To eat or not to eat, that was the question.
Brian soon made his decision.
He poured thick honey into both jars, submerging all the wing-beating Fanged Fruit. Only after they had filled their bellies and started playing bee-stack like overfed layabouts did he firmly tuck both jars into his drawer.
The way to keep Fanged Fruit fresh was to feed them honey.
And Brian's choice was plain-not to eat them, at least not tonight.
Brian freely admitted that those bizarre memories held an extraordinary attraction for him.
And the possibility of establishing communication with Ancient Magic kept whispering in his ear, urging him to open the candy jar-
-but he knew just as well that what he ought to do today was mentally rehearse tomorrow's Muggle Studies lesson once more, then go to bed.
It was a rational, restrained decision. A person only had so much energy at any given moment, and Brian knew
he had better not spend the energy meant for teaching on exploring memories.
He hurried to the bathroom to wash up. As he spat out toothpaste foam, he felt thoroughly pleased that he had remained rational in the face of the memories' temptation. In that night's diary, he wrote with a flourish: "By resisting more immediate expectations and following more distant ones, you can better control your emotions. Also, eating candy isn't the only way it can make you happy."
Brian put away his pen and said to the Book with a little pride, "Praise me."
The Book showed him a highlighted "Well done."
"Thank you. You're wonderful too," Brian said.
Early the next morning, Brian was woken by the sound of his window rattling.
He rubbed his eyes and found his Compass Owl standing on the desk, calmly preening its feathers, utterly unconcerned by