The first thing Ron noticed when he woke up was that everything smelled like old socks and cinnamon.
The second thing he noticed was that he wasn't dead.
Which was weird, because he was pretty sure he'd just died.
He sat up in a bed that was too small, in a room that definitely wasn't his, wearing pajamas he'd never owned. The walls were covered in Quidditch posters where tiny players zoomed around on broomsticks. Morning sunlight streamed through a crooked window. Worn furniture. Clothes scattered on a chair. A desk that tilted to the left.
His head felt stuffed with cotton and someone else's memories, like trying to load two different programs on the same computer.
There was his life. Seventeen years of poverty, foster homes, and working three jobs just to afford ramen and rent. And then there was cold, and darkness, and the feeling of just stopping.
And then this.
He looked down at his hands. Small hands. Kid hands.
"What the hell," he whispered.
His voice cracked. Prepubescent.
Right. Because this day wasn't weird enough already.
A rat squeaked from a cage in the corner. Ron stared at it. Someone had decided a rat was an acceptable pet. Someone had made that choice.
There was a mirror on the wall, cracked and slightly crooked. He walked over to it, already knowing this was going to be bad.
Red hair. Flaming red hair. Freckles everywhere. Gangly kid body drowning in orange pajamas that had seen better days. He looked like a traffic cone had a baby with a ginger root.
"No," he said to his reflection. "No, no, no."
More memories slammed into him, but they weren't his. They were someone else's. A kid named Ron Weasley. Six older siblings. One younger sister. A house called "The Burrow." Parents named Molly and Arthur. A world of magic.
Magic. Actual magic.
He gripped the edge of the dresser, trying to process this. Either he'd gone completely insane, or he'd somehow transmigrated into a fictional character's body. In a world where magic was real.
And if this was Harry Potter world, then that meant Harry Potter was real. The Boy Who Lived. The famous kid who defeated Voldemort as a baby. Everyone knew about Harry Potter, even in his previous life the name had been everywhere. Memes, references, that weird coworker who wouldn't shut up about the movies.
But here, Harry Potter wasn't just a character. He was a real person. A famous person. The most famous person in the magical world.
And Ron Weasley was supposed to be his best friend.
"Oh hell," he muttered.
"RONALD! BREAKFAST!"
A woman's voice from downstairs, loud enough to rattle the mirror.
Ronald? Who the hell was Ronald?
Right. Him. He was Ronald now.
"RONALD BILIUS WEASLEY, IF YOU DON'T GET DOWN HERE THIS INSTANT!"
"COMING!" he yelled back, voice cracking again.
Great. Puberty round two. Just what he needed.
He grabbed clothes from a drawer. All hand-me-downs, all faded, all screaming "we're poor." Got dressed on autopilot while his brain tried to catch up.
Okay. Okay. Think.
He'd died at seventeen. Probably. The last thing he remembered was cold. And then nothing. And then this.
And now he was Ron Weasley. Ron Weasley from Harry Potter.
He sat down hard on the bed. The rat squeaked at him.
"Shut up, rat. I'm having a crisis."
He knew about Harry Potter the same way everyone knew about Harry Potter. Cultural osmosis. Memes. That one coworker. He knew there was a kid with a scar, and a villain with no nose, and something about a school. Hogwarts. That was it.
He knew Harry Potter married someone. He knew there were houses. Gryffindor was the good guy one, Slytherin was the evil one. He knew Dumbledore died. He knew someone named Hermione existed and was smart.
That was it. That was literally all he knew.
Which meant he was screwed.
"RONALD!"
"I SAID I'M COMING!"
He thundered down the stairs, multiple floors of them because this house was impossibly tall, following the smell of breakfast and the sound of chaos.
The kitchen was small enough that seven people shouldn't have physically fit, but magic apparently didn't care about spatial logistics. Ron could see the walls shimmering where someone had cast expansion charms. The ceiling was low. The floor tilted left. Everything was mismatched.
But it was warm. Warm from cooking and people and life.
Two identical redheads were arguing about something involving "dungbomb" and "Percy's room." Fred and George, the memories supplied. Twelve years old, just finished first year at Hogwarts. Their robes had scorch marks on the sleeves.
Percy sat at the far end reading "Cauldron Standards and Regulations" while making disapproving noises every thirty seconds like clockwork. Fourteen, pompous, headed into fourth year. His glasses kept sliding down his nose.
Ginny was stabbing her eggs with aggressive precision, red hair escaping its ponytail. Nine years old and clearly frustrated about something.
Arthur Weasley sat at the head of the table, thin and balding with kind eyes. He was trying to mediate toast distribution while burning his own. His robes were mismatched, and he looked at his kids with genuine warmth despite the chaos.
And at the center of it all, Molly Weasley was conducting breakfast chaos like a symphony. Nine pans floating at once, her wand directing food to plates with practiced ease. Her hair was frazzled, her apron stained, her face showing that particular look of maternal exasperation that suggested this was just another Tuesday.
It was loud. Twins arguing about dungbomb trajectories. Percy making disapproving noises. Ginny stabbing eggs. Arthur negotiating. Bacon sizzling, sausages popping, forks scraping.
The kind of noise Ron had never experienced in foster homes, where silence was safer and breakfast was cold cereal eaten alone.
"There you are!" Molly spotted him. "Honestly, Ron, I've called you three times! Sit down, sit down, breakfast is ready."
Ron sat at the table. A plate appeared in front of him before he'd even settled in. Magic, casual and everyday. The plate was piled high with eggs, bacon, sausages, toast, and beans.
Enough food for three meals. Maybe four.
When was the last time he'd seen this much food on one plate?
Never. The answer was never.
His stomach growled loud enough to interrupt Fred mid-sentence about optimal dungbomb placement.
"You alright, Ronnie?" Fred asked, looking at him with curiosity. The twins were identical. Same red hair, same brown eyes, same crooked grin. Ron had no idea how anyone told them apart. "You look like you've seen a ghost."
"Nearly Headless Nick doesn't live here," George added with the same grin.
"We don't have a Nearly Headless Nick," Percy said without looking up from his book. "And even if we did, ghosts don't reside in private homes. They're bound to locations of their death or significant emotional attachment, which in this case would be entirely impractical given residential structures."
"Percy, nobody cares," Ginny said, stabbing another egg.
"I was providing educational context, Ginevra."
"Don't call me that."
Ron started eating. The food was good. Really good. The eggs were fluffy, the bacon crispy, the sausages seasoned with herbs he couldn't identify. He ate steadily, methodically, because there was food and it was there and old habits said he didn't know when the next meal was coming.
"Ron, dear, are you feeling well?" Molly was looking at him with concern. "You're very quiet."
Right. Normal Ron probably wasn't this quiet. The memories suggested Ron Weasley complained about everything.
"Just tired," Ron said around a mouthful of eggs. "Didn't sleep great."
"Bad dreams?" Arthur asked gently.
The memories said Ron had nightmares sometimes. Convenient.
"Yeah. Bad dreams."
Arthur's face softened. "Well, eat up! You'll feel better with food in you."
Ron focused on his plate and kept eating. The twins went back to their argument. Percy returned to his cauldron regulations. Ginny continued her war against eggs. Molly fussed over everyone's plates. Arthur mediated disputes about the last sausage.
Nobody told him to be quiet. Nobody told him to leave. Nobody seemed to mind that he was just sitting there, eating their food, taking up space at their table.
They were just including him. Like it was normal. Like he belonged there.
Ron didn't know what to do with that.
"So, Ron," Percy said, finally looking up from his book. "Mother tells me you'll be getting your Hogwarts letter next year."
Right. Summer 1990, based on the memories. Ron Weasley was ten years old. Hogwarts letters went out at eleven. Which meant he had one year to figure out how to survive in a magical world with zero practical knowledge and a plot he couldn't remember.
No pressure.
"Yeah," Ron said carefully.
"It's a significant responsibility," Percy continued, adjusting his glasses. "The Weasley name has a reputation at Hogwarts. Bill was Head Boy, Charlie was Quidditch Captain. I'm hoping to be made Prefect next year when I'm in fifth year. You'll be expected to maintain certain standards of behavior and academic achievement."
"Percy, let him eat," Molly said gently.
"I was merely offering guidance."
"You were being a prat," Fred said cheerfully.
"Frederick Weasley!"
"It's true though," George added.
Ron watched this play out. These people had dynamics, relationships, history built over years. And he was supposed to slot into Ron Weasley's role and pretend he'd been part of it his whole life.
Sure. Easy.
"Where are Bill and Charlie?" Ron asked.
"Bill's in Egypt, dear," Molly said, her face brightening. "Working at Gringotts as a Curse-Breaker. He wrote last week, says the work is fascinating but dangerous."
"And Charlie's in Romania," Arthur added with pride. "Working with dragons. Living his dream."
"Dragons are brilliant," Ginny said suddenly.
"Dragons are dangerous," Molly corrected automatically.
So Bill and Charlie were grown and gone. That left five kids at home. Still loud. Still chaotic.
Still more family than Ron had ever had.
"I think I'd like to read about Hogwarts," Ron heard himself say. "Before I go. So I know what to expect."
The kitchen went silent.
Actually silent. Percy stopped reading. The twins stopped arguing. Ginny stopped stabbing eggs. Even the pans stopped floating.
Everyone was staring at him.
"Really?" Percy asked, straightening up so fast his glasses nearly fell off.
"You want to read?" Fred asked.
"Voluntarily?" George added.
Right. Because apparently Ron Weasley hated reading. The memories were clear on that.
Smooth. He'd been here less than an hour and he'd already made himself suspicious.
"It's not that weird," Ron said defensively. "I'm going there next year. Might as well know what to expect."
Molly's face softened. "That's very mature of you, dear."
Percy looked genuinely pleased. "I have several books you can borrow. Hogwarts, A History is essential, of course. I'll gather them for you after breakfast."
The twins exchanged a look. One of those silent twin conversations that Ron couldn't interpret. Ginny was staring at him like he'd grown a second head.
"What?" Ron asked.
"You never want to read," Ginny said flatly. "You always complain when Mum makes you practice writing."
Great.
"Maybe I'm growing up," Ron tried.
"You're ten," she pointed out.
"Never too early to start being responsible."
Fred and George were definitely watching him now. Calculating. These weren't stupid kids. They'd notice patterns.
He needed to be more careful.
"Well, I think it's wonderful," Molly said firmly. "Ron's taking an interest in his education. That's nothing to tease about."
"We're not teasing," Fred said innocently.
"Just observing," George added.
"How weird he's being," they said together.
"Boys," Molly warned.
Arthur cleared his throat. "Speaking of education, I got a fascinating new Muggle artifact at work yesterday. It's called a 'rubber duck.' Apparently Muggles put them in their baths? I can't quite figure out the purpose."
Ron bit back a laugh. Right. Arthur Weasley, obsessed with Muggle things.
"It's just a toy, Dad. Kids play with them in the bath."
"But why a duck?" Arthur looked genuinely puzzled. "Why rubber? What makes it suitable for bathing?"
"It's not that deep. It's just for fun."
Arthur's eyes lit up like Ron had just explained the secrets of the universe. "Fascinating! So it's purely recreational? No practical function?"
"Pretty much."
"Remarkable. Muggles have such creative approaches to leisure."
Arthur worked at the Ministry. The Ministry regulated everything magical in Britain. Licenses, laws, import restrictions, creature ownership. Arthur had access to that whole system.
Ron could work with this.
The conversation devolved into increasingly detailed questions about rubber ducks. Percy returned to his book. The twins whispered to each other and kept glancing at Ron. Ginny finished her breakfast and started kicking the table leg.
After about thirty minutes, breakfast finally ended. Ron helped clear the table. Molly looked surprised but pleased.
"Ron, wait!" Percy called. "Let me get those books for you."
Right. The books. Ron followed Percy upstairs, aware that Fred and George were watching him go with identical calculating expressions.
This was going to be complicated.
Percy's room was exactly what Ron expected. Immaculately organized. Shelves full of perfectly arranged books, sorted by subject and then alphabetically. A study desk with neat stacks of parchment. Quills arranged by size. Academic awards displayed on the walls in chronologically ordered frames.
The room of someone who took everything way too seriously.
Percy was pulling books off his shelf, assembling a stack on his desk that grew steadily taller.
"I've selected several texts I believe will be beneficial for your preparatory studies," Percy said in that pompous tone that made everything sound like a lecture. "Start with Hogwarts, A History. It covers the foundational information about the school's structure, history, and traditions."
"That's a lot of books," Ron said, eyeing the stack.
"Education is important, Ron. If you want to succeed at Hogwarts, you need to take your studies seriously." Percy picked up the top book like it was made of gold. "These will give you a solid foundation."
"Thanks, Percy. Really. I appreciate it."
Percy blinked, clearly surprised by the genuine gratitude. "Well. Yes. Of course. That's what older brothers are for." He adjusted his glasses. "If you have any questions while reading, feel free to ask. I'll be happy to provide clarification."
Ron gathered up the books, which were heavier than they looked, and headed back to his room. He passed Fred and George in the hallway. They stopped talking when they saw him.
"Books?" Fred asked.
"From Percy," George finished.
"Yeah. Thought I'd learn about Hogwarts before I go."
The twins looked at each other. Another one of those silent conversations.
"Interesting," Fred said slowly.
"Very interesting," George agreed.
Ron kept walking before they could start asking questions.
Back in his room, he dropped the books on the bed and looked around. Quidditch posters. Worn furniture. A rat in a cage. Everything threadbare and old and familiar in the way poverty always was.
He knew that feeling. He'd lived it his whole first life.
But this time he had something different. Ron Weasley's memories of how this world worked. And seventeen years of experience surviving on his own.
He picked up Hogwarts, A History and opened it to the first page.
Time to start learning.
An hour later, Ron's eyes were crossing from reading about the founders' philosophical differences regarding student selection criteria. He needed air.
The Burrow was surrounded by fields and trees and open space. It was quiet out here, away from the chaos inside. Peaceful in a way cities never were, where there was always traffic and sirens and people.
The house itself looked like it should've been condemned. Leaning noticeably to the left, windows mismatched and placed at random intervals, chimney crooked. Magic was clearly holding it together. Ron could see the shimmer of protective charms, the glow of structural spells.
It was chaotic and crooked and somehow still standing.
Kind of like Ron's current situation.
He found a spot under an old oak tree and sat down in the grass. The ground was warm from summer sun. The shade was cool.
He was ten years old in a world of magic. He had a family of seven siblings who'd notice if he kept acting wrong. He had one year before Hogwarts, before he'd be thrown into a plot he barely remembered with stakes he didn't understand.
"Ron?"
He nearly jumped out of his skin.
Ginny stood a few feet away, dirt on her knees, grass stains on her dress, red hair completely escaped from its ponytail. She looked like she'd been wrestling with the garden and the garden had won.
"What are you doing out here?" she asked.
"Thinking."
"About what?"
"Hogwarts."
Her whole face lit up. "Really? Me too! I can't wait to go. Everyone else has already been, and I'm stuck here for another whole year after you leave." She sighed dramatically and plopped down next to him without asking. "It's not fair."
"You'll get there eventually."
"I know, but waiting is terrible. Fred and George leave in two weeks for second year, and Percy's going back for fourth year, and then next year you'll leave too, and I'll be here all alone for an entire year." She kicked at the grass. "It's so boring."
Ron knew what it was like to be left behind. To watch everyone else move forward while you stayed stuck.
"I'll write to you," he said. "When I'm at Hogwarts. Every week. I'll tell you about everything."
She looked at him skeptically. "Really?"
"Really. Every week."
"Bill and Charlie never write unless Mum makes them. Fred and George only write when they want something. Percy's letters are so boring they might as well not count."
"I'll write," Ron promised. "Every week. Full details about everything."
Ginny stared at him for a long moment, like she was trying to figure out if he was serious. Then she grinned. "Okay. But if you forget, I'm telling Mum you're the one who broke her favorite vase last month."
"I didn't break it! That was Fred!"
"I know." She stood up, brushing grass off her dress. "But Mum doesn't. Come on. Mum's going to make us de-gnome the garden soon. Might as well go do it now before she has to yell."
Ron followed her back toward the Burrow, watching her skip ahead.
She'd just threatened to blackmail him. Over a vase. In his old life, that would've been genuine. Here it was a joke. Sibling banter.
He didn't know how to process that.
A family. He had a family now. People who'd notice if he disappeared. People who'd ask where he was.
That should feel good, right?
So why did it feel so terrifying?
That evening, Ron found himself at the dinner table again, surrounded by the controlled chaos of the Weasley family. Molly had made shepherd's pie. Three of them, all steaming and golden-brown. Enough food to feed twice their number.
Ron's plate was loaded before he'd even sat down.
"So, Ron," Arthur said between bites. "You mentioned you had bad dreams last night. Do you want to talk about them?"
Every eye at the table turned to him.
"Not really," Ron said. "I don't remember them that well."
"Sometimes talking helps," Arthur said gently, but he didn't push.
How was Ron supposed to talk about dying at seventeen? About poverty so severe he had to choose between eating and electricity? About being so alone that days would pass without speaking to another human being?
"I'm fine, Dad. Really."
Arthur studied him for a moment, then nodded. "Alright. But if you ever do want to talk, about anything at all, you know where to find me."
The offer was genuine. Ron could see it in Arthur's face, hear it in his voice.
The conversation moved on naturally. Percy talked about his summer reading list. The twins made plans for their remaining two weeks before going back to Hogwarts. Ginny complained about being bored. Molly fussed over everyone's eating habits.
Ron ate his shepherd's pie and watched them. The way Percy lectured but also listened. The way the twins bickered but also checked on Ginny. The way Ginny complained but also helped clear plates. The way Molly fussed but also trusted them. The way Arthur mediated but also let them work things out.
They cared about each other. Actually cared. It wasn't performance or obligation. It was genuine affection wrapped in chaos and noise.
He had one year before Hogwarts. One year to learn magic and figure out how to survive. One year to make sure he never ended up cold and alone again.
One year to build something worth keeping.
If the universe didn't take it away first.
Later that night, Ron lay in Ron Weasley's bed, staring at the ceiling in the dark.
He thought about his previous life. Seventeen years of fighting to survive. Three jobs. Never enough money. An apartment with a broken heater where he could see his breath in winter. Ramen for every meal because it was cheap. Being alone. Always alone.
No family. No friends. Nobody who cared if he lived or died.
And then cold, and nothing, and this.
He had a family now. A weird, loud, chaotic family. A little sister who'd blackmailed him just to make sure he'd write. Parents who'd asked if he was okay. Brothers who teased each other but would probably fight anyone else who tried.
It was overwhelming. And terrifying.
"Alright, universe," he muttered to the ceiling. "You gave me a second chance. Magic, a family, a world of possibilities. Don't screw with me now."
He had one year before Hogwarts. One year to prepare. One year to figure out how to never be poor again, how to understand magic, how to not mess everything up.
One year to prove he wasn't going to waste this.
Just his entire second life riding on not screwing up.
No pressure.
He closed his eyes. Sleep didn't come easily. His mind kept spinning through plans and problems. What if someone figured out he wasn't really Ron Weasley? What if magic could detect transmigration? What if he got attached to these people and the universe decided to take them away?
Eventually, exhaustion won.
And for the first time in longer than he could remember, he fell asleep in a bed that wasn't his, in a house full of people, and didn't wake up screaming.
That was something, at least.