All the Wrong Choices

“…one of my personal favorites: Fiendfyre. Have you heard of it?”

“No.” I shook my head in bewilderment. “This is an entirely different textbook. I've never heard of that in my life. I don't even think it's on any of my exams.” Tom shook his head at me.

“I don't think your parents are doing right by you.” I looked over at Tom as he shrugged the thought away and prattled on about the curse anyways, “…essentially it's a bewitched flame of abnormal size and heat capable of seeking out living targets. It's infused with dark magic and cannot be extinguished by normal or enchanted water. When cast the fire gives its victims only a split-second's warning to escape, quickly consuming anything in the vicinity of the caster. The flames are abnormally large and take the shape of fiery monsters and beats such as snakes, dragons, eagles…” I watched Tom's mouth as he went on animatedly about the curse. He stopped and looked at me and I quickly raised my eyebrows. “Did you hear anything I just said?”

“Yes?” I nodded. Tom opened his mouth to protest. “Is that your favorite?”

“It's one of my favorites.” Tom accepted the change of subject.

“What's your favorite, then?”

“You don't want to know that, Nora.”

“The Killing Curse.” I spoke coolly. “That's it, right?”

“Nora.”

“It is. Have you used it on anyone?”

“What?” Tom asked, his eyebrows furrowing.

“Have you used the Killing Curse on anyone?”

“Of course I haven't. I would be in Azkaban if I had.”

“Would you?” I asked curiously.

“That's an odd question to ask.”

“I would.” I spoke freely, taking a swig of my butterbeer. “On the right person.” Tom watched me for a moment almost in disbelief, a small smile tugging at the corner of his lip all the while.

“You've got a bit of...” Tom motioned to his upper lip. I wiped at my own.

“I think I would use it on my father.” Tom spoke after a moment's silence.

“I'll drink to that.” I nodded, forcing Tom to clink his glass against mine.

“So, what's next?” Tom asked, glancing down at his textbook. “We have a lot to cram in. I suppose since we've already talked about the Killing Curse we'll talk about the other Unforgivable Curses. The golden trio.”

“I don't think any of this will be on the test, though–”

“It's good knowledge to have regardless.” Tom argued.

“I'm a bit bored.” I murmured, feeling a bit weird from the butterbeer.

“Try to focus.”

“I'm a bit tipsy.” I spoke, putting my head in my hands.

“That's what you get for ordering a butterbeer.”

“I've never been on the receiving end of a butterbeer.” I attempted to excuse myself. “I can't believe they even served me one – can you? I guess that's Hog's Head for you.”

“Yes, well, now you suffer the consequences and study drunk.”

“Tell me about your family, Tom. What's your father's major malfunction?”

“Major malfunction?” Tom murmured, eying me like I had eight heads before sighing. “It's a long, grueling story, Nora. You don't have the time to hear it and I don't have the desire to tell it.”

“I'm drunk enough. I can sit through it.”

Tom rolled his eyes. “If you must know that badly, I'll give you a synopsis. My father was a rich man. Owned an estate, the whole works. My mother was poor, lived in a shack with my uncle and grandfather. She married my father, conceived me, my father kicked her out. She died giving birth to me and I haven't met my father. None of this is really relevant to your education.”

“I'm sorry to hear that.” I mumbled.

“I'm not.” Tom responded. “Back to studying.”

“Ugh.” I dropped my head down on the pub table dramatically.

“Exactly which curses have you learned about?”

“Um,” I shrugged, sifting through my moleskin journal, “I've learned about the tongue-tying curse… sponge-knees curse… jelly-fingers curse… conjunctivitis curse… oh, the oppugno jinx.” Tom looked on disapprovingly.

“Your parents pay money for this women to teach you these things?”

“What do you mean?”

“You haven't learned about the reductor curse? Lycacomia curse? Flagrante curse, entrail-expelling curse, disintegration curse, blasting curse? You're the same age as me and the only thing you've learned is how to give someone conjunctivitis.”

“My parents don't partake in the dark arts.” Tom rolled his eyes.

“It has nothing to do with the dark arts. Those are the most basic of defense curses.” Tom explained. “Your parents claim to care so much about you by sheltering you, but they haven't taught you how to defend yourself. Danger is all around you. There's no avoiding it.”