired and worn but decades younger than he’d last seen her. Now that he had a partially clear mind, seeing both Bill and his mother was... a lot.
Her eyes looked at Ron with a sort of kindness, that he once again started to feel like throwing up. He had been angry at her for a long time. Until right before her death, when she’d slowly started to get better. When she’d come out of whatever nightmares had trapped her and acknowledged his existence. She’d chime in with a nod or shake of her head here and there. But she was never truly there. Never got to be there.
Ron sucked in sharply. He didn’t need to go down that memory lane again. He hadn’t realized that he was holding his breath until it was forced out of him by his Mum not my Mum’s tight embrace.
"Ron! Oh, dear Merlin, Ron! Are you alright, sweetheart?" Her voice quivered with relief. Ron clenched his fists tightly and hid them beneath the sheets to stop himself from clinging to her just as tightly. He’d already had an epic breakdown in Bill’s arms. He wasn’t keen on having another one. Not that he could move with how tight she was hugging him.
"Ron, you gave us such a scare," she continued squeezing even tighter, Ron was sure he’d pass out any second. His face must’ve been a bit blue because his father’s very concerned gaze landed on him and he quickly came beside his bed to try and break Molly away.
"Mum, let's not overwhelm him," Bill was already at his side and placed a hand on Molly’s shoulder. Mum turned her attention to Bill, her frustration starting to bubble up.
"Overwhelm him? Bill, he's our son and your brother! We need to know he's all right!"
Ron suppressed a wince at the ear lashing. Bill must’ve had balls of steel. The man barely blinked at her calmly tilting his head to the side like a fox and not backing down. Dad, bless him, stepped forward, trying to mediate between his wife and his older son. "Molly, Bill is right. Let's not bombard him with questions and fussing. Ron looks a bit worn out, and we should give him some space."
Her eyes darted between Bill and Arthur, and Ron was pretty sure Bill was rolling his eyes internally, Mum's frustration was practically jumping off the charts. "You both act like I'm the unreasonable one here. I'm his mother, for Merlin's sake!"
While Mum fussed over him and Bill and Dad fussed over her fussing over him, what the fuck, Ron’s attention went to the two healers standing awkwardly by the door. The woman with silver hair appeared slightly older than her black-haired companion, and they both had a youthful appearance. They were both pretending to be busy looking over their notes, giving the family some semblance of privacy. Ron could see the male healer holding his notes upside down.
He seemed to have felt Ron's gaze as he looked up. He gave Ron a subtle nod before clearing his throat loudly. The effect was immediate as all three of the older redheads fell quiet.
"Mr. and Mrs. Weasley, I understand your concerns, but if I may, we'd like to ask young Ronald a few questions.”
Where Dad and Bill nodded their consent “Of course.” Mum’s anger flared up, protesting vehemently. “No! You can't just start ‘questioning’ him like this! Look at the state of him! He needs rest. The questions can wait.”
Ron would very much like to get this all over with so he can deal with the whole time travel business. Maybe he could meditate or something to slip back into his 'mindscape' and try to find his 'younger self' and demand some answers. Because he couldn’t have just disappeared, right? If they both were essentially the same person the younger Ron might still be in there somewhere. "But you saw him disappear. Ronald. You felt him die." A small voice at the back of his mind sounding suspiciously like Hermione’s reminded him.
The two healers exchanged a glance before turning to face Mum. A look passed between the two that Ron couldn’t decipher before the black-haired man stepped forward. “Mrs. Weasley, we just need to get Ron's side of the story. The earlier we can do that, the better. Young Ronald can tell us himself if he feels tired.“ He gave Ron a slight smile which he almost instinctively, tried to return, as his younger self might have done. But almost immediately, he wanted to frown again. Smiling felt strange, foreign as if it were a half-remembered dream. It had been a long time since he had smiled so freely.
Healer Evergleam added, “Mrs. Weasley. We'll ensure that he gets the rest he needs. But gathering his recollection of events is crucial for his treatment and our understanding of the situation."
What situation? He mused silently. How long had he been out of it for them to bring him to St. Mungo anyway? Dad took the moment to place a comforting hand on his wife's shoulder. "Molly, dear, they're professionals, and they know what they're doing. Ron will be okay."
Finally, Mum conceded, although still looking troubled. He was feeling out of sorts, not knowing what was actually going on and hoping that someone would start talking before he could reveal something that really shouldn’t be let out of the bag. For example, traveling to the bloody past!
The room fell into silence and the medics waited in case anyone else had any objections. Realizing that the mama bear was placated, for now, consultant Thorne turned to him and leaned in, his eyes scrutinizing Ron with an intensity that made him uncomfortable. "How are you feeling today?"
It was like the man could see right through him. Which was unnerving considering that Ron didn’t even know what he was supposed to say to that. How would his younger self respond? He would probably scowl and say something dumb or embarrassing. As it was he managed the slightest of nodes. The healers exchanged a glance, and Ron couldn't help but feel a pang of unease.
Mum took one of his hands into her own. Rone barely managed to suppress a flinch. From his peripheral, he could see Bill looking at him like Snape looked at a particularly interesting potion. The adults seemed to mistake his silence for nervousness because this time Healer Evergleam lifted his chin and spoke in a very soft tone.
"You’re not in any trouble, Ronald. I know you must be confused. Do you remember anything about why you’re here?" Mum’s hand, now bigger than his but not for long, tightened.
“No.” His voice was barely above a whisper, scratchy and breathy like he hadn’t had water in a few days. Which, while not an unfamiliar feeling, wasn’t true. The kind-eyed nurse had forced down a cup just minutes ago. The youngest redhead still had to lick his lips from how dry they felt.
“You were brought here yesterday when you collapsed. Your brothers’ diagnostic spell revealed an unnatural amount of magical influx, especially around the magical nodes in the upper region of your body.”
For a moment, Ron felt his blood ice in his veins. Is it because my magic and memories from before came back too? Did they find out the reason?! Do they know I am not their Ron Weasley? The way she was talking, Ron would’ve thought it was a daily occurrence or something. Thorne must’ve seen the alarm on his face because he quickly interrupted Evergleam, who was going on about the manifestation of Spiritual magic or whatshit.
Ron was not unfamiliar with the term but he’d never had any interest in the medical jargon. At least not in the way Draco was obsessed with it.
“It is nothing to be alarmed over, Ronald.” He felt his eye twitch at the use of his full name. Only Hermione and Mum called him that. “Call me Ron.” He said out loud before his brain could catch up. He only just managed to stop himself from face-palming at his own stupidity. An eleven-year-old does not order around strangers in an unfamiliar environment. At least eleven-year-old Ron didn’t.
The black-haired man took it in stride but the way Bill and Dad were looking at him made him want to jump out of the window. Again!
“Ron, do you know anything about Arcana?”
“Yeah…” He nodded his head again without thinking. Fucking hell! This time he did a facepalm. Hard. The sound echoed around the room loud enough for Dad to jump at the sound. Mum let out a shrill noise and clenched both of his hands into hers. Bill looked downright deranged with the way the gears were turning in his head.
Of all the magical abilities to be born with, Ron had had the fucking honor of being born with a foot in his mouth!
“You seemed surprised. Don’t worry, it is perfectly normal for you to know some things that you don’t remember learning.” WHAT? Evergleam turned towards Thorne with an excited look in her eyes. It was the first time she’d been this emote since she started talking. Mum's grip on his hands was downright painful at this point and he discreetly tried to tug them free, which was a nigh point seeing as she didn’t even notice his pitiful attempt at escape.
“It must be scary but that’s exactly why we’re here. When your parents brought you here the diagnostic department did some routine tests. They’ve found that your body experienced what, in medical terms, is known as Arcana Manifestation. Spiritual Arcana to be exact.” They think that I have some sort of ability or something.
Which he didn’t, mind you. Ron was sure he looked like a bloody goldfish. Bill gently pushed his chin up to close his mouth. Everegleam looked so amused that Ron had to bite his lips to keep from snapping at her.
“What?” He mouthed stupidly instead. Dad put a heavy hand on his head. Consultant Thorne chimed in, picking up where Healer Evergleam left off.“The healers did some tests and found out that you’ve developed a powerful ability linked to mind magic. That's why we need your help to remember what happened to determine the exact nature of your powers.” It took a moment of awkward silence for Ron to realize he was supposed to say anything.
“Um…” he licked his dry lips.” I don’t know… I just remember..falling asleep in Bill’s room and….” What was he supposed to say here? The way the occupants of the room were looking at him was so intense Ron thought they might simultaneously combust.
All that talk about Arcanna and the manifestation of spiritual magic had his head spinning. He wished Hermione was here. She was much better suited for this type of shit. Heck, even Harry, whose middle name was Act First Ask Never, could make all of this work somehow with his extraordinarily convenient bouts of luck that came with being the boy-who-lived-twice.
His eyes fell on the door. The redhead wished someone would come and interrupt the meeting so he didn’t have to answer. Mum, bless her, took his silence as a sign that they needed to stop the questioning. “Alright! That’s enough. You don’t have to answer, sweetheart.” She leaned in, wrapping her arms around Ron, holding him close as if to shield him. Ron would’ve appreciated the gesture if he wasn’t too busy being suffocated in her bosom. EWW.
“Look at the state of him. I think that is enough for now. You can bother him in the evening.”
Ron would very much not like to be bothered in the evening. Thank you. He needed to say something to satisfy their curiosity. Otherwise, they wouldn't leave him alone. At least Bill wouldn't. If he were an adult, maybe, but as a child, Bill’s mama bear instincts simply wouldn't allow him to rest until he got to the crux of the matter. It might be a good thing that the older redhead would be leaving in a couple of days.
Wait a bloody minute! How do I know that? Now that he thought about it, he could recall the memories of his younger self clearly. I’ll figure it out later. The healers looked ready to give up on ‘questioning’ him. He had to say something fast. But what? The cogs in his mind started turning. Ron was sure if he were a muggle engine, his head would be steaming with how fast ideas popped up and were shot down in his head. Time seemed to slow down and a hush fell around the room. The occupants in the room frozen in midmotion.
They said something about mind magic. Mind Magic! He needed to remember what kinds of mind mages there were. If they thought he had some sort of spiritual abilities he must choose one and run with it.
What could be an ability that could give him credibility and at the same time take suspicion off of his knowledge of the future? Mediums? He could say he had a connection with a spiritual being. He shot the idea down as soon as he thought it. I don’t have that kind of lying skills. Besides a good working Sneaoscope would give him away in a matter of seconds. Empath? With an emotional range of a teaspoon in Hermione’s lovely words, very unlikely. Diviner? An image of a disheveled Trelawny surrounded by crystal balls, tea leaves, and cards had him shuddering with revolt. Nope not gonna go there .
What next? Seer? Can he really pull that off? Seers were rare. Rarer than a basilisk's tear during a lunar eclipse. There hadn’t been a proper seer for centuries. On the plus side, no one really knows the extent of a Seer’s powers. He could literally pull stuff outta his arse and so one would bat an eye.
The cherry on top, the last seer had been an ancestor to the Prewett line. Now, The the fuck do I pull it off? What do I tell them?
“Ron!”
Reality seemed to slam him back into the present with the force of a raging hippogryph. The sound rushed back into his ears with a pop of a vacuum bubble. A sharp spike of pain had him wincing and reaching out to his head. It made him realize that Mum still had a very much death grip on his hands.
“It’s fine, Mum. you’re hurting my hands.” Mum let go as if she’d been burned and Ron felt a twinge of guilt at causing her distress. “I remember….something,” the redhead turned towards the healers. He had to appear as a genuinely traumatized eleven-year-old boy. “It was dark and there were lots of spells flying around.” What else? What can he say that wouldn’t give anything away and at the same time give them enough information to conclude that he was a seer?
“It felt so real. I thought I was actually there,” because I was. He fidgeted with the blanket and let his gaze wander to a distant corner of the room. Bill sucked in a sharp breath and from his peripheral he could see the healers leaning forward in interest. “There was a big battle, I couldn't quite focus. But I remember the fear and the panic.” The two healers gave each other a knowing glance. Evergleam put a gentle hand on his shoulder.
“Do you remember anyone’s face? Can you recall anything else about what you saw?”
“Faces were blurry, hazy even. I just….I knew they were my friends from Hogwarts. Which is, like, super weird because I’ven’t even started yet.” There . Hopefully, it’s enough for them to deem him a Seer.
Ron let his eyes flicker between Dad, Bill, and Mum, who wore expressions that seemed to dance between concern and fascination, and fear.
“All symptoms point towards it, Elara. There’s no doubt about it.” The healers were whispering, quite loudly, to each other. Evergleam nodded her head, her brows knitted together.
“It would seem so, Sir. But that would mean…”
“Something big is coming.” Bill chimed in. Thorne gave him an appreciative look and nodded gravely. The air hung heavy with unspoken tension. Ron felt like he was watching a muggle movie play out.
“Can someone explain what we’ve found or are going to keep us guessing?” Dad sounded impatient and worn out. Bill winced and rubbed the back of his head sheepishly.
“They think he’d a Seer.”
“What…” Dad whisper cracked.
“WHAT!?” Mum's outcry pierced the room.
“The Fuck!” Ron, feeling the need to add more drama, contributed and earned a reproachful look from his mother and an amused glance from Bill.
“Seers rarely arise during peaceful times.” This was the most serious Ron’d seen the black-haired man since he woke up. “Their visions usually come packed with death, sickness, or war. However, doubt hangs over this ability as many proclaimed Seers have heralded catastrophes that never came to pass.-”
“Some speculate these Seers, by witnessing such events, inadvertently alter destiny's course.” Bill interrupted sharply. “Others reckon their warnings serve as warnings, prompting actions that avert the looming disaster.”
Ron looked from one person to the other. They seemed to have forgotten about him entirely. He discreetly slipped on the mattress until he was lying down straight. His back was killing him. It’d been ages since he’d lied on something soft. The low timbre of Bill’s voice combined with Dad’s gentle questions and Everglem’s cool tone created a lulled atmosphere and his eyes closed. Hopefully, they’d leave him alone if they thought he was asleep.
Mum, of course, was the first one to notice and practically shoved everyone out of the door.