Simple Charms, Difficult People PV Leonard Finished

Practice made perfect. It was a proverb that had been honored many centuries prior to Leonard's arrival at the castle of death traps, and it was a proverb that the snake himself had meant to honor through all his life, through countless science fairs to calming down fire-breathing, overgrown lizards to waving around a sparkly twig. However, as the cruel, cruel weavers of fate would have it, it seemed the adage he'd been following for almost as long as he'd been alive had left more than a few things out of the short maxim. First, that practice was not required to be perfect on the first try. The second, and much more lethal, was that even if the practice came in form of a year and a half's worth of classes, it didn't guarantee anything remotely close to perfection.

And so, when a knitted garment made of nightmares courtesy of his father came to his seat during breakfast, adorned with sequins and featuring the Stay Puft Marshmallow Man as its main attraction, though attraction was a loose term. However, in a rare moment of positivity, he found an opportunity among the loose yarn. It was a situation where luck had been in his favour once, being able to hit two birds with one stone. Or rather, being able to rid himself of the worst possible addition to a wardrobe possible, slap some duct tape on his shattered sense of pride, get away from people, and burn things. There wasn't any better way to spend the weekend, in his view.

He'd spent the past few minutes doing so, to no avail. It seemed there was some sort of anti-flame charm put on the homemade Ghostbusters wear, and a strong one at that, considering he couldn't get anywhere near a jet of flame. Rather, it was a small dot of bright light that came out, burning for a second and vanishing even quicker. That's what he told himself, anyhow, though the reasonable part of his mind knew it was a very painful showcase of his own magical ability, or lack thereof. Leonard's plan was not going as planned, which was something he was familiar with at that point. Something else that was familiar was getting interrupted by people, which by absolutely nobody's guess, is what happened next.

"Hey!" A voice called out, one he couldn't recognize, but incredibly startling nonetheless. "Whatcha workin' on?"

Leonard dropped the sweater in surprise, though his grip on his wand tightened. Perhaps the practice would come in handy sooner than he expected. As he turned to face the source of the sound, however, it was apparent the practice would not be needed sooner than he expected. It was merely a bespectacled boy around his height and age, and while a stranger was still something to be slightly worried about, it was better than the more monstrous alternatives that were beginning to crawl into his mind.

"Nothing, nothing much," he answered, kicking the clump of brightly colored wool behind him, though the action probably wasn't helping his silent argument of not being a criminal. "Just trying to, y'know, get back in the game. Practice some of the basics. Which, if you've been watching long enough, you'd know isn't quite working."

"Look here," he picked up the jumper, holding it up once more and steadying his wand. "Alright, let's say for purely hypothetical reasons I want to burn this. Now, you'd think that'd be easy, right? After all, it's just a lousy first year spell that disobeys all laws of physics and creates fire out of basically nothing."

"Incendio." He flicked the stick to the woolen mess with his usual flair, though from the bored tone it was clear he'd given up by then. A small orange spark flew from the tip, though nothing else happened. "Fun way to waste my Saturday, innit? Now, uh, you can move along. Nothing illegal here."

At least, not right now, he thought.

Committing arson with @Leonard Oaksworth

Well, it was apparent the boy would not be moving along.

Leonard had mixed feelings about this, which wasn't uncommon. At the end of the day, no feelings were ever clear, separate from each other and making way for order. Instead, they were messy splashes of color that mixed together in ways that weren't supposed to be possible, and always ended in someone getting splattered with pain. As of then, though, the pain was more of a dulled experience, completely covered in the neon pink of shock and utter fear.

Through his prior social interactions he'd gathered enough information to come to the conclusion that a smile, a friendly one at that, was not the expected reaction to seeing a stranger with a weapon trying to set something aflame. What was an even less expected reaction was showing said stranger how to properly alight the terribly designed object of choice, and both unsurprisingly and very surprisingly, his companion in heated adventures did both.

After the initial wave of petrification and distress as to whether or not he'd end up pleading guilty for a crime or twenty due to this encounter washed over, the snake snapped awake to find he was now holding a small band of silver, while the other boy was now holding the limp, warm sweater. Another torrent of horror jolted through him, though after stammering through singular syllables trying to form words, he figured that stopping the chaos that was about to ensue had the same chance of working as a toaster that wasn't plugged in.

"I mean, alright, I guess," he cleared his throat, hoping to not sound as panicked as he was about the possible results of another failed attempt at spellcasting. He failed miserably, but in that moment, there were more and more concerning things on his mind than how his voice had jumped up five keys. "Just don't set anything but the jumper on fire, alright? And don't tell anyone about this."

The Slytherin would remain unknowing of whether or not the other had heard his pleas, for the fire had already begun to spark. Unlike his pitiful attempts, however, this was successful. An almost scary amount of successful. A gasp was caught in his throat as the thing was set aflame, and there were only two thoughts in his mind: one, how idiotic he must've been to not even consider using Lumos, and two, at least now he wouldn't be the one caught red-handed (or rather, ash-handed), though he wasn't sure whether or not he'd feel guilty about leaving his new bespectacled acquaintance to the wolves that were authority figures. For a moment, a fleeting thought of oh Merlin he's not stopping passed by, but relieving safety from further burning of body parts came in the form of Nox.

"Th-that was brilliant," he said, chuckling, though his dark eyes still seemed to reflect the dead flames with how utterly concerned they looked, fixated on the remains of what was once an early Christmas un-gift. "Brilliant, great. Thanks for the help. Now, you can, uh, move along. You've sufficiently burned it past the point of repair. I mean, not even the most talented of grannies could manage to fix this back up. Go ahead, wrap some presents for friends, start a snowball fight, not telling anyone about what just happened."

Another unexpected response came from the boy, one that surprised and didn't surprise Leonard even more.

"Aight, your turn!"

The look of absolute dread overtook the snake's face once again as a bright grin took the other's, an expression Leonard was all too familiar with: eagerness. Eagerness that was almost guaranteed to end in a trip to the hospital wing, or worse, one to a rented grave. And yet, it was also one that was synonymous with a look prior to having the time of one's life. After internally debating heavily on the topic of whether it was actually sufficiently burned, he took a deep breath. If his life was going to be cut swiftly by way of a semi-arson, he was going to have fun while committing said semi-arson.

"You know what, fine, I'll give it a go," he leaned down slightly and put the ring on a nearby table, focusing on the tangled, still smoking pile of wool and visualizing the flickering light of yellow and orange that was to come if he managed to do it correctly. "Lumos!"

A small glow came from the tip of the magical stick, which then turned into a spark, one larger than he'd managed to make in what seemed like weeks. A broad smile replaced the worry of being humiliated as the blaze consumed the right sleeve. However, the rare moment of excitement was interrupted by the fact his wand was at risk of being devoured as well.

"Nox, nox, nox! Extinguo!"

"Alright," he turned to the other boy, a hint of the grin still lingering. "I'll admit, that felt great. Think you can teach me anything else, Professor?"

He smiled, though the reluctance was still visible. He'd keep up the wall of caution, he decided, but as the end of the academic year grew closer, he knew he would need practice. What better practice than whatever in the world was happening before him?

Interacting with @Leonard Oaksworth

Interacting With: @Ross Stephens

Although he was completely sure he'd never met his newest semi-professor during his previous escapades at the castle, Leonard's mind had started to form more parts and pieces of recognition as a beaming expression formed on the other boy's face. It was a familiar look, one he'd seen mostly on naïve newcomers who had little to no knowledge of how many fatal occurrences could take place within an hour. This time, however, there was a bright glint of mischief accompanying the otherwise sincere smile. Was this some sort of trick, perhaps? A malicious spirit sent in the form of an almost concerningly enthusiastic peer to turn as many unsuspecting children as possible to ashes? A vile beast with cruel intentions wishing to destroy Hogwarts once and for all via a grand explosion, with the Ghostbusters sweater serving as some sort of bomb? Would his passing serve as a match to start a cannon of tragic events that would result in the school's ultimate closure, Armageddon to fall upon the world and another muggle-wizard war?

Well, at least his demise would be remembered.

"It just takes a little bit o' out of the box thinking is all," the perhaps-evil-being said, with a wide grin that made Leonard almost believe the other was a not-evil-being.

"I'm fairly sure if everyone thought like this, the box would be demolished by now," he muttered, a hint of disdain tinting his tone. The snake had been rather set on, well, not having an audience for the theatre of disasters that was him casting spells, and most certainly not having said audience start spouting suggestions after being asked to leave the venue. No matter, it was better to try and please the audience then usher them out, especially when the audience had already been ushered out but pointedly ignored said ushering.

With a blinding light and an equally blinding furious flash of flames, he found the spark of mischief grew even more vivid in his tutor's glasses. Of course, the so-called spark of mischief may have very well been nothing more than the red and orange light reflected in his fellow arsonist's slash tutor's glasses. Based off the manic, raucous laugh that echoed through the classroom, however, it was most likely both. Scratch that, definitely both.

"Yes! Just like that!" Sir Sheep Ring shouted, his volume nearly reaching that of fireworks and a jet plane's engine.

"Yeah? Just like this?" He said, the words punctuated with a small laugh. Even if his instructor did turn out to be a bearer of doom, he was having the time of his life. There was something so very thrilling about succeeding, to make his slightly bothersome audience feel his performance wasn't a complete, total disaster.

The Slytherin was so caught up in the rush of a small victory it had almost turned to disaster, his stick of great power becoming nothing more than fireplace residue. He exclaimed the counter-charms, almost, but not quite, matching his coach's previous words. The wand was promptly saved from a terrible fate, as was the room's floor, though what was left of the terribly colored right sleeve continued to spark and toss dark grey specks into the air.

Leonard turned to smile at his instructor, a bright look for a bright feeling. The last time he remembered experiencing such a surge of happiness was when his father showed him the great failures of football players, though he was sure he'd remember this occasion with more fondness. In reply, the bespectacled boy showed off another spell, a simple but impressive one.

"I got a lotta charms, but I don't really think many of 'em are safe to use inside. I've been workin' on this one that allows you to summon objects, but I haven't quite gotten it yet. Would've made that way cooler."

He cocked an eyebrow, satisfaction turning to incredulousness. While very glad to tell his son of romantic escapades involving the dark lake and a supposed mermaid performance, his father had neglected sharing most stories of possible spells. The boy made a mental note to ask his mother about the charm, since she was more likely to actually tell him how to do it and show it off to his classmates rather than launching into a novel-worthy tale about a picnic on a dragon.

"Well, I think this is all impressive nonetheless," he added, gaze following the sliver of metal slowly descending with a sense of wonder and confusion. Sir Sheep Ring was defying the very existence of air resistance, and yet that wasn't cool enough? "Even if you can't show them to me right now, it's quite a feat to be working on charms that haven't been taught yet. Besides, burning what has to be the ugliest jumper on this planet makes you cool in my book, whether you can summon something from across the room or not."

"Did I already say my name was Ross Stephens, or is my memory failing me?"

Ross. That fits.

"I don't believe you did, actually. Name's Leonard Oaksworth, but feel free to call me Leo, pyromaniac in training, Oaksworth, whatever you fancy," he smiled, bowing with an added flair via still-smoking wand. "Pleasure to formally meet you, Professor Stephens."

"So, Professor, if you don't mind me asking, where'd you get that ring?" He asked, unable to stop his curiosity about the choice of accessory. "Do you wear it for this purpose? To show your amazing flaming-floating-summoning abilities off to any unworthy student such as myself?"

Interacting with @Leonard Oaksworth

Interacting With: @Ross Stephens

Leonard's mental calendar of important events was to be updated, it seemed. While the brief, informal, and ridiculously suspense-filled class was most certainly not an annual tradition honoured by centuries' worth of Hogwarts students, it was one of the only times he felt it. That feeling commonly described as a rush, though the simple image of a sprint or a train speeding across tracks did no justice at all to the emotion. He was pleased of the results, as foul smelling and filth-causing as they were. For once in his short, short life, he felt exhilarated, as though he could burn down the entire world with just one word and. Really, he could, but the smaller and smaller yet logical portion of his mind decided to express his happiness in the form of an immensely smug, everlasting grin.

The snake looked at Professor Stephens again, attention turning away from his best work to date to have another gander at his best teacher to date. It was a mystery of Doyle-esque proportions how he'd managed to have even an inkling of suspicion about the spectacled student. Sure, the abundance of enthusiasm for activities of the more destructive kind could've been considered a clue, but that was a standard that almost every other schoolmate he'd encountered reached. In his experience, the Gryffindors were the usual keepers of chaos and pride and almost sickening amounts of positivity, but his instructor didn't exactly give off that energy. More, his aura was that of someone with actual charisma and talent and just a bit of preteen-wish-for-approval, not one of endless arrogance with no ability to match. No matter, poetic descriptions of a person he'd met only around two minutes before could wait. For then, he was rather impatient to find out what other charms he could finally get the hang of and get some answers to his questions.

"I sorta thought we were burning things for fun," Ross said, a mixture of joke and maybe-truth the Slytherin couldn't quite separate. The boy made a mental note to keep visits to the classroom at a minimum, for it seemed there were more aspiring arsonists lurking within the walls, waiting for a opportunity to test their new abilities. There was no indication those creatures of conflagration were anywhere near the level of approachable Ross was, nor was there any confirmation they had anything near the amount of self-control either.

"I mean, I don't usually do this," Leonard replied, gesturing to the pile of jumper residue on the floor, feeling as though a few specks of it had caught in his throat. His mental jury was indeterminate on whether being mistaken for an incendiary enthusiast was a compliment or an insult. "I'm more of an organized potions-that-turn-hair-pink sort of bloke."

The figurative court was also ambiguous as to whether he'd regret mentioning that afterwards. He did excel in the art of alchemy, mixing herbs, amphibian limbs and reptilian optics to precise measurements being both his finest and favourite subject, so fear of being caught in a falsehood was no concern of his. No, it was that said skill in stirring sorcery would spell his end, trapped in the middle of whatever prank war eventually occurred. Under the command of the living torch standing next to him, there was around a ten per cent chance of surviving the battle. That would be another item added to his lengthening list of burdens, along with a newly introduced, shortened sobriquet and another bow.

"P-I-T," Leonard repeated, conflicted as to how he felt about the new nickname. Though he would most likely come to regret it, he accepted the alias with a few nods. "It's simple, easy to say, quick and fast. Overall, good. It's been a great pleasure on my behalf as well, P-P, or Professor Pyromaniac."

He paused, then frowned. Certainly, the world of creating ashen abbreviations was beyond his realm of knowledge. Another lesson for another day, if the monster-infested labyrinth of a boarding school they needed to call home for another few months allowed it.

"I think Professor Pyromaniac's got more of a ring to it," he decided, hoping the conversation wouldn't come to an embarrassing end and an immediate expulsion from the academy of arson. Thankfully, it did not.

The other boy then addressed his question about the literal ring, slowly descending back to ground level. It wasn't often the Slytherin had seen a seal quite so distinctive on a fellow student, a curious piece of jewelry and identification alike. There were many origin stories circling around the boy's cerebral cortex, each more unlikely than the last. A gift from a generous goblin, a keepsake from a killer vampire, an artifact passed down from generation to generation in the Stephens that held inconceivable magical power were the three most entertaining of the bunch.

"Oh, my mum gave it to me. Nothin' special, just thought I should wear it around and such."

Well, at least one of his guesses was quasi-accurate.

"Pretty nice gift, that is. I've actually got something like that as well," the snake started jumbling around his pocket, searching for the present received a year prior to his arrival at the castle. Previously it hadn't served much purpose, nothing more than a bundle of colours and an inside joke at gatherings he was forced to attend with his father. Really, he'd thought it rather useless, but never to the point it deserved to be burned at the stake. Now, it became a bright, shiny toy just received in kindergarten, shown during recess to gain the attention and underlying envy of others. He'd just about touched the first wayward strip of cloth when—

Professor Pyromaniac's yelp prompted an equally startled exclamation from the boy, looking around frantically for what supernatural being had prompted the noise. Instead of being met with the view of a murderous ghost, however, he was greeted by the realization the ring had finally met a surface: Ross' head. Suddenly, he found another familiar expression on the other boy's face: self-consciousness.

"If ya ever commit another federal crime or somethin, make sure to OWL me. I'd like to know I was your inspiration. Now erm... I.. aughta get goin' and all."

"S-so soon? Well, uh, I'll be sure to do that, yes. Owl you, I mean. I've to warn you, though, I'm a bit scared of owls, sharp talons and gigantic eyes and all that. Bye, then!"

His farewell was long overdue, any trace of a silhouette gone from view. A fine lesson, it had still been, despite its abrupt end.

He swept all of the ash they'd produced into a neat pile, covering it using a table and hoping there would be no further investigation into its source. "Sorry, Dad."

With that, he left, dusting his hands off. A fine lesson, indeed.

THREAD LEFT

We'll meet again, Professor. Just you wait...