Chapter 10: Practical Witchcraft
Bert Bottomley enjoyed his job. Most people would not have cherished the post of security guard at the British Telecom tower but Bert did. He wanted a quiet life. He came to work, daydreamed his shift away and went home again. At weekends he went to watch his local team get beaten by better ones. It was a quiet, unremarkable life but Bert enjoyed it.
This morning however, he was definitely not enjoying it. It was altogether too full of incident for him. The incident that was commanding his attention at that precise moment was the sword held at his throat.
"All clear?" asked an unseen speaker.
"All clear, Cohen," replied a voice at Bert's ear.
Five ancient men wearing very little and carrying battered medieval weapons appeared in the lobby. They appeared so suddenly that Bert would have sworn that they had simply dropped out of the ceiling. He gave a little jolt of surprise and the blade at his throat drew a trickle of blood.
"Alright lad, hold still," said the voice at his ear, "We ain't gonna hurt you."
"What's your name, henchman?" asked one of the old men. He grinned at Bert, displaying a set of dentures that flashed like diamonds.
"Henchman? I don't know what you mean! I've never henched in my life!" said Bert, trying to hold as still as possible.
"Come on, lad, you must know the drill," said the man with the shining teeth, "It's nothing personal, you understand. We're here the kill your master, so if you'd just unlock the gates we'll get on with it, alright?"
"My… my master? You mean Mr. Higgins?" said Bert.
"Eh? What'd he say?" screeched one of the old men.
"He said Mr. Higgins, Hamish!" shouted another of them.
"Eh?!"
"MR. HIGGINS!"
"Who's 'iggins? I'm 'amish, me!"
"Hey, Cohen, I thought this one was called Voldemort?"
"Must be one of those what's-your-names…? Sillyderms?"
"Pseudonyms?"
"Yeah, that's it! Right lad," said Cohen, turning back to Bert, "Take us to your Dark Lord Higgins!"
Bert was now convinced that he was in the presence of six escaped lunatics. Basic training for security guards does not cover such situations, so Bert decided to play along until he could raise the alarm.
"Y-you want to see Mr. Higgins?" he asked.
"That's right. Now we're getting somewhere!" said Cohen, beaming, "So be a good lad and unlock those gates, will you?"
"What… you mean the lifts?" said Bert.
The old men did not appear to have seen a lift before and were greatly surprised when the doors opened at the push of a button.
"Magic."
"Yeah, definitely magic."
"Ooh, posh!"
"Yeah, the best most Lords can manage these days is a spiral staircase."
There then followed a five minute debate on how to tackle the challenge of the lift. The old men seemed disinclined to trust it but, when Bert revealed that there was no other way up the tower, they resigned themselves to the possible danger.
"You're goin' first, in case of enchantments and what not," Cohen explained as Bert was ushered towards the lift at sword point.
It was difficult to squeeze seven people into the lift but they managed it eventually.
"Err, which floor?" asked Bert, finger poised above the buttons.
"Top floor, of course," said Cohen, "Who ever heard of a Dark Lord living anywhere but the top floor?"
Mr. Higgins's office was not on the top floor but Bert did not argue the point. The old men spent the journey glaring suspiciously at the lift walls, as if expecting them to jump forward and attack them at any moment.
The lift doors reopened and the old men leapt out, brandishing their weapons. What followed was a haphazard search through every office, cubicle, kitchen and bathroom on the floor. Anyone they met was interrogated to reveal the location of the 'Dark Lord Higgins', then added to the growing group of prisoners being shepherded around the tower. Bert was terrified of what the old men would do when they eventually found Mr. Higgins but, to his relief, they merely fell to bickering among themselves.
"How was I to know?" protested Cohen, "You all agreed that it made sense. It's a bloody great tower! Where else is the Dark Lord going to live?"
Some of the old men wanted to examine the walls for secret doors or make a floor-by-floor search for their elusive 'Dark Lord' but at length they decided that he probably was not there after all. Having bound the other staff members with power cords and gagged them with their own socks, the old men forced Bert to take them back down to the lobby.
The first thing Bert did after the old men had left was to make himself a cup of tea. Then he phoned the police. He knew how to deal with a crisis.
Shortly after the police arrived an old fashioned black Rolls Royce pulled up outside the tower. Six men in plain black suits climbed out of the back seat, which was more than the car was actually capable of seating. They entered the lobby while a detective was questioning Bert about the old men who had taken him hostage. The men in the black suits drew short wooden wands from their jackets.
That evening, when Bert's wife asked him how his day at work had been, his only reply was:
"Y'know, I honestly can't remember! Mustn't have been very interesting."
During the first week of term at Hogwarts the sole topic of conversation was the new staff members. The timetables had been rearranged to include supplementary lessons, taken by the new teachers. Hermione was very cross about this, convinced that it would affect her O., but everyone else was excited to see what the new teachers were like.
An extra-curricular class called 'Advanced Chanting', under Professor Nitt, was being offered to all interested students. The take up was low at first but grew rapidly when word spread that Professor Nitt's singing could not only shatter glass but also repair it. There was even talk of an official Hogwarts choir being formed.
Harry had not felt confident enough in his voice to attend Advanced Chanting but he had attended a highly entertaining lesson on 'Thaumaturgical Studies'. The lesson had begun with a hugely fat wizard waddling into the classroom ten minutes late, muttering to himself:
"Bloody students! You travel halfway across the multiverse and you still can't get away from them."
He had then eased himself into the chair behind the desk at the front of the room, turned a disgruntled eye on the class and barked:
"Well, what're you staring at me for? You've got books haven't you? Get on with it!"
He had then leant back and fallen into an impenetrable sleep. The class had taken this as an excuse to run riot and there are no classes in the multiverse that riot as well as a class of Hogwarts students. Hermione had valiantly attempted to obey their teacher's instruction but was forced to give up when Seamus and Dean charmed the desks to imitate a herd of cattle and tried to corral them in a nearby courtyard. Calm was only restored by the combined intervention of Professors McGonagall and Flitwick, with Filch and Mrs. Norris in tow. Seamus and Dean had both received detention but the staff's ire was mainly reserved for their teacher, who they found still asleep with confetti in his beard and his hat draped in party streamers.
That evening at dinner the fifth years had swapped notes with other students and found their experiences of Thaumaturgical Studies to be much the same. Fred and George said that they had passed by the staff room earlier that week and heard some of the older members of staff shouting about 'incompetence' and 'circus acts'. So it was with great interest and excitement that Harry and his classmates looked forward to their first lesson in 'Practical Witchcraft', first thing after lunch on Thursday.
The fifth years entered the classroom to discover the tall, stern faced witch glaring at the blackboard as if it had personally offended her. Seated on the desk with a long clay pipe clasped between her teeth was the short witch with a face like a wrinkled apple.
"Wotcha," she said, removing her pipe and giving the class a cheerful wave, "I'm Nanny Ogg and this is Mistress Weatherwax."
Granny Weatherwax did not turn round to acknowledge the class but continued to stare at the blackboard.
"Where do the words go when you rub 'em off?" she muttered, "I don't hold with it: writing words down an' them rubbin' them out. 'Tain't natural."
"Right, can anybody tell me what we're supposed to do now?" Nanny asked the class.
"Err… take our seats?" suggested Hermione.
"Good girl! Take a punt for Gryffindor!" said Nanny happily.
"Don't you mean a 'point'?" drawled Draco Malfoy.
"Yeah, one of them too," said Nanny, nodding earnestly.
"Right," she continued, "who can tell me what we do next?"
A forest of hands shot up, eager to earn easy House points.
"Get out our books?" suggested Ernie Macmillan.
"Right! You do that," said Nanny, "Point to Hufflepuff."
"Books?" Granny Weatherwax rounded on the class, "No one said anything about books."
She darted forward and seized Hermione's copy of The Standard Book of Spells (Grade Five).
"Books!" exclaimed Granny as she flicked through the pages, "Do these people expect them to learn witching from books?"
"But Professor Weatherwax…" said Hermione.
"Mistress Weatherwax!" Granny snapped, "Detention!"
Hermione coloured but made no reply. There was some angry muttering from the other students.
"I say…" began Ernie Macmillan.
"Quiet! Detention!" said Granny.
"You've got the hang of this teachin' quickly, Esme," said Nanny Ogg.
"Thank you, Gytha," said Granny, an immovable rock amidst the tides of sarcasm.
"Learnin' from books," Granny sneered, "I can't be havin' with that."
She crossed over to the window, opened it and threw the textbook out with an almost disdainful flick of her wrist.
"There's gonna be no books in this classroom," she said, rounding on the class, "You're going to learn witching the proper way: by doin', not readin'."
The class perked up at this. Practical lessons were always more interesting than theory.
They were both disappointed and bemused to find that this was not what Granny had in mind. Striding purposefully ahead, she led them out of the classroom and into the school corridors. They moved along in fits and starts as Granny interrogated every passing student, staff member and ghost until someone revealed to her the location of the castle kitchen gardens.
The gardens were behind the castle, not far from the greenhouses. They were Hogwarts' main source of food and, as such, were extensive. As well as vegetables, the castle kept pigs, goats and cows. The House Elves who tended the gardens looked up as the class emerged from the castle postern gate, startled at this rare intrusion into their private domain.
"Go on you lot, clear off. I'm teachin', I am!" Granny announced. The House Elves exchanged confused looks, shrugged their shoulders and vanished with a loud 'crack'.
Granny stood, arms folded, and considered the castle gardens like a general considering the ground before a battle.
"Hmm, not bad I suppose," she conceded.
Granny turned to address the fifth years.
"Right you lot," she said, "Time for you to start learning proper witchin'. Now I don't normally hold with young wizards doing witchin'; witchin' and wizardin' are two completely different things, and that's how it's supposed to be. But Dumbledore says you're all to be taught together an' I suppose it won't do you wizards any harm to do an honest day's work for once."
Granny began to divide the class into small groups. One group was sent to muck out the animals, another to check them for signs of illness. Others were to weed and hoe the vegetable patches, and others to finish harvesting the winter crop. More than a few voices were raised in protest at this, and even more when Granny confiscated their wands, but once she had placed half the class in detention the fifth years set to work, some sullenly, some quite enjoying the break from study.
Harry, Hermione and Ron were among the unfortunate individuals sent to muck out the animals. Hermione was furious but her muttered complaints faded as her zeal for academic work shifted to the simple task of shovelling dung.
"How do the House Elves manage to do this every day?" Ron gasped as he raised yet another full wheelbarrow destined for the compost heap.
"I don't think it's all that bad," said Harry, leaning on his shovel for a moment to stare into the clear autumn sky.
It was true. While Granny Weatherwax stalked up and down the gardens glaring at the students, Nanny Ogg would sit and chat with them, offering advice and encouragement. She even taught some of them a verse or two of the song they had heard the Sorting Hat sing at the start of term feast. Harry had never known his grandparents but he felt that Nanny was, in some way, everybody's grandmother. It was like magic.
The two hours allotted for the lesson were long past when the fifth years finally trailed back up to the castle. They were filthy but most of them agreed that it had been an enjoyable lesson, even if they could not fathom what it had to do with witchcraft.
The only truly sour face in the group was Draco Malfoy. He had made a comment about the lesson being good preparation for Ron's future career. Shortly afterwards Harry accidentally bumped into Draco, knocking him to the floor. This was followed by a further accident, in which Ron tripped over his own feet and upended a wheelbarrow full of manure over Draco's head. The other Gryffindors agreed that it was a tragic accident and not amusing in the slightest.