.
"To improve is to change; to be perfect is to change often."
- Winston Churchill
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25th August
'Level 8, Atrium,' called a disembodied female voice from within the swaying golden lift that had just rattled into sight. The mesh collapsed with a sound of squeaking metal, and a throng of ruffled, cloaked men and women burst out of the confines. Disbanding in every direction, many were muttering to their colleagues, and shaking their heads at the thing they had just apparently exited. The diatribes didn't last too long, however, once they came face to face with the debacle currently taking place around the fountain. Thinking better of it, many simply kept to the walls, and hurried off out of harm's way rather than try and unravel what was happening.
The group currently waiting to file-in looked none too pleased either as they checked their watches, glanced behind them every few minutes at the commotion taking place, and looked expectantly at the scruffy, old, blue-clad maintenance wizard currently stood in the corner of the lift.
He called out loudly, to be heard over the humdrum, "Alright, everyone, in you come," after a short moment.
A short distance away, a tall, red-headed man in spectacles strode purposefully across the floor towards the quickly filling cube, his derbys clicking on the polished stone in increasing volume with every step. But as he approached the crammed space, the mesh shut in front of him; Sod's Law in full effect. He tutted loudly and turned away to wait with the other stragglers who were occasionally flinching as thuds, crashes, and shouts started to come from behind them.
"Right," proclaimed the blue-clad wizard as he put his wand away, and grasped for a handle, "let's see if this works."
The lift jolted suddenly, began to lean backwards, made a movement not unlike a hiccough then went completely still. There was a chorus of groans from both inside and outside.
"Apparently not," he continued, as he took his wand back out, made a semi-complicated movement with it, and tapped the wall; the lift shuddered, and a puff of yellow smoke came out of the wand tip. "Oh, flaming hell."
A rotund man in brown robes strained his large neck to look behind him. "What's goin' on with these things, Bernie? I thought you had it sorted."
The old maintenance wizard looked like he wanted nothing more than the kick the damn thing, and call it a day. "It's the bloody statue, Julian," he growled. "We've been tellin' them all day that if they're gona mess with old enchantments just to have a sodding quidditch display," we waved his wand with more gusto this time, "then they'll be shelving the blame when everything in a 50 ft radius stops workin'!"
The Fountain of Magical Brethren, which had indeed been causing quite a stir to both officials and general passers-by, had been festooned in British and Irish League quidditch strips in honour of the closing finals, and each figure thoroughly bewitched to life; locked in a rather animated game of Swivenhodge for the past half hour, it was much to the chagrin of anyone trying to walk through the atrium without risking their lives, which was essentially everyone in the Ministry.
"But trying to convince Games and Sports that they're causing a health and safety issue is like trying to teach a dragon that breathing fire on people isn't very nice," huffed Bernie, now exiting the lift, and smacking his wand against the side panels, causing more shakes and smoke. "But never mind maintenance, what do they know? Just a department of fuddy-duddy's to them."
At present, the golden goblin and house elf had just batted the game's signature pigs bladder with the bristle ends of the brooms, across the large net which had been erected across the statue platform. It sailed straight over the, equally gilded, witch and wizard, and straight into the smaller atrium hall where the lift entrances were housed, smacking with a wet thump into the balcony above the crowd's heads. The yells of surprise were exacerbated when the refereeing centaur came thundering over to collect the puffy lump – now lying exactly where several officials had been standing – when he overshot a bit, barrelled through the scattering crowd, and collided hoof-first against the fubar elevator, jolting it back into action.
"I knew it!" shouted a spread-eagle Bernie over the disappearing screams of those inside. "All this pansy spell work coming from the high-ups; codswallop! When in doubt just give it a clout!" He slapped the ground in emphasis, before getting up, and walking off in the direction of the Floos. "Right, time for a quick fag."
'Whoever had had the foresight in that department to suggest to Bagman that giant magical golden statues playing quidditch in a room full of people probably wasn't a good idea should receive an Order of Merlin,' thought the redhead as he began to pick himself up off the floor, and adjust his glasses. 'Although, the muggle version of Swivenhodge, Tennis, would've perhaps been a better move, still.'
He could only imagine the chaos of living in a world where Ludo was surrounded by yes-men; the Recently Deceased column of the Prophet may have ended up a bit more zaftig that day, for one.
"Sleeping on the job, Weasley?" said a deep, steady voice from a short distance away.
The Weasley in question let his face fall into a pleasant expression, smoothed down his robes, and spun about to the source – although he needn't have to deduce who had addressed him. "Well, Minister, it would've been a faux pas if I'd actually done so during Ms Gorgonović's highly interesting lecture on, 'Niffler Poaching,' this morning. Taking a nap here, with the lifts out of sorts, I don't feel quite so bad."
Kingsley Shacklebolt regarded him in a commanding stance. Most would take the current look displayed on his face as highly unimpressed and even vexed, but underneath the scary-Minister stare, his twinkling eyes gave him away. He took a file of parchment from the support staff member standing beside him, relayed some information to her, and moved closer to the redhead as she scurried off. "You and me, both," he said into a freckled ear in an undertone, raising a hand at a few individuals wishing him good morning.
The redhead smirked. "At least you got to leave after 10 minutes."
The broad dark face widened in a controlled smile as he straightened up. "Yes, well, regrettably I was called away on important business."
A claret eyebrow raised.
"The kettle had just boiled."
The two men chortled under their breath, and the shorter man accepted the Minister's wish to, "Walk with me," out of the cramped lift-room, past the fountain, and slowly over to the large balcony which overlooked the heart of the atrium; they made sure to get as close to the side as possible, the risk of a rogue pig's bladder to the back of the head still a firm possibility judging by the crude net far below that the Unspeakables had erected round the base of the Golden Wizard's, now bereft, podium.
"First of all, I wanted to wish you a Happy Birthday. It was a few days ago if I remember correctly?" said Kingsley.
"Yes it was, and thank you."
"I trust you had an enjoyable day?"
When a parrying house elf came rather close, the pair made to skirt around a bit further.
"It was," said the smaller man, keeping one eye on the Minister and one on the bladder, "although the twins saw fit to insert a small shaving of erumpent horn into the sponge of the birthday cake – where they got it I can't even begin to think. You can imagine the carnage once we began cutting into it…"
Kingsley grunted a laugh. "I thought after all these years, you'd have expected something like that by now."
The redhead puffed up slightly and smirked rather uncharacteristically. "Yes, well, they soon got their comeuppance when I bought in a favour from Madam Edgecombe and linked their flooplace indefinitely with Muriel's. Neither party was or still is pleased to say the least, especially since Fred and George'll have to admit to an illegally operating port in order to get it fixed."
The tall man stopped walking and gave out a proper laugh at that. "I've said it before, but you've definitely changed since the War, Weasley. For better or for worse, however, remains to be seen," he added, raising an amused eyebrow at the smaller man who simply smiled tightly.
"Now, how are you finding work?" asked the Minister, once they were a bit more out of the way.
"I enjoy it profusely more than my old post; bigger department, lots of new faces. And I get a bigger office."
"Glad to hear it," Kingsley smiled.
"Not that I didn't appreciate the last job, but it got a bit overwhelming at times; I usually didn't mind the administration side of things, but even I had to admit defeat every once in a while when it came to parchment piles of that capacity," continued the redhead, pursing his lips at the thought.
"Yes, my PA mutters the same every now and again when she thinks she's out of earshot," the Minister chuckled. "Although paperwork is actually why I wanted to talk to you." He presented the folder of parchment that he'd received from the girl, and continued on in a slightly more serious tone. "As I'm sure you're aware, I'm sent copies of any active official departmental investigation that goes on in this building, and this came into my intray from the Magical Reversal Squad Headquarters. One of the Obliviators was called out last week after a few muggles got into some trouble with what were believed to be enchanted objects, probably portkeys judging by the testimonials. I would have discarded it but some parts of the report struck me as…odd."
The redhead took the offered file, and read the text on the cover.
.
REPORT
from the
DEPARTMENT OF MAGICAL ACCIDENTS AND CATASTROPHES SUB. H.Q. OF THE MAGIC REVERSAL SQUAD
to
CORENTIN TALBOT, HEAD DEPT. MAG. ACC. CAT.
C.C MINISTER FOR MAGIC AND SUPPORT STAFF
on the
Causes of and circumstances attending the items found in muggle possession at Milltown, Derbyshire on Friday the 20th August, 1999
By
MORGAN EMERY LEBLANC
Obliviator, Obliviator H.Q. Level 3 M.O.M [Trx. 328746]
.
"I thought it best for your department to take a look, just in case," the tall wizard continued.
The shorter adjusted his glasses, looked up, and gave a firm nod. "Of course, no stone should be left unturned. I'll give it my full attention." The bespectacled wizard was slightly confused as to why the Minister would pass this to him personally rather than through the official departmental channels. It was clear that Shacklebolt was still finding it hard to draw the line between official and auror sometimes after his short stay in office.
Kingsley smiled. "Thank you Weasley, just don't burn yourself out. I know these quidditch games coming up are affecting every department. Even the Unspeakables have been antsy."
There was a loud SPLAT and a SNAP. The two men looked over. The flying pig's bladder had apparently made contact with the Watchwizard's security desk – currently covered in droves of Spello-tape – sending splintered wood and paper in every direction.
The redhead pursed his lips. "Speaking of games…"
The pair of them watched as the Watchwizard Eric Munch rose up in a fury. "3 TIMES!" he bellowed, as he picked up the bladder, and attempted to launch it over the balcony, screaming obscenities as if he'd been dying to all day.
Surprisingly, Kingsley watched the scene with a neutral expression. "Apparently the Supreme Mugwump hates Swivenhodge," he said conversationally, even as a fight looked about to break out when the centaur's quick save ensured the game's continuance.
"Hates bodily fluids, organs, and such," he continued. "Calls it a stupid, disgusting British sport."
The grand clock in the Atrium chimed 11 o' clock, and the Minister let loose a smile as he noticed. "Unlucky, as the courtrooms should be emptying soon."
Sure enough, a few moments later, the sound of rattling caught the pair's attention, and into the main hall outstepped a number of plum cloaked wizards in official looking hats.
"But a funny thing happens to the bladder if you try and, say, transfigure it," Kingsley went on, watching as the mugwumps took note of the scene right in front of them, "which Uagadouan* students have a particular skill in."
The men nearly stepped back inside the lift-room in recoil when the bladder made a close pass, one chap nearly losing his hat, but a particular figure in the centre of the group looked deeply unsettled.
Eric Munch was still trying to end the game by attempting to pop the pink sack with his wand. "3 TIMES!" Although he kept missing, instead firing popping spells at the fountain which only managed to send waves of water everywhere.
A furious Mr Akingbade finally pushed his fellows, and the usually sedentary man, out of the way, and with a scoff of, "Shacklebolt," to himself, raised his hand into the air - oblivious to the pair watching him.
"Kingsley?"
"Yes Percy?"
"You aren't lingering in the Atrium just to talk to me, are you."
"Not entirely."
Pointing his finger into the air at the thing, brow creasing evermore, the Supreme Mugwump uttered a spell under his breath at the bladder currently sailing in his direction, and smirked smugly when it began to slow down and change shape.
"I'm also to assume that Bagman was not involved with this display, was he."
"No, Bagman was certainly involved..."
But there was suddenly a shriek, a SPLAT, and a THUD as the offending puffy lump, instead of turning into something pleasant, retained its normal form and zoomed towards the foreign wizard like a bludger. It exploded, bursting open over Akingbade, and sending him to the polished floor in a windmill of limbs and fluids.
Percy's hands shot to his mouth so as not to add to the roar of disgust and shock ringing out through the massive space, as Kingsley turned to him with a satisfied expression. "…I just gave him the idea."
And with that, the Minister adjusted his hat, wished Percy, "Good day," and strode off into the throng of people collecting around the heaving man.
The 3rd Weasley brother could only close his eyes, and bring his fingers to his temples as Kingsley's deep voice resonated above all others.
"Who looks like a Sasabonsam NOW?"
Percy was still shaking his head as the female voice piped up, 'Level 6, Department of Magical Transportation, incorporating the Floo Network Authority, Broom Regulatory Control, Portkey Office, and Apparition Test Centre.'
He exited the cramped space, and made his way down the wooden panelled corridor; the heavy, double doors at the end groaned slightly as he pushed them open, and he stepped out into the open space. The transportation department was always more alive than any other department in the ministry. Memos were constantly WHIZZING overhead, POPS and WHOOSHES could be heard from a distance caused by the Floo Authority on the far side of the floor, and the there was always a cacophony of CRACKS and BLIPS coming from the Portkey and Apparition sectors tossed in for good measure. Luckily, one only had to cope with the din whilst moving through the corridors and such, otherwise many would've probably moved to a different department by now.
He had always likened this floor to Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes. He didn't know how Fred and George worked in such a racket.
Eventually, after taking many stairs, and turns – he always thought it ironic that the Transportation Dept. had the most ridiculous floorplan – the prim redhead reached his office which overlooked the Atrium far below. Adjacent to his was the Head of Department's, although the man was never in; but being in charge of the floor that licensed the brooms for Games and Sports' various jollies, and dealt with a Knight Bus that crashed into as much traffic as it dodged, it wasn't hard to figure out why.
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STODDARD BRIDGEWATER, HEAD DEPT. MAG. TRANS.
.
The knock went unanswered – as expected - and Percy simply decided to hand him the report later, giving him the opportunity to leaf through it himself. He opened his own office, ignited the lamps with a lazy flick of his wand, and sat heavily into his chair. But as he looked up to glance out of the window, he was greeted not with a regal, pristine image of the British government hard at work in their offices, but rather something that made him gasp. The entire window had been graffiti'd over with large floo powder-green, backwards letters, displaying a message clearly visible to the entire Atrium.
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PERCY WEASLEY
FLOOPLACE: 24 SHERRINGFORD COURT, LONDON
DROP-IN FOR A GOOD TIME ;-)
.
What on Earth-
He strode over to the glass, and gave it an experimental scratch with his thumbnail; the marks didn't budge. Taking an old glass of water on his desk and throwing it over the lettering made no effect either, even after taking a corner of the curtain to it as well. Panicking slightly, he took out his wand and went through every cleaning charm he knew, but it thankfully wasn't long before he located a removal spell that did the trick, to some extent. One didn't grow up under a witch like Molly Weasley without learning how to deal with a myriad of stains.
He knew in an instant who the culprits were, however they couldn't've got in without help. But, again, he didn't have to ponder long to figure out who that inside man may be.
And without so much as a backwards glance, he was striding to the lifts once more, the POPPING and WHOOSHING noises now spurring him on. It'd been a while since he paid Level 2 a visit anyway.
Naturally, the lift only made it to Level 4 before giving out; Sod's Law still fully operational since this morning. Percy wasn't the only one who let fly a string of curses.
"Bloody things," scowled Reg Cattermole, smacking his wand against the thing in a very Bernie-esque manner. "I'm afraid you'll have to clear out for a mo' or use another lift while I sort this out, this might get violent," he said, some form of grim satisfaction creeping into his voice as he rolled up his blue maintenance sleeves.
The box grudgingly emptied, and with most now crowding around the other lift hatches, Percy reluctantly walked across the foyer to wait on the opposite side next to a large circular aquarium filled with Plimpies.
But after a while it was rather hard to keep up such a level of anger with the round little gormless fish colliding with the glass. The last time he'd been in the Department of the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures, the Grindylow which had lived in the tank at the time had managed to not only escape, but navigate the entire floor, and somehow end up in one of the men's toilets. Luckily security had found it quick enough, but not so lucky for the chap who'd had the initial honour.
A commotion began breaking out after a few more moments, and Percy looked up with the expectation of seeing people filing back inside the gilded lift, but the raised voices weren't coming from the lifts, they were coming from his left, down the corridor to be exact.
A short, stocky blonde man was talking rather overzealously to a pair of wizards as they walked up the corridor towards Percy. But by the looks of things, the two others weren't looking so happy with the conversation, and, in fact, seemed rather exasperated.
"I know it's all short notice, chaps, but I think it would be excellent fun! It's never happened before, and I think the spectators would love it! It'd be just like the World Cup! A real show!"
Percy recognised that voice at once. Bagman. But what on Earth was he doing up here? Rather uncharacteristically, he found himself moving over to the entrance to the corridor, leaning on the wall so as to hear a little more clearly.
"Yes, yes you've already said all that, Ludo, and we'll consider it, just like we said we would," said one of the other wizards.
His fellow soon joined in. "We'll make some inquiries but you're right, this is short notice, and it's unlikely a keeper will agree to it, these things take careful planning! All SORTS of deliberati-"
"I'm sure you'll make it work, gents," interjected Bagman smugly, to who - Percy now realised - was Amos Diggory, and a bushy fellow with glasses who he'd seen his father talking to on occasion.
"No, Bob's right, Ludo," said Amos halting their walk, and answering Percy's question. "It's no good getting excited about this yet when it's unlikely to happen."
Bagman, however, didn't seem to be in receipt - or aware for that matter - of their concerns, and continued to smile glazedly ahead.
"Enchantment has come along way in the past few years, you'd probably get better results from a well placed bewitching charm, and far more scope for forms, too," Amos went on, eyeing him curiously.
"It's what they did in Ilvermony a few years back," supplied Bob, "and no-one was any the wiser either from what I hear!"
"Are you telling me we're no better than the yanks for putting on a show?" boasted Ludo, turning to face them. "I won't have it chaps, I won't-"
There was a yell of, 'BOMBARDA!' on the other side of the foyer, eclipsing the conversation, a loud BANG, a CLATTER, and then the voice of Reg announcing the lift to be working once more, 'albeit temporarily'. But as the group started to file back in rather noisily, Percy found himself stealing back to listen to the ongoing conversation.
"-especially for all four at any rate!" stated Bob. "The time restraint's one thing, but the clashes, it could be a real bloodbath!"
"Not if transported correctly!" proclaimed Ludo. "I've already paid a visit to Stoddy on Level 6 and-"
"Let us APPROVE the damn business first before anyone else is brought in on this," said Amos, sounding as if he was at the end of his tether. "Especially," he caught himself and lowered his voice, "if you're aiming for any hint of secrecy."
But Percy couldn't wait any longer, if he hung around for the next lift he'd probably be stranded for quite some time. And with that thought he moved away from the corridor, and made slowly towards the grills.
"Just promise us, Ludo, not to go shooting your mouth off, people are on edge after those raids, an-"
But that's all Percy caught as walked out of earshot and into the lift which jerked noisily upwards. As they reached, 'Level 3,' and some witches extricated themselves, Percy went over what he'd just heard. Bagman chatting clandestinely to various members of the Ministry was certainly not an uncommon occurrence, but whatever this was, it sounded interesting in the least.
When the voice eventually called out, 'Level 2: Department of Magical Law Enforcement,' Ludo's shady business suddenly disappeared as he remembered what he was up here for in the first place. And with a slightly put-upon passion, Percy was down the corridor before he could hear the rest of the announcement. He hung a left, pushed open the double doors, and strode out into the bustling Auror Headquarters.
The room was one of the largest spaces in the Ministry, save for the atrium, with a high domed ceiling and ornate black tiled walls. Far in front was a space filled with cubicles, each playing host to an auror either furiously working away at their desk, or hanging around one of their neighbours' areas for a chat.
As he passed a few rows, and evaded a few low flying memos, he saw that the British and Irish Quidditch League finals posters were inhabiting many of the small 'offices,' either scrunched up on a desk or haphazardly stuck to a filing cabinet. He recalled abjectly what Kingsley had said about Quidditch fever taking over most of the Ministry; he certainly hadn't been wrong. It definitely made one question the topics of the many conversations taking place around him, and how many were, indeed, work related.
It didn't take him long to locate the correct cubicle, as the owner of it had a rather vibrant shade of hair quite similar to his own.
With a slap worthy of Charlie, his palm collided with the dark wood desk hard enough to make the resident auror nearly jump out of his skin in fright.
"Bloody hell!" shouted Ron, who had been facing the other way to pull on a coat. He jerked around, and was about to launch into a curse when he saw who it was. "Ah."
"Hello Ronald," said Percy, coolly. "Going somewhere so soon?"
"Blimey, that entrance was worthy of Fred and George," he said, taking note of the way his brother's eyes seemingly pierced into his head. "I think they're rubbing off on you a bit."
Percy narrowed his eyes. "I disagree, I think they're rubbing off on you more than me." He placed both his palms flat on the surface, and hardened his voice. "Drop in for a GOOD TIME?!"
Ron had the decency to look a tad sheepish, but it was mingled with amusement. "I dunno what you're on about."
"You could've gotten me in serious trouble, Ronald!" seethed Percy. "I don't care if the twins put you up to it, it was incredibly immature! You're lucky I don't report you!"
"Oh come off it," said Ron, dropping all pretences when his career security came up, "the fact that you're here means you got it off, you'd've never left your office like that, and if you had been sacked then you wouldn't have snuck in here all clandestine, you'd just start hexing me right off the bat, so I think we can assume that our little prank went unnoticed-"
Percy opened his mouth to interject.
"MOSTLY unnoticed," corrected Ron, "and, that balance has been restored to the Universe." Ron looked him up and down. "And anyway, you should know better than to mess with them. The cake is practically tradition now. Consider you both Even Stevens."
Percy had no choice but to concede that point. It pained him. "Where are you going anyway, it isn't lunchtime yet," he asked tersely.
Ron perked up. "Going to Hogwarts to watch Gryffindor practise, they're on at half-past, wanna come?" he asked, cheekily.
Percy scoffed. "Sorry, my shift is strictly 8 til 6. And anyway if I see Fred and George I may jeopardize Gryffindor's chances of winning the tournament."
Ron grinned. "Suit yourself."
"Your superior gave you permission to go?" asked Percy, hoping not so he could make himself feel better by getting Ron into trouble.
"Yeah, Robards joked if he didn't have the Malfoy's coming in for a meeting he might've gone himself just to get some air. He's alright, is Robards."
Percy became interested. "The Malfoys?"
Ron put his hands in his pockets and took on a slightly grim expression. "Yeah, they're in there now," he said, indicating to an inlaid office across the large room, where four people could be partially seen talking through a window with half drawn blinds.
"They looked awful when they came in," continued Ron, lowering his voice a bit. "Real shabby and gaunt, we reckon they've had death threats from all the confessions."
Percy looked from Ron to the window, and spotted the visitors in question. Ron certainly hadn't been wrong. Even from this distance he could see they were noticeably gaunt. Mrs Malfoy didn't seem to be wearing her usual pristine coat or jewellery, and Mr Malfoy was slouching visibly as they sat across from two wizards in grey robes.
"I mean it's good for us cause it means we have something to work with, but bad for them," finished Ron, looking like he felt a bit sorry for them. "Don't even know what she's doing in, usually just Lucius."
Percy's eyes locked onto a man who he didn't recognise immediately. "Who's that in with them, not Robards, the other one."
Ron looked about. "Oh that's Janus LaFey, he's the Director of the Department of Investigation, real hush-hush that bloke, barely see him. Harry reckons something's really cooking if he's getting involved, nothing good knowing our luck."
Percy watched as the silver haired man sat stock still in his chair, regarding the Malfoys across the desk like an hawk-eagle while they spoke. Even when Robards passed him a slip of parchment he didn't once avert his gaze, simply placed it down in front of him, and steepled his fingers once again. The more he looked, the more Percy thought there was actually something familiar about the man, like he'd seen him before but couldn't place exactly when or where.
LaFey made a small movement with his head as Mrs Malfoy began dabbing her eyes with a handkerchief, her shoulders beginning to shake from what appeared to be an emotional moment, before fully turning his head to his right and looking directly at Ron and Percy through the glass.
Percy blanched slightly as the eyes made contact with his, and he quickly looked away, feeling rather rude for staring.
But LaFey simply raised his wand after a moment, and the blinds slowly closed between them, locking them away from the rest of the world.
"Anyway," said Ron, after a short moment, breaking the spell. "I better be off if I want to get there on time."
Percy dragged his eyes from the Head Office, and looked peevishly towards Ron once more. "I mean it though, Ronald, no more messing with my office. If the twins have a point to prove then they can come, and bloody well do it themselves."
Ron snorted. "Looks like they've already proven their point," he said, pointedly glancing at the back of Percy's robes, and laughing more openly. "See you later," he managed before walking quickly past Percy and out of sight.
The elder Weasley instantly turned, and grabbed a handful of his robes to see what on Earth was so funny. Emblazoned across his backside in the same floo powder-green writing were the words:
.
Percy Weasley Wants You
Drop in for a good time!
.
in the style of an old World War I recruitment poster, with a crude arrow pointing from the word 'in' down to a very private part of his anatomy.
When he'd sat down on his office chair…
He didn't understand what came over him; he started to laugh.
A/N: *Uagadou is the Ugandan wizarding school, located atop the Mountains of the Moon in western Uganda. It takes students from all over Africa, and is the largest of the eleven wizarding schools. Uagadou students were skilled in Astronomy, Alchemy and Self-Transfiguration. Since wands were mostly a European invention, Uagadou students preferred and were able to cast spells by pointing the finger or through hand gestures.