![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
sparkysparkyTitle: AMPs or How Terry Boot Learned About Magic
Part: (01/50) For those of you who shy away from WIPs, this isn't specifically a series, each fic will stand alone (probably), but they'll be loosely connected in 'it's the same universe' sort of way
Author:![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
sparkysparky
Fandom: Harry Potter
Characters/Pairings: Terry Boot (and his parents, an owl and Minerva McGonagall via letter)
Rating: G-NC-17 (This part G)
Prompt: #1: School (![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-community.gif)
50timesimetyou challenge based on 50 first meetings)
Warnings: N/A for now
Summary (This Part): Terry always knew he was different. He just didn't know how different until one day, a letter arrived.
Disclaimer: I don't own anything to do with Harry Potter or the characters JKR created.
A/N: Just for visual reference, I use Adam Brody as my Terry!muse. Also, I've never been sure just exactly when students receive their Hogwart's letter, but going from Harry's experience in the first book, I've set the owls to come July 15th for Muggleborns who would be 11 by Aug 31 (or who were already 11 by July 15th). I've also taken liberty that the letter Harry got in SS (and for that matter in PoA regarding underage magic) was specifically designed for someone who should know about the Wizarding world and their laws (or who had parents who could explain it), and the letters received by Muggleborns is quite a bit different, and also includes a visit from a Ministry official, to go over rules, laws, and to explain more about what they'd gain with a Hogwarts education.
Wordcount: 2,636 (Overall 2,636)
My Table: Previous Parts
For as long as Terry Boot could remember, he'd been able to make astonishing things happen by using just his mind. His best friend from school, Albert, thought he was some kind of mutant--like in X-Men, and had urged Terry to use the Amazing Mind Powers (or AMPs as they got to calling them) on Owen Hardley, who liked to beat guys up and steal their sneakers. Terry didn't think he was a mutant, exactly, but there was something different about him. Something strange, but wonderful too.
His earliest memory was of a floating teddy bear, music that came from no where and his mother fainting in the door to his room, where she cracked her head and spent three days in the hospital with a nasty concussion. He was four. His mother said that it hadn't been the first time something like that had happened, but Anne Boot didn't really like to talk about Terry's AMPs and passed him off to his father whenever Terry asked her how he'd gotten them.
Terry's dad was a scientist. He had a lab in the basement and would disappear for hours, with only the occasional loud crash drifting up the stairs. Terry wasn't allowed downstairs without his dad, because the one time he'd tried to make his own experiment, he'd singed off his eyebrows and had to go to the hospital for second degree burns to his hands and arms. He was seven. His dad had tried to recreate the experiment, but nothing had happened. Whatever Terry had done, it had been with his mind and not any of the mostly harmless ingredients Charles Boot used in his lab.
Sometimes Terry felt kinda like a science experiment himself, but only when his dad would go on and on about brain chemistry and neurons and pathways, and about how most people only used a small percentage of their brains, while Terry clearly had access to parts that not even Einstein or Shakespeare or a hundred other geniuses had been able to control. His dad was fascinated by what Terry could do, and sometimes when his mom was out shopping, or visiting with her garden club, or tucked into bed with a romance novel, Charles would ask Terry to do things. Like try to make the kitchen table float, or turn a wooden pencil to rubber. Most of the time the experiments didn't work, but sometimes they did and it was enough to drive Charles to the lab, to try to recreate the experiences with rats and mice. Those never worked, but it didn't deter Charles. He just went back to Terry and started the whole process all over again.
Terry tried the experiments on his own a few times, and had a little better success. He wasn't sure exactly why he could make things float or bend or turn into something else entirely, but he only knew it felt right when he did it, so he didn't question it too much. He did kinda want to know how they worked, so he could control them with better accuracy and stop exploding stuffed animals when he tried to make them larger. He was getting tired of cleaning stuffing out of his hair, which was quite wild enough, without bits of fluff stuck everywhere.
He thought there had to be other boys or girls who could do some of the things he could do, but didn't know quite how to ask. He rather thought that going up to a strange kid and saying, 'Say, can you make this pencil float using your mind?' would get him anything but thrown into some sort of mental hospital, or at the very least, a punch to the face. There had to be others who could do the same things, it wasn't logical that he was the only person in the entire world who could make weird things happen just by thinking about it.
By the time Terry was eleven, he'd mostly gotten the hang of floating things. It was everything else that gave him headaches just trying it. On his birthday he'd tried lighting candles on his birthday cake with the 'mind powers', and had managed to catch the drapes on fire. His dad had the extinguisher handy (it had been his idea in the first place, and he'd learned over the years to be prepared), but Terry had spent the rest of his birthday in his room, shades drawn with his pillow over his face, his head feeling sorta like it wanted to explode or something.
He was nearly asleep, throbbing head aside, when there was a sort of tappity tap tap on his window pane. He groaned, and threw the pillow over his face at the window, regretting it as the light slipped in around his closed eyelids. There was another tappity tap tap, and another, and Terry realized whoever--or whatever--was tapping wasn't going to stop until he got up to see what they (it?) wanted.
He headed to the window and slid up the shade, blinking in amazement at the owl who glared back at him. He'd heard his mother call Mrs. Applebaum who lived across the street 'haughty', and when he asked what it meant she explained that 'haughty' was the same thing as stuck-up. Terry thought that the brown owl outside the window was definitely haughty. He blinked at it, and it blinked back, tapping on the window again with it's beak.
"Do you want to come in?" Terry asked, feeling rather silly talking to a bird. He felt less silly when the owl cocked its head at him as if saying, "Course stupid. Why else am I knocking?" He wondered if communicating with owls was a new AMP, and if it was did that mean he could talk to other animals too? He kinda wanted to test the theory out, but didn't want to be rude to this owl.
He unlatched the window, and the owl swooped in to land on his desk, sticking a leg out in Terry's direction. Terry noticed that it had some sort of paper tied to its leg, and blinked some more. Was this some sort of new postal service? Using animals to deliver mail instead of people? Maybe the post office had to save money on wages or something.
"Is that for me?" Terry asked, feeling less silly this time. The owl hooted in agreement, so Terry untied the letter gently and felt kinda sad when the owl immediately took off out the open window. He'd really wanted to try communicating with it again, because every scientist knew that it took more than one successful experiment to prove a theory.
Sighing in disappointment, he opened the letter. It was written on some kind of fancy parchment, and it took him a moment to be able to decipher the fancy script. The outside of the letter had an emblem with animals (a lion, a snake, an eagle and a badger to be precise) on it, and said something in Latin that Terry could only sort of understand. His dad had been teaching him some of the language, but Terry hadn't completely mastered conjugating verbs. He knew that Draco meant 'dragon', and thought that dormiens was a form of the verb sleep, but he wasn't familiar with the other two words. "Draco dormiens nunquam titillandus," he sounded out slowly, turning the words around in his mind, and grinned. He had it now. It meant, 'Never tickle a sleeping dragon'.
"Wicked," he said, running out of his room, his headache forgotten. "Dad! Dad! Come see! Mum! Come look at this!" he shouted as he hurried down the stairs, nearly tripping in his excitement.
His parents had been in the kitchen, arguing about what color curtains they'd get to replace the ones Terry had burned up, and came running into the living room, expecting to see the furniture floating, or on fire or even exploded. It had happened before, and the elder Boots were always one to be prepared. "What is it, son?" Charles asked, eyes darting for any wayward flying appliances.
"Are you hurt?" Anne asked, eying the furniture suspiciously. Nothing looked out of place, but one could never tell with Terry. He was quite sneaky for an eleven year old boy.
Terry giggled, waving the letter in the air. "Nope! Look! I got a letter! It was delivered by an owl, and has a funny emblem that says 'Never Tickle a Sleeping Dragon' on it in LATIN!" he shouted, nearly jumping up and down. "It's gotta be from people like me, Dad! But I can't read it. It's written in some funny letters." He shoved the letter under his dad's nose, causing Charles to rear back to avoid having parchment breath.
"Well, let me see," Charles said, taking the letter gently from Terry's hand. Terry bounced on his heels as his dad read the letter, barely refraining from demanding to know what it said.
Charles blinked at the letter, not certain he'd read it correctly, and read it again. And then once more just to be certain his eyes weren't playing tricks on him.
"Well, this certainly explains a lot," he said, handing the letter to Anne before removing his glasses to polish them furiously (he did this whenever he was feeling overwhelmed). "It certainly, certainly does."
"What Dad? What does it explain? What did the letter say? Is it from other people like me? Come on, tell me!" Terry said, whining only a little. But he didn't care, it was his letter, and he wanted to know what it said!
"Charles, do you think this can be true?" Anne asked, clutching the letter to her chest, and looking down at Terry with wide eyes. "It's not some sort of hoax?"
"I don't see how it could be," Charles said thoughtfully. "And it does make sense, if you think about it."
"What? What makes sense? Come on you two, what did it say?" Terry implored, feeling very anxious now.
"Oh, right," Charles said, as if just realizing that Terry was still there. "Why don't we take a seat and I'll read the letter to you, how's that sound?"
"Yes! Thanks, Dad!" Terry said, bounding over to the couch and waiting impatiently for his parents to join him, his mum on the cushion next to him, and his dad on the coffee table so he could see him. "Okay, so what did it say?"
Charles cleared his throat and started reading. "Mr. Terry Boot," he began, but Terry interrupted him before he could go any further.
"That's me!" Terry shouted. "Wow, this is so wicked! Wait until I tell Albert!"
"Let your father finish before you interrupt," his mother instructed, placing a gentle hand on his shoulder to keep him from bouncing off the couch.
Terry nodded and waved his hand for his dad to go on.
"Mr. Terry Boot," he said again, "it is our pleasure to inform you that you have been invited to attend Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. As I am sure you have noticed you are able to perform some astonishing acts that are mostly inexplicable, and inaccurate, as well as highly irregular in nature. This is because you are a Witch or Wizard, and can do magic. I'm sure this is quite a shock to you and your family, which is why the Ministry of Magic will send a qualified official to your house no later than five o'clock on the afternoon of July the sixteenth to answer any questions you or your parents may have. If you choose to attend Hogwarts School, please send your acceptance letter with your chosen Ministry official when he or she visits. Once we have received your acceptance, we will send any other pertinent information to your house no later than August the first. Congratulations, and we look forward to your letter. Yours Sincerely, Minerva McGonagall, Deputy Headmistress, Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry." Charles was nearly out of breath when he finished, and set the letter aside, removing his glasses to once more polish them.
Terry was speechless. Of all the things he'd ever thought of to explain his AMPs, being a witch or wizard had never been one of them. "Magic?" he asked incredulously. "But there's no such thing, right dad? There's gotta be some sort of scientific explanation, right? That's what you always said. There is science behind everything. Right?"
"Well," Charles said thoughtfully, placing his glasses back on his face. "I suppose that under the right circumstances, and right chemical balance in one's brain, that magic could exist. It's never been proven that it doesn't, so one can't reliably say that. Not without many conclusive experiments that give evidence to support the theory. Of course, there's no proof that magic does exist either, but the only real way to see one way or the other is to meet with this ministry official and see what sort of explanations they have to offer. Remember, the object of science is to learn everything one can about as many theories as one can. "
Terry nodded, and then brightened, "The sixteenth! That's tomorrow! Wow, oh wow. Wowwowwowwow!" He jumped up and pulled his parent's up after him. "Come on, we've got to get ready. We should have tea, and biscuits, and do you think they're gonna want me to show them my AMPs, I mean, my magic? Maybe I should practice! Come on! We don't have a lot of time!"
Terry didn't wait for his parents response, and raced off to his room. He wanted to practice floating things again, so he could show whoever came to see him that he was serious about this magic business--even if he still wasn't quite convinced that what he could do was magic. It would be real interesting to find out though, and at least this meant that he'd probably have a chance to meet more people who had AMPs.
He couldn't wait to tell Albert, who had recently gotten into reading Pratchett who wrote all about magic in his Discworld series. Terry hadn't seen the appeal, preferring to read science fiction, because it made more sense, but now he sorta wanted to borrow Albert's books. Even if Pratchett wasn't logical, maybe he could learn about this magic stuff from reading. There had to be other books on the subject as well, so he'd make his Mum bring him to the library tomorrow morning, before the ministry official arrived. He could probably read one or two books before then, so he'd be better informed and be able to ask intelligent questions.
The plan firmly cemented in his head, Terry set about practicing with anything he could find—lamps, train sets, pencils—until he was satisfied he could handle any sort of test the Ministry of Magic would throw at him. And then he practiced some more, just in case. He tried making his bed larger, and the curtains transparent, but only managed to swell a pillow and change the curtains to a sort of filmy white color. He decided it was good enough. He was only eleven. They couldn’t exactly expect him to have perfected his technique, could they?
Deciding that he wouldn’t accomplish anything more, he got ready for bed, even though it was kinda early. He wanted to get up at dawn, so he would have time to run to Albert’s house for the Discworld books, and then go the library for more books on magic. Maybe the Narnia books. Albert said they were filled with magic and good wizards and evil witches. They’d probably offer some good information on what it meant to be magic. He had a lot to do, and needed sleep to do it.
Next Part
Remember, feedback gives me happies!
Part: (01/50) For those of you who shy away from WIPs, this isn't specifically a series, each fic will stand alone (probably), but they'll be loosely connected in 'it's the same universe' sort of way
Author:
sparkysparkyFandom: Harry Potter
Characters/Pairings: Terry Boot (and his parents, an owl and Minerva McGonagall via letter)
Rating: G-NC-17 (This part G)
Prompt: #1: School (
50timesimetyou challenge based on 50 first meetings)Warnings: N/A for now
Summary (This Part): Terry always knew he was different. He just didn't know how different until one day, a letter arrived.
Disclaimer: I don't own anything to do with Harry Potter or the characters JKR created.
A/N: Just for visual reference, I use Adam Brody as my Terry!muse. Also, I've never been sure just exactly when students receive their Hogwart's letter, but going from Harry's experience in the first book, I've set the owls to come July 15th for Muggleborns who would be 11 by Aug 31 (or who were already 11 by July 15th). I've also taken liberty that the letter Harry got in SS (and for that matter in PoA regarding underage magic) was specifically designed for someone who should know about the Wizarding world and their laws (or who had parents who could explain it), and the letters received by Muggleborns is quite a bit different, and also includes a visit from a Ministry official, to go over rules, laws, and to explain more about what they'd gain with a Hogwarts education.
Wordcount: 2,636 (Overall 2,636)
My Table: Previous Parts
For as long as Terry Boot could remember, he'd been able to make astonishing things happen by using just his mind. His best friend from school, Albert, thought he was some kind of mutant--like in X-Men, and had urged Terry to use the Amazing Mind Powers (or AMPs as they got to calling them) on Owen Hardley, who liked to beat guys up and steal their sneakers. Terry didn't think he was a mutant, exactly, but there was something different about him. Something strange, but wonderful too.
His earliest memory was of a floating teddy bear, music that came from no where and his mother fainting in the door to his room, where she cracked her head and spent three days in the hospital with a nasty concussion. He was four. His mother said that it hadn't been the first time something like that had happened, but Anne Boot didn't really like to talk about Terry's AMPs and passed him off to his father whenever Terry asked her how he'd gotten them.
Terry's dad was a scientist. He had a lab in the basement and would disappear for hours, with only the occasional loud crash drifting up the stairs. Terry wasn't allowed downstairs without his dad, because the one time he'd tried to make his own experiment, he'd singed off his eyebrows and had to go to the hospital for second degree burns to his hands and arms. He was seven. His dad had tried to recreate the experiment, but nothing had happened. Whatever Terry had done, it had been with his mind and not any of the mostly harmless ingredients Charles Boot used in his lab.
Sometimes Terry felt kinda like a science experiment himself, but only when his dad would go on and on about brain chemistry and neurons and pathways, and about how most people only used a small percentage of their brains, while Terry clearly had access to parts that not even Einstein or Shakespeare or a hundred other geniuses had been able to control. His dad was fascinated by what Terry could do, and sometimes when his mom was out shopping, or visiting with her garden club, or tucked into bed with a romance novel, Charles would ask Terry to do things. Like try to make the kitchen table float, or turn a wooden pencil to rubber. Most of the time the experiments didn't work, but sometimes they did and it was enough to drive Charles to the lab, to try to recreate the experiences with rats and mice. Those never worked, but it didn't deter Charles. He just went back to Terry and started the whole process all over again.
Terry tried the experiments on his own a few times, and had a little better success. He wasn't sure exactly why he could make things float or bend or turn into something else entirely, but he only knew it felt right when he did it, so he didn't question it too much. He did kinda want to know how they worked, so he could control them with better accuracy and stop exploding stuffed animals when he tried to make them larger. He was getting tired of cleaning stuffing out of his hair, which was quite wild enough, without bits of fluff stuck everywhere.
He thought there had to be other boys or girls who could do some of the things he could do, but didn't know quite how to ask. He rather thought that going up to a strange kid and saying, 'Say, can you make this pencil float using your mind?' would get him anything but thrown into some sort of mental hospital, or at the very least, a punch to the face. There had to be others who could do the same things, it wasn't logical that he was the only person in the entire world who could make weird things happen just by thinking about it.
By the time Terry was eleven, he'd mostly gotten the hang of floating things. It was everything else that gave him headaches just trying it. On his birthday he'd tried lighting candles on his birthday cake with the 'mind powers', and had managed to catch the drapes on fire. His dad had the extinguisher handy (it had been his idea in the first place, and he'd learned over the years to be prepared), but Terry had spent the rest of his birthday in his room, shades drawn with his pillow over his face, his head feeling sorta like it wanted to explode or something.
He was nearly asleep, throbbing head aside, when there was a sort of tappity tap tap on his window pane. He groaned, and threw the pillow over his face at the window, regretting it as the light slipped in around his closed eyelids. There was another tappity tap tap, and another, and Terry realized whoever--or whatever--was tapping wasn't going to stop until he got up to see what they (it?) wanted.
He headed to the window and slid up the shade, blinking in amazement at the owl who glared back at him. He'd heard his mother call Mrs. Applebaum who lived across the street 'haughty', and when he asked what it meant she explained that 'haughty' was the same thing as stuck-up. Terry thought that the brown owl outside the window was definitely haughty. He blinked at it, and it blinked back, tapping on the window again with it's beak.
"Do you want to come in?" Terry asked, feeling rather silly talking to a bird. He felt less silly when the owl cocked its head at him as if saying, "Course stupid. Why else am I knocking?" He wondered if communicating with owls was a new AMP, and if it was did that mean he could talk to other animals too? He kinda wanted to test the theory out, but didn't want to be rude to this owl.
He unlatched the window, and the owl swooped in to land on his desk, sticking a leg out in Terry's direction. Terry noticed that it had some sort of paper tied to its leg, and blinked some more. Was this some sort of new postal service? Using animals to deliver mail instead of people? Maybe the post office had to save money on wages or something.
"Is that for me?" Terry asked, feeling less silly this time. The owl hooted in agreement, so Terry untied the letter gently and felt kinda sad when the owl immediately took off out the open window. He'd really wanted to try communicating with it again, because every scientist knew that it took more than one successful experiment to prove a theory.
Sighing in disappointment, he opened the letter. It was written on some kind of fancy parchment, and it took him a moment to be able to decipher the fancy script. The outside of the letter had an emblem with animals (a lion, a snake, an eagle and a badger to be precise) on it, and said something in Latin that Terry could only sort of understand. His dad had been teaching him some of the language, but Terry hadn't completely mastered conjugating verbs. He knew that Draco meant 'dragon', and thought that dormiens was a form of the verb sleep, but he wasn't familiar with the other two words. "Draco dormiens nunquam titillandus," he sounded out slowly, turning the words around in his mind, and grinned. He had it now. It meant, 'Never tickle a sleeping dragon'.
"Wicked," he said, running out of his room, his headache forgotten. "Dad! Dad! Come see! Mum! Come look at this!" he shouted as he hurried down the stairs, nearly tripping in his excitement.
His parents had been in the kitchen, arguing about what color curtains they'd get to replace the ones Terry had burned up, and came running into the living room, expecting to see the furniture floating, or on fire or even exploded. It had happened before, and the elder Boots were always one to be prepared. "What is it, son?" Charles asked, eyes darting for any wayward flying appliances.
"Are you hurt?" Anne asked, eying the furniture suspiciously. Nothing looked out of place, but one could never tell with Terry. He was quite sneaky for an eleven year old boy.
Terry giggled, waving the letter in the air. "Nope! Look! I got a letter! It was delivered by an owl, and has a funny emblem that says 'Never Tickle a Sleeping Dragon' on it in LATIN!" he shouted, nearly jumping up and down. "It's gotta be from people like me, Dad! But I can't read it. It's written in some funny letters." He shoved the letter under his dad's nose, causing Charles to rear back to avoid having parchment breath.
"Well, let me see," Charles said, taking the letter gently from Terry's hand. Terry bounced on his heels as his dad read the letter, barely refraining from demanding to know what it said.
Charles blinked at the letter, not certain he'd read it correctly, and read it again. And then once more just to be certain his eyes weren't playing tricks on him.
"Well, this certainly explains a lot," he said, handing the letter to Anne before removing his glasses to polish them furiously (he did this whenever he was feeling overwhelmed). "It certainly, certainly does."
"What Dad? What does it explain? What did the letter say? Is it from other people like me? Come on, tell me!" Terry said, whining only a little. But he didn't care, it was his letter, and he wanted to know what it said!
"Charles, do you think this can be true?" Anne asked, clutching the letter to her chest, and looking down at Terry with wide eyes. "It's not some sort of hoax?"
"I don't see how it could be," Charles said thoughtfully. "And it does make sense, if you think about it."
"What? What makes sense? Come on you two, what did it say?" Terry implored, feeling very anxious now.
"Oh, right," Charles said, as if just realizing that Terry was still there. "Why don't we take a seat and I'll read the letter to you, how's that sound?"
"Yes! Thanks, Dad!" Terry said, bounding over to the couch and waiting impatiently for his parents to join him, his mum on the cushion next to him, and his dad on the coffee table so he could see him. "Okay, so what did it say?"
Charles cleared his throat and started reading. "Mr. Terry Boot," he began, but Terry interrupted him before he could go any further.
"That's me!" Terry shouted. "Wow, this is so wicked! Wait until I tell Albert!"
"Let your father finish before you interrupt," his mother instructed, placing a gentle hand on his shoulder to keep him from bouncing off the couch.
Terry nodded and waved his hand for his dad to go on.
"Mr. Terry Boot," he said again, "it is our pleasure to inform you that you have been invited to attend Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. As I am sure you have noticed you are able to perform some astonishing acts that are mostly inexplicable, and inaccurate, as well as highly irregular in nature. This is because you are a Witch or Wizard, and can do magic. I'm sure this is quite a shock to you and your family, which is why the Ministry of Magic will send a qualified official to your house no later than five o'clock on the afternoon of July the sixteenth to answer any questions you or your parents may have. If you choose to attend Hogwarts School, please send your acceptance letter with your chosen Ministry official when he or she visits. Once we have received your acceptance, we will send any other pertinent information to your house no later than August the first. Congratulations, and we look forward to your letter. Yours Sincerely, Minerva McGonagall, Deputy Headmistress, Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry." Charles was nearly out of breath when he finished, and set the letter aside, removing his glasses to once more polish them.
Terry was speechless. Of all the things he'd ever thought of to explain his AMPs, being a witch or wizard had never been one of them. "Magic?" he asked incredulously. "But there's no such thing, right dad? There's gotta be some sort of scientific explanation, right? That's what you always said. There is science behind everything. Right?"
"Well," Charles said thoughtfully, placing his glasses back on his face. "I suppose that under the right circumstances, and right chemical balance in one's brain, that magic could exist. It's never been proven that it doesn't, so one can't reliably say that. Not without many conclusive experiments that give evidence to support the theory. Of course, there's no proof that magic does exist either, but the only real way to see one way or the other is to meet with this ministry official and see what sort of explanations they have to offer. Remember, the object of science is to learn everything one can about as many theories as one can. "
Terry nodded, and then brightened, "The sixteenth! That's tomorrow! Wow, oh wow. Wowwowwowwow!" He jumped up and pulled his parent's up after him. "Come on, we've got to get ready. We should have tea, and biscuits, and do you think they're gonna want me to show them my AMPs, I mean, my magic? Maybe I should practice! Come on! We don't have a lot of time!"
Terry didn't wait for his parents response, and raced off to his room. He wanted to practice floating things again, so he could show whoever came to see him that he was serious about this magic business--even if he still wasn't quite convinced that what he could do was magic. It would be real interesting to find out though, and at least this meant that he'd probably have a chance to meet more people who had AMPs.
He couldn't wait to tell Albert, who had recently gotten into reading Pratchett who wrote all about magic in his Discworld series. Terry hadn't seen the appeal, preferring to read science fiction, because it made more sense, but now he sorta wanted to borrow Albert's books. Even if Pratchett wasn't logical, maybe he could learn about this magic stuff from reading. There had to be other books on the subject as well, so he'd make his Mum bring him to the library tomorrow morning, before the ministry official arrived. He could probably read one or two books before then, so he'd be better informed and be able to ask intelligent questions.
The plan firmly cemented in his head, Terry set about practicing with anything he could find—lamps, train sets, pencils—until he was satisfied he could handle any sort of test the Ministry of Magic would throw at him. And then he practiced some more, just in case. He tried making his bed larger, and the curtains transparent, but only managed to swell a pillow and change the curtains to a sort of filmy white color. He decided it was good enough. He was only eleven. They couldn’t exactly expect him to have perfected his technique, could they?
Deciding that he wouldn’t accomplish anything more, he got ready for bed, even though it was kinda early. He wanted to get up at dawn, so he would have time to run to Albert’s house for the Discworld books, and then go the library for more books on magic. Maybe the Narnia books. Albert said they were filled with magic and good wizards and evil witches. They’d probably offer some good information on what it meant to be magic. He had a lot to do, and needed sleep to do it.
Next Part
Remember, feedback gives me happies!
![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
(no subject)
Date: 2007-07-07 12:48 am (UTC)Couldn't resist. :) I like it. So cute and I can totally see an eleven year old acting like that. I applaud you.
(no subject)
Date: 2007-07-07 12:49 am (UTC)