Chapter 66
Gray flicked his wand once more, and a jet of flame burst from the tip.
He attempted to shape the fire into its first state and carve out a hollow space within it.
Inevitably, the second and third states of the flame spread outward in all directions, quickly filling the cavity he had tried to create.
A faint silver glow appeared in Gray's eyes as he poured his entire focus into controlling the second and third states.
The flowing currents steadied; the rising wisps bent as though guided by an invisible current—not true wind, but Gray's mind exerting absolute control over the magical pathways.
Then he extended his left hand into the hollow he had formed.
As expected, the cavity acted like the calm eye of a storm: no heat, no burn, no flame touched his skin.
Gray watched his left hand. Under his control, the empty space now enveloped it entirely. Flames rose and danced around it, appearing to erupt directly from his hand itself.
If one ignored the wand still held in his right.
He withdrew the wand. The flames vanished. The silver light faded from his eyes, revealing deep exhaustion beneath.
He breathed heavily. The effort had drained him mentally in mere moments. Covering just one hand had pushed him to his limit; he could go no further.
But he had succeeded. His understanding of Flame Bella's tale had been correct.
Magic was not mastered simply by learning a spell. Casting Incendio was only the beginning—the true mastery lay in its precise, creative application.
He had done similar things before: using Wingardium Leviosa to torment Malfoy, or softening rock-skin biscuits with a softening charm. Yet only now, after nearly a full year of study, did the deeper truth settle firmly in his mind.
Before today, the idea had been vague and half-formed.
After resting a short while to recover his focus, Gray summoned 'Tales of Flame' back to hover before him.
Flame Bella was not the greatest discovery in the book—merely the most verifiable and achievable, grounded as it was in a real person's experience.
He could not yet transform himself into a living inferno like she had, but he had taken the first step. The rest would come with practice.
And Gray had never been stingy with time spent practising magic.
He turned the pages of 'Tales of Flame' to the final story.
The Avenger Laval.
This tale was not the author's personal encounter, nor was it pure invention. It came from legends the author had heard during his travels.
Laval was a dark wizard who lived in the shadows.
One day, during a duel, he was engulfed by an opponent's searing, intense flames. His right hand was reduced to ash; half his face charred black, leaving him looking demonic.
Worse still, the enemy placed a curse on the wounds so they would never heal—not until Laval's death.
"I will return," Laval rasped through a throat scorched raw. "I will make you suffer everything I have suffered. I will show you what true fire feels like."
His opponent paid no heed. No one bothered to pursue him. Laval had lost his right hand—the hand nearly every wizard used to wield a wand. To most, he was finished.
With only his left hand, his power was reduced to a fraction of what it had been.
Days turned to weeks, then months. Laval faded from memory, like so many who perished in duels.
Yet he returned.
No one knew how. The cursed hand had regrown—stronger than before.
Spells flew at him from every direction. Laval raised his right hand and blocked them all, as though his flesh were forged of iron.
Even iron would have shattered under such magic.
But his own curses had become unstoppable. Whether fuelled by rage or years of suppressed desire for vengeance, no one could stand against him.
At last he stood before his old enemy. With a single spell he defeated the man; every attack hurled at him was simply caught and deflected by that regenerated right hand.
"How—how is this possible?" the opponent gasped.
Laval seized him by the throat with his new right hand and lifted him off the ground.
"Nothing is impossible," he said, smiling cruelly.
"I told you I would return. That you would feel my pain. That you would learn the true nature of fire."
Flames erupted from Laval's right hand. They consumed the glove he wore, burned away the sleeve, revealing the arm beneath.
It was no ordinary limb. The entire arm was made of fire—countless flames burning in unison, yet solid as flesh. Blinding light flashed in the eyes of his enemy as tongues of flame licked across his face. He screamed.
He endured the same agony he had once inflicted on Laval. Then the flames consumed him entirely, leaving only a blackened, charred corpse.
The story ended there.
Laval's ultimate fate remained unknown. Whether the man had ever truly existed was uncertain. An arm constructed entirely of fire—yet solid enough to lift a grown man—seemed impossible.
The author of 'Tales of Flame' had placed this legend last, noting only that he had heard the tale and could not vouch for its truth.
But Gray believed it was real.
No evidence compelled him—only a deep, instinctive certainty.
Moreover, he sensed a connection between Laval's story and Flame Bella's, though the exact link eluded him.
One thing was clear: this pointed to a different path.
A path of controlling fire until it gained true solidity.
Gray had a strong premonition: if he mastered this technique, his power would surge far beyond what Flame Bella's method could offer.
The question was—how?
He had no clear idea.
Gray waved his wand again. Flames sprang from the tip. He tried to force them into a fixed shape, but he could manage only the smallest degree of control.
Fire constantly flickered and shifted, making it maddeningly difficult to hold. Even with precise command over his magical pathways, he could form only the simplest shapes.
A rough sphere of flame. A crooked rod. A lopsided cube.
None were perfect; all twisted and uneven.
Gray scratched his head in frustration. He shifted the flames through colours while making them dance and swirl. Every so often he let a few burst apart in small explosions, like fireworks.
For a moment the Room of Requirement filled with crackling pops and bursts of light, bright and lively.
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