I don't own Harry Potter. Do NOT sue me.

Chapter Eight

The Christmas Letter

When Albus Dumbledore had first heard that young Ronald Weasley had suspicions about his pet rat being an Animagus, he honestly did not know what to expect. For all he knew, it could have been an imaginative child's paranoia, just like the monsters under their beds. But he was expecting something from the youngest Weasley boy, something big. Their little chat in the library, which took place months ago, had confirmed that he was unlike his peers. He was... an enigma, who he would have to be checked upon every once in a while. The other fact was that the rat had lived for 12 years! It certainly wasn't ordinary. If it had not turned out to be a human, he would have checked the rat thoroughly for traces of magic in its blood. But he needn't do so, since that harmless pet rat turned out to be Peter Pettigrew.

Everything fell into pieces. A grand puzzle, a lifelong puzzle had been solved. The cold, foggy night when Harry's parents were murdered became much clearer. He always did know that something was missing in that time and he had fortunately wizened up in his old age to always trust on his instincts, no matter how foolish. The sudden transformation of Sirius Black from a loyal and most trustworthy friend to a crazed traitorous murderer always baffled him. He had not believed it at first, but he being caught red-handed trying to kill Pettigrew forced him to doubt Sirius. Had the pure, muggle-hating blood flowing through his veins been the cause? He had tried to find the answers, but Black had laughed throughout his trials; a crazy maniacal laughter whenever Barty Crouch Sr. would say that he killed Peter. Veritaserum was banned, and Albus' hands were tied. He could not do anything for Sirius.

Presently, they spent almost half an hour extracting information from the man. He got to know how Peter was always jealous of James. Good looks, better grades, popularity, Quidditch skills, a perfect wife, money. James had all the things Peter wanted for himself. Peter still pretended to be great friends with him because it had its benefits. He was part of the most popular group of the school, and people noticed him because of that. But the jealousy continued to eat him from inside. He saw how Tom was able to easily influence him. His evil former-student had come to Peter to know the identity of Potter's secret keeper, and was pleasantly surprised when he found out that it was him. He saw how Peter betrayed his friend's trust, how he led Tom to the Godric's Hollow...

"They-they could've killed me, Professor! I had to! I had no other choice!"

Pettigrew cried once again, as Minerva scoffed and continued to look at him with disgust filled in her eyes, while Ronald, red-faced, watched everything with anger. Dumbledore addressed the man lying in front of him.

"If you actually believed yourself to have done no sin, Peter, then why were you hiding for so many years? Living as a rat, furthermore?"

"SIRIUS!" Pettigrew shouted frantically, "Professor, Sirius! If people knew I was alive, Sirius would be free! He would surely come and kill me, professor! He's barmy! Completely insane!" He had tears in his eyes, and he was struggling with the ropes he was bound with.

"That's it!" Albus and Minerva both turned their heads to find Ronald shouting, opening his mouth for the first time since he asked the identity of the man. "You bast- err.. Basilisk! You make someone who trusted you rot in Azkaban? What kind of human are you? You vile, pathetic- you do deserve to be killed!"

Peter looked at him with wide eyes, trying to make an innocent expression on his face. "Ronald! You don't understand! It's easy to say that. I did not want this to happen, but the Dark Lord was standing in front of me! You can't work out what is right or wrong at that moment! I didn't want to die-"

"Oh! You were scared of dying? Why did you become a secret-keeper then? Why did you let people trust you, you rotten scum? If you had just said no, Harry's parents wouldn't have been murdered by Voldemort!"

Both Minerva and Peter flinched at the name, while Albus raised his eyebrows. Why would a child, one who had grown up hearing about the horrors of the war and Tom, use his name? Anger for his best friend? Or genuine bravery? Or the understanding that one must not fear a name?

Why is Ronald Weasley such an enigma to me?

While Peter had no understandably no answer to the young boy's questions, he desperately continued to persuade him. Albus continued to calmly observe the rat-faced man while he did so. He was clinging to last straws. He knew that Minerva or he could not sympathise with him anymore, so he turned to the only other occupant of the room, though he knew that Ronald could not do anything even if he wanted to.

"I.. Ron, I've changed now, really! Your family changed me. I considered you to be my dear friend! That's why I never went away from you people. I'm no fool; I could've constantly changed places so that no one would suspect me for my age. But I didn't! I wanted to be with you people!... I knew this day would come soon; that I'd overstayed. I would've just asked for forgiveness and walked away from your lives, peacefully... Please Ron! I don't want this! Don't let them hurt me! Remember! The days when we would play in the garden, when you used to talk to me about everything, when you'd give your own food for me to eat-"

"That wasn't you! It was Scabbers!" The boy then tried to control himself. Albus tried to enter his mind and see if Peter's words affected him somehow. He was shocked to find a weak shield being immediately put up. He saw Ronald averting his eyes from him.

What was happening? Who would teach him Occlumency?

"W-Well then," Ron started, looking a little shaken up, "I really hope you rot in Azkaban. If you genuinely think like that, then atleast you'd know what it feels like to be betrayed by someone you considered your friend."

Peter's face immediately morphed into an angry expression. Before he could open his mouth, Albus pointed his wand at him. "This has gone long enough." He swiftly stunned him.

"Mr Weasley, keep in mind that we may need you at the Wizengamot during his trials as a witness. Understand?" Ron nodded quickly. "Good, good. You may go now."

After he was gone, he went back and sat on his chair, sighing heavily, feeling very tired. He looked up to find Minerva staring at him. "Minerva, how does the boy know Occlumency?"

She looked taken aback. "Mr Weasley? I gave him a book on that subject, but I never thought that he would be able to practice it by his own!"

"Yes, the Weasleys are a very passionate group of people. I'd never expect them to learn mind techniques, but it seems as if Ronald is keen on proving us wrong time and again." He hoped that he was just being paranoid; that what he was thinking wasn't true.

Ronald Weasley. Thomas Riddle. He was seeing similarities between them. Very clear similarities. Poor backgrounds, prodigious skills, an anti-social behaviour, secrets hidden inside their brains, fascination with mind-techniques at an early age, shady situations happening around them. Ronald was present at the Troll incident even after they had sent everyone back to their dorms. He had seen the three-headed dog. And now this. He could distinctly recall Tom getting an award for catching the monster hiding in the Chamber of Secrets. Wasn't the situation somewhat similar?

The boy was anti-social. He would be having fun with his friends and family at the Gryffindor table, but Albus could see him not being completely there. He was faking happiness at times. He had noticed him roaming outside the castle, all alone, and sitting in the library in an isolated corner. He had many people charmed by his charisma who would do things from him, including Minerva. Just like Tom.

And Occlumency! How did he do it? How did he grasp it so easily? Someone had to be aiding him. Even Tom had learned it from an unsuspecting Horace. Who was helping him inside the castle?

He would not make the same mistakes he had made with Tom. He would keep a close watch on Ronald Weasley's actions. If he strayed towards the dark side, he would pull him towards the better one himself. Harry's sense of good and bad would be greatly affected if Ronald manipulated him too.

Harry! Ronald had made friends with him since the starting of their term. Was it coincidental or a well thought-of plan?

He sighed. The more he thought about him, the more mysterious the Weasley boy appeared.

Why is Ronald Weasley such an enigma to me?

...

Hermione was holding his hand, shyly smiling at him. Harry had his arm around his shoulder, with a proud look in his eyes. His family was standing right behind them. Fred was pointing at him and laughing along with George, who had only one ear. His father, mother, Bill, Fleur, Charlie, Percy, Ginny. All of them were looking directly at him with adoration and pride. And in the front, between Harry and Hermione, was Ron himself. Battle scars, scars from the Ministry, splinching scars; all of those present on his body. His clothes, just like everybody else's, was burnt and torn at some places. Blood stains were present on their clothes. He was smiling cockily at him. He had made it alive. This Ron had made it alive, along with Harry, Fred and his whole family. And Hermione.

Ron went towards the mirror, his feet seemed to be taking him on their own accord, and touched the reflection of Hermione, who was still smiling at him. He had forgotten how beautiful she looked. His emotions were overwhelming him, and he let out a soft sob. Merlin, he missed them. He missed her. Why couldn't the time turner just have rewinded some hours? He could've had saved Fred, saved Harry and saved himself from Greyback. They would have had finished Voldemort and lived happily ever after. Why couldn't things be easy like that?

A few tears fell down his face.

It was midnight. He had been going back to his dorm from the Occlumency sessions when he'd seen Filch coming downstairs. He'd immediately rushed to the nearest door. And came face to face with the Mirror of Erised once again. His previous dreams, ones from his first year, had vanished completely. He had become prefect. He had won the Quidditch Cup. He had achieved half his goals in life, with luck of course. But his new desire was overwhelming, so very perfect, and pure. He had considered himself to be a shallow person once, when Harry could see his parents in the mirror, while all he saw were his goals. When Hermione would think of Harry and the elves, while he was accused of being selfish. He had justified that somebody had to think about Ron Weasley too, and if it was Ron himself, so be it, since his mom was busy with Ginny, and Hermione with Harry.

But today, he saw something good about himself as he gazed back in the mirror. He had grown. He had matured. Or that he was wrong about himself from the beginning; that he wasn't a totally selfish person. He genuinely cared about his loved ones. He had stopped resenting his parents and Hermione for not noticing him enough, stopped resenting his siblings and Harry for being better than him. He had started loving them regardless they loved him as much as he did or not. This fact felt... nice.

"Amazing, isn't it, Mr Weasley?"

Shocked, he abruptly turned around to see a smiling Albus Dumbledore. Ron hastily wiped his eyes as Dumbledore came closer. "Professor Dumbledore!"

The headmaster was staring at the Mirror himself. "What a beautiful piece of magic, wouldn't you agree? They had brought it to England to study this ancient magic."

"Yeah..." Ron didn't care a bit about the magic it had. Mind tricks were the worst forms of magic possible. He would rather hit them with Sectumsempra than making them mental. That was a lot more humane approach.

Albus noticed it. He did think, after Ronald's fascinations with Occlumancy, that he would like a piece of magic like this. He was terribly wrong, as he could see. He could see that maybe his fears were unfounded. Maybe Ron Weasley was no Tom Riddle or Peter Pettigrew. Underneath his mysterious surface, there certainly lied a compassionate and noble boy. His tears, the longing in his eyes did confirm that what he desired the most wasn't something materialistic, or something as insane as immortality. It was someone, or something, of much value to him. He deeply cherished whatever, or whoever it was. The Sorting Hat had not put him in Slytherin or Ravenclaw, although he was cunning enough to find a way to learn mind magic in the school, because his bravery and loyalty must have been more.

"What do you see in it, Professor?"

Of course he would ask it. "Me? I see myself holding a nice pair of Christmas socks!" Albus merrily declared.

"... You're lying."

Albus stared curiously at the boy beside him. "And why would you think so, Mr Weasley?"

"This is a mirror showing your desires. It's written here. Your deepest desire won't be something that ridiculous. Your eyes turn sad when you look at the mirror."

The old wizard was highly impressed by the young student. He was perceptive. But he could not tell him what he actually sees whenever he looks at this particular mirror. He never told anyone. He deeply cherished them, yearned for them. They were of deep value to him, after all.

"You... see your sister, don't you?"

Albus froze. How did this child know?

"H-How do you know?"

Ron mentally grimaced. He was trying to turn the tables on Dumbledore so that he won't ask him what was he doing here, or what he did see. But what should he do now? 'The Life & Lies Of Albus Dumbledore' had not been published yet!

"Err... Aunt Muriel... knows Bathilda Bagshot... she knew your mother. Yeah! Aunt Muriel never stops saying things about you. We don't believe it, of course."

Dumbledore sighed. Muriel Weasley had not changed at all, it seems.

He looked at the mirror again. Ariana was standing in the middle of Aberfoth and him, holding his arm and smiling warmly at him. The Albus inside was also fortunate enough to hold his kind, beautiful mother's hand, while his father patted his back. A happy family, unlike his own.

"Very well, Mr Weasley," He locked his moist eyes with his pupil's astonished orbs, "back to bed now, or I'll deduct points!"

...

Disclosing the situation of his beloved rat to his friends and siblings was no easy task for him. They had interrogated him more than Dumbledore or McGonagall had, combined. No question was to be left unanswered. Since when? Why? What then? How could he? What a traitor! Did you punch him?

As irritated as he was answering these questions, he still thought that it was good that they were curious. He needed all the practice that he could get for inquiries, since Ron had to accompany his mom and dad to the Wizengamot for Pettigrew's trial. The news had spread like wildfire. Pettigrew's death was very notorious in the Wizarding World. He had received the Third Class, which as the press had now declared, he certainly did not deserve. The press had not mentioned his or his family's name, thankfully, and he managed to attract no attention towards himself, other than the fact that he had no pet to take to the Transfiguration classes.

Frankly, he was terribly frightened for the trials. What if they asked him to take magical oaths or Veritaserum? He would be exposed, and that too in the presence of the Minister, Dumbledore, his parents and Pettigrew himself. And he could think of no way around this. The trial was during Christmas break, which meant that his parents' vacation to Romania was considerably shortened. Maybe he would have to injure himself horribly and land in St. Mungos to save himself. Yes, the situation was that desperate.

The only good news to come in those days was a small newspaper article in which the Minister had apologised to Sirius Black for all the wasted years of his life, and declared him innocent of all charges. Today was the day before Christmas, and it was now that they read this headline in The Daily Prophet.

SIRIUS BLACK RELEASED

Sirius was being operated by the healers in these days. He was now healthy enough to apparate by himself, which was a good sign. Harry did not yet know that he had a godfather, so Ron prayed that Sirius would be strong enough to write a Christmas letter to him. That would surely make his day.

Today, Harry and he had to pay a visit to Hagrid, and then they would have to search for Nicholas Flamel in the library. He never felt so frustrated in his life. He had to go through these stupid tasks when he could be finding something to counter magical oaths and Veritaserum without anyone knowing. Since the breaks had started, Harry would stick with him at all times, and he found it difficult to even practice Occlumency. He felt like crying. He would certainly have to injure himself, cause himself bodily harm. Or pray to all the shooting stars that they don't use magical oaths on children.

...

Snow had settled everywhere around the castle. They were currently walking a thick white layer of the ever-falling snow as they came back after meeting Hagrid. They had almost reached the castle when, all of a sudden, a big snowball came out of nowhere and hit Ron on the face, making him stumble backwards. He angrily wiped out the snow from his face, while Harry and he looked around for the culprit. There they saw him, standing behind a tree, looking at them.

Fred was grinning broadly.

"I knew it would be you!" shrilled Ron. He bent down, furiously collecting some snow to make a ball himself, when another one of those hit him on his buttocks. He immediately turned around.

George was grinning broadly.

Ron looked murderously at them both. "Harry, mate. I need your help with these two. We have to show them!" Harry looked a little uncertain.

"I don't think-"

Fred, who was hearing this, cheered for them as he heard what Ron said. "Oooh! Be careful, George. This is a war against two very heroic men! The Chosen One-"

"And The Ickle Troll-Tamer-" George supplied.

"- have formed a team against us!"

Ron and Harry had hurriedly, frantically made the balls and threw them as accurately as they could. They fought like true warriors. Sadly, all their efforts were easily outclassed by the twins, who had their rack of snowballs prepared in advanced. And they used their wands to guide them, while Harry and him were too busy getting hit and preparing their own balls to have the time to take out theirs.

They were crushed, humiliatingly so.

Ron had almost stopped struggling until he saw his light of hope.

"Fred and George! You had to report to Mr. Filch for detention for pulling that foolish trick on Professor Quirell an hour ago! And you are still here? Playing games with Ron and Harry?"

"Percy!" Ron cried, "Save us, please!"

George laughed. "What will he do? Deduct house points?" He never saw the snowman Percy had charmed sliding near him, and was too late to do anything when it jumped on him. He fell hard on the ground. Everyone looked at Percy in shock, who was grinning smugly at them.

"Oh, yes!"

...

Ron woke up the next morning to find a large stack of presents waiting for him to open. He saw his best friend was up already, looking at his own gifts in astonishment.

"Merry Christmas, Harry..." he muttered sleepily, and faintly heard him wishing back.

They opened their presents together, Ron with a lot more vigour than Harry since he already knew what was inside those packages. As Harry was going to open his mom's package, he felt the need to point it out.

"I know who gave you that. I told my mum that you weren't expecting any gifts, and she made a jumper for you."

Harry pulled the emerald green jumper out. It looked so much better than his own! While he personally didn't like green that much, he would trade maroon for it anytime. It must have been a coincidence, but his mother had used the same colour Harry's eyes were of. He had to wonder at the irony of the situation. It seemed like his mother could even make Harry's jumper of a likeable color, while he had to be stuck at maroon. Hadn't he mentioned it in each of his letters almost four times that he didn't want it? Why couldn't his jumper ever match his eyes' color?

"Wow Ron, thanks!" Harry beamed at him. He had the book in his hand Ron had given to him as a gift. Charlie's old copy of The Skilled Seeker. Charlie wouldn't need it anytime in his future, he knew it, so he'd wrote to him to send it to Hogwarts, since he remembered that he had never given Harry a decent enough gift.

The rest of the day had gone pretty much the same as he could remember it being in the previous flow of events. They had both gushed over Harry's amazing Invisibility Cloak, Ron had finished all the fudge and chocolate frogs he got, and they had played Wizard's Chess. When Harry had snuck outside with his new cloak, Ron went back to bed. There he saw a letter addressed to him, which had gone unnoticed because of his gifts. He picked it up, took out the letter from the envelope and unfolded it.

Merry Christmas, Mr. Weasley.

I hope with all my heart that this 12th Christmas of your young life was joyful and enjoyable.

Or is it the 19th one? Does reliving the same day count as a new day?

A/N: Ding ding ding!

130 REVIEWS! I can't thank you guys enough. Those readers who've attempted writing know how special it is to cross the 100 review mark for the first time, and on your very first story, even. And in just 8 chapters. Wow! I'm glad that you liked this so much.

It's been 50 days since I last posted, and I'm sorry for that. Real life, exams happened.

Thank you to people like herronlove and randver for leaving reviews for every chapter. The pain you take is unnecessary, yet highly appreciable.

The best thing to happen is out of 130 reviews, only one was negative, which my Ron and the story kinda flat. Well, I can't do much in the very first year, and Sorcerer's Stone WAS a lame one compared to others, I think.

You guys have also loved my characterisation of Ron & Hermione, and I'm very happy. I know that I didn't give Harry much focus till now. I really can't find much in his character. Any help? Though, he isn't the main character. Main would be Ron, Albus and Hermione, in the order.

The 'Guest' who last posted, I'm glad you liked the story and posted 9-10 reviews, but please form actual words the next time you do so. The ones who called this 'one of the greatest Ron fics', said 'You haven't posted for an year' and 'you've got one story and you can't update it', is it the same person? Just askin'

I'm sorry. I don't know why I wrote bollocks there before. Maybe I'm sleep deprived!

-WW