The cottony flurries float past him in waves, some landing in his curls and on the embroidered snake jacket Armani gave him. Here in Mothgarden, the cottonwood seeds are thick enough to remind him of wintertime but without the icy snap of real snow. He's been experimenting with this idea for the last hour on smaller patches, and every success has only encouraged him to try bigger and bigger piles of fluff. By now he has a crowd (of mostly freshmen) following him to watch the show.

He brings the tip of his wand to his lips, and whispers, "Incendio minimus," and it lights up with a tiny orange glow. He only needs to touch the edge of the 'snow'bank for it to catch, sending an immediate wave of fire that ignites the seeds that earns him several ooohs and ahhhhs.