A bit out of order
Feb. 2nd, 2004 02:10 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
camwynThis is another Hellblazer: Hogwarts chunk. I did it as this week's ![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-community.gif)
15minuteficlets exercise- one word, fifteen minutes, any fandom, no excuses. Alas, I was interrupted a few times, and I think I wound up going a little over fifteen minutes.
This is only a first draft, but I do not think the revised version is likely to be substantially different.
Word for today's exercise: Examination.
Extraordinary Requirements
Albus Dumbledore's spectacles glittered in the firelight that pervaded the Three Broomsticks. "You tell an impressive story, Mr. Constantine," said the wizard.
"Thank you."
"I realise, of course, that most of what you have said lies beyond my power to confirm." Dumbledore adjusted his spectacles, then went on. "Quite a few men in your position would take it upon themselves to . . . shall we say, embroider upon the truth? A few enhancements here, a little elimination of the unnecessary there?"
John gazed levelly back at the Hogwarts headmaster, expression carefully neutral. "Believe me, there's no one knows that better."
"Of course." Dumbledore inclined his head fractionally. "Under ordinary circumstances it would be a trivial matter to sort out how much I could rely upon, how much could be discounted. . . but these are hardly ordinary circumstances, are they? You, here, claiming to be from another world entirely- you must understand, Mr. Constantine, that extraordinary claims require extraordinary proof."
Constantine eyed Dumbledore with more than a little suspicion. Hagrid had said most ritual magic didn't work here, but Hagrid had also said he'd been chucked out of school before the age of fourteen. "What sort of proof are we talking about here?" he asked warily, bracing his hands on the table.
Dumbledore's face crinkled in a smile. "Just a little examination, Mr. Constantine." One hand lifted his wand, gestured with it negligently. "Legilimens."
What came was not as an attack, but a sort of knock at the edges of John's mind. He'd had his head invaded before more times than he cared to count; these days the barriers stayed up all the time, unless he had a bloody good reason to drop them, and this wasn't good enough. "Sorry," he said, "you're going to have to try harder than that."
"But of course, Mr. Constantine." Damn it, he was still smiling.
This time it wasn't a knock. It came harder, a jolt like one might get on the Underground, and it was followed immediately by another that felt like a rugby player out for broken bones. John narrowed his eyes, watching Dumbledore as the blow came again. "Still no good, guv-"
The next attempt all but knocked him backwards physically; he knew that one more attempt like that would blow the barriers entirely. Well, thought John, might as well make this interesting, eh? He spared himself a moment to breathe, even to flash Dumbledore's smile back at him, and waited.
The memories were in place, lined up neatly. All of them. Absolutely everything John could dredge up in the eyeblink between one moment and the next lay waiting.
It came.
He offered no resistance at all.
***
Some minutes later Dumbledore dropped his wand, and John felt a small surge of satisfaction. "Well," he said as Dumbledore moved to wipe his palms dry, "was that proof enough for you?"
"Yes. . . yes, I rather think it was." Dumbledore's voice didn't sound quite as steady as it had, and the smile was gone. "Did you really-"
"Yes."
"All of-"
"Yes."
"That little girl- Astra, was it?"
John closed his eyes, steeled himself a moment, spoke. "That. Will never. Happen. Again."
"I. . . see." There was a pause. "You really-"
"I already said yes."
"Are you quite serious about not allowing such things to happen again, Mr. Constantine?"
John's eyes flew open. "What've I been saying?" he demanded incredulously. "You just went through my entire sodding head! That's not enough proof for you?"
"You misunderstand me, Mr. Constantine." By this time Dumbledore had regained his composure. "I am not maligning your motives, or past performance- far from it. I am offering you a rhetorical question as an opening to an entirely different conversation."
"What d'you mean, 'different'?"
"I mean one in which you are offered a position that makes use of your- ah- extensive experience. . . educating the next generation of British wizards and witches."
John stared.
"Hogwarts," said Dumbledore, "finds itself in need of a new Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher- for, I fear, the fifth time in as many years. I understand you have some experience in teaching young wizards?"
And the old man smiled.
15minuteficlets exercise- one word, fifteen minutes, any fandom, no excuses. Alas, I was interrupted a few times, and I think I wound up going a little over fifteen minutes.This is only a first draft, but I do not think the revised version is likely to be substantially different.
Word for today's exercise: Examination.
Extraordinary Requirements
Albus Dumbledore's spectacles glittered in the firelight that pervaded the Three Broomsticks. "You tell an impressive story, Mr. Constantine," said the wizard.
"Thank you."
"I realise, of course, that most of what you have said lies beyond my power to confirm." Dumbledore adjusted his spectacles, then went on. "Quite a few men in your position would take it upon themselves to . . . shall we say, embroider upon the truth? A few enhancements here, a little elimination of the unnecessary there?"
John gazed levelly back at the Hogwarts headmaster, expression carefully neutral. "Believe me, there's no one knows that better."
"Of course." Dumbledore inclined his head fractionally. "Under ordinary circumstances it would be a trivial matter to sort out how much I could rely upon, how much could be discounted. . . but these are hardly ordinary circumstances, are they? You, here, claiming to be from another world entirely- you must understand, Mr. Constantine, that extraordinary claims require extraordinary proof."
Constantine eyed Dumbledore with more than a little suspicion. Hagrid had said most ritual magic didn't work here, but Hagrid had also said he'd been chucked out of school before the age of fourteen. "What sort of proof are we talking about here?" he asked warily, bracing his hands on the table.
Dumbledore's face crinkled in a smile. "Just a little examination, Mr. Constantine." One hand lifted his wand, gestured with it negligently. "Legilimens."
What came was not as an attack, but a sort of knock at the edges of John's mind. He'd had his head invaded before more times than he cared to count; these days the barriers stayed up all the time, unless he had a bloody good reason to drop them, and this wasn't good enough. "Sorry," he said, "you're going to have to try harder than that."
"But of course, Mr. Constantine." Damn it, he was still smiling.
This time it wasn't a knock. It came harder, a jolt like one might get on the Underground, and it was followed immediately by another that felt like a rugby player out for broken bones. John narrowed his eyes, watching Dumbledore as the blow came again. "Still no good, guv-"
The next attempt all but knocked him backwards physically; he knew that one more attempt like that would blow the barriers entirely. Well, thought John, might as well make this interesting, eh? He spared himself a moment to breathe, even to flash Dumbledore's smile back at him, and waited.
The memories were in place, lined up neatly. All of them. Absolutely everything John could dredge up in the eyeblink between one moment and the next lay waiting.
It came.
He offered no resistance at all.
***
Some minutes later Dumbledore dropped his wand, and John felt a small surge of satisfaction. "Well," he said as Dumbledore moved to wipe his palms dry, "was that proof enough for you?"
"Yes. . . yes, I rather think it was." Dumbledore's voice didn't sound quite as steady as it had, and the smile was gone. "Did you really-"
"Yes."
"All of-"
"Yes."
"That little girl- Astra, was it?"
John closed his eyes, steeled himself a moment, spoke. "That. Will never. Happen. Again."
"I. . . see." There was a pause. "You really-"
"I already said yes."
"Are you quite serious about not allowing such things to happen again, Mr. Constantine?"
John's eyes flew open. "What've I been saying?" he demanded incredulously. "You just went through my entire sodding head! That's not enough proof for you?"
"You misunderstand me, Mr. Constantine." By this time Dumbledore had regained his composure. "I am not maligning your motives, or past performance- far from it. I am offering you a rhetorical question as an opening to an entirely different conversation."
"What d'you mean, 'different'?"
"I mean one in which you are offered a position that makes use of your- ah- extensive experience. . . educating the next generation of British wizards and witches."
John stared.
"Hogwarts," said Dumbledore, "finds itself in need of a new Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher- for, I fear, the fifth time in as many years. I understand you have some experience in teaching young wizards?"
And the old man smiled.
