The Curse of the GateKeeper (James Potter #2)

by G. Norman Lippert

  As they broke away from the Slytherin table, Albus was positively bursting with excitement. "I got my ring key already, see? Spent the whole weekend getting the grand tour with the Fang and Talons. Did you know the Slytherin rooms have their own casting range? We can practice almost any spells and curses we want on these enchanted dummies. If you get a curse right, the dummy drops on the floor and does this hilarious imitation of the effect. Not that I'm any good at the wandwork yet, but Tabby says I shouldn't rush it."

  James nearly choked. "'Tabby'?"

  "Yeah," Albus nodded. "Tabitha Corsica. She's the unofficial head of Fang and Talons. I mean, nobody is really an official anything in the club. It's really just a joke with the Slytherins."

  James looked back at Ralph, his eyebrows raised.

  "Tabitha tried to get me in last year, before the debate. It's kind of a secret society, although there's not much secret about it if you're a Slytherin."

  "Tabby says it's fine for me to talk to you about it, James," Albus assured. "But I'd keep it hush-hush if I was you. I mean, we don't want just anybody to know about it. What fun would that be?"

  "So what's going on with Tabitha this Wednesday?" James asked.

  "What?"

  "This Wednesday," James said, stopping as they reached the archway leading outside to the greenhouses. "Tabitha said she'd make arrangements with you about something."

  "Oh, that," Albus said, glancing out at the glass buildings twinkling in the morning sunlight. "That's just for Quidditch try-outs. She says she'd love to see me get on the team."

  James smiled uncomfortably. "But you don't have a broom or anything. Trust me, those house brooms are useless. I couldn't even fly in a straight line until I got my Thunderstreak."

  "That's not going to be a problem," Albus said, shouldering his pack and grinning. "Tabby says she'll let me use her broom for the try-out."

  James' mouth dropped open, but Albus turned away before he could say anything. "Got to be off, big brother," he called over his shoulder. "Can't be late to first class!" He strode out into the sunlight, joining a few other first-year Slytherins who'd been skulking nearby. James turned to Ralph, his mouth still hanging open.

  "First I heard of it," Ralph said, raising his hands, palm out. "I'm not part of 'Tabby's' crew, you know."

  "But that broom…," James sputtered, "it's… it's evil!"

  "Come on," Ralph said. "Let it go for now. Class starts in five minutes."

  As James turned reluctantly to follow Ralph, he passed Scorpius on his way out to the greenhouses. Scorpius smirked at James and bumped him with his shoulder. James almost said something, but a nearby Slytherin beat him to it.

  "Forsooth, mine breaking heart, Malfoy!" the boy called, clutching his chest. There was a chorus of laughter. Scorpius ignored them.

  "Why isn't Debellows having class in the Defence Against the Dark Arts classroom?" Ralph asked, studying his schedule as they threaded through the crowded corridors. "This is taking us all the way to the other side of the castle."

  James shrugged, distracted. "Couldn't guess."

  They reached the designated room and filed in with the rest of the second-years. The classroom was huge with a very high ceiling and high windows along one wall. There were no chairs or desks. Instead, there were padded mats on the floors, old-fashioned dumbbells arranged in a long rack, and an assortment of clockwork dummies and complicated apparatuses covered with pads and pommels.

  Morgan Patonia, the Hufflepuff, walked in and stopped, looking around the space. "Hmph. Welcome to the Hogwarts gymnasium," she said in a bewildered voice. "I didn't even know we had one of these."

  The class shuffled nervously around the space, not quite sure what to do with themselves. Kevin Murdock, the Slytherin with whom James had had Technomancy the previous year, grabbed a couple of the dumbbells and hefted them, showing off for a pair of Ravenclaw girls who rolled their eyes.

  "Greetings, class!" a voice boomed heartily. James turned to see Professor Debellows striding into the room from a rear door. He was dressed in a short tunic and sandals and had a towel slung around his neck. "As you know, I am your new teacher for Defence Against the Dark Arts, Kendrick Debellows. I hate being called Professor anything, so feel free to call me by my first name. We'll not stand on protocol in this class. I want you all to think of me as your friend and partner. Do have a seat, all of you."

  James saw Ralph glance around, as if he expected a row of chairs to have suddenly appeared. The rest of the class was doing the same thing, their faces vaguely confused.

  "On the mats!" Debellows laughed. "My word, this is going to be a learning experience for all of us, I daresay. On the mats, students. Anywhere you like. That's the spirit."

  James hunkered down with his back against one of the clockwork dummies. As he leaned against it, it emitted a soft click and a whirring sound. The arm of the dummy popped upwards and the hand balled into a huge, padded fist. James boggled up at it, then at Ralph. Ralph looked characteristically worried as he settled uncomfortably on the mat.

  "I don't know what kind of classes you are used to in the past, students," Debellows said, clasping his hands behind his back and rocking on his heels. "In fact, I have specifically asked not to be told of the methods of your previous Defence teachers. I have my way of doing things, a way that proved very successful during my years as the leader of the Harriers, and I intend to implement the same methods here. Many of you will be familiar with my exploits, but let me assure you: this is not a lecture class. We will not be discussing my adventures at great length, although they may from time to time prove instructive and illustrative. No, this is going to be a class where we do things. To learn is to perform! And perform you shall. You will most likely end up sore and exhausted. You may return from our classes bruised, sweaty, and bedraggled. But you will become strong! I will do my best to teach you everything I have gleaned from my years of confronting the Dark Arts. Now, I will require a volunteer."

  Debellows' gimlet eyes roamed eagerly over the crowd of second-years. A Ravenclaw named Joseph Torrance raised his hand tentatively.

  "Excellent, that's it, don't be shy," Debellow's called heartily. "Come on up here, young man. I don't know your name, but I'll call you Ignatious."

  "My name's Joseph," the boy said, joining Debellows at the front of the room.

  "Joe, then. Fine, fine. What I want you to do, Joe, is pretend to be a werewolf. I want you to attack me."

  "Attack you, sir?" Joseph said a bit uncertainly.

  "Yes, yes, as a werewolf. Just lunge at me, go for the throat. Don't be afraid to hurt me."

  Joseph swallowed, glancing out at the room, then back at Debellows. Gamely, he crouched, raised his hands with his fingers hooked, and charged, making a fair attempt at a ravenous howl. Just as he jumped, Debellows spun. In a blur of motion, he hooked one leg over the boy, spun him upwards into the air, produced his wand, and shouted an unintelligible command. Joseph froze in midair a moment before he'd have crashed to the mat. His face was still contorted in a comedic growl.

  The class had barely had time to gasp before it was over. There was a moment of awed silence, and then a burst of applause. Graham nudged Morgan, nodding excitedly and pointing.

  "He's perfectly all right," Debellows called, shaking back the sleeves of his tunic. "He's not even paralyzed, just suspended. Isn't that right, Ignatious?" He patted the boy on his upraised foot.

  "It's Joseph, sir," the boy replied, shaking himself and glaring nervously down at the floor.

  "Joe, yes, certainly. The point, of course, is not to harm the poor creature, but simply to get its feet off the ground. If it cannot touch the ground, it cannot charge. If it cannot charge… well, the rest is elementary, as you can see. Brace yourself, Joe."

  Joseph barely had time to thrust his hands out in front of him before Debellows tapped him with his wand. The boy toppled to the mat.

  Debellows looked brightly out over the students. "Any questions?"

&n
bsp; Graham shot his hand into the air. "What was that incantation, sir?"

  "Tsk, tsk, tsk," Debellows chided, ticking his finger at Graham. "Let's not get ahead of ourselves, Mr., ah, young man. 'Stamina before spells' is my motto. Did you happen to notice the maneuver I used to get the werewolf into the air first? That is the key to the entire affair. The spellwork is merely the icing on the cake. No, in this class, we will apply ourselves to the discipline of physically preparing ourselves for the challenges we may face as defenders of right. Did you know, class, that a fit-enough wizard may overcome even the Imperius Curse if he has enough stamina and mental force of will? It is true. For too long, the focus of civilian Defence Against the Dark Arts has been quick and dirty spellwork, protection charms, and tricky hexes. Here, I will not make you merely proficient in theory. Here, I will make you into warriors!"

  He beamed out at the room, his dark crew cut bristling. After a moment, Kevin Murdock began to clap. The rest of the class joined in halfheartedly.

  "I know you probably aren't excited about my approach," Debellows said, raising one hand. "There are those who do not utilize the same methods as I do; those who do not respect the importance of physical prowess, who believe that Expelliarmus spells and Patronuses are more than enough to battle the most evil of foes. In the Harriers, we call those people 'Aurors'." He grinned, and there was a smattering of laughter. Kevin Murdock smirked back at James, nudging a fellow Slytherin. Debellows went on, "But I think you'll find my approach quite effective in the long run. And I promise you: I will not ask any of you to do anything that I am not willing to do right alongside you. And now!" He clapped his hands together eagerly. "Let us see where we stand. How many of you have ever heard of the Gauntlet?"

  James glanced around the room. No one raised their hand this time. Debellows seemed undeterred.

  "The Gauntlet is an ancient tool used by those training for battle. It is a sort of clockwork obstacle course. Granted, being wizards, we have outfitted ours with certain, er, specialized capabilities. There is no point to the Gauntlet other than to surpass it. Surely, you have all heard the phrase 'run the gauntlet'? I am about to illustrate what that phrase actually means."

  Debellows paced briskly across the room and stopped at the end of the line of clockwork apparatuses. He clasped his hands to his elbows and twisted back and forth at the waist, jumped from foot to foot half a dozen times, and then finally dropped to a crouch. He extended one arm, pointing his wand at the line of devices.

  "Defendeum!" he barked.

  Immediately, the apparatuses ratcheted, whirred, and clanked to life. Debellows launched forward, tucking and rolling beneath the first device as it swung a padded club across his path. With a grunt, the man leapt into the remaining clockwork. He moved in a sort of muscular ballet, lunging, crouching, and leaping through the mechanical melee. He dodged spinning wheels of padded fists, ducked under Stunning Spells fired from a bank of pop-up wands, leapt over kicking pommels and snapping padded jaws, and finally dove, flipped, and landed neatly on his feet at the end of the Gauntlet.

  There was no applause this time. James stared, horrified, at the wildly thrashing clockwork monstrosity.

  "So!" Debellows called over the noise of the Gauntlet, jamming his fists onto his hips. "Who'll be first up, then?"

  "He's completely daft!" Graham exclaimed as he limped his way to History of Magic. "He must've taken one too many Stupefies to the brain when he was a Harrier or something!"

  "No spells until Year Four," Ralph said, shaking his head. "And what was that stuff at the end? Who's Artis Decerto?"

  "It's not a who, it's a what," Rose said, falling in next to Ralph. "It's a sort of magical version of karate."

  James nursed his elbow where it'd been pummeled in the Gauntlet. "Where are you going, Rose?"

  "History of Magic," she replied primly.

  Ralph glanced at her. "Our History of Magic?"

  "I don't know what you mean by that," Rose said, pulling herself to her full height, which was approximately to Ralph's Adam's apple. "My schedule has me in History of Magic, second period, Professor Binns. I can't help it if my advisor suggested I skip to some higher-level classes. So things didn't go so well with Professor Debellows?"

  "We aren't supposed to call him 'Professor'," Graham said sourly. "He wants to be our mate, don't you know."

  "The kind of mate that makes you do fifty pushups if you can't manage to avoid getting plastered by a giant, padded fist," Ralph said mournfully.

  "I hate to say it, but it will probably do some of you some good," Rose said, eyeing the boys appraisingly.

  "Just wait until you have your first class with him," James growled. "See how perky you are afterwards."

  As they filed into the History of Magic classroom, the ghostly Professor Binns seemed to be in midlecture. His back was turned as he wrote on the chalkboard with a piece of phantom chalk. Strangely, he seemed to be writing notes on top of older notes, creating a nonsensical mish-mash. There was the distinct impression that the chalkboard contained years of the professor's ghostly writings, layer upon layer fading into dimness. As James knew, Binns had only the slightest grip on temporal reality. Last year, Ted had told James that the school had tried to move the History of Magic classroom to another wing so as to make space for the visiting Alma Alerons. Unfortunately, Professor Binns continued to promptly appear in the old room every day to perform his lectures despite the fact that the classroom had been temporarily converted to an Alma Aleron girls' dormitory. No amount of persuasion could convince the ghost to relocate his classes, and the room was shortly converted back to a classroom.

  Awkwardly, the students found their seats and began to produce parchments and quills. After a minute, Rose cleared her throat rather loudly and called the professor's name. Binns stopped writing on the chalkboard and turned, peering mistily back at Rose through his spectacles.

  "Yes, Miss Granger?"

  There was a ripple of laughter and Rose reddened. "I'm not Miss Granger, sir. I'm Rose Weasley, her daughter. I, er, think we missed the first part of your lecture."

  "Another generation already," Binns muttered to himself. "Very well, then."

  The ghost reached for a phantom eraser and began to swipe it across the chalkboard, producing absolutely no effect.

  "You'll never make sense of his notes. You just have to listen to his lecture," Graham whispered confidentially. "It's a challenge, but the good news is that he's been giving the same tests for forty years. The answers are carved right into the tops of the desks. See?"

  James had had Professor Binns last year, but he'd not heard this particular legend. He looked down at the worn graffiti carved into the desktop. Sure enough, buried in the center, was a list of numbered terms and phrases. At the top, like a headline, was the phrase, 'WHEN IN DOUBT, JUST SAY "GOBLIN REBELLION"'.

  "That's cheating," Rose said without much conviction. "Er, technically."

  "You will recall," Binns said, removing his glasses and wiping them absently on his ancient, ghostly lapel, "last year, we completed our studies with the end of the magical Dark Ages, in which men and wizards finally parted ways after centuries of unrest. The magical world allowed the Muggle kingdoms to believe that they had dispersed and eventually died out. Contrariwise, of course, the magical world developed in secret, as it has existed ever since, bypassing the typical frictions inherent in the interaction of the magical and the nonmagical. This brings us to the very beginnings of the modern age of wizard history, in which strictly magical establishments came into existence. This year, we will study the histories of those establishments, from governments to economy to education. Initially, nearly all of those details were managed inside the same walls, and by the same people. You may be aware that this very castle was the center of the magical world for quite some time before it was exclusively classified as a place of learning."

  Rose studiously scribbled notes on her parchment. Ralph was watching her with curious fascination, either because
of her persistence in taking notes or because her handwriting was so meticulously precise. James wished Zane was here to make an amusing drawing of Professor Binns. Idly, he doodled on his own parchment.

  "Magical photography," Binns continued, "while much older than the Muggle equivalent, was still in its infancy at the founding of Hogwarts. Here, in what was, at the time, still an experimental medium, we see the only remaining photographic representation of the original founders of Hogwarts."

  James looked up to see the professor pointing his ghostly wand at a small, framed picture on the wall. James squinted at it but couldn't quite make it out. He hadn't known there were any photos of the founders and he was quite curious to see what they really looked like. He glanced around the room, but no one else seemed to be having any difficulty making out the ancient photo. James pressed his lips together. It was going to have to happen sooner or later. As quietly as he could, he reached into his bag and found the little pocket that held his new glasses. He slipped them out and, as surreptitiously as possible, put them on. Immediately, the ancient photo came into focus.

  "Technically, it is not a photograph as we would know it, but a sort of flash-painting created with specially hexed paints. In any event, the result is a faithful, if crude, image. Here we see all four of the original founders standing in front of their statues in the original rotunda. This was taken rather late in their careers, upon the occasion of the naming and dedication of Hogwarts as a school of witchcraft and wizardry over ten centuries ago."

  James studied the ancient image. It was indeed very grainy and only in black and white. Still, he could clearly make out the four figures, two witches and two wizards. Godric Gryffindor's long face wore his famous mustache and pointed goatee. Salazar Slytherin's features were pinched, with sharp cheeks and chin. He was perfectly bald. Helga Hufflepuff was tall and severe-looking, with long braided hair. Rowena Ravenclaw wore her greying black hair loose, framing a beautiful, smiling face with large, dark eyes. Behind them could be seen their statues, but only from the waist down. The statues had indeed been very large.