"I think a statue will do. Right there by the big entrance—Ron on one side, Dumbledore on the other. The school lost Lucius from the Board of Governors, haven't they? If I offer to fund a few things, I bet they'd let me take his place. Then I can get it made," Harry suggested openly. He had a lot of money anyway.
Hermione clenched her fist. "Once I join the Ministry, I'll make sure Ron's name is remembered. I won't let anyone forget what he's done."
With that in mind, the two finally left and boarded the boats. The same boats on which they had arrived at Hogwarts.
Just like them, many others didn't hold much excitement this time. It was true for most of Gryffindor.
Eventually, they all sat boarded their train and arrived at the King's Cross for the last time.
Many parents had come, including the Weasleys as Ginny's sixth year also ended. It was hard to look at Molly and Arthur, their faces still recovering from Ron's sudden demise.
From there, they parted ways and continued with their decided goals. But in a few days, they received a letter from Gringotts.
Hermione and Harry arrived at the bank, only to be taken to a small room. They had no such experience with the bank, so it was all new.
In the end, an old-looking Goblin greeted them like most goblins do, and handed them two papers. The papers were the appointment letters with Ron's signature.
"Mr. Weasley wished to use these after a natural demise from age. But because of the untimely demise, Mr. Potter and Ms. Granger are now the co-owners of the charity foundation that Mr. Weasley established," the goblin explained. "As long as the money is used as per the rules left by Mr. Weasley, you two have unrestricted access to the funds."
"What rules?" Harry asked. He didn't know much about Ron's activities that involved the foundation.
The goblin handed them two sets of stacks of papers and got off the chair. He bid his farewell and left, knowing the two would need a lot of time to read through it.
However, it took longer than that since both had reasons to get emotional. There were rules that made the Foundation able to intervene if a young orphan child from a wizard family ended up in an abusive home. Exactly as in Harry's personal case.
As for Hermione, there were countless rules that tackled the issues that muggleborn wizards face, or might face. From lack of funds to lack of know-how. All of it was written down—from handing out free books to spending money to hire wizards to teach the muggleborn about the wizarding world before they arrive at the school.
"When did he do all this?" She asked.
"No idea." Harry sighed to himself. "I don't even know who to ask."
That was the problem the two faced. Ron never really involved anyone else in his plans. That left a lot of things unanswered.
"Let's not disappoint him," Hermione muttered and continued reading. Her resolve to get into the Ministry only grew stronger from there.
It appeared Ron wasn't the numbskull, thoughtless guy she used to take him for.
"What are you going to do, Harry? You really should join the Ministry." Hermione asked him.
Harry shook his head. "I'll join a quidditch team with Ginny."
"Going pro?"
"I hope to."
"Good luck."
The two returned to reading quickly, wanting to do a good job.
####
"Push!"
"Push!"
"Push the Weasley lad!"
"Push!"
Ron put all his focus into returning home, to exiting the damn Veil. It felt impossible, like a man trying to climb stairs to heaven while the earth continuously pulled him down with gravity that increased with each new step.
It was then that the fifty Sirius Black got together to push him beyond. They became his stepstones in pushing him through the dark void that was beyond the white space. Voldemort was dead, killed long ago. His body disintegrated.
A lot of time had passed, as they had to wait for five more Sirius Blacks. Meanwhile, he went through changes and learned magic and anything that he could from all the Sirius Blacks there. Although most of them were similar, some had taken different paths when it came to learning magic. A few had even delved into the Dark Arts in more depth than Voldemort himself.
It was all helpful.
But now it was time to go home.
"Push!"
"Push!"
All the Siriuses chanted and pushed Ron through the darkness. It looked like a comical mess as they looked like a human centipede, or perhaps a tower.
"I can see it!" Ron shouted. "I can see the Veil! There's light on the other side!"
"Jump!" Sirius Black shouted.
"Jump, Ron!" Other Siriuses joined in. "Go on!"
All of you will… Disintegrate once I cross.
Ron glanced back down. It was dark so he couldn't see anything. He felt sad for all of them, as they all willingly gave up their chance, just to help him.
"Thank you! All of you! I will never forget this!" He thanked them and prepared to jump off the shoulder of Sirius Black right behind him.
"Tell your Sirius Black to stop being a dumbass. It's not worth it."
"Yeah! It's useless!"
"It took my death to understand it."
Ron had no clue what they were talking about, but he agreed regardless.
"I will," he said and leaped off at last. He lunged for the faint light he could see. It was hard, and physically exerting. "Ah!"
He barely managed to get a hold of the Veil, his fingertips scraping the surface slightly.
Woosh!
With that, he felt his entire body getting sucked into it, just the way he had entered. He prayed that this time it would take him outside.
He desperately wished to see his family.
Thud!
Surface?!
Cold, rough, and it felt like stone. He perked his head up quickly and looked around. A huge arena-like hall, a large stone underneath him that was like a stage. Then he urgently looked behind and there it was—the arched frame of the Veil.
Tears of joy welled up in his eyes. This was the hall under the Ministry.
"Thank you… you madmen."
Ron patted his clothes and stood up. Everything looked the same, minus the destruction from that day. He personally looked the same, from his clothes to his face—not aged a single day.
"How much time has passed?" He felt worried about that one aspect. A few years was fine, but what if a few decades had passed? What if everyone he loved was already gone? That would be a fate worse than death. "Dammit, I don't want grandkids so soon."
Ron stormed to the elevator and tapped the button. He was so deep underground in the Ministry that no elevator came to that level that often. So, for a while, he was left tapping his right foot impatiently.
Let's just go and see Amelia. She'll have all the answers I need. He desperately looked at the marker above the elevator door. Fuck! They need to upgrade their elevators.
Ting!
"Finally!" Ron jumped inside and sized up the bored-looking operator. "Level one! Quick!"
The operator didn't even look at his face and just smashed the button. With that, the elevator moved up, sideways, back and forth, before finally arriving at level one.
"Oil the darn thing." Ron barked as he got off and stormed towards the Minister's office. Unlike the deep underground floors, this one was packed with activity. As he walked through the busy hallway, many wizards and witches passed by.
Some jumped out of his way to the side, some froze with their jaws open, and others lost the grip of whatever they were holding.
Ron noticed their reactions but didn't stop. He quickly arrived outside the Minister's office. However, he paused for a quick moment because on the wall outside the Minister's door, to the right, was a portrait—His portrait.
Bloody hell! How long has it been?
He felt shocked and stifled, and stormed through the door. The first large room belonged to the secretary, so Ron didn't stop there. It was even better that the secretary was busy. He just grabbed the Minister's door handle and turned it, pushing it open.
"What the!" He halted, frowning. He stared at the Minister's chair, and then quickly stepped back out of the office to read the sign on the door. Making sure it said Minister, he walked back in, confused. "Shacklebolt? Where's Minister Bones?"
"R-Ron?"
"Yeah?" Ron looked at the tall man in the Minister's seat. The entire room had a different air. Unlike the clean and minimalist that Amelia liked, now it looked like a posh, old antique collector's office room. Polished wood everywhere, the scent of wood in the air, bookshelves, and a fireplace.
"Ronald Bilius Weasley?"
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