It was odd—I’d thought the Headmaster’s office was in one of the towers. But the path led me to the fifth floor, far from the Restricted Section, to the right of the main staircase, and around a corner. There stood a gargoyle statue, life-sized, carved from stone.

“Sherbet lemons,” I said, staring into its blank stone eyes.

“Proceed,” the statue rasped, shifting aside to reveal a hidden alcove and a spiraling staircase. The moment I stepped onto the first step, it began to rotate, carrying me smoothly upwards to a massive dark wood door, which creaked open as soon as I reached the small landing.

So, it was a tower after all…

The Headmaster’s office suited its eccentric owner perfectly. The focal point was a grand mahogany desk, cluttered with papers and mysterious contraptions. Behind it, a massive Gothic-style window stretched to the ceiling. Flanking the room were two small open staircases curving upwards, leading to a second floor lined with bookshelves. Above those shelves hung portraits of past headmasters, their painted eyes unmistakably fixed on me. One stern-looking man in 18th-century robes openly glared, while the others feigned sleep.

Below, the room was packed with glass-fronted cabinets glowing softly, filled with peculiar trinkets that spun, smoked, or jingled. The constant hum and clatter created a lively backdrop, an almost organic sense of movement.

But it was the bird that caught my attention. Perched behind a chair that looked more like a throne, the phoenix sat still and regal. I hadn’t noticed it at first; the space behind the throne formed an alcove of sorts, elevated by wide steps and enclosed by stained-glass windows with breathtaking views of the Black Lake and rolling hills beyond. When the phoenix suddenly flapped its wings and released a melodic trill, I couldn’t help but step closer.

It probably wasn’t proper to wander freely through someone else’s domain, but the Headmaster was nowhere to be seen, and I was curious. Perfectly normal for a boy my age, wasn’t it?

The phoenix exuded a warm, magical aura—similar to that of a unicorn, but hotter, somehow. For a while, we simply studied each other. Then, quite unexpectedly, it lowered its head, inviting a stroke. It was impossible to resist the gentle pull of its magic.

Suddenly, the phoenix cooed, twisted its neck, and plucked a feather from its tail, holding it out to me. I froze, uncertain. Phoenix feathers were valuable, and who’d believe I hadn’t just nicked it?

“You really must take it, Mr. Weasley,” came a voice from behind, startling me. I spun around to see the Headmaster standing there, watching with his ever-present twinkle. “Fawkes doesn’t give gifts lightly. He must find you rather likeable.”

“Er—thank you, Fawkes,” I said, giving the bird one last pat before turning back to face Dumbledore.

“I told you you’d find my office easily enough, didn’t I?” he said, his tone as enigmatic as his smile. “Please, sit.”

He gestured towards an oval table on the far side of the room, covered with a cloth and surrounded by chairs. The Headmaster took the grandest chair, of course, while I settled into the nearest one, placing the phoenix feather carefully on the seat beside me.

Dumbledore tapped his knuckles lightly on the table. Instantly, bowls of sweets, plates of biscuits, a teapot, and fine china appeared. It reminded me of those enchanted tablecloths from fairy tales, and I couldn’t help but grin at the thought. I imagined this was how the teachers held their meetings—sipping tea and nibbling sweets in this cosy little setup.

“Sugar? Cream?” he asked, peering at me over his half-moon spectacles as he passed me a cup.

“Just cream, please,” I said, accepting the jug.

“Well then, Ron,” he began after a long pause, “you don’t mind if I call you Ron, do you?”

“Not at all, sir,” I replied with a shrug, setting my tea aside. “It is my name, after all.”

He chuckled softly, hiding a smile in his beard. For a man who’d just had a near catastrophe in his school, he seemed oddly light-hearted—almost playful.

“I imagine you have questions about the recent… events,” he said with a wistful sigh. “Go on, ask. I’ll answer what I can, though I won’t lie to you, Ron. If there’s something I cannot reveal, I’ll simply remain silent.”

“Did you call me here to tell me that Hermione and I are getting expelled?” I asked, playing dumb. “Is that what this is about?”

“Oh, not at all,” he said, brightening visibly. “You’ve nothing to worry about on that account. Although,” he added with a conspiratorial wink, “you did manage to break at least a dozen rules. But no, I called you here because you and your friends have been through quite the ordeal. I wanted to hear your perspective. Professor Snape speaks highly of you—says you’re a very thoughtful young man.”

“I don’t understand, sir,” I said bluntly. “Why did the school let something like this happen? I know you might say we brought it on ourselves, but surely adult wizards have ways to stop this kind of thing?”

“Yes, we are wizards, Ron,” he said, his usual jovial tone replaced by something far more serious. “And that, my boy, is precisely why things unfolded as they did.” He nodded, his expression unreadable.

“I don’t follow,” I admitted, trying to keep the frustration out of my voice. “I’m twelve. Could you make it simpler?”

“Every person has their path, Ron,” he began grandly, and I immediately stiffened, intrigued. Was he about to share some secret of magic? Perhaps another mystery of the wizarding world? But no, what followed was disappointingly… ordinary.

“For some, the path is straight and smooth. For others, it twists and turns. Yet, we all walk our own roads,” he continued, his words heavy with meaning. “Sometimes, our paths merge with others, forming a single road—broader and stronger—where a friend’s hand will catch you if you stumble. Do you see, Ron?”

I nodded thoughtfully, though I didn’t quite grasp where all this was leading. Honestly, I felt a bit disappointed.

"It so happens," Dumbledore said, narrowing his eyes with that uncanny knack for reading my thoughts, "that your path and Miss Granger’s have merged with Harry’s. I sense you’re still angry with him," he added, his tone gentle but sharp, "but if you reflect on it, you’ll see that your fate is to walk alongside your friends, to help them when they stumble. And someday, Ron, they’ll do the same for you. Otherwise, this terrible ordeal could repeat itself."

"You’re blaming me for what happened?" I blurted, utterly gobsmacked by the audacity.

"Not at all, my boy," he replied hastily. "Quite the contrary—your timely actions protected both Miss Granger and Professor Snape from harm. Can you see now how vital you are to Harry? Your common sense helps keep you all on the right track, facing evil together and supporting one another."

"Forgive me, sir," I said, my temper cooling slightly at his thinly veiled flattery, "but why are you so sure there’s this 'shared path'? I’ll meet all sorts of people in my life, and some of them I might walk with for a while. But that doesn’t mean I should slog through everything with them, especially when they go looking for trouble. By that logic, you might as well say the same about Dean and Seamus if Harry drags them into a scrape someday."

The narrative has been taken without permission. Report any sightings.

"Ah, but that’s precisely because we are wizards, Ron," he said, his voice taking on a weightier tone, his usual levity fading as he frowned at my skepticism. "Tell me, have you wondered why, after the announcement at the start of the year about the forbidden corridor and the terrifying fate awaiting intruders, no one boasted of sneaking in to see the Cerberus? That place was enchanted—warded against everyone but those destined to enter."

He paused dramatically, his half-moon glasses glinting in the firelight. "Even Professor Snape or other staff couldn’t bypass my protections to get past the dog. And students? They wouldn’t have been able to approach at all. Miss Granger and you, my boy, could only enter because you were with Harry. Yet what surprised me most was that you managed it on your own, without Harry’s help. My wards were rather advanced, if I may say so." He gave a little self-satisfied smile before studying me with keen interest. "Not only did you get through, but you helped. Surely now you must see—it was magic itself guiding you."

I scowled, trying to keep my irritation in check. To me, it all sounded like an overblown excuse for leaving us to fend for ourselves. Still, his words stirred an uncomfortable memory. Luna’s talk of ‘the Path.’ Somewhere deep down, I couldn’t shake the feeling that Dumbledore was trying to explain the same thing, albeit in his convoluted, grandiose way. It also explained why no one had come to help us—they couldn’t get through the magical barrier and had to wait for Dumbledore.

"I see you understand me now, Ron," Dumbledore said with a satisfied smile, his gaze locked on my face as though reading every flicker of thought. "It never ceases to amaze me, the strange twists and turns of fate. You’d think everything could be planned and calculated, but no—destiny always asserts itself. And we must respect that."

His expression softened, almost grandfatherly. "You are important to your friends, Ron, and they to you. It would be wise to grant them another chance to earn your trust and friendship. Bonds of friendship are part of love, a powerful force that governs all things. Squandering such gifts of fate would be most unwise, my boy," he finished solemnly.

"I’ll think about it, sir," I said curtly, determined to keep the final word and decision mine. Dumbledore, however, simply nodded with that infuriating look of understanding, then grew serious again.

"But you mustn’t take on Harry’s burdens, Ron, or try to carry his destiny for him," he said abruptly. "Your role is to support him on his challenging path, to stand by his choices."

"Destiny?" I repeated, feigning surprise. "Potter has a destiny?"

"Each of us does, my boy," Dumbledore said, sidestepping my question with the finesse of a politician. "Harry, too, is guided by fate. But permit me to remain silent on this matter for now. When you’re older, I promise I’ll explain everything to you and Miss Granger. For now, it’s time you returned to Gryffindor Tower. Let’s not worry Miss Granger unnecessarily," he added with a sly smile, rising from his seat in a clear signal for me to leave.

Not needing to be told twice, I grabbed the phoenix feather and made my way out.

But instead of heading straight to the common room, I wandered. There was plenty of time before curfew, and I needed to think.

When I’d set out for this meeting, I’d hoped Dumbledore would be honest with me—not entirely forthcoming, of course, but at least truthful. Yet what he fed me didn’t even come close. I’d expected him to tell me about Voldemort, appeal to my sense of duty, or tug at my heartstrings with tales of Harry’s struggles. But apparently, in Dumbledore’s eyes, Ron Weasley wasn’t significant enough to merit trust. Just a little guilt trip and a pinch of flattery. Even Snape had been more straightforward, warning me about the Dark Lord and the dangers ahead.

It was painfully clear now—Dumbledore intended to use me without revealing his full hand. How could I trust him after this?

I’d gone to sound him out, maybe even share what I knew about the future. But now I realized it wouldn’t change a thing. Even armed with foresight, Dumbledore wouldn’t deviate from his plans. He’d block me from acting to protect my family, all for the sake of ensuring the prophecy played out and Voldemort fell.

I could almost hear his voice, syrupy and unyielding: "Why hunt down Horcruxes ourselves, my boy? Let events unfold as they must. Harry and Voldemort are linked by magic and death. That bond will guide him to the Horcruxes in time. Don’t meddle—simply stand by as the Hero fulfills his prophesied mission."

And I’d wager he already knew about the Horcruxes. In the book, during second year, after the Chamber of Secrets debacle, he’d said, “It’s not who, but how.” That meant he suspected Voldemort would keep returning, each time trying to kill Harry, and Harry would keep defeating him. All part of the grand plan.

I sighed, bitterness welling up. Dumbledore wasn’t interested in simple solutions. No, he wanted grandeur, drama—an epic tale. And if sacrifices had to be made for that tale to unfold, well, so be it.

"Ron, how did it go?" Hermione rushed toward me the moment I stepped into the empty common room, her face etched with worry. "You were gone for ages. I was so worried."

"It’s fine, Hermione," I forced a smile, my head still swimming with thoughts. "We’re not getting expelled. In fact, we were praised."

"Thank goodness," she breathed out, visibly relieved. Then, with a sheepish glance, she added,

"I was so scared. Ron, you’re not mad at me, are you… for not believing you?" She fiddled nervously with her hands as we sat down near the fire. The room was empty, which gave me the chance to tell her about Quirrell without an audience.

"Not anymore," I replied honestly. "But you’ve got to start thinking things through, Hermione."

Her eyes narrowed defensively. "You think I’m daft?"

"Of course not," I said, smiling at her indignation. "You’re brilliant, and your memory’s unmatched. But you don’t know how to weigh your options or connect the dots properly. That’s why you sometimes jump to the wrong conclusions and, well… act rashly."

"Name one time I’ve done that," she challenged, though the flicker of satisfaction from my compliment lingered on her face. "Go on, prove it."

"Easy," I smirked. "Why’d you hex Neville? And I won’t even get into the fact that raising your wand against one of our own…"

"Well," she faltered, flushing a little. "He forced my hand. He was trying to stop us and call for a teacher."

"Wasn’t that the whole point?" I asked, raising an eyebrow. "To get McGonagall to the Stone, so she could intercept Snape and hold him off? Or were you and Harry planning to face a grown wizard yourselves from the start?"

"Of course not," she admitted, her puzzled expression almost endearing. "I… I don’t know what I was thinking."

"That’s exactly it," I said, leaning back. "You and Harry act first, think later. You’ve got to stop trying to handle everything on your own."

She hesitated, then asked quietly, "But… you’ll make up with Harry, won’t you?" Her eyes brimmed with hope, and I could tell the thought of choosing between us weighed heavily on her. I didn’t envy her position—Hermione wasn’t the sort to let go of either of us easily.

"I don’t want to lose Harry’s friendship, Hermione," I said truthfully. "If he admits he was wrong and respects me a bit more going forward, then yeah, I’ll be happy to patch things up." I gave her a reassuring smile, and she brightened. "But for now, off to bed with you. You’ve only just got out of the Hospital Wing." My tone turned gruff as I tugged her gently toward the staircase.

"Thanks, Ron," she said quickly, her eyes shining with gratitude. Then, to my utter surprise, she kissed me on the cheek before darting away without a backward glance.

----------------------------------------

The next day, we were finally allowed to visit Harry for a few minutes, though he was still unconscious. Hermione had been desperate to see him, and I figured Dumbledore had given the nod for our visit. Madam Pomfrey wasn’t pleased, pursing her lips as she let us in.

Harry looked awful. Without his glasses, and in that oversized hospital pyjama set, he seemed so small, so vulnerable. Hermione fled to her dormitory afterward, probably to have a good cry. I wandered the castle instead, my thoughts heavy. It was grimly unfair that the weight of the magical world’s peace rested on Harry’s thin shoulders. For the first time, I couldn’t even be bitter about it. A broomstick, a bit of rule-bending, and house points… none of it felt like enough for a boy whose destiny was to die for everyone else.

After dinner, a fifth-year handed us a note, and we headed back to the Hospital Wing. This time, we were let in without fuss, but only for five minutes.

"Ron, Hermione," Harry greeted us, his voice uncertain as he gave us a guilty look. "I’m so glad to see you."

"Oh, Harry," Hermione cried, practically throwing herself at him. "We were so worried! We thought that… that…"

"I’m fine," he assured her, awkwardly patting her hair as she clung to him. Over her head, he shot me a questioning glance, waiting for some signal that we were still mates. I figured he’d been through enough without me adding to it.

"Glad you pulled through, Harry," I said, keeping my tone neutral but offering a small smile. It was enough; his face lit up with relief.

"Ron, I need to tell you—" he began earnestly, but I cut him off.

"We’ve only got five minutes, Harry. There’ll be plenty of time to talk later. For now, just focus on getting better." I glanced pointedly toward the clinking potions bottles behind the screen, where Madam Pomfrey was keeping an ear out.

"Alright," Harry said, smiling faintly as Hermione finally released him. "Till tomorrow, then?"

"See you, Harry," Hermione sniffed, giving him a watery smile before tugging me out the door.