The Troll

Chapter 2: Befuddled to Babbling

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After his shower, Ron ran down to the Great Hall in hopes he would have at least enough time to snatch up a piece of toast. When he got there, everyone was already filing out, chatting away about couples, and stuffing last pieces of food into their already full bellies. Ron's own grumbling stomach reminded him that he hadn't had breakfast, and it took all of his being not to quickly run in there and grab a piece. However, the thought of McGonagall reprimanding him for being late eased the urge.

"I knew you wouldn't make it to breakfast. Here," said Harry, coming up behind him, holding a few pieces of toast. "Three pieces of buttered toast with extra marmalade, just as you like it."

"Er . . . thanks, mate," Ron said, slightly confused.

"Not a problem. Let's get to Transfiguration before McGonagall kills us," Harry joked, heading towards the Transfiguration room.

"Is Hermione there already?"

"I suppose," Harry replied, looking at Ron strangely. "I don't really pay her any mind. You know - leave well enough alone." Before Harry could say anything further, they reached and entered the classroom.

Ron stopped and looked over to their usual spot in the middle of the room. There were two empty seats waiting for them, but Hermione wasn't in the seat next to them. Neville was. Hermione was in the front of the classroom, sitting alone. What was going on? Did the world suddenly turn topsy-turvy? Neville usually sat in the front with Harry or himself. He never sat in the back, so he could listen to Professor McGonagall better. Hermione didn't sit by herself unless Neville asked her for help that day. It didn't make any sense.

Ron was so involved with his thoughts he didn't notice the rest of the class brush past him and take their seats. Only when the professor entered the room and tapped him on the shoulder did he break from his musing. He looked at her disapproving, "lemon-sucking" face and moved back towards his seat. Somewhere between glancing at his seat and walking towards it, he saw Hermione roll her eyes and shake her head with annoyance. Ron glared at her before taking his chair next to Harry.

"What's with you?" Harry asked, leaning over, whispering into Ron's ear.

"What do you mean?" Ron replied quietly, as Professor McGonagall began her lecture.

"You usually just ignore her when she does that. It's a daily routine with you two. You come into class; she finds something indecent about you and shakes her head like that. Then you glare at her, argue with her, huff at her; you two are like oil and water. You haven't done that since third year."

"What in the name of Merlin are you talking about?" Ron asked, thoroughly confused. What was Harry talking about? He wasn't making the least bit of sense. Ron and Hermione didn't get into rows all the time. Sure, they would often bicker and seldom argued to the point of not speaking, but they hadn't had a twenty-four-hour rivalry like the Slytherins and Gryffindors since the very beginning of first year.

"Harry, are you feeling well?" Ron asked, his voice raising a bit more, but not to the point of disrupting the professor.

Harry raised an eyebrow and stared at Ron as though he had not only grown a second head, but his hair grew to the floor, his eyes multiplied to cover his entire head, and rainbow colored, six inch nose hairs sprouted out of his nostrils.

"I'm feeling fine, but it's you I'm worried about," Harry whispered. "Have you hit your head?"

Now Ron was frustrated. "No, I haven't hit my head. Can you please explain to me why, within this one class, I feel like I'm in a completely different world or at least at the base of some very bad joke? What is going on?" Ron asked in normal volume. The entire class, as well as Professor McGonagall, looked over at him.

"Mr. Weasley, what is the meaning of this? Detention and five points from Gryffindor."

"I'm sorry, Professor, but I think Harry's ill. He's talking as if he's mad."

"Mr. Potter, are you feeling well?"

"I'm feeling fine, Professor, but Ron's the one acting strange, not me."

"If you're sure. Mr. Weasley, would you please meet me outside for a moment?"

"But, Professor -"

"Now, Mr. Weasley."

Ron didn't say anything but followed Professor McGonagall out of the classroom, whispers and murmurs left behind him in the classroom. When they reached the corridor, she closed the door and turned on Ron.

"Mr. Weasley, what exactly was going on with Mr. Potter that was so important as to interrupt my lesson?"

"We started off talking before the lesson started, and he was going on about how I usually ignore Hermione."

"Go on."

"Doesn't that sound strange? Since when have I ignored Hermione? When we get into huge rows, we don't talk to each other, but he made it sound like we did this on a daily basis."

"And you don't?" Professor McGonagall asked uncertainly.

"Well, of course not. Hermione, Harry, and I are best friends; you know that. Are you sure you're feeling well too? Was the breakfast food bad this morning? I didn't have time to eat much."

"No, Mr. Weasley, there was nothing wrong with the breakfast food. Now, tell me again, what exactly did you say to Mr. Potter?"

"I don't remember exactly, but he kept going on about how Hermione and I are practically enemies! Plus, he was talking like he was angry with her or something. Harry and Hermione never get into rows, and if they ever did, they wouldn't just ignore each other. Harry even called her by her surname!"

"Mr. Weasley, I . . . er . . . uh . . . well . . .," started Professor McGonagall. Ron was stunned. He had never seen Professor McGonagall baffled to the point of babbling. She always knew what to say. What was wrong with everyone? It was as if the whole school was in on a joke against him, or at least Harry and Professor McGonagall were, which was highly unlikely. The only plausible explanation was that the whole school had gone nutters. Absolutely nutters.

"Professor?" Ron asked after a minute of uncomfortable silence.

"Accio writing tablet and quill! Mr. Weasley," said Professor McGonagall, scribbling something down on a piece of parchment, "take this up to Madam Pomfrey."

"Should I go get Harry then?" Ron asked uncertainly.

"Not this time, Mr. Weasley. I'll have Mr. Thomas tutor you on today's lesson. I hope you are well soon."

Ron took the parchment from her hand and started for the hospital wing. But before he could get far, Professor McGonagall called him back. He turned towards her and walked a few steps, so they didn't have to call all the way down the corridor.

"Ronald," she started, which surprised Ron greatly, "I hope that this is a sign of you and Ms. Granger finally getting along. This school could use some peace, and this childish rivalry between the two of you has gone on long enough. I hope you two can set apart your differences, because you'd probably be very good for the each other."

"Er - thanks?" Professor McGonagall grinned a bit before heading back into her classroom. All Ron could think was how this day was getting stranger and stranger, and it was only eight-thirty! 'I'm dreaming! Yeah, that's it. This is all a very strange dream. It has to be.'

* * *

After a Disillusionment Potion and four hours of sleep, Ron was certain about one thing - the whole thing in McGonagall's class was a hallucination, since it certainly hadn't been a dream. Thereby, proving that Madam Pomfrey's potion had worked. He walked into the Great Hall for some lunch and scouted out Harry and Hermione. Though he still was angry with Hermione for yesterday, he only needed a good rest to calm his nerves and let his blood simmer down. When he found a mess of black hair, he walked over and sat down across from him. He didn't notice Hermione and concluded she was probably talking with Ginny. He piled a few sandwiches on his plate before diving in.

"I see you're all better," said Harry, chuckling at Ron's bulging cheeks. Ron nodded his head. "You were acting weird in Transfiguration."

Ron swallowed the last of his food with a large breath and said, "I must have. We have Charms next, right?"

"Yeah, I never knew Charms could be so difficult before this year."

"You say that every day. Did my sister steal Hermione away again? I know we got into that huge row yesterday, but this day has been too strange. I don't want to add 'ignore Hermione' to the list of things on my mind."

"Ron, are you sure that potion worked?"

"Yeah, why?"

"You're talking mad again. What row? You had a row?"

"I didn't tell you? Hermione and I got into this huge row yesterday about how I wanted to go flying. She wanted me to stay and do my Potions essay."

"Why would she care if you did your essay or not?"

"She's Hermione; she's Miss Bossy and in our face. It's her job to nag us about doing homework," said Ron, feeling as if everything was going mad again. 'This has to be a dream! There is no other explanation! Why would everyone act like this otherwise? I took that potion! I'm feeling fine! It's a dream, Ron. It's all a very messed up dream.'

"Hermione doesn't bother us about anything, Ron," said Harry, as though he were explaining it to a child. "She doesn't even talk to us if she can help it. It's the same with us. Why do you suddenly care?"

"HELLO! Hermione is our best friend. You're talking nutters again, Harry! What is going on?"

"I'm trying to figure out what's going on with you! You know what; let's forget about this right now. I have Occlumency tonight at five."

"Today's Tuesday, isn't it? Yeah, it is. We have practice tomorrow at five."

"What kind of practice?"

"Uh . . . Quidditch?"

"Ron, you know I'm not on the team. Umbridge kicked me off last year."

"Harry, Dumbledore said you could play when he became Headmaster again."

"Dumbledore isn't Headmaster, Ron. Umbridge is. She's still in charge, which means I'm still permanently banned. What a toad."

"You're talking mad again."

"Let's just drop it! I'll start over. I have Occlumency lessons tonight with Snape; you think you can fend for yourself?"

"I'm pretty sure I can. How are those going?" Ron replied, feeling very befuddled and restrained.

"Good, I'm actually blocking out some of those nightmares."

"Nightmares? I thought those stopped since the Department of Mysteries thing last year."

"What Department of Mysteries thing?"

Ron had never been so shocked in his life. It was as if Harry had forgotten everything. How could he forget the Department of Mysteries? How could he forget about Dumbledore being Headmaster? How could he be so cold and distant towards Hermione? There was something going on here, but Ron couldn't figure it out.

"You know, when Neville, Hermione, me, you, Luna, and Ginny all went to the Department of Mysteries last year."

"I think that potion screwed around with your brain even more. I never went to the Department of Mysteries; why would I go there?"

"Because you thought Sirius was in danger. . . ."

"Ron, I never thought Sirius was in danger because Sirius is dead." Ron's mind went almost completely blank. This was the first time since June that Harry admitted Sirius's death. It took him a few moments to find some words.

"Harry, I know Sirius is dead. I'm really sorry; I shouldn't have brought him up."

"Why wouldn't you? I mean, I was sad for a while because I wanted to know him better, but I only knew who he really was for a few hours."

If it was possible, Ron became even more confused.

"A few hours? Harry, he was your godfather for two whole years. You two became pretty close."

"I think you should go back up to the hospital wing. You're talking mad again."

"THAT IS IT! WHAT IN THE NAME OF MERLIN ARE YOU TALKING ABOUT?"

"WHAT ARE YOU TALKING ABOUT?"

"Shut your cake holes, both of you!" shouted Seamus from down the table a bit. "What in the name of leapin' leprechauns are you two yellin' about?"

"Ron is making no sense at all. He's going on and on about things that never happened. He went up to take something from Madam Pomfrey, but it, apparently, didn't work."

"Are you in denial, Harry? Seamus, didn't Harry, Hermione, and I go to the Department of Mysteries last year? Isn't Dumbledore Headmaster? Aren't Hermione, Harry, and I all best friends?" Ron shouted clenching is fists in frustration. "And don't you dare say 'no' because I know it's all bloody true! If this is some cruel joke, then it's gone far enough!"

Every single person within earshot (almost the entire Hall, but luckily not the Head) turned towards Ron.

"Harry's right, Ron; you're acting like a buffoon. I don't know anything about this Department of Mysteries thing; as far as I know, you, Harry, and Gra - Hermione never went anywhere last year and certainly nowhere together. No, Ron, you, Hermione, and Harry are not best friends. You two and Hermione barely acknowledge each other's existence, let alone are best friends. Thirdly, if you want to know who the Head of the school is, why don't you look for yourself?"

Ron looked at Seamus queerly before fixing his eyes on the Head table. Everyone seemed to be there, including the new Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher. Except one person - their white bearded, blue eyed, moon-shaped spectacled, brave, wise, old Headmaster Dumbledore. In his place was a toad-faced woman with a pink bow and cardigan over her robes. Professor Umbridge was still there!

Ron looked back at his best friend. There was something going on here, and it wasn't a joke or hallucination. It seemed as though so many things hadn't happened. This just had to be a dream. There wasn't any other explanation! What if this wasn't a dream? It felt so real! There was only one way to know. . . .

As soon as lunch was over, Ron headed past Harry and the other Gryffindors towards the Slytherin table. As he went out the doors, he saw Malfoy. 'It's now or never, Weasley.' Ron walked out of earshot of the professors and called for Malfoy and his band of idiots.

"MALFOY!"

Malfoy spun around and sneered at Ron. Crabbe and Goyle moved closer to Malfoy (if that was even possible). "What do you want, Weasley? I don't give to charity causes."

"Funny, Malfoy. But I heard some things, and I wanted to know if they were true."

"What did you hear?"

"I heard you had to go to Azkaban and give your dad his Sneeze's snot hair potion. Is it potion or troll bogies? I can never tell." Ron shook his head. As Draco stepped forward, he pushed his thugs back. "Anyway, how does it feel, having your dad in prison? Good thing you and that ugly mother of yours have blackmail money because a brainless oaf like you could never earn anything. That would require too much brainpower. Your dad's little snake stick and that sneer are the only power you have in the wizarding world. Let's face it; they only fear you because your dad's a convict who had to buy his way out of the law. The only influence you had was money. Galleons can't talk, and so who's going to listen to a Malfoy anymore? The fact is your precious blackmailing dad is in Azkaban, your mum has the intelligence of rat droppings, and you're only sixteen; you don't have any control. Money is no longer on your side, and wit never was." Now there was a huge crowd gathered around. A few people applauded Ron as Malfoy seethed in anger.

Malfoy gave a slow, throaty laugh. "Did I just hear you correctly?"

Ron shook his head nonchalantly. "Unless it passed right through your thick head, then yes, you did."

That was the last of the talking anyone heard. Malfoy's fist connected with the side of Ron's face, right under his left eye. Ron fell to the floor before Neville and Harry pulled him up and carried him up to the hospital wing. Yep, Ron definitely wasn't dreaming.

* * *

As soon as classes were over, Ron ran up to his dorm to lie down. He had an awful headache. As soon as his head hit his pillow, Ron fell into a deep sleep. When Ron awoke, he noticed that it was already six thirty but decided to skip dinner; his head couldn't bare the trip. Harry might bring something, and if he didn't, it was all the better breakfast the next day. He really did have to start on that Potions essay, since he also had prefect duties. Reality or not, Hermione had told him the essay was tough and due in two days.

As Ron read his potions book for some facts on the Light Energy Potion, Harry walked through the door. "Feeling any better?" he asked, sitting down on his bed.

"Somewhat, though my head feels like someone is hitting it with a Beater's bat."

"When did you wake up?"

"About six thirty. I wasn't hungry."

"Ron - not hungry? Now, why don't I believe that?"

"I was working on something, as well."

"What?"

"Potions essay."

"I don't believe that either. You really are acting crazy. What's going on?"

"I don't really know, but I'm going to brave the headache. I have to go downstairs and make sure everyone behaves."

"Why is that your job?"

"I'm prefect."

"You sure about that, Ron?"

"Uh . . .," started Ron. Since when wasn't he prefect? "I think so."

"Dean's the prefect, Ron. I think that blow to the head damaged your brain even more than before."

Ron fell back onto his pillow and heaved a sigh. This still wasn't making sense. Nothing was making sense! It wasn't a dream or a hallucination, and it couldn't be a joke. Why was everyone acting so strange? Why was everything in the world screwed around? Ron tried to think, but the headache became worse.

"I think I'm going back to the hospital wing; I'm feeling a bit nauseous, and this headache is unbearable."

"Hope you feel better, mate."

"Yeah - me too," Ron grumbled, packing away his essay. After taking a headache reliever potion from Madam Pomfrey (who also insisted he take another goblet of Disillusion Potion, but Ron ran out of the Hospital Wing before she could give it to him), he headed to the library to work on that essay. His head felt well enough to work but not any hard thinking. So contemplating the strange goings on at Hogwarts was out of the question. Ron rarely went to the library willingly, but without Hermione's help, he might actually have to do all the work himself. In addition, N.E.W.T. Potions was not something you fooled with, especially with N.E.W.T. Snape. He walked swiftly down the corridor to the library, passing students out for a late night stroll around the castle without a second glance. He quietly opened the door to the library and ignored the flabbergasted look on Madam Pince's face. He walked down to his usual spot, without thinking twice about who was already there.

He stopped short a few steps away from his table when he saw Hermione already hard at work on some homework assignment. She was scribbling down a few notes, flipping through a very large, moth-eaten book. Even if he wasn't angry with her, he knew approaching a girl who was his supposed "rival" wasn't at all good. He took a seat at the nearest table before going back at his essay.

"Light Energy Potions are often used in the making of Time Turners. . . ."

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