Advanced Summoning || Lesson Five

Anatole’s eyes shot open like he had just heard a bullet fire from a gun. The good news is that he didn’t hear a gunshot, only the sound of chattering children down the road. It was sunset, about five PM, and apparently he had drifted off into sleep. It had been a long day after a long day since Ackerley had “banished” him from Hogwarts. He had been hopping from sections of the grounds to even neighboring forests in order to not be tracked down by the deadly Deputy and his army of professors, prefects, and students. For the past three days or so, it had been successful.

Well, in the past three days he hadn’t had much food either. He was like a decomposer, living off whatever dead substance he had found in the wild children’s school (not to much avail). It clearly wasn’t the healthiest, but it was what he had to do. Anatole just hoped Incendio could help him sterilize some meats.

But the sound of chattering children cued him to flee like a deer hearing a said gunshot. It was that taste of wild, savage adrenaline and the strange sense of suddenness that made Anatole know he couldn’t fight a mob of students and possibly a professor. Therefore he took to flight.

Not literally, obviously. He just ran as fast as his legs could carry him, far away from the flock, far away from most. He stumbled back into the castle grounds for a moment, catching himself before he tripped, panting and out of breath. Carefully, he retreated under a tree and saw some...spider remains? Leg by leg and about half of an abdomen, covered in spit, blood, and a single feather. Strange. Anatole stared down at it, picking one leg up with his forefingers. The hunger was killing him.

He wiped the leg off with his shirt and threw it down his throat. The taste stung like a spider should, and his face coiled in disgust as he chowed down on the other seven legs, leaving just the half-consumed abdomen.

His stomach ached and he grasped it; his head grew dizzy and he stabilized, slowly collapsing onto the bright green grass. Spider didn't make for a filling meal. ”You know what I could really go for?” The man was sweating beyond compare. Anatole, breathless but playing smart, took out his phone and read what he typed. ”A good bowl of soup. Maybe even some...pudding.” He read it with a smile, aware of what he was doing. ”Pudding is soup, isn’t it?”

Before he knew it, there was a tall man leaning over him, a dismayed grimace on his face. ”Did you just call pudding...soup?” Anatole, flustered, pushed himself up so he was leaning on the base of the tree. ”That is unactheptable. Pudding is a soup if you’re some unhinged maniac. I’d rather eat desert.” His familiar Spanish accent demanded attention.

”Alright, alright Mr. Cazarez! Pudding isn’t soup. It’s pudding. Also, don’t you mean dessert?” He decided to try exercising another principle. ”Why are you out here at sunset?”

”No, I mean desert. Sand. Don’t suggest I’ll answer you on the other one.”

”Something with Rosemary?”

Sebastián raised an eyebrow. ”I don’t usually put rosemary in soup. I said, I will not answer you and your quethtions. But just so you are aware, I was walking my dog. Here’s a picture.” The man pulled out a sloppy, hand-drawn picture of a dirt-colored dog. ”He’s terrible.”

”Alright, good to know. Now, do you mind getting me some soup?” Anatole tried to smile as best as he could, considering he was starving.

The flirtatious Spaniard straightened himself and tilted his head toward the magical fugitive. ”Suck my toes, you’re a soup.”

”B--” Sebastián disappeared, picture and all. ”Well, okay then…” Anatole slowly pushed himself to his feet. Maybe it was the wrong idea to purposely summon Sebastián out of any Professor. Surely, anyone else would have been nice enough to give him food. Sebastián was one of those professors that remained as neutral as possible on Anatole (minus a bit of joking minor bullying here and there).

Trying to forget he was starving, Anatole decided to take a risk and migrate closer to the screams of children. It would be the right distance away that he could hear, but far away enough that no one would be able to notice it. All he would have to do is wait until the night, then his plan could be put into motion. Anatole was determined to make this campout of theirs a little more special.

The sun’s final slivers were curving over the horizon, the sky magenta and shaded in gorgeous hues. Anatole, keeping mind of the fire beginning near the campout, used these last seconds of daylight to find himself a cave, right off the grounds, to relax until the time came.



For once, it wasn't the childish chatter that woke him; it was the absence of it. The camp in front of him seemed silent except for the crackle of the fire snapping in the night. The cave’s walls had been rough to lean and sleep upon. It put five million knots in his back.

With a pained groan, Antelope got up, ambling towards what little of a fire he could see from this far away. The campsite was quiet, a circle of tents with the center as a slow-burning blaze.

Wait, was it quiet? He swore he heard a familiar voice or two in one tent. Slowly, he watched where he stepped, eavesdropping on the small conversation.

”Rosemary, you don't know how terrible the kids have been the past few days. I've missed talking to you.”

The shadow inside didn't move. It just lied there, in the tent, alone. Was Sebastián hugging...a pillow? There was no way that Rosemary could have come from Hogsmeade just to help out on a campout. What was the campout even for?

”Hm? You missed me too? He sat up in his tent, and Anatole dashed behind the enclosure. It would ruin his whole plan if Sebastián found him. ”Well, too bad for you.” Unzipping his tent, Sebastián grabbed his pillow, stepping outside and throwing it into the fire at midnight. The fire grew larger, consuming the pillow and stretching towards the half-moon hung above. What...the heck just happened? Anatole swore he remembered Sebastián loving Rosemary. Twenty years must have changed a lot. ”I don't need you when I've got Profesora Scheinberg.”

Okay...Sebastián liked Leonie? Since when?

Oh, it hit him. They had been in some sort of marriage (he wasn't sure if that was fake or not) since...sometime. Things had been strange.

The fire died down and returned to normal soon after. Slowly peering out from behind the tent, Anatole peered into the shelter to see if Sebastián was asleep, and in fact, he was. With a classy smirk, Annie's Whole walked across the camp to the students’ tents, slowly unzipping the tents and entering. His sole goal was to figure out those who were in his class before he got the boot, wake them up, and give them a little extra lesson they needed.

He found the first girl, sleeping in the same tent with a few others, and carefully, he tapped on her shoulder and she woke up. Before she could scream, seeing the disheveled Anatole, the Ex-Professor shoved his hand over her mouth, whispering, ”Come with me for one last lesson.” The blonde girl nodded and gulped, getting out without disturbing any of the other girls in her tent. Carefully, the two of them repeated their process with every other tent, waking up most of the students until they had a small, quiet army. Aristotle wasn't sure how he had kept them quiet.

Shoving the students into a line and ordering them to cast the wand-lighting charm once they got far enough away from the camp, Anatole began to lead the “class” toward the cave he had slept in.

”Well, sorry to wake you up, but I assure you it was best to hold this class at midnight. Consider it a...field trip of sorts.”

The students held confused appearances. Why...now? And what happened to And A Pole?

Immediately, a hand shot up from a Ravenclaw. ”Anatole, why are we here out of all places? What happ--”

”Excuse me, I thought you understood me when I said 'Save the questions’ the first time around. This also applies here. No questions.” A collective gulp resonated from the students. ”If you'd like me to keep kidnapping you selectively inviting you to these clandestine classes, don't yawn, and don't fall asleep. This lesson is rather important. I will be introducing yet another rule to the practice.” He walked over to the cave’s rounded wall, pointing his wand to the rock and assuming it would write, even though pebbles on rocks did not scribble very well. ”This new rule relates in no sense to the previous Evans Principle, but rather delves into a whole different area of the target. It's called Fracturing Memory. Does anyone have a guess as to what it entails?” The Ex-Professor gave a wide eye to the students, smirking as he watched the gears of their minds turn. The cave was so quiet you could hear a feather scrape the ground. The students just sat on the stone floor, some trying to sleep in his class. After all, it was past midnight. ”Anyone? No? Alright then. Fracturing Memory deals with how much your target remembers when they are summoned. It consists of what I like to call the three I’s, Immediate Past, Immediate Future, and Identity. These three I’s were displayed in each of your past summonings: Matilda remembered the Immediate Past when she said she had heard the gossip at the Professors’ table, Sergei knew the Immediate Future when he was going to make me some tea, and Sorrel remembered her identity as a Herbology Professor when she protested about her plants. Of course, there are always exceptions to Fracturing Memory that we will not get into right now since they are endlessly complex, but that rule applies to most targets. Remember the three I’s especially when keeping the attention span, because if you bring up the Immediate Present, things could go terribly wrong. The target is never conscious of their current state of being, which is different from their identity. The present changes, but their basic identity does not. Understood?” He pulled out his phone. ”I'll show you what I mean in a bit.”

Half the class had either fallen asleep or zoned out, so Anatole sighed and pulled out his wand once more. He pulled a single black string out of his pocket, lying it on the floor and casting Incendio upon it. This is the one time he did not care about distance, because the fire right in front of a row of passed-out Hufflepuffs woke them up in a jiffy. They screamed, pulling their clothing back from the fire. Anatole gritted his teeth, facepalming as he realized that they were kids. Screaming is what they were made to do.

A loud clap echoed throughout the cave. ”Don’t you dare burn my Hufflepuffs!” The startling sound belonged to none other than Solomon Lear, Head of Hufflepuff.

Anatole grimaced at the Professor, turning his back as he noticed his phone got stuck on camera mode somehow. It must have filmed the fire or something, therefore putting the Hufflepuffs in danger of getting burned and summoning Lear, protective of his Badgers. Before Lear could run over and cause any harm to the 31-year-old Ex-Professor, Anatole ran over and stomped out the fire, picking up what remained of the string. ”I'm sorry! I never meant to put them in danger! They just...uh...happened to be in the front, and I, uh…”

”Why are you all even gathered here anyways? Anatole, mind explaining?” He crossed his arms, raising an awfully pensive eyebrow.

Here is where Anatole had a few choices. Considering that Lear had been summoned, he could kill whatever attention span he had left, stall him until it died, or even try to distract the man and lead him away from the cave. Keeping in mind Fracturing Memory, he could not explain the truth that he was teaching a forbidden class in a place he was forbidden to go. ”And isn't that a Muggle device? I thought we learned from this twenty years ago!” Lear grumbled, waiting for a response.

”Well, uh…” Something tickled in his throat. Hairy, slimy, something he couldn't pinpoint. It was almost crawling up his throat.

In a vicious fit of coughing, Anatole fell to his knees, hacking up all that he ate of Denise earlier. There was something terrible about it, and luckily he hid it from the students. Feeling a little weary (his face displayed the emoji), he stood up, a spit-drenched leg in his hand. His phone in the other palm, he aimed and threw the leg at the man. It hit him right in the bald, scarcely-haired forehead, sliding down into his hand. Then, like he usually did, Anatole ran again from his problems, knowing that Lear, nearing the same age as Sergei, couldn't catch him.

Throwing the slimy leg down onto the ground, Lear ignored the man and instead rushed to his Hufflepuffs (ignoring the other houses), caressing them like they were his own and making sure they were safe. They would surely occupy his attention span for a while. ”Dear God, where was Sebastián in all of this! I should have never let you all out of my sight. There's something inexplicably diabolical about strangers’ intents, yes? You all should be glad I arrived when I did, it…” Lear went into yet another long monologue, lecturing the small Hufflepuffs then leading them out like a line of yellow ducklings. The kids from the other houses had already filed back to the campsite.



Meanwhile, Anatole had dashed as far as he could away from the campsite, hoping to never be found again. It had been an early morning for him, and an exhausting one at best. Before the creatures creeped out at him for having the Muggle Device, he had safely wandered toward the very edge of Hogwarts’ property, prepared to just run out if anything were to chase after him. No kid would dare to find him here. ”L...Lumos…” he whispered, standing up and peering around at his surroundings. The fire no longer burned bright and he could no longer hear the pathetic, desperate screams of children. With a sigh, he sat down, looking towards the stars. It was a gorgeous early morning, yes, and the constellations had proved themselves to be utterly magnificent. Thurston would've loved it if he was awake.

”Mr. Anthill!” Well, never mind about the childish screams. The voice was familiar, and it was a relief to hear. Wand in hand, Anatole jumped up to see Edie Knaggs’s delighted face. ”I found you!” The girl was clearly playing innocent, assuming Anatole hadn't seen her on Ackerley's side during the deadly battle last time.

”Knaggs! Where have you been? I haven't seen you in class lately, and it's worried me sick.” Anatole clearly wanted as many people to teach the dark art to as possible, considering he only had a few. After a brief hug of consolation, he turned his back on the girl, making sure he still had his phone.

”I'm sorry! Prefect things got in the way. There's been an influx of…”

The tone changed, and when Anatole turned back around, Edie Knaggs was no longer an adorable Prefect.

She was Fainauriel Valtome, Professor of Potions and Metamorphmagus.

He continued where the girl had left off, as seamlessly as ever. ”...an influx of little monsters doing what they're not supposed to be doing. One such action being attending your forbidden lectures, Mr. Evans.”

Just like the Half-Elf had morphed, Anatole's face had morphed from a jubilant smile to a gaping, wide-eye-emoji’d look of surprise. ”Valtome! I should've known it was you all along! You...you…” Anatole turned again, trying to think of something to say. ”Why are you even here, anyways? You've got nothing to do with me!”

”Oh, is that so, my less-than-formidable adversary? The reason you seek will be revealed when you possess some more...what is it...patience! Yes, that amicable trait! Do something better with your life, Mr. Evans. You were previously tolerable, and now, I'm afraid that comment has not withstood the test of time...like you.” Fainauriel looked the exact same as he had twenty years ago.

”Oh, is THAT so? Well, I can't say the same about you, Valtome!” When Anatole dramatically turned around, the man had disappeared into supposedly thin air.

He was alone, finally.

”V-Valtome?”







One. What does Fracturing Memory have to do with, regarding the target?

Two. Give the three I’s to Fracturing Memory and an example of each not in the lesson (aka make it up)!

Three. How are Sebastián Cazarez and Solomon Lear summoned?

BONUSES: Four. What did you think of this lesson? Are you excited for the summer bloopers?

Five. What would you like from next season? Who would you like to see make an appearance? What are your questions for me?

That's it for Advanced Summoning Season One! I will be writing full-length lessons again in the fall. Keep on the lookout for those bloopers!

Happy Summoning!