The room stopped spinning, leaving Ron feeling like a child’s toy as he stumbled, regained his balance and then looked around. All the doors were identical. Which one… which one? The wrong door could mean torture or death; the right one would lead to her. He had to save her. Ron had to reach Hermione before it was too late…

A cold, clammy hand touched Ron’s face.

He bolted upright, in a cold sweat from the nightmare. Ron’s pajamas were soaked through, his hair plastered to his face. It was the third time this week that he’d had the dream, and he wondered if he would ever get over that day in the Department of Mysteries.

The memory of the battle to defeat Voldemort once and for all was often more than Ron could bear. So many ghosts inhabited the castle; were the ones he now saw the usual spirits or just memories of the fallen? To his right, he saw his father and Percy fighting back to back at the Ministry, jets of light streaming from each of their wands. To the left, within the castle, Professor McGonagall falling to a green blast to the back, her wand falling in slow motion from her hands. Off in the distance, an apparition of Argus Filch cradled the limp body of Mrs. Norris. And then there was the image of Hermione, the one that would never leave him: Hermione unconscious, bleeding, bound - and miraculously alive.

Ron shook his head to make the ghosts go away. They didn’t.

Once Professor Flitwick took over as headmaster, Ron had approached him about a job.

“What? One of the heroes of the war – a caretaker? Unacceptable! You could do anything, young man, work anywhere! Why on earth would you want to…�

Ron interrupted the little headmaster. “You don’t understand, sir. This is the only place that feels…safe to me now. I don’t want to work anywhere else. I’ve had offers to become an Auror, to work for the Ministry. I just can’t, sir. I don’t think I’ll ever enter that building again.�

Professor Flitwick patted Ron on the arm and nodded his head knowingly.

Hunting Horcruxes and fighting Death Eaters had provided enough excitement to last Ron through the end of his days. All he wanted to do now was earn a quiet living, to provide a decent life for Hermione, and to keep safe the only place he could now call home: Hogwarts.

Ron rubbed his stinging eyes a couple of times, leaving streaky red patches in the wake of his rough fingers. Slowly, he rose from his bed and limped over to the chest of drawers. Might as well get the day started, he thought as he dressed in jeans and one of his old jumpers.

Too early for breakfast, Ron decided to start with the first floor classrooms. He could have one cleaned within the hour and then do the others after breakfast. No one used the rooms until the afternoon on Thursdays, and he liked for Harry’s class to be prepared. He exited his quarters on the ground floor, and his bad right leg, which had killed any future for him as a Quidditch player, ached from the damp early morning air.

Ron climbed the stairs, opened the door to the Defense Against the Dark Arts classroom and peered at shadows climbing the stone walls. He had entered the room and approached the large desk in front when a light shuffling sound from behind made him jump slightly. Ron said without turning around, “You’re up early.�

---

Ron turned to see Hermione standing at the doorway in her bathrobe. She leaned her head against the door jamb and crossed her arms in front of her. Her hair, still mussed from sleep, was as bushy and wild as ever. Ron sighed and rested against Harry’s desk.

“You weren’t exactly quiet when you got up,� Hermione said, moving into the room. She stopped a few feet away and leaned against one of the student seats. Tilting her head to one side, she stared at him for a moment and then continued, “You had another one of those dreams.�

Ron dropped his eyes. After several moments, he nodded. What was the point in denying it? “I didn’t mean to disturb you.�

Hermione came to stand right in front of him and placed a hand on his cheek. He shut his eyes, unsuccessfully willing the heat from her hand to erase the chill stiffening his very bones. “Ron, won’t you please consider talking to someone about this? These dreams are happening more and more frequently – it’s been over six months since…it all ended. I’m worried about you. You haven’t even gone to visit Mum in almost two months.�

Shaking his head, Ron replied. “I just can’t, Hermione. Being in the house – it’s just too hard. I see them – Dad and Percy – every time I walk in there.�

Hermione nodded. “But maybe if you talk to someone…�

“No! I’m not going to one of your Muggle psycholometrists or whatever the bloody hell they’re called!� he shouted. “Just let it be already! I just need…� Ron’s voice dropped, “I need some more time. I promise, I’ll get past this and then things will be normal again.�

Hermione shook her head silently, turned and padded from the room. And as Ron rose to start cleaning, the room suddenly began to spin. Then the world went black.


Ron opened his eyes slowly, trying to get his bearings. He glanced around and saw the classroom desks, but they were upside down as if he were on the ceiling. Had he fallen? As quickly as the thought had come to him, the classroom changed into…oh no, he was back at the Ministry again! Back in that horrible room with the rows and rows of seats – the courtroom.

Breathing became constricted, shallow, and a sheen of sweat coated Ron’s face. He could barely turn his head. Finally he saw her on the dais; Hermione - trussed up near the veil with Bellatrix laughing nearby, poised to push Hermione through the tattered fabric that led to Merlin only knew where.

What am I doing on the ceiling? Ron wondered and then struggled to move. But his feet felt as if they were glued down…or up…if he took his foot from the surface would he fall or float? It was all so jumbled…. Then he mustered all his strength and yanked the foot free – and careened toward Hermione and the dais. With a thud, he landed and all went dark again.


“Ron! Ron, wake up!� Someone was shaking him and smacking his face.

“Bloody hell,� Ron murmured. “Stop that!�

“Are you all right, mate?� It was Harry. Ron searched the room with his eyes. He was still in the Defense Against the Dark Arts classroom, now with Professor Potter standing over him with an anxious expression on his face. Cold stone dug into his hip as he strained to push himself to a seated position, with little success. “I was heading to breakfast when I heard shouting and then a crash. I came in and found you here. You’ve been screaming and lashing about like a wild Thestral.�

Harry helped Ron to a seat, and Ron buried his head in his hands. How long had he been hallucinating? He hadn’t mentioned it to Hermione or Harry, but his nightmares were now chasing him during his waking hours. “I’m all right, Harry. I guess I should have had breakfast before I started straightening the room. Just need a bit of food is all.�

But Ron knew differently. Damn. Perhaps he would have to take Hermione’s advice after all and see someone about this problem that didn’t seem to have any intention of going away.

---

The question was: whom could Ron talk to about the trouble he was having adjusting to life after the war? One of Hermione’s doctors wouldn’t work because they were all Muggles. How was Ron supposed to explain a wizard war to a non-magical person? His friends had shared the same experiences, but they were also having their own problems. And Ron was never exactly a sharing kind of guy. After mulling it over for a time, Ron knew where he needed to go.


There was another door, but inside the room instead of a floor was a dark lake. Opposite the first door was another with a key right next to it. But that key wouldn’t open the lock. A glint at the bottom of the lake revealed another small key. The lake wasn’t deep – it wouldn’t be hard to retrieve the key, but it didn’t seem to be the right one either. Another key hung from the ceiling – the right key, but spells just wouldn’t work to get it. Short of crashing in the ceiling, what was there to do? There was a crackle in the air - as if at any moment, with one wrong move, the entire room would just crumble and the world would end.

“So I Summoned the key hanging next to the door and then Hermione – Merlin, she was in rare form – she transfigured that little key into an impossibly tall ladder, and I climbed up to reach the key we needed. Then Harry opened the door and found the Horcrux. We were all kind of huddled together, and all touched it at the same time – Helga Hufflepuff’s cup. It was a Portkey, but it also seemed to send off some kind of signal. We were transported to Hogwarts and within a few minutes, the castle was under attack, the Order was called in to defend it, and well…you know the rest.�

“And you’ve been reliving this for so long? Oh, Ron.�

Mrs. Weasley reached across the kitchen table and grabbed Ron’s hand as he sobbed into his arms. He’d spent the last two hours trying his best to explain why he’d been so scarce. The house was still chaotic and full of wonderful smells. When Ron had stepped out of the fireplace, he’d been overcome with so many emotions and sensations: fear, longing, sadness, and oddly – relief. His mother had welcomed him with a teary smile and a platter of sticky buns. Now she put some water in a kettle and prepared to heat some water for tea.

“I’m so sorry I haven’t been here, Mum. I should never have abandoned all of you. I didn’t know what else to do, so I just reckoned if I stayed away, the memories would go away.�

“I understand, dear. But now you know that running from your problems won’t help. And don’t worry about us. Bill and Fleur are here and the baby is just a joy. My heart aches that your father never got to meet his grandson, but I just tell myself that he’s watching us from somewhere.� Mrs. Weasley sighed and shook her head. “The hurt will never go away, Ron. But it dulls a bit - enough to allow you to go on, anyway. Loved ones can help if you let them. And, you know, there are Healers who do a sort of counseling. There aren’t many, but after the first war, there were more than a few people who had similar…difficulties to the ones you’re experiencing. So there were some Muggle-borns who made their services available. Your father saw one for a time.�

The teapot, enchanted with the song of a red robin, whistled that the water was ready.

Ron nodded and wiped his eyes. He embraced his mother tightly. “I’ll think about it, but I have to get back now, Mum. I swear, I’ll come ’round much more often.�

“We’ll be here, sweetheart. Take care of yourself. I’ll be here whenever you need me.�

They hugged again. Ron stepped back into the fireplace, threw a handful of Floo powder into the flames and said, “Hogwarts!�

The visit with his mother wouldn’t erase the nightmares from his mind, but he did feel a small amount of the guilt he’d been carrying lift from his heart.

---

Later that evening, Ron sat down to dinner with Hermione in the Great Hall. Harry was off at Ginny’s flat in Hogsmeade for the night since he didn’t have any early classes the following day.

“Hi, love. Sorry I’m late.�

“No problem. I got some essays graded,� Hermione said, tucking a stack of parchment between the pages of her roster book.

“How were classes today?� Ron asked, helping himself to a turkey leg and a scoop of green peas.

“They were fine, but I think if I see another pincushion with whiskers and eyes, you may hear me screaming from the opposite end of the castle.� Hermione paused and gazed at Ron quizzically, a look that he chose to ignore. She continued, as he knew she would. “Wouldn’t you like some potatoes, or perhaps a roll?�

Ron’s hand tightened around his fork, turning his knuckles white. He chewed slowly, without enjoyment, swallowed, and then answered, “Not tonight, thanks. I’m not that hungry.� His eyes met hers, almost defiantly; his lips were pressed together in a tight line. Hermione seemed to think for a moment and then let the issue drop.

“Fine. So what did you do today?� she questioned. The hint of strain in her voice was unmistakable.

Ron examined his food and pushed it around his plate. He really had no desire to eat – for days after one of those dreams, everything tasted like sawdust.

Without lifting his eyes, he said quietly, “I went to the Burrow to see Mum today.� When Hermione didn’t respond, he glanced up. She nodded and smiled, but he noticed the moisture that made her eyelashes seem thicker. She clasped Ron’s hand, and he squeezed back as he recounted the details of his visit.

After dinner, the couple played a game of chess. Hermione had gotten considerably better with practice, but not good enough to beat Ron yet. Just before they got into bed for the night, Hermione offered “I can make some discreet inquiries at St. Mungo’s for you if you’d like to keep this private.� He grunted a response as his head hit the pillow, fearing what might be hiding behind his eyelids.


They had all gotten separated trying to escape some vicious little redcaps in the treacherously booby-trapped Riddle House. Thinking that the parlor door led to the kitchen, Ron instead plummeted through a trap door and found himself in a cellar. One minute the room was dark; the next it was lit by stout candles in sconces. He walked forward and came to a door. Brandishing his wand, he tried the knob and found that the door opened easily – never a good sign. He could hear the pounding of his own heart and his breath coming in raspy gasps. “Harry! Hermione!� There was only silence; Ron was alone.

He took a tentative step forward, trying to ignore his fear by concentrating on finding the others. Beyond the threshold was a larger room, and in the center of the room stood a ring of stones. It looked like a huge fire ring, and it stood between Ron and another door, which was hopefully an exit. The stones spanned the entire perimeter of the room, so there was no way to go around them. Ron stepped one foot inside and waited for several seconds. Nothing happened.

He bolted toward the opposite door.

And then, as he reached the center of the ring, he heard a loud BANG and the room went dark.

“Lumos.� Ron whispered, watching his wand tip illuminate in his shaking hand.

Directly before him, he saw a large, silvery shape, writhing and twisting, becoming more solid with each moment. Ron backed away, his legs feeling like water, until he hit a solid mass – the first door. The mass continued to shift until finally its form was complete.

“You’ve got to be bloody joking!� Ron said aloud. He was facing a man-sized Jack Russell terrier –his own Patronus--which looked like it would tear him to a million pieces if not for the shimmering chain binding it to the door. It leapt toward him, but was yoked back, snarling and snapping, its jaws barely two metres from his face. If he could just get the chain latched to the entryway, he could get through the opposite door safely.

It would take some very quick spellwork, and Ron wasn’t at all confident that he could perform the Fixing Charm well enough, but it was either try or remain here with Fluffy’s less pleasant cousin.

Standing near the entrance, Ron shouted, “Accio ring!� and the ring at the end of the dog’s chain flew into Ron’s waiting hand. Immediately he slammed it to the door and cried, “Adhaero Persisto!� praying that it would stick strongly enough to hold. The dog was momentarily confused, seeing the ring flying through the air. Ron seized his opportunity and rushed across the room.

He was almost to the door and could feel the dog’s slobber spraying the back of his neck. The door was nearly within reach…he could hear Hermione shouting his name…and then a searing pain through his right thigh caused him to fall. The canine gripped Ron’s leg. He screamed….


And he woke up screaming, Hermione shaking him and calling his name. He shot upright, his head whipping around. He wasn’t in the Riddle House; he was at Hogwarts, in his own bed. Panting and sweating, he collapsed against Hermione into her outstretched arms and bawled. His body shook harder with each sob.

Hermione was rubbing his back and saying soothing words he couldn’t understand; Ron wanted to stop crying, to stop trembling, to be the man that she deserved, but all control had left him for the time being. Finally, he understood one thing that she said.

“I promise, Ron, tomorrow we’ll find someone to help you.�

---

Once Ron calmed down, he snuggled next to Hermione and stared out the window next to their four-poster double bed for a time. It was particularly cold for early December, and the first snowflakes were drifting toward the earth in silence. Beneath the down covers, with his arms wrapped around his wife’s warm body, Ron shivered and eventually fell into an uneasy sleep.

The room was much like the veil room, but it clearly was not. Instead of cold, gray stone, the room seemed bright and warm, with a yellowish-orange hue to the seats. Instead of the dais at the bottom, center of a sort of coliseum, there was a raised platform attached the far wall. One thing remained constant: the veil, that ominous barrier to the unknown, still fluttered in an unfelt breeze.

The voices that normally might be heard from behind the curtain now surrounded Ron, yet instead of chilling him with fear, they felt inviting, comforting. Their shadows danced overhead and around the periphery of the room. Ron moved to the bottom row of seats and looked up toward the sounds. One voice stood out among the others and called to him.

Ron looked up and standing there, in shimmering deep blue robes, was his father.

“Look, Ron! Just over there.� He pointed, and Ron saw that just beneath the platform, a door, illuminated by a soft halo, with a bright golden knob, was cracked open. “It’s time for you to go now, son.�

“No, Dad! Come with me!�

“It’s time, Ron. Go through the door.�


Ron awoke the following morning feeling more refreshed than he had in weeks. He turned over to find Hermione already up and dressed.

“What time is it,� he asked with a lion-sized yawn.

“It’s almost seven, and I know you prefer to get up early, but I thought you could use the rest.� Hermione tensed. Ron knew that she was waiting for an outburst; after all, he’d been having them more and more frequently and over the smallest things. He observed her posture: shoulders tight, lips pressed together, arms poised protectively around herself. Ron wiped a hand over his face. It wasn’t right, and was certainly never his intention, for his wife to be so uncomfortable, almost fearful.

He got out of the bed, feeling Hermione’s eyes following his every move, stretched, and crossed the room to where she stood. Looking down at her, her face now somewhat puzzled, he said, “Thank you. For everything.� He circled his arms around her shoulders and felt them slowly relax, and then her arms wrapped around his waist. She sighed and returned his embrace.

It was Saturday, so the couple took their sweet time getting down to breakfast.

As she promised, before lunchtime Hermione came and found Ron in the trophy room. He had been dusting, but decided to take a break to study the newest tapestry that adorned the space between the two largest windows. There were three faces woven into the fabric: Harry, Ron and Hermione, and above their images Heroes of the Wizarding World was embroidered in golden thread.

“I thought you hated that thing,� said Hermione, hugging him from behind. “Why don’t you come upstairs with me and we can continue the lovely discussion we were having this morning?�

Ron chuckled. “It’s not that I hate it; I just think it’s a bit embarrassing. But I just noticed that it’s an uncanny likeness. I’ll be up in a few moments, love. I’m nearly finished in here. And then we can discuss all you like.� Ron turned and smiled at Hermione, who had an attractive tinge to her cheeks.

“I could wait for you. We could even chat here if you like.� A sly smirk curled the corner of her mouth as she fingered her wand. “I doubt anyone would come in here, but just in case…� And with a flick of her wrist, the latch on the door locked.

“What’s gotten into you? Not that I’m complaining, mind you,� Ron asked, pulling her closer with a grin.

“It’s just nice to see a bit of your old self is all,� Hermione replied. “And I have good news.�

“Isn’t it a bit too soon after…you know…for…�

“Not that kind of news! I’ve found a Healer at St. Mungo’s, and he can see you first thing on Monday… If you’re still willing to go, that is.� Her eyes clouded slightly.

Ron looked down at her and wondered why on earth she stayed with him in spite of everything that had happened. Trailing a finger down the side of her face, he thought, I’d do anything to make the sadness in your eyes go away.

“Of course I’ll go, Hermione. Thanks.�

And with that, he unlocked the door and led Hermione by the hand back to their suite of rooms.

---

Hermione had some work to do in the library. It was a Hogsmeade weekend, and most of the students were out of the castle. With not much in the way of work to do, Ron ventured out to the Quidditch pitch where the Gryffindor team was practicing. It seemed like he hadn’t been in the stadium for a lifetime; not being able to fly had been a huge blow. But for some reason on this day he felt that maybe he could be there for a few moments.

Ron was pleased to see that Demelza Robbins was now captain of the team – she’d been an excellent Chaser last he remembered. But she was the only one on the team he recognized. Madam Hooch was still coaching, but now her movements were slower and stiffer. Even her voice, which had been clear and commanding during Ron’s school days, (as if they’d been so far in the past) had taken on a slight croakiness. Watching the players whizzing around the field, Ron found that he sorely missed the sensation of wind in his ears and the loopiness of doing a barrel roll, trying to stop a Quaffle from reaching a goal post. As if to chide him for wanting what he could no longer have, Ron’s leg began to ache in the cold winter air. He pushed himself up with the aid of his cane and turned to leave the pitch feeling wistful and melancholy.

At the entrance to the dressing rooms, Ron nearly collided with Harry.

“Harry! Didn’t expect you back until tomorrow,� Ron said.

“Ginny decided to come back with me. She wanted to see you and Hermione…if you’re up to it, that is.� Harry’s eyes suddenly shifted to look anywhere but Ron’s. “I guess your mum mentioned that she’d seen you and…�

“It’s fine, Harry. I’d like to see my sister. We’ll meet for dinner, then?�

“Yeah, great!� Harry paused to look out at the team going through their formations. “Do you ever miss it, Ron?� he asked.

With a sigh, Ron replied, “Of course I do, but with this leg…�

Harry nodded and gazed into the sky streaked with scarlet and gold blurs. “I hear the team has new brooms this year.� There was a long moment of silence, not wholly comfortable, as if there were something needing to be said, but neither of them wanted to be the one to say it. Then Harry spoke. “Did the Healers actually say that you could never ride a broom again?�


Saturday’s peacefulness did not carry over into Sunday. Despite a very relaxed and fun evening with Ginny and Harry that lasted late into the night, the nightmares had returned, waking Ron around four, leaving him tired and grumpy. Careful not to wake Hermione, he eased out of bed and dressed in the sitting room, where he then lit a fire so that the room would be warm when she came out.

There were some old vases and pedestals that needed to be moved from the entrance hall up to the Room of Requirement. It was by far the best place to use for storage, he’d found. Ron levitated the bunch and took them through a shortcut up to the seventh floor. No wonder Filch was so cross all the time, he reflected. Doing all of this without magic would be a nightmare.

Barnabas the Barmy was still there on the seventh floor, marking the spot where the room would appear. Pacing slowly back and forth in front of a bare strip of wall, Ron thought, I need a place to store these old things, three times. The door appeared and opened into an enormous warehouse. Ron brought the items in and found a spot to keep them. It had been made very clear to him that nothing should ever be thrown out of the castle. Of course not, he reasoned, you never know when old things will be useful again.

Whether from curiosity or boredom, Ron decided to see just how big this place was. He hobbled past the rows upon rows of paintings, furniture, baubles and gadgets. There seemed to be no end to the space. Finally, he came upon a gap in one of the rows and turned to find a wall and a door. Ron groaned inwardly; he despised mysterious doors, yet he trusted the Room of Requirement.

Feeling for his wand, he stepped forward and turned the knob. The door opened into a dark room, but the walls were shimmering oddly as if reflecting light from a pool of water. No, not from water, but from a mirror. Ron lit his wand tip and approached the familiar looking glass tentatively. Recognition caused him to stop in his tracks. He knew the mirror from his first year when he’d seen his reflection as a smashing success in life. Yeah, he thought with a huff, some success I turned out to be.

As much as he wanted to turn away, he couldn’t avert his eyes. He moved a step closer. Suddenly in the reflection, Hermione was standing next to him, smiling lovingly, holding a red-haired baby, with its pudgy little thumb in its mouth. The image made Ron smile and brought a tear to his eye. Then, from the walls, people started to move toward him. And the tears came in a flood.

Beaming with pride behind Ron were his father and Percy. Professor McGonagall appeared, followed by Professor Dumbledore. Order members, students, friends – all lost during the war, all returned and beckoning him to stay. They missed him, they said. They were proud of all he had done. But all Ron could feel was horror at the sheer number of lost lives. What he wouldn’t give to bring them all back. He should be with them, he mused. He was no braver, no more special. How was it that he’d survived, but they hadn’t?

Ron’s father stepped to the front of the group. “None of this was your fault, Ron. We made choices just as you did. We’ll be here when you’re ready to join us. We’ll be waiting.� The others continued to call Ron toward them.

“Dad! I’m so sorry, Dad! I should have been there with you and Percy! It is my fault!�

His father glanced over at the image of Hermione and the baby. Ron’s gaze followed, his father’s voice now drowned out by the others summoning him to stay. But he knew he could not. He squeezed his eyes shut and backed away, sobbing, “I’m sorry! I have to go! I’m so sorry!�

He limped out of the room as quickly as he could and out of the Room of Requirement.

Yes, old things could be useful, but they could also be dangerous.

---

Monday morning rolled around with Ron hollow-eyed and sleep deprived as ever. There had been another dream; either this one wasn’t as bad as the others, or Ron was just too exhausted to remember it.

He did a bit of light cleaning in the dungeons – there had been a hideous odor down there after the last Potions class yesterday – and then changed for his appointment.

At St. Mungo’s, he went to the front desk to wait in line, fidgeting every few moments and tapping a finger on the head of his cane. After a man with a plant clamped around his two bleeding first fingers was sent to the Serious Bite Ward, Ron finally approached the receptionist, a cross looking woman with glasses perched on the tip of her nose. She looked over the tops of the lenses and said with something akin to a growl, “May I help you?�

Ron almost wanted to say no, but plucked up his nerve instead. “Er, I’m looking for Healer Laurence Kindley’s office?�

“Your name?�

“Ronald Weasley. I have an appointment.�

The woman’s face softened and she pointed behind her. “Yes, of course. Right down this hall, make a left at the Serious Bite ward, and it’s the third door on the right. Follow the fellow with the plant. Have a lovely day.�

Thanking the woman, Ron followed the bobbing leaves, not quite paying attention. He had a tight feeling in his chest and his stomach was churning. He hadn’t even been this nervous when he and Hermione had exchanged vows last spring.

There were four doors along the corridor on the right hand side, but Ron couldn’t remember if he wanted the second or third, and was it the second or third from his end of the hall or from the end of the hall? He decided to try the second door, and with a light knock, opened it.

The room was dimly lit, and the moment the door slammed shut, a loud click drew Ron’s attention. The door was gone. Furthermore, the walls were now all identical: pale grey steel. And, what the hell? They were moving, contracting inward! The fingers of panic seized Ron’s heart and squeezed mercilessly; he froze, incapable of taking action. Instead, he screamed and began to pound where the door had previously been. “Hey! Someone get me out of here!�

There was a noise from the left, a sort of grunting. Within seconds, the door banged open and several voices were talking at once.

“What’s going on in here?�

“What’s that guy doing?�

“Hey, is my hour up yet?�

Ron discovered that he was lying huddled on the floor and slowly lifted his head to glance around. A man in a white gown was sitting up in a bed, and two green-robed Healers were standing at the door. Then another Healer came rushing in: a short bearded man with a round belly waddled toward Ron. “Mr. Weasley?�

Speechless, Ron just goggled at him and nodded.

“Ah, I see there’s been a mix-up again, gentlemen. Mr. Weasley is here to see me and must have stumbled in here by mistake. Very sorry. Come with me, Mr. Weasley. My office is the next one down.�

With a bit of a struggle, Ron got to his feet and silently followed Healer Kindley into the next room.

“You made a common error, Mr. Weasley. You went into one of the therapy rooms. There may come a point when you might require a session or two in there, but let’s see what we can accomplish without it, eh?�

“P-people go in there willingly?� sputtered Ron, still feeling short of breath, and still standing near the closed door.

Healer Kindley regarded Ron for a moment before speaking, and then asked, “What was it that you think you saw in there?�

Ron leaned against the door and rubbed his hand over his face, choking back a sob before telling the Healer what had just transpired.

“Interesting,� said Kindley. “And this sort of thing has been happening often? Because there was nothing in the room but the gentleman asleep.�

“I don’t do well in strange places where the walls try to crush you,� Ron replied with a shudder. He still stood near the door, wondering what he’d gotten himself into.

---

“Mr. Weasley – Ronald, if I may, why don’t you take a seat?�

Ron took stock of the office. Oddly, it somehow resembled the Gryffindor common room, except with a large mahogany desk in the center. A fireplace warmed the side wall, making a Muggle painting of a medieval lady and a unicorn seem to flicker and dance. Two squashy, velvet armchairs sat before the desk, inviting Ron further into the room. Suddenly, Ron began to feel weary, but at the same time some deep instinct told him that he needed to escape this place, this man. Yet, his feet felt achy, his leg was throbbing…the chairs looked so comfortable.

Gripping his cane, Ron stepped away from the door, toward one of the chairs. He sat, rested the cane at his side, leaned back and instantly melted into the seat. It was if every care he’d had over the past few years was magically lifted. There was no need to escape, or to do anything for that matter. This chair could be his new home, Ron thought with a slight smile as he let his eyelids drift together.

“Ah, yes, Mr. Weasley. It would be very nice to stay in this comforting place, wouldn’t it? Unfortunately, that is not how this process works. The office is enchanted to provide a relaxing atmosphere, to allow the patient to be more…open. Perhaps we should make it a little less cozy for you then, eh?�

Healer Kindley waved his wand. The fire dwindled, the chair became a tad less squashy and an overhead light brightened. Ron opened his eyes and sat up. He still felt at ease, just not so…lethargic.

“Sorry about that,� Ron said. “I don’t sleep very well. I guess I’m just a bit tired.�

“Yes, your wife gave me a cursory account of what’s been going on. It’s fairly typical after the horror you lived through. However, I’d like you to describe these dreams to me yourself. Give me as much detail as you can manage.� With another wave of his wand, Kindley Summoned a piece of parchment, ink and a quill from the mantle, and he sat back, fingers interlaced over his belly, to listen. The quill dipped itself in the inkwell and poised over the paper to take notes.

“Well…� began Ron with a knot in his gut, churning and writhing away. “…they all tend to be pretty jumbled – pieces of different situations all confused together.� And he recounted the worst of the dreams to the Healer. When he finished, their hour almost up, Kindley nodded slowly and tapped a finger against his nose, evidently deep in thought.

“And when did these dreams start again?�

“Oh, I don’t know, maybe around September?� Ron tilted his head to one side.

“And how long have you been married?�

“What does that have to do with anything?� Ron bristled. “Our anniversary is in February.�

“I see. Married during wartime? Interesting. My, my, look at the time. One last thing, Ronald,� Kindley said as he rose from his chair.

“I prefer Ron,� Ron interrupted.

“Yes, all right then, Ron, when did you last ride a broom?�

“What kind of nutter are you anyway?� Ron asked, totally confused now. But when Kindley just stood by the door with a benign smile on his face, Ron relented and answered, “Not since before I was hurt.�

Taking the hint that it was time to leave, Ron heaved himself reluctantly up and approached the door. He shook Kindley’s offered hand.

“Not a terribly complicated case at all, Ron. I’ll see you next week, same time. Have a lovely day.�

Ron shut the door behind him and shook his head. This was how Muggles dealt with their problems – with completely ridiculous and irrelevant questions? He considered skipping the next appointment and made his way out of St. Mungo’s. He had work to do back at Hogwarts.

---

Over the course of the next few weeks, Ron (with persistent encouragement from Hermione) continued to see Healer Kindley.

Now, he knocked on the door, heard a shuffling of papers inside, and then stepped through the threshold when the door swung open. Kindley, seated behind the desk, was putting some cream on a scone. He held one out toward Ron as he motioned the patient toward a chair.

“Come in, come in! So sorry about this, but I haven’t had breakfast yet this morning. Care for a bite to eat? Tea?�

Ron nodded and accepted the offered pastry. This week’s report to Kindley was fair: only one of the recurring nightmares and one ‘bizarre’ happening just this morning.

Kindley smiled. “You’ll have to be a little more specific, Ron.�

With a scratch of his chin and a tilt of his head, Ron said, “Well, it wasn’t the dream that was weird, it’s what happened after the dream. Everything was pretty much the same, except that in the middle of the battle, my dad kept telling me, ‘it’s time…it’s time.’ Then he pointed at a door and told me to go. When I did, I started to feel really light, like dust, and next thing I knew I was floating, but my body was still on the floor. I was surprised, but not really upset by that. It sort of felt nice being up there. But then when I tried to get back to my body, I couldn’t. Like there was a glass wall or something in the way. So I put my feet on the ceiling and tried to push down, but there was just a hard slab of cold. I kept banging into it. Then I woke up and realized that I really was on the ceiling!

“I was in my bloody bedroom, on the ceiling and Hermione was fast asleep. Sleeps like a rock, that woman. I thought I remembered hearing about a charm, but without my wand, it was pointless to even try. Much as I didn’t want to – embarrassing’s what it was – I had to wake her up to help me.�


“Hermione,� whispered Ron. No response. “Hermione…HERMIONE!� he finally shouted.

Hermione jumped up and clutched the blankets to her chest, frantically whipping her head around. “What? Ron? Ron, where are you?�

The situation was almost comical. “I’m up here.�

She looked up, and her eyes widened to the size of Galleons. “What in Morgana’s name are you doing up there?�

“What say we get me down first and then I explain?�

“Oh, right!� She grabbed her wand, muttered a spell that he couldn’t hear and then gently lowered him down to the bed.


“So that was my morning. Weird, eh?�

The Healer grinned, nodding his head. “I see we’re making progress, Ron. I’m very pleased to hear about this. Have you noticed a pattern yet?�

Ron raised an eyebrow. Each week, Kindley would ask something that convinced Ron that the man was off his chump. “Er…yeah, that I have bad, confused dreams. That’s pretty obvious, or I wouldn’t be here.�

“Indeed. I meant more along the lines of content. I’ve noticed your father speaking to you more and more, instead of just fighting the Death Eaters. What do you make of that?�

The question cause Ron to shift in his seat, and he unconsciously started to rub his bad knee. Dad had been speaking to him in the dreams more often, and the messages were always the same. “He keeps telling me that it’s time. But time for what I don’t know.�

“Precisely. And further, he seems to always tell you to go. I wonder…I think perhaps it may be time for you to tell me exactly what the true sequence of events was, Ron. What really happened that night?�

An invisible hand seemed to clench Ron’s throat; he rubbed a hand over his face.

“I know it’s hard to talk about, but perhaps getting it out in the open,� Kindley said softly, “will allow your mind to stop replaying it.�

Ron nodded silently.

The tale spilled forth as if a dam burst.


Ron and Hermione had married a mere six months after his leg injury, and even sooner after her first capture by Peter Pettigrew trying to trap Harry.

“And I promise, Hermione, that no matter what happens, I will always be there to protect you. I won’t lose you again.� An unrealistic promise to make during wartime, but he had meant it.

Then, at the Ministry, he and Hermione had been dueling Bellatrix. The madwoman caught Ron with a spell that knocked him clear across the room, grabbed Hermione and ran through a door. Ron pursued. He came to the room with the spinning doors, and before he found Hermione he came upon Percy and his father, holed up in another large room, trying to hold off an impossible number of Death Eaters.

“Ron, help us!� Percy shouted.

“But, Hermione…� Ron sputtered in response, frozen in indecision.

“Go, Ron. Go now!� his father yelled. For an agonizing moment, Ron couldn’t move, as his father looked him sharply in the eyes. “Your WIFE, Ron.�

“Dad…�

“GO!�


Hermione had been saved, but his hesitation, and his choice, had haunted him ever since.

---

Ron returned to the castle and had one of the worst days he’d had in a long time. For the entire day he had episodes of feeling that the castle, the walls, his very clothes were squeezing the life out of him. It was like being suspended mid-Apparition without actually going anywhere. In addition, his breath became constricted and he found himself sweating despite the frosty drafts drifting through the halls.

The students were no help. Some third years little blighters had discovered how to transfigure Droobles into Dungbombs and then decided to have a war outside the Ravenclaw tower. Normally, Ron was very patient with the children, even amused by some of their more clever antics. He often thought of the twins, before forcing them from his mind. But today patience was not to be found, and Ron flew into a rage, first Summoning the unused bombs to himself and then hurling them at the students, shouting, “You want to fight someone? Fight me, you bloody little beasts! I’ll show you a fight! What do you know about battle? Get out of here, the lot of you!� Fortunately for him, and for them probably, they had all run off before they could witness him stumbling and falling, his cane abandoned further up the corridor. Fist pounded into floor as a roar escaped Ron’s frustrated lips. He choked back a sob, Summoned his cane, got up and quickly cleaned the mess.

His mood didn’t improve when he tried to talk to Hermione after her first class, but she was rushing off to the library with papers to grade before the next class. The remainder of the morning and early afternoon were a blur: grabbing a bite to eat, fixing a broken window in the entrance hall, clearing away a potion explosion in the dungeons…had the entire school gone mad? Ron couldn’t remember having to do so much in one day, having to be in so many places, since he’d started his job. Or perhaps it just seemed like he was doing more because he felt so awful. No wonder Filch was always such a bastard, he mused.

Shortly before dinner, Ron went to retrieve a broom from a seventh floor cupboard when a wet substance smacked him on the back of the head. Peeves was cackling from behind as Ron tripped into the closet. The door slammed shut. Darkness surrounded Ron and that sensation of everything closing in crushed Ron for the umpteenth time that day. His breath sped up, despite all his efforts to control it, and his heart sank. Could he do nothing right? Even the simplest task was out of his league. Back pressed against the door, he slumped down, shrouded in cloud of despair. I should just rot in here. What use am I anyway?

With a deep sigh, Ron felt behind him for a door handle. There was none. Holding his breath, he found the edge of the door, felt around to the corner, back down to about where the handle should be and then inward. Still no handle. His breath released in a huff as his heartbeat quickened. His wand was tucked into his belt; he found it and started to draw it out when suddenly, a papery shuffling stopped him dead. Now his breath was reduced to a shallow panting – what was in there with him? Did he want to know or would it be better to succumb to the unknown?

Adrenaline coursed through him so rapidly he could almost feel a burning in his veins. Falling back on dormant battle instincts, Ron too a deep breath, held his wand out and whispered, “Lumos.� A bead of light shone forth.

Stacked in the darkness was a pile of bodies, graying flesh peeling away from the bones, a assaulting stench of decay snaking outward from them in nearly visible tendrils. Ron fell against the door unable to look away, the back of his hand stifling a scream. These were familiar bodies: McGonagall, Filch, Percy, Dad and…Hermione. Ten eyes opened and stared at him; ten lips stretched into ghastly grins; five bodies slowly, awkwardly rose from their pile. In unison, they moaned, “You should be here with us… unworthy… failure… useless…� The voices bored into his brain and intensified to a pitch more terrible than a hundred angry banshees.

Ron fought against a rising panic and forced himself to think. He’d just seen Hermione and she’d been fine. Lifting his wand with a shaky hand, he shut his eyes and stammered, “R-Rid-Riddikulus!� When he opened his them again, he saw before him a tiny table, set with a tea service for five. The bodies were dressed as porcelain baby dolls. The sight of Argus Filch with a pacifier in his mouth undid Ron and he guffawed at the Boggart, which exploded into a rain of dust. Ron used his wand to open the closet door, and laughed all the way back to his suite with tears streaming down his cheeks.

---

Ron later recounted his Boggart experience to Hermione, who in the evening was more than willing to listen, and then the following week to Healer Kindley.

“So, there we come to the heart of the matter, Ron. Do you see where your true problem lies?�

“I think so. The Boggart must mean my greatest fear is that I didn’t deserve to live while the others died, and that I’m still afraid of something happening to Hermione.� The revelation had come crystal clear on the night it had happened, and thankfully, there had been no more nightmares or strange happenings since then.

“Well done, Ron. I think you may be mostly cured. I’d like to continue seeing you for a while yet – there may still be some rough patches and things you’ll need to discuss, but I believe the worst is over for you.�

Ron did continue to see Laurence, as he came to call Healer Kindley, for several months afterward. February brought with it his first anniversary with Hermione, and they had a huge celebration at the Burrow. In the early spring, Ron stood beside Harry on his and Ginny’s wedding day, glancing over at a barely pregnant Hermione by Ginny’s side. Arthur Percy Weasley was born just before the new term started at Hogwarts, with a fuzzy head of bright red hair, brown eyes and freckles.

Toward the end of September, after yet another midnight feeding, Ron drifted back to sleep listening to the contented cooing of his son in the cradle.

A huge oak door stood before Ron, slightly cracked. Wand drawn, he approached and peeked through the opening, then pulled it open to find an empty room. Unlike the other rooms in the Ministry, this one had many windows and was brightly lit by the sun streaming in from, it seemed, every direction at once. A vista of lush green grass invited Ron further into the room. Somehow, he knew it was safe to go in. Directly ahead was another door, and Ron knew that this was the way out; there would be no more doors after this. Opening it, he saw a Quidditch field stretched before him, the three goal hoops sparkling magically.

The next morning, Ron knew what he needed to do. It was barely light out. He snuck down to the Quidditch Pitch and grabbed one of the school brooms from the shed. It had been an awfully long time since he’d ridden, and his stomach writhed at the thought. With the broom hovering obediently beside him, he used his cane to help him balance as he hefted the injured leg over the broom handle first. Once he managed to get his foot into the stirrup, he dropped the cane and pulled up gently with both hands gripping tightly to the broomstick. As if the broom sensed his fear, it rose very slowly – a few feet at a time – and Ron was airborne. He flew timidly at first, getting the feel of having to use his hands more for control than he was accustomed to. But gradually he gained confidence and speed, circling the pitch, weaving in and out of the goal posts and through the hoops. It wasn’t long before he had broken a sweat and was breathing heavily, so he landed. From some hidden spot in the stands, he heard the sound of hands clapping and whirled around, hand flying to his wand.

“Who’s there?�

“About time you got back up there, mate.� Harry said, emerging from between two rows. “I was beginning to wonder if you’d ever try.�

“Dangerous to sneak up on a bloke like that, Harry. You of all people should know that.� Ron smiled through the admonition as he gripped Harry’s hand to shake it. “What are you doing up so early?�

“Aw, Ginny’s sick again. I figured I’d leave her to it – I’m not much use in that area. I expect she’ll be waking Hermione soon.�

Ron nodded and moved to put the broom away.

Harry followed and continued. “So, have you heard that Madam Hooch might be looking for her replacement this year?� He paused, and Ron looked up to see Harry watching him expectantly. Ron nodded and looked away. “Think you might try for it?� Ron marveled at how bad Harry was at being subtle just now, or at keeping the hint of excitement from his voice.

“Dunno, mate. I’m sure it would be a damn sight more fun than cleaning up after these little crumb snatchers all day long.� Ron couldn’t keep the grin from his own face at the thought of being a flying teacher. “Who knows, I just might.�

Together they walked back into the castle, the sun glowing over the horizon behind them.