Thick of it : reboot

Week passed, and James found himself slowly but surely getting the hang of magic. What once seemed like an impossible fantasy—waving a stick and making things float—was now becoming second nature. He spent hours poring over spellbooks, scribbling notes, and practicing incantations in quiet corners of the castle. Of course, some attempts were more successful than others. He had, at one point, tried to Reparo a broken quill and somehow managed to turn it into a rather aggressive-looking twig that tried to poke him in the eye. Progress, nonetheless.

But the more he practiced, the more questions he had. Magic was, at its core, a force of will—yet, why did they need incantations? Why did specific words, gestures, and wands dictate the outcome? He had theories, of course. Theories that would probably make Hermione beam with pride and Ron groan in exhaustion.

Magic, as James saw it, was something stored within the wizard. The body was the vessel, containing this unseen energy, while the wand was the medium to bring it forth. Wands, crafted from magically rich materials—be it dragon heartstring, phoenix feather, or unicorn hair—acted like a key, unlocking and focusing that power. It was why spells performed with a wand felt… right. More controlled, more powerful.

And yet, there was wandless magic. That curious, elusive subject that felt out of reach. The most powerful wizards could cast spells without the need for a wand, relying purely on their will and magical reserves. It was an art he desperately wanted to master, because, in his mind, there was always that what if—what if he lost his wand? What if he was in a situation where he couldn't use it? He needed to be prepared.

Still, there was no denying that spells cast with a wand were far stronger. A wand channeled magic like a river following a carved-out path. Wandless magic, on the other hand, was like trying to redirect the river with just your hands. Possible? Yes. Efficient? Hardly.

Then there were the incantations. Spells were… curious things. Wizards followed strange, almost ritualistic patterns to shape their desires into reality. Take Lumos, for example. The simplest of spells. One only needed to imagine a source of light, say the tip of a candle or the glow of a lantern, and with a flick of the wand—darkness was banished.

But the real mystery? Wand movements. Why were they necessary? Were they simply a teaching tool, a way to help young wizards focus their intent? Or did they hold some deeper significance, shaping the spell as much as the incantation itself? He wanted to test it—experiment, see if he could alter a spell by changing its movement. But that would have to wait. For now, he had first-year spells to master.

James walked into the dimly lit Potions classroom, the air thick with the scent of herbs, burnt ingredients, and what could only be described as old socks. The flickering candlelight cast eerie shadows along the damp stone walls, making the whole place look like something straight out of a horror novel. Snape stood at the front, his black robes billowing ominously as he surveyed the class like a vulture waiting for someone to drop dead.

"Today, we will be brewing the Cure for Boils," Snape announced, his voice as silky as ever. "A simple potion. For some. But I expect nothing less than perfection in my classroom." His sharp eyes flicked over the students, lingering on Neville for just a second too long. The poor boy visibly shrank under the gaze.

James sighed as he turned to his cauldron. Beside him, Hermione was already scanning the instructions with the intensity of a scholar preparing for battle. He glanced at their list of ingredients and instructions:

Cure for Boils – Ingredients:

Dried nettles

Snake fangs (crushed)

Horned slugs

Porcupine quills (to be added after removing cauldron from heat)

Steps:

Add dried nettles to the cauldron and stir three times clockwise.

Crush snake fangs into a fine powder and sprinkle them in.

Heat the mixture until it turns a deep green.

Add horned slugs and let them dissolve.

Remove cauldron from heat before adding porcupine quills.

James rolled up his sleeves. "Alright, let's do this, Hermione. Group project, keep that in mind, yeah?"

Hermione, already reaching for the nettles, hesitated. "Of course! I wasn't—I mean, I just thought I'd get us started—"

James smirked, grabbing the nettles before she could. "Step one: dried nettles, three stirs clockwise." He dropped the nettles in and stirred deliberately slow, throwing a sideways glance at Hermione, who was practically vibrating with the need to grab the spoon from him.

"You're stirring too slowly," she muttered.

"It literally says nothing about speed," James countered, not stopping.

Hermione huffed but didn't argue. Yet.

Next up—crushing the snake fangs. James reached for the pestle, but Hermione had already seized it, grinding the fangs with a level of determination that made James take a half-step back. "You really have something against those snake fangs, don't you?" he remarked.

"It has to be fine powder," she insisted, voice tight with concentration.

"Yeah, yeah, but maybe don't grind them into nothingness? We still want a potion, not a pile of dust."

She pursed her lips but relented, allowing James to sprinkle the crushed fangs into the cauldron. The mixture bubbled, turning an ugly shade of murky brown.

"Heat it up next," James said, lighting the fire beneath the cauldron. They both watched as the mixture changed color. Or, well, should have changed color.

"Shouldn't it be green by now?" Hermione frowned, glancing at the book.

James checked the flame. "Maybe it needs a second—"

Puff! The potion burped up a tiny cloud of steam, turning green just in time.

"There! See? Perfectly fine." James grinned, but Hermione still looked suspicious.

Now came the tricky part—adding the horned slugs. James reached for them, but Hermione instinctively grabbed his wrist. "Slowly," she instructed.

James raised an eyebrow. "Hermione, if you really want to do this all yourself, just say the word."

She blinked and seemed to realize what she was doing. "Oh. Sorry. Group project." She let go.

James smirked but carefully dropped the slugs in. They dissolved almost immediately, the potion letting out a soft hiss.

"Now, off the heat before the quills," Hermione reminded.

James, making sure she saw him do it, lifted the cauldron away from the fire with an exaggerated flourish. "Off the heat. See? I do read the instructions."

Hermione rolled her eyes but smiled slightly. "Alright, porcupine quills, last step."

James sprinkled them in, and the potion gave one last swirl before settling into a thick, proper green consistency.

"That," James said, folding his arms, "is a perfect Cure for Boils."

Hermione inspected it closely, then nodded approvingly. "Acceptable Cure for Boils."

James chuckled. "I'll take it."

As Snape stalked through the room, peering into cauldrons with an expression of deep disdain, he paused by theirs. He looked at the potion, then at James and Hermione. For a brief second, James thought he might actually approve.

Then Snape's lips curled slightly. "Not a disaster. A miracle, considering who brewed it," he murmured before sweeping away.

James scoffed. "I think that was the closest thing to a compliment we'll ever get from him."

Hermione smiled, but her eyes shone with satisfaction. "We did well."