Teamwork

Chapter 2

The first morning of the new school year found Jones standing outside the castle chain-smoking. With two classes back to back, there would be no chance to have another cigarette until lunch. She wasn't sure how Rabe set the schedule, but she was certain he did it with a certain amount of malice. It wouldn't have been difficult to reschedule her courses so she could have a break.

She watched the students file past in their blood red robes. They looked much the same as the last two years. Somewhere, a bell began to toll the hour and she knew she had nine more strokes before her class started. She took one last deep drag, coughed, and grabbed her satchel. Shrugging her long red leather coat around her shoulders, she strode down the hall. A knot of sixth or seventh years blocked her way. Swearing, she struggled with her pathetic vocabulary to find the right command. It didn't help that the shortest of the students towered over her. Fine. Just fine.

She yelled, "Move!" - unfortunately in English. They blinked slowly at her, either not understanding or not caring what the short, chubby woman said. "OK. Fine. Don't move. I'll make sure you don't forget who I am for the rest of the term." She set her satchel down and, with a shake of her sleeve, released her wand into her hand. "You brats are going to remember me. Dolor Facere!" The effect was gratifying: the four Aryan behemoths directly in front of her fell to the floor, writhing about in obvious pain. The remaining obstacles to her class fell back, except those who were caught in the fringes of the spell; they grabbed arms or stomachs and made little anguished sounds. They would remember her next time. She picked up her satchel and strode towards the staircase to descend the long flights of stairs down into the depths where the Dark Arts were taught.

The bell had finished long before she half-ran into her classroom, a cold and rather dank stone dungeon. Ambiance, she thought, as she did every time she entered it. As one body, the class rose to their feet and announced far too loudly for her taste, "Guten Tag Frau Professor!"

"Tag." She unpacked her notes for today's class and looked over her students. Not bad. She had twenty in this section. She wasn't sure whose classes weren't filled, but her Special Projects class, Ritual Magic classes and Blood Spell classes certainly were.

"Today, we shall discuss the binding spells used here at Durmstrang." Blank looks met her. Oh. Right. German, not English. She constructed the sentences in her head and found that she still couldn't get the correct term for "binding spell". She wandered over to the doorway and looked out as if she was waiting for tardy students, using that time to see if any of the other teachers were in the hallway. Nope. No Rabe. No Kessler. Everyone was in class.

Stepping out into the hallway as if she were checking one last time, she pulled out her wand."Muto Verba - Germanus" she tapped her mouth with her wand. "Comprehende Germanus" and touched her ear. Rabe would have had a fit. She could already hear his lecture. Two years - two years, and she still wasn't fluent. She could ask for a beer at the local tavern, how much things cost, and where the bathroom was. It was enough. With a shrug, she stuffed her wand back up her sleeve, walked back into her classroom and over to the lectern.

Standing as tall as her 5'5" frame would allow, she knew she wasn't an impressive sight. She was short, squat, middle-aged and not especially attractive. She looked like everyone's maiden aunt. That was if your aunt used to turn blood spells for a living. She smiled the little, cold smile that made her classes both famous and feared. "Today, we shall discuss binding spells. As you should know by now, Durmstrang employs these spells on its faculty and staff. Variations of these spells are known all over the world."

The room was filled with the noise of parchment being unrolled, quills being dipped, the occasional pen being clicked open and feet being shuffled. She waited a few seconds for her students to scribble their notes.

"Binding spells are used to bind an object or a person to another. For example, we, the Dark Arts professors, are bound by such a spell to service at this school. This particular spell is an example of a voluntary binding. It's used to both summon and to punish. In some forms of this spell, it can also control the subject's actions to some degree. Like most spells of this kind, it uses a bodily fluid, in this case blood, to seal the spell to the individual." She paused and thought longingly of another cigarette. The class had just started and she already needed another one. It was going to be a long day. She noticed a hand up in the back. "Ja?" Ha! She had that down at least.

A boy in the back stood at attention. "Frau Professor, does it have to be blood?"

"No. It can be saliva. It could also be something non-fluid like hair or skin. I happen to feel that blood works best."

The student continued to stand. Obviously, his question wasn't answered. "Can it be something solid. Teeth or fingernails?"

A deep boredom settled in. It was time for the game of "I know something you don't". "Yes. Teeth, eye lashes, fingernails, bodily waste - anything connected with the individual will work, or should work to some varying degree, depending on the person who casts the spell's strengths. In later lectures, we'll talk about the theory of personal association."

The student still stood. He wasn't convinced. She squinted at him and realized that she was looking at one of the seventh-year division's Quidditch players. Great. Damn jocks were always a pain in class.

"Would you like a demonstration?" That almost always got them. Unlike many of the professors, she didn't mind showing off her skills. That was why she was here. If she had been more reserved, she'd still be in Seattle. Drinking coffee. Living in a warm house. Eating at great restaurants. Not eating pickled fish three times a week and more boiled meat than she thought existed. The thought produced a shudder. Lunch was how many hours away?

"Ja. Frau Professor. I would like to see such a thing."

"You got it, Bucko." What an idiot. "Come down here."

The class leaned forward, excited about seeing real dark magic. Over the years, they'd seen demonstrations of spells that may or may not be considered dark and some nasty stuff on spiders and rats. Nothing yet on a person, let alone someone they knew.

"Do you enter into this contract of your free well, understanding that it will only be broken upon my desire to do so?" She ran through the words in a monotone.

The Quidditch jock struck a nonchalant pose. "Of course."

The little, cold smile came back. "Good." She held her wand up, sneering slightly when she noted that it came to his shoulder. Looking around him to see her class, she continued, "First and foremost, all Dark Arts spells of this nature, and those whose aim is to summon or control, should be cast within wards." She went into lecture mode, glad that she didn't have to think about anything except the spell that she wanted to cast. "I cast wards using four points. Others use anywhere between three and seven. I've heard of thirteen but that's rather excessive." There was uneasy laughter from the students.

"Thus! Primus!" A bright light appeared next to the athlete. "Secondus" Another light appeared to the left of the first. Then, "Tierce" and "Quattro" completed the square. "Notice that these are rather bright. I don't like to work with this much light. Too obvious." She looked up at the rapt audience. "Hebeta Lumos." The wards dimmed to a pulsating, dark glow. "I could turn them black, but you should see this." Heads nodded. The Quidditch player was noticeably paler.

She reached into her coat and pulled out a small silver knife. As she reached for the boy's arm, he began to back up. This wasn't what he had expected, and the tingle of power flooding the warded area took his bravado. At the second step, he hit the wards, which pulsed brighter, holding him fast. "I thought you were ready to enter into this contract. Have you changed your mind?" Teenagers are so stupid. She looked up at the boy whose face shone with a nervous sweat. "Well?" she asked snidely.

One of his teammates, also from the back of the class, began to laugh loudly. The boy looked back into the darkness of the class. She could smell his fear. "Make up your mind, boy!"

That did it. Male pride ruled and he stuck out his arm.

"To make this a real spell, I should be using something reflective. Traditionally, it should be silver, but anything reflective will work. It's just not as ritualistically pleasing. Now, I wasn't prepared today to actually do this, so this will be a rather weak binding spell." Unlike what she had to go through when she was bound.

"As with all of these kinds of spells that I know, a small amount of blood is required. For this particular example, we'll use only three drops. A hint for upcoming exams: the amount is almost always an odd number - usually one, three, seven or thirteen." She waited as the students copied the information down. The boy looked glassy-eyed. She found herself wishing she had thought of bringing a spoon or a chalice; it would have made a much better example. Well, this would do. It would be a very lightweight spell.

"I think, for this example, we'll have a little fun. Ready?" She watched the class nod and then grasped his forearm. "As in all magic of this nature, the point of where the blood is drawn can be important. For this example, we'll take it from the area directly under the thumb." With deliberately slowness, she made the cut and watched as a red line welled up. Good and red. No anemia here; Durmstrang fed its Quidditch teams well. She let three drops fall onto her other hand. "Conjunge mecum." The blood appeared to glow for a moment. The boy's eyes rolled to white, he swayed and fainted. She frowned down at the heap of student. "When I wake him, I'll demonstrate the effect by commanding him to..." she poked him with her foot, trying to decide what to do.

"Professor! Make him sing!" She recognized the voice as the same as the one that had laughed.

"Enervate!" She tapped his forehead with her wand and watched him blink back into consciousness. The student rolled onto his knees, feeling his head. His hand came away red with blood. He was bleeding from where he had struck his head when he had fallen. To Jones, it didn't look too bad. At the sight of his own blood, the boy moaned a little as he stood. It seemed to take forever to her. Impatiently, she said, "Sing for us." It did not sound like a command, but it was.

The boy looked confused as he suddenly began to sing. Jones didn't recognize the song. The words were fairly risqué, centering on the real meaning of the goals and the Quaffle. Figures. He was on the Quidditch team. She let him finish the song, his face bright red with embarrassment.

"Dance up to your seat and then stand for the rest of the class." She started to turn back to her podium but ran into her own wards. "Finite Fines". The wards faded and she resumed her place behind the desk. The pathetic boy twirled and danced his way back to his desk to stand rigidly by his seat.

"Any other questions?" Twenty very quiet students regarded her. "Binding spells... Binding spells, as you have seen from this small example, are extremely useful for the person who is the controlling half. As in most Dark Arts, the intent is the most important part. Binding spells are not generally used to force people to do things against their will. There are other spells, which we will cover later in the year, that do a far better job of that. These are most useful for long-term contractual arrangements. They are generally, but not always, entered into willingly. Depending on the kind of spell, they're used to hold the receiver within the bounds of the agreement."

"Professor?" One of the girls seated in the front row stood slowly.

"Ja?"

"Is it true that it always leaves a mark?"

"No. Not always. The mark that Durmstrang uses is quite visible." She shrugged off her coat and began to roll up her left sleeve. "Most of the binding spells I've seen do leave a mark, but they were spells used on the willing and the contract was public knowledge. The mark I'm bound with is this." She held up her forearm, which clearly showed a large black "D" in a Gothic script surrounded by a ouroboros. In a single movement, she shook the sleeve back down to her wrist. She didn't like looking at it.

"How does it work?"

"Depends on the spell used. You didn't think there was only one way to do it, did you? This spell is activated by an individual using a key word, phrase or action. If it's done by someone who knows what they're doing, it can be used to let those involved in the spell know if a contract has been violated. It can be also be used to summon or to punish. It can be used as a reminder of the terms of the contract." While you're on the ground, rolling in agony and possibly throwing up, it reminds you all right.

"Who controls it?"

The thin smile appeared again. "Are there any other questions?"

The bell began to toll.