The days were starting to blur together in a way Ron found both comfortable and strange.
Comfortable because routines were forming. Breakfast chaos, reading while everyone did their own things, helping with chores, listening to Arthur ramble about whatever caught his attention. Dinner with the whole family talking over each other. Evening in the sitting room before bed.
Strange because it felt normal. Like this was just his life now.
Which it was, technically. He lived here. These were his people.
Ron shoved that thought aside and focused on the chess board.
"Your move," he said.
Ginny studied the pieces with fierce concentration. She'd been improving steadily over the past few days, actually thinking ahead now instead of just reacting. She moved her knight, threatening his bishop while opening a diagonal for her queen.
Not bad. Actually kind of clever.
"Better," Ron said, moving his own knight to counter.
Ginny frowned at the board. "I'm never going to beat you."
"Not with that attitude. Try again."
She studied the board again, chewing her lip the way she did when she was thinking hard. Then her face lit up and she moved her rook.
Ron grinned. "Much better. Now I actually have to think."
"Really?" Ginny looked pleased with herself.
"Really. That's a solid move."
They were in the sitting room, the whole family gathered after dinner. It seemed to be a regular thing. Arthur sat in his armchair with the Daily Prophet spread across his lap, though "reading" was generous considering he kept looking up to comment on articles. Molly was knitting something that might eventually become a jumper. Percy had claimed the good couch with a book that looked like it weighed more than Ginny. The twins were in the corner whispering about something, probably planning their next disaster.
It was comfortable. Familiar. The kind of evening that felt like it could stretch on forever.
"Listen to this," Arthur said, looking up from his newspaper. "The Department of Magical Games and Sports is considering new regulations for Quidditch broom specifications. Apparently there's been controversy about modifications giving unfair advantages."
"That's not what it says," Percy said without looking up from his book.
"I'm paraphrasing."
"Inaccurately. It says they're considering proposals. Very different from actually proposing regulations."
"It's the same general idea."
"Details matter in journalism, Father."
Arthur smiled mildly and went back to his paper. Percy returned to his book. Neither of them seemed actually annoyed by the exchange.
Ron catalogued this. Arthur simplified things. Percy corrected with exasperated precision. Both continued without hard feelings. Understanding how people communicated was useful. Also, watching Percy get worked up about Quidditch journalism was kind of entertaining.
"What does the Department of Magical Games and Sports do besides Quidditch?" Ron asked.
Arthur brightened immediately. "Oh, quite a lot actually! They oversee all magical sports, of course. Quidditch, Gobstones, Exploding Snap tournaments. But they also manage magical games regulations, betting standards, organization of international competitions. They work closely with the Department of International Magical Cooperation for events like the Quidditch World Cup."
"There's a World Cup?" Ron asked. The memories confirmed this, but he wanted details.
"Every four years," Arthur explained. "Nations compete for the championship. It's quite spectacular. The last one was in 1986. We didn't attend, obviously. Tickets are expensive and with seven children..." He trailed off with a slightly wistful expression.
"Maybe we can go to the next one," Molly said from her knitting. "In 1994. The older children will be working by then. Might be more affordable."
"That's still four years away," Ginny said. "That's forever."
"It'll come faster than you think, dear."
Ron filed this away. 1994. Quidditch World Cup. Something important happened there, he was pretty sure, but he couldn't remember what. Just that it was significant.
"The Department of Magical Games and Sports used to be part of the Department of International Magical Cooperation," Percy said, still not looking up. "They split in 1903 due to disagreements about competitive versus diplomatic priorities. It's actually a fascinating case study in bureaucratic reorganization."
"Fascinating might be overstating it," Fred muttered.
"Incredibly boring might be more accurate," George added.
Percy ignored them. "The Ministry has seven major departments, each handling different aspects of magical society. Understanding the structure is essential for anyone interested in magical governance."
Ron was interested, actually. The Ministry regulated everything magical in Britain. Understanding how it worked meant understanding how to navigate it. Where the rules were. Where the gaps were.
"What are the seven departments?" Ron asked.
Percy finally looked up, and his expression brightened. Someone actually wanted to hear him explain something.
"The Department of Magical Law Enforcement is the largest," Percy began, adjusting his glasses. "They handle magical crime, the Auror Office, and Wizengamot Administration Services. Then there's the Department of Magical Accidents and Catastrophes, which includes the Accidental Magic Reversal Squad and Obliviator Headquarters. The Department of International Magical Cooperation manages Britain's relationships with other magical nations. The Department of Magical Transportation oversees the Floo Network, Apparition testing, Portkey Office, and Broom Regulatory Control. The Department of Magical Games and Sports we just discussed. And finally the Department of Mysteries, which is highly classified, and the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures."
Seven departments. Each one regulating different parts of magical society. Each one with its own rules and procedures.
"What does the Department of Mysteries do if it's classified?" Ron asked.
"No one really knows," Arthur said. "They research... things. Magical phenomena. Very secretive. Even most Ministry employees don't know what goes on down there."
"The Unspeakables, as they're called, are some of the brightest minds in magical Britain," Percy added. "Though their work is so classified that even the Minister has limited access."
The twins snorted.
"You just want to work there because it sounds impressive," Fred said.
"And you could tell people you know secrets," George added.
"I have no such ambitions," Percy said stiffly. "I intend to work in International Magical Cooperation."
"This week," they said together. "Last week it was Magical Law Enforcement."
Percy's ears turned red. "I'm exploring career options. That's called being thorough."
"That's called being indecisive," Fred said.
"We know what we're doing," George added.
"Starting a joke shop," they said together, grinning.
Molly looked up sharply from her knitting. "A joke shop?"
The twins exchanged a look. "Eventually," Fred said carefully.
"After Hogwarts," George added.
"Maybe," they said together.
"You'll do no such thing," Molly said firmly. "You'll get proper jobs. With the Ministry or somewhere respectable."
Ron's brain immediately started calculating. A joke shop could absolutely work. The magical economy was wildly inefficient from what he'd seen. Novelty items had high profit margins. And there was definitely a market for it. Every kid at Hogwarts wanted pranks, right?
"A joke shop could be respectable," Ron said before thinking it through. "If it was done well. Good products, fair prices, proper location."
Everyone looked at him.
The twins' expressions shifted to something calculating. Interested.
"See, Mum?" Fred said. "Even Ron thinks it's a good idea."
"Ron's ten," Molly said. "He doesn't understand business complexities."
Ron almost argued but caught himself. Molly didn't need to know he'd been analyzing the magical economy since he got here and could see approximately seventeen different inefficiencies that a well-run joke shop could exploit.
"It's just an idea anyway," George said diplomatically. "We've got years before we need to decide."
"You'll work somewhere proper," Molly said firmly, returning to her knitting. "Both of you."
The twins exchanged another look but didn't argue. Ron caught them glancing at him though. Calculation. Interest. He'd just given them ammunition for future arguments.
Investment in their future success. That's all it was.
"Your move," Ginny said, pulling his attention back to the chess board.
Ron studied the pieces. She'd actually set up a decent trap while he wasn't paying attention.
"Sneaky," he said, moving his king out of danger.
"I'm learning," Ginny said proudly.
They played in comfortable silence for a while. The room settled into evening quiet. Arthur reading, Molly knitting, Percy studying, the twins whispering, Ron and Ginny focused on the board.
The absurdity hit him sometimes. Playing chess in a crooked house held together by magic while people discussed flying broom regulations and government departments that researched "time and death and thought."
Sure. Normal Tuesday.
"Ron," Percy said suddenly. "I've been meaning to ask. Have you given thought to which house you'd like to be sorted into?"
Ron looked up from the chess board. "What?"
"At Hogwarts. The four houses. Gryffindor, Hufflepuff, Ravenclaw, Slytherin. Each has different characteristics. Have you considered which might suit you?"
"I thought the hat decided."
"It does, but the hat considers the student's preference. It helps if you have an idea where you might fit."
Ron knew the basics from cultural osmosis. Gryffindor was brave. Slytherin was evil. Ravenclaw was smart. Hufflepuff was... the other one?
That was probably wildly inaccurate, but it was all he had.
"What house are you in?" Ron asked, though he suspected he knew.
"Gryffindor," Percy said proudly. "As are Fred and George, and Bill and Charlie before them. The Weasleys have been Gryffindor for generations."
"So I'll probably be Gryffindor too."
"Most likely. The hat considers family history and values. Gryffindor values bravery, courage, determination."
"Gryffindor values showing off and getting into unnecessary trouble," the twins said together.
"We do not—"
"You challenged Marcus Flint to a duel over chess rules," Fred said.
"That was a matter of principle," Percy said stiffly.
"That was you being a prat," George added.
Ron watched this with amusement. The houses had personalities. And rivalries. And expectations.
"What about Ravenclaw?" Ron asked. "You said they value intelligence?"
"Ravenclaw values learning, wit, wisdom," Percy explained. "They're scholars and thinkers. Very academically focused."
That actually sounded more Ron's style. Analysis. Understanding systems. Learning how things worked.
"Could I be sorted there instead?" he asked.
Everyone stared.
"You want to be in Ravenclaw?" Ginny asked, looking betrayed. "But we're Gryffindors!"
"I was just asking," Ron said quickly. "Hypothetically."
"The hat sorts you where you belong," Arthur said gently. "You might prefer one house, but the hat sees deeper. It sees your true nature."
That was either reassuring or terrifying depending on what a magical hat could actually detect in a transmigrator's mind.
"You'll be Gryffindor," Percy said confidently. "You have the right qualities. Curiosity, determination, willingness to question things."
"If you say so."
The conversation moved on, but Ron kept thinking. The sorting hat. Houses. Expectations. He had a year to figure out who he needed to be. What mask would work best.
Just another variable to plan for.
They finished their chess game. Ginny lost but came closer than she ever had before. Everyone started heading to bed. Arthur put away the newspaper. Molly packed up her knitting. Percy gathered his books. The twins disappeared upstairs still whispering about something.
"Goodnight, Ron," Ginny said, heading toward her room.
"Night."
Ron went to his own room, but his brain wouldn't settle. The Ministry structure. The departments. The regulations. The house system. Information stacking up, organizing itself, showing him how things worked.
He lay in bed staring at the ceiling, cataloguing what he'd learned. Seven departments, each regulating different aspects of magical society. Four houses, each with different values and expectations. A family that actually discussed things at dinner instead of sitting in hostile silence.
He should probably sleep. Tomorrow would be another day of learning, building connections, preparing for Hogwarts.
But his mind kept spinning.
He heard voices from downstairs. Low murmuring. His parents, talking in their room.
Ron sat up. He shouldn't eavesdrop. That was an invasion of privacy.
He got out of bed and crept to his door, opening it just enough to hear.
"...worried about him, Arthur," Molly was saying. "He's so different. You said it yourself. Asking questions he never would have asked before. Using words he shouldn't know. Reading voluntarily."
"I know," Arthur said, and his voice was warm. "Isn't it wonderful?"
"Wonderful?" Molly's voice rose slightly. "Arthur, it's concerning. Children don't just change their entire personality overnight."
"He hasn't changed his personality. He's developing. Growing up. Some children mature earlier than others."
"Not like this," Molly insisted. "Not this dramatically. What if something's wrong? What if he's been cursed? Or hit his head and we didn't notice? We should take him to St. Mungo's. Just for a check-up."
Ron's heart rate spiked. St. Mungo's. The magical hospital. Where they could run tests. Where they might detect things like his mind not matching his body.
That would be very bad.
"Molly, love, I really don't think that's necessary," Arthur said. "Ron seems perfectly healthy to me. Happy, even. He's engaged with the family, he's learning, he's helping with Ginny. These are positive changes."
"But why now? Why so suddenly?"
"Does it matter?" Arthur asked. "Perhaps he's decided to take his education seriously. Perhaps he's excited about Hogwarts. Perhaps seeing his older brothers succeed has inspired him. Children develop at different rates, Molly. You know this."
Silence for a moment.
"You really think he's alright?" Molly asked.
"I think he's more than alright," Arthur said, and there was genuine pride in his voice. "I think he's thriving. Do you know what he asked me yesterday? He wanted to know how Muggle telephones worked. Not just that they existed, but the actual mechanism. The physics of it. It was brilliant, Molly. He has such an interesting mind."
Ron's chest tightened at the tone in Arthur's voice. Genuine pride. Actual enthusiasm about Ron being curious.
"You're proud of him," Molly said softly.
"I am. Very proud. He's showing intellectual curiosity and critical thinking. Those are wonderful traits to have."
Another pause.
"You don't think we should be worried?" Molly asked.
"I think we should be supportive," Arthur said firmly. "Encouraging. If Ron wants to learn, we should help him learn. If he's curious about the Ministry or magic or Muggles, we should answer his questions. And I truly believe nothing is wrong. Our son is simply growing up."
"And if something is wrong?"
"Then we'll handle it," Arthur said. "But I don't believe anything is. Trust me, Molly."
Silence for a long moment.
"I do trust you," Molly said finally. "You're probably right. I just worry. It's what mothers do."
"I know. But Ron is fine. Better than fine."
Ron heard movement, the sounds of them settling in for the night.
He crept back to his bed and lay down, staring at the ceiling.
Arthur was defending him. Not just accepting the changes but actively arguing they were good. Pushing back against St. Mungo's. Saying Ron was thriving.
The tightness in his chest hadn't gone away.
Ron focused on the practical instead. Arthur was an ally. A genuine one. Someone who'd defend Ron's right to learn and ask questions. Someone who'd push back against concerns about curses or hospitals.
That was valuable. That was critical.
The Ministry structure he'd learned today. The departments and their functions. The house system and what it meant. Arthur as an active defender, not just a passive parent.
Building blocks. Information. Advantages.
He was building something here. Understanding the territory. Finding his place in it.
One year until Hogwarts. One year to learn enough to survive whatever came next.
His mind spun with plans and possibilities. What he needed to learn. What connections to build. How to navigate a school he barely understood in a world that made no sense.
Ron closed his eyes and tried to sleep.
He fell asleep thinking about the Ministry departments and their regulations. About houses and sorting hats and expectations.
Not about Arthur's voice saying "I'm very proud."
Not about that at all.