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There was only one fire spell that Harry was in awe of. One spell that he considered a masterwork of spellcraft. Not that it could be considered a single spell by most definitions (or that he had very much experiance), being more along the lines of a binary spell that had many, many different primary and secondary components.

The first part was nothing more or less than a set what any muggleborn or raised would call a pilot light. Though there were a half a dozen separate ones of varying intensity. Ranging from barely hot reds, to blindingly bright and searing whites.

The second was a series of spell parts that could describe air-fuel mixtures, containment arrays (which were almost always will enforced), and shutoff commands. This allowed a mage with a good enough memory, fast enough hands, and quick enough tongue, to throw together a wide combination of fire attacks at the drop of a hat.

It had last been used before the Statue of Secrecy went in place, for the sheer reason that its name described its almost sole use.

Warfire.

It also had one other component. It was used as a purifying flame. If an area had a magical battle take place, and the earth itself became cursed because someone used some very black magic, it would be put to the flame with this spell, and all trace of the damage would be gone, burned away with all else.

His feral grin returned as he spoke the three syllables for the hottest pilot light, a violently bright white thing that seemed to flicker greedily for air. His eyes took on a manic gleam as he uttered the five syllables for the most volatile fuel mixture and the tightest containment he knew, while bearing his will down on the shape the fire would take.

As he pushed his magic down his wand, three loose rows of runes, already lightly etched into the wood from his previous casting, flashed into existence upon the magic focus, each row twisting ever so slightly to the right, ending at the tip directly above where the row adjacent started.

When the spell ripped free of the wand, a bright white bar of fire so thick it almost seemed solid slammed into a Dementor, lighting it up lack a gasoline soaked rag. It screamed in a voice that could only be described as unholy.

And Harry braced the wrist of his current wandhand with his other hand, and started to swing the beam of fire in an arc that would light up more of the demons, as a pair of Patroni started circling him.

---

Remus and Sirius stared wide eyed as they saw Dementors killed. They were frozen in astonishment for a moment. And so were the Dementors.

Then the things came to their collective senses and fled, turning and scampering as though they seemed to have just one mind.

http://www.fanfiction.net/s/8253087/11/