I came to the loud conversations of adults and the twins' complaints.

“He attacked us like a wild animal,” one of them whined. “Ow, it hurts, Mum…”

“Quiet, George, it’s your own fault,” their mother cut him off. “How many times have I told you not to mess with your brothers? You’re family. When your father and I are gone, you’ll only have each other.”

“But it really hurts, Mum. It stings…”

“Bear with it, you’re a man,” Molly replied, suddenly choking up. “Oh, Arthur, how did things end up like this? They’re such good boys…”

“Mum…” I mumbled as I stirred.

“I’m here, dear,” I heard her soft voice, followed by the gentle touch of her hand stroking my hair.

“What’s wrong with me? Why do I feel so weak? Am I sick?” I asked, my voice sluggish.

“You had a magical surge, son, and quite a powerful one,” Arthur explained calmly, approaching.

I looked at him with growing unease. He didn’t seem angry—he actually felt distant, and that unsettled me more than if he had been loud or upset. I finally understood why the family feared his quiet, cold demeanor far more than Molly’s open, fiery temper.

“You’ll drink a potion today and spend the rest of the day in bed,” my father said. He waited for Molly to give me the potion, then effortlessly lifted me into his arms. In that moment, more than ever before, I felt like an eight-year-old child. I realized how much I depended on him. We reached my room in silence, where he gently laid me down in bed.

“I’m very disappointed in you, Ron,” he said bluntly, looking at me almost with pity. “But we’ll talk about it tomorrow when you’re feeling better. Now, get some rest.”

“Wait, Dad,” I called out. “What about Fred and George? Are they okay?” He gave me a long, searching look.

“They’ll live,” he said curtly, but his gaze softened for a moment. “Now sleep. You need to rest.” He left, quietly closing the door behind him. I felt uneasy and anxious, just like when I first woke up in this body. It was as if I no longer belonged to this noisy, irritating, but close-knit family. But I didn’t have time to dwell on that—I fell asleep, barely noticing that someone had already dressed me in pajamas.

The next morning, I woke up later than usual. After visiting the bathroom, I went downstairs. Judging by the noise in the living room, everyone had already eaten and was now enjoying themselves—without me.

‘They didn’t wake me up,’ I thought sadly as I turned into the kitchen. ‘I guess I deserved that.’

In the dining room, I found Mum clearing the breakfast dishes. When she saw me, she quickly wiped her hands on a towel and came over, levitating a plate of omelet toward me with a flick of her wand.

“Good morning, Ronnie,” she said sweetly, giving me a quick hug and kissing the top of my head. She then gently nudged me toward a stool. “You were stressed yesterday, dear, so I decided to let you sleep in. Sit and eat.”

I hesitantly picked up the fork and began eating, but the food had no taste.

“Your father is waiting for you in the living room,” she mentioned casually, pouring me some tea. “Go see him when you’re done.” I nodded timidly and stared into my cup, memories of yesterday’s fight flooding back, filling me with shame.

The twins had been pushing my buttons for a long time, so I didn’t feel bad about that. But I had fought them like it was a boxing match, using full force against opponents who didn’t stand a chance. That was wrong. What would my coach have said?

I remembered the time my friends and I taught another group a lesson—well, to be honest, we beat them up. Petrovich had looked at us just like Arthur had yesterday, with disappointment and exhaustion. We almost got kicked out of the gym. When we tried to apologize, he stopped us, saying it was his fault for not realizing we were turning into thugs. He had taught us to shoot, to be sharp, strong, and precise, and we had turned that on civilians. It was the worst we’d ever felt—better if he had just hit us.

When I knocked on the living room door and was allowed in, Arthur was the only one there, sitting in one of the worn armchairs, looking perfectly normal.

“Sit down, Ron,” he offered, gesturing to another armchair across from him.

“Don’t you have anything to say to me?” he asked after a long pause.

“Uh… apologize for yesterday?” I stammered. “Sorry, Dad. I won’t do it again.”

“Apologies are nice, but I want to make sure you understand why you’re apologizing,” he said seriously, fixing me with a firm gaze.

“Well, I got mad and hit the twins,” I said flatly, like a rehearsed line. “I shouldn’t have done that.”

“Yes, you shouldn’t have,” Arthur agreed. “But I get the feeling you’re not really sorry and that you’re just saying this to please me and lighten your punishment. I want to hear your explanation, Ronald Bilius Weasley,” he said sternly.

His calm, authoritative tone sparked anger inside me. Screw this… the twins nearly sent Ron to the hospital—or rather, they did. And now he wants an apology from me, when he should’ve disciplined them earlier so none of this would’ve happened.

“You want an explanation, Dad?” I snapped, standing up, my anger boiling over. “You want it from me? Fine. I admit, I didn’t expect things to turn out this way, but they had it coming! They’ve been asking for a punch for a long time. And you know what? I think this is all your fault. You should’ve punished them ages ago, stopped their stupid experiments, but no—you never stepped in, you let them get away with everything, like you didn’t care about what was happening. I had to defend myself! Do you even know that I’ve been carrying my own soap, towel, and toothpaste to the bathroom ever since that time? Just so those jerks don’t mess with me again? Do you have any idea how terrified I was when I saw the foam start to hiss? I thought I was going back to St. Mungo’s… tubes and potions and… I almost lost my mind…”

I fell silent, breathing heavily, still angry but slowly calming down now that I’d let off steam and wasn’t being met with resistance. Arthur, meanwhile, got up and walked silently to the window. He stood there for a long time, looking out, so long that I became curious about what he was watching. I walked over and stood beside him.

“Listen, Ron,” he began, still gazing out the window, his voice calm and even, “when you look at the world through a closed window, you don’t feel the wind, the cold, or the rain. And it’s easy to think that your conflicts with your brothers are the biggest problem. But they’re not.

This story has been stolen from Royal Road. If you read it on Amazon, please report it

“Beyond the walls of The Burrow is a vast world where I won’t be able to protect you… any of you. You’ll have to find your own way. But I can guide how you learn to defend yourself while you’re still under my watch. And I’m not going to interfere or help.

“Yesterday, you taught your brothers a lesson and earned their respect. You found your way. Now they’ll know that if they try their pranks at Hogwarts, there will be consequences. They’ll have to learn to be clever with their jokes, not reckless. That’s their lesson, and they’ve learned it.

“And you… you faced your fears, and now you know how to stand up for yourself. Feeling your strength will make you calmer and more controlled because you’ll know you’re capable. These are the lessons that forge character. And from now on, no one will suffer from your strength without reason. That’s your lesson, and you’ve learned it. I know you don’t regret standing up for yourself, but you do regret going too far.”

"You knew?” I asked, surprised, looking at him.

“I knew,” he smiled back at me. “Because I regretted it the same way once. I made the same choice as you, Ron. It's always easier for me to settle things with a punch, but only after giving the other person a chance to see reason peacefully. If they don’t get it... well, that’s their problem.”

“But the twins almost killed me!” I blurted out, shocked.

“Accidents happen, Ron, in both worlds,” he replied calmly. “You can’t predict or prevent them. If you keep thinking about it, you’d have to be wrapped in cotton and never leave the house.

“Two boys died while I was in school. One fell off his broom during a match and broke his neck. The other had an allergic reaction to a sleeping draught. He had problems at home and was so nervous he couldn’t sleep. One night, he woke from a nightmare and couldn’t fall back asleep, so his best friend gave him a sip of the draught to help him rest. By morning, he was dead. His friend wasn’t to blame, but he spent his whole life beating himself up over that damned sip.

“The twins don’t mean any harm, Ron; they’re just trying to find themselves. Believe me, they would’ve never given you that candy if they knew how it would end. It’s a lesson for them too. Now, they’ll test things a hundred times before giving someone their inventions. You know they test everything on themselves first, right? Only when they’re sure it’s safe do they hand out their jokes.”

“And you let them do that, Dad?” I asked in disbelief. “What if they hurt themselves?”

“First of all, I always check the ingredients for anything toxic or harmful—so I know what to save them from next,” he smiled. “And second, it’s better if they experiment where I can help if something goes wrong. They’re not going to stop anyway, and tracking them down in the woods or basements is tricky—you might not get there in time.

“Our Burrow, Ron, is like a small model of Hogwarts. And Hogwarts is a model of the real world, the one waiting for you after school. So, it’s better to learn life’s lessons here at home, where it’s relatively safe and I can still help.

“You’d better get used to pranks at school. I bet the twins will be the most popular in their house. At Hogwarts, there’s always someone slipping a potion, casting a spell, or growing a second head, ears, teeth, or tentacles just to amuse the crowd. All these are just childish jokes for young wizards. The bookstore is full of books like ‘How to Prank Your Friends.’ Thankfully, it’s all easy to undo, and wizards are pretty resilient. But if real danger comes your way, your brothers will always have your back, despite your differences. And they’ll die to protect their own if need be—that’s family. Now, go on, before your mother wears out pacing outside the door, — he smiled softly again. — I hope we’ve cleared things up, and you won’t hold a grudge.”

“Thanks, Dad,” I said, pressing my face against his shoulder as he gave me a comforting pat on the back.

“Go on, go. Your mother will give you your punishment,” he laughed at my surprised expression. “You didn’t think I’d just talk to you, did you? Time to walk in the twins' shoes—it had to start sometime.”

“No, Dad. Not that,” I blurted out. “Please, not A History of Magic.”

“Don’t get your hopes up. You’ve got another year of pranks and a couple dozen of my gray hairs before that,” he snorted. “For now, we’ll stick with The Tales of Beedle the Bard.”

----------------------------------------

I was punished lightly—they gave me a can of paint and made me paint the benches in the garden. But even that turned into a group effort with Percy and Ginny helping out.

The conversation with Ginny was the most awkward. She was scared out of her wits by how deranged I looked. I can’t blame her—red face, green hair sticking up, and a crazy look in my eyes. I promised I wouldn’t act like that again unless someone really upset her.

I made peace with the twins two days later. I walked into my room, and there they were, both leaning on my desk, whispering. I tensed up immediately, took a step back toward the door, and braced for the worst.

“Hey. Hey, we just came to talk,” one of them raised his hands in a peace gesture and took a step toward me, while the other shot nervous glances between me and his brother, clearly uneasy with the whole situation. Looked like George—he’s the more sensitive one.

“So talk,” I croaked, closing the door behind me and leaning against the doorframe. Fred just smirked at my defensive stance and exchanged a glance with George. I hate when they do that—it’s like they’re talking without words.

“We’ve had a bit of a misunderstanding, Ron, and we’d like to clear it up,” said George.

“Yeah. Go ahead, tell us everything before you lose your cool and turn into a mountain troll,” Fred added bluntly.

“You shouldn’t have messed with me,” I shot back.

“We didn’t mean to,” George replied. “That shampoo wasn’t meant for you. You only have yourself to blame for taking what wasn’t yours.”

“But it’s fine to mess with Percy?” I scoffed.

“He doesn’t mind. And if he does, he’ll tell us. What’s your problem, anyway? They’re just jokes.”

“Then prank yourselves, there are two of you,” I retorted. “You already joked me to death once.”

The boys deflated and exchanged a glance.

“Umm… Ron, we didn’t think it’d go that way,” George said. “We tested that candy on ourselves. There wasn’t anything dangerous in it. It was just a Halloween gag. You would’ve had a hole in your tongue to scare the girls, and it would’ve healed in five minutes. You know there wasn’t any pain or blood.”

“I don’t remember anything,” I cut him off, frowning. “I was too out of it. Just leave me alone from now on, okay? My sense of humor is gone.”

“Alright. We get it,” George answered.

“We promise, no more pranks on you. See you around, Ronny,” Fred smirked and headed for the door. I stepped aside to let him through.

“What about Percy?” I asked, not really expecting an answer.

“Don’t push it,” George turned back to look at me. “Percy will tell us if he’s got a problem. Unlike you, he’s got some sense of humor.”

“Though, to be fair, it’s not really his style,” Fred added.

That’s how our standoff ended. Almost. Since then, I’ve kept a close eye on them. When they’d start whispering and throwing mischievous looks at Percy, I’d just switch his shampoo with Ginny’s—they were all in identical bottles, just on different shelves.

When the loud scream echoed through the house, the Burrow practically shook. Ginny burst out of the bathroom, covered in foam and tears. Her beautiful long hair had turned into blue-green seaweed. I swear, I even saw fish swimming in it.

Ginny didn’t find the joke funny, and neither did Molly, who swooped down on the pranksters like a hawk to defend her favorite. The twins got it good, and they looked absolutely bewildered.

The boys chalked it up to an accident and didn’t stop their pranks. But when Arthur grew a thick beard decorated with daisies, and Mum sprouted fangs and a snake tongue, even they realized something was off. After another scolding, I couldn’t hold back and shot them a meaningful look with a grin.

They both gaped at me in sync, mouths wide open, and then suddenly burst into laughter, exchanged a glance, and gave me a thumbs-up.

Since then, we lived pretty peacefully. They stopped sneaking around and adding random things to our food, and instead, they’d just drop by when we were sitting with Percy and demonstrate their new inventions on themselves.

Even Percy eventually tried a couple of their pranks. I think he just felt sorry for our little inventors. And later, I even took a risk myself and realized that when you know what to expect, it’s not so bad—it’s even fun. After all, if you think about it, I had been thinking like a Muggle, which, in essence, I was. But wizards—they're different. Somebody had to be buying all those "Puking Pastilles," "Blood Blister Pods," and "Canary Creams" that I wouldn’t have spent a single Knut on. And they sold out so quickly that there were enough customers to fill an entire shop. So clearly, some people enjoyed all those "Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes."

That’s when I understood my dad and appreciated his approach to parenting. After all, teenage mischief and selfishness fade with time, but talent and a united family stick around forever. That lesson I learned too.