The Master Becomes the Grass Hopper?

She shook her head, "Yeah, the professors now do not really enjoy my special brand of humor. I don't have too many pranking associates, but I have a good share of pranking apprentices." She smiled at the thought slightly. Keith Nicholas, Luna Lorrie, and Desmond Miller.... She was still looking for some more apprentices, but they were all pretty clever.

His mention of transfiguring people into bugs began to stir her creativity and she knew that when she returned, she would be looking into it. Though she thought maybe turning into a mouse may work too. Still dangerous- she didn't need to be squashed- but that might keep her memories intact. She nodded and said, "That's actually a really good idea."

Michael asked about her own favorite pranking venues and she said, "Well, I've always been more of a props rather than spells person. I use up Zonko's and WWW's products quicker than food. One of the pranks though is a conspicuous box, or a package or something, with a Levicorpus spell trapped inside. I'm also always trying to invent new sweets like Canary Creams."

"Props are how we started," he smiled. It reminded him of his days with Remus, Sirius, Robert, James, Lily, and the gang The Hogwarts' Marauders who later turned out to be founders of the Order of the Phoenix And he had been among them. He missed those times, and some of the friends who had given their all to stop Voldemort. It was in those days he had lost the one and only woman he ever had loved. After that, he had closed his heart to romance, had left the Order, and had left England for many years. Until now. Robert had brought him back for a distinct purpose. That did not mean, however, that there was not always time for a young protege of his own.

"Those were the days," he smiled. "Canary creams. Hm...That has distinct possibilities. You really do need to meet Robert. He is the master of concoctions of all sorts, as well as King of the Bug Jars. I do believe the last thing he and I and our friends did was to run some of you Hogwarts lot out of Honeydukes not long ago. We sent in a boggart so we could get a few minutes at the fudge counter. Robert is a wimp, though. He went in before us, bought about 10 pounds of candyand soothed all the jangled nerves of the little ones with great lots of candy. Being a new grandfather, it seems, has made him a bit more soft. Let me think---if I remember correctly, the last thing he made as far as a confection went was a Ladybug Truffle. They looked innocent enough, with little fondant ladybugs on the top for decoration--until the consumer was changed into a ladybug. The thing wore off in an hour. The trouble was keeping track of your mark so he or she didn't get eaten by somebody's toad or cat. That's the problem with a bug spell. You're always risking your mark being eaten, and their mums and dads generally get a bit bent out of shape about that sort of thing.

"But we could ask Robert about a good canary cream if you like. I probably should tell you. He's a potionsmaster. And, he is not the Severus Snape stodgy sort. He is a hell of a lot more fun than that. He could teach you his bug spell too. He's taught it to his daughter, but she much prefers to transfigure people into either teacups or cheeky looking hats. Oh, and if you meet her, ask her about her recycling of stray socks. Seems there may be a purpose to them after all besides sock monkeys."

The Ladybug Truffle sounded promising, perhaps she would have to look into buying the recipe for Weasley's Wizards Wheezes... He said he would look into the canary creams and she replied, "Oh, I already have those. The Weasley twins invented those." A smile unfurled onto her face. Of all the pranksters she had met, it was nothing compared to how amazed she would feel if she could just shake hands with the surviving Weasley twin, George. She could die happy.

He said that she should probably meet his friend Robert, who would teach her a few spells. She laughed, "Maybe I should, then." He began talking about Robert's daughter and how if Jack ever met her, she should ask her something about recycling socks. Jack snorted and laughed, nodding and saying, "Okay! Good to know."

"They did!" he was delighted to hear the little Freddie and Georgie had managed the canary creams. "Good on them! Too bad about Fred, though ,really. I miss that boy. He had a true gift, he did. Georgie too. I haven't seen Georgie in some time now. Several year. I have seen Charlie, though, fairly recently. That boy is dragon crazy. He never did get dragons out of his system. He raises dragons, of all bloody things, and he's damned good at it. He was always a serious lad, not like the twins. Molly and Arhur had their hands full with those two, they did.

"Well, back to the spells and whatnot. As Robert tells me, he often uses the same Fera Verto spell that you lot are taught to change a raven into a watergoblet. Minerva wrote that exercise years ago, and they're still using it. Robert says that you simply need to concentrate, really concentrate on what sort of animal you want the person to be and say the spell as you flick your wand. But if you let your thoughts wander while your casting the spell, heaven help you. There's no telling what you might come up with. Let's give it a try, shall we?"

He glanced at Rufus and got a really mischievious boyish grin on his face as he looked at the bartender who was joking and laughing with some old woman at the bar. But what to do? He thought a long moment and then decided, laughing. "Ah, the perfect thing for you, Rufus." He closed his eyes, concentrated hard, and flicked his wand. "Fera Verto!" he cast the spell.

In a twinking, Rufus transfigured into a myna bird. Michael roared with laughter, especially when the irritated bird flew over and landed on his head and began pecking at him. Michael swatted him away and laughed all the harder. "So that's how that blighter does it!" Michael laughed. "That's bloody brilliant!"

Jack nodded her head solemnly, for she, too, felt it was a crime to murder such a brilliant mind like Fred Weasley. He began to talk about George and Charlie and Jack thought to herself that she had to somehow be related to the Weasleys, for she was both a prankster and an aspiring magizoologist. The similarities were uncanny. And then, of course, there was the hair.

Jack listened to his explanation of the spell and she nodded, once again making sure the knowledge embedded itself deep inside her mischievous, up-to-no-good mind. Not only the spell, which she had forgotten until he had brought it up (for it had never had real use to her before) but also the concept of concentrating on a different sort of animal.

Michael turned his friend Rufus, the bartender, into some sort of bird and she howled with laughter. Clutching her sides, and calming herself down she said, "You know, he looked more like a Jack Russel to me than a bird, but this works too. I would try, but no one really needs to get stuck with hooves. I'll have to practice on furniture back in the common room."

"Use your Finite spell and change him back. Concentrate on him returning from bird form back to his old Irish cantakerous self, level your wand, and when you know you have it firmly in your mind, just say 'Finite' and that will return him to himself. You try it." Michael said. "I'd rather not have you practicing on furniture since you'll be practicing on your classmates. We'll find willing volunteers, my dear. Believe me. I know how to get all we need."

The bloody bird began cussing at him in a rude Irish brogue. Michael was now laughing so hard he couldn't talk. The bird responded by pecking even harder on Michael's head. "I'll make you into a shepards pie, I will, you bloody bird!" Michael finally managed. The bird flew up to the wrought iron chandelier and began cussing him out in complete and totally rude sentences.

"Do change him back, Child, before his rudeness drives everyone out," Michael laughed. "Hold still, Rufus, so we can turn you back, you fool!"

Jack nodded at his words, which made sense. If she got too used to changing the anatomy of the furniture rather than of a human's into some sort of an animal, she could be ill-prepared for the charm, which would not be good. The people who knew her would not let her cast any spells on them because, well, most people were terrified of her. And, rightly so.

She raised her wand to stop the spell but the bird began cursing and her hand fell down to her side as she began to laugh enthusiastically. Now, that was a sight. The bird began pecking Michael who was bursting with laughter as well. The bird went to the chandelier and Jack smirked, raising her wand above her head. "Finite!" Should be fun to see how that turned out.

"Michael Tremaine, you git!" Rufus shouted, huddled up on the chandelier so he wouldn't fall. Michael laughed all the harder, along with everyone in the pub because Rufus's voice still had a momentary left over birdlike squeak to it. "Get me down from here, ye jolly great arse!"

"Oh, hold your horses, Rufus," Michael couldn't resist mocking the squeaky birdlike tone his friend was sounding, but Michael's voice was remarkably calm. "Let go, you idiot," Michael said. "Aresto Momentum!" He cast the spell flawlessly at the instant Rufus let go, and it landed him back on his feet. The poor rattled bartender came over, his face red with anger, and he grabbed Michael by his lapels. Rufus was about to speak and Michael simply said. "Langlock!" It fastened Rufus's Irish tongue tight to the roof of his mouth.

"There," Michael said calmly. "When you reduce your blood pressure a point or two, I will be happy to undo that. It was all in good fun, and you know it. You know I'd never let it go far enough that you'd be more than annoyed. Now, be a good boy, go drink yourself a pint, and you'll feel better."

Rufus glared at Michael like he was an idiot. "Oh. Forgot, didn't I?" Michael said, "'Tis easier to drink a pint when one's tongue isn't charmed to the roof of one's mouth. Oh very well. Better, are we?" Rufus nodded. "Very well, then. Finite!" The poor bartender was put back to rights and he glared at Michael.

"Go pick on somebody else now, would you?" Rufus said, rattled and exasperated.

"Exactly what I had in mind," Michael said calmly. "You're a good sport, my friend."

"Aye, and that's what you always say to keep me from knocking your teeth out."

"And it always works, too."

Rufus sighed, resolved. "Aye, that it does. But, if you want a bit of fun, you'll have a bit of a lark with me Aggie's sister's boy. The boy is a witless wonder, and somehow got all the way through school and didn't learn a single charm, he didn't. It would make up for all the harassment you put me through if you'd take him down a peg. The young twit doesn't believe it would serve him to learn to even find the right end of a wand. You wouldn't consider teaching him a lesson, would you?"

"I might," Michael said. He looked at Jack, "What do you think, Lass? Should we have a go at him?"

Jack watched the exchange, again, with a smile. Perhaps when she was grown and older and had lived through more turmoils and more happiness, she would be like this. She would have friends that she could joke with and tease and mess with. She would know all about their family and they hers, and they could talk without the tension that followed her relationships like a vigilant panther. Maybe then, teen pregnancies and poltergeists and Quidditch games would not be enough to keep her alone.

Rufus seemed to be good enough of a sport and she gave him a nice smile- which on her looked awkward and crooked- and then sat up with interest as he began to suggest a new victim in the place of himself. He was suggesting his nephew-in-law, who seemed to be a clueless, and therefore excellent, prank victim. Michael turned to Jack and asked for her opinion and she smirked. "We could teach him a thing or two. For the sake of education." Her smirk widened.

"I've got him in the back, peeling potatoes for the shepard's pie. That's about all he's good for. 'Tis a shame when his parents are nearly fullblooded wizards themselves. And this young prat couldnt' be bothered to learn one bloody thing. He does know how to wield a potato peeler now, though. That's about all I'll give him. So go introduce yourselves to Quincy, then. Quincy Callahan. And do try to leave him in a humanoid piece when you're done, would you, please? I don't need me Aggy after me too, you know," Rufus said.

"He'll be much the same as he is now," Michael promised.

"Oh, saints preserve us. I was hoping for better than that," Rufus sighed, walking away, shaking his head.

"Well, let's go meet the lad, then. I suggest you be prepared to show him a bit of your game, Lass," Michael said, getting up. The others looked at Michael starting to stride towards the kitchen and a snicker went out from the locals, knowing what was to come. They all started to rise from their seats, wanting to see the show. Michael stopped and silently waved them back into their seats. It would accomplish nothing if everyone in the bar suddenly went into the kitchen.

Michael went into the kitchen and saw a thin young man wih jet blak hair and the ugliest black plastic glasses Michael had ever seen. He was wearing tan pants that were too short for his tall emaciated frame, and a baggy light blue shirt. Quincy clearly had not noticed Michael, who flicked his wand, making the potatoes on the wooden work table stand up and dance. Quincy had no clue what to do with it, and he stood up, quite beside himself, and backed up, falling over the workstool he'd been sitting on, falling to the floor as the potatoes started to dance in a circle around him.

""Tis the work of the devil!" the young man shrieked.

"Devil?" Michael asked. "Well, that is a new title, now. I have been called a great many names in my time, but that one is a new one for me. Finite! And this is the new Wizard Callahan, then, is it? A young man like you should know the difference between a jinx and a boggart, but it seems you don't know either. Well, Quincy Callahan, I am going to be either your rescuer or your jailer."

"You, Old Man?" Quincy laughed in arrogance.

"Ah, well, now that title I have heard before. No, my name is not Old Man," Michael said, doing his best to appear frightfully intimidating, thrusting the point of his wand in the boy's temple. "My name, to you, is SIR!"