Out of Inn Post
Peter supposes that his friends think he's gone nuts, since he's been spending a lot of time at the library for the past couple of months. He's not sure if they know he's been sneaking into the Restricted Section; if they do, it's not because he told them.
He's been there a lot for two reasons--upcoming N.E.W.T.s (which he is worried about--he's not James or Sirius, who can stroll into any exam without studying and get top marks every single time) and, what's more important, researching the right way to do that spell he and Anakin talked about. The one involving the Giant Squid and the ceiling of the Great Hall.
What's vital, he's decided, is creating a barrier between his transfiguration and the ancient spell which causes the ceiling to reflect the outside sky. He doesn't want to destroy that charm...just change the ceiling's appearance temporarily.
It's tricky. Very tricky. It means casting multiple spells in quick succession, and maintaining all of them--levitating the Squid, creating a watery environment around the Squid so that it can continue to breathe, moving the Squid slowly, holding the barrier steady, painting vivid scenes as the Squid moves over the ceiling--at the same time. It'll take both power and a great deal of will and concentration.
If he can manage to make the Squid sing "Bohemian Rhapsody" while he's doing all this, he'll be thrilled.
He knows there's going to be trouble about this. McGonagall is going to positively KILL me. But that's not really the point. He also knows that what he's planning would be a challenge for a fully-trained adult wizard. But that's not really the point either.
The point is, he has to. He's tired of being the also-ran, the one who's consistently underestimated by teachers and students alike. He's tired of James and Sirius getting sole credit for things he planned. He's tired of them being the stars and him always being in the shadows.
He needs to prove that he's neither stupid nor useless, and that he's got power and skill in his own right. And he needs to do so publicly--preferably at dinner--so that everyone in school will get the message at once. And of course, so that he can say, openly and immediately, that he did it. Before any of the other three can grab the credit.
It probably wouldn't make sense to anyone else, but he has to do this. He's going to be a Healer when he gets out of school; it's what he's good at. But there's nothing dramatic about a Healer. Quite a few people, he knows, will assume that he simply drifted into that profession because he wasn't much good for anything else.
So...one shot. One chance to prove that he's not a useless lump. That he's worth something. That he won't forever be James's and Sirius's friend" or "Remus's friend" to the people he respects, or treated with lightly-coated contempt by the people he detests, but someone in his own right. Someone who deserves respect.
That's all.
That's everything.
And so he bends low over a stack of restricted books, studies and scribbles notes...for the sake of a prank that's no longer a prank at all.
He's been there a lot for two reasons--upcoming N.E.W.T.s (which he is worried about--he's not James or Sirius, who can stroll into any exam without studying and get top marks every single time) and, what's more important, researching the right way to do that spell he and Anakin talked about. The one involving the Giant Squid and the ceiling of the Great Hall.
What's vital, he's decided, is creating a barrier between his transfiguration and the ancient spell which causes the ceiling to reflect the outside sky. He doesn't want to destroy that charm...just change the ceiling's appearance temporarily.
It's tricky. Very tricky. It means casting multiple spells in quick succession, and maintaining all of them--levitating the Squid, creating a watery environment around the Squid so that it can continue to breathe, moving the Squid slowly, holding the barrier steady, painting vivid scenes as the Squid moves over the ceiling--at the same time. It'll take both power and a great deal of will and concentration.
If he can manage to make the Squid sing "Bohemian Rhapsody" while he's doing all this, he'll be thrilled.
He knows there's going to be trouble about this. McGonagall is going to positively KILL me. But that's not really the point. He also knows that what he's planning would be a challenge for a fully-trained adult wizard. But that's not really the point either.
The point is, he has to. He's tired of being the also-ran, the one who's consistently underestimated by teachers and students alike. He's tired of James and Sirius getting sole credit for things he planned. He's tired of them being the stars and him always being in the shadows.
He needs to prove that he's neither stupid nor useless, and that he's got power and skill in his own right. And he needs to do so publicly--preferably at dinner--so that everyone in school will get the message at once. And of course, so that he can say, openly and immediately, that he did it. Before any of the other three can grab the credit.
It probably wouldn't make sense to anyone else, but he has to do this. He's going to be a Healer when he gets out of school; it's what he's good at. But there's nothing dramatic about a Healer. Quite a few people, he knows, will assume that he simply drifted into that profession because he wasn't much good for anything else.
So...one shot. One chance to prove that he's not a useless lump. That he's worth something. That he won't forever be James's and Sirius's friend" or "Remus's friend" to the people he respects, or treated with lightly-coated contempt by the people he detests, but someone in his own right. Someone who deserves respect.
That's all.
That's everything.
And so he bends low over a stack of restricted books, studies and scribbles notes...for the sake of a prank that's no longer a prank at all.