"Like this—watch closely!"
Hermione proudly waved her wand and recited a spell. A cluster of bluish, bellflower-colored flames fell onto the overgrown patch of land. After a moment, a faint burning smell began to rise.
But the fire quickly sputtered out. It didn't ignite the field—just singed a few weeds black.
Looking a bit embarrassed, Hermione turned to Charles and said, "I'm still not very good at this spell. Let me try again."
This particular charm conjured blue flames—soft and gentle in light, resistant to wind and rain, and even storable in glass bottles as a portable heater.
But Hermione had only just picked it up from a library book. Not quite battle-tested yet.
The overgrown field already had a protective barrier set up around it. They just needed to burn off the weeds. Charles had only let Hermione try because she'd been obsessively reading flame spellbooks lately.
Just then, Seamus jumped in eagerly. "Let me have a go!"
Helping Charles clear out the patch came with rewards. But most of the Gryffindor first-years were too busy talking about their upcoming flying lessons to care about snacks. Only Seamus—always up for a laugh—and Hermione—who couldn't stand people talking nonsense—showed up to help.
Seamus mimicked Hermione's wand movement and spell incantation. His first attempt only produced a few little blue sparks.
Hermione helpfully pointed out where he'd gone wrong.
To be fair, Seamus was pretty talented. After correcting that small mistake, his wand blasted out a pillar of blue fire—about the size of a firefighter's hose—and it slammed right into the center of the weedy field.
Charles didn't waste a second. He immediately cast a levitation charm on both of them and started dragging them away.
Right as he was getting ready to bolt, the fire on the field exploded.
From upper-year students in the nearby greenhouses, to Professor Sprout, to even Voldemort—watching through Quirrell's eyes behind a castle window—everyone saw a bright flash of blue light.
In the blink of an eye, a swath of the field was blanketed in crystal-like, sky-blue flames.
"Whoa!" Seamus turned excitedly to Hermione. "Your spell is awesome!"
Hermione didn't answer. Mainly because she and Seamus were currently being carried like sacks of potatoes—one over each of Charles's shoulders—as he sprinted full-speed away from the flaming scene.
Charles vaulted over a creek, dashed a full hundred meters, and only then slowed to a stop. By that time, the flames had already begun to die down.
"Ugh!" Seamus groaned as Charles set him down, suddenly feeling drained. His legs gave out and he plopped onto the ground.
Rubbing his head, he mumbled nervously, "I feel so tired... really sleepy…"
He even yawned.
"You're fine," Charles said, handing him a big chunk of chocolate. "You just burned through a ton of magic all at once. Grab some dinner later and sleep it off in the dorm."
When Charles turned to hand Hermione her chocolate, he noticed her expression was… odd. A mix of disbelief and frustration.
"Don't overthink it," Charles said, tapping her lightly on the forehead with the chocolate.
"Owww…" Hermione winced, glaring at him. "Even my dad's never hit me before."
Charles just stuffed the chocolate into her hands, grinning.
"Don't be jealous. Seamus is… special."
"A wizard's magic is like tea in a teapot. Most people pour through the spout—slow and steady. It's easy to control."
"But Seamus? He pours tea by yanking off the lid and tipping the whole thing. Sure, you get tea fast, but it splashes all over the place."
Hermione quickly got the picture and glanced at Seamus with a bit of sympathy.
That was when Seamus started panicking. "Wait—what do I do? Do I need to go to St. Mungo's?"
Charles shrugged.
"The Healers there will probably just say… 'We can't fix this. Go home. Good luck. Bye-bye.'"
"Messing with classmates isn't very nice," a warm voice cut in.
Dumbledore had arrived. With such a fiery spectacle out on the school grounds, of course the headmaster would show up.
He gave Seamus a kind smile. "It's alright. Nothing serious—just practice more, and you'll be fine."
Eyes wide with hope, Seamus asked, "Really?"
"Of course it's true," Dumbledore said with a twinkle in his eye. "I never lie."
Which, of course, heavily implied that Charles did lie.
Seamus, now plotting sweet revenge, wondered if he could borrow Ron's rat tonight and sneak it into Charles's bed for a little scare.
The group followed Dumbledore to the burned patch of land.
The once-overgrown field was now nothing but scorched earth and ash. The soil still radiated warmth—you could probably roast a potato in it if you wanted.
After munching on the chocolate, Seamus perked up a bit. His sleepiness faded, and as he looked over the smoldering field, pride swelled in his chest. "Looks like I'm kind of amazing, huh?"
Charles handed him a small bag of toffee. Payment, as promised.
"It was a magic surge," Dumbledore said, using a term Charles had never heard before. "Finnigan used far too much magical energy at once without properly controlling it. That's what caused the… explosive effect. I doubt even a dragon could've withstood that blast."
He turned to Seamus and added, "I suggest you avoid using spells like that until you've got much better control. Repairing castle walls isn't cheap."
Seamus nodded fervently, lesson learned (for now).
Charles, ever the thinker, tilted his head and asked, "Professor Dumbledore, is it possible to intentionally use that kind of uncontrolled burst to power up spells?"
Dumbledore's face grew serious.
"Spellcasting is a delicate art. Even a slight misstep can cause disastrous results."
"Controlling chaos is much harder than guiding order. You might not get a second chance if something goes wrong."
Charles mulled that over and nodded.
A lack of firepower was one thing. But blindly chasing brute strength was a dead end. In the magical world, precision and safety mattered more.
Like nitroglycerin—explosively powerful on its own, but too dangerous to handle. Only when stabilized with kieselguhr did it become dynamite, something actually usable.
With the weeds now scorched, it was time to prepare the soil.
"Professor Dumbledore," Charles asked, "what's the spell used to make self-writing quills?"
He had, at one point, seriously considered hiring Harry for grunt work—but the old man (aka Gringotts) had driven up labor costs by not accepting Muggle pounds. Plus, Harry had inherited family money and wasn't exactly desperate for pocket change. So, no deal.
He'd also thought about Seamus, but since he was planting flowers and not digging fish ponds, that idea got scrapped.
Charles wasn't about to go ask Voldemort to plow his field either—not unless he planned on grabbing the Dark Lord by the scalp and forcing a hoe into his hand. And if he refused? Well... beat him down, again and again, until he agreed to farm.
Hence, the idea of magical farm tools. Something like self-writing quills, but with hoes and rakes.
Dumbledore, catching on, slowly shook his head.
"That's a very advanced spell—one known only to quillmakers. Much like wandcraft, the secrets are closely guarded."
No luck there. Trade secrets, after all.
Charles sighed and shifted gears. "Then what about a spell like… a teapot pouring itself?"
Dumbledore smiled. "Now that's a clever direction to explore. But I'd still recommend starting with the basics. If you're really interested, check the library. There are plenty of household charm books there."
"But do be careful. Someone once tried to pour tea… and ended up giving themselves a full bath."
Charles, ever the opportunist, latched onto the word bath.
"Professor, I deal with dragon dung for composting all the time. I tend to stink—Seamus is already complaining."
Seamus helpfully nodded, backing him up.
Charles continued, "I heard there's a fancy bathroom in the castle. Can I, uh, apply for access after work?"
Dumbledore didn't answer.
The Prefects' Bathroom was, well, for Prefects. And while he was the Headmaster, granting someone those privileges was a whole different ball game. If a student snuck Charles in or gave him the password, that was their business. But Dumbledore handing it over directly? Now that was a gray area.
(End of Chapter)
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