Harry Potter: Bring fairytales to Hogwarts

Standing on the sunlit lawn beside the Three Broomsticks pub, Fred finally understood.

Fred got it.

In that instant, countless myths and stories he had read before flashed through his mind, including one or two from India. Regardless of their origin, they all emphasized one crucial point—how blessings were worded mattered greatly. No matter how similar the intent sounded, blessings that deviated from the wording would never take effect.

For instance, Fred had once read the story of Hiranyakashipu in his History of Magic textbook.

This was a wizarding legend from India. It told of a man with a long name who received extraordinary magical protections: he couldn't be killed by any person or animal, couldn't die by day or night, and couldn't meet his end on the ground or in the air, among other conditions.

In the end, however, another wizard transformed into a half-man, half-lion form (neither human nor animal) and killed him at twilight (neither day nor night) using claws while perched on his own thigh (neither ground nor air).

Thinking of this, Fred finally understood—

The blessings' wording, though called "blessings," were essentially a game of semantics, designed to define the protective magic's limits.

Professor, are you seriously playing word games with me?

Fred stomped and twirled in an impromptu tap dance, roaring internally in frustration.

At this moment, he also understood why Victor had referred to it as a "minor" blessing.

Still, a blessing was better than no blessing at all. After spinning once more under the sunlight, Fred, under the compulsion of the Tarantella spell, struck a one-legged pose and simultaneously devised a strategy in his mind.

"Ha-ha… ha… Fred, you just… wait and lose…"

Opposite him, Bollett gasped for air, gritted his teeth, and forced out a "expaliermus!" through clenched teeth.

Fred danced his way around the spell and countered with a "Aguamenti," drenching Bollett from head to toe.

"You're the one who should give up," Fred said smugly, leaping and twirling. "You're laughing too hard to cast properly! And in your current state, you couldn't hit me if you tried."

Even as he spoke, Fred continued his triumphant dance, infuriating Bollett further. Gasping and wheezing, Bollett shouted the first spell that came to mind:

"Bombarda Maxima!"

Golden flashes erupted from Bollett's wand, sweeping across the lawn. The grass flattened wherever the light struck, their roots snapping dramatically. If those spells hit a person, they'd leave bruises for sure, though probably not penetrate the skin.

The barrage finally caught up to Fred.

From the sidelines, George covered his eyes, unable to bear watching. He knew Fred hadn't mastered the Shield Charm yet—after all, they'd only just started their third year.

But no one could have predicted what happened next. Just as Bollett's wand tip pointed at Fred, the wand shook violently before inexplicably fizzling out.

Bollett: "?"

Driss: "?"

Lee Jordan: "?"

Fred and George: "!!"

"It worked!" Fred leaped in place, shouting excitedly.

"Worked? What worked? That was just a fluke!" Bollett growled, no longer gasping for breath. "You won't stay this lucky forever!"

"Damn it, what's wrong with this wand…"

Bollett fussed with his wand, tapping it impatiently, but to no avail. When he brought the tip closer to inspect it, the dormant golden light suddenly reignited and shot toward him.

"Ahh!!"

Bollett let out a cry as his own spell hit him, sending him staggering backward. Unluckily, he stepped on a small stone, lost his balance, and fell.

"Thud!"

The slope below sent him rolling a few times before he crashed into a tree with a resounding "thunk." Dazed, he lay sprawled on the ground.

Everyone watching was stunned, especially George and Lee Jordan.

So… does this mean Fred won?

Could a blessing really be this straightforward? It seemed less like a blessing and more like Fred had downed an entire bottle of Felix Felicis—Snape-brewed, no less.

Only Fred cheered, jumping up and down, shouting, "I get it! I get it!"

George finally approached after a moment of disbelief. Lowering his voice, he asked, "What did you figure out? Why didn't Bombarda Maxima work on you, but the Tarantella did?"

"Are you daft?" Fred hissed, exasperated. "How can you not see it? It's the 'bomb'! The 'bomb'!"

"The bomb what?" George looked even more confused.

"Don't you remember? The professor said in the blessing that shrapnel couldn't hurt me. I don't know why he included that, but who says only Muggle bombs produce shrapnel?" Fred explained confidently.

"Why wouldn't the 'bomb' in Bombarda Maxima count as shrapnel? And by extension, why wouldn't water bullets? Definitions are flexible. If these are all types of 'shrapnel,' then I'm immune!"

Across from him, George's jaw dropped. His expression seemed to say: Is this even allowed?

Fred puffed out his chest with pride, feeling like a genius. Sure, his interpretation of the blessing was far from conventional, but who said words could only have one meaning?

This was creative thinking! Proper application of logic!

From now on, any spell involving "bombs" or anything shaped like a projectile was useless against him.

This had been his plan from the start. He'd deliberately led Bollett into using Bombarda Maxima to confirm his theory. The result proved him right—the blessing could be used this way.

He was far cleverer than Hiranyakashipu in the legend, avoiding anyone exploiting his blessing's loopholes.

Fred thought this triumphantly.

But a few seconds later, he noticed everyone around him suddenly widening their eyes in unison. That wasn't right—how could they have overheard his whispered explanation?

"What's wrong with you lot?" Fred asked.

No one replied. The silence was deafening.

After a long pause, only Lee Jordan shifted his gaze, glancing between Fred and something to his left.

Fred turned—and locked eyes with Professor McGonagall, her lips pressed tight, eyes blazing with fury.

She stood like an eagle with outspread wings, making everyone in front of her seem insignificant.

Far away, in the Three Broomsticks, Victor raised an eyebrow at the commotion. He drained his glass, observing with interest.

If he wasn't mistaken, McGonagall's wand was made of spruce—wood commonly found in the Forbidden Forest. Given Hogwarts was Ollivander's largest supplier, her wand likely originated there.

The Forbidden Forest lay to the south of Hogwarts, but McGonagall currently faced west—toward Godric's Hollow...

Fred, meanwhile, found himself utterly at McGonagall's mercy, receiving a thorough scolding.

Was this... not also a form of the blessing's effect?

Victor jotted in his notebook:

"First blessing test result: Positive. Preliminary conclusion: Conditions outlined in the blessing's wording are effective, but so are negative effects that meet those conditions.

"Fred Weasley's application is worth studying—his improvisation suggests blessings may be influenced by intent. Further observation recommended."

Closing the notebook, Victor mused over Fred's exceptional ingenuity regarding the blessing. What had begun as a kind-hearted gesture now seemed like a prophetic foresight.

Fred's sharp mind had elevated him to the realm of fairy-tale cunning—and perhaps even beyond.

Still, if Fred ever tried to argue that "Bombarda Maxima counts as shrapnel, so Divination fraud counts as Divination," Victor swore he'd throw him off the Astronomy Tower.

Moments later, Victor snapped back to the present and addressed the other professors and Hagrid:

"What were you saying earlier? That incidents of student misconduct have been rare these past two years? And that Professor McGonagall hasn't lost her temper in a while?"

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