The next morning, Ron was an entirely different person.
He didn't sleep in. In fact, he was awake before dawn—washed, dressed, and curled up on the sitting-room sofa with Scabbers clutched tightly to his chest.
When Molly Weasley came downstairs and nearly jumped out of her skin, she exclaimed, "Merlin's socks, Ron! What on earth are you doing lurking there?"
Ron stammered out an excuse, but it barely lasted a minute.
The twins—fresh from waking early to clean the garden—promptly sold him out.
"Ron's buttering up Vaughn!" Fred announced gleefully.
"That's right," George chimed in. "We overheard them—Vaughn said he might give Ron his Christmas present early. A brand-new wand."
"Indeed, George. A perfectly accurate account," Fred added solemnly. "Seems our foolish little brother isn't as thick as he looks. He knows how to respect those with Galleons."
"But still not sincere enough," George sighed. "Didn't even tell Mum!"
The twins volleyed lines back and forth like a rehearsed comedy act, teasing Ron until he looked ready to burst—then dashed out of the house, laughing all the way.
Vaughn was woken by their celebration.
By the time he sat up, the sun had climbed over Weasel Hill, sending striped bands of light across the room. Ginny was still asleep in his arms, curled against him.
She'd come in the night before with a storybook. Vaughn had read to her for nearly an hour before she finally drifted off.
That was one reason they were so close.
Bill and Charlie were already working away from home. Percy had no patience for anything beyond his books. And Fred and George were chaos incarnate.
Only Vaughn—and occasionally Ron—had the time to read Ginny bedtime stories.
Ron, however, only read the ones he liked, so Ginny had long since stopped asking him.
Vaughn carefully got up, dressed, and opened the window.
Down in the garden, old Errol, the retired family owl, was hopping clumsily through the bushes, flapping his tired wings and flushing out garden gnomes—foot-tall creatures with knobbly bodies and oversized heads.
Above him, Fred and George swooped about on broomsticks. Every time Errol scared out a gnome, the twins would dive, grab it, spin it round, and hurl it across the field, howling with laughter at the distant shrieks.
"Those two…" Vaughn muttered, amused. "They can turn anything into entertainment."
He scooped Ginny into his arms.
She stirred, rubbing her eyes. "Vaughn?"
"I'm going to Diagon Alley," he said gently. "You should go back to sleep."
She buried her face in his shoulder. "…I want a Chocolate Frog…"
"Alright," Vaughn promised. "I'll bring you one."
Carrying her downstairs, they ran into Molly.
"Oh, my two little treasures," she said fondly, pulling them into a hug. She dabbed at her eyes. "Vaughn, you're always so responsible—looking after Ginny, buying Ron a new wand… honestly, the old one would probably have managed."
Ron, hovering nearby, nearly crushed Scabbers in panic.
He looked terrified that Vaughn might change his mind and expose him in front of Mum.
But Vaughn only smiled.
"It's no trouble, Mum. It's only seven Galleons. Besides, a wand not chosen for its wizard can hold him back."
Only… seven…?
Ron felt like he'd swallowed something painfully sour.
Molly didn't argue. She'd long accepted that Vaughn was well-off, and though she didn't want Ron relying on his brother's money, she couldn't forbid a gift given freely.
She carried Ginny back upstairs without another word.
After breakfast, Molly pulled a flowerpot from the mantelpiece, filled with shimmering silver powder.
"Vaughn, you know how to use Floo Powder. Ron—listen carefully. Speak clearly: Diagon Alley!"
Ron nodded furiously, ears burning red.
Vaughn accepted the powder with a faint grimace. He'd never liked this method—soot everywhere—but until he learned Apparition, it would have to do.
He stepped into the fireplace, threw down the powder, and called:
"Diagon Alley!"
Green flames roared up around him.
The sensation was dreadful—stretching, spinning, hurtling through a tunnel of distorted images. After several dizzy seconds, he stumbled out of another fireplace, brushing ash from his robes.
He was in a small receiving alley lined with fireplaces set into dark brick walls. All around him, witches and wizards were emerging from green flames, many accompanied by excited children clutching lists.
Vaughn stepped aside to wait.
A second later, green flames flared again.
Ron shot out of the fireplace in a cloud of soot and landed face-first at Vaughn's feet.
"Ron," Vaughn laughed, helping him up. "Trying to make an entrance?"
Ron was too dizzy to answer.
By the time Molly arrived and dusted him off, Ron finally looked up—
And froze.
Diagon Alley.
A long cobbled street stretched ahead, crowded with witches and wizards in pointed hats. Shop windows gleamed on either side, divided into neat panes filled with magical curios. Sunlight poured in from above, making signs shimmer and wares sparkle.
A shop door opened nearby. A boy emerged chewing loudly—and with every bite, his hair changed colour.
Ron's mouth fell open.
His eyes followed the boy past a sign advertising joke and prank items—the shop Fred and George spoke of with near religious devotion.
The place Ron had visited countless times in his dreams.
Beside him, Vaughn said quietly, "Ron—welcome to Diagon Alley."
At the same moment, a cheerful voice echoed from behind them:
"Welcome to Diagon Alley!"
(End of Chapter)
PS :
Diagon Alley – Primary commercial street of the British wizarding world.