Ron woke up on his second morning as Ron Weasley to the sound of explosions.
He shot upright in bed, heart racing, before the memories supplied context. Fred and George. Obviously. They were probably testing something that would inevitably get them in trouble.
He rubbed his face, still disoriented by the fact that his hands were small and his voice cracked when he groaned. Ten years old. He was ten fucking years old again.
The existential horror of that hadn't quite sunk in yet.
Another explosion, followed by Molly's shriek of "FRED AND GEORGE WEASLEY, WHAT HAVE YOU DONE?"
Ron got dressed, pulling on another set of faded hand-me-downs, and made his way downstairs. The kitchen smelled like smoke and something vaguely sulfurous.
In the kitchen, Fred and George stood covered in soot, looking sheepish while Molly waved her wand to clear the smoke. Percy sat at the table with his breakfast, pointedly ignoring the chaos while reading his book. Ginny was giggling into her orange juice. Arthur was examining what looked like the remains of a metal box with far too much interest.
"Fascinating," Arthur murmured. "The combustion pattern suggests a rapid oxidation reaction, but the magical signature is unusual. Boys, what exactly were you attempting?"
"A delayed-reaction stink bomb," George said.
"With extra stink," Fred added.
"It wasn't supposed to explode," they said together.
"Of course it wasn't," Molly said, her voice dangerously calm. "Nothing you two do is ever supposed to explode, and yet somehow it always does. Sit. Eat. No more experiments until you're back at Hogwarts where you can blow up someone else's kitchen."
"Technically we're improving the formula," Fred said, sitting down.
"For commercial applications," George added.
"We're entrepreneurs, Mum," they said together.
"You're menaces," Molly corrected, but her voice had softened slightly. She spotted Ron in the doorway. "Good morning, dear. Sit down, breakfast is ready. Well, the parts that weren't in the explosion radius."
Ron sat, and a plate appeared in front of him. Slightly less food than yesterday, probably because some of it had been casualties of the twins' experiment, but still more than he was used to.
He started eating while trying to process the casual chaos around him. This was normal for them. Explosions before breakfast. Magic fixing everything. Just another morning at the Burrow.
It was insane. And kind of wonderful. And he still didn't trust it.
"Ron," Percy said without looking up from his book. "Did you start reading Hogwarts, A History?"
"Yeah, actually. Got through the first three chapters last night."
Percy looked up, surprised. "Really? Most students find it rather dry. What did you think?"
Ron had actually found it fascinating, but not for the reasons Percy probably expected. The book was clearly written from a biased perspective, glossing over uncomfortable historical facts and focusing on the "glory" of Hogwarts. But between the lines, he could see the actual structure of the magical education system, and it was wildly inefficient.
"It's interesting," he said carefully. "Though I have some questions about the curriculum structure."
"Questions?" Percy straightened up, looking pleased. "Such as?"
Shit. He needed to be more careful. Asking intelligent questions would make people suspicious.
"Just, uh, why do students only take core classes for the first two years? Seems like it would make more sense to introduce electives earlier so students can specialize."
The table went quiet. Everyone was staring at him.
"That's actually a legitimate pedagogical question," Percy said slowly. "The current system dates back to the medieval period when magical education was less formalized. There have been reform proposals, but tradition is difficult to overcome in the wizarding world."
"Tradition or institutional inertia?" Ron asked, then immediately regretted it when Percy's eyes lit up.
"Precisely! The resistance to educational reform is a perfect example of the Ministry's failure to modernize outdated practices. You see, the problem stems from the Hogwarts Board of Governors, who are predominantly from old pureblood families with vested interests in maintaining the status quo. If we examine the historical precedent—"
"Percy," Molly interrupted gently. "Perhaps save the lecture for after breakfast?"
"I was merely answering Ron's question."
"You were gearing up for a dissertation," Fred said.
"We could all feel it coming," George added.
Ron focused on his eggs, trying not to draw more attention to himself. Asking intelligent questions was apparently not normal Ron behavior. He needed to remember that.
But it was hard. The magical world was so backwards in some ways, so fascinating in others. He wanted to understand how it all worked, wanted to find the gaps and inefficiencies he could exploit. That was what he did. That was how he survived.
Except Ron Weasley wasn't supposed to be interested in systemic analysis. Ron Weasley was supposed to be loud and impulsive and not particularly academic.
He needed to act more normal. Whatever that meant.
"Ron," Arthur said, and there was something thoughtful in his voice. "You've been very quiet these past couple of days. Are you sure everything's alright?"
Every eye at the table turned to him again.
"I'm fine," Ron said. "Just thinking about Hogwarts a lot."
"And using words like 'institutional inertia,'" Fred said.
"At breakfast," George added.
"While voluntarily reading," they said together.
"It's very concerning," Fred said.
"Deeply suspicious," George agreed.
"Maybe he's been body-snatched," they suggested together.
"Boys," Molly said warningly.
But Ron caught the look Fred and George exchanged. They weren't entirely joking. They were watching him, trying to figure out what was different.
He needed to do damage control.
"Look," Ron said, going for defensive annoyance. "I'm going to Hogwarts next year. I don't want to show up and be completely lost. Is that really so weird?"
"Yes," Ginny said flatly.
"You hate reading," she continued. "You complain about writing. You only pay attention in lessons when Mum threatens to take away dessert."
"Maybe I'm maturing."
"You're ten."
"People can mature at ten!"
"Not you," she said with the brutal honesty only a nine-year-old could manage.
Ron opened his mouth to argue, then closed it. She wasn't wrong. The original Ron apparently had zero interest in academics. Which meant his sudden desire to learn was a massive red flag.
"Fine," he said. "I'm being weird. Can everyone stop staring at me now?"
"Why are you being weird though?" Ginny asked.
"I don't know! I just am!"
That was apparently acceptable, because the conversation moved on to other things. Percy returned to his book. The twins whispered to each other while glancing at him occasionally. Molly fussed over everyone's eating habits. Arthur asked increasingly detailed questions about Muggle breakfast foods that Ron only half-answered.
But Ron could feel the twins watching him. Calculating. Suspicious.
This was going to be a problem.
After breakfast, Ron tried to escape to his room, but Fred and George intercepted him in the hallway.
"We need to talk," Fred said.
"Privately," George added.
They herded him into their room and closed the door. Their room was chaos personified. Beds unmade, clothes everywhere, half-finished prank prototypes scattered across every surface. It looked like a hurricane had hit a joke shop.
Fred and George sat on one bed. Ron sat on the other, feeling distinctly like he was being interrogated.
"So," Fred said.
"Ron," George continued.
"What's going on with you?" they finished together.
"Nothing's going on."
"Really?" Fred raised an eyebrow. "Because you've been acting strange."
"Very strange," George agreed.
"We've only been at Hogwarts one year," Fred said.
"But we know our little brother," George added.
"And you're not acting like him," they said together.
Ron's stomach dropped. This was bad. The twins were clever and observant, and they'd known Ron his entire life. If anyone was going to figure out something was wrong, it would be them.
"I don't know what you're talking about," Ron said, trying to sound annoyed rather than nervous.
"Yesterday you volunteered to help with chores," Fred said.
"You asked to borrow books from Percy," George continued.
"You were polite at breakfast," Fred said.
"You used the phrase 'institutional inertia,'" George added.
"We had to ask Percy what that even meant," they said together.
"So?"
"So," Fred leaned forward. "The Ron we know complains about everything. Hates reading. Gets bored in lessons. Would rather play chess than talk about educational reform."
"But you," George mirrored his brother's position, "have been quiet. Thoughtful. Interested in learning. That's not you."
"Maybe I've changed."
"Overnight?" Fred asked skeptically.
"After some bad dreams?" George added.
"People don't just change personality that fast," they said together.
Ron's mind raced. He could keep denying it, but that would just make them more suspicious. He needed to give them something. A partial truth they could accept.
"Alright, fine," he said, going for reluctant honesty. "I had some really weird dreams the other night. Really weird. And when I woke up, I started thinking about stuff differently. About Hogwarts, about the future, about not wanting to be... " He trailed off.
"Not wanting to be what?" Fred prompted.
"Not wanting to be poor forever," Ron said quietly.
The twins exchanged a look. Something shifted in their expressions.
"Ron," George said, and his voice was gentler than Ron had heard it. "You know being poor doesn't make you less—"
"I know," Ron interrupted. "I know Mum and Dad love us, I know we have food and a home and all that. But I also know everyone at Hogwarts is going to notice my second-hand robes and used books. And I don't want to be the poor kid for the rest of my life. So I figured I'd start actually trying. Learn things. Make something of myself."
It wasn't entirely a lie. That was exactly what he was thinking, even if the motivations came from a previous life they knew nothing about.
Fred and George were quiet for a long moment.
"That's actually kind of mature," Fred said finally.
"Disturbingly mature," George agreed.
"For a ten-year-old," they said together.
"Yeah, well." Ron shrugged. "The dreams were really vivid. Made me think about stuff."
"What kind of dreams?" Fred asked.
Dreams about dying alone at seventeen. Dreams about poverty so severe he had to choose between eating and keeping the lights on. Dreams that weren't dreams at all.
"Don't remember," Ron lied. "Just woke up feeling different."
The twins studied him with identical calculating expressions. Ron held his breath, wondering if they'd buy it.
"Alright," Fred said finally.
"We'll accept that," George added.
"For now," they said together.
"But," Fred continued.
"We're still watching you," George finished.
"If you've been possessed or cursed or whatever," Fred said.
"We'll figure it out," George said.
"And if you're just growing up weirdly fast," they said together.
"Well," Fred grinned.
"That's just interesting," George matched his expression.
They stood up, and Ron realized the interrogation was over. For now.
"One more thing," Fred said as they reached the door.
"The poverty thing," George added.
"We get it," they said together.
"We're working on something," Fred said.
"For after Hogwarts," George added.
"A business," they said together.
"If you're serious about making money," Fred said.
"We might have room for a partner," George finished.
"Eventually," they added together.
Then they left, leaving Ron sitting on their bed, heart still racing.
That could have gone worse. They were suspicious, but they'd accepted his partial explanation. And they'd offered him a potential business partnership, which was actually perfect for his plans.
But he needed to be more careful. The twins were watching him now. One more slip-up and they'd know something was seriously wrong.
He headed back to his room and grabbed Hogwarts, A History. Time to keep reading and figure out this magical world before he fucked something else up.
Ron spent the next few hours reading, absorbing everything he could about Hogwarts' structure, history, and rules. The book was dense and definitely written with a bias, but it was information. And information was power.
He was deep into a chapter about the Statute of Secrecy when someone knocked on his door.
"Come in," he called.
Arthur opened the door, looking slightly uncertain. "Ron? Do you have a minute?"
"Sure, Dad."
Arthur came in and sat on the edge of the bed, and Ron had the distinct impression he was about to have another Serious Talk. Great. Just what he needed.
"Your mother's worried about you," Arthur said gently.
Of course she was.
"I'm fine."
"That's what you keep saying. But you've been different these past couple of days, haven't you? Quieter. More thoughtful." Arthur paused. "Is something bothering you?"
Ron set down his book, trying to figure out how much to say. He'd given the twins a partial truth, and it had worked. Maybe he could do the same with Arthur.
"I've just been thinking a lot," Ron said carefully. "About Hogwarts. About the future."
"And?"
"And I don't want to be poor forever."
The words came out more bluntly than he'd intended, but once he started, he couldn't stop.
"I know we're not starving or anything. I know Mum and Dad love us. But I also know we're the poorest family in the area. I know everyone at Hogwarts is going to notice my hand-me-downs and used books. And I just—" He broke off, surprised by how raw his voice sounded. "I don't want to always be the poor kid. I want to learn things and figure things out and make something of myself."
Arthur was quiet for a long moment, and when Ron looked up, there was something sad and understanding in his father's eyes.
"Ron," Arthur said softly. "Money isn't everything. Your mother and I may not have much, but we have each other. We have you children. That's worth more than all the Galleons in Gringotts."
"I know," Ron said, and he did. He'd never had a family in his previous life. Never had people who cared if he lived or died. The Weasleys' poverty was nothing compared to the emotional poverty he'd experienced. "I know family matters more. But that doesn't mean I can't want both."
"No," Arthur agreed. "It doesn't. And I think it's wonderful that you're thinking about your future. Just remember that you're ten years old. You have time. You don't need to have everything figured out right now."
But he did. He had one year before Hogwarts, before the plot started, before he'd be thrown into situations he barely remembered with stakes he didn't understand. He needed to learn as much as he could, as fast as he could.
"I know," Ron said instead. "I just want to be prepared."
Arthur smiled, warm and proud. "Then I'm proud of you for taking initiative. Just don't forget to be a kid sometimes, alright? Go play with your sister. Cause some trouble. Childhood doesn't last forever."
Childhood doesn't last forever. Arthur had no idea how literally true that was for Ron. He'd lost his childhood at fourteen when he'd been kicked out of his last foster home and had to fend for himself. He didn't know how to "be a kid" anymore.
But if acting more childish would make people less suspicious, he could try.
"I'll try," Ron said.
Arthur stood up and ruffled Ron's hair, and Ron had to fight not to flinch at the unexpected affection. Physical affection was still weird. Strange. Something he wasn't used to.
"That's all I ask," Arthur said. "Now, I believe your mother is about to conscript you for garden work. Might want to make yourself scarce unless you enjoy de-gnoming."
After Arthur left, Ron sat on his bed, staring at the book in his lap without really seeing it.
He'd told Arthur a truth he hadn't meant to. About not wanting to be poor. About wanting to make something of himself. And Arthur had accepted it. Had even seemed proud.
This family thing was more complicated than he'd expected.
Ron found Ginny in the garden, already pulling gnomes out of the dirt with grim determination.
"Mum made you come help?" she asked when she saw him.
"Sort of. Figured I might as well."
They worked in silence for a few minutes, grabbing angry gnomes and launching them over the fence. The gnomes swore at them in their high-pitched voices, which was honestly kind of hilarious.
"You're really being weird, you know," Ginny said eventually.
"So everyone keeps telling me."
"I mean it though. You're acting like a completely different person."
Ron's stomach dropped. If even Ginny had noticed, he was doing a terrible job of blending in.
"How so?"
"I don't know. You're just... quieter. And you actually want to do stuff instead of complaining about everything. And you look at people like you're trying to figure them out." She threw a particularly fat gnome over the fence. "It's weird."
"Sorry?"
"I didn't say it was bad. Just weird." She glanced at him. "Did something happen? With the dreams?"
"I don't really remember the dreams. Just woke up feeling different."
"Different how?"
How could he explain that he'd woken up with seventeen years of memories that didn't belong to Ron Weasley? That he was playing at being a ten-year-old when he'd already lived through his teenage years once?
"Like I need to start taking things seriously," he said instead. "Stop being so... useless."
"You're not useless."
"I'm not exactly useful either."
Ginny was quiet for a moment. "You know what's really weird?"
"What?"
"You promised to write to me. When you go to Hogwarts next year." She pulled another gnome out of the dirt. "The others never bothered. They went off to school and barely remembered I existed. But you actually seem like you mean it."
"I do mean it."
"Why?"
Because he knew what it was like to be forgotten. To be left behind. To not matter to anyone.
"Because you're my sister," he said instead. "And sisters don't deserve to be ignored."
Ginny smiled, small but genuine. "Okay. I believe you. But if you forget, I'm still telling Mum about the vase."
"That was Fred!"
"I know. But the threat still stands."
Despite everything, Ron smiled. Ginny was a good kid.
They spent the next hour de-gnoming in comfortable silence, and Ron found himself actually relaxing slightly. This was normal. This was kid stuff. No grand plans, no survival strategies. Just throwing gnomes and talking to his sister.
Maybe Arthur was right. Maybe he could afford to be a kid sometimes.
Just not too often. He still had too much to learn, too much to prepare for.
But for now, this was okay.
That evening, Ron was heading back to his room after dinner when he heard his parents' voices drifting from the kitchen. He probably shouldn't eavesdrop, but old habits died hard. Information was survival.
He crept closer, staying just out of sight.
"—worried about him, Arthur," Molly was saying. "He's been so strange these past few days."
"I talked to him this afternoon," Arthur replied. "He's just thinking about the future. About Hogwarts. About money."
"Money? He's ten years old!"
"I know. But apparently he's worried about being poor. About standing out at Hogwarts for the wrong reasons."
There was a pause.
"Oh," Molly said softly. "Oh, that poor dear."
"He's putting a lot of pressure on himself. Trying to learn everything, prepare for everything. I told him he's still a child, that he has time."
"Do you think something happened? The dreams he mentioned?"
"I don't know. But whatever it was, it's made him think differently about his life. About his future." Arthur sighed. "I'm not sure if that's a good thing or a bad thing."
"He's so young to be worrying about money."
"I know. But he's not wrong to worry. We are poor, Molly. And children notice these things, even when we try to shield them."
"We do the best we can."
"I know we do. And he knows that too. He said he knows family matters more than money. He just wants both."
Another pause.
"He's growing up," Molly said, and her voice was thick with emotion. "Too fast, maybe. But he's growing up."
"They all do eventually."
"I suppose. But I wish I knew what was going through his head."
Ron backed away quietly, retreating to his room before they could hear him.
They were worried about him. Talking about him. Trying to understand what was wrong.
And he couldn't tell them the truth. Could never tell them the truth.
He was a stranger wearing their son's face, living their son's life, lying to them every moment of every day.
The guilt of that sat heavy in his chest.
But what was the alternative? Tell them he was a transmigrator from another world? That their real son was gone, replaced by a seventeen-year-old orphan who'd died broke and alone?
Yeah. That would go over well.
He picked up Hogwarts, A History and kept reading, trying to lose himself in information about magical education instead of thinking about the family he was lying to.
It didn't really work.
Later that night, Ron lay in bed, staring at the ceiling again.
Two days. He'd been in this world for two days, and he'd already made people suspicious, worried his parents, and lied to pretty much everyone.
Great start.
The twins were watching him. Ginny thought he was weird. Percy thought he'd suddenly developed academic interests. Molly and Arthur were worried about him.
And he was lying to all of them. Every single day.
This was going to get complicated.
But he didn't have a choice. He had to keep lying, keep pretending, keep playing at being Ron Weasley until he could figure out how to survive in this world.
One year until Hogwarts. One year to learn magic, make plans, and try not to fuck everything up.
He closed his eyes and tried to sleep.
It took a long time.
When he finally drifted off, he dreamed of cold apartments and empty tables and a life where nobody cared if he existed.
He woke up with his heart racing and his hands shaking, and it took him a moment to remember where he was.
The Burrow. Ron Weasley's room. A family sleeping in rooms around him.
Not alone. Not anymore.
Even if it was all built on lies.