Chapter 12: Defense Against The Dark Arts

�My, don�t we look smashing today!�

Not for the first time this morning, Ron ran a hand through his hair and squinted at his reflection. He was sure that by now his hair was probably in serious danger of going up in flames at any moment, thanks to the build-up of friction caused by the countless times he�d raked his fingers through it in the last hour. This had always been a nervous habit of his, and though Hermione had managed to drive it out of him over the years (mostly), there were times when he found himself falling back on old idiosyncrasies. This was most definitely one of those times.

He leaned in close, inspecting himself from head to toe once more. The mirror seemed pleased at least, if he was to believe its gushing, anyway; one could never tell with unfamiliar mirrors, as they were known to exaggerate in front of those they didn�t know yet. To Ron�s discerning eyes, though, he still wasn�t quite right. Something was amiss, and he�d been standing here for nearly an hour now trying to pinpoint what exactly that something was.

And then he realized what was probably throwing him off. It must have been the robes.

It wasn�t that Ron didn�t wear robes. He did, on more formal occasions: Ministry functions, parties, the occasional public appearances. But most of the time, comfort--and more often than not, practicality--ruled, and since robes and long, sweeping cloaks generally hindered more than they helped an Auror on the job, Ron had learnt over the years to make do with the simplest of clothing. Funny that he�d gone his entire childhood (and much of his adolescence) shunning simple clothing, wishing more than anything that he�d someday earn enough of a living to afford the really regal robes that only the finest of wizarding families wore, and now that he could afford them, they seemed to be more a bother than anything else.

And yet here he was, back in Hogwarts robes again, only this time, they were the robes of a teacher. How about that. Ron Weasley, Defense Against the Dark Arts professor. It was... unnerving. He�d faced off with vampires, werewolves--even the most feared dark wizard of all time--but the prospect of facing a classroom full of eager students (who no doubt had spent the entire summer speculating who in the world Dumbledore had found to fill the Defense Against the Dark Arts post this year) left him an undeniable nervous wreck. A complete and utter mess.

�You seem a bit ill at ease, dear... Whatever�s the matter?�

Damn mirrors.

Ron straightened, in an effort to appear as casual as possible, despite the swarm of killer bees he must have swallowed overnight and were now wrecking havoc inside his stomach.

�Er... just hungry, I s�pose,� he said. He felt more than a bit foolish engaging this mirror in a conversation, but he had to admit, it was nice to hear someone�s voice at the moment. After a lifetime spent in raucous households, silence tended to eat away at him. �Haven�t had breakfast yet.�

�Mmm, by all means,� the mirror said, �get a bite to eat, then. But do remember to smile, for goodness sakes!! Such a handsome man--it�s a pity not to smile...�

He bit back a chuckle. �I�ll keep that in mind, thanks.�

Absently, he smoothed the panel of fabric with his hand and tugged at his robes one last time. As he did, he caught sight of his bare ring finger in his reflection, and the reminder of his missing wedding ring knifed at him yet again. God, how he wished Hermione were here with him. She was the only one who could ever calm his frayed nerves, and at that moment, she couldn�t be further away than she was.

At least, he thought, she�ll know I�m all right... At least she won�t have to worry about me not getting back straight away...

He glanced at the clock above the wardrobe. Eight forty-seven. He needed to get going if he wanted to get to his first lesson on time. There was no sense in prolonging the inevitable. He couldn�t hide in his room forever, after all. Sixty-odd fifth years were waiting for him in an old, musty room in the North Tower, and the longer he kept them waiting, the more curious everyone would be.

�Well,� he muttered to himself, �Dumbledore seems to think I can do this. Then again, he�s always been a little off his rocker...�

He couldn�t help but smile at that moment. He could almost hear Harry telling him that as eccentric as Dumbledore was, there was always a method to his madness. The old headmaster surely would have never have given Ron that vote of confidence had he not been certain that Ron deserved it.

And of course, he couldn�t lose sight of why he was doing this in the first place. Harry needed him. That�s all there was to consider. If he could wrestle with a werewolf and live to tell the tale, he could certainly do this.

Right?

�Right, then... Let�s get this show on the road...�

There was a faint hum of voices just inside of the classroom. He could hear it, even from this distance, and as he neared the room, that hum grew increasingly into a low rumble, with the voices separating and becoming more distinctive by the time he reached the door.

He even heard his own voice--his fifteen year old voice--among the chorus, and he stopped just before entering to listen in on the conversation. This was surreal, to say the least.

�I�m telling you, I don�t know!�

�Oh come on, Weasley, your dad�s in the know,� he heard Dean Thomas say, �you�re telling me you didn�t get one hint? Not a single one?�

A biting laugh cut through the din in that moment; Ron knew instantly whose it was as soon as he heard it, and he cringed involuntarily.

�Weasley�s father, in the know? That old buffoon?? You�ve got to be joking...�

It took a physical act of enormous proportions for Ron not to burst into the classroom just now and tear Malfoy apart from limb to limb; only the thought of Dumbledore swooping down on him, and dragging him off to the Ministry to be tried for cold-blooded murder stopped him.

He was sure, though, that his younger self had just experienced the same spike in his blood pressure at that moment, and there was no telling whether at fifteen years old, he would have had the self-control to refrain from lunging at Malfoy.

�I�m warning you, Malfoy-�

�Ron, no!!� Hermione squeaked. He heard a chair scrape across the floor.

�Let go, Hermione-�

�To be in the know, you�d have to be more than a mere peon in the Ministry-�

�That�s IT!!�

�Ron!!!�

�-and Weasley�s father is-�

�Am I interrupting something?�

Silence fell upon the room in a matter of seconds, and all heads turned towards the door, where Ron made his timely entrance. As he walked in, he made sure to look straight at Malfoy, whose mouth gaped open in a great hole, big enough for a bloody Knarl to crawl through, and whose right eyebrow was twitching so noticeably that Parvati Patil was starting to show the strains of holding in her laughter, coming dangerously close to collapsing in a fit of giggles.

Ron reckoned that look of sheer terror on Malfoy�s face was worth the rage he�d just had to quell a few moments ago.

Hmm. Perhaps this wasn�t going to be quite so bad after all.

�Mr. Malfoy, isn�t it?� he said, shutting the door.

Malfoy�s adam�s apple bobbed up and down. �Yes, sir.�

�Perhaps you�d care to share what I�ve just missed?�

�I... er...�

This was far too much fun to be legal, thought Ron.

�Sorry? Didn�t quite catch that....�

From the corner of his eye, he saw his younger self doubled over in silent laughter, tears leaking out of his eyes, and Harry, equally amused, burying his face in his arms, while Hermione looked disapprovingly at the both of them.

�Shh!!� she whispered.

But to no avail. Harry and the other Ron were far too gone by now. Undeterred, Hermione, who happened to be sitting to young Ron, nudged him hard with her elbow, at which he sprang up and sucked in his cheeks to prevent further laughter from escaping his mouth. Then she returned her gaze to Ron, and, to his surprise (or perhaps he shouldn�t have been surprised at all), blushed deeply and gave him a rather shy smile, the kind she used to give to Lockhart, if he remembered correctly.

He wasn�t quite sure how he felt about that, now that he thought about it, though by the look of disgust on his younger self�s face, he was certain how his fifteen-year old self felt about it.

�It�s... not important, sir,� Malfoy muttered.

Ron let his stare linger for a few more moments, just to give Malfoy more reason to squirm, then finally he broke the gaze. By now, everyone in the class hard their eyes fixed upon Ron, waiting for him to address the rest of them. He knew they must have been ready to explode by now, wondering who he was. He remembered feeling exactly the same way thirty years ago, until a shocked Harry told him that he actually knew Professor Figg.

Well, Professor Figg would not be here today, and Ron sincerely hoped he�d be able to take her place fittingly. Most unfortunately, however, this happened to be the very moment his mind chose to replay something Harry had once told him a long time ago: that teaching was the hardest thing he had ever had to do.

Oh God. On second thought, perhaps wrestling with a werewolf really was more preferable to this after all.

�Good morning,� he said.

Still in a daze, the class answered back in a hushed tone. �Good morning, Professor.�

Ron smiled. �I... s�pose I should tell you who I am, then,� he said. �I�m Professor Weasley.� He paused, then blurted out the first name that popped into his mind at that moment. �Professor Jack Weasley...�

Whispers spread through the class like wildfire, and most seemed directed towards his younger self, who clearly was desperate to try and deflect some of this unwanted attention.

�I thought you said you didn�t know who�d be coming to teach Defense against the Dark Arts??�

�I didn�t!! I told you!�

�But he said his name was Weasley!�

�Are you saying you didn�t know your own relative was coming to teach here?�

�I don�t know any relatives named Jack-�

Ron strategically cleared his throat, once again capturing everyone�s attention. But he noticed a marked difference this time around: now there was a familiar smirk on Malfoy�s pointy little face.

�Weasley... Don�t tell me you�re related to his lot,� he said, nodding back to younger Ron.

Ron narrowed his eyes and leaned over the desk.

�You speak to professors like this on a regular basis, Mr. Malfoy?� he said coolly.

At this, the smirk significantly shrank.

�Since it�s my first day, I�ll just give you fair warning,� Ron said. �But should you give me cheek again, rest assured, Slytherin will lose points. Is that understood?�

Malfoy�s lip twitched, but he nodded in silence.

�Good,� he said. �Glad that�s taken care of.� He turned to the rest of the class, catching a very quick glance of Hermione�s awed face before he decided to settle his gaze on Harry, who gave him an encouraging smile. �All right, it�s obvious you�re all wondering about my name,� he said. �And before you start inundating poor Mr. Weasley here with questions...�

His younger self smiled at him, as if in gratitude. That, he thought, was a little bizarre.

�Let me just say now that Ron doesn�t know who I am.�

Heads turned to each other in amazement, and young Ron, having now been vindicated, leaned back in his chair with a smug look that caused Hermione to shake her head and smile.

�I�m... a distant cousin of his father�s,� he said. He had no idea how credible this story sounded, but at the moment, it was the best he could come up with. �I�ve been away from the country for the last few years-�

�Oooh!� squealed Lavender Brown. �Where, professor??�

Ron thought he caught a disparaging look Hermione had just thrown her way, though it had been fleeting enough that he wondered if he had only imagined it.

�Eastern Europe, Miss Brown,� he said. �I�ve been tracking vampires there...�

A hushed �oh...� leaked out of everyone�s lips, and amazingly, even Malfoy managed to look mildly impressed.

�That�s my cousin,� he could hear his younger self whisper to Harry, Dean, Seamus, and Neville. �We Weasleys are a brave lot...�

�Shut it, Weasley,� Malfoy said maliciously, swerving his head around to give young Ron a sneer, but turned around swiftly at the sound of Ron�s voice.

�Are you really that anxious to lose points for your house, Mr. Malfoy?�

�No, sir.�

The rest of the class went along splendidly, to Ron�s very pleasant surprise. Once he was able to get over his initial case of nerves, he found that it was fairly easy to develop a rapport with the students. Of course, it helped tremendously that they were all his friends, albeit younger versions of them (with the notable exception of Malfoy and his goons, that is, as well as Malfoy�s on-again, off-again girlfriend, Pansy Parkinson, whom Ron had a special reason to hate).

By the time the bell rang, Ron could honestly say he had enjoyed the last hour. As the students filed off, he could hear them whispering amongst themselves.

�Did you hear how he nabbed those vampires?? So cool!!�

�Way cooler than Lockhart--at least he�s actually done what he said he�s done!�

There were a few who lingered around, who were all beginning to converge on his desk--and curiously, they were all girls. But there was one in particular that made him smile in amusement.

�Hermione, are you coming?� his younger self said impatiently, waiting with Harry by the door.

�In a minute,� she hissed, her cheeks glowing red.

Young Ron looked at Harry and rolled his eyes, to which Harry simply shrugged. It was clear neither of the boys was going to go anywhere, though, not until Hermione had joined them.

�Er... Professor?�

�Yes? Miss Granger, isn�t it?�

She blushed even harder and nodded.

�How can I help you?�

�That story you told... about your werewolf encounter, how he slashed you...�

He saw her eyes flicker to his collar bone. His robes concealed the scar completely, but he knew she was thinking of it.

�I was wondering,� she said, �is there any truth to the legend that a human that�s attacked by a werewolf can... be affected in some way?�

�You mean, did I turn into a werewolf?�

�Y-Yes...�

Ron grinned. �No, Miss Granger, I didn�t,� he said. �Good thing, wouldn�t you say?�

�Yes,� she said, �a very good thing...�

�Hermione...�

She shot as icy a look at young Ron as Ron had ever seen from her, then she turned back to him. �Er... I suppose I should get going,� she said. �My friends are waiting for me.�

�Oh,� he said, �yes, they seem quite anxious for you to join them.�

�I... really enjoyed your lecture today, Professor.�

�I�m glad to hear that.�

�And... your name...� She paused, as if uncertain whether to continue or not. �Jack�s my father�s name too.�

I know, Ron thought. That�s why we gave our son that name.

�Well,� he said, �something we have in common then.�

Hermione smiled, then ran off to join Harry and young Ron, and as they walked off, Ron could hear his younger self muttering, �God, Hermione, don�t tell me you�re fancying another teacher...�

Ron listened for their voices until they were too far for him to hear, and he leaned back in his chair and laughed. Maybe he could learn to enjoy this.