Chapter 20 — A Perch Beyond Time
The Burrow welcomed them back with its familiar chaos—giggling gnomes skittering in the garden, the faint crackle of Molly's cooking spells in the kitchen, and Ginny already trying to bribe Mr. Stark with one of the treats Ron had bought. The eagle owl, perched proudly on Ron's shoulder, ignored her attempts with regal disinterest, golden eyes glowing faintly in the twilight.
As Ron stepped into his room, he finally allowed the tension of Diagon Alley to drain away. He placed the books from Flourish and Blotts carefully onto his desk, set the pouch with feed and supplies aside, and eyed the simple self-cleaning perch leaning against the wall. Functional, yes, but plain. Mr. Stark tilted his head toward it, let out a deep hum, and then promptly turned back to Ron as though to say, This won't do.
Ron grinned. "Yeah, I agree. You deserve better than that."
The thought of "better" stirred something in him, and without hesitation he whispered to the System, commanding the perch's production cycle forward—one hundred… then one thousand years into the future. The world shimmered faintly for him alone, and the wooden perch transformed.
The new perch gleamed with sleek lines of enchanted alloy and polished obsidian wood, collapsible joints folding seamlessly into a compact staff-like rod when unused. Its surface shimmered with layered enchantments—dust and water slid away effortlessly, the texture soft yet unyielding to talons. At its base was an adjustable bird bath that filled itself with water at the perfect temperature, regulated by a charm that responded to voice command. The entire structure hummed faintly, alive with atmospheric magic calibrated for comfort: warmth in winter, a cool breeze in summer, and air always fresh.
Even more extraordinary was the embedded scanning rune, glowing softly in pale silver when activated. It pulsed as it read Mr. Stark's bloodline, adapting perch height, curve, and balance until it suited the eagle owl's proud stance perfectly.
"Blimey," Ron muttered, stepping back as the perch expanded and settled into place beside his desk. "That's… brilliant."
Mr. Stark's reaction was immediate. With a powerful flap of his wings, he glided from Ron's shoulder and landed on the perch. The golden glow in his eyes softened into a pleased hum, the feathers along his neck fluffing slightly. He tested the balance, shifting weight from claw to claw, then leaned forward into the bird bath as the water rippled and adjusted temperature. His melodic hum deepened into something unmistakably content.
Ginny poked her head into the room. "Wow… Ron, that looks like something straight out of a Quidditch captain's dream. Did you buy that too?"
Ron smirked, but didn't answer. "He likes it. That's what matters."
He then reached for the feed pouch. The ordinary bags he had purchased flickered under his gaze, transforming as he willed the production forward one hundred years. The difference was staggering.
The new feed came in compact hexagonal crystal boxes, their surfaces etched with glowing runes to preserve freshness. Each piece of feed resembled a small, jewel-like pellet, shifting subtly in color depending on the bloodline of the bird it was meant for. Mr. Stark's batch gleamed with deep amber cores flecked with scarlet—each pellet infused with restorative enchantments, subtle bloodline enhancers, and a carefully tuned balance of magical proteins. The smell was richer than roasted rabbit, with faint traces of wild herbs and iron that promised strength.
Ron held one up, and even before he placed it into the dish, Mr. Stark leaned forward, wings quivering in interest. The owl seized it in his beak, cracked it with one snap, and closed his eyes in satisfaction. His feathers shimmered faintly, fiery tips glowing warmer as if acknowledging the feed's potency.
Ron's chest swelled with pride. "See? Only the best for you, mate."
He placed more of the crystalline feed into the dish, watching the owl settle into a regal rhythm—eat, hum, stretch, then close his eyes halfway as though he were already at home.
For the first time, Ron felt like his room wasn't just his anymore—it was theirs.
He sat at the desk, eyes falling on the stack of books Snape had recommended. Magical Foundations of Brewing, Principia Concoctionis, Herbal Matrices and Their Interactions. Heavy spines, dense titles, each one a mountain. His fingers lingered on the covers as Mr. Stark's hum filled the air.
Ron exhaled slowly. "Alright, Professor… you gave me these for a reason. Time to get serious."
The door creaked softly, and Ginny slipped in, barefoot and curious. She flopped onto Ron's bed, hugging her knees. "You know, you're acting strange lately. All serious, all secretive. That perch—no one sells things like that. Where did you even get it?"
Ron didn't look up from the book he was flipping open. "Just… found the right kind of magic. That's all."
Ginny narrowed her eyes. "Found the right kind? Don't treat me like a three-year old kid, Ron. You're up to something. And you didn't even let me hold him!" She pointed accusingly at Mr. Stark, who merely blinked slowly at her, unimpressed.
Ron chuckled. "He's not exactly a cuddly puffskein, Gin. He chose me, not you."
Her frown softened, though she rolled her eyes. "Well… he does look like he belongs with you. Like he knows your secrets or something."
Ron finally looked at her, his grin fading into something gentler. "Maybe he does."
For a moment, they just sat in the quiet, the owl's low hum filling the space. Ginny's eyes flicked to the books. "So you're really going to read all of those?"
"Yeah," Ron said firmly, brushing his fingers over the spines again. "I have to."
Ginny tilted her head, a sly smile tugging her lips. "Fine. But don't forget you still owe me a match outside when the weather's clear. You can't spend all summer locked in here pretending to be some big-shot wizard already."
Ron snorted. "We'll see."
"Promise."
"…Promise," Ron relented.
Satisfied, Ginny slipped off the bed and padded toward the door. "Goodnight, Ron."
"'Night, Gin."
As the door shut softly, Ron turned back to his book. Mr. Stark shifted on the perch, his golden eyes opening just enough to meet Ron's. The boy smiled faintly. "Yeah… time to get serious."
And so, under the watchful gaze of both owl and sister, Ron began to read.