You Said It Was Camping
August 15, 2014. Somewhere in the Scottish highlands.
"Traffic Control just issued the post-approval. We're transferring it to Director Weybridge's account now—should be fully under your control in about three minutes."
"Appreciate it. And the price?"
"Uh… total's twenty thousand euros, but with the long-term client discount plus the special anniversary cut for our company's twentieth this month… eleven thousand euros will do it. If you're paying in Galleons, there's a one-percent exchange fee—Gringotts policy, so we can't waive that."
"I know. Here's the card."
"Installments, right? Boss said to make sure you get the discount—grateful you settle up like this every six months."
"Six months, please. Round-trip terminal again this time?"
"Yes. Active until 11:59 p.m. tomorrow. You can open or close it early if you want. Payment complete. Receipt?"
"Send it to the academy email. Thanks."
Once the crew who'd just installed the temporary Floo-powder terminal packed up and left, it was only us.
The trees stood dense—pine, oak, and birch tangled into a proper forest. The ground was damp, layered with fallen leaves, moss blanketing the stones. The air bit cold; every breath left a white plume.
The students stood around looking thoroughly unimpressed.
"You said this was camping!"
Someone shouted.
"You said it was a graduation celebration!"
Another student yelled.
Marcus Weybridge stood silent, arms crossed, expression carved from ice as he looked down at us. The scar on his left arm still stood out stark beneath the black robe, sharper than ever in the morning light.
"It is camping," Marcus said, voice low. "Just not the kind you pictured."
He pulled a small sphere from his pocket—a memory orb, silver and glowing, the kind that went into a Pensieve.
"Watch this."
He tossed it into the air. The orb hung there and began to shine. A screen unfolded in the empty space like a projector beam, and an image resolved.
"You've all seen this scene plenty of times, haven't you?"
The footage played: Tobias wrapping himself around a Muggle child, smiling faintly as he died.
A thick, despairing silence settled over everyone. We'd watched that moment more times than we could count.
Marcus spoke again.
"First, I owe you an apology. During the Sirius Black simulation briefing, I deliberately left something out."
What? He's just… opening up about it? He was trying to light a fire of revenge in us, make us hate the nobles on purpose…?
My eyes went wide at how calmly he said it.
I thought he'd take that secret to the grave.
"The full name of the officer in charge of Sector Three was Tobias Weybridge. My older brother."
Shocked students stared at him, blank-faced. I froze solid. The Auror I'd watched die over and over right in front of me had been the instructor's brother… That was why. Why he carried that grudge against the high nobility. Why he'd been planting distrust and resentment toward them in my friends. Not some grand political conspiracy or spy game—just raw, deep-rooted hatred. Damn it, so that was it? When I saved Tobias, that stone-faced man had actually cracked—not because I'd found a hidden route, but because I'd brought his brother back? Then what the hell did that make me, standing there cracking "never give up" jokes in front of him?
Embarrassment and guilt twisted together until a sigh slipped out on its own.
"Tobias Weybridge. Thirteen-year veteran of the Magical Law Enforcement Squad, Special Assault Unit. Killed in action, August 13, 2002."
His voice trembled—just barely.
"Friendly fire. An ally's mistake."
The corner of Marcus's mouth twitched when he said "ally's mistake."
This man knew. He knew the Prime Minister's Guard Battalion's "friendly fire" hadn't been an accident. He knew the battalion freezing to death hadn't been Theodore Seamus's mistake either. And still he'd kept silent for twelve years, alone. I couldn't fully understand it—but after seeing that landscape, I could. Who wouldn't be terrified? Especially when, as far as the Magical Law Enforcement Aurors on that battlefield were concerned, Sirius, the Order of the Phoenix, and even Albus Dumbledore himself were accomplices.
"But he completed his mission to the very end. The child he shielded lived. She's studying medicine at King's College now. Still remembers the man who saved her. Visits the Ministry National Cemetery in Dartmoor every year to pay her respects."
Marcus looked around at the students.
"Some of you might still think this is a game. A simulation. Fake. Fair enough—what you did really was just a past simulation. But in the real world, people are dying. So I came here to show you the present, not the past."
He raised a hand.
"From this moment, you will survive here for two days. No support. This is bivouac and survival training. Actual camping, in the literal sense."
"What?"
Someone shouted.
"You're joking, right?"
"Just us?"
The students murmured.
Marcus's face didn't change.
"Barely ten years ago," his voice cut through the noise and silenced the clearing, "students your age were brainwashed by He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named, forced to carry planted blasting curses, and used as child soldiers. Kids who should have been boarding the Hogwarts Express with trunks full of textbooks were strapped to rotting broomsticks and flown straight into NATO bases. The soldiers couldn't fire anti-aircraft guns at children crying while tied to brooms. Kids turned into bombs. Soldiers killed in the blasts. Tell me—who was the villain in that picture?"
The air grew heavy.
"Eleven. Twelve. Thirteen." Marcus counted on his fingers. "Children that age were dragged onto battlefields. Against their will. Brainwashed. Odds are the younger generation among your professors lost siblings and friends back then."
Percy leaned toward Cedric and whispered,
"That's why we only become magical age eleven when we hit Muggle age fourteen. During His era the child-soldier draft age was eleven, so the wizarding world changed how they count ages entirely—to keep kids off His tracking magic—"
"Percy," Cedric whispered. "Shut it."
"Percy," I whispered at the same time. "Zip it."
Percy closed his mouth.
The students went quiet.
"Weasley's right. That's why you don't enter higher magical education until you're fourteen. The Dark Lord's tracking magic covers ages eight through thirteen. I don't know the exact reason, but even someone as powerful as him probably couldn't sense every minor on the entire planet. Still—detecting every eight-to-thirteen-year-old on Earth? One hell of a bastard, wouldn't you say?"
That had been one of the biggest questions since I landed in this world. Originally Harry had been eleven when he dragged a trunk through Diagon Alley with Hagrid. So why had I been stuck in Eton Elementary Magical School until thirteen? Why hadn't my magic awakened until then—why only theory and assembly methods?
When Uncle Raul's careful answer matched what Marcus had just said, I felt the terror of this twisted wizarding world all over again. A world I knew and didn't know at the same time.
I stared at Marcus as he kept talking. He was another victim of this insane magical world. I couldn't watch Cedric become someone like him—or like Tobias. If that happened, I was pretty sure I'd lose my mind too.
"…The attempt to avoid that was the Magic Release Age Delay Ward. It applies not just to you but to every child in Europe and the Americas—a joint wide-area spell cast by Albus Dumbledore and the world's leading mages. East Asia simply locked every eleven-year-old into elementary magical schools like camps for a full year of isolation. So your magic only awakens at Muggle age fourteen. That's when you become a wizard. From then on you count as magical age eleven again. Complicated, but all for your survival. The Dark Lord is missing—not confirmed dead."
Marcus took out the memory orb again.
"Smart Percy Weasley—name the major incidents dark wizards have caused over the last hundred years."
Percy thought, then answered.
"The most recent major one would be the Battle of Boston in 2001."
The memory orb chimed and projected a scene to match Percy's answer.
The ocean. Night sea, waves high. Something flying through the sky.
A dragon—massive, black-scaled, wings spread, breathing fire.
And a man chasing it.
Voldemort. Before he became the bald serial killer—still handsome, eight-two parting, wand flashing as he pursued the dragon.
"2001, Boston," Marcus explained. "The Dark Lord went hunting a dragon and picked a fight with the U.S. Navy's Atlantic Fleet."
The image shifted.
Warships—huge gray vessels. Missiles launching from their decks.
Death Eaters, dragon, and U.S. Navy in a three-way free-for-all.
Boom—boom—boom—
Explosions lit the sky. The dragon screamed and fell. Aircraft carriers sank. Pilots died mid-ejection. Hellfire missiles streaked toward Voldemort; he fired spell after spell while retreating. Even in retreat he laughed and attacked the destroyers.
"The reason he mostly failed to conquer Europe," Marcus said, "is that once the U.S. military got serious, his forces took heavy losses. Of course America's losses were enormous too—forces that should have gone to Afghanistan and Iraq got diverted against the Dark Lord. You already know the famous story of Bellatrix Lestrange single-handedly downing two B-52s over Germany, right? And how U.S. Secretary Rumsfeld stormed in to yell at Albus Dumbledore for more active help and got thrown out. Still, under Advisor Slughorn's lead, every U.S. and NATO warship and fighter now carries anti-magic coating. Magic can't detect them. What—bored by the weapons lecture already?"
"Yeeeah—"
Before the half-hearted answers finished, Marcus cut in.
"Then how about history? Besides Boston—anyone else? Extra bottle of water for whoever answers."
Students started calling out from all sides.
"The Grindelwald-Dumbledore duel! Absolute legend. That's the peak!"
"The Moscow siege against the hardline giants! Brusil Ivanov's story even got a movie—"
"July 2002, the Potters and Him in Godric's Hollow! The big one where the Dark Lord vanished—"
"The Sirius Black London terror we did! Scared the hell out of us."
"February 2002, the Gwangan Bridge bombing in Korea! Avery Senior, the greatest bomb-maker of the modern age, went down with Korean Auror Rachel Shin and her husband—"
"The Casablanca battle in Morocco! The duel between Conqueror Yoo Seong-heon and terrorist William Gehi—"
"The Dragon Slayers wiping out the Hong Kong mafia and the Pyramid Grand Battle!"
"Quiet."
Marcus's word killed the screen.
"Every single one of those you just named was a tragedy that produced staggering casualties. You know them well. As you're aware, the wizarding world has been at war almost continuously for the last hundred years. World War I, World War II, Grindelwald's conquest wars, His first war, extremist terror attacks, the Boston incident and the second war that followed almost immediately. Fortunately His second war ended not long after it began thanks to the Potters' heroic sacrifice. But as of 2014 his remnants and international terrorists are still running free."
Percy raised his hand.
"Instructor."
"Speak."
"What does any of that have to do with this training? Feels like a stretch."
Marcus smiled.
"Another good question, Percy Weasley."
Percy beamed.
"But once again, an unauthorized one. I already said the second time wouldn't slide as a mistake."
Percy's smile froze.
"Your team's water ration is cut in half."
"What?!"
Cedric, Penelope, and I all glared at Percy at once. I narrowed my eyes and stared him down. Cedric shook his head slowly. Penelope sighed.
Only Karina smiled and patted Percy's shoulder.
"It's fine, Percy. We'll talk later."
"Sorry…"
Percy muttered.
"Can't we just kick that bastard out of the team and remake it?"
"Eugene Kim, are you a genius? Wow, that's the most convincing thing he's said all year."
Percy shot us desperate looks while Cedric and I snickered, but we ignored him completely.
Marcus spoke again.
"The U.S. military used every science and magic they had—from space to underground—to hunt His forces. Satellites, drones, thermal cameras, tracking charms, detection magic. Everything. America's elite Aurors cooperated with the CIA and the military too. Bellatrix Lestrange assassinating the Kennedy family heir had already spiked American war fever, and the final straw was proof those bastards helped al-Qaeda hijack the planes right before 9/11."
He pointed at the forest.
"But the reason they ultimately escaped the U.S. military was primitive bivouac. Hiding in the woods, lighting no fires, leaving no traces. That's how they survived."
He looked at the students.
"They're the enemy, but you still learn what you need to learn. Survival skills matter more than magic sometimes. If wizards were all-powerful, why do we still die to bullets? Magic is never absolute. Don't bury yourselves in it. You yourselves have to get stronger."
He checked his watch.
"For the next two days, survive here with zero support. Water: one liter per person per day. Food you find yourselves. Fire you make yourselves. Ah—students who earned the extra ration earlier, come collect it. Except Percy Weasley."
"What about magic? Are we not allowed to use it at all?"
Someone asked.
"Minimum only. I'll decide if the use is appropriate. Emergency situations are the obvious exception. The restriction is for daily life. Don't come crying that you couldn't cast because of the instructor when an enemy shows up. What I mean is: no Incendio for campfires, no Accio for hauling rocks. If that's how you're going to do this, just go home. Your parents paid a fortune to send you here. If you're going to do it, do it properly."
Students groaned. Percy, already water-restricted with no mercy, finally snapped.
"The U.S. military is the U.S. military—why do we have to learn Death Eater survival techniques? That's a massive logical leap, Instructor!"
"Percy, what the hell is wrong with this guy."
"Let him go. He already lost the water—what's left?"
"But he kind of has a point. Instructor, please explain. I get it, but there is a bit of a leap. Jumping into this with zero prep feels…"
Cedric and Penelope and I had been grabbing Percy's shoulders to force him back down when Cedric's serious question made Marcus pause. We all stared, surprised.
"…Hogwarts has over five hundred students per year, right? Total under four thousand."
"Exactly five hundred forty, Professor."
"So roughly five hundred forty graduate every year. How many of those take combat Auror posts in Magical Law Enforcement or the Department of Magical Law Enforcement?"
"Varies year to year, but last year it was about thirty."
Percy rattled off the exact numbers without a second's hesitation.
"Percy Weasley, you really do memorize those figures. Fine—thirty. Of those thirty, how many survive the first ten years after commissioning?"
"What?"
"Even combat Aurors who received Hogwarts' top-tier education have a ten-year survival rate just over fifty percent. In other words, half your seniors who become Aurors die before they hit Muggle age thirty. Britain has more than ten higher magical schools, and even their absolute elites die that fast. Why? Why do you think?"
We fell silent under Marcus's rising intensity.
"Percy Weasley. Cedric Diggory. Why learn Death Eater survival methods? Because they aren't extinct. The Dark Lord is missing—not confirmed dead. Lucius Malfoy, Theodore Seamus, Leo Romulus—three noble MPs defected from Voldemort to the Ministry, and a great many Death Eaters died or went to Azkaban. Good news. Flip side: not all of them. Even while you lot are laughing and playing, people are still dying on the front lines to protect you, brats. Think deaths like my brother's are special? They're not. Dozens of Aurors die the same way every single year."
Heavy air hung over us. Marcus took a breath, then continued, voice flat again.
"I run this survival training so those Aurors' deaths might mean something. Because a lot of people don't want you to die. Unfortunately I'm not a regular professor at a higher magical school—just a cram-school instructor. Outside this short holiday you signed up for, I have no reason to see you. So I have to cram as much real combat as possible into a short time. Understood, young masters and mistresses?"
"…Yes."
"Begin. Grab the food supplies you picked by team earlier and scatter."
Marcus spoke—and vanished.
Only the students remained.
Silence stretched.
"…One wrong word and he got completely wrecked."
Penelope sighed.
"Still, everything he said was right. For now, let's focus on our own situation."
Cedric muttered,
"I really had no idea that Auror was the instructor's brother…"
Karina's eyes glistened.
"Cedric's right. It's genuinely sad, but it's over ten years in the past. Let's decide our own future first."
Percy clapped Karina on the back and spoke to the rest of us.
Karina had already gone and freely picked out food ingredients. Bound to be stew—throw everything in a pot and boil it long enough and you're done. Her expression seemed to be checking my reaction for some reason, but I was too busy planning how to punish that bastard Percy to care.
After the teams roughly dispersed and claimed spots, the five of us sat in a circle and looked at one another.