Fortunately, having worked through so many books by now, Bernadette had become something of a walking encyclopedia of magical theory. She set down her copy of The Dark Arts: A Defence and said, "Show me what you've been doing."
Harry immediately sat up straight, gripped his wand with both focus and gravity, shook his arm in the prescribed manner, and spoke the incantation: "Wingardium Leviosa."
The feather in front of him stirred — not from magic, but from the draft produced by the wand's motion.
"Wonderful."
Something unexpectedly satisfying rose in Bernadette's chest. Even the locals can't cast spells. There's a particular comfort in shared misfortune — when someone else is flailing alongside you, it somehow brings balance to things.
The feeling vanished almost immediately, replaced by a slight unease. That shouldn't have crossed my mind. I should know better than that.
A mild frown. Again, the influence of that man.
"Did you see the problem?" Harry asked, scratching his head.
Bernadette reached out and placed a hand on his shoulder. "Try it again."
Harry didn't question it. He swung the wand dutifully. "Wingardium Leviosa."
This time, she paid close attention. Unlike her own situation, where her magical energy didn't stir in the slightest, Harry's was moving — flowing in a particular pattern through his body, gradually converging toward the wand in his hand.
It just ran out of momentum. The magic reached his wrist and stopped, then scattered in all directions.
Did that mean that if the magical energy were given enough momentum to carry it all the way through and out of the wand, the spell would fire?
Bernadette had actually considered this before. The trouble was that whenever she tried to channel her own magical power deliberately into the wand, the only result was launching the wand itself across the room.
She suppressed the impulse to push some of her own magical energy into Harry, to give him a nudge — the most likely outcome of doing so would be launching Harry across the room instead.
After a moment's thought, she handed him Modern Studies in Magical Development. "I'd suggest working through this one."
"Modern magical scholars hold that magic is, at its root, the power of emotion. To cast a spell, you need to mobilise your feelings. To cast a powerful spell, you need your feelings to surge."
"In terms you'll find easier to grasp: before you turned eleven, you almost certainly experienced accidental magic on multiple occasions. Each time, without a wand or an incantation, you produced some remarkable effect purely through instinct."
Harry immediately thought of the time at the zoo — when he'd somehow dissolved the glass of the boa constrictor's enclosure. He still remembered Dudley's expression vividly. He nodded.
"That accidental magic — that was your emotions at work." Bernadette flipped to a particular page. "The conclusion, then, is this: emotion is inseparable from spellcasting."
Harry's expression hovered somewhere between understanding and confusion. She frowned slightly. This child is considerably slower than Cadaverine.
"To put it simply: when you cast a spell, you need urgency. You need confidence in yourself. You need to understand that the wand, the incantation, and the wand movement are tools that make spellcasting easier — not the source of the magic itself."
As she spoke, she picked up the staff leaning beside her. No incantation, no wand movement — and yet the tip blazed with brilliant light.
Harry threw his arm over his eyes. Mr. Vincent must be an incredibly powerful wizard, he thought with awe. To make something as minor as Lumos hit like a flashbang grenade!
When the light faded, he nodded slowly, hesitant but determined. "I — I think I understand. Let me try again!"
"Mm."
Bernadette gave Modern Studies in Magical Development a tap. "Don't forget to read this as well."
"Right."
Harry gathered the book and the feather and moved quietly to one side, resuming his practice. He ran the checklist through his mind: wand movement, gesture, incantation, emotion, belief…
A strange, ineffable feeling stirred somewhere deep in his chest. He seized it.
"Wingardium Leviosa."
The feather remained completely motionless.
Harry: T_T
He gritted his teeth and tried again and again — wand swinging, the incantation repeated — but the feather only moved when the motion of the wand produced enough draft to nudge it.
After half an hour, Harry slumped into a blank, defeated stare. Maybe I'm just naturally hopeless at magic. The same way I was always average at everything in school — never good at anything.
Bernadette could only give a quiet, private shake of her head. There was nothing she could do.
…
Time slipped by. The setting sun bled quietly across the horizon.
Harry made Bernadette a sandwich, said goodbye, and walked home to Uncle Vernon's, where he returned to frying streaky bacon. The cooking was the same, but the feeling was entirely different.
He murmured the incantation under his breath, swishing the spatula like a wand, pretending he was casting a spell.
He turned — and found Dudley standing there staring at him, his round face going slightly red. "You — you're doing that weird thing Mum says you're not allowed to do!"
Harry jumped. "I wasn't!"
"I saw you! Mum says only freaks like you do that sort of thing. It's strictly forbidden in this house!" Dudley grinned. "You're in so much trouble! I'm going to tell Mum!"
Harry frowned, unbothered. He'd be leaving in two days anyway.
His reaction annoyed Dudley. His eyes shifted. "Oh, I know what it is — a freak taught you, didn't he? That same freak who hit me! I'm going to tell Dad and have him arrested!"
Harry's expression flickered — then steadied. "Have you forgotten? You'll never find him. And what's more, you'll forget he even exists — otherwise why haven't your parents mentioned the beating you got after going to that place?"
Fear crossed Dudley's eyes. "!!!"
"When faced with bullying, the only answer is to fight back. Make them afraid of you…"
Harry suddenly remembered something Mr. Vincent had told him. He hesitated for two seconds, then drew his wand from inside his robe and took a cold step forward. "Want to know something? I could make you forget everything right now. Actually — no. I'll make you forget everything except eating. Turn you into a mindless pig that only knows how to stuff its face."
"…"
Dudley's terror peaked. He spun around and bolted for the door to call for his mother — and Harry's mind raced, moved fast, snapped the wand up and spoke: "Wingardium Leviosa!"
The next instant, Dudley's body rose into the air. His thick legs kept churning uselessly above the floor. He opened his mouth to scream — and heard Harry say: "Make a single sound and I'll send you straight through the ceiling."
Dudley clamped both hands over his mouth, pupils trembling with sheer terror.
Harry let out a long, slow breath. Then a wave of pure joy broke across his face. It worked!
I actually cast a spell!
To be continued…