Surprisingly, the next morning, Ron was in good spirits.
He didn't sleep in like usual. Instead, he got up before dawn, washed his face, and quietly curled up on the living room sofa, clutching Scabbers to his chest like a lifeline.
When Molly came down later and saw him hunched there in the semi-darkness, she nearly jumped out of her slippers.
"Merlin's socks, Ron! What are you doing lurking around like that?"
Ron mumbled something unintelligible, attempting to sound casual.
Before Molly could press him, however, Fred and George, who had risen early to clear the garden (with suspiciously gleeful expressions), strolled in—grinning from ear to ear.
"Oh, don't mind Ron," Fred said cheerfully. "He's just sucking up to Peter."
"Yep," George added. "We overheard yesterday—Peter said he might give Ron a new wand as an early Christmas present."
Fred nodded solemnly. "It seems our silly little brother does know how to recognize his patron."
"But he's not very sincere, is he, Fred?" George added. "Didn't even have the guts to tell Mum."
"True, George. That's what we call useless pride."
They burst into synchronized laughter, patting each other on the back as if they'd won an award for sibling commentary.
Ron's face flushed red as his temper flared. "Shut up, both of you!"
But the twins were already bouncing out the door, still cackling.
Upstairs, Peter stirred awake, thanks to the noise and teasing echoing through the house. He sat up, blinking, as the sound of "our little brother's groveling!" rang faintly from the garden.
He couldn't help but chuckle.
It seemed today's Diagon Alley trip was off to a very Weasley start.
By the time Peter got up, the sun had already risen above Weasel Hill, casting streaks of golden light through the crooked window of his room.
Still nestled against his chest, Ginny was sound asleep.
The night before, she had come into his room with a well-worn storybook in hand, asking him to read her a bedtime tale. Peter had obliged, telling her fairy stories for over an hour before she finally drifted off in his arms.
It was little moments like this that made their bond so close.
Bill and Charlie had left home years ago for work. Percy was too busy burying himself in books to care for anything outside his studies. And Fred and George—well, they were more likely to use a storybook for a prank than for reading.
Only Ron and Peter ever made time to tell Ginny stories.
But even then, Ron would only share the ones he liked—usually tales about knights or Quidditch heroes—so Ginny had long stopped relying on him.
Peter got up carefully, dressed, and cracked open the window.
Down in the overgrown garden, old Errol flapped his weathered wings with slow determination, hopping through tall grass and weeds. He was doing his best to chase out a bunch of garden goblins—small, potato-colored creatures with oversized heads and thin, wiry limbs.
They looked like angry, leathery root vegetables with legs.
Overhead, Fred and George, each mounted on a broomstick, swooped and darted back and forth, collecting the goblins Errol drove out.
With delighted cackles, they snatched them mid-air, spun them around, and hurled them screaming into the wilds beyond the property line.
Only the fading shrieks of protesting goblins and the twins' laughter echoed through the morning breeze.
Peter shook his head, chuckling.
"Those two… they can turn anything into a game."
He turned back to his bed and gently picked up Ginny.
She stirred with a sleepy yawn, blinking up at him. "Peter?"
"I'm going to Diagon Alley, Ginny. You should go back to your own bed and rest."
"Mmm…" Ginny buried her head in his shoulder, voice muffled. "I want... Chocolate Frogs…"
Peter smiled. "Alright. I'll bring some back for you."
As he carried her down the stairs, he met Molly, just on her way up to fetch them.
She paused mid-step, saw the scene—Peter carrying Ginny, who was still rubbing sleep from her eyes—and her stern expression melted instantly.
"Oh—look at my two little darlings, my sweethearts."
Molly's ample arms wrapped around Peter and Ginny at once, tears welling in her eyes.
"Your mum is so happy to see you all getting along. Peter, you've always been so thoughtful—taking care of Ginny, buying Ron a new wand… Honestly, I think the old one would've done just fine!"
Downstairs, Ron, who had rushed up at the sound of commotion, nearly turned to stone.
His hands clenched tightly—so tightly he almost crushed Scabbers.
His heart pounded as panic gripped him. Would Peter—prickly, proud, and prone to pettiness—change his mind now that their mother had brought it up?
But Peter only gave Ron a passing glance and said evenly, "It's fine, Mum. It's just seven Galleons. Besides, using a wand that doesn't match you can affect your spellwork."
Seven… Seven Galleons?! And he said it like it was nothing?!
Ron felt like he'd been tossed into a cauldron of sour lemon juice. Every inch of him tingled with shame and envy.
Molly, knowing how well-off Peter had become from his potion sales, didn't push further. She loved both her sons deeply, but her parenting style was conservative when it came to money between siblings.
Still, deep down, she couldn't deny the guilt she felt for Ron—her youngest boy who'd always inherited his brothers' hand-me-downs. And Peter wasn't wrong: a second-hand wand could limit magical development.
So, with a gentle smile, she scooped Ginny into her arms and carried her back to her room.
Once Peter had washed up, he and Ron sat down for a quick breakfast. Ron tried his best to act normal but barely said a word as he chewed.
As the sun rose higher, Molly bustled over to the fireplace, carrying a flowerpot filled with glittering gray-white powder—Floo Powder.
"Peter, you've used this before, so you know what to do," she said, turning to Ron. "But you haven't. So watch closely and follow your brother's lead. Speak clearly and don't rush. Diagon Alley! Got it?"
"Got it, Mum!" Ron said, practically vibrating with excitement. His ears were bright red.
Molly handed the flowerpot to Peter.
Peter wrinkled his nose. He had never liked Floo Powder. It got into his sleeves, his hair, his collar—everywhere. But since he hadn't learned Apparition yet, this was his only option.
He grabbed a handful of the dusty substance, stepped into the fireplace, took a breath, and threw the powder at his feet.
"Diagon Alley!"
Whoosh!A flash of green flame erupted, and Peter vanished in a swirl of spinning magic and soot.
Green flames erupted around him.
Peter felt like he was being sucked through the barrel of a magically charged tornado. His body stretched and spun, twisting like taffy as scenes and sounds whirled past—blurred fireplaces, warped architecture, and echoes of crackling fire, all distorted beyond recognition.
A few dizzying seconds later, he stumbled out into the receiving hearth.
He coughed once, brushed the soot from his robes with distaste, and looked around, blinking as he steadied himself.
He had landed in a dimly lit, enclosed alley. Several fireplaces lined the brick walls, each trimmed with a flickering green flame. One by one, Witches and Wizards emerged, some accompanied by children—clearly other Hogwarts-bound families here for their supplies.
Peter didn't linger.
He stepped aside to wait, his eyes still adjusting, when a flash of green flared behind him.
THUMP!
Ron landed face-first on the cobblestones at Peter's feet, looking like a living chimney sweep.
Peter chuckled and reached down to pull him up. "Quite the entrance, Ron."
Ron groaned, too dizzy to respond.
Moments later, Molly arrived gracefully in a swirl of Floo flame. She patted the soot from Ron's hair with a sigh, adjusted their collars, and herded both boys toward the archway at the end of the alley.
As they stepped through the passage, the dimness gave way to sunlight and noise.
They had arrived.
Diagon Alley.
A cobbled street stretched wide and seemingly endless, packed with Wizards and Witches in colorful robes and pointed hats. The air was full of laughter, chattering, and the faint hum of magic.
Shops lined both sides, each with tall, multi-paned display windows filled with glittering wares and enchanted objects. Sunlight streamed down from above the crooked roofs, reflecting off polished cauldrons, floating books, fluttering parchment, and cages of strange creatures.
Just ahead, the door of a nearby shop creaked open, and a pair of parents led out a boy whose hair kept changing color with every bite of what looked like enchanted chewing gum.
Ron's eyes went wide.
He stared at the shop sign in awe:
"Bouncing and Bewitching Joke Shop."
He'd heard Fred and George rave about it dozens of times, whispering about their favorite tricks and magical gag items. He'd pictured it so many times that seeing it in person felt like walking into a dream.
Mouth agape, Ron barely registered the voice next to him.
"Ron," Peter said with a smirk, "Welcome to Diagon Alley."
At that exact moment, someone behind him—likely a shopkeeper charmed to greet newcomers—cheerfully echoed:
"Welcome to Diagon Alley!"