Not Actually an Evil Sorcerer

The beau and I watched The Sorcerer's Apprentice which I blame in large part for the crazy dream I had. It went something like this:

After thirty years spent in absolute darkness, light floods into my world. I am free of the prison that bound me, wicked magicks turned back upon myself. Trapped in a small black box, but now free.

I will rise again as the greatest of evil sorcerers, wreak hell and havoc upon the world. First, I must find a corporeal body. This mist/ash crap isn't working out for me. Really hard to cast magick like this.

After a series of sneaky and vicious bloodlettings, my body is formed. I shall resummon my sorcerer's circle, long since buried beneath the dirt of civilization. Something resembling a frat house squats on my land. There is a party going on in the backyard. Many sacrifices for me to consume, but first I must cast a spell to intoxicate them to my will.

The circle is summoned successfully, rising from the ground with a great exhalation of awe by the watching crowd. I begin to cast my most powerful magicks - I manipulate air and water through clever metal tubes in the circle. It produces a song. The song is magick. The people sway to the tune. It is a great and powerful weaving - a magickal rendition of the All American Rejects.

My magic stutters, dirt still clogs some of the pipes. I halt the music and in a blast clear the pipes. The spell has failed, people are already drifting away.

I look up. Harry Potter stares at me pityingly. "I don't think it's working," he tells me.

Magic has advanced so far in thirty years! Even Voldemort is looking surly, having become a low-class wizard, himself. Furiously, I wrap Harry Potter in black cord.

"That really isn't going to help," he says skeptically.

In the last few moments before I wake, I let out one final cry.

Damn you, Harry Potter. Damn you!