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Chapter Text

Ron Weasley's life was tolerable, he supposed.

Things had even been looking up the last year or so. Hermione hadn't said a word when he decided he wanted to find someone else. They'd divorced in a completely civil manner. It helped that she still had Ministerial ambitions, and a scandal would have derailed that in a hurry.

So civil were things that Ron, his fiance Lavender Brown, Harry, Hermione, Luna, Neville and Ginny were all going out to what the girls called a "serious" film. Ron was not looking forward to that part, but they'd decided to hit a restaurant that sounded good for afters. It wasn't anywhere near a full moon, so Lav was in a fine mood. She liked going along with "Ron's gang," as she called the Ministry Six (their nickname to everyone else).

He'd long ago had to curtail helping George out on weekends. The work and stress of being an Auror had accumulated. Really, two Ministry employees in high-stress jobs shouldn't be married in the first place. He'd been foolish, he'd admit to himself, to think that "if you love me, you'll quit your job" would have worked. He'd at least twigged that "okay, I'll quit and you can support us, and we'll get a house elf" was also a non-starter.
 

Even years later, it was annoying how close Harry and Hermione were, he thought. Ginny was game, but like that Cho Chang girl at Hogwarts, she had never been able to fully integrate with Harry the way Hermione had. Merlin knew Ron was familiar with how that went.

He'd kept thoughts like that on the back burner, but this year had been unusually trying. Yet a fifth and a sixth book about Harry had come out. Despite being married to Ginny, and whatever he had going on with Hermione, Harry was also still always in the top five of Witch Weekly's most eligible wizards.

Ron and Hermione had made good, of course. In her case, it was seen as a muggle-born overcoming her humble origins and social handicap to come out on top. Ron was respected, but, in essence, as yet another Weasley boy who did notable things. Even Percy had his fans in some quarters, still. Molly Weasley was proud of all her boys, but Ron's goal of standing out seemed to have stalled.

Ginny and Ron had discussed the Golden Duo, and were both sure they'd had an affair at some point in the past decade and a half. But beyond being discreet, they hadn't even looked at each other as the kids boarded the Hogwarts Express for the first time.

If - no, when - Harry split up with Ginny officially, the papers would have a field day. The public had come a long way since Rita Sketer's articles during the Triwiz. Ron knew somewhere in his awareness he shouldn't complain. He'd dumped Hermione, not the opposite. And if Harry and Ginny were drifting apart, and only Harry's sense of honour kept them together, it was probably for the best that Ginny go looking for someone else while she was still young and beautiful. Harry was a little more domestic than Ginny, surprisingly, though both were quite competent at cooking and housework. They did have a house elf, which Hermione hadn't liked, but it was Dobby and Winky's child, and bonding her was Winky's last request. Even Hermione wouldn't dare kick against that level of guilt.

But in his heart, Ron still felt the way he had at Hogwarts. Always in someone's shadow, and never so shadowed as when Harry came into the picture. And for the wizarding public, Harry was the main reason to bring up Ron (or, to be fair, Hermione, though as the girl of the "trio" she got more attention as a sidekick).

Yes, he had a hard childhood, boo hoo, thought Ron, uncharitably.  But I was right - all that money, fame - he just didn't know what to do with it! That makes most of his problems his own fault!

Ron knew in Harry's shoes he would have had a great life. And it had mostly been wasted on Harry. Even now, when Harry made an effort to relax and make friends and spend time with them, he could be very grim and serious even when there was no real crisis going on.

I'd give anything to have been in his shoes. The Ron-who-lived sounds pretty good to me, he mused.

The kind of cin-e-mas that showed "serious films" always looked like ordinary Muggle houses (or maybe Muggle funeral parlours). This one even had some paint peeling, though it was also clearly in the process of being repainted, so that had to count for something. They went up a stairs that wouldn't have been out of place at a wizarding house and bought Muggle popcorn and sweets and drinks in very dim light - it was hard to figure out how Harry handled the strange Muggle money.

When the film began, he noticed the main person in the story looked a little like Sir Cadogan. But this guy wasn't funny or ridiculous. His country was suffering from what looked like Dragon Pox, but since this wasn't a wizarding picture but a Muggle movie, it had to be something Muggle. What finally got Ron to pay attention was when the Knight (Hermione said that was his title, with a "k," as if anyone cared!) was playing chess with Death. It reminded him of Beadle the Bard and the tale of the Deathly Hallows. Would the Muggle get Death's Chess
Set if he won? Ron lost the plot while he pondered what abilities a Chessboard Hallow would impart.

Strategy, certainly. Memory? Calculation? Honestly, it would suit Hermione almost as well as him, even though she only played Wizard's Chess to humour Ron.

By the time he dragged his attention back to the film, he had to pester Hermione for the plot. Because she'd seen the film before, she didn't seem upset to do so as long as Ron kept his voice down. The Knight, like the three brothers, but especially Ignotus, was running away from Death. He wanted to live long enough to do one good deed to redeem his life.

Whatever.

That night, Ron had a dream. He didn't realise it was a dream until Lavender woke him up.

"Pretty nice dream, eh, Won-won?" she asked, nudging him and giggling. "Was it about me?"

Ron answered swiftly, and marginally honestly, that it was.

Of course, in the dream, Ron Weasley, the Boy-Who-Lived, did indeed have Lavender kneeling in front of him and serving him in various ways. As were a dozen other girls from Sixth Year, although from the fact that he was Head Boy as well as Quidditch Captain, it was probably the Seventh Year the "trio" never got.

Unlike Harry Potter, who cringed whenever the owls bringing the Daily Prophet flew into the Great Hall, Ron remembered beaming and grabbing someone's copy (they wouldn't object) and noting with pleasure that all the front page stories were about him!

Lavender's efforts under the table hadn't distracted Ron from the game he was playing with the Death from the film. The pale being - who kind of resembled Voldemort, Ron had to say - had lost a game and promised to tell him a secret.

As it turned out, the secret was that the world Ron was in at the time was going to fade away unless Ron did Death a favour.

While the Resurrection Stone was lost for now, the Elder Wand was still in Dumbledore's tomb, Death explained. And the Cloak was still with Harry Potter. And all Ron needed to do was put Harry Potter through Death's Veil wearing the Cloak, then go through himself holding the Wand. At that point, Death would first switch Harry Potter and Ron Weasley's lives, then take his Wand and Cloak back.

In the dream, Ron hadn't known what Death was talking about referring to the world going away, but now he did. He had grown more and more estranged from Harry Potter, coinciding with a similar process with Hermione. Costing Harry his Cloak would probably put the final nail in the coffin of their former friendship, but who cared? It was happening anyway, and even if Harry got mad, he'd be plain old never-heard-of-him Harry Potter, known only for being Ron's sidekick. What kind of trouble could he cause?

Yes the thought was a little mad, but Ron had decided life without reward wasn't life, really. Harry had often said he'd trade everything he had for what Ron had - a family. Like they were so wonderful. Ron didn't interact with his family much, and when he did, they were unmistakably disappointed in him, across the board. And not over his accomplishments, but somehow, he couldn't seem to say the right things. Harry could enjoy that if he liked.

Alright, it was more than a bit mad. On the bright side, if it was just a dream, Ron wouldn't be around to face the consequences. He probably wouldn't last long enough to realise he'd made a mistake.

Lavender seemed to enjoy the burst of energy Ron had as he committed to his plan. Ron knew he did.

Opening Dumbledore's tomb was a doddle, as events fell out. All he needed was a Bubble-head Charm and the most powerful wand in the world was his. Why didn't I ever think of this before? he thought, almost smacking himself in the forehead. Harry doesn't want it. Of course, Harry would give him grief about it, but if he chickened out, Ron decided, then he'd at least keep the wand and emigrate. Ron the Adventurer had a much better ring to it than Ron with the Desk Job, the part-time Joke store clerk. Lavender would love being able to shop in Paris or New York, and Ron had become adequate at not tipping off the Muggles.

Ron had made a copy of the wand: So, I never think ahead, Hermione?

Give it a week, and the dust on the tomb would settle and there'd be no way to tell Ron was ever there.

Now, to get Harry to the Veil.

The second task, too, was damned easy.

"I don't think Hermione should see this," he'd said. He told Harry, honestly, that he'd seen troubling events near the Veil. It was more than a dream, Ron claimed. More like the visions Harry used to have. He'd had to fast talk Harry into taking a look before telling anyone else. They were both leaving for the day, so it wouldn't take that much time. Harry had occasionally gone into the Department of Mysteries without checking in, for the kind of serious cases Ron would never be called on to handle. Really, it was the reverse of the unfairness before the end of the Second Blood War or whatever they called it. Now it was purebloods like Ron that were having to prove themselves, while everyone fell over themselves coddling half-bloods and muggleborns. At any rate, they went in with Ron under Harry's Cloak. As they approached the Death Room, Ron told Harry that in his dream, Harry had been holding the Cloak, and he probably would need it.

Harry remarked that that made it more like one of Luna's dreams than Harry's. "Good thing Hermione's not here, this little excursion is right out of Divination. But you should have invited Lavender and Parvati along."

Ron laughed at that. I think we have just exactly the right number, myself.

On a couple of occasions, Harry had tried to describe the moment when his godfather fell through the Veil. It was something he'd never fully recovered from.

Wow, thought Ron. Harry was right. As their eyes met after Ron's Stunner (extra-strong, given it was the Elder Wand doing it), it really seemed to take forever for Harry to disappear. Of course, while the shock was the same, the blazing hatred in Harry's eyes was probably very different. Ron had already planned to dodge and shield, so Harry's wandless magical surge just caused burns on Ron's arm. And, just like that, it was over.

Now came the true test of Ron Weasley. He had the Elder Wand. He would never be in Harry's shadow again. He didn't have to deal with his family, and in point of fact, he wasn't married. He was free to roam, with or without a partner.

Those thoughts he dismissed as unworthy. He had fulfilled half of his bargain. Unless he was willing to go through with the other half, what was he? Just another Peter Pettigrew, he reflected. Eventually, someone would find out, someone would question. That wasn't the reputation Ron wanted to leave the world with.

Who dares, wins! Ron had seen that on a Muggle card once. And taking Death's Wand through the Veil must get you some leeway with Death.

There was only one way to know.

The Daily Prophet had a black border the next day. Forensic analysis by the Department of Mysteries - highly motivated analysis in this case - had determined that the likeliest scenario was also the most baffling. Ron Weasley had cast an extremely powerful Stunner and sent Harry Potter through the Veil of Death. Then an even more shocking part of the scenario occurred. Weasley, in turn, had voluntarily jumped through the Veil himself! It was, the DOM head acknowledged, the most baffling crime in many decades.

Hermione Granger refused to accept that story. "Until a thorough investigation is completed, I will reserve judgment," was all she would say to the Prophet. 

It was months later when Hermione, Luna and Neville opened Dumbledore's tomb. Something about the Stunner hadn't sat right with Hermione, nor with Luna when she mentioned it to her. It had acted more like a Banishing or Disarming Charm. Do I need to always have a Trio to be part of? she wondered. Well, these were the two most dependable people left, all but one of the Ministry Six survivors, and she wouldn't have Ginny - or any Weasley - be part of investigating this.

The wand was a cheap forgery.

The only Deathly Hallow left in the world was the Resurrection Stone, lost somewhere in the Forbidden Forest. Hermione pondered seeking it out. For one thing, I could summon Ron and ask him why the hell this happened?

It was only after they trooped out and split up to return to their homes that she thought: That's only if even his spirit is still in the world. 

No one knew how the Veil worked, though Harry had been able to summon Sirius. But Hermione had never believed those were Harry's real family, because they were all egging him on to die. The Stone probably acted more like a Pensieve or a Portrait, or it put some sort of curse on the spirits to encourage the user to despair. That sounded about right.

Hermione drank a fair bit that night, and as she passed out on her sofa, her last thought was What the hell, Ron? 

Chapter Text

What Ron was up to at that moment, for a given value of that moment, that is, was self-congratulation. There he was, and there Harry was. From the shock and outraged glare, it was even the Harry from their time. Take that, Hermione, he thought. Not only hadn’t he killed Harry, he had even advanced his cause. Now that his awareness of things Potter was heightened, he noticed a wispy ripple in the air heading for the Veil. That must be the Cloak, he concluded, happily. That meant that Harry no longer had an admission ticket for Veil travel.

Ron didn’t hesitate for an instant. He knew he’d lose the Wand wherever he went, but so what? As the Boy-who-Lived, he’d have fans, rewards - maybe even have a wealthier Weasley family! There was something that nagged at his awareness when he had that thought, but he ignored the sensation - he’d puzzle it out later. This must be a taste of what it’s like to be Potter, he thought. No time to ponder, it’s not a slow game of Wizard’s Chess, it’s more like Exploding Snap.   You trust your gut and cast from the hip.

Sûre enough, he felt his hand empty as he leapt through the Veil. Harry will probably be able to save Black in that timeline, he decided. No one understood where we left from - but who cares? And who cares about where I left Harry? None of those people matter anymore. My future is assured, and so is them not having a single clue about anything.

It was quite ironic they’d be cursing his name when he did Harry a favour, he mused. He’ll probably get together with Hermione, he guessed. Those potions to make him and her notice us he’ll probably block or even call out. Sad to be you, Fifth Year Ron and Ginny, if so. It wasn’t like it had been Amortentia or anything. Dad had chuckled about it alongside Mom.

He had a funny, rather painful sensation of feeling himself come apart, and then black mist closed in on him.

When he regained consciousness, something had gone wrong. He felt weak as a kitten, and it was hard even to form coherent thoughts. He almost couldn’t move, and in fact, was bound tightly in some sort of cloth wrapping. Bloody hell!

Something was wrong with his brain, he realized. It was just like in the Department of Mysteries. Had he gone back to the same time he left? If so, what was with his condition? Was he in the Spell Damage ward at St Mungos? That was the most sense he could make of it.

Then he heard his father’s voice. It was distorted, as if there was something wrong with his ears, not that he didn’t also notice his brain was having a hard time parsing English. Well, this is some bollocks.

With a tremendous effort, he made out the words.

 « MOLLY! HE’S HERE!! TAKE THE KIDS UPSTAIRS, I’LL HOLD HIM OFF! »

By the time he’d puzzled out, he was hearing several feet tramping up the stairs as fast as they could go. He, himself, was swinging through the air in a way that made him feel seasick. He heard his mother’s voice. He’d somehow learned a little how to understand speech again, so it was easier, though still an effort.

"WE CAN'T APPARATE! THE PORTKEY WE GOT FROM ALBUS - IT WON'T WORK!"

Ron's barely functioning ears were picking up the sounds from down below. Sizzling noises. Explosions. Twice, his father's voice crying in pain. Then he heard the dreaded Avada Kedavra, for the second time. But this time, he thought he heard, faintly, the sound of something heavy hitting their wooden floor.

Ron heard a measured set of footsteps coming upstairs.

His eyes were similarly handicapped - perhaps worse than his ears - and the difficulty with his brain persisted with his vision as well. Nonetheless, he made out a very pale and thin male figure holding a wand out in front of him.

Ron heard a whooshing noise from behind him, and saw the air in front of the figure glow brightly. Then the figure spoke, with a high, very nasally voice.

"Mrs Weasley, I am here for the boy. I have already promised Regulus Black that if you step aside, you may live. What is the life of one boy in a family of boys compared to the rest of your children, and their mother? I offer you the chance to show reason."

Ron felt his mother's arms tense up.  She stuttered but wasn't able to express a coherent response. He felt her body twitch as if she was looking from side to side, then she froze.

With that, he heard the dreaded Avada Kedavra again. Then his mother finally spoke. Or screamed.

"BILL!"

That must be the latest thump, Ron reflected. Even if he'd not been swaddled, he would have been paralyzed with horror.

Still, his mother was paralyzed. Apparently growing impatient, the figure cast two more curses.

*Thump* *Thump*

Ron saw something shadowing the faint light from the upstairs candle. His mother was bowed over Ron. He felt a kiss on his forehead, then what felt like raindrops that splashed where his mother had kissed him and ran down his face.

Two more green lights, two more sizzling sounds, two more dull thumps, and the twins were gone. He only knew that because Baby Ginny was visible being held in his mother's other arm.

"The Seventh child of a seventh child. The first Weasley girl in two generations. You already know I mean business, Mrs Weasley. This is your last chance."

The problem, Ron realised, finally girding his scattered wits, was that Voldemort hadn't really meant for her to take his offer. His proposition to his mother wasn't meant to be accepted, which is why he’d given her no time to react.

There was another nagging thought, but Ron was incapable of even looking for it. The gut feeling was that that was a mistake on Voldemort’s part, but Ron didn’t see how that was possible. Cruelly, the thought he had been chasing since he first pondered being the "Boy Who Lived" finally came to him instead: This. This is it. This is what I was trying to recall. He refused to admit Harry was right about anything concerning his fame, wealth, and the way he drew the opposite sex in. But he couldn't drive away a memory of Harry saying, in an angry tone, that "The Boy Who Lived is another way of saying The Boy Whose Family Didn't Live."

His mother had dropped her wand after her first Bombarda was blocked so effortlessly. But unless Ron was even more muddled than he thought he was, she had been moving it, pointed at the floor, non-stop, even through the horror of seeing her family slaughtered. She thinks the same as me, he realized. Voldemort is just mocking her. That’s why she didn’t jump to save the kids.

Now that he was focused on the floor, he felt magic rising up from it. Hermione had mentioned something like this after her … Runes class. Mum’s activating runes. This must be how Lily Potter did it!! Good.

Then another "Avada Kedavra" and a squeaky scream. He saw Baby Ginny go limp next to him out of the corner of his mouth. His mother only clutched her body tighter and more rain splashed on Ron's face.

After the next green light, and a quiet gasp,  Ron felt himself falling. He landed on something small and soft, which was the only reason he didn't smash himself into the floor.

"At last," he heard the high, nasal voice say.

Without further ado, he saw a blurry image of a wand pointed right between his eyes. He heard the dread words and saw the green light.

With that, his whole body was on fire with pain. Is this Crucio instead of Avada?

But the pain in his forehead was many times worse than that wracking his whole little body, still swaddled in a rough cloth. He heard a painfully loud *BANG* and for the second time that day, everything went black.

Chapter Text

Disillusion. Run. Prophecy room.

Yaxley. Peruvian Darkness Powder. Left pocket.

From their shouts, "he" had just disappeared - when he came out of the Veil - and caused his friends to panic.

Blame Ron, not me! Or praise him.

Fortunately, after Harry apparated just around the corner from the entrance, Yaxley was at the rear.

Once you understood human biology, silent killing with magic was far too easy.

Accio Yaxley.

Keeping the Disillusionment up, he silenced himself and dashed over in front of the Death Eaters.

Another spell dispersed the powder, most of it going towards Voldemort's people.

With a whispered spell he knocked his five friends to the floor. No time for a cushioning charm. If they broke things, he didn't care. No return fire would almost cut Hermione in half this time.

Dolokhov. Rookwood. Malfoy.

The big three were all killed twice to make sure.

He was only about 90% sure he'd eliminated Malfoy.

Fire at will.

He vaguely remembered MacNair being on the far right, so he was doubly lethal there. He moved as he fired, so no sound or angle would enable return fire to pinpoint him.

Whether he killed the remainder or not, their mission was over. And there was still no time. He dragged his friends swiftly using magic to levitate them, away from the fight behind a pillar. Just in case anyone was unconscious, he Rennervated them but silenced them.

"Keep quiet, be prepared to fight, I'll lift the silence but I have to leave and help others," he said, somewhat quietly.

Fortunately, his blind passage found the entrance and he only bumped into a couple of Death Eaters, neither of whom could reach up and grab him. He hated leaving any potential enemies behind, but again, there was no time.

As Fate, or Ron Weasley, would have it, he saw the start of the Black/Lestrange duel.

Bellatrix died instantly, and Sirius was Expulsoed forward to make sure.

He also did not fuck around the least little bit when Voldemort showed up. A spell sequence that mimicked the action of a rifle poured bullets into the Dark Lord. That worthy made the colossal mistake of immediately trying to possess Harry. Harry's mental barriers and force of will were plenty good enough to hold him at bay long enough for a combination of physical attacks and transfiguration inside Voldemort's reconstituted body to finish the fight. 

He reduced Tom to ashes and vanished those. Dumbledore hadn't even had time to appear and banter with Voldemort.

Harry had long ago decided that if killing Tom's physical body gave you years of reprieve, that was good enough. It visibly killed morale in the portion of the Death Eaters that had split off to confront the Order.

And there was still no time.

The powder still made the corridor near the entrance to the Prophecy Room too dark to see. Speed might let him bull through.

As it fell out, only one Death Eater was left alive and conscious groping around, yelling to try to get one of the Ministry Five to squeak. They were keeping their heads, and he couldn't praise them enough for that.

His speed did spin him around, but he caught himself on his non-wand hand and continued to where he'd left his friends. The Death Eater was, indeed, knocked to the ground, and Harry cast several lethal spells in the general vicinity of where he thought he'd fallen.

"They're all settled," he stage-whispered. "Hermione?"

When he heard "I'm here, Harry!" he went over to her and gripped her arm. He estimated where her head was, and moved slowly towards her until he could feel the warmth of her cheek. Where her ear should be, he whispered, "Hermione, we need to talk privately, and soon."

Damned if I'll let Weasley as I know him have even one day of her precious life.

Chapter Text

Wendell and Monica Wilkins had mixed emotions.

On the one hand, the younger woman whom they’d taken on faith for decades was their magic-using, forgotten only child had chosen to spend her last hours on Earth - at least in this “timeline,” a concept they didn’t really understand or accept, with her parents, and no one else.

On the other hand, they would never see her again. Possibly not even in the afterlife of this timeline, if her magical calculations were correct.

Furthermore, she was abandoning her children by Ron Weasley, Hugo and Rose.

Was this how we raised her? Monica Wilkins wondered. Maybe it’s no surprise she “Obliviated” our memories, if so.

Of course, there we’re extenuating circumstances. Both Hermione and the boy she actually loved, Harry Potter, had been controlled by magic potions to marry two members of the Weasley family. A big part of this, in addition to Hermione’s undying loyalty to Harry Potter, must be a desire to be no longer a part of a world where she’d had to do so many heinous things.

Neither Wilkins had the heart to point out that she was not only leaving her parents - they thought of themselves as adoptive parents of an adult runaway, to be honest - but also depriving the Grangers of whenever Harry Potter had gone of at least a few years with the Hermione they knew. They would be getting a mentally older woman who was severely traumatized and embittered.

If it hadn’t been clear she was at her wit’s end, they would have made more of an effort.

Crookshanks was still around, still healthy. Kneazles, apparently, lived many times as long as ordinary cats. Even half-Kneazles who were bonded familiars. Hermione was leaving him with the Wilkins. He was an excellent magical watch-cat still. She’d also put permanent protective charms and enchantments on their home. Apparently, she could tie a connection to the nearest ley line and the protections would be around at least as long as the Wilkins naturally would be.

Another sign: as far as they understood her, Hermione had never been particularly religious. Yet the Sunday last she’d gone with the Wilkins and sincerely prayed to all appearances.

Finding the Resurrection Stone had been a doddle.

Which was a terrible sign.

When a Deathly Hallow wanted you to find it, you were heading for a catastrophe, in her experience.

There were only a few possible outcomes: she’d die, and maybe Harry wouldn’t be there, but eventually her parents would join her, as would Luna and Neville, and with any justice, her parents’ memories would be restored without obliviating the memories they’d made since she re-connected with them; she’d go somewhen or somewhere else, and make the best of it; and - and what else?

If she ended up following Ron, well, he was somewhat younger than her; therefore, she’d not cease to exist. And whatever he was up to, she’d counter. She’d have her revenge, and while it was cold comfort, cold comfort was better than no comfort.

Her children would be happier being mainstreamed back into the Weasley family. She couldn’t help but resent the fact she’d been coerced into making a family with Ron. Add Molly and Ginny to the list, wherever and whenever she arrived.

The Molly Weasley of this timeline would actually be comforted to be raising Ron’s children. She’d never been comfortable with Hermione, any more than she had with Fleur, seeing her mainly as an obstacle to Harry and Ginny, and one that might improve Ron’s lot in life after she was sidelined on to him.

So there was that. She’d become too weary to plot any kind of exposure, let alone vengeance against Molly, who’d after all killed Bellatrix, avenging Sirius and possibly saving Hermione, Ginny and Luna. But if she arrived before the Battle of Hogwarts, that wouldn’t happen, and she could scuttle that Molly with a clear conscience and, hopefully, far more energy than she nowadays had.

Hermione was not to know, but Death was well pleased with her. Unlike Ron Weasley, she hadn’t thought to bargain sharply. And unlike Harry Potter, she was voluntarily returning a Hallow.

For that reason, when Hermione arrived at the Veil of Death, she felt a sense of deep peace come over her. As she’d expected, the Stone - the only thing she carried, given that nothing mortal would follow her - was gone.

She was, it turned out, a few days after the Battle at the Ministry. She cried and hugged her parents. Apparently, while she’d still been wounded at the DoM, it wasn’t nearly as grievous as what Dolokhov had given her the last time around. That proved Harry was there as well!

Ian and Jeanne Granger didn’t understand why their daughter was so emotional. It was related to trauma from their trip to the wizard’s government, which she’d said little about, but always with a rigid set to her jaw that showed she was holding herself in check and remembering something awful.

A couple of days after her tearful breakdown, she told them she’d have their house protected, then she’d tell them whatever she could that wouldn’t harm anything if some wizard read their minds.

“I’ve learned at least as much as I’ve suffered this year, Mother, Father, so don’t feel bad for me.”

They hadn’t done, but now they were!

In addition to memorizing things that might make her money in the past, she’d memorized key elements of the Black and Potter vaults. Both had pensieves. The Black vault had protecting jewelry that guarded against Legilimancy.

Did she want to force that sort of knowledge on them? Was this falling off a horse on the right side, getting back on, and leaning so far left you fell off again?

She resolved to treat her parents with more respect this time around. If worst came to worst, she could live on her own now and make it up to them later.

Sirius Black had survived the battle, and several Death Eaters, including, crucially, Lucius Malfoy had not. It would be easy to get him cleared of his alleged crimes. It would also be easy to borrow a Black family pensieve. With that, and protection against Legilimency, she’d be able to put her parents entirely in the loop.

She’d include what she’d learned about Weasley and Dumbledore plotting, of course. Dumbledore had no idea what sort of trouble he’d borrowed, not to mention Molly.

She wouldn’t be coy with Harry. If he was at Grimmauld already, well, she knew the secret.

And if he was still at Number 4, Privett Drive, well, she had his phone number. Mustn’t think of it as a land line!

Chapter Text

Ron was too traumatized to try speaking, really. Also, he suspected with how weird and weak he was, he'd only be able to squeak, anyway.

The less Albus Dumbledore, whom his mother had drilled into all the kids to worship as a saviour, learned about Ron, the better. Suddenly, Harry's suspicions of the old wizard all made sense. Was he really, a toddler, about to be left on a doorstep - and of a squib family that hated the magical world - like a bottle of milk? He vaguely understood Dumbledore as telling Minerva McGonagall that his scar was a good thing he wouldn't get rid of for anything. My scar? he thought, outraged. The same scar you're going to say later requires me to die for your plans?

What absolute Muggles his family had been!

McGonagall was putting up a fight, but as any Gryffindor could have told you, there was only one way that would end. She caved in to his argument that Ron needed to grow up humble. By humble, HE means "abused," he realised.

"Good luck, Ron!" he heard Dumbledore say, as he turned away after tucking a letter into Ron's basket.

Fuck you, Dumbledore! Ron thought to himself. McGonagall must have caught his expression, because she suddenly looked guilty again.

Nonetheless, she and Dumbledore apparated away after Dumbledore showily restored the street lights.

The Boy-Who-Lived had probably been beaten a great deal more often than his counterpart.

And that was notwithstanding that he'd put the fear of Ron into their son, Percival. His uncle was unwilling to let his wife go so far as killing the boy, so they kept Percy away from him. Every time Percy had assaulted Ron, the freak had released accidental magic. Their son even had scars from a young age. Fortunately not in a visible location, but it had been a wake-up call.

Lavender Prewett never hesitated to slap Ron's face, however, and even as a toddler, he seemed to be too canny to retaliate with his freakishness if Percy wasn't nearby as a target.

Muriel Prewett, of course, was magical, so although she hated Leander and Lavender, she nonetheless accepted that Ron was having trouble controlling his accidental magic - due, of course, to the inferior Weasley blood. Ron was afraid to act out around her - she had no hesitation in hexing a toddler or small child.

When he reflected on how bad his life had been this time around, he still somewhat blamed Harry. How were we supposed to know it was this bad? He never said a word. It was, honestly, freakish how little he'd talked about the Dursleys. Some passive part of Harry Potter just accepted bad things as his due. Not Ron Weasley, the Boy Who Lived! He was already planning his vengeance once the most famous boy in Wizarding Britain re-entered the world.

He couldn't do anything until Hogwarts, though. Every time he'd tried to escape and get the Prewetts in trouble, he'd been brought back by various cronies of Dumbledore, and his "family" had beaten and starved him for at least a few days.

Worse, the Prewetts, being squibs, were comfortable with giving Ron control potions. Ironically, they were the same ones Ginny and Ron had given Harry and Hermione the first time around, brewed by Snape or their mother.

They made it hard for Ron to keep rebellious thoughts going for more than half a minute at a time.

But finally, his ship, as Hermione used to say, was coming in.

He didn't draw attention whatsoever to the letter when it arrived. However, unlike what he vaguely remembered Harry saying about the trouble his Hogwarts letters had caused, Ron was dealing with a cousin who hated him right down to the ground. He was constantly spying on Ron, just out of reach. Where Harry's Dudley had become a crude thug, Percy was a snitch.

"Dad! Mum! Ronnies got a letter!" Percy said, having snatched it before Ron could even realise what was going on.

"Who would be sending that freak a letter?" Lavender asked, taking it from her son. Then the light dawned on her. She handed it to Leander as if it were going to explode any second.

"Oh no, they don't," said Leander, taking a pocket lighter out without dislodging his cigarettes and incinerating it, unopened.

Ron could have told them how that would work, but he held his tongue and never let his enjoyment of the ensuing chaos appear on his face.

Your days are numbered, Muggles! he thought. They couldn't hide from the magical world. He'd not only get them both sent to Azkaban, but the suffering he'd done would only add to his legend. He had bought the first Ron Weasley book on one of his escape attempts before the Order or whatever group it was had found him, and hidden it behind a board near the back of the cupboard. He would incorporate the more believable parts, he'd decided, though it being his Hogwarts Letter day let him have rebellious thoughts that didn't include playing along with the public narrative that he was well-treated and well-trained. No, Ron thought, rising up over adversity to become the best wizard ever was a necessary piece to the puzzle.

Harry, naturally, had never had a grand strategy. As much as Ron had hated, and, let's face it, feared Lockhart, who almost destroyed his mind, he had to give the man credit. He wasn't one of the herd, he was one of the natural leaders. Pity about the lack of wizarding ability beyond mind magic.

Unfortunately for Ron's sense of fun, the Prewetts had appealed to his great aunt, and her complaint had stopped the extra letters. Then again, she wouldn't stoop to being a postal owl, so Rubeus Hagrid actually delivered Ron's letter to his hands, smashing through the main doorway in so doing.

This was Ron's opportunity to step off Dumbledore's script. He immediately told Hagrid as much as he could before the control potion became too activated to push through. He even took off his shirt and trousers to show his bruises and scars. It was fortunate for Ron that Great Aunt Muriel wasn't there, which meant the Prewetts couldn't help but spew vitriol against wizards in general and Dumbledore in particular. Ron cannily took the line that - of course! - Dumbledore had misjudged the Prewetts and once Ron's suffering at their home was brought to his attention, no doubt they'd straighten out his living situation, since Hagrid said Dumbledore was a great man.

Despite not having much money, given he was ill-paid and tended to spend it all in taverns, Hagrid paid to have Ron put up at the Leaky Cauldron upstairs. When they got to Gringott's Ron mentioned that his relatives had fed him potions that made him feel dull. The goblin he spoke to suggested St Mungo's in a sneering tone. When Ron said there would be too much trouble, they were referred to an apothecary a short distance into Knockturn Alley that specialized in antidotes. After Ron got the Weasley trust vault - which held about half as much as Harry's vault had had - he asked Hagrid not to give the key back to Tabitha Vane because he wanted to be able to fix things like the potions in the future and also buy whatever he needed on a daily basis. Since he was already situated, Hagrid got the Philosopher's Stone and left Ron at the Cauldron upstairs while he had a couple of drinks.

Ron estimated that Hagrid would forget that he'd acquired a supply of antidotes, so whoever was in charge of delivering potions to him, if they went through someone else besides his relatives, would think they'd corralled him. The day after Hagrid left him, he made a point of visiting shops near the Daily Prophet's building.

He pretended he'd not been looking where he was going, and ran into the familiar figure of Prophet ace reporter and columnist Rita Skeeter.