But I went down to the demonstration

[alwaysreturns]

The Closet (you can't always get what you want)

[Making the decision to absolutely not register wasn't a hard one to make. After all, it can't be much worse from the way he's been living, can it? He's spent a few weeks on his own since leaving Harry and Hermione - since trying to get back to them, he corrects himself - and they definitely weren't good weeks or weeks he really wants to repeat, but the important point is that he survived them. So. He can survive in 1980 where things are worse and better at the same time, can't he?

Probably. Yes. Merlin.

In any case, Ron survived by bumming his late nights and early mornings in seedy pubs, where he quickly learned they asked fewer questions than the more upright establishments. The muggle ones were safer, but the first time he tried to order had gone miserably ("do you have Capuchins?") and so Ron tried to lean on the wizarding establishments that were less likely to rat him out.

He's really not sure how that brings him to this part of London, but here he is late at night, worried about being caught with the curfew, and unwilling to lean on Bill for a place to sleep. The Closet (the Closet, he wonders, really?) looks as seedy as it gets, and Ron tugs his stolen muggle baseball cap lower over his face as he steps inside. At least, he reckons, he doesn't have to worry about people recognizing his face much in this year.

On the other hand, he's not too keen on how many names and faces he's recognizing on people in power.

A quick look around tells him this was probably the most massive bloody mistake he's ever made in his life to date; there are a lot more people inside than he thought there would be. Ron slides into a booth that's in as dimly lit a corner as he can find, trying to look as unobtrusive as he can and running through the names of purebloods he went to school with who aren't part of the Sacred twenty-bloody-eight.]

Lurking Outside the Ministry (but if you try sometimes)

[Ron knows at least a few of the muggle entrances to the Ministry, and he spends the better part of his day staking them out. It twists his stomach up, and he tells himself it's just because he got splinched after their last escapade inside, but really it's because he's doing this alone and he wishes to Merlin he wasn't.

He knows he could ask Bill, maybe even find Dean to watch his back a bit, but it's not the same. Besides, right now he just feels like he'd be a danger to them. What if they've decided to register? Ron wonders if this is what Harry felt like, the night he arrived at the Burrow. Wanting to leave to protect everyone else.

It's probably hypocritical to stick to his own, but he's been weeks on his own, after all. Silly to change that now, isn't it?

Yes. Very silly.

So it's a stake out. A very long, boring stakeout of at least three different entrances. He tries to make note of faces, match them to names that fit older versions. He doesn't like what he sees much at all, and he likes his prospects of getting into the Ministry and down to the Department of Mysteries even less. If Harry isn't born yet and Riddle is Minister, is there even a prophecy? Bill brought it up, and Ron hasn't been able to let it go.

He also hasn't been able to let go of the fact that his best mate might not ever exist in this world, and that teases all kinds of things that he is just not equipped to think about. Better to be doing something, definitely.

Even if what he's doing is technically doing nothing. Shouldn't he have donuts for something like this?

Ah, there goes his stomach. Where can he get donuts?]

Closed to Hermione (you get what you need)

[Being stuck out of time, in the wrong past, is exhausting. Ron doesn't understand how this administration came to be, doesn't understand how this curfew could have gone on for a decade without something like the Order popping up to fight it. Or if it does exist, it's hiding itself bloody well, and maybe that's just as bad. People are disappearing, and if his conversation with Harry's mum (that is a whole different issue that he is doing very, very badly with) is anything to go by, no one even expects Riddle or his lackeys.

It's enough to make a bloke wonder if hes' gone loopy. Or at least go loopy enough to start putting graffiti on walls. 'Death Eaters Among Us,' maybe, or 'Don't Trust the Ministry.'

He's never wanted to graffiti something so bad in his life.

Maybe it's the frustration that makes him find the deluminator in his pocket. He clicks and unclicks it, treating it like a ye olde fidget spinner that's only moderately more annoying what with its light theft. He doesn't even think about it as he leans against a building in Diagon Alley, staring at the building that ought to be Fred and George's joke shop. He could really use a laugh right about now.

Ron.

He stares blankly for a moment, wondering if he imagined it. Is he just imagining things now? But no - no. That was Hermione's voice, calling him. Calling him. Maybe he is going loopy, because he's suddenly so certain. It couldn't have been more than a whisper, but it was her.

When he pulls the deluminator out, turns away from the main road and clicks it, a little ball of light comes out. The few lights on around him stay lit, but that ball just hovers in front of him, and somehow he's not afraid at all when it floats toward him, through him, right into his heart. He touches his chest, and he just knows.

She's here. And the deluminator will take him to her. Ron closes his eyes and disapparates.]

The Dog House; Closed to Harry, James, Sirius (We decided that we would have a soda)

[After leaving Lily with the address to James Potter and Sirius Black's house - and don't worry, the fact that he will eventually have to think about leaving Harry's mum's shop to go to his dad's and godfather's home is going to lay him up - Ron wastes no time. Last he saw Harry, they fought. Last he saw him, Ron told him so many terrible things, and he hates the bloody locket for making him say it, but he mostly hates himself, for the way a piece of You-Know-who brought that out of him.

He feels shitty, and the only thing to do about it is fix things in the most awkward, teenage boy way. So, par for the course.

When he reaches the address Lily wrote down for him, he stares at the door, looks between it and the paper in his hand. All right, Ronald. Apologizing isn't so hard, is it? (Yes it is. It is so hard.)

Well, if he keeps steeling himself, there was no point in practically breaking Lily's door down, was there? So. He shoves the paper in his pocket and knocks, and somehow resists the urge to knock again after three seconds, and again three seconds after that.]

Comments

The Closet

[malificence]

[ It's his least favorite place to drink, but unfortunately - Rosier is one of them, and the pub is a natural meeting place. The actual meeting part of the evening has ended by the time the figure in the strangle Muggle headgear steps inside and looks around as if he regrets every decision he's ever made. That's not, strictly speaking, unusual for The Closet, but there's something about this one. Something that piques his curiosity.

Piques it enough to go up to Evan Rosier to get two shots of Firewhiskey, which says quite a lot. ]

Do you mind if I join you?

[ He looks quite different from the Lucius Malfoy Ron Weasley would have known. He's never had any inclination to grow his hair out, and he's a good decade plus younger, with more of a lazy maliciousness about him. But the two versions dress exactly the same, so Ron no doubt can guess who's just bought him whiskey. ]

[alwaysreturns]

[Bloody hell, Ron thinks, Lucius Malfoy just bought him a drink.

At least, he's fairly certain it's Lucius Malfoy. The hair is wrong, but all the arrogance, the gravitas - the stuff that reminds him of Draco, and maybe just a bit more threat than he'd care to admit.

If Lucius Malfoy does him in, he's going to be damned angry.

What, he wonders, would Harry or Hermione do here?]

Have at. 'Specially if one of those is for me.

[How much does he not want a shot of firewhisky with Lucius bloody Malfoy? So much.

(Still running through names. Not Macmillian, he thinks. Not Abbott. Their families are too old, and striking a balance of old but not infamous here is absolutely maddening.)]

[malificence]

[ It's said to merely be an expression that you can smell fear, but Lucius has never found that to be true. No, fear does have a distinct smell, one he'd be hard-pressed to describe exactly. He smiles a little as he slides the shot across and then downs his own in one swallow.

This one smells like fear. Not quite terror, yet. It's not quite like when he'd slipped into the cottage of a Muggleborn witch and made her thoroughly regret ever being born with magic - but it's fear all the same. Lucius leans one elbow on the scarred table and tilts his head to one side. ]

Lucius Malfoy. You are?

[And there's Ron's confirmation. Lucius' eyes glitter a bit as he waits to see if he can smell a lie, too. Whoever this is, he's too on edge to belong here, and he's very curious to hear who he'll claim to be. ]

[alwaysreturns]

[Dead. I am dead. This is the trend Ron's thoughts take, and he stares at the shot as he takes it. Does he have to knock it back like that? Shit. He starts to, chokes at the burn and winds up swallowing half. He coughs some, uses it as a cover for a few more seconds to think.

Seconds that do him nearly no good, really.]

Lee, [He finally chokes out, trying for a self-depreciating smile. Don't say Jordan, he thinks, don't say Jordan, don't say Jordan-- and then the right (Merlin, he hopes) pureblood family pops into mind.] Lee MacDougal. Please to, er, meet you, sir.

[Do not gag, he orders himself. Maybe if he plays his age, first time in a proper bar, that can excuse the rest. I am dead.[

[malificence]

Lee MacDougal.

[ That's a skeptical look on his face for a moment there, but it's wiped away quickly enough. Lucius is hardly the most dangerous looking of his friends. Indeed, there's a lazy, dissipated look about him much of the time. That makes it a little...odd that this....MacDougal is looking at him as if he expects Crucio at any moment. No one expects that sort of thing from Lucius Malfoy.

Not this version of himself, at least, which makes him think that someone here knows a different version of him. And that, he thinks, means he's from out of time. ]

It has a tendency to burn on the way down, when you're not used to it.

[ And a moment later, before Ron can say a word, the hat's off, and Lucius tilts his head. ]

Lee MacDougal. Are you sure it's not Weasley?

[alwaysreturns]

[The realization hits him the second Lucius Malfoy snatches the hat from his head. Either he flips this table right now and apparates away before the git can grab him, or...

Ron hates the alternative.

He throws back the rest of the shot, manages to only choke on it a little bit. Merlin, he hopes he doesn't regret that later, if it tastes like spicy misery going down he really doesn't want to imagine it in reverse.]

A Weasley?

[Ron is generally an honest kind of bloke, prone to wearing his emotions on his sleeve. But having one ridiculous adventure after another, every year at school, being best mates with the chosen one - he's learned how to lie. And when he tries, he's not half bad.

Maybe that also comes from years of shuffling blame for one thing or another among six siblings, but thinking about that will just make this even more miserable. His lip curls.]

Just cause I've got red hair, you think I'm one of them? [He sounds offended: it's easy. He's just picturing anyone else having this go at his family.]

Being ginger doesn't make me a blood traitor.

[He picks up the glass, holds it up between them.] I think for that insult, you should owe me another.

[malificence]

[ His brow lifted slightly. It was more plausible, really, now that the redhead was spouting the same opinions he and Bella exchanged on a regular basis. He could be a MacDougal, a family not on the Sacred 28 but pure all the same, if not exactly highly visible. They tended to keep to their home in the north. ]

My mistake. And of course you're right.

[ He checks to make sure that Evan's disappeared in the back - he likes to make Lucius' life difficult in any way he can, really - before signaling for a bottle of the whiskey. ]

You must be related to Magnus MacDougal. We went to school together, he and I, competed for Prefect for a bit. Got married just after graduation to....Bridget Abbott, I think. How is he these days? I heard something about triplets, but that can't be right.

[ Of course there's not Magnus MacDougal, and he knows better than most that the Abbotts have no daughter named Bridget. But he's curious whether this Weasley, and he's still sure it's a Weasley, will play along.

Or not. ]

the closet;

[shorted]

[ one would be shocked at the turnout of the closet past curfew hours. the misfits, the outcasts, the lewd and the drunks are perfectly normal and expected for the overall reputation and standards of the pub, but the scattering of posh wizards and witches, on the other hand, are not. it's certainly a sight to behold, yet it seems anyone who is a regular there has become accustomed to them.

after all, it only makes the closet stand out more from the rest of the other wizarding pubs in london.

evan doesn't seem particularly fazed by the groups of people his pub has attracted over the course of the past couple of years. in fact, he may very well be the most relaxed and at home bartender in the face of such a shady crowd.

so, it should be somewhat flattering when ron catches his attention (probably due to that ridiculously obvious muggle hat on his head). talk about someone who's shite at being discreet. ]

You might want to take that off, mate.

[alwaysreturns]

[This, at least, Ron has had time to find an excuse for. Or at least bothered to think about. Harry and Hermione have certainly rubbed off on him. Now he just has to manage to lie convincingly, so hopefully Fred and George have rubbed off on him, too...]

Why?

[He reaches up, folding the brim a little and readjusting it on his head.]

Obliviated some stupid muggle for this. Good color, innit? [He has no fucking idea what color it is. Navy? Was it navy? Ah. Point is, channel Draco Malfoy. Ugh.]

[shorted]

[ did he just ask why? he is definitely new in town. ]

Quick piece of advice, [ he makes a gesture at the pub. ] this establishment draws in a lot of... different kinds of people and not all of them are receptive to muggle artifacts. So, unless you want to get into a fight tonight — and, if that is the case, then have a right ol' time of it — you might want to take that off, mate. You stand out like a bloody peacock.

[ and it's exactly why you attracted malfoy's attention. he has a peacock fetish. ]

[alwaysreturns]

[By different, does he mean Death Eaters? Ron is starting to think that's the case and it's hitting the panic button in his stomach, which is right next to the hungry enough to eat twelve turkeys button.

Ron reaches up to fiddle with the hat. Merlin he should have tried a charm on it, something, but he can't even think of the right spell, now. If only it was a Chudley Cannons cap.]

Why the friendly advice, then?

[shorted]

[ no, he does not. what are death eaters even? is that some kind of weird muggle rock band? no idea what you're talking about, mate. ]

I like my patrons to be able to at least purchase a drink before they get sent to St. Mungo's. Now, are you going to keep fiddling with that bullseye on your head or are you going to make yourself stand out less?

[ take? off?? the??? bloody???? hat?????? ]

[alwaysreturns]

[Ron makes himself roll his eyes, like Evan is the one being ridiculous about the dumb hat. Really, he's just fighting the urge to apparate out into the woods somewhere where it's probably safe from weird muggle rock bands.

Pulling the hat off and tossing it onto the table, Ron arches his eyebrows at Evan.]

I'm not going to St. Mungo's for a bloody hat. Wait, your patrons? You own this place?

[hermyownee]

[By the time Hermione makes it to Diagon Alley, it's already raining harder. Her hair and clothes are drenched and she has her arms wrapped around herself while clutching her purse and wand in her hands.

The shops here seem to be open at least, unlike back home. Diagon Alley looks normal even if this place is anything but. With a soft sigh, she takes a moment to look around. It's rather odd to be here on her own. Without Ron and Harry. They always came together to get their school supplies.

But... she's glad they aren't around. Harry would be getting into trouble and Ron would probably be wanting to do something both stupid and dangerous about that curfew Professor Lupin mentioned.

With a deep breath, she straightens and starts further down the main street, searching for McKinnon's when she hears a pop right behind her.

Her wand is already out, she turns around and points it at whoever just apparated. Her eyes widen with surprise and she all but squeals his name as she throws her arms around him.]

Ron!

[alwaysreturns]

[He freezes when she points her wand, hands up, deluminator clutched in sweaty fingers. He didn't even - he didn't even know where he was going, but he's not the least bit surprised to see her. And when she hugs him - well. That's kind of nice, isn't it?

Ron hugs her tight when she does, and the I'm sorry is on the tip of his tongue but he bites down on it. He kind of thought she'd hit him, and he doesn't really want to ruin this much preferred alternative just yet.]

You're here. I thought - when did you get here?

[hermyownee]

[A bit nice, a bit awkward, the hugging thing. When she pulls back, her face is bright red but she's so relieved to see him, she doesn't really care at the moment.]

Just now. A few minutes ago, I suppose. I accidentally apparated into Knockturn Alley and I ran into Professor Lupin but he's much younger.

[A deep breath and she manages to relax a little.]

How long have you been here? Do you know what's going on? Is Harry here? [Sorry, Ron. She has questions.]

[alwaysreturns]

[He wishes he had answers. When she pulls back he drops his arms immediately, looking awkward and trying to figure out what to do with his hands now. Eventually he settles on stuffing them in his pockets and scrunching his shoulders up near his ears.]

A few days, I guess, and there's - everything is completely mental here.

[He pulls his hat down a little lower over his forehead, and looks uncomfortably around her.]

Let's - d'you know somewhere we can go to talk for a bit? [Somewhere far away from any potentially prying wizards, preferably.]

[hermyownee]

I dunno if anywhere here is... [Safe. For someone like her. Which is just enraging. But she takes a deep breath.]

Professor Lupin suggested a bookshop, McKinnon's. From what he said, I think he meant It'd be safe there. The owner's name is Marlene.

[She looks around Diagon Alley for a moment. At least it isn't packed, probably because of the rain.]

Any idea where that is?

[alwaysreturns]

[Ron actually laughs out loud at that.]

Blimey, Hermione. Dunno why I'm even surprised.

[Wait, is that mean teasing? He's trying to be nice. Extra nice, to avoid the hitting.]

I thought we could apparate somewhere - we don't have the trace, right? [EXTRA NICE]

But, er - we can try down this way, I bet it's down the main drag.

dog house.

[escare]

[ Harry's been absolutely chuffed, hanging out with his dad and his godfather for the past however-many-days it's been since he'd suddenly popped into this strange point in time. Sometimes he's laughing so hard over something his dad's said that it's hard for him to ever imagine not being here.

Being here is the happiest he's been in so long.

He doesn't forget what he's got to do, of course. A weight like that, a prophecy like that, isn't something Harry Potter can ever forget. He is still the Boy Who Lived, and Voldemort still exists - both here and in his own time, but more dangerously in his own time - which means his part in this whole matter is far from over.

For now, however, there isn't a whole lot he can do besides figure out a way to get back home, and even before that, there isn't much more to be done besides enjoy the time he has with his family, surreal as it may be.

He'd been reading one of Sirius' Quidditch magazines when he hears the sound of a knock at the door. He's not sure if either of them are expecting anyone but he wonders if it might be his mum. He gets up from his perch and calls at large: ]

I'll get it!

[ And then, he opens the door.

Cue Harry's expression turning from simple amusement into something of utter shock and relief mingled into one. ]

Ron?

[alwaysreturns]

[He's rehearsing what he'll say, certain it'll be Sirius or Harry's dad to get the door - hello Mr. Potter, is your son at home? Hi Sirius, you won't recognize me yet but you broke my leg once and I thought it'd have to be chopped off?

No, those won't do. Hi, is Harry there, it's important. Or maybe he'll just shove on through, find Harry and - something. He's not sure about the rest.

He definitely doesn't expect Harry to open the door himself. There's about three seconds of surprise where he just stares, and then in true Ron Weasley fashion he's pushing through the door to throw both arms around his best mate. Last time they were this close, he was trying to punch Harry in the face.

He's trying not to think about that. Trying not to think about everything he said. You have no family. And here he is, staying with them. Merlin.]

Harry! Your mum said you'd be here - I met your mum. [She's great??? do they talk about this, not talk about this, what happens here]

[escare]

[ Harry feels the weight of Ron's arms around him and just like that, no hesitation, Harry's arms go back around him too, squeezing tight, and clapping him on the back for good measure.

Ron's here.

Ron's here and he's solid and real and Ron's here.

Even in all the bliss of finding his parents and Sirius again, it's like a piece of the puzzle that makes Harry Harry suddenly slots into place. He feels a little less empty having his best mate standing at the threshold of his dad's flat. ]

I - yeah. [ Where does he even begin with that? ] I'm staying with my dad, Ron. My dad. [ Cue the not-so-secret grin that threatens to split Harry's face in half. ] And my mum's brilliant, isn't she? She was one of the first people I met when I got here.

[ He pulls Ron in to shut the door. ]

Ron, I can't believe you're here.

[alwaysreturns]

Blimey, mate.

[He can't imagine it for himself: Ron is a sympathetic sort of bloke who doesn't struggle to relate to people. But he can't imagine losing his mum and dad, all his siblings. Much as he's wished their places were traded in the past - and he has wished it in all kinds of undetailed ways, just to be - enough - Ron can't imagine having no one except the Dursleys and a few friends (one of whom obviously lets you down a few times but--no, that's for later).

Tugging off the muggle baseball cap he's been using to make it slightly less obvious he's a Weasley, Ron stuffs the brim into his back pocket. He's rough around the edges in ways Harry probably hasn't seen him before: haggard from too many days of too little sleep on nothing close to a bed. That was one of the worst parts of leaving, aside from feeling like the underside of a schoolroom desk - he had his rucksack, sure, but Hermione had all the important, useful stuff. It's not like he had a ten of his own or anything close to an undetectable extension charm. His hair is still in need of a cut.]

Yeah, yeah she is - think I practically broke her door down, when she said she'd seen you. [Does he owe Lily Evans an apology? Ron is entirely fuzzy on how he acted, there.] She looked just like that picture you've got. [That was the only way he'd ever seen her, or his dad for that matter, the mirror of Erised had had more important things to show him.]

Is he here?

[pronged]

[Speak of the devil long enough and he shall appear.

It's also his flat and jokes aside, it isn't that big. James heard the knock and Harry's offer to grab it and naturally since there was no follow up to that-- he had to come see who it was for himself. Maybe it's just Lily and she's talking to their son like that's just the most natural thing in the world to be twenty and have a fifteen year old.

Alas, while there is now a ginger in his home, it's not the one he was expecting. Unless Lily has suddenly turned into a man through some kind of great potion mishap and then that would be something, wouldn't it?]

Is who here?

[lechiennoir]

[Sirius, too, has followed James in, because he's heard the
'I'll get it' and ensuing conversation as well, and he can't help but be curious. He's certainly a good deal younger than Ron's used to, less slightly-mad looking and with ridiculously fluffy hair, peering over James' shoulder.]

Hallo, who's this?