Chapter 17: The Crossroads of Destiny

POV: Ronda Weasley

The warm orange light of late October seeped into the Gryffindor common room, casting golden shadows on the worn armchairs and overstuffed cushions.

Ronda sat hunched over her notes, though her eyes were fixed on the fire's flickering dance. Her quill dangled limply between her fingers, the parchment before her blank save for the occasional frustrated scratch.

The weight of the past weeks hung heavy on her chest. Ginny's behavior was becoming increasingly erratic—her lively, sparkling energy dimmed, her vibrant laughter replaced by silence, her words punctuated by long, vacant stares.

Ronda couldn't pretend it was just homesickness anymore, not after the nightmares Ginny had confessed to in the quiet hours of the night.

The diary.

Ronda knew it was the diary. But her heart warred with her mind. She could feel the plotlines of her past life pulling at her, the knowledge of what had to happen to bring about the final confrontation, the downfall of the Horcruxes, and the eventual peace.

But Ginny was her sister.

Ronda leaned forward, rubbing her temples. "Do you ever feel like... like knowing the future is a curse?" she murmured to Hermione one evening, her voice low to avoid being overheard by the scattered groups of Gryffindors chatting around them.

Hermione tilted her head. "What do you mean? Are you talking about Divination?"

Ronda gave a weak laugh. "Something like that. What if you knew something bad was going to happen? Something big. Would you try to change it, even if it meant risking everything?"

Hermione frowned. "I suppose it would depend. If you could prevent harm without causing greater harm, then yes. But you can't act without understanding the full picture. That's reckless."

Ronda nodded absently, her gaze drifting toward Harry, who was leaning over the armrest of a chair, talking animatedly with Neville. She considered asking him—how would the Boy-Who-Lived respond to such a choice?

Holly glanced up at the question she finally decided to make, her green eyes curious. "Depends on how bad the bad thing is. If it's really bad, I'd try to stop it, no matter what."

"But if you didn't do anything, you'd regret it forever," Holly added.

Ronda nodded, her chest tightening. Their words echoed her own thoughts, but they didn't make the decision any easier. She bit her lip, considering whether to push the conversation further, but decided against it. She couldn't risk giving anything away.

But Harry's moral compass was too steadfast. He would try to stop any danger, regardless of the cost.

And Ginny's life was not just a cost—it was everything.

Ronda stared out the dormitory window that night, the crescent moon shining faintly through the misty clouds.

The decision solidified in her chest, heavy but resolute. Holly's courage and Hermione's caution warred within her mind. But in the end, her love for Ginny tipped the scales.

She would not sit idly by while Ginny suffered. The diary was a danger to her sister, and she wouldn't let a predetermined story dictate her actions.

*I can't just sit by and hope for the best. I have to act.*

She sat up abruptly, her heart pounding. She couldn't let Ginny stay under the diary's influence any longer. And as her sister, Ronda had a unique advantage: she could enter Ginny's dormitory without raising suspicion.

The plan was straightforward enough: steal the diary from Ginny's trunk while she was out. She would destroy it herself if necessary, though how she would accomplish that remained unclear. What mattered now was getting it away from her sister.

Quietly, she slipped out of bed and dressed. The common room was silent as she made her way to the staircase leading to the girls' dormitories. Her pulse raced, but she pushed her fear aside. This was for Ginny.

The Gryffindor girls' dormitory was eerily silent. Ronda crept past the sleeping forms of Lavender and Parvati, careful not to make a sound. Ginny's trunk sat at the foot of her bed, closed but not locked.

Her hands trembled as she opened it, the hinges emitting the faintest creak. She froze, heart hammering, but no one stirred. Inside, Ginny's belongings were neatly arranged—books, clothes, quills. And there it was, lying innocuously on top of her robes: the small, black diary.

Ronda's fingers brushed the cover. It was cool to the touch, almost as if it had been sitting in a draft. A strange tingling sensation ran up her arm, but she shook it off, stuffing the diary into the pocket of her robes. She closed the trunk and backed away slowly, her breath shallow.

As she exited the dormitory, relief began to wash over her. But as soon as she stepped into the common room, she was startled to find someone there—a figure standing by the window, bathed in the silver light of the moon.

It was Arcturus.

Unbeknownst to Ronda, while she was focused on securing the diary, Arcturus had been carrying out his own plan. He stood now in the Gryffindor common room, his wand clutched tightly in his hand, staring at the Marauder's Map. His eyes were fixed on a single moving dot labeled Petra Pettigrew.

The plan was simple in theory but treacherous in execution. The Marauder's Map had revealed that Pettigrew, in her animagus form, often scuttled back to the same corner of the Gryffindor dormitory late at night. Arcturus had waited patiently, ensuring the common room was empty before slipping inside.

"Come out," he muttered, his voice low but commanding.

A faint rustling noise reached his ears, and he turned sharply, wand raised. There, in the shadows near the fireplace, he caught sight of the rat. Its beady eyes glinted in the dim light, and for a moment, it froze as if assessing its chances of escape.

"Petrificus Totalus!" Arcturus hissed.

The rat stiffened mid-motion, falling onto its side. Arcturus approached cautiously, scooping it into a small enchanted cage he had prepared earlier. He had no illusions about Pettigrew's cunning; he would take no risks transporting her.

Ronda had barely made it to the common room when she spotted Arcturus near the fireplace. He was slipping something small into his bag—something that wriggled.

"Arcturus?" she whispered, startled.

He turned abruptly, his expression unreadable in the dim light. "Ronda," he replied evenly. "What are you doing up so late?"

She hesitated. The diary felt like a lead weight in her pocket. "Couldn't sleep," she lied. "What about you? This isn't even your Common Room !"

Arcturus's gaze lingered on her for a moment before he shrugged. "Same."

An awkward silence stretched between them. Ronda's mind raced. Did he know about the diary? Did he suspect anything? But Arcturus simply gave her a faint nod and headed toward the portrait hole, his bag slung over his shoulder.

Once he was gone, Ronda exhaled shakily. She had the diary, but something about Arcturus's behavior gnawed at her. What had he been doing? Especially in another's House Common Room ! And what was in that bag?

Back in her dormitory, Ronda sat on her bed, staring at the diary. The weight of her decision pressed down on her. She had taken the first step, but the road ahead was uncertain. Destroying the diary would not be easy, and she knew the consequences of her actions could ripple far beyond her intentions.

As she drifted off to sleep, she felt a sense of peace for the first time in days. She had made the right choice. Ginny was safe, and that was all that mattered.

Meanwhile, in his own dormitory, Arcturus studied the enchanted cage containing Pettigrew. The rat's tiny, frozen form was a stark reminder of the danger lurking within Hogwarts. He would need to act carefully if he wanted to expose her without endangering himself—or anyone else.

Both of them, unknowingly aligned in their goals, had set into motion events that would change the course of the year. And in the shadows, forces beyond their understanding continued to stir, waiting for the perfect moment to strike.