The man quickly jumped up to me and shook me hard a couple of times.

"Hey, hey, take it easy, lad. You're gonna break everything here," he said, pulling me toward the chair and firmly sitting me down. Matt immediately handed me a mug and made me take a sip, while Gill stared tensely at the ceiling, at the flickering light, keeping one hand on my shoulder. The light flickered a couple more times before settling.

"Now, that's better," the man sighed with relief and flopped down beside me. "I can only handle one ginger with his tricks. By the way, Matt, pour me some coffee."

The guy passed the boss the mug, poured some for himself, and for a while, we just silently drank, looking at each other.

"Well, now tell me," Gill said, setting his mug down, "but no more tales about the Amish."

"Well, what is there to tell," I began lazily, lowering my head, "you guys already know everything. Are you wizards too?"

"No, I'm definitely just a bloke, but Matt here is a squib," Gill replied.

"Squib?" I repeated automatically, trying to recall something. "A squib like Filch?"

"Exactly. Do you know Filch?" Matt asked, surprised.

"My brother wrote that a squib named Filch works as the caretaker at the school," I said, even more surprised that Matt knew him. "Do you know him too?"

"He's my granduncle" the guy grimaced. "Matthew Filch, at your service," he exaggeratedly introduced himself, "but I've never met him in my life."

"Okay, you two chat for a while, boys, I'll go finish up some things," Gill said, standing up. "Matt, you’ll tell me later what I need to know."

"Sir," I jumped up, but faltered under his attentive gaze, "what about me? Am I allowed to keep coming here?"

"Not a problem, as long as you keep yourself in check like you did before. If the electronics break, I’ll never be able to pay for it. And don’t tell anyone from your world that we know, you know what I mean. I’d rather keep my memory intact, it's valuable to me," he added, laughing at his own simple joke, then headed for the door.

"Come on, tell me," Matt urged, leaning across the table toward me, "spill it—if you're a wizard, how do you know so much about cars? Wizards are totally clueless about muggles' stuff."

"Well… I lived with my mum's cousin until last year, far from here. He's probably a squib too. And I guess I was one, probably. Anyway, they gave me to him, then my magic woke up, and they sent me back," I explained. I figured Matt wouldn't be able to check it.

"Those bastards," he grumbled, banging his fist on the table. "Bloody wizards, with their habit of abandoning the kids. Although honestly, squibs are better off living with muggles."

"Why don't you live in the magical world like your grandfather?" I asked.

"I don't have access to it, lad," the guy replied seriously. "I'm a third-generation squib, and I can't even get into the magical quarter."

"How’s that, third generation?" I asked, intrigued.

"Well, look. Squibs only show up in old wizard families. Don’t ask me why, I don’t know, but they say it’s because of inbreeding. Anyway, when a squib is born into one of those pure-blood families, that’s the first generation. Then they have their own kids, also squibs, and they have theirs. I’m from one of those."

"Yeah, but Filch lives in the magical world, and you're here," I asked.

"First-generation squibs, they're almost like wizards, just can’t do magic," Matt explained, pouring us more tea. "Anyway, they can talk to magical animals, see creatures, ghosts, and sense magic too. They can see magical newspapers, while to me, it just looks like a normal rag. That’s why they can live in the magical world. It's familiar to them, they just can’t do magic.

But second-generation squibs can't. But they still have this magical aura and some residual family talents. So, they usually do paranormal stuff in the muggle world. You know, healing with their hands, having prophetic dreams, doing tarot readings. They call ghosts. And third-generation squibs, like me, don’t see anything or have any abilities."

"But Gill said you have ‘your tricks’,'" I countered. This guy had told me more in ten minutes than I’d learned in my whole life in this body.

"No, not like that," the guy dismissed, smiling sadly. "It’s just echoes. Sometimes electronics glitch around me, the light flickers, the TV gets interference, the cash register at the store often freezes when I try to print the receipt, or the tape jams. Oh, and my socks and shoes catch on fire, I can’t buy new ones fast enough. You can’t imagine how many people like me live without knowing they’re squibs. Then a magical child is born from them."

"When?" I asked, interested.

"Who knows?" he replied. "Sometimes it’s a couple generations later, and sometimes it takes so long that the people who knew their ancestors are long gone. That’s why they end up at your school as muggle-borns, even though they have magical family members."

"Matt, have you heard of 'blood traitors'?" I finally asked.

"Yeah, know the basics, I reckon," the guy admitted. "Are you one of them?" At my nod, he answered, "It happens when you taint pure blood with dirty blood—marrying a muggle-born or a muggle. If your kid does that, they’re supposed to be cast out, cut off from the family. Anyone who doesn’t do that is going against tradition. And the whole family becomes tainted."

"Wow," I couldn't help but exclaim. "Is it really that important?"

"It is for pure-bloods," he said. "They trace their lineage back for centuries, and then someone comes along and messes up the statistics. And it's not just once. Once it happens, it happens again. And before you know it, their family’s drowned in muggle blood," he smirked. "So, you’re pure-blood?"

"Not really. I'm a 'blood traitor,'" I answered, smirking. "Forget all that pure-blood rubbish. Let them mess with their own breeding, even with centaurs if the family code demands it. I'll pass, thanks."

The guy went silent in surprise and then burst out laughing.

"You're a strange one, Ron," he said, wiping his eyes. "I mean, I’m not exactly a fan of wizards, like most Squibs, but you've surprised me. And your dad isn’t exactly ordinary, either. By the way," he added, suddenly serious, "make sure he doesn’t come around here again. The boss gets jumpy around magic folks, and a nervous Gill is a mean, cranky Gill."

"Got it," I promised easily, secretly vowing I’d do whatever it took to keep Dad away. "Why does he dislike wizards so much, anyway? Has he ever met one?"

"Last year there was an incident," Matt leaned in and glanced at the door, lowering his voice. "Two guys and our Boss were coming back from a pub at night, and they saw something strange on the hill. Looked like a flying saucer or a glowing orb, with people appearing and disappearing around it. The Boss watched for about five minutes with the others, then went home, but the other two went to check it out. The next day, they couldn’t remember a thing when he asked. They laughed at him, said Gill was seeing things like the town loon. They’d been friends for nearly twenty years, but now they don’t talk. I told the Boss they’d probably had their memories wiped, which calmed him down a bit, but they never patched things up. Now Gill can’t even go to his favorite pub. So, kid, take care of how he feels about things—it's worth a lot," he winked. "Come on, let’s get back to work before the Boss runs out of patience. And don’t ask me anything weird in front of him."

That evening, I had a talk with Dad. I told him the boss said he’d fire me if any relatives came by, saying it was a serious organization, not a public hangout. He understood, though he looked a bit sad. I’m lucky he respects Muggles. Someone else might not have hesitated to rummage around a Muggle’s mind if they dared tell a wizard what he could or couldn’t do.

Mum eventually cooled down too. She even stopped reacting when Arthur would ask in the evenings about what we’d done in the workshop.

For my birthday, they gave me a Galleon. I guess things had gotten better financially. Ginny and I each made another two Galleons on our own, so now I had seven. But Matt gave me the best gift. He brought me three little booklets.

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"Hey, Matt," I said once, "do you have any books on magic I could borrow? All we have at home are reference books, old schoolbooks from who knows when, and cookbooks on charmed recipes."

"Nah, no magic books. When Squibs get sent into the Muggle world, they take all their magical stuff, even amulets and charms. But I think there might be something Squib-related lying around in the attic."

"Squib-related?" I asked, surprised.

"Yeah," Matt mumbled. "Not all wizards are born strong. Some are weak, and their families try to help them develop their powers. It usually doesn’t work, but sometimes they manage, and those kids end up in trade schools. Hogwarts only sends letters to the powerful ones. Anyway, someone figured out they could make money off Squibs, selling them self-study guides—like, do these exercises and maybe your magic will awaken. My gran spent her whole life trying but died a Squib. But maybe those books could be useful to you. I’ll bring them tomorrow."

"Matt, if you don’t mind me asking," I ventured, "did you ever want to be a wizard?"

"Sure," he admitted. "I waited for my letter till I was eleven, thinking maybe I just couldn’t feel the magic. But when the letter didn’t come, I was a little sad, then moved on. Gran was so bitter—always pursing her lips, acting like an aristocrat, always disappointed. She died unhappy and angry. I wanted a different life. So now, I’m actually glad. Look, I want to propose to my Anna at Christmas. If I’d been a wizard, no way would I be allowed to marry a Muggle. Appreciate what you have, kid, and don’t long for what isn’t meant to be. The stars are beautiful in the sky, but when you hold them, they’re just stones. Why would you even want them?" He tousled my hair and walked off.

In mid-June, my brothers came back, and The Burrow sprang to life as if it were young again. The stairs creaked and groaned, drafts blew through the corridors as teenagers rushed back and forth, doors banged, glass rattled, and the steady hum of voices filled the air like the buzzing of a beehive.

I kept working, but only in the mornings, from nine to noon. Then I’d come back to join the family and be part of all the fun.

Of course, my bike made a huge splash at first. But after the twins fell off a few times, they agreed with Percy that brooms were better, and they left it alone.

I kept quiet about work, and everyone who knew did the same. Ginny was on my side, and Mum figured it was best to keep quiet so no one else in the family got curious about Muggles. Officially, I just rode my bike around the neighborhood in the mornings. But everyone was so wrapped up in their own thing that no one even suspected anything—except Charlie, maybe. One morning, I ran into him, and he gave me a knowing wink.

We didn’t go anywhere that summer, except for Quidditch matches, and the twins made a quick trip to the zoo with Dad.

I gave the twins an idea when they finally managed to turn Ginny’s Puffskein purple—she thought it suited him better. Who knows how many garden gnomes suffered from their experiments in the meantime, but they got it done.

Once, I overheard them discussing how to spend the five Galleons they’d saved from their sales on ingredients for their experiments.

“Better buy Arnold a girl,” I suggested. “When Ginny takes her pet to school, all the girls there will want one, too. It’ll catch on, and you’ll make a ton of money. Puffskeins eat rubbish, so you won’t go skint, and they breed twice a year, ten at a time. By the time Ginny leaves for Hogwarts, you’ll have plenty to sell.”

“Hear that, brother George?” said one. “Looks like our brother Ron’s not an idiot.”

“Shocked, brother Fred,” the other replied. They’d picked up this habit of tossing sentences back and forth like a ball this year. One starts, the other finishes. How do they make it work so seamlessly? It’s like they can read each other’s minds.

"If you throw in a couple of Galleons from the sales, I’ll tell you how to improve the product even more," I added casually.

"Go ahead, if it's worthwhile, we won't leave you out," they said in sync, glancing at each other.

"You could add some glitter to them and stick on some rhinestones," I said. "It’d be even cooler if the puffskeins could change color to match their owner’s mood, and if the tips of their fur glowed or shimmered. And you could make a mesh-style bag for them, also decorated with rhinestones. Check out Ginny’s — I showed her, and she's already knitted herself one. She’s happy with it..."

"And are we supposed to sew these bags ourselves?" Fred asked, pulling a face.

"Why do it yourself?" I said, surprised. "Bring Ginny into the business. She can take care of the puffskeins while you’re at school, and she can make the bags if you get her the yarn and glitter."

"We’ll think about it," George answered for both of them. And right before they left, Ginny had a new puffskein named Tilly under her care — a little white one.

Just like he promised, Percy spent an hour each day that summer teaching me magic. Sure, without a wand, it wasn’t the same, but it was still interesting. I learned all the spells from the first-year syllabus. There were about six in total. But Percy also taught me extra ones he'd found in the school library. Altogether, I knew twelve spells now.

My teacher was as stubborn as Arthur. He refused to teach me spells from the second-year syllabus, insisting on sticking to a schedule so I wouldn’t "overdo it." Whatever. I didn’t take the lessons too seriously anyway; I just memorized the spells. Waving a pencil around like a wand felt a bit silly and childish.

We also played Quidditch — well, something like it. We only had four brooms. I played Keeper, the twins were Chasers, and Ginny was Seeker. Charlie acted as referee. I didn’t let a single Quaffle through, which drove the twins up the wall. I was really starting to like this game. I might have to start saving up for a broom. Just kidding. Two hundred sixty Galleons is out of my reach. Maybe I should write to Muriel?

At last, we sent our students off to Hogwarts with a clear conscience. I still can’t believe that next year it’ll be my turn. Time has flown by.

Ginny didn’t bother me much. The twins bought her colored yarn, glitter, and other junk, so she was busy knitting puffskein bags, hoping to make a bit of money. Tilly had already given birth to a dozen babies, and Ginny was looking after them too. She’d made an agreement with the twins that they wouldn’t sell any colorful puffskeins until she got to school and had a chance to show off. Turns out, my little sister is quite the diva.

I spent the whole winter studying the books Matt gave me. They turned out to be pretty useful. They explained in simple terms how to feel your magic and taught me how to control it. The exercises were a bit like yoga, but without the poses. You just lie down and try to sense it. Before starting, you had to clear your mind by focusing on your breathing. At first, I kept losing focus and even fell asleep a couple of times, but eventually, I got the hang of it.

By Christmas, I could channel energy into a punch, find an object in a dark room, and give energy to plants. I practiced sharing energy with Ginny. Later, I tried it with my parents. Arthur didn’t notice, but Molly felt it and hugged me back. It was an amazing feeling. I realized that Molly does the same thing when she cooks — she pours her magic into it. Maybe that’s why everything she makes is so good.

Late autumn brought me a new friend.

One evening in late October, I was riding home from work when I noticed a lone figure standing in a field. For some reason, I felt uneasy. Maybe it was because her white hair was blowing in the wind, and her short coat left her skinny knees exposed. She looked like a single stalk of wheat in a cold field, long harvested.

I rode closer and slowed down. The girl didn’t even turn; she stood completely still, like a statue.

Ditching my bike, I walked toward her and, as I got closer, saw she was standing in a deep puddle, with water about to spill over into her boots.

"Don’t move," I ordered irritably, annoyed that I’d have to wade through the cold water. "Stay still, I’ll come get you out."

The girl looked up, and I was captivated. Now there were two fragile stalks shivering in the cold field. Her gaze was as pure as a child’s, but unnaturally old, as if a century-old soul had been trapped in a child’s body. A deep sorrow swam in her eyes, as if she mourned for the whole world. I froze, feeling like I was looking into an abyss.

"I’ve been waiting for you," she said in an ordinary, childish voice, breaking the spell. "Good thing you came so quickly. I was starting to get cold. Wait, I’ll come over to you," she added, swaying a little. The dark water rippled at her feet.

"Stay there," I said hoarsely, feeling like I’d forgotten how to speak. "I’ll come and help you out."

"If you come over, the water will rise and spill into my boots," she said, "and that’s very cold. Haven’t you read about Archimedes? I’ll explain it to you."

The girl carefully backed away and stepped out of the puddle. She shook herself like a little bird and resolutely walked over to me.

"Hi, I’m Luna," she said, looking at me with her huge gray-blue eyes. "Thanks for coming so quickly. I barely got cold."

"You were waiting for me?" I asked, confused, unsure how to react to her words or to her sudden appearance in my life.

"The wrackspurts told me that if I came here today, hopped five times on my right foot, went into the deepest part without letting any water into my boots, and then stood perfectly still, my friend would come find me. That’s you, right?" she asked, fixing me with a serious, evaluating gaze.

"I guess that’s me," I said, swallowing nervously, and the strange girl smiled. Her smile transformed her face, like the sun breaking through the clouds.

"I knew it. Wrackspurts never lie," she said confidently, nodding to herself before looking back at me. "What’s your name, my new friend?" she asked, tilting her head as if to view me from a new angle.

"Ron," I replied, realizing that if I let her keep leading the conversation, we'd freeze to death out here. "Let’s get you home, yeah? Where do you live?"

"Over there," she waved vaguely in the direction of my house.

"Brilliant, let’s go," I held out my hand, and she trustingly slipped her small, ice-cold fingers into mine. I pulled off my scarf, wrapping it around her neck and head, then dug into my pocket and handed her my gloves. "Put these on."

"Just what I needed," she said calmly, carefully straightening out the knitted fingers. "I was in such a rush, I didn’t manage to grab mine."

"No bother," I grumbled, shivering from the cold as I dragged her toward the road. "Could’ve come some other time, you know."

"What are you on about?" she huffed. "If I missed today, it’d be ages before the chance came again, and I need you now, Ron."

Her words left me gobsmacked.

I popped her onto the bike rack, and we set off. As I pedaled and she softly hummed some tune, I couldn’t help but wonder where to take her.

The girl was a witch. Her magic was gently clinging to me, just like my little sister used to do, wrapping herself around me in my previous life. I decided I’d take her to the Burrow. Once she warmed up, I’d get her to tell me where she actually lived. I had a pretty good hunch about who this odd girl was — most likely, it was Luna Lovegood.