Year Two - Chapter Twelve

Give a man a fire, and he'll be warm for one day. Teach a man how to make a fire, and he'll be warm for as long as he can make them. Put a man on fire, and you'll get arrested for murder. Thus, if there's a fire, clearly ensure you are as far away from any gasoline, or any burning men, as possible. Otherwise, if you're going to burn, throw yourself into the depths of the burning inferno, and ensure you are fireproof down to your underwear.

"Professor Lockhart, I wished to study some great spells for Dragon Slaying. Clearly, I want to be better prepared when your next book comes out," my eyes glittered. My voice gushed with unspoken praise. The professor laughed.

"Now that would be spoilers! Rest assured, dragons are perhaps a bit too cliché to fight, and they're a species nearing extinction," he neared me and whispered, in a hush and conspiratorial tone, "Because of me, of course!"

I beamed him a big smile, and excitedly placed my hands on the desk. "That's so cool!" I said, "This makes me want to read even more on the subject, professor!"

"Ah, there are so many books on the subject," he replied, holding on his flawless smile, "A wise chap like yourself will surely know the best books," he winked in my direction, "From a Ravenclaw to another, a little boost in your research," he easily wrote me a slip, and with it I walked out of his office, nearly hitting Hermione, who was instead the next in line.

"Ah, Shade," Hermione said, looking at me. I grinned and gave her a friendly wave. "You're having problems with Professor Lockhart's spells too?" as she said that, I simply shrugged.

"I haven't even tried them," I whispered in her direction, walking past her. "Fantasy and reality are two different things, Hermione."

I made my way towards the library, a quill and an ink pot all that I needed to write down the titles of some books I might need to read. I didn't need to be greedy. I needed to be smart about it. Thus, I walked out of the Restricted Section, much to Madam Pince's sour face, with a few books that weren't probably meant to be read until a higher year. It was not my fault that Professor Lockhart had given me the go ahead to literally empty the library, and while it was true that a wiser professor might eventually swoop in and take them back, I'd get some copies of the spell written down.

It was thus with the glorious imagery of conjuring meteorites from the very skies that I popped myself on an armchair in the Room of Requirement, ensured no pipes nor baths would open up in the room, and then had the door sealed from the inside to prevent anyone from slithering in. This was the safest room in all of Hogwarts; and as long as I kept it that way, my haven of safety from murderous, homicidal ghosts, evil Horcrux-possessed little first year Gryffindors and their pet Basilisks.

I flipped the first of the books open, cozy and with a cup of hot coffee in one of my hands. I lifted my free hand, and the book began to gently float in front of my face. I twirled a finger, and the page turned. Humming about the ludicrous situation, I took another sip. "I've got the ancient wizard's part down perfectly," I mused to myself, sighing blissfully. Outside, the windows were showing a typical Scottish storm.

A chimney's fire pit appeared in a corner of the Room of Requirements, crackling with fire and warming the room up.

A lightning bolt streaked the clouds, my eyes drawn to the spells for atmospheric manipulation. Dangerous, dark, forbidden spells to ensure your tower of evil always had that cozy thunderstorm, or to get the heat just right to scorch the skin off those peasants that refused to pay your generous taxes. Delivering a drought to a village, or pouring rain down their chimneys, were all quite interesting spells.

The bigger the part of the sky one wished to change, the wider the swings of the wand, the greater the concentration and so forth. It was interesting. There was even a spell to get thunderclap to explode in the background whenever something was said. This was quite funny, rather than dark. Mister Umbrus-who the hell made the glass explode!? It would be too funny to pass up, and perhaps would be a perfect prank to boot.

I flipped through the pages, and then came to a halt.

Fulgur Percutiens, for when you wish to tell your peasants to bow to your might. Used in Ancient Greece by a petty tyrant who wished to keep the population at bay, and have his way with the pretty maidens, it is a difficult spell to master, but quite powerful. The force of lightning is seldom something fought off, even by the most complex of shielding charms.

I sighed. "This looks like the Unlimited Power thingie," I imagined Harry Potter wielding a light saber, fighting off a lightning-throwing Voldemort. My brows furrowed. Was this how the Zeus myth began? I shook my head. This wasn't the time for it. Though perhaps slamming a lightning bolt down the Basilisk throat would be a surefire way of winning against the beast?

Still, there was no way such a powerful spell could be so easily learned. There had to be a catch, as with all strong magics. Perhaps I'd get sparks at first. Maybe I'd get electrocuted. No, experimenting on these kind of things was not how I planned on spending the months before Christmas. I let the book land on the nearby table, and then extended my hand to summon forth the Transfiguration one.

Without moving from my armchair, which was quite comfy and warm, I tapped my wand against the book to let it rise. From my backpack, a small collection of rocks began to float in front of me.

"Lapifors," I said, tapping with my wand at the first of the rocks.

There was a shift, a lurch, and then the rock cracked into some kind of stone-like rabbit. It had rocky whiskers, and its ears broke as it tried to lift them. I awkwardly looked at the monstrosity, and tapped against its sides again, returning it to the rock it had previously been.

"La-pi-fors," I stressed the words out. The stone rabbit that formed hopped a bit around, broke into pieces, and then stared at my face as if I had betrayed its hopes and dreams. "You're making me look like the bad person," I grumbled in the direction of the rabbit's head. I extended my hand, letting the pieces float back together with a lazy twirl of my fingers. "Lap-i-fors," I stressed out.

The rabbit formed. It was fluffy. It was white. It was made of chunks of grisly flesh sewed together from the cracked stone and it began to bleed.

It cried out, a pitiful, whimpering cry as it fell on the ground much to my surprise, and my shock.

I watched the squirming pieces slowly stop moving, returning to stone. The blood dried into dust, becoming fine sand. I swallowed, noisily, and then took another sip of my coffee to steady myself, only to find my mug empty.

"Tweak? Can I get something strong to drink?"

A butterbeer appeared out of thin air.

It wasn't strongly alcoholic, but it was strong all the same in all of the right ways.

In the background, a thunder roared through the skies.

What tangled webs we weave...

...what do you mean Amanda went into the Forbidden Forest looking for stray bludgers!?