This is an OOC Ronald Weasley fanfiction, with the magic based on 'magical cores'. Ravenclaw Ron. Slow growth of characters, starts before Hogwarts, ends after Voldemort's death.

I OWN NOTHING

BETAED BY StarsandSunkissed, who has my thanks.

1990-13 July

Ronald Weasley was a lonely child. It wasn't easy to notice, but being the second youngest of seven made it easy to fade in the background. He used to prefer his older brothers over the other siblings since they weren't mean to him. He loved them, he truly did, even if he would never admit it out loud.

When he was younger Bill hung out with Charlie, but Ron was too young to play with them, even if Charlie taught him how to fly a broom. He had the time of his life until Mum took notice and started screaming. Bill even taught him how to read and write. So Ron gave it his all: it was nice having the attention of his sibling only for himself.

Bill was a Curse-Breaker now, so he was never at home, and Charlie worked at the dragon reserve in Romania.

That left Percy, who didn't have time to waste on him since he always had to study.

There were also the twins, who preferred their own company and made him drink or eat stuff that hurt in one way or another. That had been before they turned his teddy bear into a spider. Ron never played with Fred and George again. Ever. It had been more than a month and he kept having nightmares.

There was Ginny, pampered Ginny, the favorite of everyone. Ginny, who was almost territorial when it came to her friend Luna, who was strange in her own right. Ron wasn't bothered much by her Lovegood-ness, since he knew her parents, who were also a bit barmy, but whenever he tried to befriend Luna, Ginny made a scene and Mum would come to her rescue.

That left Mum, who was busy with keeping the house in 'proper condition', running after the twins, and fussing over Ginny.

Dad was either at work or in his shed, where his children weren't allowed.

But two years before grandfather taught him how to play chess. He died six months later, and Ron cried more than his siblings, who teased him. It wasn't his fault if they weren't friends with their grandfather. But at the funeral dad had spent more time reassuring him, so it hadn't been that bad. But soon after Ron faded once more into the background, and so here he was, under a peach tree in the orchard, playing chess against himself.

It wasn't very fun, but he didn't have much to do. He finished his chores in the morning and had the whole afternoon to relax. Even if he would have preferred to do something with his family, it wasn't an option. Usually, he lazed during the whole day, so that the chores would last more and keep him from getting even more bored.

The nightmares, however, left him with a short temper and he didn't have the patience to slow down his work.

Ron rubbed his bloodshot eyes, unleashing a tired sigh. Maybe he could nap a bit, the July sun made resting under the shade of the peach tree an interesting option. But if the twins found him asleep they would pull one of their pranks, and if he fell asleep now, it would be harder later tonight. The spider-related nightmares weren't going away, and he woke up tired early every morning. At least he could use the bathroom before anyone. His parents had their own personal bathroom while the twins and Ginny hogged the other three. It wasn't fun having to wait.

He could write a letter to Charlie or Bill, but they wrote from time to time to the family already, and he did not want to look clingy. He yawned, castling with the white pieces. But as he thought about how to move the black ones, he already knew what plans he had made for the white rook and countered it with barely a thought. Obviously he also knew what he was planning with the black pieces too, and with a frustrated sigh, removed the pieces from the board. It was boring and almost annoying playing chess alone, but he always won on the few occasions one of the others sat down to play. So it didn't really matter. At least when he played with the others he could use the wizard chess pieces. He looked at the Muggle pieces he had been playing with, letting his fingers trail over the old wood. Grandfather had told him that Muggle chess was better than the wizard one even if it was less flashy. However having your bishop contest your orders because it thought it knew better was fun, at least in Ron's opinion.

He surrendered, admitting to himself that he was just too tired to go on. He picked up the board and walked back into the house, being careful to not be seen by his mother, who would only give him more chores once he found him lazing around.

The Burrow, in his opinion, was a beautiful place to live in. Sure, when all the Weasleys were home it became a tiny bit overcrowded, but that didn't happen often, so it was okay.

The living room had mismatched couches and armchairs arranged around the fireplace from which the Weasleys Flooed around, but it was cozy. On the left there was the big kitchen, that was Mum's kingdom and the twins were forbidden to enter it.

The small, creaking staircase led to the first floor. On it was Ginny's room, the biggest after their parents'— which had a great view over the orchard—the first bathroom and Charlie's old room. On the second floor was Bill's old room and their parents' bedroom (which had its own bathroom). On the third, the twins shared a room, along with the second bathroom.

The fourth floor hosted both his and Percy's rooms along with the final bathroom. Over that was the attic, abode of the harmless family ghoul.

Ron reached his room and put down the board, before going outside again. It was a beautiful day, not a cloud in sight. He would have liked to sleep so much. But the fear of nightmares pushed him forward, he pressed tiredly his palms onto his eyes, then he started walking on the edge of the swampy cornfield that surrounded the south side of the house. He found himself at the beginning of the lane that led to the Muggle village of Ottery St Catchpole.

Ron had been there once or twice, following Dad while he looked for new Muggle things to tinker with. Ron looked at himself, noticing that he was dressed in a way that could resemble a Muggle. He knew he obviously wasn't allowed to just leave the Burrow. He looked behind, taking notice of the shouts he could hear. It wasn't like anyone would notice if he were to disappear until dinner. So he turned once again, and started walking down the lane.

Muggles were bloody strange, the fact that dad was almost obsessed with them was easy to explain though. Ottery St Catchpole was a little village, nothing more, but Ron could see their traffic lights and moving cars. The smell made him wrinkle his nose, the air itself was different from the one he breathed at the Burrow. He walked around slowly, taking in the strangeness of the place. Even the roads were strange, the asphalt was so different from the gravel-covered paths he was used to, even Diagon Alley had stone and pebbles encased on the ground.

Ron walked around very carefully, crossing roads only when he saw the other Muggles do the same, and soon he noticed that they were waiting for the traffic light to turn green. He was amazed when he realized that the green light for the cars came with a red light for the people walking. Maybe Dad's right. Muggles are interesting, he thought, looking with interest at a little music store.

He kept walking around, taking in the sight of Muggles in their natural environment. He followed a group of three kids that entered in what he suddenly recognized as a library. Hogwarts has a library too! Wondering if they were the same, he decided to explore it, so he could compare it to the one he would end up finding once he started attending school.

The Burrow didn't have many books, the ones he had nicked from time to time from his brothers were used for school, and were way over his head. He would try again coming September, once the twins went back to Hogwarts. Maybe I could even owl Bill for his old notes.

"Since I'm already here, I could read up if Muggles have a machine of some kind to take away nightmares."

After half an hour of looking around, he came to the conclusion that there wasn't a section on dreams, which was stupid, in his opinion. He ended up reading about MRI scans, and how the brain was made. Ron, being ten, didn't understand many of the terms in the books But the images of the human brain, while a bit spooking, were undoubtedly fascinating. He had never thought that a different area of the mind acted on different aspects of his life.

He kept reading an article that really captured his attention, and was mostly understandable.

Dreams are understood to be recent autobiographical episodes that become woven with past memories to create a new memory that can be referenced later, but nightmares are simply dreams that cause a strong but unpleasant emotional response. Dreams are part of the brain's default network—a system of interconnected regions, which includes the thalamus, medial prefrontal cortex, and posterior cingulate cortex—that remains active during comparatively quiet periods.

REM sleep is one example of a quiet period. It is a stage of sleep that is characterized by rapid eye movement, irregular heartbeat, and increased rates of respiration. REM sleep is discontinuous, chunked into four or five periods that together make up about 20 percent of our slumber. It is during these REM episodes that brain structures in the default network exert influence, and it is during REM sleep that vividly recalled dreams occur most often.

Nightmares tend to happen during the period of sleep when REM intervals lengthen; these usually occur halfway through slumber. As we prepare to awaken, memories begin to integrate and consolidate. We dream as we emerge from REM sleep. Because we tend to dream on the sleep-wake cusp, images imagined while dreaming, including the vivid, often terrifying images produced during nightmares, are remembered.

A possible pre-emptive way to deal with nightmares, besides the use of chemical products that guarantee a dreamless sleep, can set up the place where the subject sleeps so it can make the patient feel safe and relaxed at the same time. The use of said chemical products however, it usually quickly evolves in abuse, and as such, should be kept as a last resource, and made use of only sporadically.

Reading before falling asleep is another routine that can help, but the answer to it is subjective. Fantastical or mythological novels that force the mind to imagine stories far away from the everyday life of the subject are known to help.

"I'd like to know what is this REM thing, but it still does not help me with nightmares." He commented once he had finished reading. He tiredly rubbed his eyes again before glancing at the clock on the wall. It's 16:15 already! He had less than an hour before he had to return home or he'd be found out.

He put back the books on the shelves from which he took them, using a chair to reach the top shelf.

"Who would ever have thought that I would end up being grateful to Percy for explaining to me how the library worked?" he muttered to himself.

It looks like the fantasy stories of Muggles talk about us, so they can hardly help me, he thought, skimming the first book in the fantasy section. Thinking about dragons would hardly challenge his mind to imagine something different from his everyday life.

He took up a small book with the simple title The Allfather. "Brilliant," he grinned, letting his eyes roam on the shelves in front of him. This was about Norse Mythology, so it would do.

Ron made his way to an empty table, where he started reading, carefully keeping an eye on the clock.

Odin (pronounced "OH-din"; Old Norse Óðinn, Old English and Old Saxon Woden, Old High German Wuotan, Wotan, or Wodan, Proto-Germanic Woðanaz, ("Master of Ecstasy") is one of the most complex and enigmatic characters in Norse mythology, and perhaps in all of world literature.

Ron beamed, it looked like an interesting introduction. And while the book was not one of the stories he was searching for, picturing a character that promised to be so complex was exactly what the book Brain and Sleep he found suggested. He continued.

He's the ruler of the Aesir tribe of deities, yet he often ventures far from their kingdom, Asgard, on long, solitary wanderings throughout the cosmos on purely self-interested quests. He's a relentless seeker after and giver of wisdom, but he has little regard for communal values such as justice, fairness, or respect for law and convention. He's the divine patron of rulers, and also of outlaws. He's a war-god, but also a poetry-god, and he has prominent "effeminate" qualities that would have brought unspeakable shame to any historical Viking warrior. He's worshipped by those in search of prestige, honour, and nobility, yet he's often cursed for being a fickle trickster. What kind of literary figure – let alone a god whose historical worship spanned much of a continent and several centuries – could possibly embody all of these qualities at once, with their apparently glaring contradictions?

As mentioned above, Odin's name can be translated as "Master of Ecstasy." His Old Norse name, Óðinn, is formed from two parts: first, the nounóðr, "ecstasy, fury, inspiration," and the suffix-inn, the masculine definite article, which, when added to the end of another word like this, means something like "the master of" or "a perfect example of." The eleventh-century historian Adam of Bremen confirms this when he translates "Odin" as "The Furious." Oðrcan take countless different forms. As one saga describes Odin, "when he sat with his friends, he gladdened the spirits of all of them, but when he was at war, his demeanour was terrifyingly grim."

This ecstasy that Odin embodies and imparts is the unifying factor behind the myriad areas of life with which he is especially associated: war, sovereignty, wisdom, magic, shamanism, poetry, and the dead.

In modern popular culture, Odin is often portrayed as being an eminently honorable ruler and battlefield commander (not to mention impossibly muscular), but to the ancient Norse, he was nothing of the sort. In contrast to more straightforwardly noble war gods such as Tyror Thor, Odin incites otherwise peaceful people to strife with what, to modern tastes, is a downright sinister glee. His attitude is not far from Nietzsche's dictum, "You say it is the good cause that hallows even war? I say unto you: it is the good war that hallows any cause."

Ron had no idea who this Nietzsche was, but he could find out another day.

In keeping with his associations with sovereignty, Odin doesn't generally concern himself with average warriors, preferring instead to lavish his blessings only on those whom he deems to be worthy of them. Many of the greatest Germanic heroes, such as Starkaðr and the Volsung family, have enjoyed Odin's patronage.

He maintains particularly close affiliations with the berserkers and other "warrior-shamans" whose fighting techniques and associated spiritual practices centre around achieving a state of ecstatic unification with certain ferocious totem animals, usually wolves or bears, and, by extension, with Odin himself, the master of such beasts.

Thus, as a war-god, Odin is principally concerned not with the reasons behind any given conflict or even its outcome, but rather with the raw, chaotic battle-frenzy (one of the primary manifestations ofóðr) that permeates any such struggle.

"Warrior shamans?" Ron muttered to himself, picturing a feral, muscular and powerful self going to battle against whatever. Or better yet, an enemy worthy of all his dedication.

Odin's preference for the elite extends to all realms of society. As the chief of the Aesir gods, he's the divine archetype of a ruler. He's the legendary founder of numerous royal lines and kings are as likely as shamanistic warriors to claim him as their beneficiary.

The Germanic peoples, like other Indo-European peoples, originally had at three-tiered social/political hierarchy: the first tier consisted of rulers, the second of warriors, and the third of farmers and others occupied with production and fecundity. The gods and goddesses can be profitably mapped onto this schema, and Odin, along with Tyr, corresponds to the first tier, the crucial difference between Tyr and Odin in this regard, however, is that Tyr has much more to do with rule by law and justice, whereas Odin has much more to do with rule by magic and cunning. Tyr is the sober and virtuous ruler; Odin is the devious, inscrutable, and inspired ruler.

Ron scrunched his nose when he read about cunning. He sounded like a Slytherin.

Paradoxically, Odin is often the favorite god and helper of outlaws, those who had been banished from society for some especially heinous crime, as well. Like Odin, many such men were exceptionally strong-willed warrior-poets who were apathetic to established societal norms – Egill Skallagrímsson (Egil's Saga) and Grettir Ásmundarson (The Saga of Grettir the Strong) are two examples. The late twelfth/early thirteenth-century Danish historian Saxo Grammaticus even relates a tale of Odin being outlawed from Asgard for ten years so that the other gods and goddesses wouldn't be tarnished by the vile reputation he had acquired amongst many humans.

Whatever their social stature, the men and women favored by Odin are distinguished by their intelligence, creativity, and competence in the proverbial "war of all against all." Whether such people become kings or criminals is mostly a matter of luck.

Ron was engrossed in the book. While the cunning aspects did not sit well with him, it looked like Odin was one that minded his own business, and said to hell with everything else.

One of the greatest differences between monotheistic theologies and polytheistic theologies is that, in the former, God is generally all-knowing, all-powerful, all-loving, etc. Polytheistic gods are none of these things; like any human, tree, or hawk, they are limited by their particularity. For Odin, any kind of limitation is something to be overcome by any means necessary, and his actions are carried out within the context of a relentless and ruthless quest for more wisdom, more knowledge, and more power, usually of a magical sort.

Ron grew subdued. He seemed like a Dark Lord now. He wasn't sure if he wanted to keep reading, but he had another thirty minutes before he had to leave, so he didn't really have the time to properly begin another book. He went on.

One of the most striking attributes of his appearance is his single, piercing eye. His other eye socket is empty – the eye it once held was sacrificed for wisdom.

On another occasion, Odin "sacrificed himself to himself" by hanging on the world-tree Yggdrasil for nine days and nights, receiving no form of nourishment from his companions. At the end of this ordeal, he perceived the runes, the magically-charged ancient Germanic alphabet that was held to contain many of the greatest secrets of existence. He is depicted as having subsequently boasted:

Then I was fertilized and grew wise;

From a word to a word I was led to a word,

From a work to a work I was led to a work.

Odin's competitive side once drove him to challenge the wisest of the giants to a contest to see who was more knowledgeable and learned. The prize was the head of the loser, and Odin won by asking his opponent something that only he himself could know. Odin then claimed his prize and returned to Asgard.

Along with Freya, he's one of the two greatest practitioners of shamanism amongst the gods.

His shamanic spirit-journeys are well-documented. TheYnglinga Saga records that he often "travels to distant lands on his own errands or those of others" while he appears to others to be asleep or dead. Another instance is recorded in the Eddic poem "Baldur's Dreams," where Odin rode Sleipnir, an eight-legged horse typical of northern Eurasian shamanism to the underworld to consult a dead seeress on behalf of his son.

"He had also a familial love of some kind," observed Ron, thinking of himself. He felt abandoned by his family, but he loved them fiercely nonetheless. So he could relate.

Odin, like shamans all over the world, is accompanied by many familiar spirits, most notably the ravens Hugin and Munin, the wolves Geri and Freki, and the valkyries.

The shaman must typically undergo a ritual death and rebirth in order to acquire his or her powers and Odin underwent exactly such an ordeal when he discovered the runes.

We've already, albeit briefly, discussed the berserkers and other distinguished "warrior-shamans" under Odin's patronage. This was the form of Germanic shamanism that was the most socially acceptable for men to practice.

The other main form of Germanic shamanism is contained within the magical tradition known asseidr, of which Odin and Freya are the foremost divine practitioners. In traditional Germanic society, for a man to engage in seidr was effectively to forsake the male gender role, which brought considerable scorn upon any male who chose to take up this path. As the sagas show, this didn't stop some men from practicing seidr anyway. However, even Odin wasn't exempt from such charges of "unmanliness," and was taunted for adopting the feminine traits and tasks that form part of the backbone of seidr. Saxo, in the passage on Odin's exile, alluded to above, relates that "by his stage-tricks and his assumption of a woman's work he had brought the foulest scandal on the name of the gods." Note also the reference to being "fertilized" in the verse quoted above – while this is certainly a metaphor, it's a metaphor loaded with sexual implications that would have been immediately recognizable to any Viking Age or medieval reader or hearer of the poem.

Ron blushed reading this latter part, but he kept going.

A fuller discussion of the relationship between Germanic shamanism and gender roles can be found in later chapters. For our present purposes, it's sufficient to point out that, in the eyes of the pre-Christian northern Europeans, Odin's practice of seidr made him a rather "unmanly" being incapable of fulfilling the expectations placed upon an honorable man.

But we've already noted Odin's scant concern for honour. He isn't one to refuse any ecstatic practice, even those that bring him ill repute.

Ron scrunched his nose. At home, he and his siblings took turns doing all the chores, even if Mum was the only one to work in the kitchen.

Odin speaks only in poems and the ability to compose poetry is a gift he grants at his pleasure. He stole the mead of poetry, the primeval source of the ability to speak and write beautifully and persuasively, from the giants. Ever since, he has dispensed it to certain gods, humans, and other beings whom he deems worthy of it. The mead's Old Norse name is Óðrœrir, "The Stirrer ofÓðr," and, as we have seen, óðr("ecstasy, fury, inspiration") is the root of Odin's name as well. This intoxicating drink, along with the power it grants, is yet another manifestation of his overflowing ecstasy.

Ron snorted. Seriously? Talking in rhyme?

When Roman writers spoke of the gods and goddesses of other peoples, they generally tried to identify them with deities from their own religion. When they mentioned Odin, they glossed him as Mercury, the Roman psychopomp (the divine figure who guides those who have just died from the realm of the living to that of the dead, and, in due time, back to the land of the living again). This is significant because it shows that Odin's associations with death were seen as being even more significant than his associations with war, or else he would have been glossed as Mars. (This designation usually fell to Tyr or Thor instead.)

Odin presides over Valhalla, the most prestigious of the dwelling-places of the dead. After every battle, he and his helping-spirits, the valkyries ("choosers of the fallen"), comb the field and take their pick of half of the slain warriors to carry back to Valhalla. (Freya then claims the remaining half.)

He was a frequent recipient of human sacrifice, especially of royalty, nobles, and enemy armies. This was generally accomplished by means of a spear, a noose, or both – the same manner in which Odin "sacrificed himself to himself" (Old Norsegefinn Óðni, sjálfr sjálfum mér) in order to acquire knowledge of the runes. A common – and chilling – way of securing his favour in battle was to throw a spear over one's foes, sacrificing them to the god with the cry, "Odin owns ye all!" (Old Norse = Óðinn á yðr alla).

His mastery of necromancy, the magical art of communicating with and raising the dead, is frequently noted.

"I was starting to like you," Ron grumbled.

While there are several reasons Odin maintains this commerce with the dead, including his desire to learn what knowledge and wisdom they possess, the most significant reason is his dread-driven desire to have as many of the best warriors as possible on his side when he must face the wolf Fenrir during Ragnarok– even though he knows that he's doomed to die in the battle.

One of Odin's countless names is "Allfather" (Old Norse Alfaðir), "because," according to Snorri Sturluson, "he is the father of all of the gods." And, as we've already noted, Odin is listed as the divine ancestor of countless families from all over northern Europe. He's simultaneously an Aesir god, a Vanir god (the Vanir god Odris only an extension or transposition of Odin), and a giant (his mother is Bestla, one of the first frost-giants). One Old Norse poem even identifies him withönd, the breath of life.

Ron almost whistled, he picked a cool myth to get started with.

What can we discern in all of this regarding Odin's identity? In the same way that Thor is the divine force whose presence the Vikings felt in the thunder, Odin is the divine force whose presence the Vikings felt inóðr. To them, this inspiration/fury/ecstasy was not a profane phenomenon, but a sacred and even divine one that lay at the heart of countless different undertakings, including many that were both especially rarefied and especially decisive in the Vikings' lives. This is perhaps why Odin is the chieftain of the gods – the realms of life over which he presided were to the other aspects of life what a ruler is to the common people.

The Norse saw their gods as vital forces that held the cosmos together. As the "Allfather," Odin was the vital force of vital forces – the "breath of life," or something almost akin to Nietzsche's "Will to Power." It's surely no accident that Odin played a greater role than any other god in the creation of the world. Without his vivifying ecstasy, and the enchantment, insight, and clarity that it brings, life – and in particular a life worth living – would be impossible.

Ron glanced once more to the clock, he had to go. He put away the book, memorizing the number of the page he had reached, before heading to the exit. He answered the goodbye of the adult who stood at the reception of the library and quickly started his twenty-minute walk toward home. Maybe I should run. The sooner I arrive, the better I can pretend I was around way before dinner. As soon as he left the outskirts of the village, he started running toward the Burrow.

In the meantime he memorized the name Nietsche, it could be an interesting read for tomorrow. He would also keep reading about the brain, he was still astonished that the Muggles managed to learn so much. Maybe he could become a Healer? Bill Curse-Breaker, Charlie dragon tamer, Percy a high-ranked Ministry worker, the twins doing whatever with their jokes. He would be someone, not simply another Weasley. Even if the idea was mimicking some of Odin's accomplishments, like exploring the world, battling enemies sounded exciting. He would obviously battle dark wizards, but Aurors and Hit Wizards worked for the Ministry, like Percy. That was a big no-no in his books.

He crept back from the lane onto the property, careful to not be seen. He could hear the twins playing quidditch behind the house, Ginny was probably still at the Rookery, Dad was still at work, Mum was likely in the kitchen, and Percy without a doubt was in his room, studying or doing whatever. He walked in without nobody being the wiser.

Later, they all had the usual loud dinner, and Ron hid his nervousness keeping his mouth always full. He was waiting for the other shoe to drop, but nobody called him on his absence.

That night, he slept peacefully, dreaming of the one-eyed traveler he read about during the afternoon.