On the fifth floor of The Burrow, Peter sat alone in his small room, finally free from the whirlwind of excited family chatter and Molly's emotional fussing.
The door closed behind him with a soft click.
He sat on the edge of his bed, Hogwarts letter in one hand, the system panel hovering silently in the air before him.
This was the first time since the system had awakened at birth that he had ever seen a "Task."
Unlike what he'd seen in novels during his past life, this system didn't punish failure. There were no time limits, no threats, no backlash. There was only one thing offered:
A reward for success.
But that reward… it had Peter completely hooked.
"Talent Points…"
Ever since he had received the Newbie Gift Pack, which had maxed out his Potion-Making skill, Peter had experienced firsthand just how incredible a perfect 10-point talent could be. Potions that would take others months to master came naturally to him—almost instinctively.
Since then, he had dreamed of one thing above all else: gaining more points.
And this quest offered more than just talent points.
"Magic Scale…"
The Magic Scale, as the name implied, represented the total magical energy capacity within a wizard—the reservoir of magic flowing through their body. The larger the scale, the stronger the spell output, and the more spells one could cast in succession.
But it wasn't just about raw energy.
Peter knew well that casting spells in this world wasn't as simple as spending mana. Emotion, willpower, and familiarity with the spell played just as vital a role. Two wizards casting Expelliarmus might produce wildly different results, depending on confidence and practice.
Still, a higher Magic Scale provided the foundation—a necessary base of power.
There were still two months left until September 1st—the completion condition for the quest. With that in mind, Peter waved the system window away for now.
He turned his focus back to the envelope in his hand.
The Hogwarts letter.
He unfolded the crisp parchment and re-read the top of the page, written in flowing, elegant calligraphy:
HOGWARTS SCHOOL of WITCHCRAFT and WIZARDRY
Headmaster: Albus Dumbledore
(Order of Merlin, First Class; Grand Sorcerer; Chief Warlock, Wizengamot; International Confederation of Wizards – Supreme Mugwump)
Dear Mr. Weasley,
We are pleased to inform you that you have been accepted at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry.
Please find enclosed a list of all necessary books and equipment.
Term begins on 1 September. We await your owl by 31 July.
Yours sincerely,
Minerva McGonagall
Deputy Headmistress
Peter's fingers ran along the parchment.
Even though he had known this moment was coming, even though he'd read and watched this scene unfold in fiction so many times before, holding the letter in his own hands felt entirely different.
It was real.
It was finally happening.
After finishing his reply to Hogwarts, Peter rolled up the parchment neatly and tied it to the leg of the Weasley family's new owl.
Poor old Errol was no longer up to the job. A few years ago, while delivering one of Peter's potion orders, the exhausted owl had nearly crash-landed straight into the garden pond.
That had been the final straw.
Once Peter started earning steady income from his potion work, he insisted on letting Errol retire in peace. The old owl now spent his days dozing happily in a sunny corner of the garden, living out his twilight years in comfort.
That moment had also marked the first time Arthur and Molly ever accepted money from Peter.
They had always been stubborn about such things. But when faced with Errol's trembling wings and sunken eyes, they couldn't come up with a single excuse to say no.
Since then, any money Peter offered was only accepted for things that benefited the entire family—such as renovations to the increasingly lopsided Burrow. Day-to-day life still ran entirely on Arthur's modest Ministry salary. Molly and Arthur were determined not to let finances create tension between their children.
Peter smiled faintly at the thought, then flipped to the second page of the Hogwarts letter—the supply list.
A dense wall of text met his eyes: robes, wands, spellbooks, cauldrons, telescope, scales...
He sighed.
"Looks like Ron will have to use Bill and Charlie's old school supplies again. Hopefully he doesn't cry about it this time…"
Though, in truth, Ron was tougher than Peter gave him credit for.
When Peter stepped out of his room a few minutes later, he found Ron pacing proudly back and forth on the fourth floor landing, still clutching his slightly crumpled Hogwarts acceptance letter.
His chest was puffed out. Chin high. A triumphant grin plastered across his freckled face.
Percy, ever the supportive older brother, clapped a hand on Ron's shoulder. "Ron! I knew you'd get in! Not a doubt in my mind!"
Ron's chest somehow managed to puff out even more.
Peter, standing above on the stairs, resisted the urge to groan. Just yesterday, while passing the kitchen, he had overheard Percy seriously asking Mum if they should forge a Hogwarts letter just in case Ron didn't receive one—so he wouldn't feel left out.
He rolled his eyes.
"And now look at them…"
Just then, Percy added brightly, "To celebrate your acceptance, how about I give you Scabbers?"
Ron froze.
The sudden "gift" seemed to stun him more than the Hogwarts letter itself.
He opened his mouth. Then closed it.
He clearly hadn't decided whether to be honored or horrified.
Ron stood frozen, wide-eyed, as Percy pulled a rather plump, sleepy-looking rat from his pocket and shoved it into Ron's arms without a second thought.
"His name's Scabbers. He's yours now. Congratulations!" Percy said quickly—then vanished down the stairs like he'd just passed on a cursed object.
Leaning casually against the railing above, Peter watched the whole exchange with mild amusement.
Moments later, he heard the soft creaking of floorboards behind him—two sets of footsteps approaching far too quietly.
He didn't even need to turn around.
Only Fred and George ever tried to be stealthy in a house full of Weasleys.
Sure enough, the twins sidled up beside him, mirroring his posture like they'd rehearsed it, both resting their elbows on the railing and peering down at the flustered Ron below.
They began to "whisper" in stage voices loud enough for half the house to hear.
"I'd bet a Sickle Percy's been dying to get rid of Scabbers," said Fred dramatically.
"No doubt, Fred," George chimed in. "Scabbers is ancient and ugly. He looks like he could croak at any moment."
"Poor Ron. I bet he thinks Percy agonized over giving him up."
"Yeah, George... why is someone that gullible our brother?"
"I ask myself that every day, Fred. Maybe Ron's brain got split in half—one part stayed with him, and the other went to that clever bloke upstairs... what's his name again?"
"Must be Peter, our genius of a twin—but not twin."
The two broke into synchronized snickering, clearly delighted with themselves.
Downstairs, Ron's ears turned red again as he clutched Scabbers awkwardly, unsure whether to hug the rat or fling him across the room. Eventually, he stormed off, grumbling and holding Scabbers like a lumpy pillow, disappearing into his bedroom with a thud of the door.
Peter chuckled.
Then he turned to the twins, who were now giving him exaggerated innocent smiles.
"All right," Peter said, raising an eyebrow. "What do you two want?"
Fred and George exchanged a quick look—caught. Fred scratched his head. George rubbed the back of his neck.
They looked… almost sheepish.
"You tell him, George."
"No, no, you tell him. You're the older brother."
"Oh—now you remember who the older brother is!"
Peter just stood there with his arms crossed, smiling knowingly as the twins exchanged their usual back-and-forth. When it became clear they weren't going to distract him with jokes alone, they gave up the act.
One flanked his left side, the other his right. George began kneading his shoulders with exaggerated care, while Fred crouched down and started massaging his calves.
"Ahhh—our dearest Peter," Fred began sweetly, "you're going to Hogwarts soon, aren't you?"
"So naturally," George continued, "you'll need to take a trip to Diagon Alley to buy school supplies…"
"Right, and Mum said you'd be buying everything yourself this year."
"We knew you'd been earning some gold before," Fred added.
"But we had no idea you were rolling in it!" George said dramatically. "If it's convenient… could you maybe invest a tiny bit more in our materials?"
"Just a smidge!" Fred chimed in. "Our magnificent prank shop dream is this close to liftoff!"
Peter couldn't help it—he laughed aloud.
Seeing Fred and George, the house's mischief kings, groveling like humble house-elves for a few Galleons was pure comedy.
But Peter also understood where this was coming from.
Molly had always disapproved of their prank experiments. She feared it would lead them down the wrong path or distract them from "real jobs," as she called them. So, despite their passion, the twins had been limited to borrowing bits and pieces of money in secret.
And up until now, they'd assumed Peter only earned a few Sickles here and there.
They had no idea that just equipping himself for Hogwarts this year—robes, wand, books, supplies, and even a pet—would cost him over a hundred Galleons.
To the twins, that was a fortune.
Still enjoying the exaggerated pampering, Peter raised an eyebrow and said casually, "You said the same thing last time you borrowed ten Sickles."
"That was different!" George protested. "We're almost finished developing our first joke item now, right Fred?"
"Exactly, George! One last push and we'll be ready!"
Peter rubbed his chin, pretending to consider. "Hmm… well, the garden does need a good clean tomorrow…"
Before he could finish, the twins immediately jumped in with synchronized enthusiasm.
"No need to trouble you with hard work like that, Peter!" said Fred.
"Absolutely not. We'll handle it for you!" George added with a flourish.
Peter smirked. "...I was actually going to make Ron do it, Fred."
"This is just our way of showing sincerity!" George said quickly.
"Brilliant thinking, George!" Fred nodded solemnly.
Watching the twins blink up at him with matching hopeful eyes—one massaging his shoulders, the other still clinging to his calf—Peter sighed dramatically and waved them off.
"All right, all right! I'll consider it—after I see how well you perform tomorrow."
"YES!" the twins shouted in unison.
They bolted down the stairs, cheering like they'd just won the Triwizard Tournament. Peter stood still for a moment, shaking his head with a small smile before turning and heading down the hall.
He stopped outside Ron's door and knocked.
The door was flung open with more force than necessary.
Ron stood there with puffed-out cheeks and a glare that was far more timid than it was threatening. "Wh-what do you want?"
Peter met his brother's grumpy stare calmly. "Come with me to Diagon Alley tomorrow."
Ron blinked, caught off guard. He muttered something under his breath—probably meant to be a refusal—but Peter had seen that look before. His brother always tried to argue, but his lingering inferiority complex made it hard for him to stand his ground.
"I don't need to go," Ron mumbled, crossing his arms. "I've already got hand-me-downs…"
"Oh?" Peter replied lightly, raising an eyebrow. "Well, I was thinking of giving you your Christmas present a bit early this year. Maybe something like… a new wand?"
He let the words hang in the air.
Ron's mouth opened. Then closed. Then opened again.
"I'll go!" he blurted.
Peter feigned confusion. "Hmm?"
"I… I'll go," Ron repeated, his face flushing redder than ever. "Just to… get some rat food for Scabbers."
Peter smirked, glancing past Ron's shoulder into the chaotic room beyond. On the cluttered desk, Scabbers was perched on top of a half-eaten biscuit, gnawing with laser-sharp focus—completely oblivious to the drama unfolding around him.
Peter raised an eyebrow.
Totally absorbed. No awareness at all.
He shook his head slightly. "Right. For the rat."
Peter put on a thoughtful expression and said casually, "You know, I've always meant to ask Percy about Scabbers. I mean, he's old, ugly, and barely moves—he'd make a perfect test subject for my potion experiments. What do you think, Ron? Want to donate him to science?"
From within the room, there was a sudden stillness—Scabbers had frozen mid-bite, his tiny paws still clutching the biscuit.
Ron's eyes went wide. His lips parted slightly, trembling as he stared at Peter in horror.
Just a moment earlier, if Peter had made such a bold request—especially about Scabbers—Ron would've exploded in outrage. He would've yelled something dramatic, turned red in the face, and probably tried to shove Peter out of the room.
But now?
There was a new wand involved.
This... complicated things.
Thankfully for both Ron and the traumatised rat, Peter didn't push it further.
He spotted Scabbers subtly trying to edge his way off the desk, and deciding he'd teased them enough, Peter laughed and gave Ron a firm clap on the shoulder.
"Relax—I'm kidding. One sip of potion and that tiny rat would drop dead on the spot."
(Scabbers visibly flinched.)
Peter smirked. "Just don't oversleep tomorrow. That's all."
With that, he turned and headed upstairs.
Behind him, Ron let out the longest breath of his life, then darted into the room to scoop up Scabbers.
"It's okay, it's okay," he whispered. "Don't be scared, Scabbers. He was just joking. Just a stupid joke…"
Outside the door, at the top of the stairs, Peter paused—his expression calm, but his eyes sharp.
He looked back toward Ron's room, and for a split second, a cold smile touched his lips.
"Hmph. I'll let that rat live… for now."