James shook his head, his cheeks reddening with anger and embarrassment.
A metallic slam sounded behind him. Turning, he saw the strange narrow doors of the Yorke cabinet. Of course, it wasn't a true vanishing cabinet at all, having come from a strictly Muggle school. The green-painted lockers had been especially charmed to function as a portal, despite their completely mundane appearance.
Ralph shrugged. "Looks like we're up next."
Together, they approached the lockers and thumbed open two of the narrow doors. The interiors were very small and shallow. Ralph peered into his locker with obvious trepidation.
"It's going to be a bit snug," he commented.
James nodded. "Want a little help? I could try to Reducio you a little." It was supposed to be a joke, but Ralph seemed to consider it. Finally he shook his head reluctantly. With a small shrug, James stepped into his locker. Next to him, the metal wall groaned as Ralph crammed into his own space.
A moment later, the metal doors swung to with a squeak and a slam. A flash of blinding light erupted all around James, accompanied by a sense of falling. The locker was too small to jump in, but the confined space kept him from tumbling out when the door popped back open.
He peered out, blinking. Shadows moved in a dim space, echoing with distant voices. James clambered out of the locker, joining his classmates.
"What is this?" he asked Joseph Torrance. "Looks like some sort of… dungeon."
Joseph nodded as he glanced around. "But I've never seen a dungeon painted that particular shade of, er, mint green."
"A little help?" Ralph said in a strained voice.
James turned around and saw Ralph still crammed awkwardly into his locker, waving a hand at him. James grabbed his friend's hand with both of his and gave a sharp tug. Ralph tumbled out, nearly bringing the narrow metal door with him. As soon as he was out, the locker doors slammed shut, sending a loud CLANG echoing along the narrow room.
"Thanks," Ralph muttered, running a hand through his dishevelled hair. "Blimey, it's hot in here. What is this, a steam bath?"
"It might be, for all we know," James said, glancing around the dim space. Painted cinder block walls formed a long room, floored with cracked concrete and divided by a long, wooden bench. The rear wall was covered with lockers beneath a single high, cramped window, its milky pebbled glass reinforced with wire mesh. At the head of the room was a heavy wooden door with a single square window set into it. Shapes moved beyond this, accompanied by the dense echo of raucous voices.
Fiona Fourcompass stamped her foot impatiently. "What kind of reception is this, anyway? What are we supposed to do? Where's our teacher?"
"Door's locked," Kevin Murdoch announced, giving the door handle a futile pull. He produced his wand and grinned, fingering it. "Dumb Muggles don't know locks can't stop me."
"I wouldn't--" James began, but it was too late. Murdoch levelled his wand at the door handle and loudly called the unlocking spell.
There was a flash of dense, purple light and Murdoch flew backwards, propelled by some invisible force. He bowled into several other students, sending them tumbling backwards over the narrow bench.
James jumped back, bumping into Ralph but avoiding the domino effect that sent most of the others sprawling to the floor. At that moment, a loud clamour sounded in the hall outside, a sort of jangling bell. As if in response, the babble of voices rose in pitch. Doors slammed in the distance, closing off the sound by degrees, and then, just as Kevin Murdoch and the rest began to scramble upright from the floor, there came the unmistakable sound of a key socking into a lock. The door at the head of the room swung ponderously open, revealing a tall, middle-aged woman with stern features and iron grey hair pulled back into a tight bun. She surveyed the room grimly, her eyes enlarged behind a pair of heavy, black-framed spectacles.
"How dare you attempt magic in our school…" she breathed, her low voice echoing along the narrow room. James saw that she was quite thin, almost painfully so, and dressed in a severe grey pant suit. Her heavy glasses seemed far too large for her face, perched on the blade of her nose like a see-saw. Behind the bulbous lenses, her eyes flicked over every face in the room, as if cataloguing them. Then, primly, she stepped inside and allowed the door to swing shut behind her. Without a word, she approached the corner nearest the door and bent to pick something up. When she turned back, she was holding a white laundry bag, stuffed and dangling by its drawstring.
"While you are within these halls," she said, speaking with such chilly calm that it seemed to lower the room's temperature by ten degrees, "you will not… work… magic. You will not use the word magic. You will not say anything about witches, or wizards, or any other detail of your secret little world. I would not have thought I'd need to say that, but apparently I do. If that door had not been especially fortified by your own masters, you would apparently even now be roaming the halls of this school, wreaking whatever magical havoc you wished, regardless of the consequences. All of you, on your feet, if you please."
James and Ralph made room as those that had fallen backwards clambered upright again. As the class shuffled into place on either side of the bench, James counted eight students total. All of them, strangely, were Hogwarts students.
"My name," the woman said icily, "is Miss Corsica. I will be your liaison and teacher whenever you are here at Yorke Academy. If you have questions, you will address them to me. Is that understood?"
James took the opportunity to glance at Ralph, his eyebrows raised. He nodded surreptitiously toward the woman. Ralph shrugged one shoulder. It certainly wasn't the Corsica they had been halfexpecting.
The woman drew a quick breath and went on. "In the absence of any questions, allow me to enlighten you about your purpose here. As you are surely aware, certain events earlier this year have caused a serious crack in the shroud of secrecy that has hidden your world from ours for centuries. Many believe that this shroud will soon fall away completely, thrusting the magical and non-magical worlds together once again. To soften the potential shock of such a revelation, a programme of careful, deliberate integration has been undertaken. That, students, is why you are here. You will interact with a select group of Yorke students who have been made aware of your world. Then, when and if the time comes that your secrets are fully revealed, they will assist their friends in adapting to that new reality."
As Corsica continued, James leaned toward Ralph and whispered, "So that's why the Minister of Magic was so keen on international magical cooperation all of a sudden! It was all just a cover for this."
Ralph bobbed his head. "I wonder if your dad knows about it?"
That, James thought, was a very good question. One he would get answered as soon as he could.
In front of James, Murdoch raised his hand. Corsica paused, obviously peeved at the interruption.
"Apparently we have a question after all," She stated bluntly, raising one eyebrow at Murdoch.
"Just this," Murdoch said, glancing around at his classmates. "If this is all about getting the Muggles ready for the magical world, then why aren't there any other wizarding schools here? Why just Hogwarts people?"
"I'm sure I don't know," Corsica replied tersely. "It was a strictly voluntary programme. Perhaps not everyone in the magical world is quite as prepared to mingle with us as you lovely children are."
James grimaced, not only at Corsica's obvious sarcasm, but at the probable truth of her words. It was hard to imagine any Durmstrang students wanting to mix with Muggles, even if Durmstrang was a part of the programme-- which was unlikely, considering their attitude even toward Muggle-born witches and wizards. Beauxbatons students were more accepting of Muggles, of course, but would probably be bored at the very idea of attending a dull, non-magical school in some nondescript English village. Still, why weren't there any Alma Aleron students? Considering the popularity of the Progressive Element at the American school, this sort of thing should have been just their cup of tea. He reminded himself to ask Z
ane about it next time he saw him. Then, of course, he reminded himself that Zane was a bit shirty with him at the moment. He sighed unhappily as Corsica went on.
"Regarding the students here at Yorke, those in your classes know who and what you are, and have already met many of you at your own school. A few others are aware, including some teachers, though not all of them by any means. Thus, you will go nowhere without me. You will not interact with any other students outside of my presence. And you will never come here outside of class time. Is that understood?"
There was a general murmur of sullen assent.
"Very well," Corsica said curtly. "I see by the way most of you are dressed that you do not have any concept of the term 'physical education'. Not to worry, you will know soon enough. Suffice it to say, it will behoove you to attire yourselves in these."
She swung the laundry bag forward and allowed it to flop to the floor. The drawstring loosened, revealing a mass of dingy grey tee shirts and navy shorts.
"What are these," Fiona Fourcompass frowned. "You can't seriously…"
Murdoch pulled one of the tee shirts out of the bag and held it up. Blue letters on the front of the shirt formed the words ST. BRUTUS SECURE CENTRE. "What kind of place is this? Is this where we're supposed to be from?"
"Tut-tut," Corsica chided, raising her chin. "You can't very well just show up at Yorke Academy with no back story. As far as most of the students here are concerned, you represent a rehabilitation programme wherein… er… troubled youths are reintroduced to law-abiding society. Now do change your clothing with haste. Girls will take the changing room on the left, boys on the right. Quickly, students. Your new classmates await."
It seemed there was nothing for it but to change into the horrible gym clothing. Disconsolately, James joined the rest as they dug through the sack, searching for a tee shirt and shorts that would fit. The clothing was all rather hopelessly rumpled and had a disconcerting dampness to it, as if it had spent the past few decades in a mouldy basement closet.
Ten minutes later, the students reconvened in the main locker room, barely recognizing each other in their new uniforms.
"This is ridiculous," Ralph seethed under his breath. James looked him over.
"So your shorts are a little snug," he commented, trying to downplay the ridiculous shortness of the big boy's blue trunks. "It's not that bad, really. At least your shirt doesn't hang down nearly to your knees. Nobody can even tell that I'm wearing shorts"
"Single file line, please," Corsica announced loudly as the students gathered. "Your masters have informed me that you do not, in fact, partake in physical education at your own school. Thus, they have given me permission to arrange a particularly rigorous regimen for you. There will be no complaints. If you cannot keep up with the Yorke football squad-- seven times champions though they may be-- then perhaps you should not have considered signing up for this class to begin with. Comport yourselves well, and perhaps you may earn the respect of your new classmates, and in time the goodwill of the entire non-magical world. Understood?"
There was even less enthusiasm this time. Corsica interrupted the muttered response with a raised finger. "The proper answer is a cheerful,'yes, Miss Corsica.' Now, am I understood?"
A scattering of voices repeated the phrase discordantly. Corsica seemed content with this. In fact, to James' eye, she seemed almost to be enjoying the discomfort of her new charges.
"Very well," Corsica nodded. "I will lead the way to the gymnasium. First, however, you will form a tidy line in the hallway outside this door. No talking, please, as classes have reconvened. If by some chance, however, you believed you would be permitted to bring your magical wands into the school proper, I fear you were mistaken. As you pass, you will deposit any wands in this." She nudged a large plastic pail with her foot.
There were groans throughout the room. James himself had slipped his wand into his sock. He glanced at Ralph, frowning thinly. Together with much of the rest of the class, they retrieved their wands and began to pass, one by one, through the door. The pail clattered repeatedly as wands were dropped into it.
James was the last to leave the locker room. As he passed Corsica, she said his name in a low voice.
Surprised, James turned, looking back at the stern-faced teacher. She was offering him a small, tight smile.
"So, how's Albus doing, then?" she asked in a low voice. "And little Lily? She didn't perchance end up in Slytherin as well, did she? I would find that a bit… unexpected."
James frowned at her in surprise. "How do you…?"
Corsica shrugged languidly and reached to touch her overlarge glasses. "Life is a funny thing, James. Considering my youth, Azkaban was out of the question, thankfully, thus I was sentenced to a year at the Ministry's field office in Australia, doomed to spend my penance cataloguing poisonous water beetles. Hard to imagine the point, really. Absolutely everything in Australia seems to be poisonous. Then, happily, this post came up, and the a certain benefactor convinced the Wizengamot that it might teach me a certain necessary… humility."
Corsica removed her glasses as she spoke. When she did so, her entire face changed-- indeed, every aspect of her appearance shifted out of focus, then resolved again differently, as if the spectacles had been the keystone of a sort of projected, magical disguise. Suddenly, Tabitha Corsica stood before him, her long black hair hanging like an ebony curtain down her back, her pretty, piercingly black eyes twinkling at him.
"It's you…" James muttered in disbelief.
"It's me," she agreed, cocking her head coyly. "The Ministry felt that my youth and, er, physical charm might be a detriment to my acceptance here at Yorke, thus…" she sneered with distaste at the chunky black glasses in her hand, "This." Her expression cleared again and she smiled at James. "It is nice to see you again, James. Our last meeting was under such… unfortunate circumstances. I just want you to know that I don't blame you for anything. You probably cannot help being an insufferable, meddling, destroyer of other people's hopes and dreams. I'm sure it just comes… naturally."
"Tabitha," James said, shaking his head. "I didn't… that's not how it…"
"Tut-tut," she interrupted, waving her glasses dismissively. "It's all in the past. I am content to let bygones be bygones. We have a whole term ahead of us, James." She paused consideringly, and then put her glasses back on again. Her appearance changed back to her older, grey-haired persona. She leaned closer, as if she meant to share a dark secret. "I promise to make it challenging, James." Her smile widened, thinning her lips and crinkling the corners of her now-grey eyes. "We both know how much you like… a good…challenge."
James saw no reason to keep Corsica's identity a secret. He told Ralph, Rose and Scorpius about it that evening as they gathered around a table in the corner of the library.
"She did look sort of familiar," Ralph nodded thoughtfully. "It's not so much a disguise as it is just an older version of herself. Maybe the glasses are charmed to age her by twenty years or so."
"Well they sure don't make her any more likeable," James groused. "She's going to be a right nightmare. I'm going to be sore for days from all that running she made us do."
Ralph moaned in agreement. "And what about that rope-climbing bit in the gymnasium? I have it on good authority that that's not even physically possible."
Rose pursed her lips. "I hear that the Muggle students did all right."
"Some of them, yeah," James admitted. "But they're, like, actual athletes. Champion footballers, apparently, and twice the size of most of us."
Ralph brightened a bit. "At least Comstock couldn't do it. Smarmy little git just dangled there like a chunk of fat bait on a fishing line."
Rose frowned in distaste. "I thought the whole point of this programme was to create a bridge between the Muggle and magical worlds."
"That's what Corsica says," James nodded dourly.
"What's what Corsica says?" another voice asked, accompanied by a pile of books plunking to the table.
James leaned back in his chair as Albus plopped down next to him. "You're not talking about Tabby, are you?"
"Ugh," James groaned. "I feel the sick rising in my throat every time you call her that."
"She turned up at Yorke today," Ralph explained. "Turns out she's been sent there by the Ministry to oversee a sort of getting-to-know-you programme with the Muggles, just in case the Vow of Secrecy completely falls apart."
Albus considered this for a moment. "Makes sense to me.
"Yeah, well it seems totally dodgy to me," James countered, sitting up in his seat. "The Ministry is supposed to be trying to fix the Vow of Secrecy, not getting ready to give it up entirely."
Ralph shrugged. "Maybe they're just trying to be prepared. You know, just in case."
"It does seem a bit more like planning than preparing," Rose admitted. "But either way, it's out of our hands. We've got enough to worry about, what with this Collector person going all native in New Amsterdam and planning some magical coupe or something." She met James' eyes as he glanced at her.
"Which I am still researching, James, and no leads yet. Although I am sure I've heard of it somewhere."
Albus knitted his brow. "Heard of what? And who the bloody hell is the Collector?"
"Don't say that word," Lily chided blandly as she squeezed in across from him, letting her knapsack thump to the floor next to her chair. "If mum was here, she'd leather you with a hex."
James sighed impatiently. "The Collector is some vicious wizard who's taken up hiding in New Amsterdam, enslaving a bunch of people who stayed around after the evacuation. He's planning some megamagical attack or something. The Morrigan Web."
"What word am I not supposed to say?" Albus frowned, turning back to Lily. "Bloody hell? What are you, Mum's deputy or something?"
"Maybe I am." Lily replied primly, raising her eyebrows and opening one of Albus' books. "This isn't even a textbook. It's one of those Dragonheart Twins Adventure stories. Where did you even get this? They don't stock drivel like this in the library."
"They don't stock those horrible Persephone Remora vampire books either but that doesn't stop you from soaking up every last bloody one of them like it was bloody ambrosia."
James Potter and the Morrigan Web Page 23