The second day in Ron Weasley's body started with an explosion.
Ron was halfway through breakfast when the kitchen filled with purple smoke and the sound of Percy shrieking. The twins, who'd been suspiciously quiet up until that moment, burst into laughter from somewhere upstairs.
"FRED! GEORGE!" Molly bellowed, her face turning an impressive shade of red that nearly matched her hair. She marched toward the stairs with the kind of purpose that suggested someone was about to die. "WHAT HAVE YOU DONE?"
"We didn't do anything!" came from upstairs. Fred, probably.
"Percy opened our trunk without permission!" George added.
"It's not our fault he triggered the defense mechanism!" they said together.
Percy thundered down the stairs, covered head to toe in purple powder that sparkled slightly in the morning light. His glasses were crooked and his expression was murderous. "They booby-trapped their trunk! Who booby-traps a trunk?"
"People with nosy brothers," the twins said in unison from the landing above, grinning identical grins.
Ron bit back a laugh and focused on his eggs. This was normal for them. Explosions before breakfast. Magic fixing everything. Just another Tuesday at the Burrow.
It was insane. And kind of wonderful.
"Boys, honestly," Molly said, but her tone had shifted from murderous to exasperated. She waved her wand and the purple powder vanished from Percy's robes. "Fred, George, no more booby traps. Percy, stop going through your brothers' things. Everyone sit down and finish breakfast."
The twins came downstairs, still grinning, and sat down at the table like nothing had happened. Percy sat as far away from them as possible, still glaring. Ginny was trying not to laugh. Arthur looked up from the Daily Prophet, took in the scene, then went back to his newspaper without comment. Molly returned to cooking.
Ron ate his breakfast and watched the chaos settle back into normal family noise. The twins bickered about something. Percy read his book. Ginny kicked the table leg. Arthur read his paper. Molly managed everyone.
"Ron," Percy said without looking up from his book. "Did you start reading Hogwarts, A History?"
"Yeah, actually. Got through the first three chapters last night."
Percy looked up, surprised. "Really? Most students find it rather dry. What did you think?"
Ron had actually found it fascinating, but not for the reasons Percy probably expected. The book was clearly written from a biased perspective, glossing over uncomfortable historical facts and focusing on the "glory" of Hogwarts. But between the lines, he could see the actual structure of the magical education system, and it was wildly inefficient.
"It's interesting," he said carefully. "Though I have some questions about the curriculum structure."
"Questions?" Percy straightened up, looking pleased. "Such as?"
Ron should have kept his mouth shut. But his brain was already analyzing the system, finding the inefficiencies, seeing the problems.
"Just, uh, why do students only take core classes for the first two years? Seems like it would make more sense to introduce electives earlier so students can specialize."
The table went quiet. Everyone was staring at him.
"That's actually a legitimate pedagogical question," Percy said slowly, and he looked genuinely impressed. "The current system dates back to the medieval period when magical education was less formalized. There have been reform proposals, but tradition is difficult to overcome in the wizarding world."
"Tradition or institutional inertia?" Ron asked, then immediately regretted it when Percy's eyes lit up like Christmas had come early.
"Precisely! The resistance to educational reform is a perfect example of how the Ministry fails to modernize outdated practices. You see, the problem stems from the Hogwarts Board of Governors, who are predominantly from old pureblood families with vested interests in maintaining the status quo. If we examine the historical precedent—"
"Percy," Molly interrupted gently. "Perhaps save the lecture for after breakfast?"
"I was merely answering Ron's question."
"You were gearing up for a dissertation," Fred said.
"We could all feel it coming," George added.
Ron focused on his eggs, trying not to draw more attention to himself. Asking intelligent questions was apparently not normal Ron behavior. He needed to remember that. But it was hard. The magical world was so backwards in some ways, so fascinating in others. He wanted to understand how it all worked, wanted to find the gaps and inefficiencies.
Except Ron Weasley wasn't supposed to be interested in systemic analysis. Ron Weasley was supposed to be loud and impulsive and not particularly academic.
He needed to act more normal. Whatever that meant.
"Ron," Arthur said, and there was something thoughtful in his voice. "You've been very curious these past couple of days. Asking interesting questions."
"I'm just thinking about Hogwarts a lot," Ron said.
"And using words like 'institutional inertia,'" Fred said.
"At breakfast," George added.
"While voluntarily reading," they said together.
"It's very concerning," Fred said with a grin.
"Deeply suspicious," George agreed, also grinning.
"Maybe he's been body-snatched," they suggested together.
"Boys," Molly said warningly, but she was smiling slightly.
Ron caught the look Fred and George exchanged. They were joking, but they were also watching him. Cataloguing the changes.
"Look," Ron said, going for defensive annoyance. "I'm going to Hogwarts next year. I don't want to show up and be completely lost. Is that really so weird?"
"Yes," Ginny said flatly.
"You hate reading," she continued. "You complain about writing. You only pay attention in lessons when Mum threatens to take away dessert."
"Maybe I'm maturing."
"You're ten," she pointed out.
"People can mature at ten!"
"Not you," she said with brutal honesty.
Ron opened his mouth to argue, then closed it. She wasn't wrong. The original Ron apparently had zero interest in academics.
"Fine," he said. "I'm being weird. Can everyone stop staring at me now?"
"Why are you being weird though?" Ginny asked.
"I don't know! I just am!"
That was apparently acceptable, because the conversation moved on to other things. Percy returned to his book, though Ron noticed him glancing over occasionally with a thoughtful expression. The twins whispered to each other. Molly fussed over everyone's portions. Arthur asked questions about Muggle breakfast cereals that Ron only half-answered.
After breakfast, Ron escaped to his room with the book. He needed to be more careful. Smart questions drew attention. He had to find the balance between learning what he needed and acting like a normal ten-year-old.
He'd gotten through maybe another chapter when someone knocked on his door.
"Yeah?"
The door opened. Fred and George walked in without waiting for permission.
"So," Fred said, pulling something out of his pocket. "We made something."
It was a small wrapped candy, purple paper with a twisted design.
"We call it Tongue Twister," George said.
"Makes your tongue turn purple," Fred explained.
"For about an hour," George added.
"Maybe two," they said together, grinning.
Ron examined the candy. It looked professional, almost. "And you want me to...?"
"Test it," Fred said.
"Before we use it on Percy," George added.
"Or Filch when we get back to school," they said together.
"You're making pranks just to use them?" Ron asked.
"Well yeah," the twins said, like it was obvious.
Ron turned the candy over in his hands. This was an opportunity. A real, concrete opportunity.
"People would probably pay for these, you know," he said casually.
The twins stopped. Looked at each other. Looked back at Ron.
"Pay?" Fred said slowly.
"For pranks?" George added.
"Why would anyone pay for pranks?" they asked together.
"Because not everyone can make them," Ron explained. "But lots of people want them. Supply and demand."
The twins stared at him.
"You know about economics?" Fred asked.
"You're ten," George added.
"I read it somewhere," Ron lied. "But think about it. Hogwarts has hundreds of students, right? And kids love pranks. If you made these safe and consistent, you could probably charge..." He thought about magical currency. The memories supplied the information. "A Sickle each? Maybe more if they're really good."
The twins looked at each other. Something was clicking into place behind their eyes.
"A Sickle each," Fred repeated.
"That's seventeen Sickles per Galleon," George calculated.
"If we sold seventeen of these..." Fred started.
"That's a Galleon," George finished.
"We could make hundreds of these," they said together.
"That's a lot of Galleons," Ron agreed.
The twins sat down on his bed, both of them staring at the candy like they were seeing it for the first time.
"We never thought about selling them," Fred said quietly.
"We just made them for fun," George agreed.
"For pranking Percy and Filch," Fred added.
"But if people would actually pay..." George continued.
"We could make different products," Fred said, and now he was getting excited.
"Different pranks for different situations," George agreed.
"Test them properly," they said together, and now they were both grinning.
Ron watched them work through it. Watched the idea take root. He wasn't pushing, wasn't explaining too much. Just letting them discover it themselves.
"How do you know this stuff?" Fred asked suddenly.
"I don't," Ron said quickly. "I'm just guessing. But people pay for stuff that makes them laugh, right?"
"Huh," George said.
"Our little brother the businessman," Fred said.
"Interesting," George agreed.
They left a few minutes later, taking the candy with them but leaving Ron with a promise to "test it properly" and "let him know the results."
Ron lay back on his bed and stared at the ceiling. He'd just planted the seed of a business idea in two twelve-year-olds' heads. The twins were creative, clever, had the instinct for what people wanted. If he could position himself as a partner, as someone who understood the business side while they handled the creativity...
That was useful. That was valuable.
He was building something here. Slowly, carefully.
Lunch was quieter. Just the family around the table, sandwiches and soup. Percy was reading another book. The twins were whispering about something and occasionally glancing at Ron with calculating expressions. Ginny was drawing on a napkin. Arthur was halfway through the Daily Prophet. Molly was making sure everyone actually ate.
"Ron," Percy said suddenly. "I've been thinking about your question this morning."
"What question?"
"About curriculum structure," Percy said, adjusting his glasses. "You demonstrated genuine intellectual curiosity. That's commendable. Most students your age don't think critically about educational systems."
"Uh, thanks?"
"I wanted to offer additional assistance," Percy continued. "Beyond the books I've provided. I could help you understand the practical aspects of Hogwarts life. The house system, the class structure, the expectations of various professors."
"That would be great, actually," Ron said, and meant it. Information was valuable. Understanding was valuable.
Percy looked genuinely pleased. "Excellent. We could begin this evening after dinner. I have several texts that might prove useful. And if you have questions about specific subjects, I'd be happy to provide guidance."
"He'd be thrilled to provide guidance," Fred muttered.
"He lives for providing guidance," George added.
"Organization and guidance are the foundations of academic success," Percy said primly.
"Organization is boring," Ginny said without looking up from her napkin.
"You'll understand when you're older, Ginevra."
"Don't call me that."
Molly sighed, but she was smiling. "Can we have one meal without bickering?"
"No," everyone said together.
Ron watched this exchange and felt something settle in his chest. This was normal for them. The bickering, the teasing, the chaos. It wasn't hostile. It was just how they communicated.
He could work with this.
After lunch, Arthur found Ron in the garden. The afternoon was warm, the sun bright, and Ron had been trying to process everything from the morning.
"There you are!" Arthur said, smiling. He had a plastic bag with him, Muggle logo on the side. "I brought something from work. Thought you might find it interesting."
He pulled out a metal cylinder with a button on one end. "It's called a flashlight! Or a torch, depending on which Muggle you ask."
Ron recognized it immediately. Standard flashlight. Battery-powered. Nothing special.
But Arthur was holding it like it was the most amazing thing he'd ever seen.
"It creates light," Arthur said, clicking the button. The flashlight turned on. "Without magic! Without fire! The Muggles use this electricity you mentioned yesterday."
"Yeah," Ron said, watching Arthur's face light up with genuine wonder. "It's pretty common."
"But how does it work?" Arthur asked, turning the flashlight over in his hands. "Where does the light come from?"
"There's a battery inside. It stores electrical energy. When you push the button, you complete a circuit that lets electricity flow to the bulb."
"A circuit? Like a circle?"
"Sort of. The electricity needs a complete path to flow through. The button controls it."
"Fascinating!" Arthur sat down on the grass, still examining the flashlight, and gestured for Ron to sit next to him. Ron did.
"You know so much about Muggle technology," Arthur said. "Most wizards your age wouldn't understand these things."
"I think it's interesting how Muggles solve problems without magic," Ron said honestly. "They have to figure everything out using logic and science."
Arthur beamed. "Exactly! That's exactly what I think! But most wizards dismiss Muggles as primitive. They don't see the ingenuity, the creativity required to build civilization without magic."
"Magic makes things easier," Ron said. "But that doesn't make it better."
"Precisely!" Arthur looked delighted. "You know, your mother mentioned you've been acting differently. More curious, more engaged. I think it's wonderful."
Ron felt something warm in his chest at that. Arthur wasn't suspicious. Wasn't worried. He was just pleased.
"Can you tell me more about Muggle technology?" Arthur asked. "I've been trying to understand this 'telephone' concept. How do Muggles talk to each other over long distances without magic?"
Ron spent the next hour explaining telephones, electricity, radio waves. Arthur asked endless questions, genuinely fascinated by every answer. It felt easy. Natural. Like a normal conversation.
And somewhere in the back of Ron's mind, a small voice said: This is nice.
He didn't shove it down this time. Just let it sit there.
That evening, Ron found himself outside with Ginny, de-gnoming the garden. She'd dragged him out after dinner, claiming it was his turn to help.
"This is disgusting," Ron said, pulling a gnome out of the dirt. The thing bit his finger. "Ow!"
"They always bite," Ginny said, throwing her gnome over the fence with impressive force. "You get used to it."
They worked in silence for a few minutes.
"You're different now," Ginny said eventually.
"So I keep hearing."
"But it's not bad different," she continued. "You actually listen now. Before, you'd just tell me to go away when I tried to talk to you."
Ron didn't remember that, but the memories confirmed it. The old Ron had been dismissive of Ginny. Too focused on his older brothers to care about his little sister.
"Sorry," Ron said.
Ginny shrugged, pulling another gnome. "It's okay. You're nicer now. And you promised to write to me when you go to Hogwarts."
"I did promise that."
"And you'll actually do it?" She threw the gnome. "Not like Bill and Charlie who forget?"
"I'll do it," Ron said. "Every week. Full details about everything."
She looked at him for a long moment, then nodded. "Okay. I believe you."
They finished de-gnoming in comfortable silence. The sun was setting, painting the Burrow in orange and gold. Inside, Ron could hear the twins laughing about something, Percy lecturing, Molly telling everyone to wash up.
Normal family chaos.
Ron was starting to recognize the rhythm of it. The pattern. The way it worked.
"Come on," Ginny said, heading back inside. "Mum made treacle tart for dessert."
Ron followed her, listening to the sounds of the Burrow settling in for evening. Comfortable sounds. Safe sounds.
Two days. He'd been in this world for two days.
It already felt more real than his previous life.
That should have terrified him.
But right now, following Ginny inside toward treacle tart and family chaos, Ron found he didn't mind as much as he thought he would.