Correspondence Course

Correspondence Course

Chapter One: Workers of the World

Ultimately, it was my father’s fault that I spent a considerable portion of the eighteenth summer of my life impersonating a nun.

The financial system that operated in our household when I was a teenager, I had better explain, was both exceedingly simple and exceedingly bizarre. My father, who had once taught Potions at Beauxbatons, had thrown his whole career over after I was bitten by a werewolf at the age of six, and dedicated his life to certain experiments with aconite. Now and again he tried his hand at other ventures, such as growing vegetables and raising rabbits for the pot – but he couldn’t bring himself to pull up weeds with potentially interesting properties, and nobody could bring themselves to kill the rabbits, so all we got from his efforts were a few dandelion-filled salads and the occasional bit of income from a neighbor who wanted a pet bunny. My mother, who wrote books about magical ethics, was the only member of the family who could make any claim to being a regular breadwinner. When Dad wanted money, he asked her for it – which worked out well enough, as he was an absent-minded and unworldly soul who was perfectly happy wearing the same robes year in and year out, and the only reason why he ever wanted money was to pay me for helping him out in his backyard Potions laboratory. And then, if Mum wanted to do the shopping and hadn’t been able to twist her publisher’s arm into giving her an advance, she would borrow the money from me.

Once or twice I ventured to suggest that it might simplify this whole process if I gave my father a hand without being paid, which I was, of course, perfectly happy to do. He refused to hear of it, claiming that I was entitled to a fair wage for my work, and in any case shuffling money around in circles was the general principle on which all economic systems were based, and somehow it created wealth. I did not understand this last point, but was content to let it pass, and this eccentric but happy state of affairs continued until the Easter holidays of my sixth year at school, when Dad suddenly woke up and noticed that I was lousy at Potions, and that my friend Sirius Black was very good at them.

“I was thinking that I might hire Sirius as my laboratory assistant for the summer,” he announced at dinner one night, blithely unconscious that this would upset our entire household economy. “The boy is very bright, and he has left his family; he will have to earn a living for himself. We ought to help him.”

My mother and I looked at each other in alarm. “That’s a lovely idea, René,” Mum said at last, in her most diplomatic voice, “but I don’t think we can afford it.”

“Nonsense, Celia,” said my father. “I would pay him the same as I pay Remus; it makes no difference.”

“But when you pay Remus, we can always borrow it back at the end of the month.”

“Then we will borrow from Sirius. It makes no difference.”

We endeavored to explain that the difference between hiring an employee and paying one’s son for the same work was that one could not, in fact, ask the employee for one’s money back at the end of the month; but as my father never really seemed to grasp this point, I made a mental note to look around for a surer form of employment that summer.

 

                                                            *          *          *

When I saw the advertisement in the back pages of the Prophet, it seemed like a godsend.

The Kwikspell Correspondence School is looking for a few good wizards!

Have you ever thought you might have a flair for teaching? Would you like to make a little extra money, work at your own pace, and set your own hours? Do you enjoy helping others?

It took me only a moment to decide that the answer to all three of these questions was yes. I read on.

If so, you should consider becoming an instructor for the Kwikspell Correspondence School of Magic! We offer pleasant work in a flexible environment. You will teach as many or as few students as you care to take on through our All-New, Fail-Safe, Quick-Result, Easy-Learn “Conjuring by Correspondence” method! “Conjuring by Correspondence” is a unique, patented approach that gets guaranteed results! Enjoy the satisfaction of watching your students improve their performance in a matter of weeks!

We are looking for a few dynamic, personable individuals to join our team this summer. Applicants must be over seventeen and able to perform Charms, Transfiguration, and Defence Against the Dark Arts to N.E.W.T. standard.

We pay cash!

Inquiries should be directed to Roger “The Wiz” Harbottle, Seven Cleric Alley, London. Please send a letter of application describing your experience and qualifications for the position.

I considered my qualifications. I had turned seventeen in March, and while I wasn’t actually going to sit N.E.W.T.s until next year, the advertisement named three of my better subjects. I thought I was probably personable. Dynamic? I wasn’t so sure. But in any case, I was in dire need of money, and because of my condition, I also required a job where I could set my own hours and nobody would notice if I disappeared around the full moon. This one sounded perfect. Best of all, I rather liked the idea of teaching. I pictured myself offering a lifeline to some near-Squib who had almost given up hope of learning magic, or to a fellow-werewolf who had not been as lucky as I had been.

Fired up with idealistic fervor (and the promise of being paid cash), I began to compose a letter to my prospective employer.

24 April 1976

Dear Mr Harbottle,

Dear Mr “Wiz”

Dear Roger “The Wiz” Harbottle,

I am writing in response to your advertisement in the employment section of the Daily Prophet. I hope that you will consider me for the position as Correspondence School Instructor. While I have no formal teaching experience, I am a patient and adaptable person who has experience dealing with a great variety of situations. For example, I once spent an entire afternoon upside down when my friends discovered a spell called Levicorpus. For example, I tutored my friend Peter so that he passed his Defence Against the Dark Arts exam with an E, even though a month before the exam he was still getting other people’s wands lodged up his nose whenever he tried to Disarm them. I myself had an O in DADA and Es in Charms and Transfiguration. Teaching is a noble profession, and it has always been a dream of mine to have a career where I can help people realize their fullest potential. Thank you for considering my application.

Sincerely,

R. J. Lupin

“Who’re you writing to, Moony?” asked Sirius.

“Nobody. Part of the bourgeoisie. You wouldn’t be interested.”

Sirius, who had been disowned by his aristocratic parents over the Christmas holidays, was at present under the happy delusion that this made him working-class. He had taken to babbling about solidarity and reading Das Kapital in the evenings, in a facing-page translation as he was trying to teach himself German at the same time. For the past half-hour, he had been staring at the open volume of Marx without turning the page, trying manfully not to look as bored as he patently was.

“What about?”

“I’m applying for a job.”

“Capitalism is shite. You should join the revolution. What kind of a job?”

“Teaching for a correspondence course.”

“I bet I could do that. Let me see the advert.”

“I thought you were too busy joining the revolution.”

“I can’t very well unite the workers of the world if I haven’t been one first, can I?”

He had a point there, I had to admit. I handed him the paper.

“This bloke’s advertising in the Prophet, and he calls himself ‘The Wiz’? What kind of stupid nickname is that?”

“I don’t know.”

“Maybe I should go around Hogwarts calling myself Sirius ‘The Student’ Black. To differentiate myself from all the other students.”

“Well, yes, I suppose it is a bit silly when you put it like that...”

“Or you could start calling yourself Remus ‘The Teenage Werewolf’ Lupin.”

“No.”

“I think you should. I mean, nobody would think you really were a teenage werewolf, because nobody expects nicknames to state the obvious. It’s the perfect cover.”

“You’re already pushing it with ‘Moony.’ Are you going to apply for that job or aren’t you?”

“Sure I’m going to apply. Just let me finish the crossword first.”

“You’re doing it upside down.”

“I like a challenge.”

24 April 1976

Dear The Wiz,

I am a young wizard of good family who has renounced his upbringing and now wishes to join the proletariat. I read in your advertisement that you are looking for workers to exploit. Exploit me, please.

Regards,

Sirius Alphard Black

“That’s the dumbest letter of application I’ve seen in my life.”

“It isn’t dumb, it’s just honest. I bet yours is full of bourgeois rot about ‘teaching is a noble profession’ and ‘helping people realize their fullest potential’. Isn’t it?”

“No,” I said, hiding my own letter with my hand.

“Is too.”

I sighed and prepared to begin yet another draft of my letter.

 

                                                            *          *          *

“It’s Lily’s birthday on May ninth. What do you think I should get her?” James asked a couple of evenings later.

“A bunny rabbit,” I said promptly. “Or several. If you buy three of them, my parents will give you the hutch for free.”

“Will you stop trying to flog your rabbits at every possible opportunity?”

“I’m just giving you some disinterested expert advice, Prongs. Girls love bunny rabbits. They melt all over them.”

“Really?”

“I’ve never known it to fail.”

“That’s because rabbits are fertility symbols,” Peter piped up unexpectedly. “If you give Lily one, it’s like a subconscious way of telling her she wants to make babies with you.”

James looked highly alarmed at this.

I glared at Peter. “SUBconscious,” I said. “It doesn’t mean she’ll want babies at this very moment, it just means she’ll be looking at you in a different way than she was before.”

James was still looking dubious.

“If she doesn’t like it, my mum will take it back. And we’ll throw in a week’s supply of hay. Haven’t you always wanted some free hay?”

“Er. Not particularly,” said James, but I could tell he didn’t have any better ideas.

“Typical of the petit bourgeoisie,” muttered Sirius, looking up from Karl Marx unexpectedly. “They manufacture a need that doesn’t exist, and then convince you that you can’t do without it. Just another example of the – the –”

“The violence inherent in the system?” I suggested.

“Yes, exactly,” said Sirius gravely. His family had never allowed him to see Muggle films.

“Help, help!” said James, winking at me. “I’m being repressed!”

26 April

Dear Mrs Lupin,

How are you? I hope you and your husband are well. I was hoping to buy a birthday present for a friend, and I was wondering if you had any baby rabbits for sale? Sirius and Peter say hello.

Cheers,

James Potter

27 April 1976

Dear Mr Lupin,

Thank you for your interest in the Kwikspell Correspondence School of Magic. I am pleased to inform you that we still have several openings, and we will be interviewing candidates at our premises in Cleric Alley on the 15^th of May, between 10 a.m. and 4 p.m. Let me know what time would work best for you.

Sincerely,

Roger “The Wiz” Harbottle

27 April 1976

Dear Mr Black,

Thank you for your interest in the Kwikspell Correspondence School of Magic. I am pleased to inform you that we still have several openings, and we will be interviewing candidates at our premises in Cleric Alley on the 15^th of May, between 10 a.m. and 4 p.m. Let me know what time would work best for you.

Sincerely,

Roger “The Wiz” Harbottle

“Er’m, Padfoot? This isn’t going to work. We’re still at school on the 15^th of May.”

“Don’t worry. Leave everything to me.”

“What are you going to do?”

“I said don’t worry.”

28 April

Dear James,

It’s such a pleasure to hear from you (and Sirius and Peter). How are your classes going? In regard to your question, you’re in luck – one of our does had a litter a few weeks ago. There are four baby bunnies, and my husband and I are selling them for ten Sickles each. Of course, I always do think it is a shame to separate the brothers and sisters, so if you think your friend might like two bunnies, we’d be happy to let you have the second one for only eight Sickles.

All my best,

Celia (Please don’t call me Mrs. Lupin; you’re nearly of age and it makes me feel so old)

29 April

Dear Mrs. Lupin,

Dear Celia,

Hi,

I’ll take all four if you’ll let me have the hutch for free.

James

30 April

Dear James,

Fair enough. I’ll send the rabbits and the hutch right away. By the way, I do hope your friend’s parents know about this gift?

I have enclosed a week’s supply of hay and some instructions for a simple birth control spell. The latter will work on all mammals, incidentally, should you have other occasions to use it.

Once again, warmest regards to all your friends, and I hope to see you this summer.

Celia

“Er’m, Moony? Does your mum mean – is she trying to say what I think she is?”

“Yes.” My mother was a petite, prematurely grey-haired woman with a gentle and deceptively old-fashioned air. She was quite a bit sharper than my father.

James whistled, and then looked as if he wasn’t entirely sure what to make of this.

1 May

Dear Professor Slughorn,

Please excuse Sirius from his classes and give him permission to leave the school grounds on the 15^th. My husband and I have unexpectedly been called out of town, and we need Sirius to babysit Nymphadora.

Please excuse Remus Lupin as well. We need him to babysit Sirius.

I trust this finds you well, and I hope you enjoy the candied pineapple (enclosed).

With warmest memories,

Andromeda Black Tonks

“You’re off your head.”

“Thank you.”

“He’s not going to believe that.”

“You just don’t understand Slughorn. He’ll believe anything if it comes with candied pineapple. Trust me.”

“All right, so I don’t understand Slughorn.” This was very likely, as I had never been one of his favorites; he seemed to hold me personally responsible for my father’s retirement from the academic world. “But Andromeda’s going to kill you when she finds out you forged her signature.”

“Who says she’s going to find out?” Sirius tied the letter to the owl’s leg, leaned back, and lazily Summoned the bottle of firewhiskey he kept under the bed and two glasses. “Have some May Day cheer. To the workers of the world. May they include us so we can all throw off our chains together.”

 

                                                            *          *          *

“Oh, they’re so cute!” Lily squealed when she saw the basket of baby rabbits. “They’re adorable! I’m going to call them Ether, Samoa, Estella, and Consumption!”

We stared at her.

“It’s after a joke. Knock knock.”

“Who’s there?” asked James eagerly.

“Ether.”

“Ether who?”

“Ether Bunny.” (Groans.) “Knock knock.”

“Who’s there?” I said politely, after a short silence.

“Samoa.”

“Samoa who?”

“Samoa Ether Bunnies. Knock knock.”

“Who’s there?” asked Peter after I elbowed him in the back. Politeness was one thing; getting stuck saying “Who’s there?” all evening was another.

“Estella.”

“Estella who?”

“Estella Nother Ether Bunny. Knock knock.”

“Who’s there?” said Sirius, who for some reason appeared to have started liking this joke.

“Consumption.”

“Consumption who?”

“Consumption be done about all these Ether Bunnies?”

“That is the most annoying joke EVER,” said Sirius with the reverence of a true connoisseur. “I can’t wait to try it out on Reg – er, on somebody. Maybe on Reg if he ever talks to me again.”

There was a short, awkward silence.

“I know a joke,” said Peter helpfully. He gave Lily a sidelong glance, as though hoping to impress her. “A troll, a hag, and a leprechaun went into a bar,” he began, and then looked blank for a moment. “Oh yeah. And then they remembered they didn’t drink, so they went to the synagogue instead.” Looking around at his audience, he registered that the joke seemed somehow incomplete. “As you do,” he added hopefully.

By this time we were all in stitches except Lily, who just looked baffled. We explained that while Peter’s jokes usually lacked anything that normal people would consider a punch line, there was usually some vein of logic deep down underneath. “It might help to know that the last time he told this joke, it was about three rabbis,” James told her.

“But three rabbis going to the synagogue isn’t a punch line either. I mean, it’s logical, but it isn’t funny.”

“Whereas a troll, a hag, and a leprechaun going to the synagogue is hilarious,” I said. “It’s a typical Peter joke. He gets everything wrong, but it’s an inspired sort of wrongness.”

“Oh,” said Lily, but she still didn’t seem to get it.

“Prongs, mate,” said Sirius solemnly, after she had left the room. “I hate to be the one to say it, but you picked a defective girl. She’s humor-impaired.”

“She is not!” said James indignantly. “She just needs – needs some time to get used to us.”

“She’s, er, going to be hanging out with us a lot, then?” Peter asked the question that had been on everyone’s mind ever since Lily had started speaking to James. He looked eager. Sirius looked dismayed.

“Yes, I think she will.”

“I might need some time to get used to her, too,” said Sirius.

James gave him a Look, and things began to get very tense indeed. Peter and I decided we were going to bed.