I was the first one down for breakfast. The twins, who had been banging on the bathroom door trying to hurry me up, got tired of waiting. They tried to slip into the kitchen without washing up, but Mum gave them a smack with a towel below the waist and sent them back. Unfortunately, Percy had already taken the bathroom, and they'd never get ahead of Ginny—she's just like Mom, so they’d have to wait. If I’m lucky, I’ll be able to finish my meal in peace before they return, otherwise, they might toss something gross into my plate while I’m not looking: a button, a dried spider, or maybe a few hot pepper seeds.

I politely greeted Mum, got my usual dose of morning fussing, and sat in my spot—the last stool at the end of the table, across from Ginny. A plate of oatmeal and two thick slices of white bread generously buttered and sprinkled with sugar appeared beside me, almost as if by magic. Nodding in thanks, I started eating.

Almost right after me, a sleepy Arthur shuffled into the kitchen. He absentmindedly kissed his wife on the cheek, muttered a morning greeting, and plopped down at the head of the table, receiving his portion of bacon and eggs. He picked up a fork and immediately buried himself in the latest issue of the Prophet.

In this house, everyone came down to breakfast at their own pace. Family members trickled in at different times, but nobody was ever late. Within fifteen minutes, everyone was at the table, even Percy, who always struggled to wake up in the mornings.

Mum Molly made amazing sweet pastries filled with various jams for breakfast, but everyone loved the cheesecake buns the most, and there were never enough of those. The late risers usually missed out, especially if the twins got to breakfast first and Mum wasn’t paying attention to the plate.

At first, I wondered why she didn’t just bake more of the buns so there’d be enough for everyone. But then I realized it was Molly’s way of nudging the kids towards discipline, gently encouraging them to be on time. And to my surprise, I discovered many other subtle manipulations like that. The Weasleys, despite seeming simple and straightforward on the surface, were far more complex than I had initially thought.

In this family, there was no pressure on the kids. The parents created the illusion of choice, subtly guiding them toward the desired outcome, teaching them responsibility and letting them experience the consequences firsthand. The twins were allowed to conduct their experiments, and when things went wrong, they’d be punished, but never outright forbidden from doing anything. It took me a long time to realize this.

At first, I saw the adults' behavior as irresponsible and indifferent. Like, they had too many kids due to lack of sense, and now those kids were growing like weeds in a field while the parents only cared about feeding and clothing them. How ashamed I feel now for having such nasty thoughts.

To these people, their children were individuals whose choices were respected and considered, allowing them to grow and develop in their own way.

It reminded me of when I was little and really wanted to walk through a huge muddy puddle in my new rubber boots. That puddle tempted me every day as we walked back from preschool. I was curious about what kind of monsters lived in the dark depths, and whether I’d sink in up to my waist. After all, I figured that’s what rubber boots were made for—to explore puddles.

But even back then, I knew my neat-freak mum wouldn’t understand and wouldn’t be happy if I did that, so I obediently avoided the puddle. Of course, by the time I went to school and later joined a sambo club, I was no longer the obedient boy constantly looking back at his mum. My friends and I went all sorts of places and came home looking all sorts of ways. I experienced a lot of things in life, including puddles.

And yet, I’ll never forget that particular puddle—not the puddle itself, but the feeling of incompleteness and something being off, as though I could have done something but didn’t. But in this family, the kids never had to deal with regrets like that. Nothing was forbidden to them, and afterward, under some light-hearted scolding and fussing, they’d be cleaned up, dried off, given cold remedies, and their burns and cuts would be healed before being sent back out to explore the world. No demands, no restrictions. And that was actually amazing. Here I was, now asking myself, why did my “perfect” mum even need that fancy washing machine?

I liked the Weasleys, though their lack of order and basic manners constantly surprised me. They both annoyed and amazed me. Watching their freedom and closeness, I couldn’t help but compare them to my own family, and often the comparison came out in the Weasleys' favor. I hated myself for this, pushing those thoughts away as if they tarnished and devalued my past, all twenty-nine years I had lived. It felt as if, by growing used to the Weasleys, by approving and accepting them, I was staining and betraying the memory of my real family. Six months had passed, and I still hesitated, unable to make the final decision—to sever ties with the past and embrace the present. And my place in it.

The twins stormed into the dining room, breaking me out of my thoughts, and suddenly everything got loud. I pulled my teacup closer and stayed on guard—you have to be cautious with those pranksters. Thankfully, Percy sat between us, so most of the teasing and jabs were directed at him.

But today, Ginny was their first target. She wasn’t in a good mood, and the older brothers felt it was their duty to cheer her up in their own special way.

While Mum was distracted pouring Arthur’s coffee, they pelted Ginny with balls of bread, making her shout in frustration. They were swiftly dealt head-slaps and scoldings from their mother.

After that, they left Ginny alone and turned on Percy, trying to slip a worm down his collar when Dad wasn’t looking—claiming that his serious expression made him look like a toad. Unfortunately for them, Arthur noticed. After a casual remark, they finally stopped bothering Percy and spent the rest of breakfast shoving each other. They hadn’t targeted me yet, and I wasn’t rising to their jabs and taunts.

No matter how much I tried to fit in, I couldn’t quite mimic Ron. It wasn’t about a language barrier—I’d overcome that in three months, getting used to the family's way of speaking.

All the Weasleys, together, were like a fire—bright and burning, as if each one had a little hot coal inside them. I could feel it too; it was impossible not to. But I didn’t let mine burn, I kept it down, so it wouldn’t consume the person I used to be. Memory was the only thing I had left of my past, and I clung to it however I could.

Ron, the one they knew, had become a different person. He no longer burned with them; it was as if he didn’t belong to this family, standing apart like an observer. Everyone, even the kids, could sense this distance, though I thought I was hiding it well. But an overheard conversation between Molly and Arthur opened my eyes.

I couldn’t sleep that night, so I came down to get some water. On my way back, I heard hushed voices and froze—meeting anyone was not part of my plan.

The door to the parents' bedroom was ajar, and I saw Percy’s rat quickly scurry out of it. I nearly kicked it just for show as it passed me. Of course, I knew the Animagus was snooping around everywhere, eavesdropping on conversations to stay in the loop, but what was he doing in the adults’ bedroom? Who knows what a married couple gets up to in there. Maybe that perverted rat liked to spy?

Anyway, I was about to move on when I heard Molly’s voice and stopped in my tracks.

“Arthur, I don’t understand what’s wrong with Ron,” she said worriedly. “For months now, he hasn’t been himself. I don’t recognize my little boy. It’s as if he’s been replaced. The Healer assured us there would be no lasting effects, but Arthur, even his speech has changed. And I’ve noticed he’s barely eating. Yesterday, he didn’t even touch his favorite kidney pie. When has that ever happened? I’m at my wit’s end. Should we ask Dumbledore to take a look at him, what do you think?”

This narrative has been purloined without the author's approval. Report any appearances on Amazon.

“I think that’s unnecessary, Molly,” Arthur replied calmly, while I, blending into the wall, was drenched in cold sweat. “There’s no need to bother such a busy man over something so trivial.”

"But the boy had shut himself off," the woman objected quickly. "He hasn't spoken to anyone in months, doesn't go anywhere, barely talks, and flinches the moment I try to hug him. As if my touch repulses him, and he used to be such an affectionate child, always snuggling up to me. Arthur, something is happening to him. I'm his mother... I can feel it... I'm afraid he blames us for what happened. How will I survive if my own son ends up hating me? What if we lose him?" she added in horror, and judging by the sobs, she began to cry. "I'm a terrible mother."

"Dear, calm down," the man replied gently. "I think you're overreacting. Molly, Ron is still a child, and a month of being paralyzed would scare anyone. It's no wonder he's changed. He just needs time for the memory of it to fade. And don't forget that recovering from nerve damage is very painful. It's no surprise he's staying quiet and not eating much. How could he even chew your pie, dear?" Arthur teased, his voice filled with lightheartedness. “He’s a brave boy, never complained once, even when it was tough. You’re a wonderful mother, Molly. Just give him time, and everything will be fine,” he added warmly. I, meanwhile, had unfrozen and quietly began to back away toward the stairs.

“When you say it like that, I feel like such a worrier,” I overheard her say. “Of course you’re right, as usual. But promise me, if things don’t get better, we’ll go to Dumbledore…”

This conversation seriously alarmed me and opened my eyes to how arrogant I'd been, thinking that distancing myself from the family would lower the risk of being exposed. But if they involved Dumbledore, I’d be found out for sure. I couldn’t let that happen. It was time to stop messing around and make a decision. I might never truly be their Ron, but I’d have to try my best to become their real son. No more games—I had to choose, if I wanted to survive.

The next morning, I was the first down for breakfast. Not surprising, since I barely slept, spending the whole night figuring out how to act, and woke up at the crack of dawn.

“Good morning, Mum,” I mumbled, offering a shy smile before looking awkwardly at the floor. She froze, looking startled, but quickly recovered. She wiped her hands with a towel and hurried over to me.

“Good morning, Ronny. Take a seat. I made your favorite—milk soup for breakfast.” She hugged me tightly, kissed the top of my head, and then gently nudged me toward a stool. Her eyes looked suspiciously misty, but she seemed pleased.

“Awesome!” I replied, grinning as I plopped into my chair. “I love milk soup! Hey, Mum, has Dad come down yet?” I asked, grabbing my spoon. I know, it was a dumb question, but it felt like something a seven-year-old might ask.

"No, sweetheart, he's running a bit late," she replied, glancing quickly at the clock as she bustled around the kitchen toward the door.

"Hurry up, dear, or you'll be late," she shouted loudly, standing in the hallway and looking up the stairs.

Arthur appeared, dragging Fred and George in tow. The boys looked disgruntled and sullen, like two ruffled sparrows.

“Molly, feed these rabble-rousers and make sure they stay in their room until I get back from work. They’re grounded today,” Arthur said sternly as he plunked the sulking boys into their chairs.

“What did they do this time?” Molly asked, her hands on her hips and a fierce look on her face.

“They put something in Percy’s toothpaste,” Arthur replied, glancing at the clock and grabbing a sandwich. “The poor lad’s teeth grew five inches. I fixed it already. He’s fine now,” he added quickly before Molly could explode, “but don’t bother him for a while. The healing potion needs time to work. Give him his breakfast later—about an hour should do it. And as for you two,” he said, turning to Fred and George, who were happily devouring their food, “if this happens again, I’ll lock your brooms in the shed for the whole summer.”

"But Dad!" both twins protested, tearing themselves away from their plates.

"No 'but Dad,'" Molly snapped, taking a deep breath to express the full extent of her outrage.But just then, a sleepy Ginny wandered into the kitchen, and Molly instantly shifted her attention to her youngest. I guess when you have so many kids, it's impossible to keep everything in mind at once.

"I hate milk soup," the little girl grimaced, peeking into my bowl and sulkily plopping onto her stool. "Good morning, everyone..."

“Sweetie, it’s very good for you,” the mother cooed, sliding a bowl toward her. “Look, I even sprinkled it with fairy dust, just the way you like it.”

Honestly, I'm not sure about the fairy dust, but Ginny's soup did shimmer suspiciously, and I even spotted a couple of twinkling stars and comets floating above the bowl. By the way, this dish barely qualified as soup — it was more like noodles boiled in sweet milk with a buttery sauce.

If someone had told me I'd ever be eating something like this, I wouldn't have believed them. But I really liked Molly's cooking, and I eagerly devoured even these kiddie dishes. The boys were also scarfing everything down. But Ginny was our little princess and the apple of everyone's eye, so she could afford to be picky.

Finally, the girl listened to her mother's coaxing and deigned to try the food. For a while, the only sounds in the dining room were the creaking of stools and the clinking of spoons. The twins were uncharacteristically quiet until their mother remembered their prank again.

“You’re looking a bit pale, Ron,” my father remarked, eyeing me closely as the dishes were cleared away and tea cups took their place. “How are you feeling?”

"Fine. Just didn't sleep well," I smiled weakly. "Dad, can we move the ghoul somewhere else? He's been keeping me up at night, and it scares me so much I can't get back to sleep," I asked.

To be honest, the ghoul didn't bother me that much, but knowing that some unknown magical creature lived above me was a bit unsettling. Plus, I’d caught a glimpse of some magazines and old books in the attic the last time I'd peeked in, but as long as the ghoul was living there, I wouldn't dare try to sneak in.

"Oh," one of the twins—Fred or George, who can tell them apart—said enthusiastically. "Dad, we could live in the attic ourselves and give our room to the ghoul."

"Or let the ghoul live with us in our room," the other chimed in. Both of them were practically glowing with excitement. I knew they were conducting experiments on the creature, but to do so, they had to sneak into the attic unnoticed, which was risky. If their mother caught them, they'd be in serious trouble. Having the ghoul in their room? That was their dream come true.

“Quiet, both of you!” Molly snapped. “No one is moving in with the ghoul or switching rooms. And that’s final. Ron, dear, why didn’t you say something sooner? Of course, the ghoul needs to be moved.”

“Aw, little Ronny scawed of the big bad ghoul?” one twin teased.

"Poor thing wet his pants and can't go night-night," the other chimed in mockingly.

"Enough!" Molly exclaimed, her face flushing with anger as sparks flew from her wand, which she had been using to levitate the dishes into the sink. It looked like the twins had really pushed her buttons.

"And you two, after breakfast, grab some buckets and rags and scrub your room until it shines. You won't leave until it's spotless. I will be checking." she added with a huff.

“But Mum, that’ll take all day!” the boys groaned in unison, looking genuinely horrified. “Dad, tell her!”

"Do as your mother says. Get up and get to work," their father ordered briefly, and the disgruntled boys hurried out of the dining room. Arthur then turned his attention to me. "I'll think of something about the ghoul, Ron," he promised as he stood up from the table.

Molly handed him a well-pressed, though not new, black coat, which here was called a wizard robe. Arthur ruffled my hair, kissed his wife and daughter on the cheek, pulled a felt hat that resembled a ski cap onto his head, and disappeared into the green flames of the living room fireplace. No matter how many times I watched it, I never got tired of it. Magic was mesmerizing, and the more I saw, the less I understood how it worked. So far, I didn't understand it at all and had even denied its existence not too long ago. But it seems it's time to get used to the idea that I'm a wizard too. Though, for now, I didn't feel anything magical inside myself.

“Need help, Mum?” I asked as we returned to the kitchen. Ginny had already snuck off with an apple to her room.

"Thank you, sweetie, there is no need," my mother said with a grateful smile, stroking my hair. "But you can take breakfast to Percy if it's not too much trouble. I'll take care of the cleaning for now. I'll check on him later."

"Of course," I nodded eagerly and carried the loaded tray upstairs, hoping I wouldn't run into those two troublemakers.