The First Knut

In a crooked old farmhouse just south of Ottery St Catchpole, a rooster call sounded out. Groans and grumbles could be heard as the house's many redheaded residents rose from their beds in a fugue.

A pair of young twins rushed towards each of the two bathrooms in a hurry, while an older boy polished an already spotless badge with a large 'P' on it. On the lowest floor, a young girl furtively checked her appearance in the mirror. Meanwhile, on the highest floor, a young eleven-year-old boy grumpily awoke.

"Ugh, where's the bloody snooze?" Ronald grumbled, groping blindly for his nightstand as the rooster cries intensified.

Soon, his hand finally landed on something, and a slight smile came to his face. But his smile quickly disappeared as his 'alarm clock' began frantically sniffing his hand.

Then, his blue eyes shot open as he looked at it. It was a big, ugly, nine-toed rat.

"BLOODY HELL!"

Jumping back, Ron gripped his chest tightly, backing away from the rat in disgust. But as he did, his eyes began taking in his surroundings. Whether it was the strange, broom-riding men who were featured all across his walls, or the complete disappearance of his 50,000 dollar gaming PC, Ron could confirm one thing. This was not his room.

But before he could consider where he was, two loud cracks sounded behind him, as two redheaded adults suddenly appeared in his room. One was a balding, middle-aged man, while the other was portly, yet fierce-looking woman.

Both held long sticks in their hands, scanning the room cautiously as they stood protectively in front of him. Ron felt, almost instinctively, that he could trust him.

"What's the problem! Where's the danger!" The man asked, unable to find anything amiss.

"That!" Ron said, pointing at the rat.

The man's eyes snapped vigilantly towards where Ron was pointing, but his vigilance only lasted for a moment before disappearing.

"It's just Scabbers." He said in relief, putting away his stick and reaching towards the rat. "What's he doing all the way up here, though? Shouldn't he be in Percy's room?"

"I reckon I've got an idea." The woman said, disappearing with a crack immediately afterwards.

Ron's jaw hung wide open. While he hadn't seen it clearly the first time, this time, it was clear as day. That woman had just fucking teleported!

'What the hell is going on?' Ron thought, rubbing his eyes in shock. 'Am I tripping from my 6-day gaming marathon?'

But his actions seemed futile as the woman teleported back into his room, right under his very eyes, holding two identical boys by the ear angrily.

"Fred, George… have you got something to say to your brother?"

"Oww! Look where you're pinching woman, I'll have you know this is my good ear!" One of the boys cried.

"Hang on, George, have you got a bad ear, then? How'd that happen?" The other asked curiously.

"I really dunno, Fred. Ever since we lit those filibusters in Filch's office, my left ear's never felt quite right."

"That's strange. Both my ears are just fine."

"Boys! What about your brother!? You could have given him a heart attack with that little prank of yours!" The woman snapped at the two twins.

"Oh right! How'd it go?" 'George' asked eagerly.

"Did he bite you? Did you get dung in your hair?" 'Fred' followed up.

"BOYS! I swear, if you can't give a decent apology in the next ten seconds, you'll be sleeping in the chicken coop until you're off at Hogwarts!"

"Now Molly, calm down a little. I'm sure the twins didn't mean any harm." The balding man intervened.

"Arthur, they've terrified Ron!"

"And I'm sure they're very sorry."

"Yes we are." Fred nodded.

"And to show our sincerest apologies." George continued.

"We'll each give you our life's savings." The two brothers finished, with each tossing him a shiny bronze coin onto his dresser before marching out with devilish smirks.

Arthur quickly followed them out, while Molly just sighed before turning to Ron.

"Are you alright now Ronnikins?" She asked softly, ruffling his hair. "Cheer up. We're heading to Diagon Alley in a short spell to pick up all your stuff for Hogwarts!"

Ron just nodded dumbly, his mind reeling from everything he'd just seen. Molly gave him a reassuring smile before leaving his room, telling him to be dressed for breakfast in a half hour. Then, he was left alone.

"Bloody hell." Ron whispered. "Bloody fucking hell… This can't be."

While Ron was a little slow on the uptake, he wasn't that slow to miss the fucking asteroid-sized signs that had just been hurled at him. Magical, teleporting redheads named Molly, Arthur, George and Fred? There was only one place where you'd find those.

"I'm in Harry Potter!" Ron cursed, gazing at his reflection in a shiny silver candy wrapper. "And I'm fucking Ronald Weasley."

Once he'd fully realized his situation, it was like a dam broke in Ron's mind, as two reservoirs of memories flowed into each other.

One set were the memories he was familiar with. 17-year-old orphan, Ronald Richmond, who'd inherited a massive fortune from his dead, super-rich parents, and went on to become the greatest pay-to-win gamer of all time.

Then, there was 11-year-old, Ronald Weasley. Sixth out of seven kids in a down-and-out wizard family, he didn't own a single thing that hadn't been handed down at least once.

The sharp contrast between these two lives was jarring, but it didn't hurt that Ron had a pretty decent knowledge of Harry Potter already. While he wasn't a die-hard Potterhead, he'd watched the movies, flipped through the books and played all the video games, so he was alright. In fact, he'd even been playing one of those games in his gaming marathon before he wound up here.

However, despite being excited to be in the wizarding world, there wasn't a starting point worse than being fucking Ron Weasley. Ron was not only the least talented in the Golden Trio, but he also had a serial killer for a pet, a mother with clear favourites and an eccentric Muggle-lover for a father. But the most glaring problem was that he was dirt poor!

How the hell was he, the greatest pay-to-win player of all time, supposed to win without money? How was he supposed to suit up in a full suit of Goblin silver armour with a dozen magical artefacts if he couldn't even afford a good set of dress robes? How was he meant to buy super expensive magic books and become OP? How was he going to buy a harem of Veela to show off the Weasley virility? Was he gonna have to work for his power?

"Fuck no!" Ron grumbled angrily. "Whoever's playing this joke, come the fuck out so I can beat you up!"

No one came out. Ron then pinched his arm, hard as he could. But he didn't wake up.

'No way… this wasn't fucking happening!' Ron thought in despair. 'I was about to turn 18! I even booked a flight to the Netherlands so I could pop my cherry! Now you stick me in this shit hole? Who's gonna wanna fuck Ron Weasley?'

Then, Ron remembered that by the end of the series he married Emma Watson, err, Hermione Granger. Maybe it wouldn't be all bad.

"Can I at least get a cheat?" Ron asked weakly.

He wasn't sure if anybody heard that request, but as he thought of it, he found a mysterious panel lingering in his mind. Closing his eyes, he focused on it. To his amazement, it seemed to contain all his skills and competencies!

[Ronald Weasley]

[Wizard's Chess (Blue) LV7 6672/7000]

[Broom Flying (Green) LV1 98/100)]

[De-Gnoming (White) LV4 13/40]

[Points: 0]

Gazing at the tiny panel, he felt annoyed by its size.

Based on his understanding of his own abilities, he could guess what the different 'colours' meant. White skills were below the average adult's competency, while Green was average. Then, Blue was above average or a pre-professional standard.

11 years living in a magical household, and this was all his predecessor had to show for it. A barely competent ability in de-gnoming, a decent flying ability and above average chess skills.

Then, his eyes dropped to the bottom of the panel, where the [Points: 0] bar was. Could he add points to his skills? But how did he get Points?

Ron frowned, wondering if he would have to go out and kill monsters or something. If he did, that would be a pain.

'Hopefully they're just generated automatically.' Ron thought with a shrug.

Anyway, it wasn't something he could figure out now. It was better to get dressed for breakfast.

Walking over to his dresser, Ron looked up at the two shining knuts on top of it. 18-year-old Ron would despise even reaching over to pick-up such chump change, but he knew that it was a lot of money for the 11-year-old Ron. 11-year-old Ron's lifesavings amounted to 1 sickle and 11 knuts.

Sighing, he reached to grab them, figuring he could 'splurge' on a box of Bertie Bott's Every Flavour Beans at Diagon Alley. However, as his finger brushed up against it, the knut zapped him like a shock pen. But Ron barely felt it, as a new line was engraved into the panel.

[Valid currency detected. Value: 1 point.]

[Will you convert?]

Ron's mouth hung wide open for a moment as he read and re-read this phrase. With a thought, he tried accepting this conversion, and the knut disappeared, with his [Points: 0] turning into [Points: 1]. He quickly did the same with the other knut.

Seeing the [Points: 2] Ron closed his eyes, converting them back into two Knuts. He felt the cool copper back in his palm. Then, he sent them back to the panel with another thought.

Alright, now he knew he could convert money into points and vice versa. But could he put them into skills? Scanning through his skills, he found only one that could level up with two points.

[Broom Flying (Green) LV1 98/100]

This skill had been brought up by playing Quidditch with his brothers. While Ron was only allowed a low-altitude training broom, he'd still built up a good bit of skill with it. With a thought, the 98 became 99, then 100. Ron felt a slight rumbling in his mind as the skill transformed into [Broom Flying (Green) LV2 0/200].

Suddenly, he felt like the sharp turns that he'd been struggling with had become more manageable, and that he might be able to inch closer to his broom's maximum acceleration.

Digesting this news, Ron confirmed that the panel worked exactly as he thought. Then, he grinned broadly. It seemed his legacy as a pay-to-win God would continue.