The Horror of Apparition and the Passage to the RoR

The horrifying spectacle in Apparition class quickly became the talk of the school. Gryffindors admired Anthony's composure and courage, Hufflepuffs worried about his well-being, Ravenclaws were fascinated by the unprecedented splinching, and Slytherins snickered about his inability to Apparate in his twenties.

In Slytherin, "May you never learn to Apparate, even in ten years" became a new curse – somehow, they had discovered Anthony's age – replacing the previous "May Mrs. Norris never look at you."

This was probably for the best, as the old Mrs. Norris curse had been around for a while, and the second half of the phrase was hotly debated. Some insisted it was "because she doesn't care about trolls," while others argued it was "because she'll think you're a castle pillar." The disputes often escalated into heated arguments.

Regardless of house affiliation, everyone agreed that Apparition was dangerous, advanced magic that demanded utmost caution.

"Just look at Anthony, his head came right off!" people would warn each other. "I heard someone's father's boss's aunt died from splinching. Anthony was lucky the Apparition distance was short. Imagine if his head hadn't been reattached in time!"

Those who uttered "imagine" often did so, only to turn pale. "Are we going to have a Muggle Studies professor with just a head? Like, only a head?"

Anthony learned from Professor Sprout that Stan Shunpike had come to her office requesting to drop out of the Apparition course.

She refused, reminding him that Apparition didn't necessarily result in splinching, let alone decapitation. In fact, she pointed out, if all previous users of the guillotine had learned to Apparate – if they could have – the ownership of Hogwarts might be under a different country's jurisdiction.

Moreover, Professor Sprout recalled that Shunpike's stated career goal was "to go places," which sounded like it would require Apparition.

"I just wrote that down randomly, Professor," the student with large, protruding ears had said in frustration. "I was going through a breakup and wanted to get away."

"I hope you've recovered from your heartbreak," Professor Sprout said sympathetically. "But this just proves the importance of Apparition – if you could Apparate, you could truly go to a faraway place when you're in love."

As she recounted this to Anthony, she took a sip of tea and asked, "What do you think he meant, Henry?"

Anthony, staring at the embers drifting towards his feet in the fireplace, replied absently, "I'm not sure. I suppose he does believe he could go to faraway places, but not necessarily with his entire body." He added, "In that sense, you were actually correct, Pomona. Heaven and hell, if they exist, would be quite far away."

Professor Sprout chuckled, startling Anthony out of his reverie.

"He said there will always be people in the world who haven't learned Apparition, and he wants to help them," Professor Sprout revealed. "When I asked how, he said he didn't know yet, but it would be safer than Apparating. Maybe the Hogwarts Express could fly."

It would be a strangely shaped, high-speed aircraft lifted by magic rather than aerodynamics.

Anthony imagined a train soaring through the sky. "I imagine the Minister for Magic wouldn't be too pleased. So, aside from brooms, can other objects fly? Even trains?"

"I believe so," Professor Sprout mused. "I wonder if anyone's ever tried to make a bicycle fly. The seat would be far more comfortable than a broomstick."

Anthony shook his head, unsure. He didn't know if anyone had attempted a flying bicycle, but he did know someone quite keen on making a car airborne. Mr. Arthur Weasley had sent him several letters detailing his failed experiments – including one that resulted in a broom-shaped object flying away rather than becoming an actual broom – and frustratingly suspecting there might be some magical law beyond "can't conjure food" at play.

Flight had always been a tricky business.

To address some of Mr. Weasley's wilder ideas, Anthony had even consulted Professors Flitwick and McGonagall and tested a few concepts in the Room of Requirement.

Speaking of which, Anthony had been exploring the Room's limits lately. It performed feats that, even with the explanation of "it's magic," left him scratching his head.

For instance, once, his prompt was "I need a room with an ocean view." After pacing three times and opening his eyes, he found the Room had transformed into a balcony overlooking the sea. He even reached over the railing (taking care not to snag his wizard's robes on the ornate buckles) and touched the water.

He knew it hadn't transported an actual beach from somewhere, but rather simulated one. His necromantic magic told him there were no corpses like crabs beneath the sand and rocks – the real sea was teeming with delightful materials for a necromancer.

Yes, there was some Transfiguration principle behind this limitation. The Room of Requirement couldn't conjure food from thin air, nor could it conjure corpses – there was no suggestion anyone intended to eat them.

Anthony had once hypothesized that chicken legs were the intersection of "food" and "corpse," but there had to be some corpses unrelated to food. However, when he asked the Room to show him any corpse, it cheekily presented him with a broken couch, similar to the one his skeletal cat had torn apart.

After numerous attempts to refine his request, the Room finally gave up and opened a secret passage leading directly to the back kitchen of the Hog's Head Inn.

Emerging cautiously into the yard filled with pig heads, Anthony struggled to describe his feelings.