'Mine's longer than yours.'

Michael grinned smugly at Anthony.

'There's nothing wrong with mine! It's a perfectly good-'

'But still, mine's longer.'

'That doesn't make it better, Mike. In fact, it doesn't even matter-'

'Yes, it does. Size does matter. I mean-'

Terry turned to his bickering friends.

'Firstly, if we're going to be comparing, mine's longer than both of yours. Secondly, after a certain threshold, size does not matter. It makes absolutely no difference to performance-'

From her perch on a rock, Padma eyed her three friends with some confusion.

'-If it helps, yours are all longer than mine. But honestly, why are we even having this conversation? Why does wand length matter? I mean, Terry's right. Although wands need to be of a certain length to be effective for spell-casting, past that, a couple of inches doesn't make any difference at all.'

Michael turned his face away, shoulders shaking.

'You have absolutely no idea what you've just said, have you, Pad?'

She cocked her head to the side quizzically.

'What are you talking about, Mike? I know what I just said. I was talking about wand length and how it doesn't matter!'

Anthony's ears, which had been slowly flushing, were quite red by this point.

Terry raised an eyebrow at Michael.

'Mike, Pad does indeed know what she's talking about. May I remind you that she is much better informed about wandlore than you? After all, you're the one who thinks that longer wands equate to more spell-casting power, which any wandmaker will tell you isn't true.'

'Come on, Terry! You got it too! You understand what-'

'-Mike, we didn't come out here to discuss wand length; we came out here to practice our Patronuses. I suggest we get on to that now. We've only got a few days of term left, and after that, we'll have to wait all summer before we can practice again.'

Padma nodded.

'We have to practice, or we'll forget over summer. And with what's coming, we're going to need to be prepared...'

There was silence for a moment, before Michael spoke.

'Your O. will be fine, Pad. Just you wait until you get ten Outstandings, and beat us all.'

They smiled weakly at Michael's attempt at a joke.

But none of them were fooled.

They were going to need to be prepared.

There was a war coming, after all.

All four glanced around at their school, at the grounds, at each other.

Without a word, Terry stood, taking a deep breath, taking in the Lake before him and his friends beside him.

He raised his wand.

'Expecto Patronum!'

A silver hawk erupted from his wand tip.

Padma smiled, while Anthony watched admiringly.

Michael shook his head.

'Show-off.'

'Mike!'

'Just kidding, Pad!'

Terry had been the first, and only, of their group to produce a corporeal Patronus during the DA meetings.

In their last meeting, Padma had come quite close, producing an indistinct shape that appeared to be a bird of some kind.

Michael and Anthony had yet to get past clouds of mist.

(Michael because he was too busy staring at Ginny, Anthony because he tended to crack under pressure, and, as he constantly insisted, he was a theorist, and a theorist only.)

Terry turned to his still-seated friends.

'Are you going to watch me all afternoon, or are you going to practice yourselves?'

A small smile graced her face, and Padma rose, drawing her wand.

'Expecto Patronum!'

A silvery shape emerged from her wand tip, and took flight.

The four friends watched as the silver owl circled them.

Michael grinned, pulling Padma into a hug.

'Nice work, Pad!'

Anthony continued watching the owl, transfixed.

Terry smiled at her.

'A very appropriate form. Great job, Pad. Hold on to that happy memory and you should be able to do it every time.'


The rest of the afternoon passed in hard work, as the four Ravenclaws practiced the hardest charm they knew.

'Expecto Patronum!'

'Expecto Patronum! Damn it! Expecto-'

'Take a deep breath, Mike. Focus. Think happy thoughts.'

'Expecto-drat!'

'Be careful, Tony. You don't want to fall into the Lake!'

'Expecto Patronum!'

'Expecto Patronum!'

Padma gasped as the two silvery shapes emerged from Michael and Anthony's wands.

'You did it! Congratulations!'

Terry smiled as Michael shook his head.

'A dolphin. A bloody dolphin.'

'There's nothing wrong with dolphins, Mike.'

'But still, a bloody dolphin! It's swimming in mid-air!'

'Terry, do you think mine's a tortoise or a turtle? Pad and I aren't quite sure...'

'Tony, what's the difference between a tortoise and a turtle? Does it even matter?'

'I think it does, Mike! Remember, back in Third Year, the Transfiguration exam-'

'-We don't speak of that, Tony!'

'Mike, it was two years ago. In all honesty, it could have been worse. It could have been like what Hannah Abbott did to that ferret-'

'-Just because you could do a perfect teapot-to-tortoise spell in Third Year doesn't mean you have to rub it in, Terry!'

'Mike-'

'-And you can't say anything either, Pad!'

Anthony sighed.

'No matter how many books I read, not a single one addresses how one should remedy a singing, dancing tortoise.'

The four shared a laugh.

Anthony's tortoise, for unknown reasons, had started singing and dancing. It was otherwise a normal tortoise, but it seemed to have a theatrical flair.

None of them had ever heard of a tortoise that sang about being a teapot. Nor had they heard of one that liked to do so with matching dance moves.

When the laughter had died down, Anthony turned to Michael.

'See, Mike? Yours turned out much better than mine.'

Michael snorted.

'At least yours was funny, Tony.'

'Funny doesn't mean anything to Professor McGonagall.'


'Mike, you never actually told us how you went on your Transfiguration exam in Third Year...'

Padma looked at Michael expectantly across the table.

Michael shook his head, swallowing his mouthful of steak and kidney pie.

'That, Pad, is a secret that I will take with me to my grave.'

And he went right back to shovelling down his food.

Padma turned to Anthony.

'Tony, could you pass those mashed potatoes? Terry, how many pork chops have you had? Three? Four? You're going to be sick!'