Hellblazer: Hogwarts

Hellblazer: Hogwarts

Chapter 5: Devil And The Deep Blue Sea Behind Me

Notes From The Field

Demonstration for D'dore tomorrow. As Hagrid says D. no fool, going to assume 'demonstration' means 'unexpected assault w/Dark magics & creatures'. Least it's what I'd do in his shoes. Pockets therefore loaded, wand cleaned, & brass knucks shined up. Best defense = good offense & all that. Only need one hand to work wand anyway.

Muggle explanation business v. profitable. Half these people don't know anything about rest of England. Biggest customer: ginger bloke from out of town, turns up every other day w/bags of things he wants explained. To date this has included: compact discs, Swiss Army knives, duct tape, telephones (corded and cellular), smoke alarms, model aeroplanes. So far I have made enough money to buy five more books, couple of decent drinks, & edible meals for next two weeks (v. important- Hagrid considers stoats a source of sandwich meat). On Hagrid's advice, have put rest of money aside. V. likely I will be asked to wear robes for this job & would rather have enough to avoid looking like complete ponce.

Have not got hang of conjuring ab nihilo just yet, but getting close. Can't happen fast enough for me. Transmuted fags taste like shit. Book says conjured items only last 1-2 hrs. before vanishing. Big deal. Smokes not going to last that long anyway.

Wonder how they're doing back home without me.

***

John woke a little before dawn, a fact which surprised him greatly. Sometime in the past week or so he'd finally got used to the noise in the next room, and he'd been putting that fact to use by sleeping as long as he possibly could. The dog wasn't licking his face, the fire wasn't burning green, and nothing was exploding. Why was he-

Oh. The demonstration for Dumbledore. Right.

Grumbling, he got to his feet and prodded Hagrid's fire with the poker. Auditions were, in his experience, best faced with a lot of whiskey and a good backup band; as neither was available, he was going to have to settle for tea and whatever breakfast he could bodge together. Breakfast was usually the closest Hagrid came to making an edible meal, but the effect was mostly spoilt by the fact that his porridge was almost inevitably cold by the time John got around to it. A gamekeeper's duties, it seemed, started early of a morning. Today was no exception, either, if the note on the table ("Gone to Hogsmeade to pick up new arrival - back later - good luck!") was anything to go by.

Bugger. He'd been planning on asking Hagrid a few last questions. Well, at least it meant he wouldn't have the giant scowling over his shoulder as he picked apart the absolute last fag to escape the thestral's teeth; he'd found that the transmuted stuff wasn't nearly so nasty if there were a little bit of the material present that you were trying to imitate. Broke his heart, it did, ripping up perfectly good smokes that way, but until he could find a tobacconist's willing to admit that cigarettes existed this would have to do. A few torn-up blades of grass, a scrap of unusable parchment, a pinch of the original and a wave of the wand- there. That'd do for now.

Outside the sun was starting to rise, a sight John had grown much too familiar with of late for his liking. Mornings, so far as he was concerned, existed to keep night and afternoon from running into each other, and were best faced by being slept through. Which, naturally, meant that no one here felt the same way- everything else was already stacked against him, why should this be any exception? And it was going to stay that way for a good long while, too. Public school, after all. He'd be lucky if his classes weren't all scheduled first thing in the morning-

That stopped him: his classes. The idea was as incongruous as- well, as flying brooms and a sanitary London. Tim Hunter had been a one-shot deal. Yeah, he'd liked the kid and he'd probably do it again if it came right down to it, but that wasn't the same as teaching classes regularly for the better part of a year. Texts, homework, lessons- that was an everyday, legitimate job. True, it was still magic and he was only doing it to pay his way back home, but a regular job with a regular paycheque? Borderline respectable, that was. He didn't know whether to laugh or be appalled at the prospect.

He was just about to stub out what remained of the cigarette when there came a soft whir of wings overhead.

"Ow! Watch it, bird." John grumbled at the creature parked itself on the edge of the roof and hooted at him. Owl, all right, which would explain why it'd dropped the envelope square in his face. Turned out to be addressed to him. The note inside was written in purple ink in a thin, spidery hand:

Congratulations on having made it this far, Mr. Constantine. The demonstration of which we spoke a month ago will be held at the Hogwarts Quidditch pitch in twenty minutes' time. Therapon here-

John glanced up at the bird, which was preening one of its wings. "Therapon?" he asked. "That you?"

It hooted at him again. John assumed that meant yes.

-will show you the way. Two of the current professors will be attending the demonstration as well, and possibly participating.

Best of luck,

Dumbledore.

John shook his head, folding the note back up and sticking it into his coat pocket. "All right, bird," he said. "Might as well get this over with." Therapon bobbed his head briefly before setting off across the Hogwarts grounds. John grimaced, chucked away what remained of his fag, and followed the owl.

The bird seemed not the least bit fazed by the daylight. In fact, the only thing that seemed to give it trouble was how slowly John walked, compared to its own winged progress. Periodically it circled overhead, hooting reprovingly; John found himself sorely tempted to stop where he was and see what the bird intended to do about it. Therapon was a good-sized owl, though, and even Yoyo (who'd been much smaller) was capable of doing a lot of damage. Somehow he didn't think Dumbledore would be too pleased if he showed up with talon marks across his face, or owl kebabs on a stick, either. At least the Quidditch pitch didn't seem to far away- that is, if the structure heaving into sight was the place they were looking for. Tonks had mentioned flying iron balls, and he could just about make out enormous sticks with hoops on the ends through what looked like half-disassembled seating.

Without warning Therapon dropped from the sky and landed on John's shoulder, provoking a short, sharp expletive. The bird's grip was surprisingly light, considering its size, but it still had claws. "Push off, you," he said, making an ineffectual shooing motion. "Go tell Dumbledore we're here."

"He already has," said the Headmaster's voice, sounding amused beyond all reason.

Fighting the urge to roll his eyes, John turned towards the sound. Sure enough, there stood Dumbledore, flanked by a pair of wizards John had never seen before. At least, John assumed they were wizards. He couldn't see anyone else being willing to dress like that. The one to his right was, not to put too fine a point on it, tiny. If the top of the little fellow's head reached John's belt, he'd have been surprised. He wore fussy-looking blue and grey robes over a violet waistcoat, and a pair of silver pince-nez perched, slightly askew, on the bridge of his nose. The other-

The other was a sallow, hook-nosed, dark-haired fellow dressed entirely in black, to a degree even a Catholic priest would've thought excessive. He stood half a head taller than Dumbledore, hands behind his back, his thin-lipped expression one of barely concealed distaste. His only acknowledgment of John was a brief flicker of his narrowed eyes as Dumbledore said, "Good morning, Mr. Constantine. You're early."

John shrugged; Therapon took off from his shoulder and settled himself onto Dumbledore's instead. "Didn't have anything else to do this morning," he said as the Headmaster passed some tidbit to the owl. "This the place, then?"

Therapon clicked his beak at Dumbledore and lifted into the air once more, spiraling up and over the pitch before vanishing from sight. "Indeed it is, Mr. Constantine. And these are my colleagues, of whom I spoke in the letter. Professor Filius Flitwick, our Charms instructor-" He indicated the smaller wizard. "And Professor Severus Snape, the school's Potions Master. Professors, I should like to present Mr. John Constantine."

Flitwick smiled, giving a jerky little bow of greeting. Snape inclined his head fractionally, though he said nothing. His expression, if anything, became just the tiniest bit more sour. Oh, that was a look John knew, all right. He nodded in return, rocking back on his heels. "Pleased to meet you both," he said shortly. "Come to see the new bloke blow himself inside out, have you?"

"I hope not," Flitwick said briskly. "These robes are brand new." The little wizard stepped forward a pace, looking John up and down with the air of a prospective horse-buyer- even circling around him as he spoke. "Hmm. So you're supposed to be joining our little family, are you? Let's see your wand, please."

John glanced at Dumbledore, who nodded. "Right here," he said, carefully producing the wand from an inner coat pocket and handing it over. "What are you-"

"Safety," said Flitwick, turning the blackthorn end over end and prodding at it with his own wand. "The Headmaster wants to see your hand at defensive magic, but not before we had a chance to be sure of your skills at the basics, eh? Merlin help us all if your wand gave way during the battle-"

"The what?"

"-but it seems to be in perfectly adequate condition," Flitwick continued, ignoring him. He turned away from the others, saying "Rana!" and making a hooking motion with the wand; several small, spotted green frogs leapt from its tip, hopping away at top speed. "Oh, that'll do nicely. Here you go."

Taking the wand back, John eyed the little fellow. "Go back to this 'battle' part."

Flitwick glanced up at the dour-faced Snape. "Oh, that? Why, Severus here is going to conduct that portion of the- er- thing. Right after I run you through the basic charms and spells to make sure you know them, of course." He smiled, bouncing on the balls of his feet for a moment. "Can't beat Severus when it comes to dueling, after all."

There was a narrow, resentful look in the sallow wizard's eye John didn't entirely like. He let it pass for the moment; it wasn't anything he hadn't seen before. He'd been expecting something like this anyway. "All right," he said to Flitwick. "Where d'you want to start?"

"At the beginning, Mr. Constantine." Flitwick smiled encouragingly, conjuring up a long silver feather and setting it on the ground. "Levitate that for me, first of all."

That one was easy enough, as were the next several requests- vanish this, change the colour of that, and so forth. So far as John could tell, the minuscule wizard was taking his requests directly from The Standard Book of Spells series. He'd bought a few of those through Hagrid's assistance, reckoning that it'd look pretty poor for a would-be teacher not to know the most basic stuff. Well, it sure seemed to be paying off-

"PERFESSER!" came a distant, familiar voice. John's head whipped around; it was Hagrid, all smiles, a big wooden chest fastened with a silver padlock under one arm. "I'm not too late, am I?" the gamekeeper asked as he trotted up, a little out of breath. "Had t'sign fer this at the station."

Dumbledore shook his head. John missed whatever he might have been saying; Flitwick was making an impatient noise. "Don't go getting distracted just because this isn't the duel, young man," he said, hands on his hips. "You've still got a few more charms to go."

Young? I'm forty-five, John thought- and then thought better of it. Unpleasant Things had mentioned a wizard named Barington Ballingal, renowned for his homunculi and magical automatons. The book had said Ballingal died prematurely at the age of a hundred and twenty. Something about trying to transfer his soul into one of his creations, a younger version of his own body. He'd taken the statement for some bizarre kind of humour, but looking at Flitwick's wizened form he wasn't so sure. "All right," he said, turning back to Flitwick. "Sorry about that. Where were we?"

"Basic counters." Flitwick withdrew a mouse from his pocket and tapped it with his wand, murmuring something. A silvery bubble like a goldfish bowl surrounded the rodent's head. "Dispel that, please?"

John nodded. "Finite Incantatum," he said, aiming his wand at the startled creature. It gave a squeak as the bubble vanished, scampering off into the grass.

"Oh, bravo! Been practicing that one, I see?"

"Been practicing 'em all, actually." John nodded towards Hagrid, who'd set the box on the ground and was watching John intently. "He can tell you- I've been busy this month."

"So I hear," murmured Snape. John looked at him sharply, but the other wizard's eyes were fixed on the ground where the mouse had fled.

"All right, then," said Flitwick. "You're doing quite well so far- why don't we, er. . ." He faltered, gaze dropping as well.

Reflexively, John wheeled about, wand at the ready. The mouse, of course, was nowhere to be seen. What he did see looked almost like a living piece of the colour black, rolling out of the grass towards him. "Here," he said out the side of his mouth to Flitwick, "did you do that?"

"No," squeaked the little wizard, who had skittered backwards several paces. He held his wand at arm's length, the tip trembling. "That's no charm- that's a Lethifold! They only live in the tropics! Headmaster, where-"

That was all John needed to hear. He'd read about the things in one of Hagrid's bestiaries, and 'bugger' wasn't half the word he'd use for them. "What d'you want me to do with it? Patronus, right?" he asked, backing away.

"Eh? You? Um-" Flitwick stammered a moment, then nodded. "If, er, you don't mind?"

John winced. That charm had given him grief more often than not; he'd practiced it several times in the Forest, but never gotten more than silvery smoke and a cloudy shape no higher than his knee. His happy memories, he'd found, were few and far between.

"Now, Mr. Constantine. Assuming, of course, that you know how," said a voice. Not Flitwick's- Snape's. John shot him a glare-

And remembered. It'd been long ago, to be sure, but the looks on the faces of the Big Three... that was the kind of memory that could keep a man warm on the coldest night in Hell. John chuckled, low and quiet, and suppressed the urge to flip the Lethifold off as he pointed his wand.

"Expecto Patronum."

Streaks of silver flared briefly from the tip of his wand, shooting in all directions as the solid, stocky form of a bull terrier burst into existence. The battle-scarred, ragged-eared dog launched itself towards the blackness, its bark echoing weirdly in the open air. The Lethifold froze, rippling uncertainly. Then, as the translucent dog leapt for its leading edge, it turned and flowed away with uncanny speed, making for the half-open box next to Hagrid's foot as if it feared for its very existence. It barely reached the box in time. The Patronus' spectral jaws were snapping so furiously at its rear that John could hear the fangs clashing from where he stood. The Lethifold gave a last heroic lunge and flowed into the safety of the box's interior. Hagrid slammed the box shut, locked it, and jerked it over his head, out of reach of the still-barking Patronus' raging leaps.

John glanced over at Flitwick, who was watching with an expression of surprise, and Snape, whose face had gone unreadable. "Did I do it right?" he asked as the dog's silver-white form faded away. "That is what it's supposed to do, innit?"

"Er- yes-" Flitwick dabbed at his forehead with a handkerchief, still shaking his head. "Well! That was. . . unexpected. Headmaster, you didn't warn us-"

"I didn't think I had to," said Dumbledore with a smile. "Between myself, yourself, and Professor Snape, I thought there were enough wizards conversant in that Charm to handle the creature if Mr. Constantine had proved inadequate. I do apologize for the scare, but I thought it might be instructive to see his unvarnished reaction."

John arched an eyebrow at Hagrid, who was wrapping a thick, heavy-looking belt around the chest. "Weren't my idea, John," the gamekeeper muttered defensively.

With a sigh, John turned back to Flitwick, who'd calmed down enough to look relatively composed again. "Right," he said. "What else've you got?"

"Ah-" Flitwick hesitated. "I don't think there's very much else that I need to see. You do seem- you haven't- well, you know your way around a wand, and you've got a good hand when it comes to spell safety-"

Probably because the alternative back home's getting your lungs gnawed out by demons, thought John.

"So- yes, yes, I think I've seen enough of your work, Mr. Constantine." The little wizard held out a hand; even though he stood on his tiptoes, John had to bend down to shake it. "Congratulations on that- and good luck with Professor Snape!"

The words came out in a slightly alarming half-whisper. John shook his head silently as Snape stepped forward, a markedly unpleasant smile on his face. "I'm told," said the Potions Master, "that it was a wizards' duel that brought you here."

"Dunno that I'd call it a duel, exactly." John's fingers tightened on his wand- that smile didn't sit well with him at all. "More of what you'd call a murder attempt."

"On you?"

"No."

"By you?"

"No."

"I see." Snape inclined his head, pacing away from the other wizards; John matched his stride. "So, then, it was merely recklessness which led you to your current situation, and not self-preservation?"

"Recklessness? Nah. Just an error of judgment."

"And what would that error be, do you think?" Snape wondered aloud, readying his wand.

Snape wasn't the only one who could smile evilly. John's unwholesome grin spilled across his face as he lifted his own. "Didn't use a big enough brick."

Snape's eyebrows lifted; but the black-haired wizard's only reply was a flourish of the wand and a yell of "Stupefy!"

"Protego," John snapped, bracing himself as the shield shimmered into existence. The bolt of red light from Snape's wand dashed itself harmlessly to bits a few inches from John's face- much too close for comfort, although John was already scrambling away. He turned sideways- wasn't sure if he could cast spells through the shield, he hadn't tried-

"Impedimenta," said Snape almost lazily.

WHAM. It was as if an invisible brick wall had sprung up, throwing John backward several paces. Dammit, he was getting tired of hitting things with his face! He twisted about to face Snape before the next word could make it out of his mouth. "Incendio, incendio, incendio!"

The flames sprang eagerly to life- but not the wizard. Snape, who had been readying a Flame Freezing Charm by the sound of things, found himself surrounded on three sides by burning grass- rapidly spreading burning grass.

With a growl, he set about extinguishing the flames, which was exactly what John had been hoping for. "Tarantellagra," he said, aiming for the Potions Master's legs through the fire.

"Oh, please." Snape flicked his wand again, banishing John's curse along with a good portion of the flames. "I should have done this in the beginning- expelliarmus."

John whipped his right hand around behind his back, but even so the wand jerked in his grasp. He swore under his breath-

"Serpentsortia."

The black snake that shot from Snape's wand was at least as long as John's leg. It had the look of a mamba about it, or some other deadly snake of that family, but John wasn't about to stand there and stare at it long enough to say. He brought his wand back around and muttered, "Leviosa," intending to throw the thing back at Snape as hard as he could, but the gesture was too much. The snake let out an angry hiss as the spell grabbed it and flung it skywards.

"Oooh, that's goin' ter hurt," Hagrid muttered from the sidelines. John had almost forgotten the witnesses' presence. He turned and grinned-

"Bad form, Mr. Constantine," said Snape. "Petrificus!"

"Fuck!"

Snape had been aiming for John's torso and hands. It was only long years of experience in running for his life that saved John from a direct hit. The Body-Bind caught him in the leg as he dove, and though he was able to push himself back to his knees, his left leg refused to straighten so much as an inch.

All right, he thought, no more Mr. Nice Bastard.

He twisted himself around and pointed his wand at the advancing Snape. "Y'shouldn't've done that," he said with another unholy grin. Without looking, John pointed his wand at the ground and snapped out the first spell to come to mind- "Reducto."

Dirt sprayed in every direction. It wasn't much of a distraction, but it'd do for what he had in mind- with a little help. He didn't have time to amplify his voice, but with any luck the words alone would be enough.

He drew a deep breath and got hold of the knucks in his pocket. "Dia ad aghaidh 's ad aodann," he intoned, starting to rise with his good leg. "Agus bas dunach ort! Dhonas 's dholas ort-"

The dust cleared. Snape was staring at him with an utterly baffled expression from barely a yard away. Just like he wanted.

"Agus leat-sa!" John bellowed-

There was a sudden, sharp smell of ozone, and the air between John and Snape shimmered with a horrid distortion. John fell back, flinging both arms up in front of his face. The magically paralyzed leg screamed in pain as he hit the ground again; he tapped it with his wand as quickly as he dared, murmuring the releasing spell under his breath.

"What did you just do?" cried Snape, who was staring at his hands and his wand with an expression of utter horror. "What spell was that?"

But it wasn't a spell, John thought. It was just a line out of Lovecraft! Not even one of the bits with blasphemous names in. Just some bloke going mad, the way they always did, only he started blithering in Gaelic before he lost it completely. What the hell had he just done?

Eh- he'd figure it out later. He hadn't got this far in life by wasting his advantages. "Stupefy!" he yelled, jumping to his feet.

The sound shocked Snape back to the moment in time to counter the blast, but John was on a roll. He pointed the wand again- at the box in Hagrid's lap. "Accio box," he said, not bothering to suppress the grin at Hagrid's startled expression as the chest leapt from his grip.

Snape hissed, circling sideways with his eyes on the box as John caught it out of the air.

If I were you I'd be casting that 'expelliarmus', John thought- but all he did was point his own wand at the padlock, and wait.

And Snape did not disappoint. "Expecto-"

With a mighty heave, John threw the chest at Snape's head. The other wizard's Patronus Charm broke off, replaced with a hasty cry of "Leviosa!"

Oh, it was just too perfect. . .

"Petrificus," said John grimly, pointing his wand at Snape's hands. "Petrificus. Oh, and- silencio."

The only sound beyond the thud of the chest hitting the ground nearby was that of Flitwick's soft, indrawn breath. John's spells had found their mark; Snape's hands hung uselessly at his sides, and not so much as a sound escaped him. True, he was glaring at John with the kind of rage that could melt through glass, but that was nothing new.

Still, John knew better than to assume the duel was over just yet. "Expelliarmus," he murmured, snatching up Snape's wand as it went flying. He turned, scooped up the Lethifold's chest, and smiled at the Headmaster. "That enough for you, then?"

"Oh, it should do." Dumbledore accepted both items, handing the chest to Hagrid. "You have an interesting style, Mr. Constantine. Tell me- exactly what was that spell you cast? That sounded like Gaelic, if I'm not mistaken."

"Er-" He hedged for a moment, thinking he might cobble together an explanation. There was a certain keenness in Dumbledore's eyes that hadn't been there before, though, and it didn't speak well of his fate if he were caught in a falsehood now. Opting for the most literal version of the truth, he said, "Translates as ' God against thee and in thy face, and may a death of woe be yours. Evil and sorrow to thee and thine,' actually."

"I see," Dumbledore murmured. "So you-"

"I improvised." He glanced over his shoulder at Snape. "But I'm thinking it was a bad-luck charm, by the way things turned out."

Flitwick squeaked excitedly. "Fortune manipulation- why, that's something I haven't seen in decades! Mr. Constantine, I'd like to see more of- er- sorry, Headmaster," he added in an undertone.

"Quite all right, Filius, quite all right. John, would you mind?" Dumbledore gestured towards Snape meaningfully.

"Oh- yeah." He looked towards the silently seething Potions Master. "Finite incantatum."

The smell of ozone died away. Snape flexed his fingers several times, then cleared his throat experimentally.

"Sorry about that, mate, but the man did say 'battle'. All's fair in love and war, eh?"

"Hmph." Snape turned sharply away from John, crossing his arms over his chest.

John shrugged to himself- he hadn't really been expecting anything else. "So. . ."

"I believe at this point we'll have to go up to the castle," said Dumbledore. "To discuss your contract. Mind you, we will need to repair the turf first." He smiled. "The fire was an interesting touch."

"Some things you can't ignore no matter how badly you want to kill the other fellow," said John. "I learned that early on."

"Indeed," said Dumbledore, still smiling as he tossed Snape's wand back to him.

Instinctively, John hit the ground and rolled sideways. None too soon, either, as Snape's Blasting Curse seared into the ground where John's feet had been moments before. He came to a stop with his wand pointed up-

Straight into the grimly determined face of Snape, whose own wand was trained squarely on the center of John's chest.

"Tell me, John," said Dumbledore pleasantly. "If one of your students found himself or herself in this situation, what would you advise them to do?"

John swallowed. Eyes never leaving the Potions Master's face, he said, "Well, Headmaster, I'd say he's standing in a very bad place."

"Oh?"

John nodded. "Oh yes. At this point, I'd tell my pupil to start on a spell, and-"

"What spell, if I might ask?"

"Doesn't matter," said John, "'cos it's just a distraction. From where I'm lying I can get off a good kick square to the goolies faster than he can hex me."

"Interesting," said Dumbledore. "Very well- Severus, you may stand down now."

Snape's lips thinned fractionally as he stepped away, lowering his wand.