Chapter Text
In 19 years precisely
The planets will align ever so nicely
The time to act will be at hand
Uniting pure wizards from across the land
The Ministry of Magic will finally fall
And a single wizard will rule all
A word of caution to this tale
Should the youngest Weasley son fight, the uprising will fail
***
Mum’s really outdone herself this time.
Ron looked around the back garden in awe at all the decorations his mum had thrown up around the yard, accompanied by the smell of an especially large Sunday roast. The Weasley matriarch was no stranger to hosting wonderful parties, but for her youngest son’s 18th birthday, she had gone all out.
The weather was surprisingly warm for the first day of March, which allowed them to have the party outside as opposed to everyone cramming into the house. Ron was the only one of his many siblings still living at home, and had been ever since Ginny left for Hogwarts, so it was going to be quite crowded when the whole brood turned up.
It would be nice to have everyone home, even though he told his mum she didn’t have to make a fuss over his birthday. The day a wizard turns eighteen doesn’t mean much of anything, after all, since turning seventeen makes one ‘of age’ in the magical world.
But unlike the rest of his family, Ron wasn’t a wizard.
His parents had brushed off his lack of accidental magic at first. “Charlie was a late bloomer, too,” his dad had reassured him one day after the twins had pushed him a little too far, and despite what felt like an overwhelming amount of righteous anger, his magic had not kicked in to help him retaliate. “It will come for you.”
As his sixth birthday approached, he could see the concern mounting in his parents’ expressions after Ginny, almost a year and a half his junior, managed to wandlessly summon a tray of biscuits that she was unable to reach. And by the time he turned seven, the family had been forced to face the unthinkable: Ron was a squib.
They had taken it in stride as best they could. Without Hogwarts as an option, Molly and Arthur had been proactive in enrolling him at Ottery Junior School in the nearby village, and he had been attending the local muggle schools ever since. To this day, Ron was still not sure how they had explained away his two-years-delayed start to primary school, unless one of them used a Confundus charm on the principal.
When he was younger, he still held out hope of finding out that he was a wizard. Sometimes he was sure that he could feel something in the very tips of his fingers, just a slight tingle that if he concentrated hard enough…but nothing ever came of it. His mum even let him come along to Ollivander’s when they went to get Ginny’s first wand, and Mr. Ollivander was kind enough to let him try a few, but none of them had produced a single spark.
These days, he wasn’t so bothered by it. He didn’t need magic to ride a broom, so he still participated in family Quidditch games, and otherwise, Ron had gotten pretty adept at living as a muggle. He was even going off to London in the fall to start university. The worst part of being a squib was the fear that he would be a disappointment to his parents, but that had faded a long time ago. His family never made him feel any lesser for his lack of magical abilities; even Fred and George, who had no qualms about taking the mickey about everything else in his life, knew this was a line they couldn’t cross.
Which was why his mum had taken special care to celebrate this birthday, rather than his previous one. This was the birthday that mattered in the muggle world. In Ron’s world.
The crashing of pots drew his attention back to the kitchen, and he hurried inside to find Molly wincing in pain and a towel wrapped around her thumb. “Can I help, Mum?” Ron asked, but Molly had waved him off before he finished speaking.
“Not at all, dear. This is your day. I don’t want you lifting a finger.”
“I don’t want you cutting yours off, either,” he replied with a smirk.
“Oh, hush. It’s nothing but a scratch.” Molly gave him a reassuring smile as the Floo chimed from the adjacent room. “Why don’t you go and see which of your siblings is here?”
Judging by the lack of ruckus that accompanied the sound of the fireplace, his best guess was Percy, but Ron indulged his mum and headed for the living room.
His only sister was standing by the fireplace, dusting soot from her clothes. Ron wasn’t altogether surprised when the Floo signaled a second arriving guest; it was rare that Ginny went anywhere these days without her boyfriend. Harry was a decent bloke and a bang-up Quidditch player, and Ron was sure they would have been fast friends at Hogwarts. As it was, though, Ron had only met him a couple of times, so it seemed premature to bring him to a family birthday, especially one that required special permission to leave Hogwarts for the afternoon.
The next person through the Floo was not Harry, however. Ginny was followed by the Headmaster of Hogwarts himself: the stately, white-haired Professor Dumbledore. Ron had been introduced to Dumbledore before, of course, and after six Weasleys terrorizing the school for the better portion of the past two decades, he was quite familiar with the family. “Good afternoon, Ron,” the Headmaster greeted him. “I understand birthday wishes are in order.”
“Oh, er, yeah. Thanks.” Ron rocked back and forth on his heels before venturing, “It was cool of you to let Ginny come today. Thanks for bringing her.” It seemed unnecessary for Dumbledore to accompany her to the Burrow, but what other reason would he have for coming? He didn’t seem to be in any hurry to leave, either, and Ron wondered if Molly had invited him to stay for the festivities.
“It is my pleasure. Incidentally, I have a matter to address with you and your parents.”
Ron froze and looked at Ginny, who gave a quick shrug. If she was in some kind of trouble at school, it wouldn’t involve him. “Me?” Ron asked. “What for?”
Dumbledore hesitated and folded his hands in front of him. “I think it would be best if we discuss this as a group.” He gestured toward the kitchen. “If you would be so kind as to lead the way.”
Ron frowned but started toward the kitchen, calling up the stairs to his dad as they went. Molly did a quick double-take at the sight of Dumbledore in her home but recovered quickly. “Oh, Dumbledore, what a nice surprise! I’ll set another place for lunch.”
“That won’t be necessary, Molly, though I do appreciate the invitation,” Dumbledore replied, his voice never wavering from its calm, steady cadence. “As I was explaining to your children here, I have a matter of importance to discuss with you and Arthur.”
Molly glared over at Ginny hovering in the doorway and placed her hands on her hips. “What did she do?”
Dumbledore let out a low chuckle. “No, no, Molly, nothing of the sort. I’m here regarding Ron.”
“Ron?” Molly repeated, sounding as shocked as if she had never heard his name before. “What about Ron?”
Before he could answer, Arthur appeared at the door behind Ginny. “Dumbledore! To what do we owe the pleasure?” As an aside, Ron heard him mutter to Ginny, “You must really be in trouble.”
Ginny rolled her eyes and stomped into the kitchen to take the stack of plates from beside the stove. “I’ll be setting the table if anyone needs me.” She pushed the back door open with her hip and headed out into the garden, letting it slam behind her.
Dumbledore gestured to the long dining table that dominated the kitchen, and the four of them took a seat. Molly reached for Arthur’s hand and cast a quick look at Ron before asking, “What’s this about, Albus?”
The headmaster waited what seemed to Ron like an excessive amount of time before speaking. “It seems that we may have been incorrect about Ron’s magical status.”
As a child, Ron would have been enthused by this statement; today, he gave a derisive snort. “Yeah, I don’t think so.” If he was a wizard, he would know before anyone else, and he was certain he wasn’t.
Arthur held out a hand to silence him. “What makes you say that, Dumbledore?”
“Certain…information has been brought to my attention. You both, of course, remember the last war.”
They all nodded; Ron hadn’t been born yet, but he knew the stories: how some dark wizards had been plotting to take over the Ministry of Magic, wreaking havoc on muggles and muggle-borns throughout Britain, only to suddenly go dormant and vanish without a trace. Harry’s parents had been some of the last casualties of the rumored insurrection, as they had banded together to fight the so-called Death Eaters. Ron’s family had been strongly tied up in the resistance movement as well, and Mum lost both of her brothers as a result.
“It seems,” Dumbledore continued, “that we now know why that war never came to fruition. Or rather, why it has not come to fruition yet.”
“The Death Eaters have returned?” Molly asked, and Ron noticed that she squeezed his father’s hand a little tighter. “But what’s that got to do with Ron?”
“There was, shortly before Ron’s birth, a prophecy made. It spoke of an opportune time for a hostile takeover of the Ministry and, indeed, our very way of life. That time was nineteen years away. As such, the time of which the prophecy spoke is now mere months into our future.”
Arthur took a deep breath and rubbed at the bridge of his nose, but his voice was calm when he spoke. “We will, naturally, return to the Order. Whatever needs to be done to prevent this, you can count on us.”
“Thank you, Arthur. I am certain that a united opposition will be most prudent for all of us. However, the person most equipped to prevent this takeover from occurring is, according to the prophecy, Ron.”
Ron sat up straighter at Dumbledore’s words. “Me? How am I supposed to help? I’m a squib.”
Dumbledore hesitated again. “And so we have all thought. I fear, however, that what has actually transpired is far worse.”
“What are you talking about?” Ron groaned. He was quickly growing frustrated with the Headmaster’s inability to talk in a straight line.
“I believe that upon hearing this prophecy, a Death Eater, or someone close to the cause, took it upon him or herself to render Ron incapable of performing magic, thus removing the greatest threat to their takeover.” The weight of Dumbledore’s words hung in the air, and Ron could feel his mouth hanging open but was too stunned to do anything about it. “As it seems they were successful in this endeavor, they proceeded to wait the prophesied nineteen years to resume operations, secure in the knowledge that their attempt would not fail with Ron sidelined from the fight.”
His parents looked equally shaken by this revelation. “But… who?” Molly asked, trying her best to hide the tremor in her voice. “How?”
“The Death Eaters were able to infiltrate the ranks of the Ministry,” Arthur pointed out quietly. “It stands to reason that they may have had sympathizers at St. Mungo’s, too. Anyone could have slipped him a potion during his care. People we trusted.”
“That is the conclusion I’ve come to as well.” Dumbledore adjusted his glasses as the four of them descended into a tense silence.
“Well, reckon it doesn’t matter now,” Ron said after a long moment, pushing back from the table to pace agitated strides across the kitchen. “They got what they wanted. I’m not a wizard. Doesn’t sound like it’s up to me anymore.” He directed his next question back to Dumbledore, who had been the head of the Order twenty years ago and would presumably assume the role again. “So, what are you going to do about it?”
“Well,” Dumbledore replied, “I plan to help you recover your magic.” There was a twinkle in his eye that didn’t match the gravity of the situation, and Ron stopped in his tracks.
“Holy shit.” All four of their heads swiveled to the back door, where Ginny had just reappeared.
“Language, Ginny,” Molly scolded, though she seemed to be in too deep a state of shock for the reprimand to carry its usual weight.
“Recover his magic?” Ginny repeated. “You mean Ron could still become a wizard?”
Ron shook his head. It was too much to process. It had taken him nearly all of his eighteen years to come to terms with not being a wizard, and he was finally looking forward to his future. He loved his family, but living at the Burrow, surrounded by magic, served as a constant reminder of what he didn’t have. Once he left home for London, he could embrace the muggle life that was his reality.
“One can no more become a wizard than they could become a blast-ended skrewt, Miss Weasley,” Dumbledore countered, allowing himself a chuckle at his own joke. “However, as is the case with Ron, natural-born powers which have been suppressed have the potential to be recovered.” He turned then to address Ron. “I don’t want you to be under any illusions as to the grueling nature of this process. It will be quite difficult, and your powers may never return to their full strength. However, I should think, given the alternative—“
“The alternative,” Ron snapped, “is me finally living a normal fucking life for once.” None of the adults scolded him for his language, though he would probably get an earful about it later. “I need some air.”
He brushed past Ginny into the garden, not stopping until he had reached the trees that surrounded the clearing at the edge of the property. He sat on the ground with his back to the trunk and put his head in his hands. Nothing good could come from Dumbledore’s news. Even if he did get his magic back, he would then bear the weight of the entire magical world as the only one who could stop the war. But more likely, he was just setting himself up for disappointment.
He didn’t hear Ginny approach until she had settled on the ground beside him. “I know it’s a load of rubbish—prophecies, and divination, and all that,” she began softly. “But what if Dumbledore’s right?”
Ron rolled his eyes. “He’s not.”
She pulled her wand from her pocket and pressed it into Ron’s unwilling palm. He took a deep breath and tried to ignore how natural it felt in his hand. “Look, it’s not like we love you any less without it, but if your magic’s buried in there somewhere, don’t you want it?” she implored him.
Ron pointed Ginny’s wand at a nearby twig. “Wingardium Leviosa,” he said, giving it an exaggerated swish and flick. When the twig didn’t move, as he expected, he passed the wand back to Ginny. “Told you.”
“Okay, so you can’t do magic now, but maybe after a few months working with Dumbledore—“
“In a few months, I’ll be in London,” Ron cut her off. “At school, remember?”
Ginny shrugged. “Maybe you could do both.”
“And hope that my muggle exams don’t get in the way of a magical war?” he scoffed. Ginny got to her feet and frowned down at him.
“Whatever you decide, this war that’s coming affects all of us,” she said fiercely. “Whether you’re fighting alongside us or not.” She sighed. “Just think about it, okay?” Ron nodded. “Let’s go enjoy your birthday then, yeah?”
Ron stood and followed Ginny back to the house, his mind spinning with every step.
What the hell am I going to do?