Divergence
      Category: Books » Harry Potter  Censor:  PG   Genre:  General/Romance   
      Reviews:  15
      Author: Analise Drabble  - Select Font -VerdanaTimes New 
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DIVERGENCE 
A fanfic by Ana
 
Please do not sue me, as I own absolutely nothing. Everything in this story 
belongs to J. K. Rowling, who I am not. However, if Ms. Rowling would like to 
give Ron to me, I’d be more than happy to take him. Ron rocks~~~Peace out 
peoples.
 
Chapter One: The Other Hermione
 
For once in Ginny Weasley’s life, it was not the alarm clock that woke her, but 
the sound of screams. They filled her ears, sharp and tormented, and her eyes 
flew open instantly. She sleepily flailed out her right arm, groping around the 
top of her nightstand in darkness for her wand.
It wasn’t there.
Ginny shot up in bed and threw back her quilts, a shiver running down her spine 
as her feet hit the cold wooden floor. She peered around in the darkness and 
reached for her bathrobe. Tying its soft pink cords tightly around her slender 
waist, Ginny pushed open her bathrobe and stepped into the hallway.
The screaming stopped.
Ginny strained her ears and eyes against the darkness. The walls around her 
seemed to be glowing with a strange iridescent light that she couldn’t quite 
place. A single framed picture at the end of the hall showed a portly looking 
red-haired wizard, probably a great-great grandfather of Ginny’s, standing at 
attention toward the staircase leading to the top floor of the house in his 
shabby orange robes. Ginny peered closely at him and saw him raise a single pale 
finger and point upward. The screams immediately began again and, this time, 
Ginny could almost tell where they were coming from. They echoed strangely off 
the walls and reverberated over and over again until fading into muted silence. 
But Ginny was sure – almost sure – that they were coming from Ron’s room.
Catching her breath tightly in her chest, Ginny looked back over at the picture 
on the wall, but the portly old wizard was no longer in his frame. Shaking her 
head furiously she raced up the steps, red hair streaming out behind her, and 
stood panting on the landing for a few seconds before reaching a trembling hand 
out to the doorknob. The screams were louder than ever before.
Ginny clutched the doorknob in her small white hand and turned it; the door was 
locked. The screams stopped abruptly and a thin jet of green smoke issued out 
from the crack at the bottom of the door. What was happening in that room? Ron 
was in there. Was – was Harry in there too?
Ginny’s face quickly paled and she frantically began to pound on the door, the 
veins in her hand squelching and breaking from impact. Hysterical sobs began to 
wretch her trembling frame as she slowly lowered her hand and turned, defeated, 
from the door, from under which the same eerie green smoke was still pouring. 
She looked up sullenly and her eyes met a pair of brown ones nearly identical to 
her own, only they were several inches above her.
“Ron?” Her breath caught in her throat and she began frantically wiping tears 
out of her eyes.
“Ginny?” he hissed, giving her a strange look. “What’re you doing in my dream?”
Ginny felt her head spin suddenly and Ron slid quickly in and out of focus.
“You’re dream?” she whispered back, though there was really no reason for her to 
be whispering. “I heard screams. I – I thought you were –“ Ginny broke off and 
looked down at the floor.
“Where’d the screams come from?” Ron’s face took on a look of anxiety.
“From your room. I tried to open it to see, but the door’s locked.”
Ron stepped forward and pushed her out of the way, wrapping his hand around the 
door handle. He turned it, pulled on it, shook it back and forth, and whispered 
silent obscenities at it, but to no avail. The door was locked tight.
“You’re supposed to be in there,” came Ginny’s voice over his shoulder. He 
turned to see her gesturing at the door. “Where’ve you been?”
Ron let go of the door handle and leaned against the wall next to the door. 
Ginny saw him avert his eyes from her and could see his face turning red in the 
darkness. He racked his brain for something to say. An excuse….an alibi……He 
awkwardly pointed up at the ceiling.
“I was…..er…….in the kitchen.” Ron looked up at his arm and felt his face 
growing red again. He swung his arm around so that his finger pointed down the 
stairs. “Yep, in the kitchen…..midnight snack…….”
Ginny eyed him suspiciously but pressed no further on the subject. “Right,” she 
muttered. “Now, what’s all this nonsense about dreams?”
Ron’s face drained of its blush and he looked down at her with a curious 
expression.
“I’m dreaming,” he said simply. “And you’re in my dream.” He cast his gaze 
around the landing and shot his hand out at the doorknob once more, giving it a 
hard twist.
“Damn!” he muttered, turning away. “Why’s my door locked…….”
Ginny, however, seemed to be currently preoccupied with other thoughts. “So this 
is a dream,” she murmured pensively. “Well that’s good. But how can I be in 
Ron’s dream, when it feels like I’m in mine. I don’t think I much like the idea 
of being part of someone else’s dream…….” A light went off suddenly behind her 
eyes and she remembered something she had once asked Ron. She looked up at him.
“So,” she questioned, in what she hoped to be an entirely offhand manner. “Who 
else is in this ‘dream’ of yours?”
Ginny smiled with vague satisfaction as Ron’s ears turned flaming red and he 
became suddenly very interested in his shoelaces, which, incidentally, happened 
to be glow-in-the-dark neon pink. “No one,” she heard him mutter.
Unsatisfied with his answer, Ginny cleared her throat to speak again, but was 
cut off suddenly by the sound of soft footsteps climbing the staircase behind 
them. They both whirled around and caught sight of a young girl coming into view 
at the top of the steps. She was rather pretty; her hair was swept gently around 
her face in elegant waves and her body was draped in very skimpy robes of 
vibrant red silk which revealed more than they covered.
“HERMIONE?” Ginny exclaimed incredulously, and her jaw nearly hit the floor.
Hermione, however, was looking quite puzzled. “Who are you?” she asked Ginny, 
but her gaze fell on Ron and she no longer seemed to care. “Ron,” she sighed in 
what she probably hoped was her most frustrated voice, her bottom lip jutting 
out in a slight pout (which Ron happened to think was very sexy of her). “I’ve 
been waiting down there for simply hours! Where have you been? You said you’d 
only be gone a few minutes!”
With great effort to pry his eyes away from certain areas of her body where her 
robes were particularly tight fitting, Ron looked her in the eyes and gave her a 
weak but consoling smile. He immediately turned on Ginny.
“Get – out – of – my – dream!” he snarled though clenched teeth into the empty 
space that Ginny had occupied only seconds before. The snarl fell from his face 
and he looked around wildly before the sound of mad giggles coming up from the 
floor caught his attention.
Ginny was sitting in a little heap against the wall, clutching a stitch in her 
side as hysterical laughter racked through her body. She was nearly in tears.
“You’re dreaming about Hermione?” she exclaimed between giggles. “I never knew 
you thought of her like…..like that.” She waved one hand toward Hermione’s 
scantily clad body.
Ron bit his lip and turned bright scarlet in a mixture of embarrassment and 
anger. “C’mon, Hermione,” he muttered dangerously, ignoring Ginny, who was now 
rolling on the floor, desperately trying to regain composure. “In here.”
He moved toward the door to his room and, momentarily forgetting that it was 
locked, pulled on the handle. To his delight, then surprise, it flew open and a 
cloud of green smoke flooded out of it and stung his eyes. Ginny choked on the 
smoke and quickly stopped laughing, pulling herself to her feet next to Ron.
“What is it?” she whispered in his ear, a slight edge to her voice.
He shook his head distractedly and waved his arms around to clear some of the 
smoke. Ginny heard footsteps behind her and saw Hermione’s shadow fall over her 
own. Ron stopped flailing his long arms and reached behind him, taking 
Hermione’s hand in his. They stood together in silence as the smoke slowly 
cleared around them and a figure came into view; at first, it was nothing more 
than a blur sprawled out on top of a cluster of orange bed sheets, but then the 
edges slowly became more defined and they could make out what it was.
It was Ginny who screamed first. Perhaps she was the first to see, but maybe she 
was just the more sensitive of the three. Ron immediately clapped a hand over 
her mouth to stop her, then looked back into the room. His eyes grew wide as 
saucers and he screamed too, dropping Hermione’s hand. Hermione eyed Ron 
silently for a moment, then pushed past him into the room. She walked slowly, 
almost reverently, over to Ron’s bed and gazed down at the limp figure lying on 
top of it amidst the few remaining traces of wispy smoke.
It was a boy, his black hair disheveled and sticking out at odd angles all about 
his head, making him appear to have been electrified. The boy’s eyes were opened 
wide and thick red blood was pouring from his mouth in frothy cascades. Hermione 
gasped as she noticed three large poison green and red serpents slowly twisting 
themselves around him; one around the leg, one around the body, and one around 
his neck. Hermione looked back over at Ron and Ginny, her eyes vacant.
“I think he’s dead,” she whispered.
Ron screamed again.
 
* * * * * * *
 
Sunlight flooded through the Weasley household and Ginny Weasley awoke to the 
sound of an alarm clock ringing madly in her ears. She reached out and shut it 
off, sluggishly pulling herself up out of bed. The wooden floor felt extremely 
warm under her bare feet. Stifling a yawn, she drearily walked over to her 
closet and pulled it open, trying to shake the peculiar feeling that was running 
through her veins.
“What an odd dream,” she sighed to herself, pulling a light pink robe from her 
closet and holding it in front of her reflection in the mirror. She dismissed 
the thought and smiled shakily at her reflection, which smiled pleasantly back 
at her.
 
* * * * * * * 
 
Ron woke up in a cold sweat, his limbs trembling and his mouth frozen open in a 
look of absolute horror. He immediately threw back his orange bed sheets and 
looked over at the figure sleeping blissfully on the extra bed in his room.
Harry sighed in his sleep and rolled over under the blankets.
Ron grinned slightly and fell back onto his pillow, muttering “Just a dream” 
over and over to himself. Despite the enormous amount of sunlight pouring into 
his room through the window and the fact that the clock on the wall proclaimed 
it to be half-past noon, Ron managed to drift off to sleep and back into his 
dreams.
It was a familiar dream, one he had had very often in the past several months. 
Yet each time he awoke, he could scarcely remember exactly what had happened in 
it. The only image from it he was able to grasp was the fleeting silhouette of a 
beautiful girl who smiled as if the world would go on forever and told him she 
loved him. No matter how much he pondered the matter, when he was awake he just 
couldn’t put her face to a name. Yet, while still in his dream, he knew her 
well.
“Hello, Ron,” said Hermione, smiling brightly, and the world went on forever.
It was a dream, yes, but it was beautiful. He reached out and grabbed her soft 
hand, pulling her close to him. She smelled peculiarly of daffodils, brown 
sugar, and the musty scent of old library books.
“Surprised to see me?” he whispered as he wrapped his arms around her.
And then he kissed her.
 
* * * * * * *  
 
The next week flew by quickly for Ron. He spent most of his time practicing 
Quidditch with Harry, who had come to stay at the Burrow at the beginning of 
August for the remainder of the summer holidays before they would be off to 
begin fifth year at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Ron’s twin 
brothers, Fred and George, often joined them for Quidditch practice, as they 
both held positions, along with Harry, on the Gryffindor Quidditch team at 
school.
Today, however, they had decided not to play. Mr. Weasley had managed to get the 
day off from his busy job at the Ministry of Magic in order to take Harry, Ron, 
the twins, and Ginny to Diagon Alley to buy supplies for the next school term. 
Harry had written to Hermione and they had arranged plans to meet at the Leaky 
Cauldron at precisely three o’clock in the afternoon.
At 2:59 p.m. on August 28th, a familiar cry echoed through the Weasley 
household.
“Fred! George! Get down here this instant!” Mrs. Weasley called up the stairs in 
frustration, stomping her foot on the floor. She turned, fuming, to her husband, 
who was waiting patiently by the fireplace, a bottle of Floo Powder in his 
hands. “What on earth could be taking them so long?” she demanded, as if her 
husband had any idea at all of the comings and goings of the twins.
“Molly, dear,” Mr. Weasley began soothingly. “Why don’t we just let Harry and 
Ron go on ahead. I’m sure they’ll be fine on their own.”
Mrs. Weasley cast Harry a worried glance.
“Mum, come on. We’ll be fine!” sighed Ron, waving his hands in frustration.
Mrs. Weasley gave them an appraising look, then turned to her husband, who 
raised his eyebrows slightly at her. “Oh, all right,” she consented. “But you 
boys make sure and go straight to the Leaky Cauldron. These aren’t safe times –“
“Thanks Mum! Bye!” Ron cut her off as he grabbed a pinch of Floo Powder from his 
father and threw it into the flames of the fireplace. “Diagon Alley!” he called 
loudly as he vanished into the fire.
Harry took a bit of Floo Powder in his own hands and turned to give Mrs. Weasley 
a reassuring smile. “We’ll be fine, honest,” he called back to her as he threw 
his powder into the fireplace. The flames inside of it burst up into a bright 
green. “Diagon Alley!” Harry called, stepping inside of them.
And then he was gone, too.
 
* * * * * * *
 
The first thing he saw when he pulled his face up from the hard wooden floor was 
Hermione standing over him, tapping her foot impatiently and brandishing a 
watch.
“Hello, Ron. It’s 3:15. What took you?”
“Nice to see you too, Hermione,” Ron grumbled back up to her as he felt Harry’s 
hand grabbing at his robes and dragging him to his feet. He rubbed his nose, 
straightened his robes, and looked over to see Harry doing the same.
“’Lo, Hermione,” said Harry when he’d finished readjusting his glasses.
“Oh, Harry, it’s so good to see you,” said Hermione excitedly. Then her voice 
took on a note of concern. “You are all right, aren’t you?” She peered at him 
anxiously.
Harry tried his best to smile reassuringly, something he had lately been 
developing quite a talent for. “I’m fine, Hermione. I’m perfectly fine.”
Ron finished dusting off his now sooty robes and looked up at Hermione. For some 
reason, he felt his stomach do a little flip-flop and jump up to his throat. He 
swallowed hard and saw that Hermione was now staring at him curiously.
“Are you all right, Ron?” she asked, noticing the look on his face.
“Yeah, just a little dust in my mouth, I think. I’m okay.” He pulled his eyes 
away from her and forced his stomach back down.
“Let’s go get a table, shall we?” Hermione led Harry and Ron over to a small 
circular table in the corner of the pub and Harry went over to the counter to 
get them all Butterbeers.
“So, er, Hermione,” Ron began once they were seated, eager to break the silence. 
“Did you, er, have a good summer?”
“What? Oh, did I have a good summer?” Hermione shook her head slightly and 
focused her attention on Ron. “Yes, I did actually.”
“Oh,” said Ron simply, at a loss for words. Then a thought began to cross his 
mind. “So did you do any, er –“ he fiercely bit back the word snogging, “– 
traveling?” Ron struggled to keep his voice as light and casual as possible.
Hermione eyed him suspiciously but chose not to answer.
“You know,” began Ron, trying a different approach. He could feel a wide variety 
of emotions begin to rise inside him. “It’s been a really hard summer, what with 
You-Know-Who back in power and all.” Ron grimaced as he said this. “It’s hard to 
be certain about people. Especially people who’ve been trained in the Dark Arts. 
Or people who’s schools have a Death Eater as headmaster.”
Hermione’s face grew red at this and she started to reply, but at that very 
moment Harry returned with three steaming mugs of warm Butterbeer in his arms. 
He set them gently down on the table and plopped onto a chair, carefully 
choosing to overlook the hostile way in which Ron and Hermione were now staring 
at one another.
“So,” he began, trying to break the tension mounting at the table. “Who do you 
think they’ll get for the Defense Against the Dark Arts job this year? Maybe a 
banshee this time……”
Soon, the three were talking excitedly about their summers, their families, and 
life in general. Evidently, Hermione’s parents hadn’t been able to take the day 
off and had instead arranged for her to do her school shopping without them and 
then meet them on the Muggle side of the Leaky Cauldron at six o’clock sharp. As 
soon as Harry, Ron, and Hermione had finished their drinks, they filtered out of 
the little pub onto the sunny streets of Diagon Alley. As usual, Harry and Ron 
were eager to hurry of to look at Quidditch supplies, but Hermione urged them to 
look for Ron’s parents first. After much persuasion, they grudgingly agreed with 
Hermione, but only after she’d promised to go with them to the Quidditch store 
as soon as the rest of the Weasleys had been found.
No sooner had they started looking than they spotted a large cluster of red 
heads standing at the check out counter in Flourish and Blotts, a notable 
wizarding bookstore.
“Oy! Harry! Hermione!” Fred called, spotting the two of them as they pushed 
their way through the large glass front doors, Ron trudging behind them.
Harry, Ron, and Hermione rushed over to the Weasleys, who were all very pleased 
to see that none of them had been harmed or injured in any way, with the 
possible exception of Fred and George, who probably could have used Ron’s room 
as extra storage space for their massive joke collection, should something dire 
ever happen to him. Ginny looked especially excited to see Hermione and 
immediately pulled her away from the group and began chatting steadily in fast, 
giggly whispers.
“Girls,” Ron muttered under his breath, turning to look at his mom, who was 
explaining to him that she had already taken care of his school supplies and 
that all he needed to do was go and buy some new quills. She handed him a small 
bag of silver Sickles.
“Now, Ron, this is for quills only. We can’t afford to have you go off wasting 
it on a worthless pile of junk that you don’t need any –“
“I won’t waste it, Mum,” Ron grumbled, cutting her off. He shoved the bag deep 
into his pocket and looked over at Harry, who cast a sideways glance at 
Hermione. She was still deeply immersed in conversation with Ginny, their hands 
waving animatedly as they talked.
“You coming, Hermione?” Ron asked her crossly.
Hermione glanced at him over her shoulder distractedly. “You two go on ahead of 
me, all right? I’ll be there in a minute.” She turned and went back to talking 
with Ginny.
Ron shot her a furious glance and grabbed Harry’s arm, dragging him from the 
store with Mrs. Weasley’s loud voice following them out, “Do be careful, dears!”
An hour later Harry, Ron, and Hermione sat outside of Florean Fortescue’s Ice 
Cream Parlor, happily licking on raspberry cones, parcels of books and potions 
ingredients piled on the ground beside them. Ron had a package of Dungbombs, 
three packs of Filibuster’s Fireworks, six Chocolate Frogs, and one very 
inexpensive quill stuffed deep into his pockets. His small bag of Sickles had 
been completely emptied. Hermione had met up with Ron and Harry shortly after 
they had left Zonko’s Joke Shop, but this had not prevented them from having to 
endure a lecture about lying and wasting (or, as Hermione put it, ‘squandering’) 
money. At this very moment, however, all thoughts of lectures and Sickles were 
gone from her mind as she sat eating away at her ice cream, feeling as if she 
were five years old.
Evidently, Ron had been having a similar thought, because a slightly sad looked 
crossed his face and he looked curiously down at his ice cream cone. “Do you 
think we’ll be able to do this forever?” he asked.
“Do what?” said Harry.
“This,” answered Ron, gesturing at his ice cream. “Just sit here and do nothing 
but eat sweets all day in the middle of Diagon Alley. It’s not the kind of thing 
you can do when you’re an adult.”
Hermione sighed slightly. “I suppose we’ll have to grow up someday.”
“But when we do, can we still have ice cream?” asked Ron, giving her a childish 
grin.
Hermione smiled back but didn’t answer. She instead let her gaze wander beyond 
Ron and over to Harry, who was staring vacantly down at his ice cream cone as it 
began to melt and dribble down onto his hand. Hermione noticed something 
peculiar about the way his eyes looked; they were cold and sort of closed off, 
making it nearly impossible to read his expression. She saw that Ron was looking 
at Harry, too. He shook his head and turned to give Hermione a sideways glance, 
his eyes full of questions. Hermione shrugged her shoulders and looked back down 
at her own ice cream, which was also slowly beginning to melt.
Even years later, Hermione would never be able to figure out why she chose that 
particular moment to start crying, perhaps it had something to do with the 
slightly haunted look on Harry’s face. Whatever the cause, silent tears soon 
began to form in her eyes and the light purple color of her ice cream blurred in 
front of her. Hermione felt someone looking at her and turned to see Ron staring 
quietly at her, and odd look on his face, as if he had never seen something 
quite like her and didn’t know what to make of it.
Hermione blushed and raised a hand to wipe the tears out of her eyes, but Ron 
stopped her by catching her hand in mid-air and squeezing it gently in his. 
Hermione grew even redder and looked down at her hand inside of Ron’s. She could 
almost feel the heat coming from Ron’s face as he began to blush furiously as 
well, dropping her hand instantly as if it were something extremely dirty and 
smelly, and turning quickly to look away from her. Hermione gazed beyond him and 
caught sight of Harry, who was looking at the two of them with a bemused 
expression on his face. Hermione flushed deeply, turned back to her own ice 
cream, and began to lick in once more as the afternoon sun shone high above them 
in its brilliant canvas of blue sky.
 
* * * * * * *
 
That night at the Burrow, Harry and Weasleys ate a quick but satisfying dinner 
and went to bed early, as they were all very much exhausted from a long day of 
shopping, with the possible exception of Fred and George who were grinning ear 
to ear as they skipped up the staircase to their room. As much energy as they 
had to spare, however, Ron lacked any at all and no sooner had his head hit the 
pillow than he fell into a deep sleep. The girl was there in his dreams and he 
was happy to see her again. Something about the way she looked at him made his 
pulse quicken and his stomach tie up in little knots. He was in his bedroom and 
she was with him, sitting next to him on his bed. But something about her didn’t 
quite seem to satisfy him. It was as if something was somehow…….missing. He 
quickly dismissed the thought from his head and was just about to kiss her when 
the door to his room banged open. 
“Ron?” Ginny breathed from the doorway.
“Ginny? What’re you doing here? This is the second time I’ve dreamt about you 
this month! I’ve never dreamt about you before.”
“No, Ron, this is the second time this month that I’ve dreamt about you!” Ginny 
snapped exasperatedly. Her eyes moved from Ron to the figure sitting on the bed 
next to him and she suppressed a giggle. “Thanks for mentioning that I’m not 
important enough for you to dream about. But apparently Hermione is. Still 
dreaming about her, eh?”
Ron blushed. “She’s not Hermione! I don’t think about Hermione like that.” Ron 
shuddered at the horror and absurdity of this thought.
Ginny walked over and slowly surveyed the figure. “She looks like Hermione to 
me. Same face, same body, same hair –“
“Well she’s not,” Ron sneered. He looked over at the girl sitting on the bed 
next to him. She did look exactly like Hermione and sometimes even acted like 
Hermione. What was wrong?
Ginny smiled curiously and plopped down on the bed next to Ron.
“You like Hermione, don’t you?” she asked bluntly.
Ron’s ears went pink and he wished his sister wasn’t a girl so he could punch 
her out for suggesting such a thing. “Of course I don’t,” he muttered 
murderously. “She’s my friend, that’s all.”
“Then why’re you dreaming about her.”
Ron looked sheepishly from his sister to the not-quite-Hermione on the bed next 
to him. “You know,” he said slowly. “I’m not really sure.” Then he peered down 
at Ginny anxiously. “You’re not going to tell anyone that I dream about 
Hermione, are you?” he asked nervously, then slapped a hand to his forehead. 
“Wait…..you can’t tell anyone. Because you’re nothing but a part of my dream!” 
Ron looked extremely pleased at this revelation.
“I’ve told you before, Ron,” Ginny snapped. “This is my dream…….and I’m going to 
wake myself up now.”
She took one final look over at Ron, pinched her arm sharply, and disappeared.
Ron was alone now. Well, sort of. He looked over at Hermione silently.
“Who was that?” she asked.
“No one,” Ron answered, and he pinched down on his own arm and disappeared, too.
 
* * * * * * * 
 
Breakfast the next morning was quite a strange affair indeed. Ron and Ginny kept 
eyeing each other suspiciously across the table while Harry cast puzzled glances 
between the two of them. Fred and George came down from their room halfway 
through breakfast still in their pajamas and sat down, yawning and stretching, 
at the table. Fred kept nodding off in his chair and George even fell asleep 
facedown in his bowl of oatmeal.
After Harry and Ron had eaten their fill of eggs, bacon, oatmeal, sausages, and 
toast, they hurried up the stairs toward Ron’s bedroom to grab their broomsticks 
for a morning of Quidditch. In the hall on their was back downstairs, Ginny 
appeared suddenly in front of them, grabbed Ron by his arm, and hissed at him 
under her breath, “We need to talk.”
“So talk,” Ron grunted.
“Not here,” Ginny whispered urgently, casting a look in Harry’s direction and 
nodding at the room behind her.
Ron gave her a puzzled look and turned toward Harry, who just shrugged.
“Oh, all right,” said Ron, following her into her bedroom. “But make it quick. I 
want to get out there before it gets too hot.”
Ginny ushered Ron into her room and shut the door behind him. She began pacing 
the floor, a thoughtful expression on her face.
“Ron,” she began tentatively, stopping in her tracks. “What did you dream about 
last night?”
“Huh?”
“You had a dream, didn’t you? What was it about?”
Ron racked his brains. He could remember a girl……that same girl……and 
then…….Ginny had been there, hadn’t she?
“What does it matter what I dreamed about last night?” he said offhandedly.
Ginny sighed exasperatedly. “Look, Ron,” she said quickly. “I had a dream last 
night and you were in it, only you told me it was your dream, not mine. Only it 
wasn’t your dream, it was our dream –“
“Ginny, slow down.”
Ginny took a deep breath and began again. “Did you have a dream last night?”
“Yes,” admitted Ron.
“And was I in it?”
“Yes.”
“And was Hermione in it?”
Ron thought. That girl…….that girl…….the one he always dreamt about…….could that 
be…….could it possibly be……..no, there was no way.
“There was a girl,” said Ron slowly. “But I don’t think it was Hermione.”
Ginny sat down on the bed next to Ron. “O.K., listen to me and try to 
understand. About a week or so ago, I wrote to Hermione telling her all about 
this dream that I had had and about how you were in it but you kept insisting 
that it was your dream. Do you follow me so far?” Ron nodded. “Good. Well, 
Hermione wrote me back with a six page long description about all these weird 
things that can happen in dreams, though she thinks most of it is entirely 
preposterous, but that’s beside the point. The point is that she thinks what we 
had is called a convergent dream, which means that two people share the same 
dream at the same time. Basically, we both had the same dream and neither of us 
was the one being dreamt up. We were both real.”
Ginny paused and Ron quickly closed his mouth, which he realized a little too 
late had been hanging open in disbelief. He let out a small laugh. “But you 
don’t really believe that, do you Ginny?”
Ginny looked away from him.
“You do,” he said incredulously, giving her a funny look. “Look, I know 
Hermione’s smart and all, and she knows a lot of stuff, but even she doesn’t 
believe in weird things like Divination and……and this.”
“Fine. Don’t believe me if you want. But all that really matters,” said Ginny 
slyly, “is that I know what you were dreaming about last night. You were 
dreaming about kissing Hermione, weren’t you Ron? And the first time we had a 
dream together, you were dreaming about her then, too. And then we dreamt 
that…….” Ginny trailed off and looked away.
“We dreamt that Harry died,” Ron finished for her, his face quickly paling.
Ginny shuddered, but pushed the thought from her mind. “Oh, I can’t wait to tell 
Hermione that is wasn’t just me dreaming that you were dreaming about her. It 
really was you dreaming about her! Oh, she’ll be so hap –“ Ginny cut off 
abruptly and clapped a hand over her mouth.
Ron, however, didn’t seem to notice her little slip. He was looking frantic and 
worried. “Ginny,” he said urgently. “You can’t tell Hermione that I was dreaming 
about her like that. I didn’t even realize it was her! You can’t. I swear if you 
tell her, I’ll kill you.”
Ginny gave Ron and appraising look, as if trying to decide whether he would 
actually go through with his threat. He must have been looking particularly 
murderous, because she nodded her head slowly and muttered, “All right. I won’t 
tell anyone.”
“Good,” said Ron, looking highly relieved. “Now I’ve got to go and find Harry. 
He’ll’ve been waiting.”
And with that he left the room, leaving Ginny alone with her troubled thoughts.
 
* * * * * * * 
 
Everything seems to be going quite nicely for our heroes, doesn’t it? Fear not, 
gentle reader, for this will not last. The author is an evil soul who thrives on 
awkwardly nasty situations. I promise you plenty of Impossible Circumstances and 
Horrid Scandals in the chapters to come.
For Canada and President Bush. We salute you!
 
 
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            Title: Divergence
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