Disclaimer: Anyone would think the fact that this is on a fan fic site would be enough to tell you all that I own nothing JK Rowling and the Warner Bros trolls own. That being said, I am also riffing off a story called The Power of the Press, whose author would know what is his.

Rating: I'm a little confused by this system. I suspect PG:13 would be best for anything I write, though

Notes: Don't expect regular postings, sadly. I write in fits and starts.

Chapter Three: Fear of Fire

When Henry arrived in the classroom labeled Arithmancy, which was the wizarding world's code for math or algebra, he was surprised to discover that he was the only person there, except for a young woman he assumed was the teacher. She had long brown hair and a worried expression as she paced behind the teacher's desk and shuffled through a stack of papers. He coughed to get her to notice him, before asking, "you're Miss Enger, our teacher, right?"

"Oh yes," she said, "I cant believe my father convinced me to come back here and take on classes for the lower years."

"How come this class is called arithmancy, not math?" He ignored her rambled comments, remembering how poor Miss Taylor, his favorite teacher before, had been at first. "Is it like arithmetic in another language?"

"Honestly," she said, "nobody's ever told me. It's what I'm used to calling it, no matter what they called it at college, but I bet your answer is right, anyway. You seem to be a bright boy, Mr.—where are you from?"

"Carpenter, miss, I'm from Australia," he replied politely, "although I think my family moved there when I was a baby. Why is there a magical term for math? How do we use it in doing magic stuff?"

The rest of the class shuffled in while she gave him the answer, which had something to do with ritual-based magic and warding buildings, mostly. Almost everyone had some question for her, which kept her talking for most of the hour, before she was able to get around to taking attendance. It ended up being the most interesting class of the day, since the others mostly just handed out a homework schedule and lectured a bit on what they would be doing that semester. At least Professor Lowell had cracked a few jokes; mostly at the expense of the school he'd gone to, which had just made everyone figure out how to write essays by themselves.

7777777777

At the same time, in a modest suburban home, a young girl with a riotous mass of tangled brown curls sat at a small desk, bent over an array of books. She was frantically scribbling down notes on a pad of paper illuminated by a small desk lamp when an older woman leaned in the doorway of her room.

"Darling, did you remember to brush your teeth?" she said in the tones of a person who has oft repeated the same line, "I want you to be able to go right to sleep at midnight, young lady, no matter how important your studies."

"Mother, you know I just have to pass these placement tests," the girl replied, a hint of a whine creeping into her voice, "not that I'm likely to make any friends in secondary, but the sooner I get to university the better, right?"

Her mother shook her head fondly and left the room, neither of them having commented on the way the girl's dictionary's pages were turning themselves. After all, why mention something so very commonplace?

7777777777

Phys. Ed. and Defense was held in a large field house, which made the class seem rather small and pathetic as they were clustered down at the end nearest the door to the rest of the school. They were just starting to whisper amongst themselves when a short but very muscular man burst through the glass door next to the main entrance. "Hello kiddies!" he boomed, "I am Coach Carter, here to teach you how to defend yourselves. Those of you who have gone to regular schools, prepare yourselves for gym and martial arts."

"What about magic, sir?" said a student near the front, "curses and such. Or if we already know some martial arts?"

"You are quite right, boy," the coach replied, ignoring the student's disgruntled remarks about being a girl, "this week's sessions will mostly be skills tests. My TA's from the upper levels will be pretty much running this class when they come back. Magic will come a bit later, once you've got some more ability."

"What does physical fitness have to do with magic, professor?" the same girl said.

"If you can't dodge spells, how can I expect you to shield yourselves from magic, eh? Considering the secrecy act, I'd expect you'd be happy to be able to defend your sorry selves without magic, anyways," replied the teacher.

They all grumbled, but after that, the class dissolved into a rather depressing review of every PE class ever, as the coach ordered them to do laps and count how many crunches each other could do. He was very critical of how the students did everything, declaring most of them hopeless. Henry could feel his magic building up very quickly, almost more than it could even when his uncle was yelling at him. He grit his teeth as he did the crunches, trying to funnel the swelling power into his muscles. Having a blow out in school had never gone well for him before. It didn't help that the healers had obviously been far from kidding about the binding on his power being removed. Control had never been so difficult, nor had crunches. The coach had their partners sitting on their outstretched legs, and a conjured bar floating above their heads. Supposedly it was there to count their repetitions, but mostly it kept them from sitting all the way up, making them work harder.

It wasn't even the Coach whose comments were making him so furious, per se, though he'd never been pushed so hard in a gym class. No, it was one student in particular. Every time their teacher would single students out to correct their technique or running form, he would snicker and make comments, till everyone near him was laughing as well. Crowley was one of the more wealthy kids there, a son of an Australian Cattleman, who'd apparently had tutors in these areas at least, if his comments were to be believed.

"Hot damn, I hope we start on placing for martial arts on Thursday," the sandy haired Bruce was saying, "Sensei would have my head if I ever got to be half as much of a lump of fat as that kid. I feel sick just being around these failures."

Everyone tittered nervously at this, except Henry, who practically exploded. He turned to the other boy, who was across the group from him, and punched his hand forward, palm open. The air seemed to ripple with an unseen force or shockwave, making the kids between them stagger, before it hit Crawley, who was flung backwards and against the wall and pinned to the mats there.

"Do not torment others," he growled with an unnaturally loud voice as he walked towards the older boy, arm still outstretched, "I will no longer abide those who prey on the weak. Do you understand, or have your teachers never told you what your strength is for?"

A hush fell over the scattered students, and even Henry was surprised by his words. Their teacher was the first to break the silence. "Release him, boy," he paused when a very cowed Henry dropped his hand and curled into a hunched defensive position. "Who taught you that spell boy? Thought you'd show up the class with your focus ring, eh?" The coach advanced on the stunned Henry, who seemed incapable of speech, and said, "show me your hand, boy," and when he didn't move, simply grabbed the student's hands, which bore no magical devices of any kind. "The hell," he whispered.

"I'm sorry, so sorry," Henry whined, reverting to his usual responses to angry adults, "I was warned my magic would by messed up with the binding off, and I tried so hard to keep it in. Sorry, so sorry."

The professor in question was momentarily shocked by this outburst, then he spoke, "Don't you know it can harm you to keep that kind of power to build up inside? Spend it on something you already can do, without hurting anyone, this time."

Henry did nothing for a moment, then at the teacher's impatient nod, he relaxed and let his flames out into his hands. Today, he produced what looked like a blue bonfire that wanted to become a pillar of flames. The coach carefully took down his name, dismissed the class and walked back to his office with a slight stagger, noticeable even to his class. They were all late for lunch, and nobody wanted to talk about what happened, though Henry noticed a lot of people whispering to their roommates about what had happened. He resolved to spend their afternoon break in the library, wherever it was, reading about the removal of baby bindings, and even right into the evening if needed. Having the answers to a problem of his had never been so important.

He was the only one who managed to finish eating by the time they had to get to their next class, a lingering result of his not being used to eating as much as he wanted. Herbology was held in yet another courtyard; this one appeared to have taken a large bite out of the surrounding forest, for all that there was a fence going through the tangled mass of vegetation. For this first class, they were treated to a tour of this slice of rain forest, as well as a series of greenhouses, some of which were actually kept cold for northern species. After that, they got a lecture about safe brewing in the potions lab they'd be using.

Henry took notes mechanically, still thinking about the events of the morning; mostly the fact that nearly everyone had been shocked by the amount of magic that he'd been kicking out. That afternoon in the library, a cool and imposing building connected to the rest of the school compound by a covered walkway, Henry struggled to make heads or tails of his own situation. From the looks of it, under even one such constuct, his magic would have faced serious challenges in expression, perhaps only enough to save his life in a severe crisis, let alone the two bindings he'd been subjected to for most of his childhood.

"You are much too young to be in here looking so serious, Mr. Carpenter," said a soft voice near his ear.

Henry looked up and saw Miss Enger, and said, "I can't go and play, since I have to figure this out, or learn how to control it or something."

She sat down on the seat across from him at the table, "and what might be your problem? You've got an awful lot of books here on bindings."

"They found two separate bindings on me during my check up, and have already removed one of these baby bindings, Miss Enger," he replied, running a hand through his already messy hair, "and the way I almost exploded magically today, it's like I'm a freak here too."

"Are you saying that Carter's ranting in the staff room wasn't just his usual exaggeration?" She grinned, then continued, "what exactly do you mean by nearly exploded?"

"Well, I was just shaking with the build-up of power, and I usually have to be way more angry to get half as much, and when I conjured my usual blue flames, they were huge," Henry groaned, "I don't know what to do about it, except that the coach said I'm supposed to let it out, or something."

"First, how else was that different than your accidental magic before losing the binding," she said, leaning forward, curiosity piqued, "and second, are you sure that it was two regular baby bindings, or was one different? What else did the healers say about them?"

"Oh, the accidental magic was just more controlled, really," he said offhandedly, "I'm more concerned about the flames being out of control, since usually they do what I want. Was the coach right about expelling emotional magic, not controlling the build-up? Shouldn't I try to control that kind of power?" The young teacher was staring at him, unresponsive, so he continued, "oh and the bindings, one was a standard baby one, the other was something they couldn't ID, a later construct by a different wizard, associated with the black magic affecting my head, so they were afraid to mess around with it yet."

"Well, it sounds like you are naturally very powerful, aside from whatever the dark nastiness might be. That's what baby bindings are for, otherwise you'd have set off our sensors when you were five, and way too young to be learning magic here. What exactly could you control before?" she finished.

"A line of blue fire around the edge of a small room, light only, not burning mostly. Also, I can clean things just by touching them and unlock doors," he added a bit self-consciously. "I could probably replicate the magic pushing I did today, on purpose this time, also."

"Ok then," she said, trying to suppress her surprise, "all the coach was thinking was venting out the power on something before it builds up too much and really hurts people, but in your case, control might be a better idea, since your power is already at that kind of level."

"How," he said softly, a bleak look on his face, "how do I control it, now? We haven't learned anything magical yet in our classes."

"Did you get a crystal focus for this year? Actually, you should owl-order a set from McGadden's, and carry at least one in your pocket," she explained, "when you get upset, channel your magic into one of them until it glows, but make sure it doesn't start to crack, so it doesn't explode. They store power for rituals or later spell-casting, like if you get magical exhaustion. You can use them later, or if not, they'll eventually lose charge, glowing like nightlights."

"Oh," he said, "okay, thanks, I can do that." Then he waved his hand, magically pushing all of the books on the table over to the return cart before shaking the teacher's hand and leaving. He told her, "I'll just be off now to wherever the school's mail birds are with what's left of my money, then."

Laurel watched him leave, stunned, and resolved to teach at least a few energy consuming rituals to her advanced first years during the year. There was really no telling what this boy at least was capable of, power-wise. For one thing, he'd not be learning a wanded incantation for years that would have the same results he'd just produced so casually. For another, he'd just admitted there was another binding of some kind on his magic, and that he wasn't completely in control of what he could do right now. She'd be thinking about this boy right up to the point that she fell asleep that evening in the middle of working on a lesson plan for his class the next day, actually.

777777777777

Far away in a completely different library, a young blond was flipping absently through the pages of a book on magical creatures. Late afternoon sun was slanting in through oval windows, directly onto a man walking through the door, making him blink owlishly. "Daddy, oh good, you must believe me," she said cheerily, "no matter what granny's book says, the lightning-eater lives far further south."

"Now, plum-pie," said the man fondly, "we are going to be searching for them in Canada, and that's final."

"Ok, drat," she replied, her voice becoming dreamy again, "as long as we can go looking for the pacific numbing next summer. I'm just sure that they live in Fiji."

"Only if you do all of your holiday homework, libeling," her father replied, "we could hardly go to such a nasty place if you couldn't break-dance."

The girl nodded absently, beginning to hum in an off-key drone, and pirouetted out of the room and directly into what looked like a living room furnished with bathroom appliances. Walking up to a monstrous stuffed head on the wall, she paused her humming to pat it and say, "don't worry, I still think it's too bad grampa wasn't able to tame you and had to kill you instead, dearest Jabberwalky.' She then spun three times on the spot before collapsing into a bathtub full of embroidered pillows.

777777777777

Henry woke up with a gasp, after having a very strange dream, featuring a talking snake in a zoo he'd never been too. It had actually been a very civil conversation, till his cousin barged in, as usual, though the snake had then conveniently escaped and scared the fatty. The snake, a boa constrictor, had then whipped around and looked at him in the eye before declaring, "you have the gift, though it is as yet untouched. Seek the key and set me free, young one." Then it had bit him on the shoulder and the shock had startled him awake. Really, it was a no wonder he could never sleep in, even if allowed to do so. It was hardly the first strange dream he'd had, for all that none had ever been repeated except the one with the flying motorcycle. Although considering the reality of magic, if his parents had been the source of his power, or one of them, who knows which ones were partially recalled baby memories.

That morning, he was grateful for Blake's chatter as they got ready to go to breakfast and then classes. It let him go through things on autopilot, rather than dwelling on such thoughts, and so Henry was surprised to find himself back in the arithmancy classroom. Frankly, he was relieved that this teacher at least wasn't going to act like he was a freak, like his classmates. Such was not the case with Professor Lowell in their next class, who could not seem to stop staring at Henry. It was unnerving.

"Tell me, Mr. Carpenter," the professor said suddenly, "what does it mean when somebody is said to publish a book or essay pseudonymously?"

"It means that the author is using a fake name to protect their privacy, sir," he said sullenly, "Nobody much does it for anything factual, actually."

"Ah yes, of course," replied Lowell, "so I will expect all of you to be using your real names on your homework." The professor's eyes seemed to bore straight into Henry's at this comment, before he went on to explain the differences between an essay written for a history class and the kind of lab report they'd be expected to produce for potions. "Really a completely different style altogether…." He really was an interesting professor to listen to, especially when he got into a little rant like this one, at least in Henry's opinion, despite today's unnerving behavior.

That day at lunch, everyone was very chatty, though there was a distinct divide between Henry and the Crawley boy, who was muttering dire things like, "bloody Carpenter probably had the kind of tutors who use illegal magic-boosting rituals. Even coach was scared. He must be a bloody dark wizard. Did you hear that rubbish he spouted at me?"

"Is it true?" Blake said, "I'm on your side here mate, but what actually happened yesterday?"

"I got a baby binding on my magic taken off at my check-up, so my power's all wonky. I just threw him up against a padded wall, for crying out loud," Henry grumbled, "like he has room to talk, Mr. I had tutors and I bully people. Probably only mad cuz I'm stronger and his tutors wouldn't use whatever ritual he's talking about over there."

"Either way, I'm just glad you stuck up for me," said Sandra McKinnen, the girl Crawley had called fat. Then she continued in a fierce voice, "somebody's got to shut bullies up, I say."

"Who'd a thought little Carpenter had it in him, though," said one of the older boys, possibly the one whose father taught at Ayers, "Ain't you on nutrient potions and everything, little man?"

"Yeah, and usually I'm on the wrong side of bullies," Henry replied, "so I don't feel too bad about overreacting."

Then lunch was over and they were scattered again to their respective classes. History of Magic had given everyone the impression on the first day of being well on its way to being as boring as its mundane counterpart. Henry personally had read quite a bit ahead, and was hoping to catch a bit of a nap to make up for his somewhat restless night and early awakening. The professor was the author after all, so it didn't seem likely that he'd get too far away from the contents of his book. Pretty much everyone else had been talking about how boring history was going to be, so he was not the only student surprised to find their paunchy, salt and pepper haired professor standing on his own desk, sharpening a huge samurai sword.

When they had all arrived, he spoke without looking at them, "what your theory and so-called practical classes will fail to mention is that most offensive spells were originally designed to be cast by swords. Observe. BUSHDAR," he shouted while slashing at the wall, which exploded outward in a line, as though his sword had struck with explosive power. "On the other hand, literally in this case, healing and repair charms tend to be designed for wood foci like the tonga rings. REPARO," he intoned, making a pulling and grasping gesture at the fallen stone rubble with his other hand. "Wands can do both, though as you'll notice in the stories I tell in this class, I wouldn't trust one when it can be so easily burned, broken, or even summoned away. Rather like trusting your magic to a pencil."

The class was spell bound, and probably would never need to consult whatever notes they'd managed to take in-between gasps, as Omagachi started with the most ancient of myths across the world and explained which spells might be used to achieve each effect, demonstrating and teaching the ones at their level. The man obviously had no need to consult his own works or any other books, for that matter, seeming to be extremely familiar with all of the histories and spells mentioned. Their homework for the weekend was to do the same thing for some modern event or story of the paranormal in the mundane world, and write an essay explaining what spells or potions even may have created the phenomenon described, with proper citations, of course. Afterwards, when most of his classmates set off in search of the library, Henry went back to his dorm for a much needed nap.

He actually only woke up in time for dinner because Blake came bursting in to drop off his book bag. Henry himself brought his with him, so as not to waste time getting to the astronomy lesson in the evening. Henry, personally, was more interested in what spells might replicate the effects of the supposed accidental magic he and his class mates had produced before coming to school and getting training, so he planned to spend most of dinner surreptitiously asking whoever hadn't admitted to their magic about what they'd done. "So Anna, what did you do, magically I mean, before coming here," he asked during a lull in conversation.

"Are people still honestly talking about that, or are you just so lame that you couldn't come up with anything better to talk about, Carpenter?"

"I was just wanting to make sure I don't pick some story for the paper that was accidental magic," he replied in a placating tone.

"I blasted a hole in a boy's guts," Anna said suddenly, "and it wasn't an accident, either." Almost everyone scooted their chairs away from her.

"No wonder she never mentioned it before," whispered one of the other girls, "I can't believe you have to sleep in the same room as her, Marie. How creepy is that? All I did was turn my teacher's hair blue."

"I know, you told me," said the aforementioned Marie, "and the janitor's hair purple and most of the boys in the class got pink hair, and yours was a rainbow. But don't worry about me—I was practicing spells from my big brother's books for a year before they sent me the letter."

"Actually, Carpenter, I wouldn't worry too much about the news catching on to our magic too much," said Blake, who was sitting behind him, "they're pretty good at covering up all the evidence of the accidental magic that is caught on their sensors."

"Who covers that stuff up, Blake? Is it the school?" There were actually quite a few kids paying attention to their conversation now.

"No, the enforcers do, duh," piped up Crawley.

"He means the secrecy counsel's enforcing squads," said Blake, "They do a lot of obliviating, like the American Men in Black, but also some cop stuff like aurors in Europe."

"My uncle is one of them, actually," said Marie, "so I'm actually a bit surprised he didn't catch me doing magic sooner. He's a bit of a dumb thug, actually, as much as I like him."

After that, the conversation broke down into a discussion of what kind of things the enforcers or their foreign counterparts had tried to cover up recently. He tried a few times to ask about the other magical professions out there, but nobody seemed to share his interest. He supposed it was only reasonable, after all, as this conversation would probably do them better in terms of getting homework done, and it was their first assignment, after all. As this was their most relaxed meal, it was when mail was delivered, brought in by any number of different birds. Parrots were the most popular; for all that the school used local birds of paradise. The company from which he'd ordered the crystals apparently used trained falcons, as one of them landed in front of Henry with a box in its talons.

"Care package from home, eh, Carpenter? Circe, I love my mom's cookies," muttered Jamison, as he tore open his own box, "or are you getting something more embarrassing?"

"Let's just say I'm not opening this box or any of my future mail at the dinner table," Henry replied, glad for the convenient cover excuse. It was embarrassing that he would never get anything from his supposed family, and he couldn't bear to have anyone asking about the crystals, or taking one and breaking it, not when he'd spent all but the last few wooden nickels of his scholarship on them. At any rate, this was certainly a development worth an extra trip back to his room, despite his previous plans to not do so before class.

As soon as he got back, Henry decided to find out exactly what he'd gotten for his money. There were two levels in the small crate, each containing two rows of indentations lined in black velvet, each cradling a large faceted crystal. Each one had a slightly different shade and cut, though all were basically translucent. The white or clear ones were quartz, and the pinkish and yellowish ones were cubic zirconium. It was after all, the cheapest set the company carried for these purposes. He picked up the most orangey out of the pink stones and put it into his pocket before tucking the crate away under his bed.

Sitting in the astronomy tower later, Henry could only wish that he had the later time slot for the class, rather than his roommate, as they had to sit around being lectured while waiting for it to get dark enough for star gazing. Honestly, it was a fairly useless lecture no matter what professor Watkins said. It sounded like they wouldn't be able to use any of it for actual magic till they knew a lot more arithmancy, for starters. That and the simple fact that they were all too young to be having night classes and actually stay awake, he thought with a yawn.

It was at that moment that the explosions began. Loud bangs and poping sounds accompanying balls of light and firey pinwheels bursting out of the greenery surrounding the school. The students were all on their feet in an instant, leaning over the edge of the tower to watch the show. Somebody had decided that being in school was not going to stop them from having a proper celebration of the new year, Henry thought. Fireworks were being shot into the air from all over the campus, some of them probably magical in nature, as Henry had never before seen animated creatures cavorting about in any such display before this one.

"It's not the Chinese New Year, not yet," announced the professor suddenly. "Perhaps it is Li Mun or something like that? I never paid much attention to the traditions of Indochina…" she trailed off absently.

"No, that's not it," replied a student Henry couldn't quite see, "my family is celebrating the twelfth night of Christmas, or Epiphany. It's a Christian holy day, even if we do have an unusual way of celebrating it."

"You mean your older brother is setting off fireworks, Daniel," responded another, "I bet you told him when you have astronomy, or the show would have started later."

"Well, that hardly matters now," said the teacher, "What does matter is that now I am going to have to stick to a lecture," she paused as the class groaned, "with your practical work, as easy as it is, as a homework assignment. I wish they gave us an extra week before the older kids get back," she added. No matter what she said after that, most of them were totally mesmerized by the ever-changing array of flaming rainbows, Catherine wheels, and gigantic animated fire creatures that filled the sky and scorched the treetops for the next hour.