5 & 4) Reparo and Wingardium Leviosa, because even in a world where (with a lot of practice) I could make a Patronus, I will never be quite as incredible as Slughorn and Dumbledore fixing a trashed house with Reparo Maxima.
I’m a slob. There, I said it. I’m like if Pigpen and the Cookie Monster had a supremely scattered child with the grace and dignity of Philosopher’s-Stone-era Neville.
I have too much stuff, nowhere to put anything, and my room constantly looks like a Mountain Troll with vertigo stumbled out fourteen minutes prior. A clever use of Reparo and Wingardium Leviosa would condense a week of work into six hours. Less, even, if I had a friend along.
3) Expecto Patronum.
There’s something appealing about corporealizing my happy thoughts and sending them to people that appeals to me. It’s like magical Prozac! Take 150 millagrams of Expecto Patronum and call me in the morning.
But seriously. Not a day goes by where I don’t wish that I could send people little (metaphorical) postcards full of happy.
I know it might be a stretch for the mechanics of the spell, but I don’t think it would be too much of a stretch. After all, as Lupin says, a “Patronus is a kind of positive force, a projection of the very things that the Dementor feeds upon – hope, happiness, the desire to survive.” A projected feeling is, by its very nature… projected. It’s out there, and it would only stand to reason that people could feel it.
Especially since Dementors are a metaphor for J.K. Rowling’s depression.
And Expecto Patronum is already given to modification… after all, people can change their Patronus’ shape (Tonks’ changed from jackrabbit to wolf due to her love of Lupin, and Lupin disguises his own for fear of being called out as a Werewolf). Dumbledore figured out a way to get them to send messages.
2) Undetectable Extension Charm.
The same charm that made Hermione’s small beaded handbag able to hold basically anything, and, I’m assuming, Mary Poppins’ handbag bigger on the inside.
If I had the space for ten more bookshelves in my bedroom I could easily organize my life. Five more bookshelves for books, three for art supplies and various junk-that-will-one-day-be-art (coded by type in little bins), one for costumes and clothes that won’t fit in my coffin-sized closet, and the last one for stuff I’ve made that can fit on a shelf. I could extend the ceiling and triple my wall space for paintings, plus the Slytherin flag my mom hung up in my room even though I’m clearly a Ravenclaw.
From Accio pill-I-dropped-in-the-grass to Accio that-ring-I-always-wore-in-high-school, Accio-ing things would make up for the fact that Nargles steal all my stuff. I haven’t even got any mistletoe for them to infest.
I’d be most excited about Herbology. I love plants like Deadpool loves Bea Arthur. I make kissy noises at them and babytalk in a way that (apparently) vastly disturbs people and “will be on youtube one day.” I have a Venus flytrap that I’ve named Philip Seymour Hoffman. How brilliant would it be to raise a bouncing bundle of mandrake roots? And two words: dirigible plums. I need these in my life.
If I could have any potion in the world right now, I’d have Felix Felicis because I just entered my novel into a contest and I feel like my heart has the flu. It’s like Ron and the spiders all over again. If you’ve got extra luck to wish, I’m accepting donations of good fortune and crossed fingers.