Chapter Text
Over his short life, Ron had unfortunately grown far too familiar with St Mungo’s. Mostly it was from his own actions at work; Aurors did live a dangerous life, and the wizards he ended up facing had a tendency to fight dirty. So before Ron had even opened his eyes, he knew where he was. The sterile smell of cleaning products mixed with an earthy undertone of magical herbs and potions belonged only to one place.
But how had he gotten here, though? The last thing he could remember… he was having dinner with Hermione? They had just moved into a home and were still unpacking. He could remember the vague faces of Harry and Ginny… Hooded figures, a blinding light burning him, ripping him from his body –
Ron gripped his head as a sharp pain shot through it. Groaning, he wearily opened his eyes. Yep, definitely St Mungo’s, he could recognise those off white ceilings even through blurry vision.
I think I should take some time off work. Ron thought to himself. Recover for a bit, spend time with Hermione…
“Oh, you’re awake!”
Ron glanced towards the door, where a young Medi-Witch had just walked in. Her white tailored robes matched the capped hat upon her head, set at a jaunty angle. Now Ron wasn’t very familiar with women’s fashion, and even less familiar professional dress codes outside of the Auror Department, but, in his opinion, it seemed a bit… outdated? It was more of a style his Aunt Maple would wear, not a young woman!
Ron rubbed his eyes. He really didn’t need to be questioning the girl’s clothing, it was probably really fashionable, or something.
The Medi-Witch hurried over to him, placing her clipboard on the bedside table. The bed dipped as she sat next to him, the fabric of her robes brushing against Ron’s hand. “How long have you been awake?” She asked, feeling the pulse in his wrist.
“Only a minute or so,” Ron replied, blinking as she shone a wand light into his eye.
“What is your name?” She continued, holding up a finger for him to focus on. “Do you remember what happened to you? You were found unconscious out in the Scottish Highlands almost a day ago. We couldn’t find any identification, so we had you named as John Smith.”
“Ron Weasley. Erm…” Ron felt his ears go hot as the Medi-Witch leaned over him to grab her clipboard and quill. She smelt like a mixture of… Flowers. Definitely something floral. “I can’t remember. Must have been on the job. I’m an Auror, you know.”
The scratching of the quill stopped and the Medi-Witch’s eyes snapped up to his. “Of course. Well, Mr Weasley, we will get in contact with your family and let them know you’re here. And the Auror Department, I’m sure they’re worried about you too.” She stood up abruptly and started to walk towards the door.
“I’m feeling alright, you know.” Ron called out to her, trying to get out of bed. But his whole body didn’t move like he was paralysed. Ron’s heart skipped a beat. No, he couldn’t be…
The Medi-Witch glanced back at him. “Binding spells.” She explained. “With the war, we have to take safety measures with unidentified patients.”
“But I just told you who I am!” Ron struggled to no avail; his body wouldn’t budge. “I’m Ron Weasley! I’m an Auror! I fought You-Know-Who!”
“I’m sorry,” She mumbled, before almost fleeing out the room.
Ron tried to struggle against the Binding spell a bit longer, but without his wand it was hopeless. He could feel the magic wrapped around his body, trapping him to the bed, and he could tell the spell was strong. What had the witch meant, though? With the war, she had said. What war? The war with You-Know-Who had ended!
The memory of hooded figures crossed his mind again, followed by the sharp pain.
Ron ended up waiting for almost an hour, he guessed, before the door to his room opened again. This time, it was an older man with dark blonde hair, and scruffy stubble across his chin. His robes, like the witch’s, seemed outdated again. A thick tweed fabric with an emphasised collar and metal buttons. This seemed like something his Uncle Boris would wear!
Wait, was that an Auror badge?! Glinting in the light was a silver badge pinned to the man’s chest. Ron could make out the letters D M L E. The Department of Magical Law and Enforcement. Ron looked at his face again. He knew almost all the Aurors, one way or another, but he didn’t recognise this man.
The man’s heavy steps echoed around the room as he walked slowly towards Ron. His cold eyes bore into Ron’s, and Ron felt his heart speed up. He tried struggling against the bindings, but there was no weakness in the spell.
“Who are you?” The man asked.
“… Ron Weasley.”
“Where are you from, Ron Weasley?”
Ron stared at the man incredulously. “I’m from bloody here!” He said. “Who are you, anyway?”
“Wayne Gallagher.” The man said. “Head of the Auror Division in the Department of Magical Law and Enforcement.”
“No, you’re not!” Ron snapped back instantly. “Robards is Head Auror! Who the bloody hell are you?!” Ron tried struggling harder and cursed. Where was his bloody wand? Accio wand! Accio wand!
“Now listen here,” Gallagher said, drawing out his own wand and pointing it directly at Ron. “Either your head has lost of few Gobstones and you’ll end up in the Permanent Ward here, or you’re a really bad spy. Either way, I don’t have the time or the patience to play around with you.”
“W-Wait!” Ron said desperately. “I’m Ron Weasley! I fought You-Know-Bloody-Who! With Harry Potter! Surely you know him, you daft –”
“Legilimens!” The room disappeared around Ron as his memories swam before his eyes.
Hogwarts in ruins, the burning smell of magic lingering in their air. Fighting alongside students, teachers, parents. Hagrid carrying Harry’s limp body. You-Know-Who, his sickly pale skin reflecting the moonlight, red eyes glowing… Hermione. Beautiful, clever Hermione. Kissing her after she threw herself into his arms… Camping out in the wilderness. The locket. Hate, anger, and jealousy; being consumed by it… Flying on the back of an invisible Thestral, seeing only the ground far below him… Winning the Quidditch match! Kissing Lavender... Hermione, in periwinkle blue robes, dancing with Victor Krum... Scabbers, transforming into a man. Being attacked by Sirius Black, sharp teeth biting into his flesh… Being trapped in the Chamber with Lockhart, bones crushing underneath his feet... Standing on a giant chess board, knowing there was only one move to make… Begging the hat to sort him into Gryffindor… Sitting with Harry on the train for the first time.
His memories abruptly stopped, and the room came back into focus. Gallagher stared at him, eyes wide. The confident man who walked into the room was gone. All the blood had drained out of his face, his lips white.
“You…” He stuttered.
“Un-Unauthorised use of the Legilimency Charm is illegal.” Ron said faintly. He could hear Hermione’s voice clear in his head. “It must first be approved by the Wizengamot, unless in times of war –”
“We are in times of war, Ron Weasley.” Gallagher said. “Today is the 3rd of August, 1942. We have been at war against the Dark Wizard Grindelwald for several years now.”
Ron felt the room spin around him. 1942?! That was, blimey, that was over 60 years ago!
“That’s… impossible,” He croaked out.
You have memories, of Hogwarts,” Gallagher said. “And of things that haven’t happened yet… That man in the courtyard …Or these could be fake memories. Of a fake time. I need to get the Unspeakables.” Gallagher left, and Ron was alone with his spinning mind.
It was several hours before Gallagher returned. The Medi-Witch, whose name he learnt was Annette, returned shortly after his initial departure with a sheepish smile and a tray of food, but Ron couldn’t even humour picking at it. For several hours, Ron was left alone with his thoughts, spiralling deeper and deeper into a chaotic mess of panic, fear and confusion. By the time Gallagher walked back into the room, Ron was staring blankly at the wall opposite.
“Ron Weasley,” Gallagher said, his voice snapping Ron out of his daze. “This is Brian Cornfoot. He is an Unspeakable.” A larger man stepped out from behind Gallagher. Like the Auror, he wore a tweed robe, the buttons straining over his large stomach. His hair was dark, streaked with white hair.
Cornfoot stared at Ron for a moment. “Auror Gallagher has told me an incredible story.” The man began. “He came to me, claiming he cast Legilimency on a John Smith in St Mungo’s who has memories of events that have not passed. What do you have to say to that, Mr Weasley?”
Ron swallowed thickly, his mouth dry. “Those things have all happened to me. They are my real memories. I was born on the 1st of March, 1980.”
Gallagher gasped, but Cornfoot without looking, held up his hand to quieten the man.
“Legilimency is a fickle art, Mr Weasley.” Cornfoot said. “A wizard skilled in Occlumency can block and reveal certain memories to trick the person reading their mind into believing what they want. Creating entire memories, especially over a lifetime, like Auror Gallagher claims, is impossible save for the truly insane. I mean you no offence by saying this, Mr Weasley, but I truly hope that you are insane.”
Ron stared at the Unspeakable. He opened his mouth to speak, but no words came out.
“The alternative, you see, is far worse. If you have travelled back through time, your mere presence has already begun to alter the world around you, and changing the future you are from. We need to get you to the Department of Mysteries, as quickly as possible and we can find out what is the truth. I will not take any unnecessary risks,” Cornfoot continued. “Time Travel is dangerous magic, to both yourself and to everyone here. The sooner we figure this whole situation out, the better.”
“So… What now then?” Ron asked, his voice croaky.
The pair gave Ron his robes back to wear out of St Mungo’s, but refused to hand him his wand. Ron could see nervousness written across Annette’s face as she brought his robes into the room for him, and he felt his stomach churn knowing he was the reason for it. Leaving the room, Gallagher gripped Ron’s arm tightly, not giving him any leeway to escape. Several heads of the staff in the hallway turned to look at him, their expressions a combination of curiosity and wariness. Ron felt his ears go red at the attention, and squirmed uncomfortably, only making Gallagher grip his arm tighter.
As they stepped into the empty lift, Cornfoot spoke. “Gallagher, please cast a Disillusionment Charm on Mr Weasley. Your idea to escort him out like a criminal drew too much unnecessary attention.”
“You said yourself he’s dangerous.” Gallagher protested. “I’m the expert in dealing with dangerous wizards.”
“That you are, yet you handle the situation with the subtlety of a bludger.”
Gallagher's face went bright red and he let out a strangled noise about to rebut Cornfoot’s comment, but the lift pinged open, and the fat man was already walking out into the foyer. Ron heard Gallagher mutter under his breath as he pulled out his wand to cast the Disillusionment Charm, catching the words entitled and stuck up and a swear word far worse than those. The Auror whacked the top of Ron’s head harshly, causing him to wince and rub his head.
“Quiet.” Gallagher snapped, dragging Ron after the Unspeakable.
The pair found Cornfoot waiting for them outside around a quiet corner beside the Hospital, holding a patterned teacup in one hand, and pointed his wand at it with his other. “I have brought this to be a Portkey, I just need to activate it. Both of you, touch the cup.”
“I’ll assume you have authorisation for that Portkey?” More of a statement than an actual question, Gallagher’s sarcastic tone made Cornfoot glare at the Auror.
“Where is this taking us to?” Ron asked.
Cornfoot looked at Ron, but his eyes were unfocused, unable to see Ron properly through the charm. “Directly to the Department of Mysteries. An Unspeakable and Auror escorting a disillusioned wizard to the Department of Mysteries? There will be rumours across the entire Ministry before the hour’s end.”
Ron shrugged slightly. Made sense. Plus, he didn’t want half the Ministry to think he was a criminal! Both he and Gallagher touched the cup, and Cornfoot made a complicated wand wave, muttering “Portus.” under his breath. Ron suddenly felt his fingers fix to the ceramic, and a tug on navel as the spell activated. Several long seconds of bright colours rushing past him and Ron’s feet slammed into the ground. Slightly disorientated, he blinked looking around.
The Department of Mysteries looked exactly like it did from his time. The same dark brick walls and marble flooring, and low-lit blue candles casting flickering shadows on the walls. Ron shivered, remembering his experience with this gloomy place.
“You can take off the Disillusionment now.” Cornfoot ordered Gallagher. “There is no-one in here except for my colleague.” Gallagher muttered his choice swear word under his breath, and rapped Ron smartly on the same spot as before. “I would also request that you remain here for safety while I test Mr Weasley.”
“I can send one of my Aurors to do that.” Gallagher said, his voice strained with anger, his patience close to snapping. “I am Head Auror, and have other business that I need to do.”
“No Gallagher, you have to overlook it.” Cornfoot replied. “If Mr Weasley truly is a Time Traveller, he needs to have a minimal amount of contact with people from this time. Every person he interacts with, he influences their future.”
Gallagher sighed in annoyance but nodded in agreement. “Fine then. But I can’t hang around all day.” Cornfoot nodded and turned to Ron. “Well, Mr Weasley,” he said. “If it is okay with you, I would like to begin testing you immediately. This will involve Legilimency, and will be much more intrusive than what Gallagher performed on you.”
Ron felt his stomach clench. “Why does it need to be so intrusive?” Ron protested. “Surely you would be able to see straight away that I have real memories of the future!”
Cornfoot gestured for Ron to follow him. He led the two men through one of the doors to a small room filled floor-to-ceiling with bookshelves. Large tomes and leather bound books were piled up hazardously around the room, looking like the slightest brush against them would topple them over. In the centre of the room were two well-worn sofas, and a young man sprawled across one, a book hovering inches above his head.
“Alton!” Cornfoot barked. The young man yelped, and the book fell on his face with a loud thump. “I told you before I left to prepare a room for our guest.”
“I done that Mr Cornfoot, sir!” The man said, sitting up, rubbing his nose. He looked about Ron’s age, maybe a bit younger. He had a mop of curly blonde hair and was clean shaven. His grey eyes locked with Ron’s. “Is that him, sir? The Time Traveller?” He asked, his eyes widening.
“We are going to find out.” Cornfoot said, sitting on the sofa next to the other man. He gestured to the opposite sofa for Ron to sit on. Gallagher remained standing, his arms folded across his chest.
“How much do you know about Legilimency?” Cornfoot asked Ron.
Ron shrugged. “I know how to do it. We were taught it and Occulmency in our Auror training.”
Gallagher nodded. “This is correct. Though, I wouldn’t have imagined from your mind that you had training.”
Ron puffed his chest up. “You burst into my room, started accusing me of being a bloody spy and cast the spell on me! I had no time to prepare!”
“You would never have time to prepare in the field.” Gallagher snapped back. “All it takes is one stray thought and the enemy knows your secrets and intel. You comprise a not only the mission you are on but the lives of other Aurors and civilians too!” Cornfoot cleared his throat, but Gallagher continued. “If you were one of mine, I would send you straight back for re-training! The future must have gotten soft if this is the standard of Aurors –”
“How dare you –” Ron was up on his feet, his hands clenched in fists.
“AHEM!” Cornfoot almost shouted at them. “Sit down Weasley. Gallagher, control yourself! You can discuss the state of the current Auror division after with Mr Weasley if you so desire.”
Still seething, Ron threw himself down on the sofa, glaring daggers at the wall behind Cornfoot’s head. Gallagher huffed, and walked over to the opposite wall, leaning against it.
“As I was trying to say,” Cornfoot shot Gallagher a sharp glare. “If you have studied the Mind Arts, then you are no doubt aware of the complexities. Legilimency is one of the most complex and subjective forms of magic. You do not only see the subject's surface thoughts or memories, you all see their emotions, their beliefs, opinions, and imagination. I need to perform a thorough mind delve on you, Mr Weasley because I need to know what is truth. Not what you believe the truth to be. This involves looking past what is obvious, and correctly interpreting what is hidden.”
Ron looked at Cornfoot incredulity. “You’re not making any sense, mate.”
Cornfoot closed his eyes, a let out a deep sigh. “You believe you are from the future, yes?”
Ron nodded. “I am.”
“But you could only believe you are. Your memories could have been altered by either by yourself or an outside force. We are in times of war, Mr Weasley. Terrible things happen to people we care about. People we are close to. These kind of events can be too much for your mind to handle, so it can… replace it with something more favourable. What you remember might not have actually happened.”
“Why are you so bloody eager to believe I’m not from the future?”
“Because Mr Weasley, you being from the future is the worst case scenario.”
“I am from the future,” Ron repeated. “I was born in 1980.”
Cornfoot nodded. “If you would care to prove it to me?”
Ron felt the sick dread build up in his stomach, but he couldn’t think of what else he could do. These people weren’t going to let him go until they believed he wasn’t from their time. They were being civil, and not aggressive at least. They did still have his wand, but if a strange wizard suddenly appeared out of nowhere claiming to be from another time, Ron would probably take his wand too, at least until he knew he could trust them. “Go on then,” Ron said.
Cornfoot took out his wand and pointed at Ron. “Legilimens!”
He was eating breakfast with Hermione in the Burrow. The morning light was kissing her skin. It caught her hair, making it shine like a thousand strands of copper… The sun was beating down on his head, and Ron could feel sweat running down the back of his hot neck. Next to him, Ginny had her hands pressed to her mouth to stop herself sobbing like George was, as they lowered Fred’s casket into the ground... You-Know-Who standing amongst his Death Eaters after returning from the Forest; pure sadistic glee on his face, knowing he had won… Ron was laughing so hard his cheeks hurt and tears were building in his eyes, next to him Harry was in a similar state. The Common Room was boisterous around them, full of talking and laughter. Hermione threw them both filthy looks as she edited their Potions essays… Ron was in the stands watching Quidditch, his heart thumping with adrenaline. Harry was flying with such grace it was like he was born to be in the air. Wood blocked the quaffle, and Ron watched the Keeper cheer with a longing in his gut… Ron stared at the paper, his stomach twisting. He knew the answer, he remembered reading it! He just couldn’t think of it! … His brothers were cheering as he sank into the seat next to them. Ron was filled with relief; glad he wasn’t the first Weasley in ten generations to be sorted into a house other than Gryffindor!
The memories stopped and the room came back into focus. Cornfoot was staring at him appraisingly, sweat beading the man’s forehead. “Alton. Please contact Headmaster Dippet at Hogwarts. I want a list of every student to have attended in the last 10 years. I also want you to bring the Ministry’s copy of the Weasley family tree.”
“O-O’ course Mr Cornfoot!” The young man said, jumping up.
Silence smothered the room as neither Ron nor Cornfoot spoke. “Who was that man?” Cornfoot finally asked, his voice was quiet. “The one with the pale skin?”
“And the snake-face?” Gallagher spoke up suddenly. “I saw him too.”
“That was You-Know-Who, I mean, you don’t, I guess.” Ron stuttered out. “That’s what we call him, no-one really says his name, except for Harry and Dumbledore. In the second War, it was Taboo! The Snatchers came after anyone who spoke his real name, ‘cause the only people who would say it opposed him. He’s one of the worst Dark Wizards of all time. You guys keep going on about Grindelwald, but Grindelwald wasn’t nearly as bad as You-Know-Who! But don’t worry!” Ron hastily added, seeing the look of alarm on Gallagher’s face. “He won’t appear for ages yet, he’s way after this… time…” Ron’s voice trailed off. “What year is this, again?”
“1942,” Gallagher answered.
“He’s here.” Ron's voice was trembling. “He’s a student in Hogwarts. Next year, he’s going to get an award for stopping these attacks, but he was the one who-”
“ENOUGH!” Cornfoot bellowed, his face a blotchy red. “DO NOT SAY ANYTHING ELSE!” Ron and Gallagher looked at the Unspeakable in alarm.
“What the bloody hell is your problem?!” Ron fired back. “He’s here! We need to stop him!”
“No, we do not!” Cornfoot seethed. “This is the danger of Time Travel! This is why I said I’d rather you be insane, or a victim of war or anything but a Time Traveller! You want to change history! Anything you do here will change the future you are from! You could alter your future in such a way it’s unrecognisable! Entire generations have been wiped out by people experimenting with Time Travel! The damage you would cause is inconceivable!”
“You don’t get it!” Ron yelled back. “You-Know-Who was completely mental! He was so obsessed with the Dark Arts he went insane! All he wanted was power and killed anyone who stood up to him! He used Pureblood propaganda to hurt Muggle-borns and Muggles! The world would be a better place without him in it!”
“STOP TALKING!” Cornfoot bellowed again. “Gallagher, get out!”
“You can’t order me around like some–”
“GET OUT NOW!” Cornfoot was sweating profusely, his hands curled into fat pink fists.
Gallagher shot Ron a look, and Ron knew the Auror believed him. The door shut behind him, and Ron turned to Cornfoot. “So I guess you believe me now, huh? Being from the future.”
Cornfoot was still shaking as he took a few deep breaths to compose himself. “I do not yet believe you are.” He gritted out. “However, I will not take any risks. I will not allow you to potentially change the future until I can rule it out as an impossibility.”
“Nothing is impossible.” Ron said in a low voice.
“How right you are.” Cornfoot sighed, raising his wand. “Legilimens!”