My birthday brought a few disappointments. Instead of the usual galleon, I got a set of enchanted chess. It used to belong to Grandpa—Arthur's father. Made me think we’re seriously broke, and things probably aren’t getting any better.

I did like the gift, though—it was magical, and I value anything magical since, until now, all I had was an alarm clock. Now I had a chess set.

They were beautiful, old, made from walrus ivory, but there was only half a set—the white pieces. They could change to black if my opponent also had a white set.

Turns out each player is supposed to have their own set. The pieces only listen to their owner; otherwise, they’ll argue, give false advice, and confuse you, making it almost impossible to win with someone else's.

Watching the “living” pieces was interesting, but I never came to love chess. My brain just doesn’t work that way. I can remember a chain of moves to the end of a game if I watch someone else play, and I could repeat it if my opponent followed a familiar path. But planning five moves ahead? Not my thing.

And it's tedious, sitting there thinking through moves, waiting for your opponent to finally make theirs. I’m a person of action, and the only thing that can keep me still is an interesting book. So I was actually happy I only had one set and wouldn’t be forced to play.

My joy didn’t last long, though; Arthur had the other set—the black one—and he used to torture me with it. His pieces were simpler, carved from wood. Thankfully, he later found a more worthy opponent—Bill—and left me alone.

Our Dandy’s set, though, was clearly ancient, carved from stone and inlaid with silver. The pieces were two-toned—half black, half white—and the board was covered in mosaic, shimmering like a mirror. I bet if we sold that set, we’d be able to send both Ginny and me to school along with the twins. It must have come from Mum’s family—the Prewetts. But that would never happen.

Bill has high ambitions, and that set is prestigious. When you get invited to play, your set says a lot about you—it’s an unspoken sign you belong in that social circle, not just a dressed-up pauper. You can save up for fine clothes, but treasures like that are passed down. And if you buy one, you can’t pretend it’s an heirloom.

In England, from what I can tell, status is still everything. You could be as rich as Croesus, but you’d never worm your way into high society and truly belong. But if you’re an aristocrat, they’ll accept you as an equal, even if you’re from a poor family. As long as you remember your heritage and carry yourself well. That’s Bill’s aim. He wants to be part of the world his parents left behind. But as they say, blessed are the hopeful.

Thankfully, Bill never forced me to play chess, and sometimes I’d take Dad’s set and have fun—giving random commands to the pieces and watching them battle it out.

It was pure magic when, after the chaos, the shards slowly floated up at the end of the game, hovered in the air, then flew back to their boxes. It’s like they reassembled themselves, good as new. I even tried holding a piece in my hand, but it would still slip away and fit itself back in. And they don’t just move, they talk too. Really cool.

In April, we celebrated the twins’ birthday. No money for them either, but they did get brooms.

Turns out the Ministry’s Department of Magical Games and Sports not only organizes sports events but also ensures Muggles don’t see us during games and competitions. They enchant stadiums and places for international tournaments, check that local stadiums are charmed properly, and register teams.

Well, in late March, they dissolved a team in Yorkshire for botching the charms on their stadium, allowing around a hundred Muggles to see it.

They disbanded the team, confiscated the equipment. Officially, all confiscated items are supposed to be destroyed, but in reality, the ministry folks divvy it up for themselves—can’t let good gear go to waste. Ludovic Bagman, the department head, owed Arthur a favor.

His nephew, who graduated from Hogwarts last year, had gotten into trouble with a friend. They enchanted some equipment in a Muggle café, creating total chaos to the point where they couldn’t even leave. Arthur happened to be on night duty and was the first to arrive. He took pity on the fools and let them off. If they’d been caught, they’d have faced more than just a fine—Memory Charmers had to come in too.

If word got out, Bagman might not have lost his job, but his reputation would’ve taken a serious hit, and his nephew’s ministry career would’ve been dead. So Ludovic “misplaced” a couple of brooms. “Cleansweeps.” Not the newest model, but as good as Charlie’s. Our brothers dreamed of joining a team, so we were lucky.

In May, I committed my first act of treachery. I’m not proud, but I had no choice.

I was counting on the flowers Ginny had picked last year, but the twins had other plans and weren’t even considering us, and I wasn’t about to let them have it.

So, I had to be sneaky. When Molly was cleaning their room, one of their magical firecrackers exploded, and they got grounded for three days for keeping dangerous items in the house. Magical flowers only bloom for a day, so Ginny and I collected them while they were stuck indoors. Six galleons’ worth. We each got one, as usual.

The twins weren’t idiots—they figured it was my doing since it could only have been me or Ginny. When they were finally free, they confronted me.

“Yeah, I set you up,” I admitted, “go ahead and punch me if you want. I won’t fight back.”

“And why?” Fred narrowed his eyes, threatening.

“To get those flowers before you grabbed everything.”

“So, you wanted the cash?” the other drawled.

“What? It’s not about money,” I shot back, glancing at his fists. “It’s for Ginny.”

This text was taken from Royal Road. Help the author by reading the original version there.

“What’s she got to do with it?” George asked, surprised.

“You two always keep everything to yourselves. We’re all in the same boat, and everyone could use the money. I can strip bark, climb trees for buds, but Ginny’s a girl. You think she should climb trees too? It’s easier for her to pick flowers, and it’s fun for her. And she’s saving up for a Puffskein. You two have brooms now, but she has nothing.”

“The brooms aren’t ours! They’re shared,” George quickly objected, exchanging a glance with his brother.

“Sure, keep talking,” I smirked. “When are we even supposed to use them, then? In winter, when you’ll be at school? You two fly them together when you’re home, and next year, you’ll take them to Hogwarts. If you make the team, we’ll never see them again. It’s fine, just take them; I’ll stick with my old one. Percy doesn’t need it, and Ginny’s totally out of luck. She’s been saving up for a pet since she saw one at the zoo. She wanted to buy one for her birthday but gave her Galleon to Percy, and now she’s short. So I made sure she’d get something too. You guys can perch in a tree if you want, I won’t mind,” I said my piece.

“Couldn’t you have just told us?” Fred replied for both of them after a pause and a look, “did you have to cause all this drama? That was our last firecracker, you know.”

“Yeah, like you’d listen to me,” I smirked skeptically. “Well, if you want, I’ll give you my Galleon after we gather up the buds,” I offered.

“Keep it, hero. All right, it’s forgotten,” George said, giving me a light smack as he headed for the exit.

“And don’t get cheeky, Ron. Let’s not have a repeat of this,” Fred added in farewell to George’s smack. Thank the gods, I got off lightly. The last thing I wanted was a house war.

I earned another Galleon from the buds. The twins caught up on their frog and lizard-catching duties. I didn’t get involved — let them earn their keep. It’s just too bad Percy’s now left without any money — not much to gather over the summer. I’ve already hidden away four Galleons.

Then, the boys came back from school, and the regular summer days began. Though this summer, we only managed to go to a few Quidditch matches — Dad’s colleague got us tickets for the whole season. Aside from that, the parents were cutting costs wherever they could, though you couldn’t really tell.

The table was still full of food, but we’d switched from beef to pork. Whole cuts of meat were mostly replaced with patties and meatballs, chicken-based soups, and cream sauces were closer to milk sauces now, even tomato. But Mum cooked so well it was barely noticeable.

Sweets, though, were a different story. Dad didn’t bring home much anymore, and when he did, it was cheaper stuff like toffees and lollipops. No wonder book-Ron went nuts over chocolate frogs on the train. Judging by us, it seems like he hadn’t had any for two years. But I’d been slipping out coins from the jar and sneaking Ginny chocolate whenever I could. It really brought us closer. Personally, I was more into pies than sweets, but she had a sweet tooth.

Things didn’t work out with the wand. The moment Percy arrived, Arthur confiscated it and locked it away. To me, it was a complete waste.

But Arthur stuck to the rules and wouldn’t budge. Summer was for theory — reviewing old material and reading new stuff, plus extra books for practice. Never mind that we didn’t have the right books in the house.

Apparently, there was a magical library in London, but you needed a subscription, which cost ten Galleons per person per year. Way out of our budget.

Bill flatly refused my idea of trying a spell with his wand and kicked us out. Charlie’s wand barely managed three sad sparks before flat-out refusing to respond to me. So, I’ll just have to wait till I can buy my own. At least I got to hold one.

Percy was practically glowing with excitement. He loved learning, and even though he missed us, he couldn’t wait to go back to Hogwarts.

He’d made friends with a Hufflepuff boy, and they’d started writing letters. The boy sent them by a gorgeous big owl, which paced our windowsill proudly while Percy wrote back, refusing to let anyone pet him.

We had a family owl too — Errol. So old he was nearly mummified, but he still delivered letters reliably, though we tried not to overburden him.

For Percy’s and Ginny’s birthdays, we only had a nice dinner, nothing more. Thank goodness, we had just enough for the school supplies. Ginny was quite tactful and only bought her pet after the boys left for Hogwarts.

After the twins left, it got so quiet in the house it was like a library. At first, Ginny followed me around like a little shadow, but then Molly got serious about teaching her how to write with a quill, read expressively, and even some purely girly wisdom. I stayed out of it.

The funniest thing was that Ginny’s new favorite story became “The Tale of Harry Potter, the Knight of Light Who Defeated the Dark Wizard.”

The booklet itself was thin, but Molly had turned it into a full-fledged tale with fantasy elements, a pinch of thriller, and a heap of magic. Like, “the brave hero endowed with immense strength. No matter how the Dark Wizard tried to kill him, he couldn’t. Once, twice, he cast the killing curse at the infant, and on the third try, he crumbled to dust at the hero’s feet. All the hero had left from that fierce battle was a scar on his forehead to remind the Dark forces of his power.”

In the magical world, there weren’t any tales like ours. Well, they were, but not like ours, with magical heroines and little hunchbacks. Not fantasy either, like Snow White or Cinderella. They were either too childish, like our turnip tale and american hungry caterpillar, or too deep and philosophical, like “The Deathly Hallows,” closer to legends and myths. So with Harry Potter, the girls finally had a real, modern hero. And as they say — touch history.

At the end of September, I got lucky. You could say I found myself a birthday gift. I found a bicycle — or rather, pulled it out of the river near the village. It looked like it had been underwater for ages, all rusty, with a slightly bent frame, and the seat was either rotted or moldy.

I thought long and hard about whether it was worth dragging home since it looked pretty hopeless. But then I decided to ask Arthur.

Arthur latched onto my idea with enthusiasm. He even went all the way to the river with me. Then he shrunk it, and we took it home to the garage.

That’s what I love about magic — one gesture, and the thing looked as good as new. Well, almost. At least the rust was gone. The paint had long since peeled, and the seat was as wrecked as ever. But the wheels were intact, just needed a little air. The bike was from the sixties at least, a “Pashley” with a low frame. I’d never seen one like it; I’m more into cars. I had a local-made bike as a kid. But right now, anything would do.

Later, I went to the village. I bought metal paint, a pump, and they told me to look for a seat at “Johnson’s Auto Shop.” Gave me the address. It was pretty far, almost on the other side of town, past the department store. I hadn’t been to that part yet. It was late today, so I figured I’d go tomorrow morning, after breakfast, when Mum’s busy with Ginny.

I found the shop quickly, though it took over an hour to get there and I got a bit lost by the department store. But as soon as I reached the gates and peeked inside, I knew they’d need a crane to pull me away from here. Because there, in the repair zone, stood her — the car I’d worked on in my past life. A 1961 Jaguar. This “English Cat” had been bought by a guy for three hundred thousand bucks at an auction. I remember spending four months on this baby. Only that one was green metallic, and this one’s blue.

“Hey kid, what’s up?” asked a big guy with a mustache in a work suit, wiping his hands, “lost, are you?”

“No, I’m definitely where I need to be,” I shook my head. “Sir, please hire me.”