Ron was in his room reading about the Giant Wars when Percy knocked on his door.
"Come in."
Percy entered carrying a stack of books that looked like they weighed more than Ginny. "I noticed you finished Hogwarts, A History," he said, setting them on Ron's desk. "I thought you might find these interesting."
Ron looked at the titles. "Basic Spell Theory" sat on top. Below that were "A Beginner's Guide to Magical Theory," "Practical Applications of Wand Movement," "The Science of Spellcasting," and "Foundations of Magical Education."
His brain immediately perked up with interest.
"These should give you a good foundation in magical principles," Percy said, adjusting his glasses. "Start with Basic Spell Theory. It covers the fundamental concepts. The others build on those ideas."
Ron picked up the top book carefully. The cover was worn, clearly read multiple times. "Thanks, Percy. Really."
"Of course," Percy said, looking genuinely pleased. "If you have questions, I'm happy to explain the more complex concepts. Some of the theory can be quite dense for someone without formal magical education."
"I appreciate it."
Percy smiled and headed back to his own room, leaving Ron with five books on magical theory.
Ron opened Basic Spell Theory to the first page. The introduction started with: "Magic is the art and science of channeling natural forces through focused will and precise technique. Understanding the underlying principles is essential for any serious student of magical arts."
Perfect. This was exactly what he needed.
He settled onto his bed and started reading.
The theory was fascinating.
Magic responded to intent, but intent alone wasn't enough. You needed the proper wand movement to shape the magical energy. The correct incantation to focus it. The right mental visualization to direct it.
But the book kept saying things like "the swish and flick motion channels magic in a levitation pattern" without explaining what a levitation pattern actually was. Or "the incantation focuses magical intent" without describing the mechanism of how words affected magic.
It was like reading a manual that said "turn the key to start the car" without explaining engines or combustion or mechanics.
Ron took notes in the margins. Questions piling up.
Why did specific wand movements produce specific effects? Was it arbitrary, like grammar in a language? Or was there an underlying logic?
What was the relationship between intent and outcome? Could strong enough intent overcome poor technique?
Could you modify a spell by changing the wand movement slightly? What would happen if you did?
What determined which spells required incantations and which didn't?
The book didn't answer these questions. It just said "this is how you do it" and moved on.
Frustrating. But also fascinating in its gaps.
There was structure here. Systems. Rules. Ron's brain was already building frameworks, looking for patterns, trying to understand the underlying mechanics.
If magic was a system, it could be understood. And if it could be understood, it could be optimized.
The book disagreed, apparently. It kept emphasizing that students should learn the established methods and not experiment. That centuries of wizards had perfected these spells and deviating from standard movements was "dangerous and ill-advised."
Which just made Ron want to experiment more.
But he'd need a wand for that. And space. And privacy.
Something to plan for.
Ron kept reading, hours passing without him noticing.
"Ron!" Arthur's voice from downstairs. "Come look at this!"
Ron marked his page and headed down, curious about what Arthur had found now.
Arthur was in the kitchen, standing next to what was clearly a Muggle toaster with the excitement of someone who'd discovered treasure. It sat on the table looking perfectly ordinary except for the fact that it was in a magical household.
"Look what was confiscated today!" Arthur said, gesturing at it enthusiastically. "Someone was trying to charm it to make toast in the shape of animals. Can you believe it?"
Ron's stomach did a weird flip. He knew exactly how a toaster worked. Had used one almost daily in his previous life for quick meals when money was tight. Cheap bread, cheap toaster, survival eating.
But he couldn't say that.
"I've... seen these before," Ron said carefully. "In Muggle areas."
Not a lie. Just incomplete truth.
"You have?" Arthur looked delighted. "Excellent! Maybe you can help me understand how it works. The Muggle mechanism, I mean."
Arthur was examining it closely, turning it over in his hands like it was some exotic artifact instead of the most basic kitchen appliance ever made.
"It's for making toast," Ron said. "You put bread in these slots, push down this lever, and heating elements inside cook it. When it's done, the lever pops back up."
"Fascinating! But how does it heat without fire?" Arthur asked, genuinely confused.
"Electricity. The heating elements are wires that get hot when electricity flows through them."
"Remarkable!" Arthur bent down to examine it closely. "And the Muggle controls the cooking time with this dial?"
"Yeah, higher number means more time."
"Ingenious! A completely mechanical timing system integrated with a heating mechanism!" Arthur straightened up, pulling out his wand with a mischievous gleam in his eye. "I wonder if I could charm it to work without electricity. Make it run on magic instead."
Ron had a bad feeling about this. "Uh, Dad? Are you sure that's safe?"
"Oh, perfectly safe. I've done this sort of thing dozens of times." Arthur pointed his wand at the toaster. "Operatus mechanicus!"
The toaster began to glow.
Then it began to shake.
Then it began to smoke.
"That's not good," Ron said.
The toaster started making a high-pitched whining noise that hurt Ron's ears.
"Arthur!" Molly appeared in the doorway. "What are you doing to that toaster?"
"Just a simple charm to—"
The toaster exploded.
Not a massive explosion. More like a loud pop followed by springs and metal bits flying in all directions. The lever shot across the room and embedded itself in the wall. Bread crumbs scattered like shrapnel. The heating elements sparked once and died.
There was a moment of stunned silence.
"Well," Arthur said eventually. "That's new."
Ron started laughing. He couldn't help it. The absurdity of the situation. Toaster bits everywhere. Arthur's bewildered expression. The lever sticking out of the wall like an arrow.
"This is why we can't have nice things," Molly said, but she was fighting a smile.
"In my defense," Arthur said, examining a piece of toaster, "I didn't expect it to explode quite so enthusiastically."
"You never do," Molly said, already pulling out her wand. "Honestly, Arthur. Every time you bring home a Muggle artifact, something ends up in pieces."
"The rubber ducks didn't explode."
"Because rubber ducks don't have complicated mechanisms!"
Ron was still laughing, helping Arthur pick up the larger pieces. This was ridiculous. Completely absurd.
And kind of wonderful, actually.
"What went wrong?" Ron asked, examining a twisted piece of metal that might have been the heating element.
"I'm not entirely sure," Arthur admitted. "The charm should have simply replaced the electrical power source with magical energy. Perhaps the mechanical components couldn't handle magical input?"
"Or maybe Muggle technology and magic don't mix well," Ron suggested.
"That's possible. There are theories about magical interference with electronics, though the research is limited. Most wizards don't care enough about Muggle devices to study the interaction properly." Arthur sighed. "Shame. I was hoping to understand the toasting mechanism better."
"You did understand it," Ron pointed out. "Right before it exploded."
"That's true!" Arthur brightened. "I learned quite a lot. Muggles really are remarkably clever with their mechanical solutions."
They spent the next twenty minutes cleaning up. Molly repaired the wall where the lever had embedded itself with a casual wave of her wand. Arthur kept muttering about "magical-mechanical interfaces" and "energy conversion problems."
Ron found himself actually enjoying this. The problem-solving. The discussion about why things went wrong. Arthur's enthusiasm despite the failure.
It felt... nice. Talking with his dad about something. Sharing knowledge, even if he had to be careful about how much he revealed.
"Thank you for helping me understand how it worked," Arthur said once everything was cleaned up. "Even though we destroyed it, I learned quite a lot about Muggle engineering."
"No problem."
Arthur smiled at him, warm and genuine. "You have such interesting observations about Muggle things, Ron. Most wizards your age don't notice or care about these details."
Something settled in Ron's chest at that. Arthur wasn't just tolerating his explanations. He was genuinely pleased by them. Actually valued Ron's input.
Ron filed that away. Arthur's enthusiasm for Muggle technology meant Ron could explain modern things without raising suspicion. Perfect cover for knowledge he shouldn't have.
"I'm going to go back to reading," Ron said.
"Of course. Let me know if you have questions about magical theory. I may not be as knowledgeable as Percy, but I'm happy to help if I can."
Ron headed back upstairs, toaster explosion behind him, spell theory waiting.
The afternoon disappeared into the book.
Ron couldn't stop. Every page raised new questions. Every explanation left gaps he wanted to fill. His brain was building frameworks, cataloguing patterns, trying to understand the underlying systems.
Magic responded to intent. That was established. But what exactly was intent? How did focused will translate into physical effects? The book talked about "channeling magical energy" but never explained where that energy came from or how it existed.
And the wand movements. Why did specific movements produce specific effects? Was it arbitrary? Or was there logic behind why swish-and-flick created levitation while other patterns created different results?
Ron filled the margins with notes. Questions. Theories. If magic was a system, it could be understood. And if it could be understood, it could be improved. Optimized. Used more efficiently.
The book kept emphasizing that students should follow established methods. That deviating was dangerous. That centuries of wizards had perfected these techniques.
Which made Ron want to experiment even more.
But he needed a wand. And practice space. And privacy to test theories without someone stopping him or asking questions.
"Ron!" Ginny's voice from downstairs. "Are you going to play chess or just read all day?"
Ron checked the window. The sun was lower than he'd thought. He'd been reading for hours without noticing time pass.
"Coming!"
He headed downstairs, brain still half-focused on magical theory. Intent and will and energy channeling through specific patterns.
Ginny had the chess board set up in the sitting room, pieces arranged and ready.
"Finally," she said. "You've been up there forever."
"Sorry. Lost track of time."
They started playing. Ron moved pieces on autopilot, his mind still turning over what he'd read. The relationship between wand movement and magical effect. Why certain patterns produced certain results. Whether the movements were arbitrary or followed some underlying principle.
"Checkmate," Ginny said.
Ron blinked and looked at the board. His king was trapped between her queen and a rook. She'd set up a perfect attack while he was distracted.
"Wait, what?"
Ginny was grinning. "I won! I actually beat you!"
Ron stared at the board. She'd outmaneuvered him completely. He'd lost because he wasn't paying attention. Because his brain was too busy thinking about magic.
"You... yeah, you did." Ron looked at her. "Good game. That was solid strategy."
"You weren't paying attention," she accused, but she was still smiling. "You were thinking about your books."
"Maybe a little."
"A lot." She started resetting the pieces. "One more game? Where you actually focus this time?"
"Yeah, sure."
They played again, and this time Ron paid attention. But even while focusing on the board, part of his brain was still working through magical theory questions. The gaps in explanation. The things he wanted to test.
He won the second game, but Ginny made him work for it. Her strategy was improving rapidly.
"Getting better," he said.
"I'm going to beat you again," she said confidently. "Soon."
"Probably," Ron agreed.
Dinner was the usual chaos. Everyone talking over each other. The twins arguing about optimal dungbomb trajectories. Percy trying to read at the table despite Molly's disapproval. Arthur asking questions about food preparation that no one could answer. Ginny kicking the table leg in a rhythm only she understood.
Ron ate and listened and catalogued. Normal family dinner. This was what normal families did, apparently.
Strange how quickly it had become familiar.
After dinner, Ron went straight back to his room and the spell theory book. He read until his eyes hurt from the dim light. Then he kept reading anyway.
The book covered basic spells. Lumos for light. Wingardium Leviosa for levitation. Alohomora for unlocking. Each one with specific wand movements, specific incantations, specific techniques.
But the explanations were all surface level. "Do this and this happens." No deeper understanding of why.
Ron's frustration grew with every page. These were instructions, not explanations. Like someone teaching him to drive by saying "turn the wheel left to go left" without explaining steering mechanisms or physics or how any of it actually worked.
He wanted to understand the mechanics. The underlying principles. The actual science or magic or whatever governed how spells functioned.
Eventually, exhaustion won. Ron closed the book and set it on his desk. His notes were scattered across multiple pages now, questions multiplying faster than answers.
He lay down, mind still spinning.
Tomorrow he'd read more. Learn more. Maybe ask Percy some careful questions about theory.
Tomorrow he'd keep building his understanding, piece by piece.
His brain wouldn't shut up about magical energy and intent and wand movements.
Ron closed his eyes and tried to sleep.
Questions about levitation patterns and channeling mechanisms chased each other through his thoughts until sleep finally took him.