Discussion Time

"Is it really that... ugly?" Brian took a tactical sip of black tea. Warmth flowed through his body, but his heart was as cold as the frost on a broomstick-he had poured an hour and a half of effort into this.

He had given it his absolute, undivided attention!

"Yes, Brian, unless you tell me someone who knows nothing about ancient runes copied this out by treating it as a drawing-in that case, I would say it wasn't bad. At least they tried."

Professor Babbling brought the sheet in her hand closer to her face.

"Oh, perhaps I was right? That must be it-look, the horizontal stroke following this circle should have been drawn quickly, but here it drags on... this stroke should be underneath the other one, but it's on top..."

"Exactly right, Professor. I wrote out these ancient runes, and I am unquestionably illiterate when it comes to them." Brian felt a spontaneous surge of admiration for Professor Babbling.

A professional really was different. She had reconstructed the truth in just a few words. It looked as though he would have to trouble Professor Babbling quite often in the future.

Yet Professor Babbling suddenly seemed rather flustered. She had probably realized that, just a minute ago, she had mercilessly attacked a colleague she was meeting for the first time. She stammered, "Oh... sorry... just now, I, um..."

"It's all right, Professor Babbling. Your compliment just healed my wounded heart," Brian said with a smile. "I have another question-why do you think no modern wizard could successfully cast this magic?"

After all, his book had successfully used this very magic to heal Mr. Fosco's arm-though, admittedly, a book wasn't a wizard.

Then he remembered Madam Pince praising the book's very traditional binding-so was the book actually an antique?

"Because this is ancient magic-its defining traits are that it's elaborate, complex, elusive, and much more dependent on feeling. It's almost impossible to improve through practice-even the account here of this healing form of ancient magic is frighteningly vague-let me think... ah, let me explain it this way-

"If successfully casting magic were like running a thousand meters in three minutes-yes, it's difficult-but modern magic would at least tell you how to use those three minutes, while ancient magic would only tell you where the starting line and finishing line were, and reveal nothing else-so-

"The only requirement for using ancient magic is talent-extraordinary, inborn talent! Perhaps a modern wizard might, through hard practice and a lucky coincidence, manage to use ancient magic, but that would never be true ancient magic-it would be far less powerful!"

Professor Babbling spoke with complete confidence when it came to her field.

"Modern magic lets wizards choose, but ancient magic chooses its wizards. It's somewhat like a wand choosing its wizard, except that wizards have the right to insist on choosing a particular wand, while they have no such right with ancient magic-there are records stating that ancient magic actively conceals its traces from incompetent wizards-and personally, I believe that is most likely true."

Brian thought for a moment, then shook his head. "Not necessarily... who can truly understand what magic is thinking..."

It was hard not to connect Professor Babbling's words to those firefly-like glimmers that only he could see-if those were traces of ancient magic, didn't that make him a genius?

Was that possible? He himself, Chet Brian, the man who could see those glimmers, had only experienced his first outburst of accidental magic at twenty-five-talented wizards showed their gifts as infants or young children.

If, as the records claimed, ancient magic hid its existence from incompetent wizards, then Dumbledore couldn't see those glimmers either-but that respected old man had absolutely nothing to do with the word "incompetent."

"Indeed, no one would dare claim to understand what magic thinks," Professor Flitwick said, joining the discussion. "I've always believed that wizards can cast spells because magic is kind-we ask, and it agrees."

"An interesting way of putting it. In that case, I would say Transfiguration is a more concrete, precise request than other forms of magic-which means relatively less magic is willing to grant your request." Professor McGonagall, too, had temporarily forgotten Snape's cutting remarks.

After hearing her two colleagues, Professor Babbling suddenly began shaking her head rapidly from side to side, her voice rising an octave:

"No, it's different. Whatever you say, you're still talking about modern magic. Ancient magic is different. It's proud, and it only obeys wizards it recognizes-to it, a request from a recognized wizard is an absolute command!

"If a wizard only makes a vague request without providing a detailed process for carrying it out, it will fulfill that request in its own way, using its own unique methods-with no regard for good or evil, only for achieving the goal!"

Her voice sounded a little hoarse now, even somewhat frightening, but the other professors seemed accustomed to these sudden changes in Professor Babbling, and their expressions barely shifted.

"Calm down, Bathsheba. Have an almond biscuit." Smiling, Professor Sprout walked over to Professor Babbling with a plate of steaming almond biscuits that the house-elves had just magically sent to the table, and popped one into her mouth.

"Oh, I mustn't forget the rest of you." Professor Sprout made a circuit of the staffroom, feeding Brian, then McGonagall, then Flitwick-Brian was certain that if Snape had still been there, he wouldn't have escaped being fed either.

He even suspected that if a cat suddenly leaped out from somewhere, Professor Sprout would scoop it into her arms as naturally as anything and give it a biscuit too.

While everyone was busy dealing with the food in their mouths, Brian enjoyed the warmth entering his body and pondered.

It suddenly struck him that, in the professors' eyes, magic was like a collection of little magical sprites with minds of their own-and these sprites seemed to have their own factions, tempers, and preferences.

The sprites of modern magic were the familiar companions of modern wizards, while the sprites of ancient magic were very special-they would find a way to choose a master, then obey that person's every instruction without reservation, like devoted warriors willing to sacrifice everything.

It was, well, rather difficult to understand, but he still recalled what had happened that morning on the Quidditch practice pitch-the force that had torn the Bludger apart for him and helped him achieve his goal had been just like a band of soldiers who feared no death and wanted only to fight for him.

And he couldn't tell them about it now-his agreement with Dumbledore required him to keep this power secret.

He heard Professor Babbling, now calm again, ask:

"Brian, where did you copy this passage from? I'd wager it certainly wasn't a document in the Hogwarts Library. I've read every document concerning ancient magic there, and none of them contained anything on this subject."

"From a book in the chest responsible for looking after the buckets at the Ice Cream Shop," Brian answered honestly. "It was pure chance. I'd only gone there to find Hagrid and buy a two-flavor slush."

"Since when has the Ice Cream Shop been giving away things like that?" Professor Babbling asked blankly.