Chapter 44 — Steps Through Winter's Veil
The Burrow was always a place of warmth and noise, yet something had changed in those early December weeks. The air that usually crackled with Molly's scolding and the laughter of the children now carried an undercurrent of unease. The unease had a name: Ronald Bilius Weasley, nine years old, red-haired, freckled, and frighteningly strange.
Ron's bokken whistled through the cold winter air. His footwork was sharp, precise, unnervingly fast. He slid from one point in the yard to another in less than a blink, his movements blurred, as though the air itself folded around him. When he reappeared, his sword cut down in a flawless arc. The snow beneath his feet scattered like startled birds.
Ginny, bundled up in her oversized jumper, sat on the fence watching. Her nose was red from the cold, but her eyes sparkled with pride. "You looked like you vanished, Ron! Even I couldn't follow that."
Ron straightened, exhaling frost. "It's called the Body-Flicker. A footwork technique I created. I merge magic into my body, push it into my muscles, and it lets me move faster than anyone can track." His words were calm, but his tone carried quiet conviction.
Arthur watched from the window, his face pale. He'd seen many oddities in his Ministry work, but watching his youngest son blur through space was something altogether different. He muttered to Molly, "He's… not normal, Molly. None of our boys were like this. Not even Bill. Not even Charlie."
Molly wrung her hands on her apron, her voice low but firm. "I know. And that terrifies me." She sighed deeply, then looked at the parchment on the table, half-written, sealed with blotches of ink. The second letter to Dumbledore. "If we can't guide him, Albus must."
Upstairs, Percy adjusted his glasses, huffing as he scribbled in his notebook. He'd been trying to draft an essay about broom regulations, but Ron's practice outside was distracting. He frowned, muttering to himself. "Reckless. That's what it is. Completely reckless. Swordsmanship! As though Hogwarts will test him on that. It's academics that matter." Still, deep down, Percy couldn't ignore how startling Ron's growth was. It made him feel small, inadequate.
Charlie, back for the holidays, leaned against the doorway watching the practice. His dragon-scorched arms were folded, his expression torn between admiration and disbelief. The twins hung off either side of him, craning their necks, eyes wide with glee.
"Blimey, Ron," George muttered, "you moved faster than Mum when she's caught us nicking pies."
Fred snorted. "Faster than Percy hiding his homework!"
Charlie finally asked the question lingering on everyone's mind. "How in Merlin's name are you doing that, Ron?"
Ron turned, his breath steady, the bokken still glowing faintly with a layer of barely-there magic. His eyes were sharp, far older than nine. "It's control. You compress magic into your body, then release it in bursts. It's exhausting, and dangerous if you can't handle it. But if you practice enough, it becomes seamless."
The twins gawked. Charlie whistled low, shaking his head. "That's… That's not something you picked up from a book, is it?"
Ron shook his head. "No. I made it. My own technique."
For a moment, silence hung heavy. Even Ginny's pride softened into awe. The idea of Ron creating something—something that felt like it belonged in stories of great wizards, not in their scrappy backyard—left them all unsettled.
December blurred, two winter days pass by, and Ron's training only deepened. Snow crunched under his footwork, blades of frost scattering at each flicker-step. He spent hours integrating his swordsmanship with the Body-Flicker, perfecting the rhythm until his body responded without thought. Each night, he collapsed in his room, Ginny sneaking in to pester him with questions.
By Christmas Eve, Ron had achieved what most seasoned duelists could not. His movements were seamless, his bokken glowing faintly under his rudimentary magical coating. Not perfect, but enough to cut through the air with power that no ordinary wooden blade should hold.
That evening, two figures approached the Burrow.
Albus Dumbledore's tall frame cast a long shadow in the snow, his cloak heavy and his half-moon glasses glinting under the starlight. Beside him, Professor Flitwick trotted briskly, his eyes alive with curiosity.
Molly hurried to meet them at the door, relief plain on her face. "Albus! Filius! Thank heavens you came. He's in the yard again. You'll see it for yourselves."
Arthur followed, his voice a mix of embarrassment and worry. "I don't know how to explain it. He… He's making magic do things it shouldn't."
Dumbledore only inclined his head, his gaze already fixed toward the yard. "Then let us see what young Ronald has wrought."
Outside, Ron was practicing again, the bokken slicing through the crisp air. Snow sprayed, his figure flickered, reappeared—then vanished again, footwork flowing like water. When he stopped, his sword cut down in a single perfect arc that hummed with restrained magic.
Flitwick gasped audibly, his small hands tightening around his wand. "Albus, did you see—? He's compressing his magic into his very body. That's… That's centuries-old dueling theory, thought impractical!"
Dumbledore's eyes twinkled, but the lines on his face deepened. He saw not just a boy swinging a wooden sword, but a prodigy forcing the wizarding world to stretch around him. "Yes, Filius. I see."
Ginny clapped her mittens together, running to Ron's side proudly. "See, Dumbledore! Ron's the best! No one can catch him."
Ron lowered his bokken, his breathing steady. He turned toward the headmaster and the Charms professor, eyes unflinching. "I told my family already. This is mine. I created it. It's called the Body-Flicker."
Dumbledore regarded him quietly, his expression unreadable. Flitwick, on the other hand, walked closer, his voice brimming with both admiration and disbelief. "And you integrated it into your swordsmanship footwork… At nine years old."
Charlie muttered under his breath, "That's my little brother…" Fred and George grinned nervously, while Percy simply folded his arms tighter, refusing to speak.
Molly clutched Arthur's arm, whispering, "Albus… is he still our Ron?"
Dumbledore's gaze lingered on Ron, then softened ever so slightly. "Yes, Molly. He is still your Ron. But he is also… something more."
The night wind blew, carrying with it the quiet hum of Ron's bokken as he raised it once again. The Burrow, usually filled with warmth and chaos, now stood in the presence of something that would shape the wizarding world.
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[System Status Panel — Ronald Bilius Weasley]
[Input: Two-Katana Swordsmanship]
Practice time: 1200 years
Tier: Master (Grandmaster Knowledge, Master Body)
Status: Active
—Integrating: Body-Flicker (Magical variant)
—Progress: 83% (100%)
[Input: Body-Flicker (Magical variant)]
Tier: Master (grandmaster)
Status: Integrated into Two-Katana Swordsmanship
[Input: Body-Flicker (Magical variant)]
Tier: grandmaster
Status: Integrated into Two-Katana Swordsmanship, standalone
[Input: Magic Manipulation — Weapon Coating]
Tier: Novice → Apprentice
Progress: barely passable.