Remedial History

Chapter Two: So You Want to Join the Cause, Do You?

Theo's Defence Against the Dark Arts class finally met on Monday. A blond, tanned professor in sleeveless robes bounced into the room and introduced himself, in an American accent, as Todd from Sunny California. "Sorry about the technical difficulties last week," he said breezily. "I had some trouble getting the Whee-Mail system to work in this classroom, but it seems to be up and running now. It's all cool."

A baffled silence greeted this announcement. After a moment, Daphne raised her hand. "Er, Professor Todd?"

"Just Todd, please."

"What's Whee-Mail?"

Professor Just Todd grinned, showing off a mouthful of even, sparkling white teeth. "That's what we'll be covering this first lesson." He took a stick of chalk out of his pocket and threw it at the blackboard, where it hovered in the air as if poised to start writing. "Quick-Notes-Chalk," he explained. "Very cool invention." He stood in the back of the classroom and began to speak to the chalk. "Lesson One: Whee-Mail and its Applications in the Modern Classroom."

The chalk covered the blackboard with an impeccably neat script: Lessen won, we male Anne ditz applique shuns inn the mod urn class rheum.

Theo didn't know whether to copy what the chalk had actually written or what he thought Professor Just Todd had meant it to write. He tried to do both at once much too quickly, and ended up with a large blot of ink all over his notes.

"You still use quill pens here?" said Professor Just Todd in a horrified voice. "That's not cool."

"At least you can spell properly with a quill," muttered Tracey mutinously, as the chalk began to write on the board, Ewes till ewes quill pins hear that snot cool.

Professor Just Todd coughed. "Well, it looks like the Quick-Notes-Chalk needs a little more calibration. That's cool, this is mostly a practical lesson anyway."

Theo shrank back into his chair. In his experience, practical Defence Against the Dark Arts lessons could involve anything from boggarts to Unforgivable Curses, but the one feature they all had in common was that they were usually scary.

Whee-Mail, however, turned out not to be scary, just frustrating. Professor Just Todd handed out sheets of parchment with folding lines pre-printed on them and a space for a message in the middle. After you wrote the message, you were supposed to fold the parchment into the shape of a miniature rocket ship, and it would zoom onto the recipient's desk. Theo supposed it would work fine if you got a rocket ship after all that folding. His looked more like a tortoise.

Slowly, the parchment tortoise stumped along in Blaise's direction until it fell down the crack between the desks. It hissed, hid its head in its shell, and refused to budge any farther, even when Theo tried to coax it along with a lettuce-flavored Every Flavor Bean. At last, Blaise picked it up from the floor and unwrapped Theo's message, which read, Do you realise we're spending this entire class period learning how to pass notes?

Blaise smirked, wrote a message on his piece of parchment, and folded it. His rocket soared to the ceiling and did a loop-the-loop around the classroom before landing on Theo's desk. Hey, if this place ever gets attacked, Whee-Mail might come in handy. The bad guys would be too busy laughing at your turtle to kill anybody.

The entire exchange took about ten minutes. After every student had successfully swapped notes with a partner, Professor Just Todd announced that the class would be communicating exclusively by Whee-Mail in the future.

Theo had a feeling they weren't going to learn much about defending themselves against the Dark Arts this year.

* * *

At dinner that evening, Professor Dumbledore made an announcement. "We have a special guest this week, a world-famous singing star who has graciously agreed to come out of retirement in Barbados for a series of performances at Hogwarts this autumn. Will you please give it up for ... MISTER STUBBY BOARDMAN OF THE HOBGOBLINS!"

Theo couldn't believe it. Stubby Boardman, the man, the sensation, the living legend. His sister Lavinia's favorite singer. She would have been blown away if she were here to see it.

Stubby Boardman was coolness incarnate. He wore flashy sunglasses, a single earring, and sky blue robes that sparkled with sequins, and he played the ukulele. To Theo's surprise, Professor Hagrid and Professor Flitwick turned out to be his back-up band. They weren't very good, but it didn't matter. Mr. Boardman was amazing. Theo started clapping along to the Hobgoblins' biggest hit, "Since My Baby Left-A Me."

Mr. Boardman was brave, too. You could tell because toward the end of the second song, he got a little carried away and kissed Professor Snape on the cheek. The students all stared at him, amazed that he hadn't been reduced to a smoldering pile of bone fragments on the spot, and then most of them broke into tumultuous applause.

Only the other Slytherins seemed unimpressed. Pansy rolled her eyes, and Blaise muttered, "Didn't know there was a time warp in Barbados."

As clever as Blaise was, there were certain things he simply didn't get. Quidditch, for instance. He came from Canada, where everybody followed Quodpot instead. Theo sympathized with him there: he had checked Quidditch Through the Ages out of the school library once or twice and tried to work up an interest, but the fact remained that just watching the players zip back and forth on their brooms gave him motion sickness. But he did wish his friend cared more about music.

Stubby Boardman sang some Muggle tunes as well as his own hits. It was music Theo hadn't heard since those few stolen outings with Lavinia's boyfriend, years earlier, and as much as he hated to admit it, he still loved those songs. And luckily, Mr. Boardman changed most of the lyrics to wizarding ones, so Theo didn't have to feel too guilty about enjoying them now.

Theo went off to his second history class of the year singing under his breath:

I used to have a boss named Tom;

I ticked him off, he said, "You're gone."

But I didn't die, I moved away,

To find the pillar of Storgé.

We all live up the pillar of Storgé,

Pillar of Storgé, pillar of Storgé,

We all live up the pillar of Storgé,

Pillar of Storgé, pillar of Storgé.

I used to know a kid named Mark,

He really was a bright young spark.

But when he asked about his destiny,

They said, "Sorry, boy, you're nobody."

And Mark said, Oh yeah?

I'm gonna live up the pillar of Storgé,

Pillar of Storgé, pillar of Storgé,

I'm gonna live up the pillar of Storgé

Pillar of Storgé, pillar of Storgé.

There we live high off the hog

With the toenail of Icklibõgg.

We dance all night, don't go to work,

And drink from the Kettle of Nackledirk.

We all live up the pillar of Storgé,

Pillar of Storgé, pillar of Storgé...

* * *

Theo stared at the wall opposite the tapestry of Barnabas the Barmy, who was being clubbed over the head by a large contingent of trolls in frothy pink tutus. He would have sworn that door had never been there before.

"Are you planing to stand there all evening?" said Blaise. He knocked on the door and Tracey let them into the Come and Go Room. All the other sixth-year Slytherins were already present, as well as Daphne's younger sister, Queenie, who was in her fourth year; a hefty, beetle-browed third-year named Malcolm Baddock; and a sixth-year Ravenclaw, Lisa Turpin.

"Wow," said Theo, looking around the torchlit room, and Blaise, for once, looked as awed as Theo felt. Three walls of the room were covered with bookshelves that stretched from floor to ceiling. Blaise wandered over to them and examined the dusty volumes: The Subtill Craffte of Nigromancye, A Compendium of Curses, A Sound Magician is a Demi-God.

"These are really rare," he murmured, "and valuable. Some of them are banned in this country. Look, Theo, this belonged to Salazar Slytherin himself ... And isn't this one amazing?" He caressed the pages of an ancient manuscript whose margins were filled with intricately drawn demons, colored with gold leaf and lapis lazuli.

The fourth wall, at the front of the room, had no bookshelves. A large black wardrobe stood in one corner; Queenie tried the door, but it was locked. A long table stretched across the center of the room.

Suddenly the torches dimmed and the entire front of the room filled with a luminous fog, which gradually took on color and resolved itself into images. Theo saw a garden of bright flowers with a golden fountain in the center, tended by busily toiling house-elves. Slowly the garden grew smaller and more distant, as if he were flying away from it on a broom, and stately buildings hung with banners appeared all around it...

"It's just like a Muggle film, only in three dimensions," Millicent Bulstrode whispered.

Pansy looked at her suspiciously. "How do you know about Muggle films?"

"Read about them in a library book. I was just looking at it for laughs," Millicent said hastily, glaring at the others as if daring them to ask more questions. Theo was surprised to learn that Millicent read at all, but he kept the thought to himself. She had a way of thunking people on the head if they offended her.

A male voice, soft yet authoritative, began to speak. "These are the gardens of our forefathers, flowing with silver streams; these are the towers whose tops almost kiss the heavens; these are the proud cities and castles whose stones were not laid by common laborers with sweat and toil, but charmed into existence in an hour by the nobles of the earth, the pure of blood. Our ancestors built grand palaces while the mudbloods' ancestors wallowed in rat-infested hovels. Is it not right that we alone should enjoy their legacy?"

The images changed: a young mother cradled her baby in the foreground. In the distance, figures of wizards and witches in old-fashioned robes, a long line of them, marched into the sunset...

"Our blood is the holy legacy we have inherited from our forefathers who have passed beyond the veil. They live on in us and in our blood, and therefore every drop of it is sacred. Our blood links us with them in an eternal chain; our blood guarantees mastery of the magical realms; our blood confers virtue, and honor, and greatness. To be a pureblood wizard is to think and act nobly."

The images changed yet again, to the faces of Squibs, vampires, werewolves, half-giants and other part-humans. All of them looked twisted, ill, and deformed.

"Those who mix and defile their blood with Muggles or inhuman creatures ruin the sacred heritage that has been passed down to them through the generations and make their children into wretched, cringing creatures of filth. Only like should mix with like. All human misery springs from those who ignore this basic law of nature."

That was true, Theo thought. If his sister Lavinia had not ignored that law, she wouldn't have died, and Medea wouldn't been ill for two years, and his dad - well, he had always been tired and broken, but he wouldn't have that haunted look. His family would be whole, or at least as whole as he'd ever known it to be. He didn't remember his mum, so he didn't miss her.

Now the room filled with scenes of battle, of fighters training, and of a figure whose face was hidden hanging medals around the necks of a small group of young men and women. They were the most beautiful people Theo had ever seen. A ray of golden light fell over their upturned faces.

"We must do battle with those who try to undermine these truths. This is a call to action for you, the best of our race - the brave, the powerful, the pure. Those who act now will save our heritage and be rewarded beyond their wildest dreams; those who stand aside and wait will be destroyed. Only through fighting shall you achieve peace; only through submission and obedience shall you gain your freedom, and only through the willingness to face death shall you gain eternal life. For those who stand among my chosen ones will conquer death itself."

Then an achingly beautiful female voice filled the room. Theo, who loved music, listened to the soaring, swelling anthem and was overwhelmed by the desire to become a part of it all.

Hail, Lord and master, hail, flight of death,

Bind me unto you while I draw breath.

Take me in your arms, make me always pure,

Burn the dross from my soul, let the silver endure.

For yours are the mountains, the seas, and the tower;

Yours are the honor, the glory, the power.

Yours to take from us, and yours, yours to give;

Take me into your service, forever to live.

The last words of the anthem faded and the torches brightened again. Theo had an unaccustomed feeling of belonging, of solidarity with the other students of Slytherin house, as they all applauded and cheered. Millicent Bulstrode was actually crying - and for a change, none of the other girls made fun of her; their eyes were shining as they chattered among themselves. "We're going to fight them!" shouted Crabbe, slapping Goyle and little Malcolm Baddock on the shoulders. Draco Malfoy said nothing, but he was leaning forward with a flush on his pale cheeks.

Theo looked at Blaise, who alone seemed unaffected by all they had seen and heard. "What did you think?" he asked.

"An entertaining little show, but there were some curious gaps in their logic," Blaise replied. "Being a vampire or werewolf doesn't have anything to do with blood purity, for instance. Anybody can get bitten. And I haven't noticed the mudbloods are any uglier than the rest of us - most of them are a good deal prettier than Crabbe and Goyle."

"Does that mean you're not going to join?" Theo asked.

"I didn't say that," said Blaise. His eyes were straying once again toward the bookshelves.

"Well, now you understand what this group, the Pureblood Youth League, is all about," Draco was saying. "I think we all recognize the truth of what we've just seen and heard, and I hope all of you are ready to take action to protect our kind and our values. I won't mention any names, but most of you are aware that there are certain students at Hogwarts who are actively conspiring against people like us, and certain professors who encourage them - including some very highly positioned staff members, if you know who I mean. We don't want to cause trouble, but we want to defend what is ours."

There was a feeble murmur of agreement, and one or two of the others clapped. "Not the most inspiring speechmaker," Blaise muttered in Theo's ear. "He should have just let the disembodied voices do all the talking."

"The most important thing right now is numbers. We're at a disadvantage because the Muggle-lovers control public sentiment these days and make people who agree with us afraid to speak their minds, but I know there are more like-minded individuals out there. Our first mission is to bring them together. By the way, good work finding Lisa Turpin, Pansy." Draco beamed at his girlfriend. "I've just been thinking we need to do some recruiting among the purebloods in other houses. There aren't enough of us, and some of the Ravenclaws and Hufflepuffs have potential - and maybe even a few Gryffindors."

Shocked silence greeted this last pronouncement.

"I don't mean riffraff like the Weasleys, or the famous Mr. Potter, of course," Draco clarified, "but some of the others just might be as sick of them as we are."

He turned to the six new recruits. "The rest of us invited you as our guests tonight, but next time it'll be your turn to bring in some new blood if you're with us. Lisa, I want you to talk to Marietta Edgecombe and the other pureblood Ravenclaw girls - and Zabini, you're meant to be clever, you can work on the boys."

Blaise nodded his assent; evidently, he had made up his mind to join.

"Bulstrode, you can take the sixth- and seventh-year Hufflepuffs - only the ones who are our sort, mind - and Baddock, your job is to feel out the younger ones. Cauldwell and Whitby are from good families, so you might start with them. Queenie, you might think about speaking to - " Draco named a few fourth-year Gryffindors, and then turned to Theo with a slight sneer. "So you want to join the cause, too, do you?"

Theo nodded.

"Well, Nott," said Draco, "let's see if you're any good. Your mission is to recruit Neville Longbottom."

* * *

"Why Longbottom?" Theo asked at breakfast the next morning. Draco had suggested names to some of the other recruits, but he had given Theo an order. All the Slytherins hated Neville Longbottom on general principle, because of what had happened at the end-of-term feast their first year, but apart from that he struck Theo as a fairly ordinary person, not unlike Theo himself. What made Draco so determined to draft him into the Pureblood Youth League?

"Iznit obvioush?" said Blaise around a mouthful of muffin. Almost the only time Blaise failed to look graceful and well-mannered was when he was eating.

"Not to me." Theo grinned. "Don't forget I'm the sort of guy who has a hard time telling the difference between a rocket and a tortoise."

"Proceshofelimination," Blaise mumbled. He swallowed and elaborated, "Who else can he recruit who's close to Harry Potter? He hasn't got a chance with either of the Weasleys, the Granger girl's a mudblood, and so are the other two boys in Potter's dorm. There isn't anybody else except maybe that batty Lovegood girl, and she'd probably just smile at you and tell you Cornelius Fudge's secret army of invisible pink unicorns is sneaking up on you. Longbottom makes perfect sense if you look at it that way. But I'll tell you one thing..." He paused to stuff his mouth with eggs and sausage.

"What?"

"I don't know if Malfoy bothered to do any research on the people who fought against the Dark Lord in the last war. But I did. And let's just say you've got your work cut out for you."

He smiled. It was the smile Theo didn't like, the superior one that meant Blaise knew something you didn't. He decided not to ask his friend why he had his work cut out for him.

"Want any help?" Blaise asked. "I'm always up for a challenge."

"Nah. I'll figure it out on my own."

"Suit yourself," said Blaise, draining his coffee cup. "I've got some Ravenclaws to talk to." He pushed his chair back and crossed the Great Hall.

Theo remained at the table, remembering everything that had happened at the meeting. The ceiling overhead was the clear blue of a cloudless day. Although everything they had seen and heard last night had felt incontrovertibly right at the time, he was suddenly less certain that he could explain it to Longbottom well enough to make him want to join the Pureblood Youth League. He wondered if Blaise had been right about the curious gaps in logic. And what did it mean, only through submission and obedience shall you gain your freedom?

But Blaise seemed to be convinced, and when Theo didn't feel clever enough to work something out for himself, he generally trusted Blaise to make the right decision.

He tried to figure out how to go about recruiting somebody. Why had he gone to the meeting? Because Tracey asked him, and Blaise was going, and they were his friends. Very well. He would have to make friends with Neville Longbottom.

* * *

After the History of Magic class ended on Thursday evening, Theo stacked his books and put them into his bag with great care, stooped to tie his shoes, and, when he could no longer think of any way to delay the moment, crossed the classroom and approached Potter and Longbottom. "Hello," he said shyly.

"Hello," said Potter. They were both giving him strange looks, and no wonder. Slytherins didn't do this sort of thing.

Theo cast about for some way of making conversation. He was pretty sure he'd seen Longbottom applauding enthusiastically at the concert on Monday. "Er. Stubby Boardman's pretty cool, isn't he?"

"He's brilliant," said Longbottom. Potter looked as if he were secretly amused at something.

They seemed friendly enough, but there was another awkward silence.

"Um, would you like some gum?" Theo fished a packet of Droobles Best Blowing Gum out of his pocket and offered it to his two classmates.

He realized at once that for some reason, that had been the wrong thing to do. Very wrong. Longbottom turned white, then purple, and narrowed his eyes as he looked at Theo. "No, thank you," he said stiffly. "I hate that stuff."

"Oh. Sorry." Theo retreated hastily to the other side of the room and picked up his books.

As the other two boys left the classroom, he heard Potter saying in a quiet voice, "He can't have meant anything by it, Neville. How would he have known?"

As Theo followed them at a safe distance, he saw something lightweight flutter to the floor as if it had just fallen from Longbottom's robes. He picked it up. It was a Droobles gum wrapper.

So Longbottom didn't hate gum, he hated Theo. That was no great surprise. If you were a Slytherin, it was usually safe to assume that students from the other Houses would want nothing to do with you. Theo had a feeling Draco's recruitment plan was wildly optimistic.