Zaccaria Innocenti walked silently through the large, slightly annoying crowd in the marketplace that was currently huddled around a vase. He felt uncomfortable in robes that were brown, but the Muggle world had yet to discover the ability to create the large multitude of colors that the Wizarding world had, and most of the available colors thus far weren't for common people. And that was exactly what Zaccaria wanted to to appear to be today. Market Day. Muggles were always both more and less observant on days when there were large crowds of them. He had to wait for the cover of darkness to begin his task, and so he was going towards the mountain now so as to not waste a single moment of darkness in his preparations.
Zaccaria had been going to the mountain to practice spells for around a year. Simple spells, an unemployed wizard hardly needed more than that, but he still enjoyed practicing certain spells to endear him to the Muggles he lived among. Being Muggleborn, he had always felt more comfortable in Muggle villages but as of late had been participating in an odd sort of self ostracization. He wanted to change that.
He was preparing endlessly for the next faire, just appearance spells and spells to increase personal skills. Nothing was too far out there when his happiness was at looked over his shoulder and, satisfied that he was alone, tentatively climbed the small stairs that he had built into the back of Mt. Vesuvius. He knew that Muggles couldn't see the entrance, or the stairs, and that people seldom lingered near a volcano, but he still worried about a stray child or two witnessing him vanishing from reality.
Zaccaria pulled his wand out of the hidden strip of fabric in his robe. He wordlessly flicked and swished his way through the series of incantations which would help him to succeed in his goal of being well renowned and respected. He grew taller and his hair seemed to shine, which he knew because of the reflective pools he gazed into desperately. This was the final practice. The night before he had discovered one final spell, to him the second most important. Dancing. Zaccaria wanted very badly to dance, and to dance well, in the jovial madness that overtook every person attending a faire. Without magical assistance, he would not be able to do it. He seemed to have twenty left feet, stumbling over himself and falling onto the girl, forcing an indecent amount of contact. Muggles were one creature Zaccaria found incredibly terrifying. Free will and yet low ability made them able to do terrible things.
He cast a quick time checking spell. Sundown was approaching. Once more for practice, just a swish of the arm. This was it. If it worked, he would finally be able to do what he desired most: impress the villagers.
"TANTALLEGRA!" he shouts with more force than is technically necessary. He whipped his wand and pointed it at his feet. Zaccaria waited. What had the book described the effects as again? He heard a slight rumble that seemed to grow louder and louder by the second. The tremendous mountain began to shake. Rocks fell from the walls and almost hit Zaccaria in the head. He scrambled out through the hidden opening and watched in horror as black ash and hot, flowing magma poured from the top of Vesuvius.
What have I done? he wondered. It appeared to him that his over enthusiastic casting may have affected his aim. The lava fell like hot tears from the dancing mountain and headed towards the town below. The ash blew in the opposite direction and the sky turn and angry red. He watched helplessly. Why couldn't he remember the counterspell? People could die if he didn't remember how to fix this. How would hw ever have guessed this was pissi'e? The terrified screams of the first few can be heard now. He lowers himself to the ground and cries madly. Zaccaria only wanted to be accepted. He couldn't stop it. He couldn't stop it. Spell after spell after spell in his desperate frenzy to end the pain and suffering. He couldn't do it. They were doomed. He knew without a doubt that he would rot in Wizard Prison for the rest of his life with his body nothing but an empty shell. This would earn him the Kiss.
He went back inside of the erupting volcano. What could be done now? They were all dead. Soon there would be wizard coming after him. They would take him away and let the dementors rip out his soul in retribution for the lives he ended. The lives he ended. It sickened Zaccaria to think that he was the cause for so mucb destruction and pain. He couldn't fathom that if he hadn't missed, a few hours from now he would've gone home and slept. Ib the morning all of his hard work would have paid off. He would've won over the father of the most beautiful girl in the village. Instead, today he buried Pompeii under ashes and pain. Instead, he became a mass murderer. He knew of a solution, just as illegal as his problem, but fortunately once completed he would be beyond the law. He put his wand up to his heart and whispered the only thing he could think of. "Avada Kedavra."