“It is my honor,” the raven-haired figure answered in a cold, calm voice. A tear dripped from the figure’s chin and struck the pool, where it steamed.
James slept on. And in the morning, he barely remembered the dream. But his phantom scar throbbed worryingly, and James wondered about it, knowing it meant something, but unable to quite work out what. He made his way down to breakfast, and by the time he entered the Great Hall, the pain in his forehead had gone entirely. Albus and Rose were seated at the Gryffindor table with Hugo and Petra, and all of them were engaged in raucous conversation. James joined them, smiling happily.
By the time breakfast was over, he’d completely forgotten the dream.
14. ARTIS DECERTO
The Christmas holiday ended strangely for James. Since neither he, Rose nor Albus had gone anywhere, there was no doleful return trip. Instead, it felt as if school returned to them. On the Sunday when most of the students arrived back from their travels, James and Rose sat in a sunny window seat overlooking the courtyard. Silently, they watched bundled classmates unloading their bags and trunks, lugging them up the steps to the main entrance. The enormous snowman James, Rose, and Albus had erected was becoming soft in a sudden thaw. Its carrot nose drooped sadly and one of its stick arms had fallen off. Melting snow dripped steadily from the castle roofs and balconies. James felt rather glad that the holidays were over and looked forward to resuming classes and drama rehearsals.
Strangely enough, none of them had seen Merlin at all during the entire holiday. James had passed Professor McGonagall in the hall outside her office, and she had informed him that, as far as she knew, Merlin had spent the holiday at the castle.
“It isn’t as if the Headmaster has any family, you know,” she’d commented. “And one can only assume that his Christmas traditions would be rather different than ours, at any rate. Besides, Headmaster Ambrosius is a very private man, as you may have noticed. If he had any plans, I doubt he’d have told any of us.”
Classes began again and James noticed that the second half of the term had a rather different tone than the first. Especially with the older students, there was a noticeably more serious attitude about homework and studies. All in all, it made James glad he was not yet old enough to participate in O.W.L. or N.E.W.T. examinations.
As Defence Against the Dark Arts classes resumed, Professor Debellows introduced techniques from a form of magical martial arts called Artis Decerto. James’ attitude about such things had been rather transformed by his encounter with Salazar Slytherin on the top of the Sylvven Tower, where he’d surprised himself by putting Debellows physical defensive techniques to very good use. He paid close attention to the new moves, which looked quite a lot like dancing, but were actually a method of keeping one’s body light and flexible, allowing for impressive displays of spell dodging. As an example, Debellows invited the class to form a line and make their wands ready. One by one, each student was to attempt to Disarm, Stun, or Sting Debellows. “Your choice,” the professor said, grinning and hopping lightly from foot to foot.
“This is finally getting good,” Trenton Bloch muttered, fingering his wand.
As the first spells began to fire, Debellows dodged them with amazing, almost effortless ease. He barely seemed to be watching the line of students. He simply glanced once as each person in the line raised their wand, then he’d turn, lunge, duck, or even pirouette, allowing the spell to flit past him harmlessly, usually missing him by mere inches. James had to admit that it was a rather amazing display, but he was determined that his spell would strike its mark. He decided he would aim directly for Debellows’ feet since they, at least, were usually attached to the floor. When his turn came, James raised his wand, aimed fleetingly for Debellows chest, and then, as quickly as he could, pointed downwards and fired. Even as the spell shot from his wand, Debellows was in the air, turning lightly. James’ Stunning Spell snuffed itself out on Debellows’ shadow. A moment later, the big man came down on his hands and the tips of his toes, as if he was doing a push-up. With a heave and a grunt, he flung himself upright again, landing easily on his feet. Deftly, he caught his own wand, which he had lobbed upwards during his leap.
“Bluh-dee hell!” Graham Warton cried. Amazed applause rippled over the students.
Kendra Corner raised her hand. “How long before we can do that?”
“Patience, students,” Debellows called, chuckling and mopping his brow with a towel. “Artis Decerto is a lifetime study. It is much more than a physical art; it is a mental discipline. It incorporates the skills of levitation, divination, and even Apparition, allowing the wizard to know when and where his opponent is going to strike and not to be there when it happens. Only the clumsiest wizard relies solely on the strength of his spells. The ablest wizard knows that if he plays the game well, he need not use spells at all.”
James decided that, as unlikable as Debellows was, Artis Decerto was a technique well worth learning. He devoted himself to the practice drills and mental exercises Debellows prescribed even though they seemed hopelessly difficult and abstract.
“Know your opponent better than he knows himself,” Debellows commanded. “It need not take years of study; most wizards know very little of themselves. Gauge them in an instant. Take their measure. If you succeed in this, you will always have the upper hand, for you will know what they are going to do before they do themselves. You will already be preparing your defence, and eventually, your counter-attack.”
“When do we get to that part?” Trenton said, lowering his wand in frustration. “I’m sick of trying to read the other bloke’s mind. I want to magic something.”
“In time, Mr. er, young man,” Debellows replied, waving a hand. “First, you must understand the logistics of battle. No action should be taken unless you have already foreseen the outcome. Planning and deliberation are key! Magic is but one of the choices available to the cunning wizard. At every stage of the battle, there are three options a warrior may choose. The first choice is to curse his opponent.”
Kevin Murdock pointed his wand at his drill partner and mimed a Killing Curse. “Kapow! You’re dead! That’s what we’ve been waiting for,” he said cheerfully.
“A wholesale and clumsy response, my friend,” Debellows said. “Perhaps you’d like to try that technique on me?”
Murdock’s face reddened as he remembered the way Debellows had dodged the myriad spells. He shook his head quickly, lowering his wand.
Debellows nodded once. “Good choice, boy. You have just illustrated the second option a wizard may choose in battle: to wait and watch for his opponent to make the next move. The cunning warrior will be able to exploit his opponent’s action and use it against him. If any of you ever see battle, you will likely find yourselves facing an untrained and undisciplined enemy: an enemy who believes that either bravery, power, or enthusiasm will be enough to see him to victory. Get the measure of this enemy, wait for him to make his move, and know it the moment he does. If you succeed in those things, then the battle is already in your hands.”
Trenton Bloch rolled his eyes, obviously unsatisfied. “What’s the third option, then?”
“The third option, my friends,” Debellows said, raising his eyebrows, “is to turn around and walk away.”
“The third option is to retreat?” Morgan Patonia asked, frowning.
Debellows shook his head, smiling grimly. “Not at all. A true warrior never retreats. But a true warrior does know when a battle is not worth fighting. This might be because the enemy is too great, or because the enemy is too weak. Either way, there is no valor in such a battle. The sign of a true warrior, students, is knowing when not to fight.”
“Inspiring stuff,” Trenton muttered, unimpressed. James glanced at him, then back at Debellows. He understood Trenton’s annoyance, and yet, after the duel against Salazar Slytherin in the distant past, James realized he wasn’t quite as quick to dismiss Debellows’ methods as he had been before.
As spring began to
descend on the school grounds, Neville Longbottom started taking his Herbology classes on wandering field trips, teaching them how to identify certain magical plants and trees in the wild. The class slogged reluctantly behind as he led them along the perimeter of the Forbidden Forest and into the marshy shores of the lake.
“Many magical plants have adapted to Muggle environments by disguising themselves as something rather more innocuous,” Neville called happily, kneeling by the edge of the lake. “For instance, this breed of spynuswort has acclimated to life in Muggle areas by disguising itself as stinging nettles, thus assuring no Muggles will attempt to pull it up or harvest it. You can tell the difference by the slight purple hue on the bottom of the leaf. Once the plant is pulled up, however,” Neville gripped the stem and gently tugged it, drawing the root out of the wet earth, “you can see the characteristic taproot of the spynuswort plant, useful for any number of potions and elixirs.”
“I’m not seeing the taproot,” Ashley Doone said, examining the uprooted plant in her own hands. “Just a big root ball.”
Neville looked up. “Er, that’s because that particular plant, Miss Doone, is not so much spynuswort disguised as stinging nettles as it is stinging nettles disguised as, er, itself.”
“Yah!” Ashley cried, dropping the plant and brushing her hands violently on her robes.
“To the hospital wing,” Neville announced, sighing. “Madam Curio has a salve for repelling the stings, but you’d best hurry or you’ll be smarting for hours.”
Ralph and James watched Ashley bolt off toward the castle, her robes flying.
Ralph said to James, “Are we all set for Defence Club tonight?”
“I guess,” James answered. “I’ve barely seen Scorpius since the holiday. Frankly, I think he’s running out of things to teach us.”
“You think so? I’ve learned loads of useful spells from him. That grandfather of his really must have known his stuff.”
“Yeah, well, that grandfather of his was one of the worst people my dad ever knew,” James replied. “Lucius Malfoy was a Death Eater. He’s one of the few who never recanted either, even though old Voldy’s long since dead. He’s in hiding now, probably still waiting for the rise of the pureblood empire. He knew plenty of dark magic, including all three Unforgivable Curses.”
Ralph shrugged. “Well, wherever Scorpius learned it from, I’m glad he did. Considering what’s going on with Merlin and this Gatekeeper thing, I’m glad to learn as many curses and hexes as I can.”
“I don’t know,” James said, lowering his voice. “I’m starting to wonder if we’re going about this all wrong.”
“What do you mean?”
“I mean,” James said, sighing, “what if Debellows is right about what makes a great magical fighter? What if we’re spending too much time just learning curses and hexes and Disarming Spells? Maybe we should start practicing some of those Artis Decerto techniques he’s been showing us.”
Ralph shook his head. “I can’t do stuff like that, James. Look at me. Zane was right. I’m a brick wall.”
“You’re no bigger than Debellows, and you saw what he did, dodging all those spells, moving like he knew exactly where every bolt was going to be. He made it look really easy!”
“Yeah, I know about things that look really easy. Turns out they aren’t. He said Artis Decerto was a lifetime study.”
“So what else you got planned for the rest of your life?” James asked, grinning. “You want to be great at something or what?”
Ralph smiled crookedly. “You think Scorpius can even teach us that stuff?”
“Only one way to find out,” James replied, arching an eyebrow.
But neither Ralph nor James saw Scorpius for the rest of the day. As they walked to the gym for the Defence Club meeting, Rose was rather enthusiastic about using the club to practice Artis Decerto techniques.
“You know he’s hardly even teaching it to the girls,” she fumed. “Debellows is a first-class cretin when it comes to women in combat roles. Some of the best fighters in history have been witches! Hasn’t he ever heard of Chloris the Clobberer? Or Ghia von Guggenheim? Or for that matter, Bellatrix Lestrange and the woman who defeated her, Grandma Weasley?”
“He may not have heard of Grandma Weasley,” Ralph answered thoughtfully. “But you have a point.”
“A woman is arguably more inclined to being good at Artis Decerto,” Rose went on. “We’re more graceful by nature. And more intuitive.”
“Maybe you should teach it, then,” James said with a straight face.
“Maybe I should,” Rose replied, glaring at him.
The three turned into the gymnasium and stopped. Most of the club members were cheering and shouting, gathered in a raucous throng near the line of clockwork dummies. Green flashes lit the group, but James couldn’t see where they were coming from.
James and Rose ran forward, pushing into the throng. James, being taller than Rose, saw what was happening first. The assembled students had formed a semicircle around Tabitha Corsica, Philia Goyle, and Albus. The three Slytherins were smiling happily as they fired green bolts at one of the mechanical target dummies. The dummy thrashed and writhed, spitting tiny cogs and springs, wracking loose of its frame.
“Stop it!” Rose yelled, her cheeks bright red. “What do you think you’re doing? Stop it this instant!”
Tabitha whispered an incantation, shooting one more spell at the dummy, and then raised her wand easily. She turned to peer back over her shoulder at the newcomers. “Good evening, Rose, James,” she said. “Is there a sign-up parchment we should attend to? We’d hate to bypass any of the necessary formalities.”
“What kind of spells were those?” Rose demanded, planting her fists on her hips.
“Calm down, Rosie,” Albus said, pocketing his wand. “We were just having a little fun. It’s just a dummy, you know.”
“You were using Killing Curses,” Rose said, wheeling on Albus. “How dare you? You can’t just come into this club and start using Unforgivable Curses, especially that one! You’ll get us all expelled!”
“The law is rather vague when it comes to practicing Unforgivable Curses on inanimate objects, Rose,” Tabitha said, smiling indulgently. “Besides, what’s the point of a Defence Club if you aren’t going to practice useful defensive techniques?”
“Killing someone is your idea of a defensive technique?” James spat.
Tabitha blinked at him, adopting a puzzled look. “Can you think of a more effective one?” she asked.
“She’s right,” Nolan Beetlebrick, one of Tabitha’s fellow Slytherins, called from the crowd of students. “Debellows is a numpty. He’s not teaching us anything useful. I want to learn how to fight for real.”
There was a chorus of agreement.
“We hardly wish to usurp control of your club,” Tabitha said, pocketing her wand. “We are here to learn, as are the rest of you.”
“But if someone doesn’t teach the lot of you how to do a basic Cruciatus Curse,” Philia interjected, “how do you expect to deal with those who won’t give a second thought to using a Killing Curse on you?”
The crowd of students babbled excitedly. “That’s right,” someone said. “You have to be ready to fight fire with fire!”
“Are all of you Slytherins completely daft?” a voice declared. James looked and saw Joseph Torrance push to the front of the group. “That’s the way your kind have always been, isn’t it? Go straight for the dark magic. You lot are just a bunch of one-trick ponies.”
There was another babbled response from the crowd. A few people moved away from Joseph, as if they believed Tabitha might curse him where he stood.
“If the one trick is powerful enough,” Tabitha said, smiling her most charming smile, “it might just be all a pony needs.”
“That’s enough of this,” James called as the crowd began to get agitated. He raised his hands, turning toward the assembled club members. “We started this club, Ralph and Rose and me,
and it’s supposed to just be for first-through fourth-years,” he said, glaring back at Tabitha and Philia. “Debellows is teaching magical defence to the older years, like those two. This club was meant to be a place where we could practice the basics of defensive magic. It was never the plan to learn any Unforgivable Curses.”
“Why not?” Beetlebrick interrupted, his face stony. “Why is everyone trying to make sure we don’t know how to defend ourselves?”
A chorus of agreements and arguments erupted from the crowd. James called for order, but the noise of the babble was too loud. The group seemed about to dissolve into complete chaos.
A loud crack echoed through the room, surprising everyone present. James looked up, trying to see where the crack had come from. A dissolving trail of smoke led down toward the main door where Scorpius stood, his eyes narrowed and a small smile curling his lip.
“You want to practice Unforgivable Curses, do you?” he drawled. “In case you’ve forgotten, I am the teacher for this club. You Slytherins are new, so I’ll let it slide, but you surely wouldn’t want anyone to get the impression that you were trying to take over.”
Tabitha’s charming smile turned decidedly sharklike as she looked at Scorpius. “So it’s true, first-year Scorpius Malfoy is going to teach us everything he knows. Does that include how to be a traitor to one’s family values and traditions?”
Scorpius sighed and walked into the room. “Not until next term,” he answered breezily. “Although when it comes to underhanded tricks and backstabbing, I’d hate to repeat anything you lot already know. Maybe you can test out of that section.”
Scorpius threaded to the center of the group, moving between Tabitha and Albus, who stared at the pale boy with unmasked disdain.
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