Fred and George and the Toilers of Trouble (Year 1) ✔

Chapter 19:3

"It's...ancient Dark Arts. Blood magic. I read all about it in the book on Primordial Spells. Most Black Magic curses and charms were banned in the mid-seventeenth century. Any use of them was punishable by death," she said, gulping. "George, whoever cast that spell on us was a powerful witch." Angelina pointed to the moving illustration. "And she is capable of performing magic that's been dormant for centuries."

"I've been replaying it in my head each night," said George, leaning forward to close the book.

"Honestly, I'm glad I never saw her face," Angelina replied.

From across the table, Fred made a number of retching sounds. "They're getting along." Looking gravely at the nearby rubbish bin, he belched and clapped a hand to his mouth. "Lee...hold me, I think I'm gonna be sick."

"Of course, dear," he said, chuckling to himself as he took Fred in his arms.

"Lee Jordan and...Whichever-Weasley! What in Merlin's name are you doing?" Professor McGonagall screeched, as she shimmied around an oddly placed suit of armor. "And Miss Johnson, that text is nowhere near the correct subject. Did I fail to make myself clear? Have I been speaking Feliniatongue this entire time?"

"Actually, Professor," Angelina began, reopening the book. "We were hoping you could show us how to perform this spell."

Professor McGonagall perused the page with scorn. "Where —?" she began, her mouth dropping open. "Was that in the restricted section?"

"No," said Angelina coolly.

"It should have been!"

McGonagall seized the book from the table and tucked it under her arm.

"We were only curious," Lee noted.

"If you're incapable of doing the spell, that's fine," Fred braved to say, while rummaging through his schoolbag. "No need to become Professor Snape."

McGonagall huffed, lowering a hand to her waist. "That tactic may work on lesser minds, Mister Weasley. You should know me better by now. And there is a reason I do not condone this sort of transfiguration. It is extremely unsafe. Anyone would be dangerously misinformed if they thought they could handle such magic."

"Why is that?" Fred asked, pressing her further.

"Because...it is Elemental Transfiguration," she said, having difficulty even uttering the words. "It alters your physical environment and is nearly impossible to control. Creating water from nothing could have dire consequences. Attempting such sorcery would be a perilous decision, even for a seasoned witch, such as myself."

"Is it honestly that dissimilar to what we were shown in Charms last term? Professor Flitwick filled seven empty water goblets with a swish of his wand," Alicia mentioned, yearning to join the discussion.

"That is an entirely different magic. It is not transfiguration — it is a charm."

"How can it be transfiguration...if it's summoned from nothing?"

Unamused by the constant questioning, yet obligated to inform her students, Professor McGonagall took a deep breath and returned the book to their table. "If you must know, it transforms the very makeup of the air around you. And it is meant for more than filling a goblet. What you have discovered is an example of magic that has been intentionally expunged from traditional practices. Far too often, the act resulted in death."

"From drowning?" asked George, recalling his dream only too well.

"No, from suffocation," McGonagall said to their surprise. "The surrounding air is stripped of its properties during the water's formation. With no air to breathe, you perish. Is that enough?"

"That seems awfully risky," said Meurial, her shrill tone sounding more and more like a squeaking mouse.

"Yes! That was precisely my point!" Professor McGonagall replied, her voice rising. "I can see, by the looks on your faces, that these questions will never cease. And if I refuse to exhibit the spell, you will be powerless to complete your work. Am I correct in that assessment?"

Every head at the table nodded automatically.

"Very well." Professor McGonagall withdrew her wand and, with a tempered breath, tapped it to her open palm. "As you may hear, this is a subspell of the charm you were shown by Professor Flitwick." She focused on her wand and, in a whisper, said the incantation. "Poseidus Auguamenti!"

A droplet of water formed in the space below the wand. It hovered there for a moment and then rapidly doubled in size. McGonagall turned her head to break concentration, and the drop of water splashed into her palm.

"There," she said, wiping it away on her robe. "Satisfied?"

"Aren't there easier ways to get water?" George asked, looking smug.

"Undoubtedly," their teacher said slowly. "These days, such a spell has no meaningful use. Moreover, it takes far too much energy to conjure and control."

As Professor McGonagall took hold of the book and turned to leave, Angelina stopped her with another comment. "That didn't look very evil. The text classified it as a Dark Art."

"As you will learn over time in Defense Against the Dark Arts, the line between what is good and what is evil has always been blurred. Depending on its usage, most transfiguration could be considered a Dark Art. But a spell like this," she paused, tapping the book with her wand. "This sort should never, ever, be used. Now – I insist that you return to your work."