Hellblazer: Hogwarts, Part VI
Feb. 13th, 2004 12:42 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
camwynI'd like to submit this to Fiction Alley, but I don't think the parts I've got here are the right places for chapter divisions. Anyone care to help with that?
This one's long. Those of you just joining us may want to start with part one and go on to parts two, three, four A, four B, and five.
Tonks sighed, setting her broom aside as he pushed himself to his knees, then to his feet. "Sorry about that, John, I did try to warn you. . ."
"Fug." John grimaced, wriggling his jaw for a moment before spitting a few blades of grass. "M' ribs- sodding teef-"
"Here, let me check something." Before John could stop her Tonks was in front of him, wand pointed straight at his face. His arm came up in a reflexive block as she spoke: "Scourgify."
The realization that a fifteen-foot fall apparently hadn't broken every bone in his forearms shot through his head and vanished. It just couldn't compete with the extremely peculiar sensation of the dirt he'd all but swallowed suddenly leaping out of his mouth and flying away at top speed. For a moment all he could do was blink, open-mouthed with surprise. By the time he'd recovered his wits Tonks was leaning in, examining her handiwork with a dissatisfied eye. "Didn't get everything, but it'll do… They're all fine, John. Your teeth, I mean. Sorry I couldn't fix the coat too, but I've never been much good at that sort of spell."
He looked down. He distinctly remembered skidding along the grass for a good ten feet or more when he'd hit, and all he had to show for it was a faint smear of green along one side of his coat's front. "What the hell did you do? And why-" He cautiously flexed his fingers; no pain at all. "why isn't anything broken?"
Tonks grinned. "You're a wizard, all right," she said as he prodded at a few more sore places. "Wizarding folk are a lot tougher than Muggles. I've seen Quidditch players take Bludgers to the head that would've killed any Muggle stone dead. A little fall like that? That's nothing. Worst you could expect from that would probably be a broken wrist, and any good Healer could patch that up in a couple of minutes anyway."
"Bludger?" John asked, only half listening. Huh. Hands fine, arms fine, legs fine, and- yes- all his teeth seemed to be where they belonged.
"Iron balls about so big." Tonks indicated the size of a football. "They whiz around the pitch trying to take out the Seeker-"
Some sporting thing, then. "All right, I get it, wizards don't break easily. 's good to know." John gave the prone broom a venomous look. "Only it's not going to come up again, because I don't plan to give that bloody thing another chance."
"Oh yes you are."
"Oh no I'm not." The coins Dumbledore had given him were still safely stashed in a buttoned coat pocket. "Hagrid, which way to Hogsmeade?"
"Ah- sorry, John. . ." The big fellow hesitated, shifting his weight from one bunny-slippered foot to the other. "But if Dumbledore says yeh've got t' go wi' Tonks here, then yeh'd better do it."
John eyed Hagrid sourly. "Fat lot of help you are," he muttered.
"Leave him out of it, John." Tonks held her hand over the broom. "Up. . . The train takes too long. Anyway, you need someone to show you around Diagon Alley."
He folded his arms across his chest. "I am not getting back on that thing."
"Oh, come on. It's perfectly safe as long as you don't start squirming. Look." Tonks hopped aboard the broom and lifted her feet from the ground, circling lazily. "Here, just get on behind me- I promise it won't take off this time. See, I've got it under control," she added as she brought it to a stop in front of him.
John glanced at Hagrid, who made an encouraging little gesture, or at least what he probably thought was an encouraging little gesture. Suppressing a mutter of 'traitor', John cautiously passed one leg over the stick-
"That's right," Tonks said cheerfully. "Okay, now slowly pick up the- oh, wait, get your hands around me first." She paused. "A little lower, if you don't mind."
"Sorry."
"That's all right, you've got it now. Okay, pick up the other leg- there, was that so hard?"
"Don't ask me to be happy about this, all right?"
She gave a merry laugh. "Oh, you'll be fine. All right, Hagrid, we're off to London." The broom started circling again, gaining altitude this time; John shut his eyes tightly. "Tell Dumbledore I'll drop John here off before I look in on Harry!"
"All righ'!" John heard Hagrid call from somewhere far below, just before the broom gave a lurch and rocketed forward. Grimacing, John pulled up his legs as close to the broomstick as he could-
"You all right back there?" yelled Tonks, her voice almost lost in the wind.
"No!"
She laughed. The wretched woman laughed. "Oh, come on! It's not that bad!"
Eyes still closed, John gritted his teeth a moment before yelling back. "We're doing sixty bloody miles an hour over the countryside on a bloody broomstick that just tried to kill me! Yes! It is that bad!"
More laughter- and then, unbelievably-
"You're not going faster?"
"What use is a perfectly good racing broom if you don't use its full potential?" she answered as gaily as anyone who is leaning into seventy-five miles an hour of wind can.
"Christ!"
"Besides! The sooner we get there, the sooner you'll be back on the ground! Won't that be nice?"
John muttered a very rude word indeed, which the wind whipped away.
Eventually, the broom started to dip alarmingly downwards. "Don't worry," Tonks called over her shoulder, "we're just coming in for a landing. . . You all right back there?"
"What d'you think?"
Tonks laughed. "Oh, good. Hang on tight now."
He stifled the urge to ask what she thought he'd been doing up to then, and a few moments later the broom's motion stopped entirely. When he opened his eyes he found that they'd landed in a city park. "Where are we?"
"A little ways from Diagon Alley. Come on, off you go." Tonks waited until he was clear of the broom before reaching into her pocket. "Right, just a tic-" She rapped the broomstick smartly with her wand, suffusing it momentarily with a rush of greens and browns. "Disillusionment Charm," she explained as she thrust the all-but-invisible broomstick into a convenient cluster of brush. "I can't very well walk through the streets with it, so the less likely Muggle kids are to find it the better… all right, this way."
John followed her out of the park and into the street. "You couldn't just land that thing where we're going?"
"Nah. Diagon Alley's too busy a place to put down a broomstick- it'd be like trying to land a what-d'you-call-'em, helicopter, in the middle of the street." She glanced up and down the pavement, quickening her pace. John lengthened his stride to keep up. "You really don't have brooms where you come from?"
"Afraid not."
"How d'you get around, then?"
"Me? Got a friend who drives a cab, he's usually good for a ride. The Tube, if Chas is busy."
"Really?" She sounded amazed. "Weird! You don't even Apparate?"
"What, popping into and out of existence or something?" John snorted. "Can't say I have, no. Wish it were that easy-"
But she'd got the bit in her teeth now. "How about Floo? You've at least got a Floo Network, right?"
"I have no idea what you're talking about."
"The- you don't-" Tonks stopped in her tracks, staring up at him. "Are you sure-"
An immense weariness settled over John. "Look," he snapped, "I do not know this Floo of which you speak. Neither do I ride a broom, wave a wand, or- or Apparate. I am not part giant. I do not dress like something out of a panto of King Arthur. I have done many, many things in my day, actual magus things, most of which probably mean absolutely nothing to you-"
"I didn't-"
"-given that you don't even seem-"
"John-"
"-to have contact with the kind of entities I-"
"JOHN!" Tonks glared at him. "We are on the street!"
"So?"
"So, this isn't the kind of thing we talk about in public!"
"Fuck." He passed one hand over his face wearily. How long since he'd last had a full night's rest?
She was staring at him, he could feel that. Dammit.
"Sorry," he muttered at last. "Wasn't thinking."
"No, I suppose not."
"Listen." He dropped his hand. "I don't mean to be a divvy about it, but you've got to understand- since I woke up yesterday, I've had a full-on blast to the chest, a near death experience in London traffic, a face full of tree branches, a fifteen-foot drop onto solid earth, and about three hours of sleep. I may have broken one of my teeth on Hagrid's idea of dinner, I can't really tell, and the only people here that I've managed to speak to have all questioned every last thing I've said at every fucking turn. So you'll pardon me, but a little less aggro would go over really well just now."
She was still staring at him, but there was a different quality to it- some softening of the expression. He couldn't really tell, and he didn't really care.
"Hagrid made you dinner," she said at last.
"Yeah."
"And… you ate it."
"Yeah."
Tonks gave a long, low whistle. "All right," she said, "you win. . . Truce?" She stuck out her hand.
John blinked, then shrugged inwardly. What the hell. "Truce," he agreed, and shook it.
From there it was only a few minutes' walk to familiar territory. Well, as familiar as any territory in this London could get. The sign for Tooting Records just had time to sink into his consciousness before Tonks all but dragged him into the Leaky Cauldron again. "Here, I thought we were going to-"
"Diagon Alley, yes," she assured him. "It's right this way."
They didn't stop in the pub this time. They passed a few things John would've liked a closer look at- a couple of elderly witches huddling over smoking glasses, a fellow in purple smoking a long, skinny pipe- but Tonks merely threw a wave in the barman's direction and kept on walking. Diagon Alley, it seemed, lay out the back door. Or something did, anyway; on first sight the only thing behind the Leaky Cauldron was a narrow, high walled bit of nothing, littered with the occasional sad piece of trash.
John stuck his hands in his pockets, looking around thoughtfully. "This where you draw the circle on the ground, then?" he asked at last.
Taking out her wand, Tonks shook her head. "No, this is where we tap-" She frowned a little, silently counting along the bottom of the wall. "the right-" Her wand moved upward momentarily. "-brick," she finished, swiftly rapping the third-over, second-up brick several times. On the third tap the wall suddenly parted, sliding open and apart to reveal a street full of people where nothing but building could logically be.
He should've been impressed, or perhaps he should've made some sarcastic comment. John knew she was expecting something from him. But really, all he felt was relief. He'd noticed it as the wall opened, the sorcery that offered passage to this place washing briefly over his burned-out nerves like a physical reassurance. No, this wasn't what he was used to- but it was close enough, it wasn't the damn broomstick or the King's Cross barrier or any of the other things he'd seen so far. Whether the magic was in the wand or the bricks he didn't know, but it was something he knew he could handle.
"You okay, John?" Tonks asked, peering up at him curiously.
He cleared his throat, nodded. "Yeah," he said, a little hoarsely. "Nice trick."
Tonks looked back at the portal. "What, this? This is nothing. Come on."
'Diagon Alley'- he saw no street sign, but Tonks assured him this was the place- was a winding, cobbled street lined with shops of all kinds. A ferocious stink of bad eggs rolled out the door of one place; when he looked its way he shuddered, reminding himself not to fall ill if that was what one could expect from a wizard apothecary's. Another shop looked like a restaurant-supply house at first glance, but a closer look revealed that what he'd thought were pots were instead cauldrons of differing sizes and metals. There was a place with brooms in the window, which John resolutely refused to even look at, and a stationer's whose sign boasted of the latest in quills-
And the people. Oh, God, the people. John and Tonks were just about the only two in sight who wore what he considered normal clothing. The others- and there were others every which way he looked, despite the morning hour- were robed, hatted folk he could only pray were witches and wizards. No one else had any excuse for dressing like that at this time of year. If anything, they were even more ludicrously attired than the people he'd seen in Hogsmeade. John half expected them to suddenly burst out in random fits of street choreography. "Is it always like this?" he asked, eyes lingering on a skinny, scraggly-looking fellow in faded red plush robes and a hat on which occult symbols had been marked in tarnished sequins.
"Oh, this is nothing. You ought to see it last week of August, when the kids are all here shopping with their parents- oof!" She'd dodged an elderly witch with a basket full of something squirming, but at a cost of stumbling into John instead. "Sorry- ow-"
"It's okay. Here, are you all right?"
Tonks winced as she righted herself, rubbing at her hand. "Merlin. . . what've you got in those pockets?"
"Never you mind," John said hurriedly. He had a feeling the brass knucks wouldn't go over very well. "How much further to this wand place?"
"Not that far. Past Gringotts a ways." Indeed, there was a gleaming building ahead of them- marble, it looked like, but John couldn't tell for sure. The sign over its burnished bronze doors proclaimed it to be Gringotts Wizarding Bank before fading into far smaller type which John did not bother to read. It was the guards of the place who caught his eye- a pair of wizened little creatures in scarlet uniforms, neat as any Royal Guard but about as human as-
John tapped Tonks' shoulder. "Demons?" he asked out of the side of his mouth.
Tonks looked, shook her head. "Goblins," she answered casually. "You couldn't get a demon here if you tried, they're placebound-"
"So you do have them, then."
"Well, yeah- kelpies, grindylows, stuff like that."
"Gr- what? Evil fish-men, sort of thing?"
"Right. Not very bright, though. Got really brittle fingers."
They were almost past the bank now. John reluctantly turned away from the sight of one of the goblins surreptitiously picking its nose. "But those things-"
"They're goblins, they run Gringott's. I wouldn't like to be on their bad side, but they're not what you'd call Dark."
John shook his head slowly. "Is there a book on them I could get today? Dumbledore said I ought to pick up a text or two."
Tonks frowned, stopping mid-pavement to scratch at her nose as she thought. "Well- there's books, but- here, how much did he give you?"
John fished the coins out of his pocket and handed them to her. She counted them over, then nodded and passed them back. "Thought so. Got enough there for a wand and two books- three, if you're lucky. I expect he's testing you, to see what sort of books you spend your money on."
"Mm."
"Mind if I give you a suggestion?"
He glanced over at her, nodded.
"Stick to two," Tonks advised as they started walking again. "Books, I mean. And don't try to spend all you've got on those books, either. If you're going to be staying with Hagrid. . ." She trailed off, hands making a vague 'fill in the blank, would you?' gesture.
He held up one of the coins, turning it over to examine the stubby wyvern under the words UNUM GALLEON. "Not exactly the sort of thing you can spend at Tesco's, is it," he murmured.
Tonks laughed. "That a Muggle market, then? There's a grocer's in Hogsmeade, you'll do all right. I'll show you. Come on, this is Ollivander's here."
The narrow little shop didn't look like much, despite a sign boasting an age John couldn't possibly believe. There wasn't even a proper window display, only a wand resting on a cushion long past its prime. Of course, even here looks could be deceiving, so John swallowed his misgivings and followed Tonks in. "Popular place, is it?" he asked as his eyes adjusted to the dimness.
"Only place in London to get a really proper wand," Tonks answered cheerfully, leaning over to peer at the stacks and stacks of boxes that lined the walls. "Of course, it's the wrong time of-"
"I know that voice." It was an odd, dusty-sounding voice, and it was filled with dread. "I hadn't thought to see you here so soon."
Startled, John opened his mouth, but Tonks spoke first. "It's not for me this time, Mr. Ollivander."
A grey-haired man with a lined face and eyes of pale silvery grey emerged from the rear of the shop. His suspicious gaze was locked on Tonks. "As I recall," he said slowly, "that's what you said on your last visit."
"Yes- well-" Tonks grinned sheepishly, turning to John with a momentary pleading look.
"And when I asked to see your wand, you'd Spellotaped the pieces together-"
"She's right," John broke in. The pale eyes snapped immediately to him. "We're here for me."
Ollivander peered at John for several long, long moments. "You're quite sure?" he asked at last. For once the question didn't get up John's nose; he nodded.
Still not entirely satisfied, Ollivander coughed and expectantly held out a hand to Tonks. "Sorry, John," she murmured as she passed her wand over to the shopkeeper. "It's just- well- I've a bit of a reputation for being hard on my equipment."
He smiled wryly, saying nothing. Ollivander was busily inspecting Tonks' wand, comparing it to a measuring tape that unfolded by itself and ultimately producing a gust of icy mist from the end. "Well," the shopkeeper said at last, "I suppose you have been careful with this one. Although-"
"Yes, yes, I know, more polishing," Tonks said hurriedly. "Look, my friend here's in need of a wand-"
The shopkeeper, who did not seem to have blinked once since they'd entered the place, considered John again. "A wizard without a wand?" Ollivander murmured. "Curious."
"Left mine in me other suit," John said dryly.
Ollivander inclined his head. "A small joke, I imagine. . . Sir, my business is not to ask why you have come here. It is only to rectify that need." Good, 'cos I'm getting tired of explaining, John thought. "Now- if you please- which is your wand arm?"
John held out his right arm for inspection. Ollivander's tape measure had just extended along his forearm when there came a crash! from the other side of the shop; both men froze. "Sorry!" called Tonks. "I, ah-"
"Miss Tonks," said Ollivander in a carefully controlled tone, "I would take it as a great favour indeed if you would kindly wait outside my shop."
"I'll just put these back, shall I?"
"Now."
"Ah. Right." A small bell tinkled somewhere overhead as she left.
Ollivander heaved a mighty sigh and shook his head. "A fine Auror she may be," he muttered, directing the tape this way and that, "but no man's life or property is safe when she's about. Now, sir, if you would please hold still a moment?"
"What's it want with the size of my nose?" John asked, resisting the urge to sneeze the tape away.
"There are reasons, Mr. . . ?"
"Constantine."
"Thank you, that will be enough." The tape folded itself up and dropped into Ollivander's waiting hand. "Wand selection is a delicate art. Whoever sold you your last wand ought to have told you that."
John grunted, looking around for a place to sit. The only available option was a lone, rickety-looking chair, which he did not entirely trust. "How d'you know it wasn't you?"
Ollivander made a noise that might've been a laugh, or merely a sniff. "Mr. Constantine, I remember every wand I have ever sold. I assure you, if you had come into my shop before, I would know." He turned to the boxes lining the walls and ran his hand along one of the shelves. "Here," he said, "try this. Alder, eleven inches, phoenix feather."
"Excuse me?" John asked as politely as he could, even as he reached into the box.
At that, Ollivander smiled- a thin, dry expression, but a smile nonetheless. "Whatever the standards of foreign wand-makers, here at Ollivander's we build all our wands around reliable cores. There will be no veela hairs or powdered re'em blood here, thank you."
John was only half listening. He'd started to pick up the wand, but before he could even grip it properly a feeling of don't even bother had come over him. "Phoenix feather, eh?" he said, settling it back in the box. "Nice. . ."
"And wholly inappropriate, I see." Ollivander whisked the box away and proffered another. "This one next, I think. Apple wood, dragon heartstring, thirteen inches-"
"I don't think this one likes me either," said John.
"Excuse me?"
John shrugged, holding the wand up to be seen. Ollivander grimaced immediately. "Yes, you're quite right. I think- hmm- try this one instead. Hawthorn, springy indeed, nine inches-"
John grabbed the wand out of the box, only to find it vibrating in his hand. "Is it supposed to do that?" he asked, clamping both hands around it.
"No. Put it back right- thank you." Ollivander shook his head and pulled down another box. "Rowan-"
He didn't even have a chance to touch the fourth wand. It rolled to one side as Ollivander lifted the lid, apparently making for the edge of the box. When John's fingers approached, it froze, then began to vibrate even faster than the one before. Ollivander whipped the box away and silently presented another, which leapt out of John's reach and rolled halfway across the floor before it could be stopped.
"A man could get a complex about a thing like this," John observed as Ollivander snatched the rogue wand up and returned it to its place.
"Indeed," said the shopkeeper. "Although- I would like to see something."
"Eh?"
Removing a mahogany wand from one of the nearby boxes, Ollivander placed it directly into John's hand. "Hold onto this," he said, backing away. "Tight as you can."
John eyed the pale man warily. "Well, all ri- Jesus!" White-hot pain tore across his palm as the wand ripped itself forcibly out of his grasp and flung itself across the room. "What the fuck was that?"
Ollivander picked himself up from the floor, dusting his front down. "Unicorn hair," he said calmly. With an air of some satisfaction, he located the wand and tugged it loose from the wall in which it had embedded itself. "As were the two before it. My apologies, Mr. Constantine, I should have warned you."
"Bastard." John squinted at his still-searing palm. "At least there's no splinters."
"Of course not. None of our wands would be so poorly made." Ollivander turned to consider the other boxes. "You do present something of a challenge, sir."
"Oh, I'm so glad of that."
The shopkeeper ignored him. "I think, perhaps. . . ah, yes." He half-disappeared into the dimmest reaches of the store, voice floating back behind him. "The wand does choose the wizard, you know-"
"Here, you didn't tell me these things were sentient!"
"Hardly that, Mr. Constantine." Ollivander emerged, an ancient, battered, mildewed-looking box under one arm. "A metaphor at best- and yet they do seem to have a life of their own, at times. Every now and again a thing does find its way into exactly the spot where it belongs, does it not? And so we say it has chosen its home…"
John muttered something vulgar under his breath, flexing his fingers. Ollivander merely smiled and set the box down on the counter. "The wand in this box," he said, slender fingers resting a moment on the lid, "has been in my shop's inventory for a long, long time. It is- or was, rather- an experimental design, made before the Ministry standardized the uses of dragon components in wands. The wood is a remarkably flexible blackthorn, the core a wing sinew from a male Ukrainian Ironbelly. It has been tried, and rejected, by more than one hundred witches and wizards. I have not bothered presenting it for purchase in many years."
"So you're trying to fob it off on me?"
"Just try it, Mr. Constantine."
John rolled his eyes. "All right, all- hey!"
The jangling, curdled feeling that had riddled his nerves since the incident at the cash machine vanished as soon as his fingers closed around the wand. It was funny, really- he hadn't properly appreciated how much of an influence that low-grade ache had been having on his mood-
"Well? Go on," Ollivander urged.
He peered at the wand closely, not seeing anything that indicated how it ought to be used; the thought of Tonks outside Hagrid's hut occurred to him, and he experimentally flicked the wand in the same gesture he'd seen her make. A brilliant ribbon of blue-violet light spilled from the wand's end, twisting through the air of the shop like a miniature aurora. It shimmered in the air, twisting slowly about itself for a few moments, and then vanished. "Was it supposed to do that?"
The silvery-eyed man nodded. "An Ollivander wand will always signal when the right match is found. Congratulations, Mr. Constantine; you have found your wand. That will be nine Galleons, please."
John counted out nine of the gold coins and tucked the wand away. Outside, Tonks was waiting for him. She rose onto the balls of her feet as the door closed behind him. "Well?"
Now or never, John. Let's see if it really works. He withdrew the wand from his pocket, took a deep breath, and made the flicking gesture again. "Lumos!"
For half a moment, nothing happened. Then the end of the wand blazed into silvery-blue life, scouring away the last of the morning's shadows.
Oh, yeah, John thought smugly, I've still got it.
This one's long. Those of you just joining us may want to start with part one and go on to parts two, three, four A, four B, and five.
Tonks sighed, setting her broom aside as he pushed himself to his knees, then to his feet. "Sorry about that, John, I did try to warn you. . ."
"Fug." John grimaced, wriggling his jaw for a moment before spitting a few blades of grass. "M' ribs- sodding teef-"
"Here, let me check something." Before John could stop her Tonks was in front of him, wand pointed straight at his face. His arm came up in a reflexive block as she spoke: "Scourgify."
The realization that a fifteen-foot fall apparently hadn't broken every bone in his forearms shot through his head and vanished. It just couldn't compete with the extremely peculiar sensation of the dirt he'd all but swallowed suddenly leaping out of his mouth and flying away at top speed. For a moment all he could do was blink, open-mouthed with surprise. By the time he'd recovered his wits Tonks was leaning in, examining her handiwork with a dissatisfied eye. "Didn't get everything, but it'll do… They're all fine, John. Your teeth, I mean. Sorry I couldn't fix the coat too, but I've never been much good at that sort of spell."
He looked down. He distinctly remembered skidding along the grass for a good ten feet or more when he'd hit, and all he had to show for it was a faint smear of green along one side of his coat's front. "What the hell did you do? And why-" He cautiously flexed his fingers; no pain at all. "why isn't anything broken?"
Tonks grinned. "You're a wizard, all right," she said as he prodded at a few more sore places. "Wizarding folk are a lot tougher than Muggles. I've seen Quidditch players take Bludgers to the head that would've killed any Muggle stone dead. A little fall like that? That's nothing. Worst you could expect from that would probably be a broken wrist, and any good Healer could patch that up in a couple of minutes anyway."
"Bludger?" John asked, only half listening. Huh. Hands fine, arms fine, legs fine, and- yes- all his teeth seemed to be where they belonged.
"Iron balls about so big." Tonks indicated the size of a football. "They whiz around the pitch trying to take out the Seeker-"
Some sporting thing, then. "All right, I get it, wizards don't break easily. 's good to know." John gave the prone broom a venomous look. "Only it's not going to come up again, because I don't plan to give that bloody thing another chance."
"Oh yes you are."
"Oh no I'm not." The coins Dumbledore had given him were still safely stashed in a buttoned coat pocket. "Hagrid, which way to Hogsmeade?"
"Ah- sorry, John. . ." The big fellow hesitated, shifting his weight from one bunny-slippered foot to the other. "But if Dumbledore says yeh've got t' go wi' Tonks here, then yeh'd better do it."
John eyed Hagrid sourly. "Fat lot of help you are," he muttered.
"Leave him out of it, John." Tonks held her hand over the broom. "Up. . . The train takes too long. Anyway, you need someone to show you around Diagon Alley."
He folded his arms across his chest. "I am not getting back on that thing."
"Oh, come on. It's perfectly safe as long as you don't start squirming. Look." Tonks hopped aboard the broom and lifted her feet from the ground, circling lazily. "Here, just get on behind me- I promise it won't take off this time. See, I've got it under control," she added as she brought it to a stop in front of him.
John glanced at Hagrid, who made an encouraging little gesture, or at least what he probably thought was an encouraging little gesture. Suppressing a mutter of 'traitor', John cautiously passed one leg over the stick-
"That's right," Tonks said cheerfully. "Okay, now slowly pick up the- oh, wait, get your hands around me first." She paused. "A little lower, if you don't mind."
"Sorry."
"That's all right, you've got it now. Okay, pick up the other leg- there, was that so hard?"
"Don't ask me to be happy about this, all right?"
She gave a merry laugh. "Oh, you'll be fine. All right, Hagrid, we're off to London." The broom started circling again, gaining altitude this time; John shut his eyes tightly. "Tell Dumbledore I'll drop John here off before I look in on Harry!"
"All righ'!" John heard Hagrid call from somewhere far below, just before the broom gave a lurch and rocketed forward. Grimacing, John pulled up his legs as close to the broomstick as he could-
"You all right back there?" yelled Tonks, her voice almost lost in the wind.
"No!"
She laughed. The wretched woman laughed. "Oh, come on! It's not that bad!"
Eyes still closed, John gritted his teeth a moment before yelling back. "We're doing sixty bloody miles an hour over the countryside on a bloody broomstick that just tried to kill me! Yes! It is that bad!"
More laughter- and then, unbelievably-
"You're not going faster?"
"What use is a perfectly good racing broom if you don't use its full potential?" she answered as gaily as anyone who is leaning into seventy-five miles an hour of wind can.
"Christ!"
"Besides! The sooner we get there, the sooner you'll be back on the ground! Won't that be nice?"
John muttered a very rude word indeed, which the wind whipped away.
Eventually, the broom started to dip alarmingly downwards. "Don't worry," Tonks called over her shoulder, "we're just coming in for a landing. . . You all right back there?"
"What d'you think?"
Tonks laughed. "Oh, good. Hang on tight now."
He stifled the urge to ask what she thought he'd been doing up to then, and a few moments later the broom's motion stopped entirely. When he opened his eyes he found that they'd landed in a city park. "Where are we?"
"A little ways from Diagon Alley. Come on, off you go." Tonks waited until he was clear of the broom before reaching into her pocket. "Right, just a tic-" She rapped the broomstick smartly with her wand, suffusing it momentarily with a rush of greens and browns. "Disillusionment Charm," she explained as she thrust the all-but-invisible broomstick into a convenient cluster of brush. "I can't very well walk through the streets with it, so the less likely Muggle kids are to find it the better… all right, this way."
John followed her out of the park and into the street. "You couldn't just land that thing where we're going?"
"Nah. Diagon Alley's too busy a place to put down a broomstick- it'd be like trying to land a what-d'you-call-'em, helicopter, in the middle of the street." She glanced up and down the pavement, quickening her pace. John lengthened his stride to keep up. "You really don't have brooms where you come from?"
"Afraid not."
"How d'you get around, then?"
"Me? Got a friend who drives a cab, he's usually good for a ride. The Tube, if Chas is busy."
"Really?" She sounded amazed. "Weird! You don't even Apparate?"
"What, popping into and out of existence or something?" John snorted. "Can't say I have, no. Wish it were that easy-"
But she'd got the bit in her teeth now. "How about Floo? You've at least got a Floo Network, right?"
"I have no idea what you're talking about."
"The- you don't-" Tonks stopped in her tracks, staring up at him. "Are you sure-"
An immense weariness settled over John. "Look," he snapped, "I do not know this Floo of which you speak. Neither do I ride a broom, wave a wand, or- or Apparate. I am not part giant. I do not dress like something out of a panto of King Arthur. I have done many, many things in my day, actual magus things, most of which probably mean absolutely nothing to you-"
"I didn't-"
"-given that you don't even seem-"
"John-"
"-to have contact with the kind of entities I-"
"JOHN!" Tonks glared at him. "We are on the street!"
"So?"
"So, this isn't the kind of thing we talk about in public!"
"Fuck." He passed one hand over his face wearily. How long since he'd last had a full night's rest?
She was staring at him, he could feel that. Dammit.
"Sorry," he muttered at last. "Wasn't thinking."
"No, I suppose not."
"Listen." He dropped his hand. "I don't mean to be a divvy about it, but you've got to understand- since I woke up yesterday, I've had a full-on blast to the chest, a near death experience in London traffic, a face full of tree branches, a fifteen-foot drop onto solid earth, and about three hours of sleep. I may have broken one of my teeth on Hagrid's idea of dinner, I can't really tell, and the only people here that I've managed to speak to have all questioned every last thing I've said at every fucking turn. So you'll pardon me, but a little less aggro would go over really well just now."
She was still staring at him, but there was a different quality to it- some softening of the expression. He couldn't really tell, and he didn't really care.
"Hagrid made you dinner," she said at last.
"Yeah."
"And… you ate it."
"Yeah."
Tonks gave a long, low whistle. "All right," she said, "you win. . . Truce?" She stuck out her hand.
John blinked, then shrugged inwardly. What the hell. "Truce," he agreed, and shook it.
From there it was only a few minutes' walk to familiar territory. Well, as familiar as any territory in this London could get. The sign for Tooting Records just had time to sink into his consciousness before Tonks all but dragged him into the Leaky Cauldron again. "Here, I thought we were going to-"
"Diagon Alley, yes," she assured him. "It's right this way."
They didn't stop in the pub this time. They passed a few things John would've liked a closer look at- a couple of elderly witches huddling over smoking glasses, a fellow in purple smoking a long, skinny pipe- but Tonks merely threw a wave in the barman's direction and kept on walking. Diagon Alley, it seemed, lay out the back door. Or something did, anyway; on first sight the only thing behind the Leaky Cauldron was a narrow, high walled bit of nothing, littered with the occasional sad piece of trash.
John stuck his hands in his pockets, looking around thoughtfully. "This where you draw the circle on the ground, then?" he asked at last.
Taking out her wand, Tonks shook her head. "No, this is where we tap-" She frowned a little, silently counting along the bottom of the wall. "the right-" Her wand moved upward momentarily. "-brick," she finished, swiftly rapping the third-over, second-up brick several times. On the third tap the wall suddenly parted, sliding open and apart to reveal a street full of people where nothing but building could logically be.
He should've been impressed, or perhaps he should've made some sarcastic comment. John knew she was expecting something from him. But really, all he felt was relief. He'd noticed it as the wall opened, the sorcery that offered passage to this place washing briefly over his burned-out nerves like a physical reassurance. No, this wasn't what he was used to- but it was close enough, it wasn't the damn broomstick or the King's Cross barrier or any of the other things he'd seen so far. Whether the magic was in the wand or the bricks he didn't know, but it was something he knew he could handle.
"You okay, John?" Tonks asked, peering up at him curiously.
He cleared his throat, nodded. "Yeah," he said, a little hoarsely. "Nice trick."
Tonks looked back at the portal. "What, this? This is nothing. Come on."
'Diagon Alley'- he saw no street sign, but Tonks assured him this was the place- was a winding, cobbled street lined with shops of all kinds. A ferocious stink of bad eggs rolled out the door of one place; when he looked its way he shuddered, reminding himself not to fall ill if that was what one could expect from a wizard apothecary's. Another shop looked like a restaurant-supply house at first glance, but a closer look revealed that what he'd thought were pots were instead cauldrons of differing sizes and metals. There was a place with brooms in the window, which John resolutely refused to even look at, and a stationer's whose sign boasted of the latest in quills-
And the people. Oh, God, the people. John and Tonks were just about the only two in sight who wore what he considered normal clothing. The others- and there were others every which way he looked, despite the morning hour- were robed, hatted folk he could only pray were witches and wizards. No one else had any excuse for dressing like that at this time of year. If anything, they were even more ludicrously attired than the people he'd seen in Hogsmeade. John half expected them to suddenly burst out in random fits of street choreography. "Is it always like this?" he asked, eyes lingering on a skinny, scraggly-looking fellow in faded red plush robes and a hat on which occult symbols had been marked in tarnished sequins.
"Oh, this is nothing. You ought to see it last week of August, when the kids are all here shopping with their parents- oof!" She'd dodged an elderly witch with a basket full of something squirming, but at a cost of stumbling into John instead. "Sorry- ow-"
"It's okay. Here, are you all right?"
Tonks winced as she righted herself, rubbing at her hand. "Merlin. . . what've you got in those pockets?"
"Never you mind," John said hurriedly. He had a feeling the brass knucks wouldn't go over very well. "How much further to this wand place?"
"Not that far. Past Gringotts a ways." Indeed, there was a gleaming building ahead of them- marble, it looked like, but John couldn't tell for sure. The sign over its burnished bronze doors proclaimed it to be Gringotts Wizarding Bank before fading into far smaller type which John did not bother to read. It was the guards of the place who caught his eye- a pair of wizened little creatures in scarlet uniforms, neat as any Royal Guard but about as human as-
John tapped Tonks' shoulder. "Demons?" he asked out of the side of his mouth.
Tonks looked, shook her head. "Goblins," she answered casually. "You couldn't get a demon here if you tried, they're placebound-"
"So you do have them, then."
"Well, yeah- kelpies, grindylows, stuff like that."
"Gr- what? Evil fish-men, sort of thing?"
"Right. Not very bright, though. Got really brittle fingers."
They were almost past the bank now. John reluctantly turned away from the sight of one of the goblins surreptitiously picking its nose. "But those things-"
"They're goblins, they run Gringott's. I wouldn't like to be on their bad side, but they're not what you'd call Dark."
John shook his head slowly. "Is there a book on them I could get today? Dumbledore said I ought to pick up a text or two."
Tonks frowned, stopping mid-pavement to scratch at her nose as she thought. "Well- there's books, but- here, how much did he give you?"
John fished the coins out of his pocket and handed them to her. She counted them over, then nodded and passed them back. "Thought so. Got enough there for a wand and two books- three, if you're lucky. I expect he's testing you, to see what sort of books you spend your money on."
"Mm."
"Mind if I give you a suggestion?"
He glanced over at her, nodded.
"Stick to two," Tonks advised as they started walking again. "Books, I mean. And don't try to spend all you've got on those books, either. If you're going to be staying with Hagrid. . ." She trailed off, hands making a vague 'fill in the blank, would you?' gesture.
He held up one of the coins, turning it over to examine the stubby wyvern under the words UNUM GALLEON. "Not exactly the sort of thing you can spend at Tesco's, is it," he murmured.
Tonks laughed. "That a Muggle market, then? There's a grocer's in Hogsmeade, you'll do all right. I'll show you. Come on, this is Ollivander's here."
The narrow little shop didn't look like much, despite a sign boasting an age John couldn't possibly believe. There wasn't even a proper window display, only a wand resting on a cushion long past its prime. Of course, even here looks could be deceiving, so John swallowed his misgivings and followed Tonks in. "Popular place, is it?" he asked as his eyes adjusted to the dimness.
"Only place in London to get a really proper wand," Tonks answered cheerfully, leaning over to peer at the stacks and stacks of boxes that lined the walls. "Of course, it's the wrong time of-"
"I know that voice." It was an odd, dusty-sounding voice, and it was filled with dread. "I hadn't thought to see you here so soon."
Startled, John opened his mouth, but Tonks spoke first. "It's not for me this time, Mr. Ollivander."
A grey-haired man with a lined face and eyes of pale silvery grey emerged from the rear of the shop. His suspicious gaze was locked on Tonks. "As I recall," he said slowly, "that's what you said on your last visit."
"Yes- well-" Tonks grinned sheepishly, turning to John with a momentary pleading look.
"And when I asked to see your wand, you'd Spellotaped the pieces together-"
"She's right," John broke in. The pale eyes snapped immediately to him. "We're here for me."
Ollivander peered at John for several long, long moments. "You're quite sure?" he asked at last. For once the question didn't get up John's nose; he nodded.
Still not entirely satisfied, Ollivander coughed and expectantly held out a hand to Tonks. "Sorry, John," she murmured as she passed her wand over to the shopkeeper. "It's just- well- I've a bit of a reputation for being hard on my equipment."
He smiled wryly, saying nothing. Ollivander was busily inspecting Tonks' wand, comparing it to a measuring tape that unfolded by itself and ultimately producing a gust of icy mist from the end. "Well," the shopkeeper said at last, "I suppose you have been careful with this one. Although-"
"Yes, yes, I know, more polishing," Tonks said hurriedly. "Look, my friend here's in need of a wand-"
The shopkeeper, who did not seem to have blinked once since they'd entered the place, considered John again. "A wizard without a wand?" Ollivander murmured. "Curious."
"Left mine in me other suit," John said dryly.
Ollivander inclined his head. "A small joke, I imagine. . . Sir, my business is not to ask why you have come here. It is only to rectify that need." Good, 'cos I'm getting tired of explaining, John thought. "Now- if you please- which is your wand arm?"
John held out his right arm for inspection. Ollivander's tape measure had just extended along his forearm when there came a crash! from the other side of the shop; both men froze. "Sorry!" called Tonks. "I, ah-"
"Miss Tonks," said Ollivander in a carefully controlled tone, "I would take it as a great favour indeed if you would kindly wait outside my shop."
"I'll just put these back, shall I?"
"Now."
"Ah. Right." A small bell tinkled somewhere overhead as she left.
Ollivander heaved a mighty sigh and shook his head. "A fine Auror she may be," he muttered, directing the tape this way and that, "but no man's life or property is safe when she's about. Now, sir, if you would please hold still a moment?"
"What's it want with the size of my nose?" John asked, resisting the urge to sneeze the tape away.
"There are reasons, Mr. . . ?"
"Constantine."
"Thank you, that will be enough." The tape folded itself up and dropped into Ollivander's waiting hand. "Wand selection is a delicate art. Whoever sold you your last wand ought to have told you that."
John grunted, looking around for a place to sit. The only available option was a lone, rickety-looking chair, which he did not entirely trust. "How d'you know it wasn't you?"
Ollivander made a noise that might've been a laugh, or merely a sniff. "Mr. Constantine, I remember every wand I have ever sold. I assure you, if you had come into my shop before, I would know." He turned to the boxes lining the walls and ran his hand along one of the shelves. "Here," he said, "try this. Alder, eleven inches, phoenix feather."
"Excuse me?" John asked as politely as he could, even as he reached into the box.
At that, Ollivander smiled- a thin, dry expression, but a smile nonetheless. "Whatever the standards of foreign wand-makers, here at Ollivander's we build all our wands around reliable cores. There will be no veela hairs or powdered re'em blood here, thank you."
John was only half listening. He'd started to pick up the wand, but before he could even grip it properly a feeling of don't even bother had come over him. "Phoenix feather, eh?" he said, settling it back in the box. "Nice. . ."
"And wholly inappropriate, I see." Ollivander whisked the box away and proffered another. "This one next, I think. Apple wood, dragon heartstring, thirteen inches-"
"I don't think this one likes me either," said John.
"Excuse me?"
John shrugged, holding the wand up to be seen. Ollivander grimaced immediately. "Yes, you're quite right. I think- hmm- try this one instead. Hawthorn, springy indeed, nine inches-"
John grabbed the wand out of the box, only to find it vibrating in his hand. "Is it supposed to do that?" he asked, clamping both hands around it.
"No. Put it back right- thank you." Ollivander shook his head and pulled down another box. "Rowan-"
He didn't even have a chance to touch the fourth wand. It rolled to one side as Ollivander lifted the lid, apparently making for the edge of the box. When John's fingers approached, it froze, then began to vibrate even faster than the one before. Ollivander whipped the box away and silently presented another, which leapt out of John's reach and rolled halfway across the floor before it could be stopped.
"A man could get a complex about a thing like this," John observed as Ollivander snatched the rogue wand up and returned it to its place.
"Indeed," said the shopkeeper. "Although- I would like to see something."
"Eh?"
Removing a mahogany wand from one of the nearby boxes, Ollivander placed it directly into John's hand. "Hold onto this," he said, backing away. "Tight as you can."
John eyed the pale man warily. "Well, all ri- Jesus!" White-hot pain tore across his palm as the wand ripped itself forcibly out of his grasp and flung itself across the room. "What the fuck was that?"
Ollivander picked himself up from the floor, dusting his front down. "Unicorn hair," he said calmly. With an air of some satisfaction, he located the wand and tugged it loose from the wall in which it had embedded itself. "As were the two before it. My apologies, Mr. Constantine, I should have warned you."
"Bastard." John squinted at his still-searing palm. "At least there's no splinters."
"Of course not. None of our wands would be so poorly made." Ollivander turned to consider the other boxes. "You do present something of a challenge, sir."
"Oh, I'm so glad of that."
The shopkeeper ignored him. "I think, perhaps. . . ah, yes." He half-disappeared into the dimmest reaches of the store, voice floating back behind him. "The wand does choose the wizard, you know-"
"Here, you didn't tell me these things were sentient!"
"Hardly that, Mr. Constantine." Ollivander emerged, an ancient, battered, mildewed-looking box under one arm. "A metaphor at best- and yet they do seem to have a life of their own, at times. Every now and again a thing does find its way into exactly the spot where it belongs, does it not? And so we say it has chosen its home…"
John muttered something vulgar under his breath, flexing his fingers. Ollivander merely smiled and set the box down on the counter. "The wand in this box," he said, slender fingers resting a moment on the lid, "has been in my shop's inventory for a long, long time. It is- or was, rather- an experimental design, made before the Ministry standardized the uses of dragon components in wands. The wood is a remarkably flexible blackthorn, the core a wing sinew from a male Ukrainian Ironbelly. It has been tried, and rejected, by more than one hundred witches and wizards. I have not bothered presenting it for purchase in many years."
"So you're trying to fob it off on me?"
"Just try it, Mr. Constantine."
John rolled his eyes. "All right, all- hey!"
The jangling, curdled feeling that had riddled his nerves since the incident at the cash machine vanished as soon as his fingers closed around the wand. It was funny, really- he hadn't properly appreciated how much of an influence that low-grade ache had been having on his mood-
"Well? Go on," Ollivander urged.
He peered at the wand closely, not seeing anything that indicated how it ought to be used; the thought of Tonks outside Hagrid's hut occurred to him, and he experimentally flicked the wand in the same gesture he'd seen her make. A brilliant ribbon of blue-violet light spilled from the wand's end, twisting through the air of the shop like a miniature aurora. It shimmered in the air, twisting slowly about itself for a few moments, and then vanished. "Was it supposed to do that?"
The silvery-eyed man nodded. "An Ollivander wand will always signal when the right match is found. Congratulations, Mr. Constantine; you have found your wand. That will be nine Galleons, please."
John counted out nine of the gold coins and tucked the wand away. Outside, Tonks was waiting for him. She rose onto the balls of her feet as the door closed behind him. "Well?"
Now or never, John. Let's see if it really works. He withdrew the wand from his pocket, took a deep breath, and made the flicking gesture again. "Lumos!"
For half a moment, nothing happened. Then the end of the wand blazed into silvery-blue life, scouring away the last of the morning's shadows.
Oh, yeah, John thought smugly, I've still got it.
![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
no subject
Date: 2004-02-12 10:43 pm (UTC)Other than that, it continues to be absorbing reading. One thing -- I'm not exactly up on John-ese, but are you sure that Ollivander is trying to "pawn" his non-standard wand off on John, and not "fob" it off?
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Date: 2004-02-13 12:33 am (UTC)Fob, I like fob.
And yes, "A little lower" is very grin worthy.
I miss 'Ellie'
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Date: 2004-02-13 04:45 am (UTC)Wasn't aware the Hulk wore bunny slippers. I was thinking of the comments many people have made over the years re: Ralph Bakshi's animated LOTR movie, where the Balrog was drawn in such a fashion that it appeared to have bunny slippers on.
no subject
Date: 2004-02-13 05:09 am (UTC)*grins*
Date: 2004-02-12 11:00 pm (UTC)That was fantastic!
She paused. "A little lower, if you don't mind." <--Fav line!
Great bit in the Wand shop. I like how when he got the wand everything felt right. Like his magic was finally coming in line with the Harry Potter magic. And the fact that none of the Unicorn Hair wands would have anything to do with him. Utterly brilliant. *snickers*
Re: *grins*
Date: 2004-02-13 04:49 am (UTC)And, yeah, I'd been planning on the wand making things come 'round right; one of the problems that many crossovers have, I am told, is that the authors do not bother to properly synch the magic systems of separate worlds or explain how they could coexist if the crossover claims the two worlds are actually the same. He's got the magic; he just needed to find the implement to do it properly.
no subject
Date: 2004-02-12 11:06 pm (UTC)Other than that, this delivers the customary glee. T'ank yoo!
no subject
Date: 2004-02-12 11:43 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2004-02-13 12:07 am (UTC)Hagrid's admission about the war is a good place to end Chapter one, and this is a good place to end Chapter 2.
no subject
Date: 2004-02-13 01:26 am (UTC)What I really wanted to say was that your Ollivander and Tonks are spot on.
no subject
Date: 2004-02-13 02:26 am (UTC)Is that the world's subtlest cross-over? *grins*
I've always had a soft spot for Rincewind...
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Date: 2004-02-13 03:09 am (UTC)Re:
Date: 2004-02-13 04:41 am (UTC)But yes. That is, in fact, a very unhappy Rincewind.
no subject
Date: 2004-02-13 08:26 am (UTC)Re:
Date: 2004-02-13 08:43 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2004-02-13 11:40 pm (UTC)Re:
Date: 2004-02-14 07:21 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2004-02-14 05:39 am (UTC)Sure, I'll help.
Oh, and brilliant. Utterly BRILLIANT.
Re:
Date: 2004-02-14 07:19 am (UTC)*sigh* I inadvertently submitted them to The Dark Arts instead of Schnoogle, which is meant for novel-length fic. Oh well, doubt they'll mind.
no subject
Date: 2004-02-14 08:37 am (UTC)Hope you don't mind me friending you?
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Date: 2004-02-14 08:44 am (UTC)I only started reading Hellblazer about a week before I started writing this. So I've been reading it for a month, tops. Heh.
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Date: 2004-02-14 09:17 am (UTC)And then, because I'm a poor but needy little nerd, I downloaded most of Hellblazer as scans from the net.
Nevertheless, I think you've got a good grip on him so far ^^
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Date: 2004-02-14 04:15 pm (UTC)In my library, the science fiction section is labeled "the Teen Room." Way to keep all adults who like science fiction and fantasy away from the books...
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Date: 2004-02-15 02:50 am (UTC)The Teen Room? *rolls eyes* Jeez, I thought libraries should, ya know, encourage people to read
no subject
Date: 2004-02-14 04:38 pm (UTC)Re:
Date: 2004-02-14 05:21 pm (UTC)