A Hogwarts acceptance letter was more than just parchment and ink.
For Muggle families, it could rewrite the future—lifting a child from an ordinary life into one of magic and wonder.
For wizarding families, it was a reassurance. A moment of pure relief.
Confirmation that their child wasn't a Squib.
So naturally, when Peter and Ron's letters arrived, the Weasley household erupted in celebration.
Molly went all out, bustling around the kitchen to prepare a feast. By noon, the family had set up a large tent in the garden, near the pond that shimmered softly in the warm breeze.
Picnic tables were laid out beneath the fluttering canvas, and the smell of roasted chicken and fresh bread drifted through the summer air. The scene was perfect—sunny, breezy, filled with laughter.
Arthur, in his usual cheerful optimism, had even suggested inviting all the neighbors to join the celebration.
That plan… didn't survive.
Molly promptly swatted it down with her trusty feather duster.
"The Lovegoods are lovely but… a bit odd," she said in her firm, no-discussion tone. "And the Fawcetts keep to themselves. It's not appropriate."
In the end, the only guests invited were the Diggory family.
Amos Diggory, like Arthur, worked at the Ministry of Magic—specifically in the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures. Their paths crossed often enough that they were loosely considered colleagues.
But that wasn't why Arthur had invited him.
Not at all.
"That man is infuriating!" Arthur grumbled while helping Molly set plates. "Every single time we see him, it's all 'my Cedric this' and 'my Cedric that'—like the rest of us are raising trolls!"
He slammed down a stack of napkins with more force than necessary.
"The way he talks—like no one else's child could possibly measure up…"
Peter, overhearing from nearby, couldn't help but smirk.
So when Amos Diggory appeared at The Burrow's garden via Apparition, with his son beside him, Arthur immediately threw an arm around Peter and strode forward to greet them with exaggerated cheer.
"Amos! Welcome to The Burrow," Arthur called out. "This is my son, Peter—I bet you've heard his name!"
Amos had a ruddy complexion, a short brown beard, and a nose that hinted he'd probably enjoyed a drink before arriving. He clasped Arthur's hand and turned his sharp eyes toward Peter, clearly sizing him up.
Peter responded with the perfect smile—polite, respectful, just what any adult would want to see. He looked every bit the model son.
"Yes, yes, Arthur," Amos said, voice full of theatrical warmth. "Your family's Potion prodigy. Of course I've heard of him. Is today the day he got his Hogwarts letter? How wonderful. And where's Ron?"
Arthur's smile faltered ever so slightly.
He hadn't expected Amos to go straight for the weak spot.
There was a flicker in Arthur's expression as his eyes darted around. "Oh—Ron got one too. Yes, of course, both boys got in…"
Amos raised his eyebrows knowingly.
"Then why not bring Ron along to say hello?" he asked, voice lined with just enough faux innocence to sting. "You know, I always say it's good to let the younger ones spend time around proper influences. Our Cedric is top of his class, obedient, bright—Professor McGonagall praised his Transfiguration work, and he's already a Seeker for Hufflepuff's Quidditch team."
He smiled modestly, but the blow had landed.
"Maybe he could help Ron come out of his shell a bit."
Arthur opened his mouth, then closed it again. There was really no comeback.
Peter nearly burst out laughing. The smug jabs disguised as compliments, the carefully placed comparisons—it was like watching a duel with teacups and smiles.
And yet, standing next to Amos was a boy who looked like he wanted nothing to do with it.
Cedric Diggory, tall for his age and undeniably handsome, shifted uncomfortably. He had a polite smile on his face, but the way he glanced at Peter with a sheepish look made it clear: he was not here to brag.
There was a quiet, awkward humility in his eyes—the kind that said "Please ignore my dad."
Peter gave him a subtle nod of solidarity.
As the still-dazed Arthur was dragged off by Amos—who had launched into another monologue about Cedric's stellar manners—Cedric leaned slightly toward Peter and spoke in a low voice.
"Sorry about my dad," he said, wincing. "He doesn't mean any harm, really. He just… exaggerates. All the time."
As if on cue, Amos's voice rang out clearly from across the garden:
"...Cedric is always humble and polite—such a gentlemanly young man!"
"..."
Cedric's expression stiffened like he'd just taken a Bludger to the ribs. He cleared his throat quickly and shifted the topic.
Extending his hand, he said sincerely, "I'm Cedric Diggory. Mr. Peter Weasley, it's really a pleasure to meet you. I've read several of your papers on Potions. Some of the development theories you proposed are... honestly brilliant."
Peter accepted the handshake with a polite smile. "Thanks. It's just some practical trial-and-error. Though the Extraordinary Potion Masters Association still criticizes me for being too unorthodox."
Where there are wizards, there are rivalries.
Over the past few years, Peter's "Beauty Potion" series had earned him both hundreds of Galleons and a storm of envy.
He was, after all, a pre-Hogwarts child developing fully commercialized, complex potions. It was unprecedented.
If it weren't for the fact that Peter was a pure-blood, and that the more shameless potion masters had been too embarrassed to steal formulas from an eight-year-old, the recipe for "Peter's Beauty" would likely have already been cracked and mass-marketed.
Now, with several high-profile Potion Development papers under his name, Peter's reputation was solidified. The critics could only snipe at him through newspaper columns—while sales soared.
His calm composure and grounded confidence made Cedric quietly envious.
Unlike his father, Cedric wasn't interested in status for show. He admired real talent, and it didn't take long for him to grow eager and animated around Peter. Soon, he was asking Potion-related questions with genuine curiosity.
"I haven't tried brewing Polyjuice Potion yet," Cedric admitted. "Its formula isn't available anywhere—probably because it's so dangerous. I read that the Skarpin Revealing Charm can analyze a potion's ingredients and ratios, but it's a restricted spell, banned by the Ministry…"
Peter nodded thoughtfully. "Makes sense. Hogwarts will definitely open doors. The Professors, the library—it's a treasure trove compared to self-study."
He leaned forward slightly, his tone turning instructional.
"But even without the full formula, you can experiment with base ingredients. For instance, powdered Bicorn horn—start there. It's a lower-risk way to study the essence of transformation-based Potions."
Time passed unnoticed.
By midday, Cedric had transformed into Peter's personal fanboy, practically glued to his side, soaking up everything he said.
He even distanced himself from his father's endless praise parade, intentionally sitting closer to Peter to keep the conversation going.
"So... you're saying that Bicorn is what allows the Polyjuice Potion to trigger the transformation?" Cedric asked, brows furrowed.
Peter smiled. "Not exactly. The transformation effect comes mostly from fluxweed, which has inherent shape-altering properties."
He held up a finger.
"But the Bicorn horn provides the variability. Think about the Bicorn itself—part leopard, part ox, vaguely humanoid. Its essence allows the Polyjuice Potion to support complex transformation, even across gender lines. That's not just mimicry—that's alteration of magical identity."
He sat back, eyes gleaming slightly. "Its full potential hasn't even been tapped yet."
Peter spoke with an ease that made his words feel both academic and visionary. The way he pieced together magical theory and practical logic left Cedric visibly awed.
No one else in Cedric's family had much interest—or talent—for Potions, so he rarely found anyone to have a serious conversation with.
Even though his questions mostly revolved around Potion Transfiguration, Cedric was genuinely excited to talk shop. And for Peter, who was used to working alone, it was refreshing to finally have someone his own age who didn't yawn halfway through a discussion about fluxweed structure.
They chatted on enthusiastically, exchanging insights and observations, lost in the world of magical theory.
Meanwhile, at the far end of the long garden table, Ron was caught in something far worse than an intense lesson in Potions: a conversation with Mr. Amos Diggory.
Despite his best efforts to lay low and stay out of sight until dinner, Ron had been cornered.
Now he sat beside his dad, shoulders hunched, enduring a barrage of long-winded speeches that alternated between lavish praise for Cedric and thinly veiled jabs at Ron himself.
"Cedric's always so focused, never slouches like some boys his age…"
"Top marks in practicals, not one broken wand movement all term…"
Every line felt like a sting, and Arthur could only smile stiffly through it all.
Desperate for escape, Ron blurted, "Cedric's talking to Peter about Potions. I—I want to go listen in."
Amos immediately stopped mid-sentence and waved him off.
"Ah, of course! Go on then," he said, not even bothering to hide the shift in tone.
Ron hurried away, but it didn't make him feel any better.
In fact, it made him feel worse.
No matter where he went, it felt like Peter's shadow was always there—taller, smarter, more admired.
The ache settled heavier when dinner began.
Molly, ever the loving mother and celebratory chef, had prepared something special: a hotpot, served bubbling in the center of the table.
It was a dish Peter had restored from a Muggle magazine, inspired by Chinese cuisine. After years of enduring dreary British food, he had used one of Arthur's borrowed Muggle artifacts—a portable burner—to make it a reality.
And the results were spectacular.
When the steaming hotpot was served, it wasn't just the guests who were stunned—the smell alone was enough to make Arthur sit up straighter.
The man who'd looked mildly defeated all day suddenly perked up with gleaming eyes.
"Isn't this brilliant?" Arthur beamed, gesturing proudly at the dish. "Our Peter came up with this from scratch—saw it in a Muggle book, tweaked the recipe, and made it work! The lad could open a restaurant, I swear!"
And just like that, the conversation turned back to Peter.
Ron lowered his head, poking at his food with his fork.
Even the hotpot wasn't safe.
Not even dinner was his.