Hellblazer: Hogwarts

Hellblazer: Hogwarts

Chapter Two: It's Probably Me

Notes From The Field

Hagrid's war all down to one man, some git calling himself Lord Voldemort. Apparently he's some magic psychopathic racist dictator or something who held power 15+ yrs. ago. Reign of terror, people dying left & right, armies of sinister magic creatures, etc. etc., but got his arse served to him on a silver platter by a baby name of Harry Potter. Been trying to stage comeback ever since. Lord V wants to 'purify wizarding race', can't even stand wizards w/muggle ancestors, would be happier if muggles all died screaming. Sounds like every fascist wanker to come down the pike only w/magic. Tried telling Hagrid this. Did not help. Hagrid unwilling even to say Lord V's name. Talked about his allies, though. His Nibs has gang of wizards & witches hanging on his every word- "Death Eaters". Pure-bloods and Muggle-haters, the lot of 'em. All chomping at the bit for a magical race war, though they'll stop off for a bit of torture & such along the way if they're not in a hurry. Then they kill you.

And that's it, apparently. No raising guardian demons from disjointed corpses, no summoning horrors from the bowels of Hell, no nothing. Kill, maim, start race war, all hail Lord V., who's up for jelly & ice cream.

Thought of the Brujeria. This did not measure up to them. What it sounded like was the Manson Family, & I said so. Had to explain Manson; Hagrid seemed to think anyone w/Charlie's kind of grip on his followers had to be a Dark Wizard. Load of tosh, of course- Manson was about as magical as Margaret sodding Thatcher. Took so bloody long to set him straight that I had to light one up. (This did not go well & I do not want to talk about it.) Got it through eventually, though, right before the train arrived.

Hogsmeade, our stop, is largest all-magic town in Britain. Translation: got off steam train accompanied by giant, nearly got run over by idiot on flying broom. Going to be flattened by large Norse woman in chariot pulled by cats if this keeps up. Got up anyway & followed Hagrid into town. Despite very clearly not smoking, got the Look again. This time it was the clothes. Whole town appears to have escaped from the Eisteddfod. Was going to ask about this but Hagrid spotted this Dumbledore of his heading into a place called the Three Broomsticks.

I swear on my eyes, I thought he was Father Christmas. Maybe after a few months' slimming at the seaside, but still Father Christmas. Long white beard, crimson robes, spectacles and all. Pointy hat rather spoiled the effect. Didn't see us, so we followed him into the Broomsticks. Hagrid caught him as he was sitting down, said he'd finished his errands, & introduced us. Then he went off saying something about having to 'feed the thestrals' (sounds like Wizard for taking a quick piss if you ask me), and left me to explain.

***

The rims of Albus Dumbledore's spectacles glittered in the firelight. "You tell an impressive story, Mr. Constantine."

"Thank you."

"Most of what you have said, of course, lies beyond my power to directly 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 neutral. He'd given Dumbledore a true account of his situation- not the most detailed account, but a true one. If he had embroidered upon the truth at all, it was only with more truth- he didn't exactly resemble the local magical community. Had to explain a bit about why a so-called wizard wore everyday clothes and didn't carry a wand, didn't he? A little extra to get his point across, that's all it was. "Believe me," he said wryly, "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."

That sounded more than a little suspicious. 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?" John asked warily.

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 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, John thought, if he wants proof, then it's proof he'll get. He crossed his fingers under the table.

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. Dammit, if anyone was going to go rooting around in his head, they'd do it on his terms.

He placidly smiled at Dumbledore, who inclined his head.

The strike came.

John offered no resistance at all.

Some minutes later Dumbledore dropped his wand, and John felt a small surge of satisfaction. "Well," he said as the older man wiped 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- that cult in-"

"Yes."

"You actually-"

"Yes."

"And the little girl- Astra, was it?"

John closed his eyes. He hadn't intended Dumbledore to find that one. "That. Will never. Happen. Again."

"I see." A pause. "Did you really-"

"As I said before, yes."

"Are you quite serious about not allowing such things to happen again, Mr. Constantine?"

John's eyes flew open. "Excuse me?" he demanded incredulously. "You just went through my entire sodding head! That's not enough 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 life experience." He adjusted his spectacles again and peered over them at John. "To my knowledge, no one has ever traveled from this world to- ah- any other version of Earth. Neither have we had any visitors from the other direction, before you. What is done once may be done again, of course, but recreating the circumstances. . . well. That may be more than a little difficult."

"Yeah, you don't exactly have Tim Hunter's doppelganger here, do you," John muttered.

"Not to my knowledge." Dumbledore smiled a little. "For now, I will do what I can to live up to Hagrid's promises and send you home as soon as possible. Unfortunately, I can make no guarantees for the meantime- which leaves you in a very poor position, does it not?"

Oh, John knew this tune right enough. He'd sung it himself more than once. "All right," he said wearily, "what d'you need from me?"

"Very little, compared to some of your previous bargains," Dumbledore said. "Only a year's time. Possibly less, if your travels can somehow be arranged before then."

"A- wait. What?"

"Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry 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?"

John stared.

"I realise, of course, that you are unfamiliar with our specific forms of magic. Naturally, you will require some time to familiarise yourself first- but given your knowledge of magical theory and principles, that should hardly be a problem for you. Perhaps a month's time to work on some of the particulars first, and then a demonstration?"

Shaking himself like a dog with a coat full of water, John spoke. "You want me to-"

"Teach at Hogwarts, yes."

"For a year?"

"That is my price. You need a spell that has never been worked before; I need a teacher for a position that grows increasingly difficult to fill."

"But-"

"Compared to some of the things you have traded away. . ."

John bit back a curse; the old man was right. "There are people back home who need me," he said, unwilling to give up entirely. "Things loose in my world-"

"That is true," said Dumbledore. "But consider this: if you do not accept my price, how do you expect to get back at all? Your friends will have to manage without you for a time, Mr. Constantine. I assure you, a way will be found to send you home. Until then, why not spend your time productively?"

Dammit.

There was a small clink as Dumbledore slid a pile of coins across the table. They gleamed gold in the firelight. "This should be enough for a wand from Ollivander's, in London," he said. "And an appropriate text or two. I shall have the school withhold the sum from your first salary period, of course. The rest will have to wait until you are officially hired."

"You're assuming I pass the demonstration," John muttered, staring at the coins. "What if I fail? I tried my own magic twice in London-"

"And it failed you, yes. But it is still there, I assure you. You could not have kept me out of your memories if it were not. A month's study and practice will be ample for our demonstration's purposes, I think." He sounded very confident of that; John looked up. The old man was watching him.

"Where do I stay in the meantime?" he asked at last.

Dumbledore smiled.

***

Notes From The Field

A year. I'm going to be stuck here at least a bloody year. Oh, sure, Dumbledore says he'll send me back early if he figures out how. Pull the other one, it's got bells on. He's a headmaster, it's a school, if he finds the spell to send me home in January where's he going to find a teacher for the rest of the year? No, if I'm lucky I'll go home in June.

Don't want to think of what'll happen back in my England if I'm not lucky.

Mind you, we are talking sodding enormous public school here. Hagrid (who has agreed to put me up for a month) says students get lost in the library for weeks at a time. Independent research, anyone?

Which reminds me- Dumbledore said he'd knock me up in the morning so I could catch a ride to London. No wand shop in Hogsmeade & the bookshop's not worth mentioning.

***

Hagrid snored. Oh, how he snored.

The gamekeeper's hut was big enough for any normal snorer to entertain overnight guests without trouble, but this was Hagrid. Dead people could likely hear him snoring. The cushion John had wrapped around his head in a desperate attempt to block out the horrible sound from the other room had not helped in the slightest. In the end he'd huddled in the depths of the enormous chair, counting up to a hundred and down again in a vain effort at reaching proper sleep. How the man's huge black boarhound could sleep through the din, John had no idea.

A particularly grinding roar from the other room shattered what little rest John had managed to achieve. Muttering imprecations under his breath, John staggered out of the chair and peered out the window. Dawn, or a little after- it was too misty outside to tell. Not his idea of a civilized hour to be awake, but there was nothing for it, really. Not with that bloody noise. Actually, no; it occurred to John that there was something for it. He fumbled in the dark for his raincoat, patting down the pockets and sighing with relief at the familiar old bulges. Someone would've paid in blood if he'd lost his Silk Cuts.

He'd just got outside and found himself a nice quiet spot around one side of the hut to shelter in when the voices floated through the fog. Cupping both hands protectively around the first real smoke he'd had since before King's Cross, he listened warily.

". . . no luck yet." It was a woman's voice. "Not for lack of trying, mind you- but with everyone from here to London convinced there's dementors lurking in their back garden, and Fudge trying to make up for a solid year of denials-"

"Then there have been no new leads at all?" And that was Dumbledore.

"Well- Kingsley's gone to Aberdyfi, there's been reports around Cader Idris that he thinks sound like the real thing, but I haven't heard back from him yet. I haven't had time to check in with the rest of the Order."

John considered the words, then dismissed them. It was still too early to go doing stupid things like talking, so far as he was concerned.

"That is a pity," murmured Dumbledore. "I had hoped. . . well. No matter. Will you have time to check on Harry?"

"Oh, I think so." The unseen woman laughed brightly. "About time Mad-Eye got some relief anyway. I'll swing by after I get finished in London- there was an unlicensed Apparition-"

"Is the Ministry equating underage wizards with Death Eaters now?"

"No, no, apparently some poor bloke in Muggle clothes dropped out of the air in broad daylight and almost got killed. No one saw what happened to him after that. Someone thought it might've been You-Know-Who's idea of a joke- you know, setting Muggles to killing each other-"

"Ah. Well, happily that is not the case. Lumos." A pearly white glow lit up the fog to John's left. Moments later, Dumbledore stepped into John's little circle of shelter, the wand in his hand the source of the light. "Allow me to present your endangered 'Muggle'."

The pink-haired young woman who followed two steps behind Dumbledore peered at John skeptically. "Um- no offense, Albus, but-"

John's mouth twisted in something that might've once been a smile. "You'll have to excuse me looks," he said dryly. "Caught me at a bit of a bad time. Here, Dumbledore, you haven't got a spare sock on you, have you? Only one of mine's wrapped around a half-brick somewhere I can't place."

Dumbledore shook his head gravely. "Alas, I fear I've left all of mine back at the castle." He indicated the woman next to him. "Allow me to introduce you; John, this is Nymphadora Tonks-" She scowled furiously at the sound of the name, but said nothing. "and this, Tonks, is John Constantine."

'Tonks' blinked a moment, looking from John to Dumbledore and back again as if she expected one or the other to confess to some great joke.

"What've you been telling her about me?" John asked out of the side of his mouth, even as Tonks exclaimed, "This? This is your new professor?"

"Potentially. Potentially," Dumbledore soothed. "Mr. Constantine has agreed to give us a year-"

"-only because I haven't got a choice-" John muttered sotto voce.

"-in exchange for our best efforts at sending him home."

"Ah? Where's home for you, then?" Tonks stepped nearer, looking John over a little more closely. Her eyes lingered for a moment on the lit cigarette. "You don't look like you're from around here."

"'m not." John tapped off a few bits of ash. "Home's London just now, only I figure it's a London two or three worlds away at least. Got myself blown through to here in a duel of sorts, and now I can't figure how to get back."

Tonks gave a low whistle. "Must've been some duel."

You could say that. . . say, have I seen you before?"

"I don't think so, I expect I'd-" Dumbledore cleared his throat; Tonks grinned. "Sorry, sorry. Apparently I'm to take the new Defense Against the Dark Arts professor to London today. I hear you're in need of a new wand?"

"Yeah, among other things. . ."

"Well, you can tell me all about it on the way." Tonks rubbed her hands together briskly. "Come on. The sooner I get you taken care of, the better. How're you for flying?"

With a sigh, John stood away from the wall. "I don't- wait. Flying? Flying what?"

"Brooms, Mr. Constantine," said a visibly amused Dumbledore. "Surely your world's heard of witches and wizards riding broomsticks?"

John stared. "You're joking, right?"

For answer, Tonks held up a - yes. Yes, it was a broom, a common-as-dirt, wood-handled, straw-bristled broom. When she let go it hovered silently in the air next to her, like some bizarre kind of dog.

"Bloody hell. You aren't joking."

Tonks laughed. "Never had a broomstick ride, eh? All right, I'll steer." She patted the stick fondly.

"Do be careful with him, Tonks. He doesn't need a visit to St. Mungo's."

"I'm not that bad!" Tonks protested, a statement which did nothing whatsoever to ease the sudden knot in John's stomach.

Dumbledore shook his head, smiling slightly. "Good luck with your trip, Mr. Constantine." Before John could say anything else, the light of Dumbledore's wand went out, and he vanished into the mist.

"Oh, for- Lumos, lumos," muttered Tonks. The same pearly light as before flared from the end of her wand. "Sorry about that- honestly, I might be a little clumsy but I'm an excellent flyer. Ask anyone, they'll tell you."

"Er- thanks all the same, but-"

Tonks arched her eyebrows at John. "Don't tell me you're afraid? You won't last long at this school if you can't handle a little flying, Mr. Constantine."

"It's John, and I'm not afraid of flying, just-" He waved a hand at the hovering broomstick. "Never had to handle one of those things before."

"Well- all right. Look, I really am a good flyer. Come on, I'll show you. Only put that thing out first, I don't want you setting the bristles on fire."

Not much liking the image that sprang to mind, John complied. "Now what do I-"

Tonks took the broomstick in both hands and presented it to him. "Hold it at about this height," she said, "one hand here, the other here- yes, like that. Now just throw your leg over it, sit back and- oh, bugger!"

For John had thrown his right leg over the broomstick as told, only to find the thing resisting his weight with a surprising amount of force. That wouldn't have been a problem, except that he'd gone and pushed off the ground with his left foot in the process.

It really was an awfully responsive little broom. At least he'd shown enough wit to wrap both arms around the thing and hang on for dear life as it rocketed off over the hut in the direction of the Forest. . .

"Sonorus," Tonks sighed, wand pointing at her throat. Then she cupped both hands around her mouth. "JOHN! JOHN, LEAN FORWARD!" She paused; was it her imagination, or were there rapid-fire crunching noises in the direction he'd gone? "NO- TRY NOT TO HIT ANY OF THE TREES!"

Well, all right, that put an end to the crunching, but- oh, there, nothing she knew of that lived in the Forest could swear like that. Tonks cocked her head thoughtfully. The stranger did seem to have a talent for cursing, if not flying. . . "ALL RIGHT!" she bellowed in the direction of the vulgarity. "COME ON, YOU'VE ABOUT GOT IT- NOW THIS WAY!"

A distant cry of "Sod off!" could just be heard.

Despite herself, Tonks let out a bark of laughter. "JUST A LITTLE FURTHER! COME ON-"

Behind her the hut door creaked open, golden firelight briefly spilling out into the morning. "Wha's all this then?" asked a still-sleepy Hagrid, rubbing his eyes with both fists.

"Taking the new fellow to London, Hagrid," Tonks said gaily, wincing as she realised the Sonorus Spell was still in effect. "Only he's just getting used to-"

WHAM.

"-flying." Tonks pointed her wand into the patch of sky from which the still-swearing, face-down Constantine had just fallen. "Accio Cleansweep."

The broom dipped out of the air in a graceful arc, smacking neatly into Tonks' outstretched hand. John didn't bother lifting his head from the turf to stick up two fingers in her direction.

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 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 felt 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 pawn 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.