The next morning, breakfast was awkward.
Not openly hostile or interrogative awkward. Just... careful. Like everyone was watching Ron to see what he'd say next. Measuring his words. Looking for more evidence that something was wrong.
Molly asked if he'd slept well. Her tone was just slightly too concerned.
Percy asked if he had questions about the spell theory books. His expression was just slightly too interested.
The twins didn't say anything. Just watched him with identical calculating expressions while pretending to argue about something.
Even Arthur seemed more observant than usual, glancing at Ron between bites of toast.
Only Ginny acted normal, stabbing her eggs and complaining about being bored.
Ron kept his answers simple. "Yeah, slept fine." "The books are good, still reading." "Can you pass the bacon?"
Age-appropriate. Normal. Not analytical.
It felt like walking on glass. One wrong word and everything would shatter.
After breakfast, Ron escaped to his room. But the spell theory book sat on his desk like an accusation. Reading it would just give him more questions. More things he couldn't help analyzing out loud.
He needed to get out of the house. Away from watching eyes. Away from the tension.
"I'm going to explore the attic," Ron announced to no one in particular, heading for the stairs.
"Be careful up there," Molly called. "Some of those things are quite old."
"I will."
The attic was cramped and dusty and full of things the family had deemed potentially useful but not useful enough to keep accessible. Broken furniture, old trunks, boxes of random items that probably hadn't been opened in years.
Perfect. Private. Quiet.
Ron started looking through things methodically. Not really searching for anything specific. Just needing something to do with his hands while his brain processed the mess he'd made.
St. Mungo's. They were going to take him to St. Mungo's for tests.
What would those tests detect? Could magic identify that his mind didn't match his body? That his memories weren't Ron Weasley's? That he was fundamentally not who he was supposed to be?
He had no idea. Which was the problem.
Ron opened an old trunk. Dusty Hogwarts robes that must have belonged to Bill or Charlie. Some broken quills. A Cleansweep 5 with half its bristles missing.
Another trunk. More robes. Textbooks from decades ago. A broken magical device he couldn't identify.
A third trunk, near the back. Covered in dust like it hadn't been opened in years. Ron lifted the lid carefully.
Inside was a stack of what looked like Molly's old pregnancy robes. Some baby clothes. A few photographs of the older children as toddlers.
And underneath everything, a small wooden box.
Ron pulled it out carefully and opened it.
A wand.
Old, with visible cracks along its length. The wood was darkened with age and the handle was worn smooth from use. It looked like it had seen better days about a century ago.
Ron picked it up carefully.
The moment his fingers closed around it, he felt something. A tingle. A warmth spreading up from his hand. Not the powerful connection the books described with a proper matched wand, but something. An acknowledgment that magic existed, that this object could channel it.
This was valuable. This was incredibly valuable.
But dangerous. Using a damaged wand without training was reckless. The books had been very clear about that. Broken wands could backfire. Could hurt the caster. Could produce unpredictable effects.
And if he got caught using it, that would be even more evidence that something was wrong with him.
Ron turned the wand over in his hands, feeling the weight of it. The potential.
He couldn't use it now. Not with everyone home and watching him. Not with the threat of St. Mungo's hanging over his head.
But later. After the twins and Percy left for Hogwarts. When the house was quieter and he had more freedom.
Then he could experiment. Could test the theories filling his notebooks. Could actually understand how magic worked instead of just reading about it.
Ron wrapped the wand carefully and put it back in its box. But this time, he moved the box to a different hiding spot. Behind some broken furniture in the far corner where no one would accidentally find it. Where only he would know to look.
Four more days until September first. Four days until the twins and Percy left and the house went quiet.
Then he'd have the freedom to actually learn magic properly. To understand it. To figure out the underlying principles that the books refused to explain.
But first, he had to survive those four days without making himself more suspicious.
Ron hid the box carefully and went back to sorting through the attic. Making it look like he'd actually been exploring, not just hiding.
Dinner that evening was quieter than usual.
Ron ate his shepherd's pie and kept his mouth shut. Let Percy dominate the conversation with a lecture about proper cauldron maintenance. Let the twins argue about optimal dungbomb storage. Let Arthur ramble about some confiscated Muggle artifact.
He didn't ask questions. Didn't analyze anything out loud. Didn't use any words that might be considered too sophisticated.
Just ate and listened and tried to look like a normal ten-year-old.
"You're quiet tonight," Percy observed.
"Just tired," Ron said. "Been reading a lot."
"Any more questions about the spell theory?"
Ron wanted to say yes. Wanted to ask about the relationship between intent and incantation. About whether wand movements were arbitrary or followed underlying principles. About why the educational system prioritized rote memorization over theoretical understanding.
"Not really," he said instead. "Still working through the basics."
Percy looked slightly disappointed but nodded.
The twins exchanged a look. They knew he was being careful. Probably thought it proved something was wrong with him.
Maybe they were right.
After dinner, Ron went straight to his room. But he didn't pick up the spell theory book. Didn't take any more notes. Didn't give his brain any more ammunition to betray him with.
Instead, he lay on his bed and stared at the ceiling, trying to figure out how to pass magical medical tests he didn't understand.
The next day was more of the same.
Careful. Controlled. Normal.
Ron helped Molly with chores. Played chess with Ginny without getting distracted. Listened to Arthur explain something about enchanted paperweights without asking analytical questions.
Read spell theory but kept his notes minimal. Didn't let his brain spiral into theoretical frameworks.
The twins were still watching him. But the intensity had faded slightly. Like they were starting to think maybe he'd just had one weird day of being too smart.
Molly seemed less tense. Arthur was back to his usual cheerful rambling.
Percy kept trying to engage him about magical theory, but Ron deflected with vague answers about "still learning the basics."
It was exhausting. Pretending to be less intelligent than he was. Suppressing every analytical instinct. Keeping his thoughts carefully filtered.
But necessary.
On the third day after the dinner disaster, Ron was upstairs when he heard the distinctive sound of an owl at the window downstairs. Mail delivery.
He wouldn't have thought anything of it except that a few minutes later, he was walking past his parents' room and heard voices.
He should keep walking. Should not eavesdrop again.
His feet stopped anyway.
"The letter from St. Mungo's came," Molly was saying.
Ron's stomach dropped. St. Mungo's had responded.
"And?" Arthur asked.
"They can't fit us in until late September. After the boys leave for school."
Silence for a moment.
"That's quite a wait," Arthur said.
"I know. But honestly, Arthur, Ron seems so much better the last few days. Less intense. More like himself. Maybe it was just a phase after all."
"He does seem more settled," Arthur agreed. "Less... driven to analyze everything."
"Maybe we don't even need the appointment," Molly said hopefully.
"We'll keep it," Arthur decided. "Just to be safe. But I agree, I'm much less worried now. He's been perfectly normal."
"Growing pains," Molly said, and Ron could hear the relief in her voice. "That's all it was. Just growing pains."
Ron crept away from the door before they could hear him, heart pounding.
Late September. That was after September first. After the twins and Percy left. After he'd have access to the wand and privacy to experiment.
And if he kept acting normal, kept suppressing the analytical comments, maybe they'd cancel the appointment entirely by then.
One problem at a time.
First, survive until September first without making himself more suspicious. Then learn magic properly. Then worry about St. Mungo's if it was still a concern.
Ron could work with that timeline.
He went back to his room, relief mixing with lingering anxiety. Weeks of time. That was valuable.
He just had to stay carefully normal for a little longer.
That afternoon, the twins cornered him in the garden.
Ron had been helping Ginny de-gnome, pulling the potato-shaped creatures out of the dirt and throwing them over the fence. It was mindless work that let him think without anyone questioning why he was quiet.
"Ron," Fred said, appearing on his left.
"We need to talk," George added from his right.
Ginny looked between them and Ron. "I'm going inside," she announced, abandoning him to the twins.
Traitor.
Ron straightened up, gnome in hand. "About what?"
"About you being weird at dinner the other night," Fred said.
"Using big words," George continued.
"Talking about educational reform," they said together.
"And then suddenly not being weird," Fred added.
"Being very carefully normal," George finished.
"Like you're trying not to be suspicious," they said together, and there was the calculation again.
Ron threw the gnome over the fence. "I don't know what you mean."
"Yes you do," Fred said.
"You're smart," George said. "Smarter than you're supposed to be."
"And you're hiding it now," they continued together.
Ron considered his options. Deny everything and hope they dropped it. Or give them a version of the truth that satisfied their curiosity without revealing too much.
"Maybe I am," he said carefully. "Maybe I got worried that everyone thought I was weird. So I'm trying to be more normal."
The twins looked at each other.
"Why would you hide being smart?" Fred asked.
"Because everyone was staring at me," Ron said. "Because Mum looked worried. Because you two kept watching me like I'd been cursed."
"Fair point," George admitted.
"But you shouldn't have to hide being clever," Fred said.
"It's actually useful," George added.
"Your business ideas about our pranks were brilliant," they said together.
Ron looked between them. "You're not... concerned? About me being different?"
"Oh, we're concerned," Fred said.
"Very concerned," George agreed.
"Something definitely changed," they said together.
"But," Fred continued alone, "being smart isn't bad."
"Even if it's weird," George added.
"So don't hide it on our account," they finished together. "We think it's interesting."
Ron felt something loosen in his chest. The twins were suspicious, yes. But they weren't hostile. Weren't trying to stop him or fix him.
They were including him. Accepting the weirdness because it was useful.
"Thanks," Ron said.
"Just don't get too weird," Fred said with a grin.
"Mum might actually take you to St. Mungo's," George added.
"We heard her talking to Dad about it," they said together.
Of course they had. The twins heard everything.
"I'm being more careful," Ron said.
"Good." Fred clapped him on the shoulder. "Keep doing that. But when you have clever ideas about pranks, tell us. That's useful weird."
"We can work with useful," George agreed.
They walked off, leaving Ron standing in the garden holding another gnome.
The twins knew he was different. Knew something had changed. But they'd decided to accept it as long as it benefited them.
Ron could absolutely work with that.
He threw the gnome over the fence with more force than necessary, grinning despite himself.
September first was two days away.
The house was descending into pre-departure chaos. Molly was cooking constantly, preparing food to send with the boys. Percy was checking and rechecking his trunk, making lists of lists. The twins were trying to sneak increasingly creative prank supplies past Molly's inspections.
Ron helped where he could. Carried things. Answered questions. Stayed carefully normal.
But his mind was already planning.
Two days until the house went quiet. Until he had freedom and privacy and a wand hidden in the attic.
Two days until he could actually start learning magic properly. Understanding it. Testing theories. Figuring out the underlying principles that the books refused to explain.
He just had to be patient a little longer.
The evening before September first, the family gathered for dinner. Everyone was there. The last meal with all the kids home until Christmas.
It was loud and chaotic and somehow comfortable despite the noise. The twins telling stories about Hogwarts. Percy lecturing about proper study habits. Ginny asking endless questions. Arthur trying to keep track of multiple conversations at once. Molly managing everyone while looking progressively more emotional.
Ron ate and listened and catalogued. This was his family now. For better or worse. These people who'd accepted him despite being weird. Who'd defended him or included him or just rolled with the strangeness.
Tomorrow they'd be gone. And he'd have freedom to learn.
But tonight, they were all here. Together. One last time before everything changed.
Ron found he didn't mind the chaos as much as he thought he would.
Actually, he might even miss it.
Just a little.