"Harry lives with his guardians," Richard replied. "I believe with his mother's sister and her husband."
"Yes, yes, that's quite logical," the old woman remarked. "The whole world was wondering where Harry Potter had disappeared to."
"So what are you getting at, ma'am?"
"Hm… Ah, yes! Harry is famous for surviving the Killing Curse—Avada Kedavra—the very spell you frightened Millie and me with so badly. No one before him had ever survived that curse, and yet Harry did. That's my point: everyone insists, and firmly believes, that it's impossible to survive an Avada—but Harry lived, even if he was left with a scar. Poor boy! I think his parents devised a ritual that managed to protect their child. It's a shame they didn't have time to share their achievement with the rest of the wizarding world."
"So, magic can do anything. Right, ma'am?"
"Exactly, my boy! Exactly!" she exclaimed. "Believe a woman who has seen a great deal. You probably want to start right away with powerful spells, don't you?"
"I rely on your experience, Tutor," Richard replied politely.
"Oh, I know you boys," the old woman grumbled. "You're always itching for something flashy… something that goes bang or bursts into flames. And you little rascals also love flying on broomsticks instead of attending lessons!"
"I can't agree with that, ma'am. I enjoy studying."
In truth, Richard found it hard even to imagine flying on a broomstick. With his vivid imagination, he almost physically felt the broom handle digging into his bells. The image was so graphic that the jingles instinctively shrank. If they could speak, they would have squeaked in a thin voice: "Master, to hell with that kind of entertainment! We'll still be useful to you!"
"You're just like Albus," Madam Marchbanks said fondly. "I remember it as if it were yesterday—when I sat on a Ministry commission and examined that rascal for his O.W.L.s. Oh, the charms he cast! A sight to behold. He also spent far more time studying than playing. And as a result, he is now Headmaster of Hogwarts—a respected wizard. Had he spent his time flying on a broom instead of studying, he'd have knocked all the brains right out of his head!"
Or maybe not just his brains, Richie thought. A smart man, that Albus. His… bells probably thanked him.
Madam Marchbanks took a pointer from her belt, flicked it, and a large casket appeared on a nearby table. With another flick, the lid of the casket sprang open.
"And yet, Richard, we will be practicing charms today—but we'll start with the simplest ones. For that, you need to choose a wand."
Richie realized that by "wand" she meant a wooden pointer. Approaching the table, he found several wands inside the casket.
"Touch them and choose the one you like best," the mentor urged the boy to act.
Richard handled all of them, and one responded with a faint warmth. That was the one he took in his right hand.
"Wonderful!" the old woman exclaimed loudly. "That was my father's wand. He was an excellent charm-maker. Now wave it, wish to conjure light, and say Lumos."
Richard followed the instructions. Nothing happened on the first try, but he kept waving the wand. Only on the tenth attempt did a small yellow glowing sphere appear at its tip. It didn't shine all that brightly — more like a camping lantern with circular light, powered by three strong LEDs. Useful enough if you had no flashlight handy, but overall, Richard didn't see much practical value in the spell.
"Not bad," the mentor stated. "But it could be better. Your problem, Richard, is disbelief. You haven't yet believed in the omnipotence of magic. But you must believe—and desire. After all, the clearer a wizard's desire for a result, the faster it will be achieved."
Richie couldn't take his eyes off the sphere of light. He shook the wand, trying to shake it off. But the glowing orb seemed glued to the tip of the wand and showed no sign of fading.
"Uh… ma'am? How do I turn it off?"
"Simply say Nox and wish for the light to extinguish."
"Nox!"
The light went out at once. Richard was delighted to have discovered another way to use his supernatural ability.
"And now," the old woman began, "repeat this spell one hundred times. Then rest a little—and repeat it again."
"And after that I'll need to rest again and repeat it?" Richard asked warily.
"Remarkable insight, young man! You will repeat the charm until you can cast it nonverbally. I think we'll manage within a month. It would be quite improper if someone were to find out that my student is such a hopeless that he can't perform the simplest nonverbal charm."
"And I assume we'll be learning only a small number of spells?"
"My boy," Madam Marchbanks said with cold severity in her voice, making Richard shiver, "a wizard doesn't need to know many charms. But it is highly desirable to master a small everyday set perfectly."
"An everyday set, ma'am?" Richard raised an eyebrow questioningly.
"Spells that make a wizard's life easier," Madam Marchbanks explained. "To light the dark, summon and repair objects, lift heavy things, cut something—or, on the contrary, mend it together—unlock what's locked or secure yourself against intruders, and so on. I will teach you the basic charms that any pure-blood wizard knew by heart before Hogwarts in my youth. Nowadays wizards have grown feeble. Even pure-bloods don't teach their children spells anymore. 'They'll learn everything at school, so why spoil their childhood?!' Bah! Spoiled weaklings! One of my friends, for instance, has been accustoming her grandson to Herbology since early childhood. And I think she's doing exactly the right thing!"
The mentor cast the boy a stern look and added:
"What are we waiting for? Or have you already completed your first hundred Lumos charms?"
"No, no, ma'am," Richard shook his head. "You were just telling it so interestingly. Lumos! Nox! Lumos…"