The day had come. Ron could feel it in his bones. Even his red hair seemed to tingle with excitement. As soon as he woke up to the grinning face of Joey Jenkins, beater for the Chudley Cannons, he jumped out of bed and raced downstairs.

His mother was in the kitchen like always, wearing a flowery apron. She waved her wand like a conductor’s baton, directing two wooden spoons, three spatulas, and a knife in a beautiful piece called Making Breakfast. The sound of sizzling bacon was enough to make Ron’s stomach growl and no wonder! He hadn’t eaten in over twelve hours! Not since the great feast of ’91 (better known as last night’s supper).

Ron bounced down into a chair, directly across from Fred and George. He didn’t bother to ask what they were whispering behind their hands. Everyone knew they plotted when they whispered, but no one found out the exact plans until the twins carried them out. By then, it was usually too late anyway. Instead, Ron diverted his attention to the window and, like an extremely short and young military lookout, scanned the skyline for signs of movement. He almost bounced back out of his seat with excitement.

“Has my letter arrived yet, Mum?�

“For the eleven hundredth time, no,� she snapped back over her shoulder. She didn’t miss a beat despite the distraction, and her delicious symphony continued.

Ron immediately slumped over the table and groaned.

“Don’t slouch!�

Just as quickly, Ron’s spine snapped in line. He knew not to challenge a mother in the morning, especially Mrs. Weasley.

“I’ll be surprised if ickle Ronniekins gets a letter. What about you, George?� Fred teased, looking up at Ron from his hushed conversation with George.

“Definitely. It’ll be a real shocker if it comes. I know that.�

“Hogwarts only takes the best, you know. Ron might not have enough magic in him for the job.�

“Not enough magic? Fred, he has less magic than Aunt Clara—“

“Aunt Clara’s a squib!� Ron interrupted.

“No shouting in the house, boys!� Mrs. Weasley shouted herself.

Ginny skipped into the kitchen, giggling at the sight of Ron’s rigid back. She sat down next to him as straight-backed as possible and whispered so Mrs. Weasley wouldn’t hear, “Don’t slouch, now, Ronniekins.�

Eventually (about 200 years by Ron’s count), Mrs. Weasley served out bacon, eggs, and toast. “Remember to clean off your plates,� she unnecessarily told them. In two seconds, Fred and George’s heaping plates lay completely bare.

They stood up and grabbed their brooms from a corner. “We’re off to practice Quidditch,� George explained before they disappeared out the kitchen door.

Ron finished a whole five seconds later to take the time to not spill half his plate into his lap like his brothers. “Let me know if it comes,� he called to his mum as he walked back up to his room.

Daydreaming about the witches at Hogwarts, Ron found himself passing by Fred and George’s room in no time. Through the open door, Fred’s wand lay abandoned on his bed. Ron entered the room without a thought… and fell flat on his face. Fred and George had apparently left a wire trap for trespassers to trip over.

Ron quickly scrambled to his feet and continued on to plough through the piles of dirty laundry and school supplies on the floor. After twelve minutes of struggle, he finally collapsed onto the bed and picked up the wand.

Ron waved it around a few times, imagining himself as a great wizard like Dumbledore. Pretty soon he was standing up in the middle of the messy room brandishing the wand about his head. He pointed it at the textbooks spread out on the floor and threatened the posters with vicious jabs. He danced around on his toes, leaping over the small mountains of junk, all the while holding the wand before him like a knight’s lethal sword. Erratically, he wielded his weapon. Swish and flick. Flick and swish. His arm swept up and down and in huge arcs, swinging in circles and more circles. He swooped down, snagging a sock on the tip, and suddenly swung around to face the door, flinging the sock through the air to land in Fred’s hair.

Fred stood in the open doorway, a murderous look on his face. Ron froze. George stepped up behind Fred holding a broomstick. Ron simply stood and stared, utter fear etched on his young face. He was too young to die.

“I—I can explain. I was just walking by. I didn’t know. I didn’t mean. It was just lying there and I thought— I was only playing. I didn’t mean any harm. I can explain everything. Don’t kill me!�

Ron threw up his hands in front of his face, expecting the worst.

In one quick movement, Fred snatched his wand out of Ron’s hands and shoved him onto the bed. Ron thought he landed in something slimy. Knowing Fred, it was probably something especially disgusting, but he felt too preoccupied to look at the moment.

“What were you thinking, filching my wand like that?� Fred bellowed.

“You’ll pay for this, you know,� George added, backing up Fred.

“What should we do to him?� Fred asked George without taking his eyes off Ron.

“Change his entire room pink, use the Hair Loss spell on him, and give him Jelly-Legs, I think. That should do the trick.�

Ron’s eyes widened to the size of… really big circles. “You can’t use magic during the summer! Mum said so!�

Both Fred and George’s faces fell, clearly disappointed. “Well, he’s got us there,� murmured George.

Suddenly, Fred brightened again, grinning manically. “Do we still have some of those Acid Pops, George?�

“I reckon we do, Fred.�

Ron tried to escape, bounding off the bed, but to no avail. Fred pushed him back down into the unknown slime. Ron remembered at seven when Fred had given him an Acid Pop for the first time. The candy seared a hole in his tongue. Clearly, he did not wish to repeat the experience.

“How about we feed his Chudley Cannon stuff to the garden gnomes, too?�

“Now, that’s just cruel,� George replied. “The gnomes could choke. Anyways, Mum would catch us for sure with that.�

“You could just let me go,� Ron blurted.

Fred and George began to laugh uncontrollably. Ron tried for another escape, but George fended him off with the broomstick.

“Trying to run away, little bugger? Now we’ll definitely have to discipline you.�

“It’s for your own good, Ron,� Fred said.

“I only wondered what it’d be like at Hogwarts!�

Fred scratched his chin. “Hogwarts, eh? We could’ve told you about Hogwarts if you asked.�

“It’s great, little brother,� George put in, “Just great! Well, that is—“

Fred suddenly became grim and serious. “If you survive the sorting.�

“What’s wrong with the sorting?� Ron questioned.

“It’s horrific, absolutely terrible. I can’t believe the ministry allows it.�

“What is it?�

“It was the worst thing I had to go through in my entire life. It was worse than when Mum caught me for the Knitting Incident.�

Ron’s mouth fell open in astonishment. He remembered that tragic time. What could be worse than the Knitting Incident? “WHAT IS IT?�

“First, a teacher leads you into a huge dungeon full of shackles and chains. The school has a troll chained up down there. You have to beat him if you want to be in Gryffindor. Mum and Dad would be mighty disappointed if you didn’t become a Gryffindor, so you’ll have to face him like George and I did.

“He’s fifteen feet tall and the ugliest thing I’ve ever seen. He’s uglier than Mum in the morning. His eyes are the eyes of death, the color of blood. His face strikes fear into the hearts of the bravest men. The smell is bad enough, like rotting flesh. He’s got clawed hands that could crush your head with no effort at all. Watch out for his feet, too. Each is as big as Dad’s car. He carries a stripped tree trunk that has claimed the lives of numerous innocent children. You’ll have to be on your toes to survive.�

“A-a troll?� Ron’s voice trembled and cracked. “I have to fight a… troll?�

George grabbed Ron’s shoulders and sat him down on the bed, this time avoiding the slimy substance and sitting down next to him. He wrapped an arm across his shoulders. “Don’t cry, now, Ron. We have faith in you. Even if you don’t make it, we know that the troll will at least have a few scratches by the time he’s done with you.�

Ron couldn’t stand the pressure, completely collapsing in a fit of tears. Pleased with their revenge, Fred winked to George over Ron’s hunched back.

At that moment, Mrs. Weasley appeared at the door with a letter in hand and a laundry basket balanced on her hip.

“I’ve been looking everywhere for you, Ron!� she exclaimed before seeing the state he was in. The laundry basket fell from its precarious position, clattering on the floor and throwing dirty laundry all over the stairway. She ran to her son and yanked him from between the twins. She cradled him in her arms as if he were ten years younger and patted him on the back. “What in the world have you done to him?� She shrieked at the twins. “He’s having a nervous breakdown at the age of eleven because of you!�

With that said, she hurried out of the room and started the laborious climb upstairs to put him to bed.

“There, there, Ronnie. Mummy will make it all better. I’ll beat them with my broom so bad that they’ll be crying themselves to sleep tonight.�

Soothed by his mother’s violent words, Ron slowly calmed down to a whimpering sniffle and nestled his face into her fiery red hair.

“I’ve got some good news to cheer you up. Errol brought your letter today.�

Fresh tears started anew and wet Mrs. Weasley’s hair. “I don’t know if I want to go to Hogwarts, anymore, Mum.�

“Don’t be ridiculous. I can’t wait for you to get sorted.� She paused. “Ugh! What’s this slimy stuff on your pants, Ron?�