[Castling] Chapter 56

By the end of the trip, I had mixed feelings. On the one hand, I didn’t really want to go home. On the other, I was getting a bit fed up with the adventure as well. It was the monotony of it—every day was the same routine. The excitement had worn off, and even the variety of creatures we were observing no longer felt all that impressive. I wanted a change of scenery—climb some mountains, swim in the sea, lounge on a beach with a book. Do something rather than just watch. Still, if the Lovegoods invited me along again next year, I’d definitely say yes.

I found comfort in spending time with Luna. She never started conversations herself, but she always answered questions clearly and thoroughly in that way only she could. If you asked, she could talk for ages, speaking slowly, as if explaining things to herself as much as to you.

Mostly, we talked about books—ones we’d read together, ones I hadn’t read yet, or ones she still wanted to read. Some she mentioned made me want to find them in the Hogwarts library once we got back. I could’ve just asked to borrow them from her—she wouldn’t have refused—but something held me back. I didn’t want her to think I was spending time with her just because I wanted something from her. I wanted her to know that I enjoyed her company for what it was.

Maybe it was silly, but Luna didn’t really have other friends besides me. And if people did talk to her, it was usually because they needed something. Once they got what they wanted, they forgot about her just as quickly. The last thing I wanted was to make her think I was like that too. She’d already given me so much, and I had nothing to give her in return. No way to make her life easier, even if I wanted to. Maybe that’s why I felt a bit guilty.

Funny thing was, she’d probably just laugh if she knew what ridiculous thoughts were running through my head. She saw straight through people—no, more like she felt them, the way animals or wise old men do when they look into someone’s soul. But even knowing the truth about people, she still chose to see the good in them. She could find something to appreciate in anyone, even if she never spoke to them—be it their nice hair or a cheerful laugh. Most of the time, though, she didn’t pay much attention to others at all.

Sometimes, at my request, she told me stories—long, magical, almost childlike tales, yet full of meaning. I think she made them up herself, or maybe she blended English legends with her own imagination, adding new characters. They often featured a brother and sister, or two friends, or sometimes tragic lovers setting off in search of happiness in a faraway land. But there were always two of them, always helping each other. They always reached their destination, always found what they were looking for. Luna didn’t believe in unhappy endings or vague conclusions—only happily ever afters.

And listening to her, I realised just how lonely she was. I would’ve done anything to make sure her own story ended well, to make sure she got the happiness she deserved.

But all stories have to end eventually—and so did ours. We returned to Britain.

Back home, the entire Weasley clan was gathered under one roof for the Quidditch World Cup. I hadn’t been around such chaos in ages, and it brought back memories of childhood.

Mum and Dad barely noticed me—Bill had come home, their pride and joy, their golden boy. Dad took extra shifts at work, and Mum was running around the house like a headless chicken. As long as their sixth son came back in one piece, that was good enough.

Bill had outdone himself this year. Ponytail tied back, a fang earring, leather trousers, dragon-hide boots—he looked like a bloody rock star. Not that I’d ever admit it, but he did look cool. And expensive. That part annoyed me. Strolling in like some big shot to show us all how much better life could be. He even spoke like Malfoy, all slow and posh, like he was above it all. Sod him.

Charlie, though—I was actually glad to see him. He’d tanned even more over the summer, but otherwise, he was the same. Warm smile, open expression, hands rough with callouses. He was the only one who genuinely asked me about my trip. The rest of the family didn’t seem all that interested.

Percy was pleased to see me, in his own way, but he barely had time to listen—too busy preparing for his new job, triple-checking notes like he was launching a rocket to Mars instead of teaching first-years. But that was Percy for you, a perfectionist to the core. No surprises there.

The twins bombarded me with questions at first, but they mostly just talked over each other, jumping from one topic to the next—how they’d been keeping Harry entertained while I was away, all the new prank products they’d come up with. Then they actually had the nerve to have a go at me—for not gathering ingredients in the jungle for their experiments. Like I was supposed to know! Frustrated by the missed opportunity, they left my room in a huff. Not for long, though. A while later, they were back—with all their stuff, moving in.

Mum and Dad were just glad to have all their kids home, at least for about ten minutes. After that, they got busy with household chores and chatting with the older brothers. The only real sign of affection I got was Mum piling my plate extra high at dinner. Business as usual.

Ginny, though, was over the moon to see me. For the first two days, she followed me around like a shadow, absolutely thrilled with the little colourful feathers I’d brought her from the reserve. Treated them like precious gems. No idea why they meant so much to her, but she loved them. Luna did too, actually.

Then, for Ginny’s birthday, I got her a brooch with rock crystal. Thought she was going to crush me with how tightly she hugged me. I’d picked it up in the city with Muggle money, barely cost me anything, but she was overjoyed. I had to admit, being an older brother had its perks.

Harry turned up three days later, bags and all—Dumbledore had made him stay at Privet Drive for the last stretch of summer before finally letting him move into the Burrow. It worked out well, though. I had some important things to sort out.

Charlie came to me that evening with a serious look on his face.

"It’s time, Ron. No point delaying any further," he said. "We should bring Bill in on this."

He must’ve seen the doubt on my face because he added, "Don’t worry, I’ll have him sign a standard contract for services rendered. Nothing life-threatening, just a clear set of terms. It’ll guarantee confidentiality, set specific conditions—nothing too binding. I doubt Bill will object. I’ll talk to him myself."

I’ve got no idea how exactly they talked it out, but Charlie had Bill’s respect, even if our dear eldest brother still had to act all high and mighty about it. They signed the contract, though, and when it came down to business, Bill finally dropped that superior tone of his.

We didn’t let him in on the full story. Just asked him if it was even possible to get into someone else’s vault, in theory. Given his job, Bill should’ve known about that kind of thing. Who had the right to access a vault? Could someone negotiate with the goblins to visit a vault without taking anything if the owner was in Azkaban? We kept it straightforward.

"I'm not going to ask why you need to know," he said after a moment’s thought. "But it’s a shame, Charlie, that you don’t trust me..."

"It’s not about trust," Charlie shot back calmly. "We’ve been over this, Bill. The less you know, the safer you are. Safer for you, and safer for your career."

"Fine," Bill said, all business now. "You can’t just waltz into someone else’s vault. The only loophole is if there are no heirs and the vault reverts to the goblins. Then you might be able to strike a deal—but goblins name their own terms, and they’re not always doable. Could be an obscene amount of gold, could be a family artifact—goblins love putting wizards in their place. And trust me, they never lose out. You’ve got to be careful dealing with them unless every single term is nailed down in a contract."

"What about just robbing the place?" I cut in, seeing Charlie’s frown. "Use a hair from the vault owner, Polyjuice—"

"Dodgy, but doable," Bill admitted. "Goblins are vulnerable to Confundus and mind-suppressing potions. Knock one out properly, get some potion down their throat… but the safest bet is Imperius. If you lot are mad enough to try robbing Gringotts, though, I reckon Azkaban would be the least of your worries. And one hair’s not enough if the vault’s on the lower levels. It’d be easier if you just told me which vault you’re after. Top-level ones don’t need Polyjuice—anyone with the key can get in. But lower-level vaults have security enchantments. Even with Polyjuice, you’d need the owner’s wand to verify identity."

"Lestrange vault," Charlie said bluntly.

Bill let out a low whistle. "That’s on the lowest and most heavily guarded level," he said. "It’s protected not just from the outside but from within. And there are identity-revealing enchantments. I’ll check the details and see if there are any direct heirs, but don’t get your hopes up—this is as close to impossible as it gets. If there’s a direct heir, though, that could make things easier, if you can convince them to help."

"Could the Malfoys inherit?" I asked. "Bellatrix and Narcissa are sisters."

"And?" Bill snorted. "First off, the head of the family is still alive. A life sentence in Azkaban isn’t enough to give his relatives free rein over the vaults. Second, like most old pureblood families, the Lestrange inheritance only goes to a male heir. Even if Bellatrix were to become a widow without a son, she wouldn’t get any of her husband’s family wealth. She’d get a nice payout from the estate’s profits over the years, maybe a share in any businesses they invested in after the wedding, plus any jewelry and dowry she brought into the marriage. But the vault itself? The family heirlooms? All the treasure hoarded over centuries? If there’s no heir, it all goes to the goblins after six months unless someone comes forward to claim it.

"The goblins actually have an artifact tied to the vault. It shows whether there’s a blood heir. If it goes dark, it means the bloodline’s ended, and the goblins take everything. If there’s an heir, the vault gets sealed until they step up—but when they do, they’ll have to pay a hefty fee for every day it sat untouched."

"Bloody hell," I muttered, properly impressed.

"That’s what came out of the war and the peace treaty with the goblins," Bill said with a shrug. "No one back then could’ve predicted a time when all these grand old families would be clinging to their last remaining heir—or that some bloodlines would die out completely."

"What about a distant relative or an outsider?" I asked. "Could they inherit?"

"Property and businesses, sure—if there’s a will. The Ministry might recognise them as an heir, but Gringotts won’t. Goblins have their own laws—it’s blood and magic or nothing. Unless, of course, the head of the family officially adopts a boy into the bloodline and magical lineage."

"Bill, do the goblins take bets on the Quidditch World Cup?" I asked, changing the subject as we were getting ready to wrap up.

"They do, but most wizards prefer to bet through independent bookies or the Ministry’s Sports League," he said.

"Why’s that?" Charlie asked.

"Goblins never offer odds higher than three-to-one—four-to-one if their analysts think the bet’s a real long shot. The Ministry bookies offer ten-to-one, but they take a five percent cut of the winnings. The independent bookies offer twenty-to-one, tax-free, but it’s a gamble—you never know if they’ll just run off with your money. Regular punters usually stick with one bookie they trust."

"Bill, could you place a bet for me?" I asked, forcing myself to swallow my pride. No matter how I felt about him, money was money, and I wasn’t about to pass up an opportunity. "If you can’t, I’ll ask Charlie."

"Yeah, alright," he said, surprisingly quickly—didn’t even bother making a show of it. "How much?"

"Five thousand," I said, pulling out my coin pouch. I wasn’t worried about secrecy—Bill couldn’t blab or act on anything he’d learned today.

"Five—what?" His eyes widened. "And where the hell did little Ronniekins get that kind of money?"

"None of your business," I snapped. "It’s not even mine, technically. Just looking to make a profit off it. The owner’s fine with it."

"You’ve lost the plot," Bill said, narrowing his eyes. "That’s a massive risk. What if you lose?"

"I won’t," I grinned, shaking the pouch. "I’m lucky."

"I can’t do five. Goblins cap it at three, max. Unless Charlie agrees to split the bet…" Bill shot him a questioning look, and when Charlie nodded, he scooped up my pouch and stuffed it into his belt bag. "You're taking a big risk, kid," he added.

"Ireland wins, but Krum catches the Snitch," I said.

Bill huffed a laugh, but I didn’t stick around to hear his lecture. I left them to it.

If it all went according to the book, I’d be rolling in gold even at three-to-one odds. If not… well, I’d be broke. No big deal—who dares wins, right? Worst case, I’d sell another vial of venom through Charlie.

Harry was genuinely happy to see me. The bloke had obviously missed me and was itching to tell me all about his summer. Bit embarrassing to admit, but I hadn’t thought about him once while I was away. Didn’t even bring my notebook—no point, since the protective wards in the reserve blocked all magical communication. Only one official channel worked, and even if it didn’t, enchanted notebooks wouldn’t have held up across an ocean. Still, he listened to my stories with his mouth hanging open, not even trying to hide his envy at how exciting my trip had been. Then I had to go through the whole thing again for Hermione.

She, in turn, told us about her trip to Rome with her parents. Skipping the museum details, it was actually pretty interesting.

I asked Harry about Sirius, more out of politeness than anything. If I was being honest, I didn’t really care how he was getting on. But Harry had been writing to him, and apparently, Black had no plans to come back to Britain anytime soon. He was somewhere tropical, enjoying life, and not saying much about himself.

At the end of the week, we celebrated Harry’s birthday. Mum outdid herself with the cake and the feast. These days, we always had dinner out in the garden, so the whole family gathered around the table. Otherwise, we all got up at different times, and Mum called us in to eat separately to avoid the chaos of everyone crowding the tiny kitchen at once.

After Ginny’s birthday, the Burrow became even more cramped—Dad had driven off in his car to fetch Hermione.

Ginny refused to share her room, so Hermione got Charlie’s, which was in the best shape. Charlie himself was moved in with the twins, and they, in turn, were stuffed into mine and Harry’s room. That did not sit well with me.

I could understand Ginny—she and Hermione weren’t close enough to bunk together. But Bill refusing to share his room, even with Charlie? And Percy’s was so packed with neatly sorted papers you could barely move in there. And so, once again, I got the short end of the stick.

Still, having the twins in our room turned out to be useful. I remembered from the book that Mum found and destroyed all their prank sweets and orders. She was furious at their OWL results—three Exceeds Expectations between the two of them, the rest all Acceptable at best, which took some effort to achieve. But thinking about my own dreams and how much I hated the idea of sitting through another few years of school just for the sake of it, I decided to help them out.

I suggested we secretly enchant a bag to keep their prank supplies and order lists hidden.

They, and most of the older students, could have done a basic charm to lighten the load or expand the space a bit. They could’ve also added notice-me-not charms or a ward against prying hands. But those kinds of spells wore off and needed regular reapplying—not very convenient. The strength of the enchantment depended on the caster, so the same spell could last three days, a day, or just a few hours.

To make the effect permanent, you needed a base to anchor the magic and a reservoir to store it. That turned a simple enchanted object into a basic magical artifact. These could last ages—until the item wore out or the inscription got damaged.

Traditionally, this was done through embroidery or stylized rune patterns, where tiny beads, gemstones, or bits of precious metals acted as reservoirs, holding the magic.

Or you could just burn or carve a rune sequence into the surface, like I had on my own bag—a bit crude, but reliable. The problem was, rune sequences were activated and stabilized with blood magic, and that was banned in Britain.

That was why Hogwarts students no longer made their own simple artifacts, even though it used to be a school elective. They’d axed it from the curriculum, along with magical crafts, protective magic, and a few other ‘controversial’ subjects.

To be fair, maybe banning it wasn’t a bad idea. I’d read up on it recently—blood magic in the wizarding world was no joke. A single drop could do all sorts of things to another person. And with a school full of kids, not all of them level-headed, it made sense to be cautious. Of course, the Ministry overdid it, as usual, and banned everything outright.

These days, blood magic was only permitted in limited cases—mostly for making complex magical artifacts for sale, with the Ministry keeping a tight leash on it. That way, customers got quality-assured products, rogue enchantments didn’t spread unchecked, and the Ministry got its cut.

Of course, people still secretly enchanted their own things with blood magic. No one was going to check every bag to see if it was shop-bought or homemade. Hermione, if the book was right, made her own beaded handbag with similar enchantments. But my parents were way too straight-laced—if they ever found out I dabbled in ‘forbidden’ magic, they’d go grey on the spot.

Anyway, I helped the twins enchant a couple of bags to keep their prank supplies hidden from nosy hands. Why? Consider it an investment in their future business. Plus, it never hurts to have the twins owe you a favor. In Hogwarts, they had access to everything—information, supplies, you name it. That could come in handy.

Three days before we were set to leave for the Cup, Charlie pulled me aside.

"I talked to Bill and sent an anonymous tip to the Department of Magical Law Enforcement about a possible attack on the Muggle camps after the match," he said seriously. "Hopefully, they’ll tighten security and stop it before it happens. But we need a backup plan. I don’t want Ginny and Hermione running around in a panic in the dark while a bunch of lunatics hyped up on adrenaline are causing havoc. You know things might not play out exactly as they did in your visions."

I nodded, swallowing the lump in my throat.

"Bill thinks it’s best we leave early too. Don’t worry, I didn’t tell him about you."

"And what did you lot decide?" I asked, relieved that someone else was sharing the burden with me. "I’m not thrilled about this whole situation either. The Lovegoods have a portal straight to their place. Luna said they’re not planning to stick around after the match—they want to head straight home and get The Quibbler’s match review out the same day. Maybe we could hitch a ride with them? They wouldn’t mind."

"We wouldn’t be able to explain to our lot why we need to leave," Charlie said after a moment’s thought. "I’ve already arranged a portkey straight to the Burrow, Ron. We just need to figure out how to convince Dad to head home straight after the match instead of staying in the tents overnight."

"Mum’s the key," I said after mulling it over. "While Dad’s at work, you and Bill start getting in her ear about the potential chaos after the match. This isn’t the first World Cup—stuff must’ve happened before, even without Death Eaters showing up. You know what Muggles are like—riots, drunken brawls, vandalism. Doubt wizards are any better. And with Ginny there… You know what Mum’s like—just hint at a bit of danger, especially if it involves her precious girl, and she’ll start panicking. If Bill backs it up as well…"

"Alright, we’ll go with that plan," Charlie agreed, flashing a reassuring grin before heading out. I stayed up a while longer, running through backup options in case things didn’t go to plan. I even considered faking an illness with one of the twins’ trick sweets.

But in the end, there was no need for any self-inflicted injuries. Within three days, Mum had wound herself up so much that she didn’t even want to let Ginny go with us at all. In the end, the whole family pressured her into relenting, but only on the condition that we all returned home immediately after the match. Dad didn’t argue, and the three of us certainly weren’t going to challenge her decision.

For the first time since coming back, I slept soundly.