For a moment, the big guy just stared at me in dumbfounded silence, then snorted loudly and suddenly shouted, “Hey, Matthew, get your scrawny butt over here, now!” A red-haired guy with a steaming mug peeked out from the back room right away.

“What do you want, Gill? I’m on my break,” he replied, eyeing us curiously and taking a noisy sip.

“Just wondering if this little rascal is one of yours,” the big guy said, looking me over like I was some kind of exotic animal.

“Are you serious, boss?” the redhead protested, choking a bit on his coffee as he stepped closer. “I’m twenty-three, and the kid here is, what, ten? You think I had him back in school? Anytime anything happens, I get blamed. 'Oh, it must be the ginger.' So who’s the kid?”

“Says he wants to work here. Just like you did back then. How old were you then? Twelve?”

“Maybe enough with the jokes?” I cut it, shifting from foot to foot and glaring at both of them. “I’m serious. I really want to work here.”

“Seriously, kid, we don’t need you here,” said the workshop owner, finality in his voice. “Grow up some, then come back, and we’ll see. For now, go play with the other children.”

“I’m not going anywhere,” I said resolutely, gripping onto a tool rack. “You’ll have to pry me off.”

“You hear that, Matt?” Gill smirked. “I told you, your kind – those cheeky redheads. Look, kid, we don’t have work for you here. We do real work here. What could a ten-year-old possibly do?”

“Loads,” I shot back. “Wash cars, sweep up trash, polish glass or headlights, sand out small scratches, wipe down parts. I could even do deliveries—once I get my bike fixed,” I added, after thinking it over.

“Oh yeah?” the man chuckled, glancing at Matt. “What’s your name, lad?”

“Ron,” I relaxed a bit and let go of the rack, realizing they weren’t going to kick me out just yet.

“So, Ron, you really need the money?” the big guy asked, casually looking over my clothes. The frilled blouse under my windbreaker could easily be mistaken for a girl’s, so I quickly tucked it in. “Damn wizards and their outdated fashion,” I muttered to myself.

“Not really, but twenty quid a week wouldn’t hurt,” I said, lifting my chin proudly.

“Blimey! And to think you, Matt, started off at a fiver,” the big guy grinned.

“Inflation, boss,” I replied with a humble smile, shrugging as Matt snorted into his mug, spilling coffee.

“So why come here?” the redhead joined in, wiping the spilled coffee with his sleeve and eyeing the stain skeptically. “There’s a cafe across the street from the department store. Mr. Chase needs an assistant. They don’t pay much, but you’d get to eat pastries every day.”

“I’m not into sweets,” I replied coolly, squinting in irritation. “Offer it to your girlfriend. She’ll appreciate it. I’m into cars. Got it? I’d have to save for a hundred years to buy a beauty like that,” I nodded toward the car, “but at least I’d get to be around it.”

“The lad’s a connoisseur,” Gill whistled, lightening the tension. “Go on then, take a closer look. Just keep your mitts off the interior."

Eagerly, I walked around the beauty, crouching down, tapping the wheel, and running my hand along its sleek side. Now that was a car—not some Ford Anglia. Wizards are idiots with their brooms. Though, according to the book, a “Firebolt” broom was pretty cool too. We’ll see if I live to see one.

“So, what do you think?” the big guy asked, watching me with a mischievous gleam in his eyes.

“It’s awesome,” I answered honestly, unable to hide my excitement as I looked up at him, eyes shining.

“You even know what car this is, kid?”

“Of course. It’s a 1961 Series 1 Jaguar E-Type. Engine from the XK150, 3.8 liters. Tops out at 150 miles per hour,” I rattled off under their amazed stares. “Zero to sixty in seven seconds. It has an independent rear suspension with twin coil springs and transverse arms, copied from race cars. The unique feature? The brake discs are near the differential. This reduces unsprung weight, making it much easier to handle. They stopped production in ’74.”

“Matthew, did you hear that?” Gill finally spoke, still astonished. “Boy probably knows more than you at his age. You surprised me, kid.”

“I’m nine, sir. I spent my whole childhood hanging around my uncle’s workshop,” I lied smoothly. “So, will you hire me?”

“I’ll think about it,” he dodged. “In the meantime, grab some cleaning supplies. Matt will show you, and start by scrubbing down the office. Make it sparkle.”

“Yes, sir,” I straightened up and followed the grinning redhead to the second floor. “I’ll be quick.”

“No need to rush, just do a good job,” the big guy called after us, nodding disapprovingly.

“One doesn’t get in the way of the other, boss,” I called back.

“Alright,” said the redhead, looking over the dusty—though not dirty—office. “When you’re done, come back downstairs. Return the buckets to the storage room. And don’t worry about the boss. He might yell and throw out a few choice words, but he’s fair. Just don’t touch his desk; he doesn’t like that,” Matt warned, shutting the door behind him.

It took me over an hour. I even watered the two sad little plants and hopped down the stairs.

“Boss, job’s done,” I reported. “Now will you give me a real assignment?”

“For starters, head to the kitchen. Matt will pour you some tea,” the man grumbled, “and I’ll go check what you’ve done.”

When he came back, Matt and I were finishing our third sandwich.

“Five pounds, kid, to start,” Gill said. “Come by Saturdays and Sundays from ten to one. I’ll save some work for you. Now off you go; we’ve got work to do too.”

“Thank you, sir,” I beamed, heading for the door. “Oh, I almost forgot why I came,” I remembered at the last second, coming back to hand him a scrap of paper. “Here.”

“It’s not in stock, but I can order it,” Gill said. “With that outdated model, it’ll run you about forty pounds at least.”

“That’ll work,” I replied, pulling out a twenty and flashing him a sly smile. “Just take the rest out of my pay.”

"The kid’s no slouch," Matt laughed and winked at me.

"Now bugger off, and I don’t want to see you around here before Saturday!" Gill grumbled, but he didn’t comment on my bold statement.

I didn’t walk home—I practically flew. Memories of my past life swirled in my head. It felt like I’d traveled back in time for an hour, back to a world I knew inside and out. The familiar smells, the clinking of tools, the men’s conversations and strong words. It was like I was an adult again, even if it was all just an illusion.

I think I actually managed to surprise Gill. Of course, he wouldn’t trust me with real work, but at least I’d have something to do. This year, I feel so lonely. Arthur’s at work most of the time, and the house is full of girls—I can’t just tag along with them. I won’t get to study textbooks until next year, when the twins move up to second year and pass down their first-year books. Percy also promised to teach me some spells this summer. It won’t be with a real wand yet, just a pencil, but still.

Damn, what a car.

As if I wouldn’t know about it. I had a Jaguar in my previous life, too. I was even in the Jaguar Club of Russia.

An XJ-S from ’85. Flamenco Red. It was from an era when a coupe was exactly what a coupe should be, not some SUV or minivan. Passionate, responsive—it’d tear off the line like a beast even at just 1,500 RPM. You push the pedal, the speedometer needle climbs steadily, and the pull never fades... You can hardly feel the shift between gears...

Enjoying this book? Seek out the original to ensure the author gets credit.

My baby went through seven owners before it found its way to me. From a diplomat to a banker. I shelled out seven hundred thousand rubles for it, but it was worth every penny. And oh, the way girls reacted to it…

I bought it right after I’d finished restoring some guy’s Jaguar to perfection, and I’d fallen in love with it during that time. I practically lived in the workshop for four months. Even folks back on the Foggy Isle appreciated my work. His car won the main prize for restoration at a Jaguar Club event in England in 2017.

I used that money to upgrade my own car. Before that, I had a German make. Pity there weren’t many roads in Russia suited for a car like that, but I still managed to take it for spins. Oh well. Forgotten now. In this life, it’s only broomsticks for me. Although, damn it, I’ll earn one of my own someday, I swear.

But then the house came into view, and I shook off all thoughts that didn’t belong here. I wasn’t Alexander the Muggle who didn’t believe in magic anymore; I was Ron—a wizard with strange Muggle hobbies. And why not? I had a built-in excuse—Arthur, a Muggle-lover and collector of magical gadgets. Like father, like son…

After Mum scolded me for being late for lunch, I ate and then spent time flying on broomsticks with Ginny until Dad came home. Ever since the twins taught her to fly this summer, she’s become a real daredevil. She flew around like a pro. I wasn’t as fast or agile, but I didn’t miss a single ball, sending them back with gusto. Charlie said I was a natural keeper.

Then Arthur came home, and we had dinner. I never thought I’d say this, but without the twins, the house feels dead. Everyone’s just politely chatting. It suited me in a way, but for the Burrow, this quiet calm feels unnatural. I wouldn’t be surprised if my parents decided to have another kid or two when we’re all off at school—just to break the silence.

After dinner, I helped Ginny bathe her pet puffskein. She named it Arnold. The twins promised to work some magic to make it pink, but for now, it lives in blissful ignorance as a beige fuzzball.

When it was clean, we found out it actually has legs—tiny, but there. Its body is about three times smaller than its head, so with all that fur, it just looks like a little fluffball.

Before bed, I caught up with Percy. Unlike his letters to Mum, he poured out all his frustration to me. The twins’ “trick kits” had made a sensation in Gryffindor. They’d sold (the horror!) their inventions on Halloween and now they were the school’s favorites. Even the older students don’t mess with them. And if any of their classmates don’t like it, they’re too scared to take on the twins and complain to Percy instead, expecting him, as their older brother, to rein them in.

He’s worried their antics will hurt his status in Gryffindor and his future career.

I advised him to distance himself from the twins. We may be brothers, but we’re not one entity. As long as he keeps fuming and feeling embarrassed for them, people will keep bringing their complaints to him. Those two aren’t going to change. I think he understood.

I couldn’t wait for Saturday. After breakfast, I asked Mum for permission and practically ran the whole way. I even stopped at a shop to buy a T-shirt so I wouldn’t be flashing my blouse again. I promised myself I’d eventually replace my whole wardrobe, even if it meant buying clothes more often. It’s not like I could spend my money on much else here anyway.

At first, I mostly got minor errands—fetch this, bring that. Clean up, pour some coffee, sort parts. But then they noticed my work, and I started getting more serious tasks I could handle with my limited strength. They even raised my pay to ten pounds, then fifteen.

Gill was teaching me the tricks of the trade along the way, and since I already knew a lot, I picked things up quickly. He liked me. I think he considered me a gifted kid, though he never praised me—just gave a satisfied grunt now and then. And it felt good—feeling like a pro, knowing that others saw it and appreciated it too. To know that there’s something I, Ronald, excel at, not just blundering around like I do in magic. I was happy.

Trouble started after Christmas, when the twins went back to Hogwarts. At first, I only came on Saturdays and Sundays, as agreed. Then I started dropping by for ten minutes midweek, just to chat. Then I began staying to clean the office. And somehow, by Christmas, I was showing up at the workshop every day and staying till lunchtime.

I wasn’t keen on loafing around the house all week anyway. And when the snow came and the winds picked up, Mum banned us from flying, and I was bored out of my mind.

Gill stayed quiet at first, but after Christmas, he couldn’t hold back anymore. He gave me a grilling, thinking I was skipping out on school or running away from the orphanage on the other side of the village. I could understand the guy—why would he need that kind of trouble?

In short, I told him that I wasn’t going to school but taking tests once a month. I’d heard of something like this before, but it was in America. Who knows, maybe they do it here too? It seemed to work because Gill didn’t have any children—well, he did, but they were already grown—and he wasn’t up to date on how things were these days. But he still wasn’t completely satisfied.

“Ron, I believe you, but if you want to hang around here more than two days, bring one of your parents with you,” he said straight up. “I don’t need legal issues here. You’re not stupid, you get it.”

So, I had to go ask Arthur.

“What?” Molly exclaimed, outraged. “Arthur, this is all your influence. I told you, your interest in Muggle stuff would lead to no good. Why did you bring that Muggle monstrosity into our garage?”

“It’s a car, mum, there’s nothing dangerous about it,” I interjected, trying to divert her attention to me before Arthur, feeling guilty, would give in to her. The fact that she didn’t like Muggles was a big surprise to me, otherwise, I wouldn’t have brought it up in front of everyone during the evening get-together in the living room.

“And what’s wrong with that, mum?” I went on the offensive. “I’m bored, just wandering around the house.”

“Bored? Play with your sister,” she snapped, but softened a little.

“With dolls? Or do some embroidery?” I retorted. “I’m a guy, I’m not interested in your girly things. But there, I like it. I’ve learned so much. I asked you to let me practice with a wand, and you refused.”

“Do you want me to clean up your messes off the walls?” Mum asked, raising her eyebrows sternly. “When you go to school, the professors will teach you,” she added.

“Exactly, what am I supposed to do at home?” I insisted. “And why cause a panic? It’s only for a couple of years, just until Hogwarts.”

“Hm, Ron,” Dad diplomatically began, while mum caught her breath, preparing new arguments. “I understand your desire to get involved with the Muggle world. Honestly, I’m fascinated by them myself. But Muggles are different from us, they can be dangerous. And the Statute of Secrecy…”

“I’m not going to go shouting from every corner that I’m a wizard, dad,” I countered. “Come with me, and you’ll see they’re great guys. You’ve always encouraged me to be independent. Well, dad…”

“Alright, let’s go,” Dad decided, trying to hide his pleasure and excitement.

“Arthur!” Molly protested, but quickly quieted down when he gave her a serious, calm look.

“I think we’re overestimating the danger, Molly,” he said. “I don’t think Ron will be harmed by interacting with Muggles. On the contrary, this experience could be useful to him. I’ll go with you tomorrow, Ron, before work,” he said, and that was the end of the conversation.

While I was leading Dad, I got nervous. My heart was racing like I was running a hundred-meter dash. He kept asking about cars and Muggles the whole way. I was sweating from fear—what if he blurted something out, and my job was ruined? I realized that these were his first Muggles, ones he would interact with without a wand or Obliviate. And problems didn’t take long to arise.

As soon as we walked into the workshop, Dad’s gaze swept over the room and got stuck on the car. His eyes lit up with excitement. He looked around curiously, like a child, and only my hand squeezing his stopped him from jumping around the place, trying to look closer and touch everything Muggle-related.

He let out some muffled exclamation and blissfully closed his eyes. I sincerely hoped he wouldn’t pass out from ecstasy here, so I yanked his hand to snap him out of it. But then the men came out from the backroom.

“Mr. Johnson, this is my dad, Arthur Weasley,” I introduced my father weakly, and the men shook hands.

“Gill,” my boss introduced himself.

“Arthur,” Dad shook his hand enthusiastically and started talking rapidly, as if he had been waiting to burst. “Happy to meet you.”

“Uh…” Gill replied, stunned by Dad’s enthusiasm and barely managed to pull his hand back.

“Please, come through to the kitchen, sir,” he offered, giving Dad a once-over, his eyes lingering on Dad’s outdated, worn brown velvet suit and the ancient cloak he had turned into his robe. He turned and led the way. Dad kept turning his head, trailing behind him, forgetting about me, while Matthew silently watched the scene by the door. I was left trailing behind them on shaky legs.

“Tea? Coffee?” Gill asked, pointing Dad to a chair.

“Tea, please,” Dad replied, hesitantly sitting at the edge of the chair, then quickly getting back up.

“This is a toaster, right?” he exclaimed, shining with joy as if he had found treasure. “Ron, look, a real toaster.”

“I’ve seen it already, Dad,” I replied, horrified by what was happening.

“Your tea, sir,” Matthew interrupted us, quickly handing Dad a mug. Dad had to sit back down to avoid burning himself.

“So, you allow your son to come here?” Gill asked after a tense silence.

“Of course,” Dad said, suddenly animated. “Though, to be honest, I had my doubts, but seeing it all with my own eyes…”

“Ron has a talent for this,” Gill continued. “He must have inherited his love for cars from you. What car do you drive?”

“A Ford Anglia,” Dad beamed. He seemed to have relaxed a bit, and now he was proud to talk with a Muggle as an equal. “I bought it recently, secretly from Molly. She’s not a fan, but I’m trying to fix it up…”

“Dad, don’t you have work?” I asked. “Mum won’t be happy if you get in trouble with your boss and lose your bonus.”

“Oh, right, son,” Dad realized, suddenly flustered. “Sorry, I really have to go. It was nice meeting you. Maybe I’ll come by sometime to see how everything works here. Goodbye.”

“Goodbye, Arthur,” Gill responded.

“I’ll walk you out,” I jumped up.

“Ron, those were real Muggles, and I talked to them,” Dad whispered excitedly as I led him out. “And there are so many plugs around…”

Dad disappeared as soon as I got him behind the building and made sure there were no witnesses.

After standing for a few minutes to calm down, I went back into the workshop. The kitchen greeted me with silence and two pairs of attentive eyes. My thoughts were swirling like crazy in my head.

“Uh… my dad,” I started under the heavy stares, clearing my throat, “he’s one of the Amish… Yeah. But we don’t live in a commune, and he only has one wife, though there are seven kids… He’s not used to modern technology, but he really likes it,” I added, but then the rest of the words got stuck in my throat under their intense gazes.

“We figured that out already,” Gill snorted. “So, you’re one of them. A wizard.”