Chapter Text
Ronald Weasley was bored.
Cleaning up the manor at Number 12 Grimmauld Place was always boring and tedious at the best of times, but today was nowhere near the best of times. The past few days had brought at least some respite from the boredom in the form of his best friends Harry Potter and Hermione Granger.
Today, though, Harry was whisked away early in the morning to stand trial at the Ministry of Magic. Hermione had shut herself away in the Black Library on the first floor of the manor, no doubt trying to find some obscure rule or forgotten law that would save her boyfriend at the last moment. Ron had seen the brown studies that she could get into, and decided that discretion was the better part of valor. His sister Ginny, more foolish than brave in his opinion, had taken it upon herself to help Hermione in her studies.
"Barmy, the both of them," Ron muttered to himself. If Dumbledore couldn't get Harry declared innocent of these trumped up charges, what made them think that they could. Not that he would ever dream of speaking this thought out loud. Not even he was that thick.
Fred and George dealt with the nervous energy of the day surprisingly well, neither wanting to anger the girls in the library, they had taken to trying out some harmless pranks on the denizens of the manor. This was bad news for Ron, often the target of the twin's "experiments," but they seemed to understand that today wasn't the day to target him either. Nevertheless, avoiding any and all company seemed to be an appropriate response for the day, so Ron ducked into the first room that struck his fancy.
The room on the second floor was next to the drawing room that they had cleaned out the other day. This room didn't seem to be as cluttered as the other rooms, nor as dark, since it faced the outside. A small bed took up one wall, a desk was placed under the window looking out over the garden, and a wardrobe stood against a third wall.
"Perfect," Ron thought to himself. "If Mum asks, I can say that I was in here cleaning all day, and she'll be none the wiser." He plopped himself down upon the bed, fully intending to enjoy napping the morning away, isolated from the misery and mischief that surrounded the rest of the manor.
But the wardrobe intrigued him.
It wasn't the usual ebony and silver dressing set that seemed to seep into the very walls of the house. It didn't match the desk under the window at all. No, this wardrobe was different. Very different.
It was made of a warm, red wood, with intricate carvings along the front panel. Ron felt himself getting lost in the intricate details: a sun rising over the ocean, two ancient kings seated on aged thrones, a Pegasus, a Phoenix, rings that shone with otherworldly light, the most majestic apple tree that Ron had ever seen, and two lions looking down into Ron's very soul.
With no conscious effort on his part, Ron found himself standing in front of the wardrobe. He felt a warm sensation, filling his entire being with the desire to open the door.
He reached out. His fingers grasping the golden handle, and with just a little force, pulled on the door.
Mothballs fell onto the floor, the sound of their clattering against the wood almost shattering the trance Ron had fallen into. In what he would later recall as his last sane moment in this world, he checked to make sure that his wand was still in his pocket. Patting his trusted companion, he looked into the wardrobe.
And found fur coats. At least a dozen fur coats, from what century Ron couldn't tell. And four hangers in the middle, curiously without coats.
Beyond that, though, was something truly amazing.
Pine branches poking through the back of the Wardrobe, swaying in some unseen breeze.
Ron couldn't see beyond that. He strained to look, but even his considerable height couldn't see over the top of the coats. There was nothing for it.
He climbed in.