Chapter 11


Threads of Discontent

Ouch!

Moody squeezed the tip of his index finger. A tiny bubble of blood appeared in the spot the needle had pricked him. He placed his fingertip in his mouth and looked around the room to see if anyone had noticed. The other cadets were busy threading their Invisibility Cloaks while levitating themselves in a half-lotus position above beds of nails. The familiar brass bell hung ominously atop a desk at the head of the classroom while the maestro paced leisurely between each of them in order to monitor their progress.

"Patching your Invisibility Cloaks should be second nature to you by now," maestro said with a reprimanding glare toward Moody. "It's a wonder that you scabs can walk and chew gum at the same time."

When the bleeding stopped, Moody went back to the task at hand, being in the same predicament as the other cadets. His mini-cauldron wobbled at his knee as he continued to mix the thread in the silvery solution.

Stir, dip, thread... Stir, dip, thread... Stir, dip, thread...

He didn't dare breathe as he levitated the delicate, glowing, wispy strand from the iron pot and quickly threaded it through the eye of the needle before exposure to the air could cause the string to vanish. He continued to mend the seam, guiding the needle by feel through the invisible fabric. He was careful not to prick his finger again, all the while thinking how much easier this would be with the use of his wand.

"You take care of your Invisibility Cloak, and it will take care of you." Maestro proceeded to continue with his lecture, as if having his charges seated above a bed of nails wasn't enough of a distraction. "The art of stealth is an Auror's greatest weapon. Can someone tell me what other methods we may employ to become invisible?" He paused in front of Reuben in tacit expectation of an answer.

"Disillusionment Charm?" Reuben said.

"I'll accept that. Two points awarded." The maestro took a casual step towards Jeff.

"Transfiguration," Jeff offered quickly so maestro wouldn't have to break stride as he passed.

Maestro looked at him and pursed his lips thoughtfully, although the wrinkles in his face gave the appearance of a grimace. "Not exactly what I'm looking for, but you are partially correct. Two points awarded."

Angie, knowing she was next, replied preemptively before maestro passed by her station, "Camouflage using the Polyjuice Potion."

"Correct. Two points awarded. Any others?" By now he was standing directly in front of Moody. "Anyone?"

Moody took his time in finishing the last loop of the seam. Since this was a critical part of the process, he didn't allow the maestro's proximity to intimidate him into another bloodletting, which was the old wizard's obvious intention. Moody sighed in relief when the fabric disappeared along the splice. Satisfied, he tied off the thread before finally giving his answer. "Assimilation."

"Assimilation," the maestro repeated, nodding in agreement, although he failed to award Moody points for his answer. He turned around and, continuing on the subject of assimilation, inquired, "Scab Prewitt, who is the current Muggle Prime Minister?"

Angie averted her eyes, at a loss for an answer.

He arched an eyebrow at her and looked toward the next cadet. "Scab McKinley, how many Muggles live in London?"

"A couple of million or thereabouts, sir?" Jeff offered, though he would have preferred to remain silent.

Maestro snorted at that answer then turned to face Reuben. "Scab Ledley, who won the big cricket game last night?"

Reuben shrugged his shoulders, keeping his eyes hidden behind his cloak. "I'm afraid I don't follow cricket, sir."

Maestro shook his head. He walked calmly to the center of the room and clasped his hands behind his back in his usual fashion. "We live in a world overrun by Muggles. Unlike the rest of Wizarding society, we don't have the luxury of sticking our heads in the sand and going about our lives. Our job often requires going out among Muggles and interacting with them as if we belonged with them. So, I ask you, how can you expect to function in Muggleland if you don't understand them?" He took out his wand and aimed at the desk. One of the compartments magically opened, and four rolls of paper levitated out. They hovered through the air to rest at the foot of each cadet station. "From now on you are to read the Muggles' news literature as part of your daily routine—"

"Do you have any recommendations, Maestro?" Moody said with faux enthusiasm, careful not to look his teacher directly in the eyes.

"I didn't expect you could read, Scab Moody. In your case I was going to suggest that you purchase a wireless. Your very life may depend on keeping abreast of Muggle culture."

The paper unrolled itself at the foot of the spikes under Moody's station. He looked down, taking note of the Muggle publication called The London Gazette. He had heard of it, of course, but had never had occasion to read it in earnest, preferring instead to get the highlights of Muggle events from The Daily Prophet. He skimmed the headline.

BRITISH INTELLIGENCE HUNT FOR MISSING ATOMIC SCIENTIST

His interest was piqued, but his attention was soon drawn away by the maestro's next announcement.

"When you finish your cloaks, you're done for today. You'll be happy to know that I have granted you temporary leave for tonight in order to complete the following assignment: you are to go into the city and present yourselves as persons of mundane origin. Interact and strike up a conversation with no less than three Muggles. Keep a journal of your experiences and turn it in for discussion on the morrow." Satisfied, the maestro put his wand away and abruptly left the room.

Moody waited for the door to close behind the maestro. "He has got to be kidding."

Jeff lazily regarded Moody's reaction as he went back to work. "What're you brooding over now, Alastor?"

"Everything: the point system, the homework; it feels like I'm back in bleeding Hogwarts."

Angie looked at the two of them and nodded in the direction of the bed of nails resting directly beneath. "Funny, I don't seem to recall ever being in imminent danger of spikes impaling me bum at Hogwarts. Then again I was never sent to detention."

Moody rolled his eyes in response. "You know what I mean, woman."

Reuben listened on in amusement. "Well, I for one don't particularly mind the homework." He grinned, allowing his attention to wander from his work, and failed to notice when his cauldron started to float beyond his station. It tipped to one side, its contents coming close to seeping over the edge of the rim.

Before it spilled over Angie concentrated the cauldron back into place with Reuben none the wiser. "Of course you wouldn't mind, Reuben. Being a halfsie, it's not 'work' for you at all, is it?"

Jeff gave Angie a knowing wink. "How about it, Reuben? Got any advice for us pure-bloods on how to fraternize with Muggles?"

"I probably shouldn't, seeing as how it would be helping the competition."

Jeff frowned. "Bah, don't be such a ponce."

"I guess I could give you chaps a few pointers," Reuben said, reaching over to dip a new thread. He pouted in confusion as the cauldron was no longer positioned next to his knee. He shrugged it off and fished the next strand out of the pot without giving it further thought. "I'll do it in exchange for Angie showing me how to brew a decent Anti-ConfundusPotion."

"Not bloody likely," she replied, exasperated.

"C'mon, Angie," Moody interjected with a smirk. "It's not like he has the mental faculties to retain any of it."

Reuben glared out of the corner of his eye. "You can go screw an old goat, Alastor."

"Wouldn't that make your father jealous?"

"Now, now, boys." Angie scolded over Jeff and Moody's laughter. "Reuben does have a point. How about we all share something to keep us on equal footing: Reuben can give us pointers on how to blend in with Muggles, I'll share my potion-making techniques, Jeff can coach us on charms, and Alastor can... well, I'm sure Alastor is good at something."

"It does looks like he can sew pretty good," Reuben commented. "If this Auror gig doesn't work out, he could probably fall back on being a seamstress—"

"Ouch!"

"... Or not."