Chapter Text
It worked. Somehow, between what The Daughter and he had done together, and what The Daughter had done after he'd left, they'd managed to prevent Anakin Skywalker from Falling. Anakin had, with mixed feelings, gone on to tell Dad about Ron, and the Children's Home (Ron will never get more details on what this "Children's Home" was, other than that his mother had put him there during the Clone Wars to protect him whilst she fought the peace).
After Mom died, killed by Maul, of all people, Dad came for him. He, Uncle Ani, Aunt Padmé, and his cousins, Luke and Leia, (whom he hasn't even met yet. Apparently, they're too young for dangerous things like traveling or being left alone) had gone into hiding together. They'd survived Order Sixty-Six, but they were outcasts, jedis, with kill on sight orders. Emperor Palpatine still ruled the galaxy, although the Jedi Order, what remained of it, had joined forces with the Resistance to oppose him.
As when he'd lived with Mom, they were always in motion, never staying long in one place, operating in two different sects of Rebels and Jedi, with his never-master Ahsoka Tano forming a bridge betwixt the two. Prior to his death defending the temple, Master Windu had interceded on Dad and Uncle Ani's behalves, insisting that they be allowed to remain in the Order. They migrated with the Temple at times and at others struck off on their own, as if on an extended mission. The family was always on the same planet, and never that far apart. Uncle Ani felt his distress as keenly as Dad, and had come rushing over to help.
He glared at Dad, insisting that he was pushing Ron too hard, and then set about with his patented child-soothing technique. Hot chocolate? Storytime? Do you want to talk about this? Let me sing you a lullaby my Mom used to sing to me, back when I lived with her on Tatooine. Ron finds himself filled with an intense affection for his newfound uncle. Uncle Ani calms him down, first, and then he is sent to bed, with the promise from his father that they'll Talk About This More in the Morning.
But, that is not how things turn out. Probably.
He awoke the morning after his journey through time and space in a bed with a threadbare mattress and bright orange sheets with moving pictures of wizards on broomsticks on them. It had been a brighter orange a few months ago, but it wore out a bit since.
He clenched his hands into fists, beyond merely annoyed at losing his newly gained uncle, before releasing that feeling-or trying to. But, The Force didn't exist in The Wizarding World. And he, who had spent his childhood being told and trained by his dad to release his negative emotions lest they cloud his judgement and control him, or by his Mom reminding him of what his not-master Ahsoka Tano had taught him, he was too dependent upon that as a way of controlling his feelings. It made him more irritable and aggressive, probably.
It made him mean, he thought as the effects of the vine wore off. It made people not like him. He turned over and tried to get back to sleep, and discovered that he'd actually been awoken by a knock at the door. Mum wanted him up. They were going to go to Diagon Alley, and Percy was coming, so there was no one to babysit him. He had to get ready to get going. He frowned, wishing that he could stay in his room a bit longer and grieve. He reached out with The Force for Dad, or 'Soka, or Uncle Ani, or The Daughter, or even his non-force-sensitive Mom, but they were too far away. He sat on his bed and cried, even though grown-ups never cried, Mum said, and crying was a weakness, Dad said.
"That's not true," he remembered that Uncle Ani had said, sitting down next to him and throwing an arm around him in a one-armed hug, gazing off into the distance. "Just means you have deep feelings, and care a lot. That's a good thing. Your dad tries to stick to a Code that never worked!"
But, he knew that Mum and Dad (Molly and Arthur Weasley, as they were better known) agreed with Dad's sentiments, not Uncle Ani's or Aunt Padmé's. He wiped his nose and his eyes with his pyjama sleeves and suppressed his tears with a dose of good old-fashioned Kryze dignity and stood.
There was an ache in his chest. It hurt, really, really bad, and he thought it was probably because he'd really made a mess of things this time, he and The Daughter both, because now his Mom was gone, had never been there, and in its own way that was worse than not-having Dad, who at least was still alive, even if he were on Tatooine.
He remembered the trip to Diagon Alley, now. Mum had picked out clothes for it and told him about it last night, a week ago. He suspected he'd be spending an entire week, at the very least, in this world. Probably he'd be shunted back to the Jedi Makeshift Temple just after he'd forgotten entirely what he and Dad and Uncle Ani were supposed to talk about in the morning, "the night before".
And this was what happened.
However, first there was the trip to Diagon Alley. He finally met Lucius Malfoy, and decided that he hated the man. He knew hatred was bad and wrong and led to the Dark Side, but Malfoy was just another privileged snob who didn't realise how the galaxy bent backwards for him. He acted like he thought he was a noble, or was pretending to be one, but he obviously didn't know the first thing about playing the part.
"Why do we have to keep running all the time?" he'd asked his mom. "If they don't like you, why do you keep doing gove—govemen—ruling stuff?"
"Let me tell you the most important thing about ruling," his mother had told him, sitting at a chair on the opposite side of a small end table from him. There were deep bags under her eyes, because things had been going really badly with Death Watch and reconstruction, whatever those were, and she'd been working late for a week. It reminded him of Britain-Dad, but he knew better than to say that word around her. "The most important thing about ruling is looking after the needs of the people. A queen or duchess is nothing without her people. They come first. That is what being nobility means, Ron. It means that your people are more important than you are. No matter what they might think of you. You must do what is best for them."
Lucius did not have anyone to protect, as far as Ron could tell. He was a selfish poser who thought that fancy clothes and furniture made him better than everyone else. If there were an opposite to nobility, that was what he was.
Dimly, he had the sense that Aunt Padmé might have once explained nobility in a similar way to his Mom, but the memory was still too new, like a newly hatched chick still covered in egg goo.
Ron decided that the existence of people like the Malfoys was an offence to the name of nobility, and therefore, to his own name. To his Mom's name, and to meet something like him, now, now when his Mom was suddenly gone as if she'd never existed….
"You're real quiet, Ron," Ginny said, nudging against him. "Mr. Malfoy can't really get Dad fired, can he?"
Ron glared at her, and she ignored it. "Don't call him Mr.," he snapped. "He doesn't deserve any respect!"
Ginny blinked.
"Okay," she said.
Later, much, much later, Ron would wonder whether either all his interactions with The Daughter, all his time traveling, or his double lives made him more mature than he should have been. He technically was twice as old as he was at any given time. For now, he just wondered why Ginny didn't seem to get it.
It happened because Dad had come with them to Diagon Alley. The fear around the war, and all the extra hours, were winding down, now, after four years. Most of the Death Eaters had been caught by now—or, at least, that was the propaganda. (Ron was familiar with propaganda, although he didn't know that name for it. Of course, it was just propaganda, as many Death Eaters still walked free. Dad made sure that he knew this.) Dad was starting to just do the job he was paid for. He was starting to have the freedom of accompanying his kids to Diagon Alley to buy Charlie's school supplies, even.
Mum was distracted because Ginny had tugged on her robes and demanded to go look at Magical Menagerie. Ron didn't know why she bothered. Even if their parents might be willing to buy her a pet, as she was the girl, they couldn't afford it. Ron was used to an ascetic lifestyle. Almost everything he truly owned was in this world. Life on the run hadn't allowed him many possessions, and a jedi was not allowed to be attached to anything. Even Uncle Ani seemed confused about the idea of owning physical things, although he understood it a lot better. He had his lightsaber and his jedi robes and his personal ship that he'd upgraded and didn't let anyone else pilot.
The idea of owning books, however, or even clothes, seemed a bit much for him.
Or, at least, that was what Ron thought he remembered. He had a lot of new memories of things he wasn't sure had happened. Memories of Dad and Uncle Ani and Aunt Padmé trying to raise him on their own. Of never knowing his Mom. Of never meeting 'Soka.
But, Mum indulged Ginny, as she always did, and Ron, the Twins, Percy, and Charlie went with Dad to Flourish and Blott. Lucius Malfoy was there, because Mrs. Malfoy had apparently heard about a new book she absolutely had to have, and had sent him to get it. The title was in a font that gave Ron a headache trying to read it. Something about superiority of blood and keeping house? And manners?
Fake nobility, Ron scoffed. With all their airs and pretension, looking down their noses at everyone not dressed to the nines with pressed clothes and makeup that cost enough to bankroll an entire city.
"Ah, Arthur, I didn't expect to see you here," said Malfoy. "I see, I see. It's a pity you can't get a special pension to help offset the costs of buying all those textbooks for all of your children. You would think being Dumbledore's favourite family would be good for something."
Dad gritted his teeth. Ron bit his lip and tried not to say anything about The Force. He remembered what The Daughter had said, and his cousin seemed really wise. Besides, there was no Force to release his emotions into here.
"Just because I didn't have to buy my way out of prison doesn't make me inferior, Lucius."
"Careful, you wouldn't want to be seen making baseless accusations," Malfoy Senior said. "They might think you too…biased to continue working in such delicate situations as I'm sure is necessary for working with muggles."
He sneered, and Dad's fists clenched.
"Temper, temper. Careful! They might wonder why someone so obviously filled with anger and such violent tendencies should be allowed around children."
Dad saw red, and tackled Malfoy to the ground, his fist already moving to punch Malfoy's face. Percy sighed, and jutted his nose in the air, wandering off to go find someone to break up the fight.
"What? Dad? Dad! Come on! He's trying to goad you into a fight. You can't—" Charlie tried to reach around between them.
The Twins were too amused by what was going on to do anything but watch. Ron turned to them, and then back to the fight. Without a lightsaber or free use of the Force, he didn't know what he could do.
He took a step back, lest things get more dangerous, and spells or books went flying.
He was seething, himself, but he knew his limits, and just as he wouldn't have picked a fight with a sith or knight, he knew better than to try to fight Malfoy Senior. He slipped into a light meditation, trying to box up his emotions, until he could throw them away into The Force. Dad—his other Dad—had a point. Uncle Ani was a real loose cannon (and not the good, Chudley Cannons type).
The manager got involved, pushing them apart with his hands as the assistant manager came up.
"That's enough, you two. Break it up."
There was no property damage, but, "You want to fight, do it somewhere else. Out. Now. If you've caused any damage, you're paying for it. Got it."
He turned to Lucius Malfoy. "Are you alright, sir?" he asked, extending a hand to help Mr. Malfoy up, which he took with exaggerated grace and a grimace. Ron clenched his hands into fists and turned away.
"Hang on!"
"You can't just put this all on Dad," the Twins said.
"That's enough, you two," said Dad, mustering up his pride with an expression that reminded Ron of Mom. A pang of grief tore at Ron's composure, but he just looked down at Malfoy with a glare.
They left without getting Charlie's textbooks. Mum would come back later to try to smooth things out with the manager. It wouldn't do to get banned from the only store that even sold discounted used copies of these textbooks.
Mum met them on the street a few minutes later. Her hands immediately went to her hips with her most no-nonsense attitude, as Ron hung back. Ginny went over to him.
"You didn't even get Charlie's books? Were they sold out? What happened? Hang on—you haven't been fighting again, have you? And in front of your kids, too. Think of what sort of an impression you're making on them!"
She gestured to Ginny and The Twins. Charlie lingered in the doorway with hooded eyes, and glanced Ron's way, with a weary smile.
Dad drew himself up. "Malfoy started it," he said, sounding petulant.
"Oh, good grief! What is he supposed to have done now?" Mum demanded. Ron was not particularly happy with her. He was not particularly happy with either of them. But he was willing to forgive Dad. Dad reminded him a bit of Uncle Ani. And on a good day, when he was around, he could be a lot of fun. Tinkering with cars was as boring as tinkering with spaceships but it was familiar, even if Ron kept wondering where the hydrospanners and socket wrenches were. And what they were.
The way Dad explained things made sense of a lot of Malfoy's words, most of which he hadn't properly understood before. Malfoy was nasty. Ron had to keep shoving his anger and fear into his box to release into The Force. He wished jedi-Dad were here, or Mom, or even Uncle Ani.
Jedi Master Dad could talk circles around Malfoy, Ron was sure. And Uncle Ani never lost a fight. But, he remembered what The Daughter had said about not talking about The Force or anyone he knew in…the other galaxy?
Arthur Weasley was barely even a person to Ron, but he was still better than Molly Weasley. Ron was ashamed to be related to them, for a moment. This man—his father—had as little self-control as Uncle Ani, and without the sith manipulation or upbringing or anything to justify it. And Mum! Would she notice if he ran away? Malfoy had no right to say what he did, but—
But what? Maybe he had a point? Maybe The Weasleys were in over their collective heads?
He walked off. He didn't need to tell anyone about The Force to be able to use it.
"Where're you going?" Ginny demanded to know. "You can't leave. Not without me, at least!"
"You didn't see me leave," he told her, with a wave of his hand.
She blinked and shook her head in a daze. But, she let him go. He needed some time to himself, to calm down. He went back into Flourish and Blott. He shielded his presence in the Force automatically, before realising there was no Force, and no Force-sensitives to shield from. He was used to wandering off on his own, supervised at a distance by whatever member of the Order had crêche duty that day.
He usually had a lightsaber to help protect him, though. But, no one could take The Force from him. Training lightsabers weren't that dangerous, anyway.
He wandered the aisles, looking for books that hinted at the existence of other galaxies, travel through space. He saw one on time travel, but it wasn't a popular subject. The Ministry didn't approve. It was too dangerous, and the new peace was fragile.
He looked for books on nobility, and found nasty stuff like that book Mrs. Malfoy had wanted. He pulled it off the shelf and tried to read it, but it was full of pretentious long words and technical terms. And it was all on etiquette, whatever that was, and proper housekeeping and how to boss around servants. That wasn't what nobility meant at all.
He decided that he'd need to find a book on meditation. His allowance wasn't that big, though, so he'd have to save for it and read what he could here. He hung around the used section but of course it wasn't a popular subject and people didn't buy that many copies, which meant that few of them were sold back to the bookstore. Maybe he'd look in the muggle world. The pound was weak against the galleon. He might have better luck. But, not today. He didn't know how he could get past the entrance and back to Diagon Alley again if he left.
He found a book on meditation, eventually, and opened it to the Table of Contents, scanning the chapter titles.
Worthless. He hoped the muggle world had something better on offer, but read a bit anyway, just in case.
He put the book back, and left the store. His parents and siblings had left without him. He didn't know where else they'd planned to go. They'd already been to Gringotts, so that was out. Not Magical Menagerie or Flourish and Blott. Maybe the apothecary, then, if they were still shopping for Charlie's school supplies. He tried not to panic, but rather to think about this rationally, as Dad had taught him. Break the problem down. Find a workable solution.
There was no Force to guide him. He missed it. He missed them. Mom would have noticed if he'd left her sight for five minutes. Dad would have noticed. Uncle Ani and Aunt Padmé would have noticed. 'Soka would have noticed.
He scuffed his wornout sneakers on the dust of Diagon Alley, and ran towards the Apothecary as if he knew that that was where they were.
They were there. They hadn't noticed he was gone.
It seemed to take forever to get back to the galaxy with The Force. Dad was around slightly more often, and there to help him and Ginny learn their letters. Ginny had started a year early, because she refused to be left out, so they were learning together. Ginny was stringing together words, and knew all her letters and numbers. Ron was still stuck and lost and kept giving the wrong names to letters. Spelling was difficult. Numbers were easy.
Mum and Dad sometimes whispered, supposedly out of his earshot, about him being "developmentally challenged", and wondered if he had a "learning disability". He shoved whatever that ugly emotion was that he felt into his Force-box without bothering to try to identify it. It was something dangerous-dark. That was all that mattered.
("You need to identify and acknowledge your emotions, so that you know what you're feeling, and why you feel that way. Only then can you set about trying to fix the problem that caused them to begin with. That's the only real solution," Uncle Ani said. "I tried to shove away all my negative emotions, and that almost pushed me to The Dark Side.")
It wasn't fair! No one else was expected to keep track of over fifty letters and remember their names and what sounds they made as if there weren't plenty of duplicates. If he said "osk" instead of "o" when asked what the first letter of "owl" was, that wasn't his fault. They should be more specific!
One night, he went outside with a broom and the book Dad was using to teach them, and found a twig, and sat down in the dirt, and started scratching out letters, the same letters, over and over, and muttering their names while it was still fresh in his mind. " G…" he recited, over and over, writing in the dirt. Then he went through and made the sounds. And then the letter names. And then the sounds. And then the letter names.
He set to it with determination, and countered his boredom with the stamina he built up in lessons at the Temple. It was cold and dark and windy, but he kept at it until it was almost dawn, and then used the Force to push himself back onto his window ledge, and crawled inside, still shivering, and went to sleep.
It was over a month later that he finally recovered from whatever he'd caught outside. He wasn't entirely clear on how long it had been. He'd done his best to keep studying letters and sounds as he lay in bed until his Dad would come by and scold him for not sleeping. His fever lowered only slowly.
He didn't know what the big deal was; his other Dad would never have taken time off for such a minor inconvenience as being sick. Then again, both Uncle Ani, and the Healers at the Temple, despaired of his Dad.
(At some point during his illness, he forgot about his Force box.)
He knew he couldn't afford to slack. He just had to keep pushing himself. He'd been stuck in bed, unable to practice even lightsaber forms. He'd settled for lifting things with The Force and sending them flying around the room, calling his quill and ink and parchment or comic books to him. He tried to levitate his bed with him on it. He wasn't used to sitting so still. Impatience began to stir, beneath the surface. He wanted to go on adventures, or even just talk to Dad and Uncle Ani and Aunt Padmé or Mom and 'Soka.
Alone in his room, he wept.
"Ron, wake up! You can't sleep the day away," his Dad's voice chastises him. "Besides, remember, we need to talk."
Ron sits straight up out of bed at the sound of the achingly familiar voice, and bursts into tears. He throws his arms around his Dad, and Dad, for once, seems to realise that now is Not the Time to Scold Him, because he wraps his arms around Ron and pulls him into his lap.
"It's alright. I promise I won't be angry with you," he says, with a level voice.
"Anger leads to hate, and hate leads to The Dark Side," Ron quotes back at him, trying to calm down, trying to be strong. He remembers suddenly that he can release his emotions into The Force again, and he recalls that Force-box of unwanted emotions. It's heavy.
He's been gone for months. He hasn't seen his Dad—the Dad he'd just met, for months. He hopes it isn't because The Force is angry that he and The Daughter changed time.
Uncle Ani is there in a few moments, his hair tousled in a way that suggests that he spent the night here.
"You okay, Ron?" he peeks in to ask.
It's so, so different from being at The Burrow. All of a sudden, he's not used to any attention. To being noticed. He feels like a floodlight is shining on him, and he can't see through the glare.
"Uncle Ani!" he cries, shocked to see him. He'd only just met Uncle Ani, too. He's never met Aunt Padmé, but he knows just what she looks like. Long, wavy brown hair, and the kindest, warmest brown eyes. She knows when to be sensible, and when to dress to intimidate. She's a mistress of fashion, and she always looks unnaturally beautiful. And, she always has kindness to spare, for family, for friends, for complete strangers.
He's never met her. There's one photo Mom had of her that she showed him when she was talking about her past, how they ended up on the run. Mom had been trying to explain about how she and Dad had got back together.
It hits him, again. He's traded Mom, his wonderful mother, for his Dad, the mad old hermit in the Wastes, and his violent almost-turned-sith uncle, and…well, there's nothing bad to be said of Aunt Padmé.
But it's his fault that Mom is gone. Dead.
(Never talk down to children. Don't use euphemisms. They can handle it. They'll have to learn to handle it. This is the viewpoint of the jedis.)
"Oh, Dad, I'm so sorry," he wails. Dad's grip tightens on him.
"I'll make some more hot chocolate," Uncle Ani says, shooting a significant look at Obi-wan Kenobi over Ron's head.
"You're allowed to talk about your mother," Dad says, with a tired smile. "You're allowed to miss her. I still do. Even though it's against The Code."
Dad has never spoken of The Code as if it were anything other than divinely mandated before.
"Dad?" he asks. When did he talk about Mom? He shakes his head. That isn't important.
"It's my fault that she died. I'm so sorry."
He can feel his dad's sharp pain before it bleeds away into The Force.
"It isn't your fault, Ron," he says. "It's no one's fault. If anything, it's mine. I was the one who didn't kill Maul back on Naboo, and then—"
Dad shakes his head, but Ron sits up, gripping hard onto his Dad's jedi robes.
"No, Dad. I caused it! Me and The Daughter went back in time to save Uncle Ani, and we ended up killing Mom. I just wanted to get to know you, but now I've lost her."
"'The Daughter and I'," Dad corrects automatically. "Wait, who i—?"
"We're going to run out of hot chocolate at this rate. That would be a crying shame," Uncle Ani says, squeezing into the room.
Dad shoots him a glare.
"What, Obi-wan? Did I ruin the interrogation, or has the informant agreed to talk?"
He sets the tray with three cups of hot chocolate on the table, and hands one to Ron. Back in the Wizarding World, it would have been accompanied by the warning that it was hot. Here, thankfully, the Jedi Order expected even younglings to have that much common sense.
Uncle Ani tries to hand a cup to Obi-wan, but Dad is too busy at the moment. Uncle Ani takes it for himself, instead.
"Don't let me interrupt. You know where your cup is, if you want it,"
"Time travel, Ron? Everyone knows that's not possible," says Dad, rubbing at his beard with the hand not supporting Ron. Ron scoots back onto his bed, ashamed of his loss of control, and foists his shame off on The Force. It's good to have his ally back again.
He remembers not to mention time turners or the Wizarding World or the Ministry.
"It's true!" he insists. "Before we went back in time, Mom was alive, and you were some crazy hermit someplace called Tatooine."
Uncle Ani stills. The smile falls off his face. A familiar anger begins to brew, but he takes a deep breath, and the anger disperses. Ron knows what he's done. He's identified the emotion, acknowledged its cause, and decided that there's nothing to be done about that. Yet.
"Where've you heard about kriffing Tatooine?" Uncle Ani demands. There's still a bite to his voice. He's still angry. Tatooine is apparently a very big deal.
"Language!" Dad snaps. "I hope you don't use that language around your own kids."
"It—it's where Dad went to hide my cousin from The Emperor," Ron protests. And Vader, he adds silently. "That's all I know. Dad was living in someplace called the Jundan Ways—"
"Jundland Wastes," Uncle Ani corrects, gaze downcast and fury still rising up beneath the surface.
"Yeah, those. The Daughter said he knew Dad as a mad old hermit named Ben, but he lived in the future, and his uncle wouldn't let him talk to Dad, so we went back in time to tell Dad about me instead. Only, things got really bad. I was almost out of mind-vine when we went to The Emperor's office back when he was still the Supreme Chancellor, and saved Master Windu and some other people I don't remember from being killed. Uncle Ani was going to turn to The Dark Side, but I guess The Daughter managed to save him."
Uncle Ani drops his cup of hot chocolate, but manages to catch it with The Force before it can shatter or spill everywhere.
"Fierfek!" he says. "That was real?"
He remembers, Ron realises. He was never sure whether or not anyone would remember what happened. But, it seems that Uncle Ani does.
"You're not saying you believe this?" Dad asks, in his cool, analytical voice.
"You weren't there, Master," Uncle Ani protests. "I came to stop Master Windu from killing Palpatine, but there was a boy there who said he was my future son—I think he was about my age, when I came to The Temple—and then Ron, too. He said he was 'Aishi-Ron Kryze', and I knew right then he had to be your son, and then they both disappeared, but my son came back—he was so brave, and he helped protect the younglings during Order Sixty-Six. They're the reason Master Windu okayed our marriages and lifted that part of the ban on attachments. He saw what good could come of it. Kriff. I wish he were here. I never thought I'd say that, but Master Windu could confirm everything I've said. It's the only reason I knew to tell you about him at all, after Satine—"
Uncle Ani swallows and cuts himself off. Grief pours off his Dad in waves, a single mass of negative emotions such as Ron is used to seeing only from Uncle Ani, and then it snaps off.
"Dad?" he asks tentatively.
"Then—then if he time traveled, who raised him? Who trained him in the Force?"
Ron straightens up, borrowing some of his Kryze dignity. "Mom raised me. And 'Soka taught me to use The Force."
"Ahsoka Tano?" asks Uncle Ani. Raw pain leaks from behind his mental shields.
Ron nods. "She came over, sometimes, when Korkie could find her."
"Korkie?" Dad asks, and his shields slip again.
"But they're dead—" Anakin Skywalker says, turning to face Dad. "How—?"
He hasn't just killed his Mom. He's killed his cousin and his former master, too. He has to fix this, somehow. He and The Daughter.
"I can fix this," he promises. "I just need to know how it happened! Tell me how Mom died, and I can prevent it—!"
The man who in another universe became Darth Vader exchanges a sympathetic glance with his former master.
"If you don't tell him, I will," he promises, and Dad sighs and pinches his nose.