The Biggest joke (James)

"A cool wind blows,
The phoenix' song is low,
The charmed students,
leave our castle with dents,
whatever shall I do?"
Headmaster Shacklebolt muttered to himself in poetic verse as he leaned back in his seat. Papers were spread helter-skelter as he felt the urge to call for bread. The spark of brilliance that had once driven him was lost with the bark of his firewood. If the Headmaster could solve the school’s many problems, he would. As long as the students left in high spirits, he wouldn’t feel like he had the Schlitz.
But then again, some students were the problem. The Confederacy of Light, the Death Eaters- all had invaded the one place that should’ve been home. “What has happened to our school?” he murmured to himself. Then he began to laugh. A wheezy laugh at first. But then it expanded into a chortle, a snicker, and finally, hoarse bark. The whole world was breaking, and he acted like he was at the park. The papers flew into the air at his beckoning.
But what’s this? A knock on the hard-wood door?

Shacklebolt, amused twitched his wand, and flung the door open.

"Headmaster Shacklebolt. I believe I was... beckoned to this place," James said, standing awkwardly. His hand was still raised to knock on the thick, oak door. The Headmaster's office was a mess, as usual. Judging by the laughs he had heard down the hallway, the Headmaster hadn't even bothered to silence the doorways and windows. Ace made a mental note to take of such a thing before discussing anything with the headmaster. He closed the door as he slid in, afraid of his actions, wondering which would set off the madman first.

For James had learned to deal with the crazy man with a certain level of insanity- bad poetry entertained him the most. Indecisiveness had also been very effective.

"So it seems, dear Mask,
for I have something ask.
I must see to this task,
for in the darkness IT basks."
The Headmaster's tone became steely, his eyes now hard and cold. The wild flame was frozen, for the task at hand required it.
"You are a child, for this I am glad.
For this world, so mad,
the children are the pure.
But first, I must make sure."

The Headmaster launched the papers around him, forcing to fold. The folds, once they held, would form dense arrows. The Headmaster was not in the heat the moment, the way he usually was in a battle. This fight was to ensure that the future he sought would break through the ceiling that had been placed over it.

Ace swore and whipped out his own wand. He had become used to this kind of test thanks in lieu to his uncle, but it was still frustrating to be tested EVERY SINGLE TIME. He quickly swept his wand, shouting out a spell that forced the wind to move the way he directed. He swept the dense paper wads to the side, his mind working quickly, determining how to deal with the Headmaster. Shacklebolt was crazy, James knew that, but this time it was different. James knew that Shacklebolt would never let him off this easy. So he proceeded to burn each sheet. Their importance was obviously outweighed by his need to hear the Headmaster out.

The Headmaster was far from appeased, but he was pleased. His spells could springs wells. His magic could conjure wonders. But for anybody to stand up and fight with all of their might- nothing could please him more. Shacklebolt swept his own arms, and caused everything in the room to turn over. The globes, books and robes began to fling themselves at the boy. He would fight of course, but Shacklebolt did not want to keep this going for too long.
The wand is cold,
it's hand is old.
To rule world,
one must conquer their own sword.
The battles you have won,
Are never over.
All that you own, all that is one,
Learn to question, to cover,
your lies and your hide.
For all you know how to do is fight.

Ace found himself being bombarded by all sorts of magical perephinilia. He had to squint in order avoid damage to his eyes. He dodged and cast explosion spells at anything big enough to cause extraordinary damage. The man was crazy after all. He grunted as a knife of some kind scratched his cheek. How had he missed that? Frustrated, he resorted to his holy grail of sorts. He clapped his hands, the sound barely audible amonst all the crashing din that the Headmaster's powers were creating. He planted them on the wooden floor and directly in front of the tips of his fingers a thick wall erupted from the ground. The Ace stood away from the wall, his eyes darting with each thunk, rustle and crack that could be heard as debris piled up before the Headmaster. He exhaled slightly. Another crisis averted.