We're in a playground, but it's time to move on. Primus and Tertius, feeling the lack of gloves on a chilly December morning, are cooperative, but be-mittened Secundus wishes to stay longer. As the bringer of the news about our exodus, I find a stick pointing at me and hear him mutter "Avada Kedavra."
He underestimates my Potter I.Q. "That the killing curse, isn't it?" I ask.
"Unforgivable," confirms Primus, who has absorbed every word of Rowling (most of which seem to be adverbs, he added archly).
Secundus, a little shamefaced at his good-natured patricide, waves the wand again, but modifies it to "Stupefy!", the Hogwarts equivalent of "phasers on stun." The trouble is, it comes out as "Stupefly!", which then makes me think of "Super Fly." And I envision a curse that causes purple fedoras to materialize on the victims' heads and forces them to sing falsetto like Curtis Mayfield.