A night like any other, an assignment like any other. Which was what had made Galton complacent. A complaint from the bartenders sent Lansdale and his partner inside. An unruly wizard who’d had a one too many cocolocos needed to be asked to leave. Perhaps with a tiny bit of magical persuasion.
“Sir-“ was as far as Galton got before he saw a red flash form in front of the guest. Then nothing.
He saw Hugh Lowe. Taller than his already tall self. Head seemingly larger than normal, and inflating further and further ever second. Lowe’s eyes began to bulge, and he smiled at Galton. A smile that seemed impossibly wide. His head began to shake, like a balloon under too much pressure. A loud ‘pop’.
He was awake again. On the bar’s floor. His partner staring up at him, and the drunk wizard who’d presumably struck Galton unconscious at his feet. Lansdale used an elbow to prop himself up as his other hand rubbed his head. A tiny headache was welling up from his temple, and the back of his head had a tiny amount of blood from where it had smacked into the ground. He brought his hand to his face and examined it. Slowly rubbing the blood between his thumb and fingers. It took him a moment to realize what he’d been hit with.
“Stupefy! Ah it had to happen at some point kid. It’s almost a right of passage in our line of work. That wandless, incantation-less magic always gets you newbies.” His boss began laughing. “I wish I had a pensieve! BAM! Out you went.” His laughter continued. Galton didn’t like being on the butt end of a joke, but he knew if it was the other way around he’d probably have a laugh or two as well. So he grit and beared it.
“Anyway, seems it’s time we sent you to the quick draw professor. It’ll be just like school again. Hands on learning and all that.” A devilish grin crawled over his bosses face. “Grunch will give you the details. Enjoy!” Grunch was his bosses house elf.
Despite the inhospitable name, Grunch was actually a lovely elf. Maybe not to the boss, but a sweet or two here or there and he really opened up to you. Galton was happy that it was Grunch of all the staff he’d get the details from. There would probably be less teasing than from anyone else. Still a little, but less.
2 days later Galton found himself meeting the “quick draw professor” in a what appeared to be a rundown dance studio in West London. It was an odd choice of office, but many of those in the security world were odd people. Who was Galton to judge. He approached the glass door with faded dance recital ads pasted so thick you could barely see inside. Just before his hand reached the handle it swung open. He took the invitation and walked in.
The inside was much like the outside. Wooden floors that lacked polish, mirrored wall with cracks running about, dingy lighting that made you want to squint a little. Galton was peering around for the professor and then he saw her.
Toad. His cat. Standing on her two hind legs, adorned in robes. Robes that looked oddly like something you’d see on a teacher. She locked eyes with Galton. An intense ringing rang out when they did. Galton moved to cover his ears and found he had none. His ears were in fact two mouths. He felt for his mouth to find that both his ears sat there instead. He broke eye contact with Toad and the ringing ceased. Looking back at her she seemed to be her normal self. Bald, but not dressed, nor humanoid in any way. He blinked.
AWAKE. He was awake. He shot up and scanned the room. He was in the dance studio once again. His head had a familiar pain growing.
“He rises! I see why they sent you to me kid. That was way, way too easy.” It was the professor, standing a few paces from him. “Might be a long day at this rate. For you.” The man began to chuckle. As Galton’s eyes focused in on the figure behind the voice he almost thought he was still dreaming. A man dressed in what seemed to be American cowboy regalia. Just missing the hat. “Okay get up. Don’t waste my time. Let’s go.” Whatever hint of humor he had before was gone. Galton stood.
“Now, I heard about your little problem, and little old me - the Quick Draw Professor - is gonna fix you up.” Galton almost cringed at him calling himself that. “What we’re gonna do is, I’m gonna blast you with stupefy randomly until you can cast a protego to defend against it consistently. And rennervate is gonna keep you around to try again and again. Got it?”
Galton went to nod his head. When he did the whole boat rocked. All 63 crew members of the SS Merlin flew about wildly. Waves splashed up over the gunwale. They began quickly bailing the ship as more and more crashed in. Galton wanted it to stop, but he couldn’t stop shaking his head about. The wilder he did the wilder the waves got. The hull creaked as it was tossed about. A man went overboard, and the crew cried louder than Galton thought possible. They pleaded with whatever forces there were to calm the waters and return their friend. And then Galton stopped nodding. The water went calm. The overboard man surfaced. Right before they could throw him a line-
He was staring up at the dulled fluorescence lights of the studio once again. “Gotcha! Okay get up.”
Galton stood once again. He began shaking out his limbs while the professor continued. “So if you see a flash, a red flash, you cast. That’s the basic strategy if you hadn’t figured it out.” Galton nodded his head in reply. This time it did not cause issues for any sea faring vessels.
And then he waited. He was used to dueling, ready to dodge and anticipate the other team. But he knew they were his opponents. He was expecting something. “If you had not figured it out, I don’t need a wand or words to cast.” Galton had figured that out. He continued waiting. Watching Quick Draw.
“Protego!” He thought he saw a flash. Nothing came. He was getting jumpy now. Then he saw the flash. “Prote-“
“Go!” He screamed at the class of unruly 12 year olds. Year 8s weren’t always his favorites to teach, but this bunch was all right. He watched as the first group sprinted around the gymnasium, trying their hardest to beat the council record for 4x100 relay. He knew none of them had a chance, but it was fun to see them try. As they neared the first baton pass something looked off. The team in the lead didn’t seem to be holding a metal baton at all. It was a strange twisted piece of wood. He’d never seen anything like it in his life, yet it seemed so familiar. Words began bubbling up in his throat.
“Protego!” He was on the ground again. He stood up before Quick Draw could even ask. He dusted off his robes, not caring if he got hit with a stupefy.
He was sitting on a snow globe. He had been for a long time. With all of his brothers and sisters. Everyday they multiplied. He was a lucky one. He had been one of the first dust specks to land on this snow globe. He remembered choosing it for the vibrant red tall bus that it held within. He liked that bus. All of his fellow dust specks that sat around and atop him felt the same. Everyday they sat there and admired that same red bus. All day everyday. But then something came for him. A giant feather swept across the globe. He felt his speck body leave the plastic surface.
More fluorescent lights. He hesitated to get up this time. “I don’t care if you’re standing or not.” The professor called out to him. If he stayed laying down he would stop falling so hard at least. But it would be much harder to see. He reluctantly stood.
This time he saw it. Just a second before, but it was enough. A red ball of adolescent magic beginning to form. The words came from his mouth before he could even think. “Protego!”
This time the stupefy would collide with the shield, and not his body. It would let out a small sizzle as it dissipated into nothingness. He let the protego drop as he went to celebrate.
He dropped. Falling further and further. He was in a quidditch stadium. He could see his broom above him. But the harder he tried to focus on the broom the more he began to question if it was a broom at all. The bristles were made up off worms. Living worms. They wriggles around tied tight by a red ribbon to the broom shaft. Which also was not a wooden broom shaft. It was another worm. Larger and thicker. It was no wonder Galton had fallen if he was trying to ride something like that. He turned to see how far until he hit the ground. To his horror it was just meters away. He closed his eyes and braced his body.
He was face down on the decrepit wooden floors of the dance studio. He pushed his arms against it to hoist himself up. A single strand of drool connected his lip to the floor board until he was a meter away. “If at first you don’t succeed, try, try again. What were they teaching you at that Hogwarts.” Galton just rolled his eyes.
As he did it came again. That at least was predictable. No one liked an attitude. “Protego.” Calm and cool, the evil red spell dissipated away. He didn’t drop it this time. He kept it there for a second, then two, then three. “Now why would I cast into a maintained protego?” The professor called out. He kept it up for a second longer just to entertain himself. When he did drop it he saw the red flash form again. Too late this time though.
He was opening the door to the prefects bathroom in Hogwarts. It doesn’t want to open for him. He twists and pulls as hard as he can and the door rips apart. The paintings around are screaming. There is blood everywhere. The door is shattered in two, sobbing from its keyhole. The paintings start accusing Galton of being a murderer.
He doesn’t need even a second to know where he is and what happened. He had lost count. Not because of the sheer number of them, but from the brain damage forming into a concussion. The red came again. Again he threw up another protego to which the stupefy dissipated into. He dropped the protego, and as he did the red came again.
This time he was ready. He’d dropped the shield with the explicit motive of casting it again right away. By the time the stupefy left the professor’s reach the protego was there, protecting him. The stupefy would crash into it, this time not dissipating. When you had been a good little wizard, protego would give you a gift. A rebound. Professor Quick Draw would have his own stupefy sent right back at him. He had no time to throw up a shield, even if he could do it without wand or words.
Young Lansdale mused about the morality of leaving the professor unconscious. He had revived Galton many times, but that was only to knock him out again. And, depending on one’s definition of consistently, twice in a row was consistent. So the professors lesson was over. Galton made for the door. It did not shoot open automatically this time. He pulled it open and took a step out. He turned and peered back in.
“Rennervate.”
