James was skeptical, but pitched his voice low so not to be overheard by the between-class throng. “Hagrid needed help with something in some secret lake beneath the lake, so he comes to a fifth-year student instead of another professor?”
“Excuse me,” Rose said, stopping in the hall and extending her free hand toward James, “I’m Rose Weasley. I’m sort of pretty amazing at lots of unusual and difficult spells, even better than some professors I could mention. Have we met?”
“Ah,” Ralph said with a nod. “It’s a secret, whatever it is, but Hagrid needed some help with some difficult wand-work.”
“I bet it has to do with that boat,” James agreed, then glanced back at Rose. “Does it?”
Rose continued walking, lowering her own voice to a hush. “He won it off some wizard in the Hog’s Head. I warned him, nothing good has ever come from such things in the past, mysterious strangers betting dragon’s eggs and entire boats over card games in dodgy pubs. And what does he say?” Here, she stood as tall as she could and adopted a rather dopey frown, clearly doing her best impression of the half-giant: “But th’ summer’s are long, Rosie! One can only weed a garden so many times afore it starts getting’ to ‘im! I gets lonely and bored and in need o’ comp’ny!”
James couldn’t help smiling at Rose’s impression. “So his new boat may not be exactly legal, then. What’s he need your help with?”
Rose turned a corner, propelled by the noisy crowd approaching the Defence Against the Dark Arts classroom. “Well, it’s not a wizarding boat, strictly speaking. A lot of unusual modifications need to be made to make it sea-worthy in wizarding waters. And it’s not the sort of magic that one does on a day-to-day basis.”
She unslung her knapsack outside the DADA classroom and rummaged in it briefly, producing a small but very thick book. The title, embossed in faded silver on green cloth, read: The Essential Seafarer’s Compendium of Nautical Enchantment, Boating Bewitchment, and Ship-shape Spellwork.
“Looks…” James bobbed his head at the book. “Well. Looks like something you’d fall right into.”
Ralph cocked his head. “So what makes a ship a magical ship, exactly?”
“Oh, you’d be amazed,” Rose enthused, warming to the subject and flipping through the book. “Charmed hydrophobic varnish is what we’ve been spending most of our time on, so the ship repels water when it travels up through the lake to burst onto the surface. And then there’re anti-Grindylow hexes, siren-repellents, navigational mastheads, not to mention the purely mechanical and clockwork apparatuses, like folding masts, deck domes, sea-monster harnesses—”
“Annnd I’m bored already,” James sighed, bypassing Rose as he entered the classroom. “But bully for you for getting a sneak-peek at the harbor under the lake. I’m sure it was worth all the time slathering magic varnish all over Hagrid’s secret boat.”
“He does the slathering,” Rose rolled her eyes, following James and Ralph inside. “I just charm the stuff. And unlike you, I like learning new things. One never knows when a hydrophobic spell might come in handy.”
The previous class was draining from the room, still muttering and collecting their books, while the next class filtered in around them.
“Boys,” Debellows said, raising his eyebrows as he settled behind his huge desk. “And Miss Weasley. I don’t believe I have you in my class until tomorrow’s advanced lesson. Or am I mistaken?”
James shook his head quickly. “No, sir. We came to ask something else. We were, uh, curious, sir, about using some of our Defence Against the Dark Arts class-time for our seventh-year field work in a related profession.”
Debellows stopped organizing the hopeless mess of paperwork on his desk and looked up, giving them his full attention for the first time. He looked vaguely puzzled, and then blinked and nodded. “Ah yes. I’m sure I must have received a notice about such a programme. I likely ignored it, as I do most intra-school communications. One can only be informed so many times about revisions to school dress codes and rescheduled meetings one has no intention of attending in the first place before all such notices start going directly into the rubbish bin. So.
You three intend to pursue some practical experience in lieu of my class-time, is that it?” He seemed both open to the idea and slightly churlish about it.
“Not all three of us—” James began, but Rose overruled him suddenly, shouldering past him to stand directly in front of Debellows’ desk.
“Yes, sir, Professor,” she said quickly, clearly not intending to miss a serendipitous opportunity. “All three of us. James, Ralph, and me. Er, yes. We three.”
She glanced back at James briefly, her eyes stern. James closed his mouth with a small click.
“Well,” Debellows said slowly, looking back down at his desk and shuffling papers again, randomly. “I suppose it would depend upon what sort of practical field experience you intended to engage in. I can only assume that you’d like to participate in some preliminary training for the Harrier Corps. I should warn you, my young friends: it is an arduous journey, becoming a Harrier, but vastly rewarding in every respect. I shall contact my old commander, see if I cannot call in a few favors to—”
“Um,” Ralph interrupted, sharing a suddenly wide-eyed glance with James. “Um. Not the Harriers, sir. Exactly. Quite…”
Debellows frowned and looked up again, his face etched with sincere puzzlement. “Not the Harriers? What could it possibly be, then?”
Rose answered, standing stiffly upright, almost as if she meant to salute the professor. “Auror training, sir. We wish to use the skills you’ve taught us to learn Auror methodology. To track down and capture dark wizards and witches, warlocks, hags, and other various threats to the good people of the magical world.”
James blinked at Rose, annoyed but rather impressed. Glancing back at Debellows, he added: “Like my dad, sir.”
Debellows turned his iron gaze from Ralph, to Rose, to James, and then drew a deep, skeptical sigh. “I suppose one can’t blame you three for entertaining such designs, coming from the families that you do. It does strike me as a bit of a wasted resource. You, especially, Mr.
Potter, show great potential not only in defensive spellwork, which we will be delving into much more deeply in your final year, but in your Artis Decerto and battle psychology. But…” he shrugged his massive shoulders—they were like continental tectonic plates on either side of his bull neck—and sighed again. “If that’s what you have your hearts set upon, I suppose I cannot dissuade you.”
“Sorry, sir,” Rose said, still standing at attention in front of the cluttered desk.