The Story Behind Advice

CHAPTER 1

"What in Merlin's name just happened?" A loud noise had interrupted my studies, as I looked out the window I saw a large cloud, which I guessed would contain Fenwick. Jumping from the chair and a quick hop out the window I walked over towards the swirling smoke. I began to wave off the smoke as I entered into the cloud, I could hear him coughing.

"Ictus Ventus" I flicked my wand as I spoke, a strong gust shot through it pushing me backwards. Another amateur mistake, I could hear Father's voice chastising me. Despite my error the gust of wind sliced through the smoke, clearing the air.

My eyebrow shot up as I stared at the pile of clothing, which I knew contained Fenwick. A word should be said about Fenwick, he's my best mate. I would take a curse for him any day, but he's, well there really isn't a nice way to put it. The boy is dim. Slow in the head. The lights are on but nobody's home. Now I don't mean this in an academic sense, he's bright enough when it comes to books. He passed his OWLs and NEWTs near the top of the class, but it's life that some how trips him up.

When we were boys he decided to find out if all gasses where flammable. It should be noted, before we go any further, that we were about nine when this incident occurred. At nine a little boy can be convinced to do even the stupidest of things. I'll admit that is no excuse for having agreed to the terms of Fenwick's experiment but I am just trying to get you to take age into consideration before pronouncing judgement.

As I was saying, Fenwick wanted to know if all gasses were flammable, which mainly meant he wanted to know if human gasses were combustible. We were in my father's backyard behind the shed, and had grown tired of throwing rocks at the neighbour's dog. As we rested against the shed Fenwick began to devise his experiment.

"Al, you think I could shoot out fire from my bum?" Fenwick had an irritating habit of making even the stupidest things sound remotely intelligent.

"What do you mean Benjy?" The young are stupid, had I any sense I would have told him no. I would have insisted he forget about it, and not mention it again. But unfortunately I was curious at where he was going with this thought.

"Well, Dad took me and my sisters to the circus." Fenwick's eyes glazed over. In time I would learn to recognize that look as dangerous, and try to steer him clear of what ever thoughts were forming in his mind. "And we saw a lady spit fire out of her mouth like a dragon."

"It was probably a spell Benjy, and you know we aren't allowed to do any magic till we start Hogwarts." My dad was and still is very strict, couldn't sidestep any of the issues. Luckily Fenwick's dad was a Muggle and so he wasn't allowed to do any magic either.

"It wasn't Al, I was at a muggle circus." Fenwick was leaning forward staring at me. "I asked dad how she did it and he said something about spitting alcohol. Anyway I know that gasses are also flammable so I was thinking, if I farted on a match do you think I would shoot out fire?"

And it was here that Fenwick revealed his plan, frightening to think I could be convinced to go along with it.

"I suppose you could shoot out fire, how would it work?" If I had owned any brain cells at that moment I would have picked myself up and run the as far away from Fenwick as possible.

"Well first we need matches, once we get the matches it will be easy." He drew a stick figure diagram in the dirt in front of us. He drew himself bent over and I was kneeling behind him holding a match. "See no problem."

At this point we both got up and went looking for matches. This would be difficult because besides not being able to magic, I wasn't allowed to use matches or knives. Dad was very strict, at that young age I supposed it was due to the fact he was an Auror. We reached the house and looked through the window, Dad was in the kitchen getting a drink of water. We would have to wait till he left. Luckily this happened pretty quickly, having finished his water he went back to his study.

"You stay here Benjy, I'll get the matches." I knew it would be disastrous if he had come with me.

I snuck into the kitchen making sure my shoes didn't squeak against the floor. The matches were in the drawer next to the stove. I tiptoed over to it, opening it very slowly as not to make a noise. Success. Matches in hand I silently made my way back out of the kitchen. There I found Fenwick waiting for me.

"Let me see them Al," he pleaded with me while he pulled at my arm trying to get to the prized matchbox.

"Not here Benjy just wait." I didn't want to risk my dad seeing me with matches. We ran behind the shed Once safe I opened my hand and showed Fenwick the matches.

He sat there just staring at the matches. I was growing impatient; I didn't want my Dad to notice the matches were missing.

"Are we going to do it, Benjy?" I closed my hand over the matches, breaking his stare.

"Yeah we will, just not yet." Fenwick fidgeted for a moment.

"What's the hold up?" I thought the main obstacle was obtaining the matches, so why were we waiting.

"I can't fart, Al." Fenwick spoke softly.

"Swallow air, maybe that will help, air is a gas." I came up with the only solution my nine-year old mind could think of. Looking back it was humorous seeing Fenwick taking in deep breaths of air, puffing up his cheeks and trying his best to swallow. His eyes bulged with the effort.

After what seemed like fifteen minutes of doing this Fenwick finally had good news. "Hurry, Al! Get ready I'm about to fart."

He pulled down his pants and bent over, I stood behind him and held the match.

Granted this whole time I've been biased and have said that it was mainly Fenwick's fault. What happened next was probably my own fault. Instead of just lighting one match I lit seven. Nothing in my short nine years prepared me for what happened next. Fenwick farted on the matches, which ignited the gas. A large ball of fire quickly flew up into the air and disappeared. Fenwick quickly stood up and attempted to pull up his pants. The fire had licked his bottom. The two of us sat in shock. This moment was quickly interrupted when my father arrived. He took one look at us. There I was sitting with seven burnt out matches in one hand, my face was missing eyebrows, and there were singe marks on my face. Next to me stood Fenwick waving his hand over his bottom hoping to bring cool air to it. My father looked down and saw the drawing Fenwick made; without a single word he knew what happened. With continued, frosty silence he picked us both up by our collars and marched us into the house. He sent an owl to Fenwick's mother and made sure the two of us didn't have any major injuries. I knew the minute Fenwick left I would get a lecture and punishment.