[Castling] Chapter 58

We lounged around the Burrow’s living room for a good while, everyone sprawled wherever they could, cups of tea balanced on knees and chair arms, still buzzing from the match. I was feeling pretty content, letting the others do most of the talking. We were home, safe, and Luna had already sent me an owl to say she’d made it back as well—so there was nothing to worry about.

Fred and George were bragging about how they’d managed to get double the amount of autographs from the Irish team—apparently, they’d cornered the players on the stairs and were now calculating how much they could make flogging them off to fans.

Ginny, meanwhile, was proudly showing Mum Viktor Krum’s signature on her programme while fending off the twins, who were promising her the moon and stars in exchange for it.

Percy, as usual, was full of himself, going on about how he’d been in the same box as the Minister and a bunch of Quidditch stars, and had witnessed the trophy ceremony up close. The rest of us just kept reliving the best moments of the match, retelling every spectacular move like we hadn’t all been there to see it ourselves.

“Dad, is it true they’re bringing back the Triwizard Tournament this year at Hogwarts?” I asked casually.

Dad nearly choked on his tea. “Ron! Where on earth did you hear that?”

I smirked. “You’re not the only one who works at the Ministry. Overheard someone talking when I went to get water… So? Is it true?”

Dad sighed in defeat. “It’s true.”

“Ohhh!” The twins perked up instantly. “Brilliant! We’re definitely entering—”

“Oh no, you are not!” Mum cut in sharply.

“What’s the Triwizard Tournament?” Harry asked, glancing at Hermione, who had already opened her mouth to answer, but Mum shut it down before she could.

“You’ll find out soon enough,” she said briskly, standing up and glancing at the clock. “Right now, bed. All of you.”

We grumbled for show, but between the excitement of the match and the late night, we were all too tired to put up much of a fight.

The next day was a lazy one. Staying up half the night had caught up with us, and no one really surfaced until late afternoon. By then, everyone was itching to try out some of the feints and dives we’d seen at the match, so we spent the rest of the day messing about on our brooms. Shame the backyard wasn’t nearly big enough—no room to really go for it.

The Daily Prophet was oddly tame as well—no Dark Marks, no riots, just gushing articles about the game and in-depth match analysis. Exactly what Charlie had predicted.

“With an event that high-profile, someone had to take my report seriously,” he said, flipping through the paper. “Even if they didn’t entirely believe it, they’d have strengthened security around the campsite and that Muggle’s house—just in case. The Department of Magical Law Enforcement works directly with the Auror Office. That means anyone tied to either department would’ve been aware of the extra precautions.

“Malfoy’s got Fudge in his pocket, and if your vision was right, Ron, then a lot of Death Eaters are still lurking around the Ministry. They must’ve decided it wasn’t worth the risk and called off the show of force.”

Made sense. Probably why Crouch hadn’t let his son come to the match either. Whatever the reason, I wasn’t complaining.

By evening, Bill pulled me aside and led me upstairs to his room, where Charlie was already waiting.

“For starters,” Bill said, pushing a few hefty coin bags across the table, “here’s your winnings and your betting slip.”

“Cheers, Bill,” I said sincerely, scanning the neat figures on the parchment. Fifteen thousand. That’d be enough to buy a place of my own once I came of age. No more crashing at home until I ‘got on my feet’—I could sort myself out properly.

“That’s a lot of money, Ron,” Bill said, watching me carefully. “You could do a lot with it… Just be careful it doesn’t go to your head.”

“Don’t worry,” I replied dryly, sweeping the coin bags into my school satchel, which was already charmed to hold more than it looked. “I’ve got plans.”

“Right, enough lecturing,” Charlie cut in impatiently. “Ron’s got his head screwed on. Now, Bill—what’s going on with Gringotts and our problem?”

“Same as before,” Bill said, leaning back in his chair. “There are ways around it, but you need to tell me exactly what you’re planning. Goblins don’t forgive easily. If you lot screw this up and get caught, Azkaban will seem like a holiday.”

Charlie met his gaze and said flatly, “It’s about him—You-Know-Who. He gave Bellatrix an artefact that makes him practically immortal. She stashed it in her vault.

“Now, in theory, it’s fine staying there. But as long as it exists, he can’t be killed. There’s going to be a war, and it’ll drag on forever unless we do something about it. Our family won’t be safe.”

Bill frowned. “You’re sure?”

“Would I risk everything on a hunch?” Charlie snapped, running a hand down his face before meeting Bill’s eyes again. “Don’t ask how I know, just trust me—I do. A lot of what’s been predicted has already happened.

“Ginny nearly died in second year—another one of those artefacts nearly drained her magic and took over her body. We managed to stop it. This one has to be destroyed too.”

The room fell silent.

After a long pause, Bill spoke. “I’ve been offered a transfer to Gringotts’ main branch,” he said thoughtfully. “If what you’re saying is true, Charlie, I’m going to take it. I’ll be in a position to help.”

“That’d kill your career,” Charlie said sharply. “I wasn’t planning on dragging you this deep—just needed your advice.”

Bill snorted. “If this gets as bad as you say, what the hell does a career matter? Without me, your chances of pulling this off without getting caught are slim to none.

“The Lestrange vault is on the most heavily guarded level in the bank. I already know the majority of the security charms, and I can disable them. As long as you don’t take anything else from the vault, I won’t break my contract with the goblins.

“But I can’t enter the vault myself—my oath prevents it. That’s the main problem. To unlock it, a goblin with the right clearance has to place their entire palm on the door. There are ways around that, but it’s going to take time.

“And even if we get inside, the artefact is bound to be enchanted with its own protections. We need to figure out what they are first, and I don’t have access to that information yet.”

We sat in Bill’s room, the air thick with tension.

"Flagrante Curse and the Doubling Charm," I said, watching my brothers' eyebrows shoot up. "That’s the security inside the vault. But we’re not taking anything, just bringing in something transfigured into a branch, hooking the cup, and dousing it in venom. The dragon can be driven off with an iron-clad bludgeoner, and the Thief’s Downfall can be disabled."

Bill frowned. "You know an awful lot about this, Ron," he said, narrowing his eyes. But he didn’t push for details—he knew he wasn’t getting any.

"Alright, Ron, you head off. Bill and I will go over everything," Charlie said, standing up.

I nodded, feeling oddly light as I left. At least I wasn’t handling all of this alone—having someone to back me up made all the difference. That little boost of confidence stuck with me for the rest of the week. The only thing putting a damper on my mood was that Charlie still hadn’t figured out a way to deal with Barty Crouch Sr. He was too high up, his record too clean—so spotless he’d even locked up his own son. And trying to expose how he smuggled Junior out of Azkaban with Polyjuice and his wife? No one would believe it. If we sent in an anonymous tip, it’d land on Crouch’s desk before it even reached the Auror Office. No, this needed serious planning…

The morning before we left for Hogwarts, we had a last-minute shopping trip planned. Mum had already picked up our school supplies, but Harry and I ran around the village for a couple of hours before lunch, getting haircuts, stocking up on Muggle clothes, and grabbing some sweets, while the twins kept Hermione entertained. The excitement of heading back to Hogwarts buzzed through me—right up until Mum came into the room with our freshly laundered and pressed school robes.

There it was—sitting right on top. A deep maroon robe that looked like an overlong dinner jacket, properly battered with age. I stared at it, barely hearing Mum as she chirped away, folding Harry’s clothes and showing him what she’d picked out, all while rustling through bags of silky, emerald-green fabric. I wasn’t jealous, really—I knew she just wanted to take care of him, make sure he had what he needed. If anything, I was certain she would fuss over me the same way if she could afford to.

But the fact that she couldn’t didn’t make this any easier to swallow. And that’s when the anger hit.

"Look, Harry," Mum cooed, oblivious to the storm brewing in my head. "I picked this out to match your eyes…"

"Mum," I interrupted, forcing a smile, lifting the frayed, lace-edged cuff between my fingers. "This… thing. What exactly did you pick it to match? Because it sure as hell isn’t my eyes. Maybe my face? If I put this on, I’ll blend right in—bet I’ll be the same shade as this once-faded thirty-year-old rag."

Mum froze mid-sentence, looking stunned. Harry stared at me, mouth slightly open.

"That’s your dress robe, Ron," Mum finally said, her voice tight with frustration. "Your father has several like it. And don’t you dare speak to me like that."

"Oh, great. Didn’t realise I was being sent off to a parade," I snapped, trying to bite back the urge to either punch something or break down in furious, burning tears.

"Stop being ridiculous, Ron," Mum said, her cheeks turning pink. "It’s for the Yule Ball. It’s on your list."

"Yeah, can’t wait to see how impressed everyone’ll be," I muttered bitterly. "What’s next? Should I start wearing an old pillowcase around the house like a house-elf?"

"Watch your tone, young man," Mum snapped, her patience finally gone. "I spent ages finding that. You know the selection wasn’t exactly great. If you don’t like it, you’re welcome to go stark naked."

"Brilliant," I spat. "Might as well. At least then no one will laugh at me for looking like a prat in some moth-eaten relic. At this rate, I’ll be lucky to lose my virginity before I die of embarrassment."

The slam of the door was my only answer.

"Err… Ron—"

"If you even think about offering to buy me a robe, we’re having a row," I hissed through gritted teeth, furiously stuffing my things into my trunk without looking at him.

Harry hesitated, then sighed. "I wasn’t—I just thought… You said you made a lot off that basilisk venom," he said quietly. "You could just buy one yourself—"

"Harry, you don’t get it," I snapped, spinning around, my anger deflating just a little when I saw the genuine worry in his eyes. "That money’s not for this. The Dark Lord is coming back. We’ll need gold—for Portkeys, for hiring people, for bribes, for whatever."

"But a robe’s only, what, eight Galleons? You could—"

"I could do a lot of things, Harry," I cut in coldly, before muttering under my breath, "Just don’t know why it always has to be me…"

I wasn’t sure he understood, but I didn’t want to keep talking about it. So I turned on my heel and stormed out.

On my way down the stairs, I nearly ran into the twins coming up.

"Mum’s in the kitchen crying," one of them said, frowning. No anger, just mild confusion. "What exactly did our little golden boy say to her?"

"Yeah, mate, you were shouting so loud, they probably heard you in Scotland," the other added.

"Let me through," I said flatly, stepping forward.

Something in my face must’ve put them off questioning me further. They stepped aside without a word, and I marched past them, out the front door, and into the garden.

I wandered for a while before grabbing my broom and taking off. I needed to clear my head, and there was only one place I wanted to go.

Luna.

I spotted her as I descended—she was in her garden, collecting apples. Honestly, I nearly changed my mind about visiting, but the second I saw her, I had to land.

"Oh, Ron, perfect timing," she greeted me cheerfully, as if she’d been expecting me all along. "I was just about to have some tea with my apple jam. I do hope you’ll join me?"

"Yeah, alright," I said immediately, reaching for the basket handle. Right now, I’d have agreed to fly to Jupiter with her if it meant not being alone. And not being at home.

Inside, she hummed softly as she brewed the tea, not the least bit bothered by my presence. She placed two cups on the table, along with a plate of washed apples. Everything looked exactly as it had last time I was here. Except for the plush toys—they now had colourful little outfits. They didn’t move anymore, just sat there, watching.

For the first time all day, I felt like I could breathe.

Luna smiled softly as she pushed a cup of tea toward me.

“Enjoy, Ron.”

I picked it up, glancing over the table. “Er… Luna? Where’s the jam you promised?”

She gestured toward the small pile of apples. “It’s right here.”

I blinked at her.

“I don’t actually know how to make jam yet,” she admitted. “But you can sprinkle some sugar on an apple and pretend it’s jam. Or don’t. They taste lovely on their own too. Sometimes I do that when I can’t be bothered to go to the pantry for a fresh jar.”

I grinned, suddenly reminded of my granddad. “You know, you could chop up the apple and dunk it straight into your tea. It’s even better that way.” I reached for an apple, running my thumb over its skin as memories of autumn afternoons flooded back. “My granddad always did that—he said the best apples were the ugly, misshapen ones. The ones with worm holes. Thought the worms had good taste.”

Luna’s face lit up. “Oh, let’s do that then!”

I finely chopped an apple into her cup, stirred in a bit of sugar, and gave it a test sip before handing it back. “Tastes better when it’s sweeter,” I said with a shrug. But Luna wasn’t paying attention—she was staring eagerly at the cup.

She sniffed, took a careful sip, and then squeezed her eyes shut in delight.

“Mmm… That’s lovely. Thanks, Ron. Now I know what autumn tastes like.”

We drank three cups each before finally pushing our chairs back, stuffed and content.

“You didn’t just come for tea, though,” Luna said, stretching out comfortably across the table. “You came for something, didn’t you?”

I mirrored her posture, resting my head on my folded arms, half-lidded eyes meeting hers. “Yeah. There’s a ball this year at school. A Yule Ball.”

She waited, tilting her head slightly.

I cleared my throat. “D’you want to go with me?”

Luna didn’t hesitate. “Alright.” She beamed, and I blinked, thrown by how easy that had been.

"I don't really like balls, but it would be interesting to attend at least one."

“Then how do you know you don’t like them?”

Luna turned toward me properly. “Because at balls, you have to dance in pairs, and I don’t know how,” She looked thoughtful. “"I only know how to dance alone, but then everyone thinks you're strange. And I wouldn’t want that...".”

I laughed, already picturing it—Luna in some lemon-colored dress, me in my horrid maroon robes, both of us swaying completely offbeat in the middle of the dance floor.

“Then we’ll both dance alone. Together,” I grinned. “Not that I can dance at all, really.”

Her eyes suddenly widened. “Oh! Wait here, I have something!”

Before I could ask what, she grabbed my hand and dragged me upstairs. She rummaged through a cupboard with great concentration before finally pulling out a dusty, flattened box.

“A self-teaching guide to dancing!” she declared triumphantly, lifting the lid to reveal a parchment inside. “I’ll bring it to school, and we can learn. It only teaches the waltz, though…”

“That’s plenty,” I assured her, winking. “And after that, we’ll just make it up as we go.”

I didn’t want to leave, but it was already dark, and I knew I had to. So, with a reluctant goodbye, I flew home.

I barely had time to land before I ran into the twins by the broom shed. Looked like they’d been out flying too.

“You’d best hurry, Ron,” George said, surprisingly serious. “Dad’s waiting for you.”

“And you missed dinner. Didn’t tell anyone where you were, either,” Fred added. “Mum’s upset. We covered for you—told her you let us know you’d be late—but you know what she’s like…”

I gave them a short nod of thanks and headed inside.

The moment I stepped into the sitting room, the quiet conversation stopped. A tense silence settled over the room.

“You’re late,” Mum said, lips pressed into a thin line. Across from her, Dad, Bill, and Charlie were all looking at me with varying degrees of disapproval. “Hungry? Do you want something to eat?”

I shook my head. “No, thanks. I’ll just head up to bed.”

I turned toward the door, but Dad’s voice stopped me. “No. We need to talk.”

I sighed, already feeling my irritation bubble up. Brilliant. A family meeting. Exactly what I didn’t need tonight. If they’d just let me go to bed, I might’ve woken up tomorrow feeling less like absolute shite.

“Alright,” I muttered, stepping further into the room.

Dad started pacing by the fireplace, fixing me with a stern look. “I hear you threw a tantrum today. Disrespected your mother.”

I slumped into an armchair, stretching my legs out in front of me. “You think that was a tantrum?” I let out a humorless laugh. “You lot bought me that monstrosity of a robe—what could possibly be worse than that?”

Dad’s expression hardened. “Mind your tone,” he said sharply. “You know our situation, Ron. Your mother and I do our best to make sure you lot have everything you need.”

I let out a slow breath. “Alright, let’s just drop it. Mum, I’m sorry—I was out of line, I shouldn’t have snapped at you. Can I go now?”

“You’ll stay and listen,” Dad said firmly, stepping toward me as if he thought I might make a run for it. “I thought when I showed you this house, you understood—”

“Yeah, I understood,” I cut in, pushing myself up from the chair. “I understood today that in this house, I’m no one. Just the sixth son, the one you could’ve done without if Ginny had just been born first.”

Mum gasped, pressing a hand to her chest. Dad was on me in a second, slapping me clean across the face. I barely had time to register the sting before Charlie jumped between us, blocking him from getting at me again.

“Oh no, let’s not stop now,” I laughed bitterly, shoving past Charlie just enough to see Mum clutching Dad’s sleeve, holding him back. “I’m sick of being the one who gets the short end of the stick every bloody time! Why is it always me? You didn’t buy Fred and George a heap of old rags, did you? And Percy got a whole new wardrobe—because, what, he’s got a job now?!”

“So that’s what this is really about,” Dad scoffed. “Jealousy.”

“Jealousy?” I let out a short, sharp laugh. “Right. Because I’m so desperate to be the next Bill—the pride of the family, the perfect eldest son. Or Charlie, the golden boy who’s good at everything. Or Percy, who’s so driven he’d probably hex himself if it got him closer to his next promotion. Or maybe I’d rather be one of the twins, because at least they get to be something. At least they’re good at something. At least people notice them. Or Ginny—everyone’s darling, the only girl, the baby of the family. And me?” I laughed again, short and sharp. “I thought maybe I’d earned some respect, at least. I never complain. I never ask for anything. I’ve worked for everything I have outside what you can give me, so I don’t burden you. I could’ve bought my own bloody dress robes if you’d just told me—but instead, you threw some old heap at me and called it done.”

“If you knew we were struggling, you should have helped,” Bill cut in. “Instead of standing here moaning.”

“Oh, should I?” My voice dropped, low and dangerous. “Tell me, Bill—when’s the last time you paid for anything in this house? You’ve been working for years, and I’ve never seen you bring so much as a bloody dishcloth home. And for the record? I’m fourteen. It’s not my job to figure out how we make ends meet, or why we can’t. It’s yours—Mum’s.

“I get it,” I went on, barely pausing for breath. “You don’t have the money. Fine. You could’ve just told me. Said, Ron, we’re short right now, but we’ll save up and send you a new one before the ball. It wouldn’t have been the nicest, but at least it’d have been mine. Or hell, just say that. Tell me, Ron, we know it’s not much, but we love you, and we’ll figure it out. But instead, you threw this at me—some secondhand castoff from someone who’s been dead longer than I’ve been alive.

“This is my first ball,” I snapped, ignoring Charlie’s quiet attempt to cut in. “I’m fourteen. It’s important. And you didn’t care. Not enough to think about what it’d mean. Not enough to think about me. Just enough to tick a box.

“But then, why would you?” My voice went flat. “I’m just the sixth son.”

Silence. Then, without another word, I turned and walked out.

I half expected the twins to be lurking outside, but thankfully, they were nowhere in sight. The last thing I needed was another argument. Instead, I took off down the lane, needing to walk, to breathe, to let the cold air cut through the fire still burning in my chest.

Tomorrow, Mum would come find me first, she always did. Dad would take a couple of days to cool off. We’d move on. We always did. But it’d stay with me—because no matter how much we swept things under the rug, some things never really went away.

I didn’t think my parents were bad people. They worked hard, they gave us everything they could. But there were just too many of us for it to be enough. Too many kids, too little money, and plans—grand, noble plans for the Weasley name. And I? I wasn’t part of those plans. I wasn’t the heir, the prodigy, the golden child. I was just another body to fill a room.

And I understood. I did.

But I couldn’t accept it.

And as soon as I was old enough, I would leave. Not because I hated them. Not because I didn’t care.

But because I deserved to be more than an afterthought.