For an instant Chris thought she might chicken out, and her wand hovered in mid air for a moment before she managed to steel her nerves against her fear. With a last deep steadying breath she made the appropriate wand movements and gave the spell in a loud commanding voice. The individual parts she knew well enough but together they felt odd, as it fought the muscle memory developed since childhood.

As she finished the wand flick a single beam of flame erupted from her wand before bending out to the sides, like the fabric free spindles of an umbrella- but made of fire. As the flames reached they end of their arch they broke off the 'end' and fluttered to the ground like firey snowflakes, much to the detriment of Mrs Mayhews prize Roses, one of which burst into flames.

°'ow!' she exclaimed, shaking her hand as the heat mildly scorched her fingers, the shake was worst possible course of action and some of the flame snowflakes worried the skirt of her dress, before the smell of burning satin indicated that one or two had caught the starched material. 'oh merlin' Christabel exclaimed, dropping the wand, the flames sputtering out of the implement as she turned her attention to patting the scalded fabric before it was able to take full advantage and burn her alive like Fanny Longfellow! Porphyria would never forgive her if she managed a dramatic literary death before she did!

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