Cat's Eye

Ch. 3 In Which Sparks Fly, and So Does Oliver

Ailura dug through the pile of papers on her desk, mentally berating herself for not having spent the last 45 minutes getting past her natural state of sub-organisation. Finally she found the parchment she wanted- the class list. Beginner Wandless, Third Years, Slytherin/Gryffindor. Ouch, she thought, having heard what a horror it usually was to teach Slytherin House students in the company of any other house, especially if it was Gryffindor. They were cruel to the Hufflepuffs and supercilious to the Ravenclaws, but simply intolerable to the Gryffindors. No easy first class, but baptism by fire it would be for her.

She glanced at the students. One of the redheaded boys, an alert-looking girl with bushy hair, a dark-haired boy with glasses- doubtless, that was Harry Potter- yes, there was the scar. Draco Malfoy, curse the luck, with two rather thick-looking chaps in tow like bodyguards, and an assortment of girls whose major objective seemed to be following either Potter or Malfoy, and snickering at the other. There was the Irish boy who had caused a commotion at the feast the night before by attempting a spell he'd picked up over the holidays... he had only managed to create a good deal of smoke. The rest, she had not seen before.

Well, there was no sense in delaying any longer. She walked to the front of the class and pulled out her wand.

"Please take out your wands and lay them on the desk in front of you," she said. With much rustling of robes and bags, that was done. She set her own wand down on the small wooden table in front of her, and took a deep breath.

"Now, you are all here because you wished to learn how to do magic without having to wave a stick. Therefore, you won't be needing these-" and with a wave of her hand she Summoned all of their wands to her, then Banished the whole pile, including her own, to the top of her desk, then continued "- and of course neither will I. Now, I'd like you to think back to how it was discovered that you were wizards and witches. Many of you might have played with wands when you were little, but I know for a fact that most of you did not even get your first wand until you were starting at Hogwarts. Anyhow, I'm sure you're aware by now that using other people's wands won't give you very good results. There's a reason for that.

"Mr. Ollivander, who sold you all your wands, measures you carefully. There is one wand type for every wizard, and that is that. Another may work somewhat differently or not at all." She selected a student at random. "You, there, come here a moment." The boy stood up.

"What's your name?" she asked kindly, seeing that he looked petrified. She could identify, and felt sorry for him.

"Neville Longbottom, Professor," he squeaked.

"Longbottom, I'd like you to perform an experiment for me." She Summoned several wands at random from the pile, one of which she knew to be his. "This table has a secret dream. Deep inside its hardwood, it wants to fly. Take your wand, and make its dreams come true." Neville looked sceptical, but did as he was told, and with a very proper swish-and-flick and a "Wingardium Leviosa!" the table was suddenly a metre in the air.

"Excellent, Longbottom. Finite Incantatem." The table sank back to the ground as she pointed at it. "Now, give me your wand and take one of the others. Try the spell again."

Neville seized a blond-wood wand with a scrollwork grip. He waved it exactly as he had before, and said the charm loudly and clearly.

The table wobbled a bit, then slowly tipped over.

Ailura set it to rights, handed Neville another wand, this one ebony, and told him to try again.

Swish, flick, charm- and the table shivered and turned bright orange. The class giggled.

New wand, swish, flick, charm- and the poor beleaguered table was suddenly upside down and waving its legs about like an overturned turtle. Now the class was laughing outright. Neville dropped the wand and went quite pink around the ears.

"Hm," Ailura said thoughtfully. "I've never had it do that before. Most interesting." She Banished all the wands to her desk again. "Thank you very much, Longbottom, that was exactly what I wanted to demonstrate. Take ten points for Gryffindor." Neville scuttled gratefully back to his seat.

"So you see," she continued, restoring the table to its original inanimacy, colour, and position, "the wands are not what determine the results of the spells you cast. Longbottom should have gotten the same results each time, and would have had he been using his own wand. The strange metamorphoses of my table are not due to any incompetence on his part. It is simply the way the wands act upon the power he was attempting to apply to the table. To understand that, you must know something of the way a wand works."

She Summoned her own wand, and held it up. "Ash, 10 inches, unicorn hair core. An Ollivander wand, even though I didn't learn my magic in England. My parents bought it for me when we were on holiday in London. It's a lovely wand really, but it only serves two purposes. It focuses and amplifies my spells, and it looks nice when I wave it." There was a small ripple of laughter at that. She grinned, and continued; this wasn't so bad after all.

"Without my knowing what I wanted to do to whatever I'm charming, it wouldn't work. The combination of materials that make up my wand are simply the most effective amplifier for me. Anything else would distort the power I am pushing through it. If I were to use Longbottom's wand, I would most likely be turning tables orange as well. In fact, as I am more powerful and better trained than Longbottom, I could conceivably destroy that wand altogether. For that reason, I had to get one of you to do this demonstration instead of myself."

The class looked suitably impressed.

"Now, I'd like those of you in Muggle Studies to tell me, if you can- what happens if you give a wand to a Muggle?"

The bushy-haired Gryffindor girl next to Potter put up her hand.

"Yes, Miss... Granger?" Ailura searched her mind for the name, and was gratified to see that she had gotten it right.

"Nothing whatsoever," said Granger confidently.

"Absolutely right. Muggles can do nothing at all with our wands, although they can certainly be affected by other objects that we charm. This is one of the clearest examples I know of why a wand is not, in and of itself, magical. And that," here she paused triumphantly, "is why it is possible to do magic without it. All you need to do is learn to focus and project your spells yourself. Admittedly, a wand does make it easier, and I'd still do Professor Flitwick's assignments with a wand if I were you, but you shouldn't need one at all anymore for the things he taught you in your first- and second-year classes. The better you know a charm, the better you will be able to perform it without a wand. Keeping that in mind, who here is very good at Charms?"

Several hands went up- Granger, Malfoy, and one of the Gryffindor boys she didn't know. Quick look at the class list- Dean Thomas. "All right, then, you three, come here. I'm sure you know how to shoot sparks." They nodded. "Good. That's the simplest spell I can think of. It will also tell me who among you has the strongest command of their magic." They looked at her questioningly, and Thomas spoke up.

"Professor, how do we do it?"

"Well, how would you do it with a wand?"

"It's... um, well, you just do it, Professor. I don't know how to explain it better than that."

"All right, pretend you're holding your wand. Now do what you do to make sparks. And concentrate... visualise the sparks coming from your fingertips." She brought her hand down in the perfect swish-and-flick motion, trailing red sparks. "Just think of doing that."

The three students swished and flicked almost in perfect unison. Ailura thought she saw the tips of Malfoy's fingers glow a bit, but no actual sparks were produced.

"Concentrate," she repeated firmly. "Visualise and concentrate."

Now Granger's fingers were glowing. She brought her hand down sharply, and a few faint sparks lit the class.

Malfoy was concentrating so deeply he looked like he'd been turned to stone. Suddenly he snapped his fingers, his hand moving quickly out from his shoulder as if he were throwing a disc. A jet of emerald sparks shot from his fingers, so bright that the whole room went greenish for a moment. The smile on his face was ferocious and superior.

Granger and Thomas looked disconcerted while the class applauded, the Slytherins far louder than the Gryffindors. "Very, very good, Malfoy," Ailura said, honestly impressed by the strength of the spell the boy had cast.

Thomas was wringing his hands as if he had burned them. Finally he managed to shake weakly scarlet sparks from them, and smiled a bit sheepishly. Granger tried again and was much more successful, pointing her index finger like a wand and shooting red sparks from the end of her finger. Malfoy still looked awfully smug.

"Well," said Ailura, "that's about it. Ten points for each of you, and thank you. For the rest of the class, I'd like you all to attempt the same thing. Please don't set anything, or anyone, on fire." Malfoy coughed; it sounded suspiciously like "Longbottom". Ailura shot him a patented "Teacher Look", and sent her three examples back to their seats. While they waved their hands about with varying degrees of success, she distributed their wands and took mental notes.

Malfoy was definitely very strong, and understood the theory well. Potter took a bit longer to get the hang of the charm, and stuck to scarlet, but the sparks he produced were every bit as bright as Malfoy's. Granger was an especially quick study, though not as powerful as Potter and Malfoy. Thomas was a bit tentative without his wand. The rest of the class was mostly unremarkable, although Longbottom did manage to singe his cloak. He had good sparks, just a bad control of direction.

Finally class was over, and she dismissed them gratefully. Her next class was Ravenclaw/Hufflepuff, apparently the best pairing. She was very glad of that. Malfoy was a good wizard, but the tension he provoked in a classroom was tangible. Still, he had so much talent... She sat and mused until the next set of students arrived.

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Oliver barely noticed the first four hours of school that day. He drifted through History of Magic and daydreamed through Divination, which didn't matter since all he could see in his scrying dish was the sparkle in Professor Starscribe's eyes and the gleam of her smile. He was lucky he hadn't had Potions, he supposed. He probably would have blown something up.

He hadn't told anyone about running into her, or her healing spell. That was partially because when he finally got back to Gryffindor Tower after wandering dazedly for twenty minutes, he had still been so stunned that he'd walked into a wall without even seeing it. Percy had asked him if he were all right. He wasn't hurt, but the excuse that came immediately to mind was that Pomfrey had drugged him with potions. He felt drugged. It worked. And best of all, he didn't have to explain any more than that. Percy had simply nodded knowingly, helped him up, and steered him towards their first class.

By lunch hour, the fog had dissipated from his brain a bit, enough to allow him to at least make semi-intelligent conversation. Starscribe wasn't there. Oliver wasn't sure if this was tragic or fortunate. He had heard rumours from the younger students that her class was very interesting. Draco Malfoy was bragging that he was the best in that class, "better even than Granger". It wasn't just Gryffindor pride that made Oliver doubt the veracity of that statement, knowing well that Hermione would never let herself be beaten by Malfoy at anything. He wondered idly how he would do.

He wasn't really hungry, but it was so lovely out that he decided to go down to the Quidditch pitch and see if it had missed him. Perhaps he would take his broom as well. The fresh air might clear his head enough so that he wouldn't make a total idiot of himself in front of her. Again.

Dashing up to Gryffindor Tower and grabbing his Cleansweep Seven from its corner, he made his way down to the grounds. He kicked off and was soon soaring at the height of the castle rooftops. The cool air rushing past his face felt fantastic. Turning smoothly, he looped the top of a tower, then dived downwards. He noticed, off in the distance, a tabby cat prowling about. He waved to it, knowing full well that it was Professor McGonagall's habit to go for a bit of a walk before her last class.

The cat stretched oddly and transformed back into McGonagall. She beckoned him over, and he flew in her direction.

"I've been looking to speak to you, Mr. Wood," she said as he landed.

"Oh, really, Professor? About what?"

"Quidditch." She watched the quizzical look on his face for a moment, then continued. "I know you've got a team more or less together already, but there is something I'd like you to do with them this year."

Oliver couldn't imagine what she meant.

"Go see Professor Starscribe. Have her come to a few of your practices."

He was baffled. "Uh, why her, Professor?"

McGonagall pulled him closer. "Just between you and I, Mr. Wood, she flies as if she were a Snitch... In fact, I understand that used to be her school Quidditch nickname. She'll have a trick or two up her sleeve, and you can bet on it."

Her gaze was intense. "If it weren't for that ridiculous broom of hers, she'd out-fly anyone who's ever played for our school. Maybe she could, even with it. And I include Charlie Weasley and both Harry and James Potter on that list. It's nothing official, understand, or Severus Snape will have my head and yours. But talk to her."

She started to turn away, then thought better of it, and added "Besides that, learning a few charms against falling off of broomsticks would be helpful. Especially if you could do them without a wand."

He thought about it for a moment, and remembered how much he would have given to be able to stop Harry before he hit the ground and broke an arm, like the previous season. It seemed like an awfully good idea. He glanced back towards McGonagall, intending to thank her. All he saw was the tip of a grey-striped tail disappearing into the bushes. He grinned. It was disconcerting, how she did that... but really neat.

Then he realised what he now had to do.

"Oh, Merlin, now I've got to talk to her!" he moaned, clutching his head in both hands.

At that moment the doors to the grounds opened and a flood of first-years came running out to the pitch, where Madam Hooch was laying out broomsticks. That meant classes were about to start.

Thinking fast, he hopped on his broom and pointed it in the direction of Gryffindor Tower. He scrambled in through the window of his dorm room, grabbed his books, realised he wouldn't have time to run all the way there, seized his broom and flew as fast as he could to the wing where Professor Starscribe's class was.

Hair and clothes in disarray, schoolbooks clutched tightly to his heaving chest, he tumbled in through the mercifully already open window, tripped on the hem of his robe as he crossed the sill, dropped his broomstick and nearly fell but caught himself just in time. He fumbled for his wand, gasped out the spell that Banished his broom back to his dorm, staggered to his seat and collapsed into it, with 5 seconds to spare before the start of class. Starscribe looked frankly incredulous. He put his head down on his arms and silently cursed fate, luck, and whatever deity seemed to have it in for him today. He didn't have enough breath to spare to say anything out loud.

But at least, he reflected, he hadn't been late.