I didn't go with everyone to see Percy off at the platform. After his birthday on August 22nd, we had a serious talk.

I explained that I wanted to see the magical train for the first time when I went to school myself—for the magic of the moment. Percy understood, so we said our goodbyes the night before, sitting together and chatting for a while. Percy, with a longing look in his eyes, promised to write to me every day. I hadn’t realized before just how attached he’d become to me.

"Percy, why should we keep using school owls?" I suggested. "Let's go ask Charlie to enchant a notebook for us. Remember how he told us about the Protean Charm? Then if we need to say something urgently, we won't have to wait for an owl to fly back and forth. I’ve got plenty of notebooks—they’ve piled up from three birthdays.”

Percy loved the idea, and we ran off to see our brother. But it turned out that such charms were at the N.E.W.T. level, and Charlie wasn’t quite skilled enough yet. So, we had to go to Bill for help.

Out of all the brothers, Bill was my least favorite. Charlie was down-to-earth, simple, and easy to understand, just like the rest of us. But Bill... He was always acting important, like he was all grown up and clever. Not that he didn’t have reasons to be proud—he aced his exams and, on top of that, got made Head Boy this year. Mum admired him almost as much as she did Gilderoy Lockhart. So, he knew his worth and never missed a chance to show it.

Honestly, the only thing I appreciated about Bill was that he took good care of his stuff, which meant they were of much better quality for me when I inherited them. But being friends with him was out of the question—I can’t stand it when someone talks down to me.

Bill enchanted the notebooks for us, though not without reminding us that we were interrupting his “important” work. But we got what we needed, thanked him, and dashed away from his airs.

The morning of the departure was as chaotic as I’d expected. Mum rushed around the house like a whirlwind, and I was relieved when the whole family disappeared through the fireplace, leaving the place quiet. If only we could send the twins off to Hogwarts too... Well, I’ll probably survive another year.

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The following year was pretty uneventful, not much worth describing. I dedicated it to reading. Before, I’d usually asked Percy for general knowledge about the magical world, observed things myself, and read a few pages before bed to learn the basics—there wasn’t time for more. But now that I had a grasp of the basics and no one was bothering me, I could really dive into it.

The Burrow had plenty of books, though they didn’t seem all that academic at first glance—old textbooks for various grades, general knowledge books, and some reference guides. But it was enough to keep me busy for a couple of years.

I made sure to keep up with my writing lessons. Percy, by the way, praised my progress, saying I was getting quite good. He kept his promise and wrote to me every evening before bed, and sometimes even during the day if something caught his interest.

I learned a lot about the school from him. Percy’s descriptions were so detailed and vivid that it felt like I’d been there myself, seeing everything with my own eyes. By the time I get to Hogwarts, I’ll probably be able to find my way around the classrooms with my eyes closed and recognize every face I meet—at least, if they’re from Gryffindor, where Percy ended up. He hadn’t made any close friends yet, but he’d gotten along well with his dorm mates.

I missed Percy. Sure, I enjoyed having more time to myself, but there was no one left to talk to at the Burrow. Sometimes you’d read something and want to discuss it, but there was no one around. Ginny was too young, the twins were always busy with their experiments, and if they did answer, it was always with a joke or some teasing. Forget them. And asking Dad would only draw attention, and he’d just say, “You’re too young for this,” and send me away.

I’ll say this in advance, after a whole year I still couldn’t figure out what magic really is. Take a car, for example—when it drives, you know exactly why it works. You can take it apart and put it back together. But magic is something more... elusive.

None of the books had a definition of this energy. And I couldn’t find anything on how to control it to create new spells, either. Everywhere I looked, there were just examples—spells that had already been invented.

It’s like, “Just wave your wand, say some mumbo-jumbo, and voila—the quill floats.” I realized that, for now, I’d have to accept magic for what it is and not overthink it. At least for now. The important thing is to follow the instructions precisely. That should be enough for a start.

But I believe there has to be some principle behind spellcasting. I imagine it as some kind of unknown code—after all, Snape invented that cutting spell somehow, which means there must be some rules to it. Otherwise, new spells wouldn’t exist. But there were no books like that in our Burrow. Honestly, most of what we had there was complete junk. I’ll have to look into it later when I get access to the Hogwarts library.

One thing I realized is that I’m not going to be a top student or the next Merlin. Even in my previous life, I wasn’t much of a scholar, getting by on good looks and a decent memory—and maybe a little leeway as an athlete. My grades hovered between Bs and Cs. If it weren’t for my mom, I might not have finished school at all. I’m a lazy guy at heart.

Take Transfiguration, for example. I’ve never seen such a dry and dense subject. The text is just a wall of words, written in such dry language that even with my thirty-year-old brain, I understood maybe one word out of five. I have no idea how I’ll do with the practical part, but I’m sure I’ll fail the theory unless the teacher can explain it in simpler terms.

The History of Magic, which Percy took with him, turned out to be a great read for kids—everything was laid out clearly and engagingly. It got a bit dull when it came to goblins, but that was mostly due to all the names and dates. Otherwise, it was an exciting story, full of battles and drama. It covered the Sorting Hat, the Founders, and the Houses—everything you’d need. If I could summarize it in my own words, I’d pass History. Also, it seems like the old Ron never cracked open a book when he spun that troll tale before the Sorting.

Potions is truly a monumental subject. I found a book on it that’s like an encyclopedia for medical professionals. With a little attention, a steady hand, and some common sense, anyone could brew potions in the magical world. But only for personal use. Nobody cared what you brewed at home or how you poisoned yourself.

In class, they taught the basics: how to light a fire, measure ingredients, and follow recipes. Nothing too hard, as long as you pay attention. I think I can manage that.

But in the upper years, they start teaching Advanced Potions. And to master those, just following the recipe isn’t enough. It’s assumed you understand all the interactions and processes in the cauldron. That requires not just a good head and memory, but memorizing the contents of twenty books from the library. Not my thing.

There wasn’t much on runes or numerology at home, and astronomy was mostly charts and diagrams—boring, but it seemed manageable at first glance. We’ll see.

Herbology felt more like a chore than a serious subject, and it was dull too. The practical part involved digging, weeding, and hauling manure. The theoretical side was like a gardener's journal. For example:

Stolen content warning: this tale belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences elsewhere.

March 13th. Waning moon. Plant the thing.

June 18th. Waxing moon. Fertilize the thing.

August 20th. Full moon. Harvest the thing.

But that’s just the school curriculum. For those who pursue it further, there's even more information than Potions. You have to know everything: soil composition, lunar phases, specific fertilizers for each plant—you name it. Not for me; I’m no green thumb.

Personally, Charms were the only thing that really captivated me—I read every book on the subject, even my mum’s pamphlets on cleaning and cooking spells. I was itching to try them out, and I liked the idea of making up my own spells when I had access to the right books. Unfortunately, I didn’t have a wand yet. So, I focused on studying theory, hoping to secretly try some out with Percy’s wand when he came back home for summer break.

But I ran into a bigger problem: I had no idea what career path to choose. Sure, Hogwarts would give me more direction, but with the subjects I could handle, my prospects didn't look great. In the books, Ron went into the Auror department—they don't expect much book smarts there. But the idea of wearing a uniform didn’t appeal to me. I value my freedom, not dealing with strict bosses and endless protocols. To me, it’s still a prison, no matter which side of the bars you're on.

I know I’ve still got time to decide, but it doesn’t hurt to start thinking about it now. I can always change my mind later.

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The twins taught me how to fly. I can hardly believe it myself. Lifting off the ground on a broomstick... let me tell you, at first, it was more unsettling than scary. But once I got the hang of steering, Mum could hardly get me back for lunch, and the twins would get annoyed—after all, we only had one broom.

I didn’t try any fancy maneuvers. I just liked to fly. It was exhilarating to feel the broom respond to my slightest movement and soar forward in a smooth rush, like tearing down a highway at top speed. Of course, with two brothers competing for the broom, I didn’t get much flight time—one against two isn’t great odds. But when I did get my turn, that was it; I stayed up there all day until Dad got home from work, no matter how much they yelled from below.

Christmas at the Burrow was as chaotic as ever, but I noticed something different this year. Even though my parents tried to hide it, there was a hint of worry in their eyes. I picked up on it since I was around them all the time, but my brothers seemed oblivious.

Aunt Muriel didn’t send birthday gifts for Molly, Bill, or Charlie this year. She did send cards, but that meant the twins' Hogwarts supplies would have to come out of our own pocket. I’d guessed as much, but I think my parents had been holding out hope that she’d change her mind.

Muriel did send Ginny a Galleon for Christmas, so maybe she’ll be the lucky one who gets to go to school with something new. Anyway, my parents were definitely concerned, even though they tried to keep it from us kids.

After the holidays, when my brothers returned to Hogwarts, I noticed more changes. Dad started taking night shifts again and extra weekend work. Mum’s meals became simpler. Meanwhile, I’d saved up two Galleons from harvesting herbs in the fall—Percy had shown me how before he left for school. And in the winter, Ginny and I gathered bark, which brought in another Galleon.

Say what you will, but I’m not letting go of that money. Percy’s one thing, but the twins—sure, they’re great guys, but we aren’t orphans who have to fend for ourselves. Helping out once is fine, but after that, Dad needs to step up. Otherwise, I’ll never save enough for my own wand, and it’s not like our parents can help with that. Without a proper wand, my chances of excelling academically are even slimmer. I’d just end up playing chess and ignoring my studies—it wouldn’t make a difference.

Still, something did brighten my mood, even if it didn’t last long. Dad brought home a car. A 1964 Ford Anglia. Nothing fancy—just a basic, cheap model. But when I saw it, I nearly teared up, and my hands itched to tinker with it. I figured I could take a look while Dad was at work. But, nope.

There wasn’t anything left to tinker with. Every part was stripped—only the body, pedals, dashboard, seat, and steering wheel remained. It looked like it had just rolled off the assembly line, but...

I asked Dad about it, and he gladly explained everything—no one else at the Burrow shared his hobby, so he was eager to talk.

His job was to disarm Muggle objects. According to protocol, after removing curses and filing reports, those items were supposed to be confiscated and destroyed. Magical interference often left a residue, especially with complex machinery, which caused it to malfunction.

For smaller things, Muggles would get memory charms—like remembering that a mixer broke and got thrown away, or that they never bought one in the first place.

But for larger items, that wouldn’t work, so Muggles were made to believe their car had been stolen. Of course, it would never turn up again, but the Muggles were none the wiser.

So Dad would bring home parts from various Muggle machines. Complete items weren’t allowed, but bits and pieces for his collection were.

He’d take coins from enchanted wallets, for example. Those wallets often came with tricks: snapping at your fingers when you tried to open them, shrinking your money, or leaking ink. Muggles would be left with a mess, wondering what happened. But I never understood—why bother enchanting Muggle stuff like that?

Anyway, Dad kept those ‘useless coins.’ I used to think he was stealing from Muggles. But if he was, why didn’t he spend the money? Why keep it in a glass jar? And why did the Weasleys live so modestly for supposed thieves? Turns out, the answer was that simple.

He also had a collection of keys. They’d come from enchanted wallets with key rings or clips. He liked keeping them because they were all different, and he enjoyed guessing what they might have unlocked.

And those plugs? He only collected the unique ones, fascinated by the various designs and wondering where Muggles might have used them.

He found the car at a junkyard. It had been roaming around at night with its lights on, scaring Muggles, and supposedly, it could even fly. How could Dad pass that up? He disarmed it, filed the report, and kept it for himself.

He used magic to restore it, and now he’s trying to figure out how it was enchanted to fly. There are some runes inside it, apparently. So, there’s nothing I could do with it.

So, I thinned out the jar of pounds—after all, it's not a collection, just a stash. I only took two pounds, didn't want to get greedy. But I didn’t make it to the village and the store until spring.

Finally, like a regular person, I strolled through the streets, bought some ice cream, and got a couple of candies for Ginny. I spotted a barbershop and a clothing store too. Not that I need any of that right now—I don’t have the money anyway—but it’s good to keep in mind, just in case.

Oh, and I figured out why Arthur built the house bit by bit instead of just adding a whole floor at once. Turns out, wizards build their homes on places of power so that the wards and other enchantments will hold. That way, enchanted things like fridges or washing machines actually work, you know?

And you have to build these kinds of houses using magical materials, which, like everything magical, are pretty expensive. Regular wood from the nearby forest won’t do—it would crack from the magical energy and wouldn’t last long—the house would eventually fall apart.

In our "Burrow," only the walls, roof, and the bathroom with the toilets were made from magical materials. Everything else was built with ordinary stuff. That’s why Arthur was always running around with a hammer. In a proper wizard house, you build it once and then sleep easy.

It’s the same with clothes. Molly even made her own dresses out of scraps to save money, because magical fabric is resistant to enchantments. You can clean it with magic, smooth out wrinkles, freshen up the color, or even transform it. Ordinary fabric would just fall apart after a few times, especially since I’m wearing clothes handed down from my two brothers...

At Hogwarts, the house-elves took care of the laundry. They didn’t wash it; they cleaned it with magic. Maybe that’s why Potter always looked like a ragamuffin—his clothes were Muggle-made? Anyway, wizards can wear Muggle clothes, but you’d have to wash them by hand. If you try to clean them with magic, you’d better have a few extra pairs because they wear out fast.

In fact, even ordinary clothes would get worn out just from being around a wizard, even if you didn’t put any spells on them. A wizard radiates magical energy into the space around them, creating a constant low-level aura. With powerful wizards, you can even feel it, like with cursed objects. Clothes would quickly fade and lose their shape.

Regular notebooks weren’t suitable for magical notes either; they were only good for rough drafts. Wizards used special ink on special paper—parchment. Spell formulas, even in written form, carry power, so regular paper couldn’t handle them—it would disintegrate. That’s why spells in textbooks are broken down into parts like Wing-gar-di-um Lev-i-o-sa. And that’s why textbooks are so expensive in the wizarding world. Real books are even more costly—they’re written on parchment made from the hide of magical creatures, and they come with protective enchantments so the power of the written words doesn’t hurt anyone when they’re read.

The more I learned, the wider the gap seemed between the Muggle and magical worlds, even though they’re practically right next to each other.