Chapter Six: The Hoard in the Heat

Ronald Weasley woke on the morning of July 3, 1991, to the faint creak of his attic bed and the steady hum of his peridot-obsidian wand in his pocket, a secret that weighed heavier with every gem he stashed away. July 2 had trailed off with Ginny's chatter still ringing in his ears—feeding the chickens had been a noisy dodge, her treasure jabs cutting too close, but he'd slipped back to the attic after supper, refining peridot shards into polished gems under the Burrow's creaking snores until his hands cramped from the steady grip on his makeshift tool. Sunlight streamed through the grimy window now, painting the peeling orange walls a sharp gold, and he sat up slowly, stretching with a groan—his gangly frame creaking like the old wood beneath him, his mind already turning over the day's quiet plans.

Nine days of grinding had built a secret hoard—Earth Manipulation at Level 6, Enchanting and Wandless Magic at Level 3, Charms at Level 2 after yesterday's tweaks with Lumos and Leviosa. The panel flickered when he summoned it, a crisp tally of his hidden work:

Stats: Strength 7, Agility 8, Endurance 9, Intelligence 14, Wisdom 8, Magic Power 14, Charisma 10, Luck 8

Skills: Analyze (Lv. 2), English (Lv. 2), Arithmetic (Lv. 2), Athletics (Lv. 2), Flying (Lv. 1), Chess (Lv. 2), Rituals (Lv. 2), Earth Manipulation (Lv. 6), Enchanting (Lv. 3), Wandless Magic (Lv. 3), Charms (Lv. 2)

Level 4 (10/400 XP)

Unallocated Points: 3 Stat, 9 Skill

Level 4—steady since June, with 3 stat points unallocated and 9 skill points banked, a reserve he'd hold tight until the grind thickened. He hadn't pushed further yet—too risky with the family's prying eyes—but the Alternate Earth, Hawaii in 1000 BCE, had become his vault. Thousands of peridots glinted green along its rivers, hundreds of garnets and obsidian chunks lay dark in its cliffs, a handful of leycite crystals hummed wild—all shifted there via Temporal Shift, an endless inventory no one could touch but him. He'd refined a chunk—fifty peridots, ten garnets, one leycite—polished and ready, but unsold, stashed in Hawaii with the rest—hoarded, safe, his alone.

Trust didn't come easy—not with the memories he'd absorbed from original Ron, woven into his instincts like a patched-up robe. He could still feel the sting of Mum handing his scanty allowance to Ginny for a Sugar Quill, or Dad promising a new book that went to Percy instead—always shorted, always last. His family meant well, but their needs stretched thin, and he'd learned young they'd dip into his pockets without a blink—squander it on Fred's prank supplies or George's broom polish. No—he'd keep this haul secret, hoard it until Hogwarts, where school owls could ferry gems to Gringotts, safe from family hands. His sharp mind weighed it—three months of dirt-poor patience, then freedom to cash in. For now, he'd settle—Bill's robes, Percy's books, Charlie's broken wand—until he could mail-order new gear from school, with only potion ingredients bought fresh by his parents.

He slid off the bed, ducking the ceiling's low beam—a trap he'd dodged a hundred times—and tugged on a frayed jumper—Charlie's, sleeves patched—and trousers that bared his shins, pocketing the wand. The floorboard creaked as he lifted it—no Galleons yet, just a garnet shard glinting faintly, a promise of what waited in Hawaii. Breakfast smells wafted up—bacon, toast—but he'd shift first, refine more, maybe tweak the wand. "Shift," he muttered, and the attic blurred, warm sand replacing wood under his feet.

Hawaii's morning sun struck, the air thick with salt and floral tang, waves crashing beyond the cliffs in a steady roar. He stood by the river—gravel glinting, water gurgling—and scanned his stash: peridots piled like a green hillock, garnets and obsidian stacked dark, leycite crystals pulsing wild in a jagged heap. He knelt, Earth Manipulation flaring—Level 6 smoothed ten peridots into polished ovals, their hum steadying as he fused them into a fist-sized gem, its glow brightening with each join. The panel ticked:

Earth Manipulation +15 XP (25/400 to Lv. 7)

Level 4 (25/400 XP)

He repeated it, fusing five garnets into a larger stone—cleaner, stronger, a Gringotts-worthy piece—his hands steady from weeks of practice. Another tick:

Earth Manipulation +20 XP (45/400 to Lv. 7)

Level 4 (45/400 XP)

Satisfactory—stockpiling value, but he'd sell later, via Hogwarts owls—safer, quieter. The wand nagged—peridot-obsidian was solid, but garnets hummed deeper, leycite wilder. He'd upgrade it—hoard the power for himself. He carved a garnet shard, shaping it into a tapered rod—Level 6 made it swift—then pried a leycite crystal, its pulse sharp, and fused it to the tip, the join seamless under his steady push. The panel chimed:

Earth Manipulation +25 XP (70/400 to Lv. 7)

Item Crafted: Rudimentary Garnet-Leycite Wand (Moderate Potency, Conductive)

Level 4 (70/400 XP)

He twirled it—sleek, heavier, the leycite tip glinting wild—Lumos flared green, brighter, steadier than before. No XP—steady didn't count—but it'd cast sharper, a secret edge for Hogwarts. Breakfast loomed—"Shift"—sand blurred to wood, the attic's dust greeting him.

The kitchen buzzed—Mum at the stove, apron flour-dusted, flipping bacon with a wand flick, her hair pinned in a wobbly bun that threatened to topple with each turn. Percy hunched over a steaming bowl of porridge, polishing his prefect badge with a rag, muttering about train timetables—Ginny darted around the table, snagging bacon scraps with sticky fingers, humming loudly—Fred and George lounged at the far end, flicking crumbs at Percy's book with their wands—Dad sipped tea, nose in The Daily Prophet, murmuring about Muggle "toasters." Ron slid in, letter in hand—time to dodge.

"Ron—your letter!" Mum snatched it from his grip, unfolding it with a squeak that cut through the kitchen din like a whistle, a stray bacon strip tumbling to the floor in her haste. "Arthur, he's got it—our Ron's off to Hogwarts!"

Dad lowered his paper, peering over the rim with a warm smile that crinkled the corners of his eyes, his tea sloshing slightly as he leaned forward. "Brilliant—let's Floo to Diagon Alley today—potion bits for the lad, get him sorted before the rush."

The Leaky Cauldron spat them out an hour later—Floo ash stung his nose, the pub's smoky din buzzing with early risers nursing pints and haggling over dented cauldrons—Fred tapped the back alley bricks with his wand—three up, two across—and the walls rumbled open, revealing Diagon Alley's sprawl: cobblestones stretched under a hazy sun, shops burst with life—robes fluttered in windows like tired banners, owls hooted from cages piled high in precarious stacks, a hag's raspy voice hawked bat spleens near a bubbling cauldron stall. Mum led the charge, her purse thin and clutched tight in her freckled hand, her steps brisk as she wove through the crowd—Dad trailed behind with a distracted hum, peering at a Muggle yo-yo twirling in a junk shop window—Fred and George darted ahead, nicking Sugar Quills from a cart with flicks of their wands—Ginny skipped beside Ron, her eyes wide as she dodged a wobbly witch with a stack of owl cages, her voice bubbling over the chatter.

"New stuff today, Ron?" she asked, hopping on her toes, her sticky fingers brushing his sleeve as she grinned up at him. "What're you getting—something shiny?"

"Just potion bits," Ron said, voice steady—his garnet-leycite wand hummed in his pocket, a secret he'd keep close, but Mum had dug out Charlie's broken wand from a trunk last week, its tip chipped, handle scratched, a hand-me-down he'd play along with. Mum veered toward the Apothecary, her purse sagging as she pushed through the narrow door—the shop loomed dim and dank, its air thick with a sour stench of pickled slugs and something sharper, like rotting herbs gone wrong. Jars lined the walls, glowing faintly—beetle eyes stared blankly from murky liquid, a slab of shriveled roots twitched on the counter, the shopkeeper's hunched shadow flickering behind a curtain of dried newt tails. Ron's nose wrinkled, the creepy ambiance crawling up his spine—a whiff of decay hit him, and he stepped back, bumping into Ginny, who giggled despite the smell.

"Creepy, innit?" she whispered, peering at a jar of slimy tentacles that pulsed faintly—Ron nodded, stomach turning as Mum haggled with the shopkeeper, her voice tight.

"Four Galleons—steep, but they're fresh," she said, counting out her last Sickles with a grimace, her fingers trembling slightly as she scraped the bottom of her purse—Dad stepped in, adding a Galleon from his pocket, his voice gentle. "That'll cover it—potion bits for the lad." The ingredients piled into a small sack—fresh slugs glistening, beetle eyes gleaming black—the only new items in his haul, funded by his parents' thrift.

Ron hurried out, the shop's stink clinging to his jumper—he shuffled behind Mum as they Flooed back, the Leaky Cauldron's ash a relief after the Apothecary's creep. Home hit with a thud—the Burrow's hearth spat them into the kitchen, where Molly bustled to a corner trunk, its lid groaning as she flung it open. "Here's the rest, Ron," she said, her voice brisk but warm, pulling out Bill's old robes—faded black, hems frayed, sleeves too long—and a stack of secondhand books—Fred's dog-eared Magical Theory, Percy's tattered Standard Book of Spells, Grade 1—yellowed pages curling at the edges. She fished out Charlie's broken wand last—tip chipped, handle scratched—handing it over with a tight smile. "It'll do—worked for Charlie."

The supplies piled on the table—secondhand robes, worn books, the broken wand—all from his brothers, patched and battered, joined by the lone sack of potion ingredients, glistening fresh in their jars. Mum sighed, her voice tinged with weariness as she sorted the stack. "It'll do—always does, doesn't it?"

Fred smirked, tossing a Sugar Quill to George across the table. "Still scruffy, Ronniekins—those robes've got Bill's stink on 'em!"

"Better than yours," Ron said, voice steady—he was still a little bitter that he had to wear such itchy clothes for now. Ginny plopped beside him, her grin wide as she poked his arm.

"You've been so private lately! I never thought you'd turn into a shut-in."

"Hey, I resemble that statement!" Ron said jokingly, while his dad chuckled, setting his paper aside with a rustle. 

"Alright, thats enough fooling around. Everyone go start packing. At this rate, Ron might be the only one ready to leave by the time we set off for Kings Cross." There were still a few days to burn, but the family had a bad habit of procrastinating, and no matter how much they packed in advance somebody always forgot something. Probably the added "benefit" of having a large family. Ron wandered back upstairs to pack a few sets of clothes and the rest of his supplies in advance, excitement for his impending hogwarts carreer adding a pep to his step.