Hello wizards and pumpers. Chapter 19 is here. But for newcomers, let me share some excerpts from earlier chapters so you know what you're getting into.
Mr. and Mrs. Dumbsley, of number four Privet Drive, were proud to say that they had never touched a barbell. They didn't hold with such nonsense, thank you very much.
Harry Pumper lived under the stairs, which was fine, because he had converted the cupboard into a remarkably efficient home gym. The Dumbsleys had tried to stop him. They had failed. You cannot stop the pump. The pump is not a thing that can be stopped. This is established lore.
On his eleventh birthday, a letter arrived by owl. It read: "Dear Mr. Pumper, We are pleased to inform you that you have been accepted at Hogwarts School of Lifting and Gains. Term begins September 1. Please find enclosed a list of all necessary equipment: one (1) Olympic barbell, one (1) enchanted squat rack, one (1) wand (optional, the barbell is the real wand)."
"Ah," said the Sorting Barbell, which was a sentient barbell that rested on a bench press at the front of the Great Gym. "Difficult. Very difficult. Plenty of muscle, I see. And a good mind. There's talent, oh my goodness, yes — and a nice thirst to prove yourself, now that's interesting. So where shall I put you?"
"Not Cardio," Harry whispered desperately. "Not Cardio."
"Not Cardio, eh?" said the Sorting Barbell. "Are you sure? You could be great, you know, it's all there in your VO2 max, and Cardio will help you on the way to... no? Well, if you're sure — better be GAINTHERINDOR!"
The table on the far right erupted in cheers. Every member of Gaintherindor was visibly pumped.
The entrance to the Chamber of Gains was behind the third-floor squat rack that no one used because it was slightly wobbly. Harry pressed his hand to the barbell and spoke in Pumpletongue — the language of gains, which only he could speak, which sounded to everyone else like aggressive grunting.
"Open," he hissed, in Pumpletongue.
The squat rack slid aside to reveal a staircase descending into golden light.
At the bottom stood Tom Ridlift — young, impossibly veiny, his form perfect in a way that was wrong, because no one's form should be that perfect. It was the perfection of someone who had sacrificed something human for it.
"Hello, Harry," said Tom Ridlift. "I've been waiting for you. I've been waiting for someone who understands that the pump is not a means to an end. The pump IS the end. The pump is all there is."
"You're wrong," said Harry Pumper. "The pump is the beginning."
He lifted his wand. It was a barbell. It had always been a barbell.