Chapter 1
John was minding his own business, getting properly bevvied when the man decided to show up and ruin his day. He had a nice buzz going, and Liverpool was winning for once in their God forsaken existence.
It wasn’t even nine when the wanker stiffly marched over, looking scandalized, probably because he was surrounded by “muggles”.
Why were the magical Amish so bloody racist? Yay, you can make yourself breakfast without using your hands. Nevermind that it still took the same amount of time, and you were expending exactly as much magical energy as you would in physical energy. You were just too lazy to use your bloody hands. Must mean that someone without as strong of a magical core is an inferior being.
The icing on the cake was that every living thing on Earth had a magical core. It was just a matter of gathering the energy and charging it up.
Do not even get him started on all of the systemic issues that a community which sorted eleven year old children into life and career-defining packs based on personality type faced. He had turned his back on those crazies when he hit thirteen and never looked back.
In retrospect, he was glad he had been sorted into Slytherin. In the 80s, his muggleborn status had given his housemates a reason to treat him worse than dirt.
Not that they showed a hint of their ill intent outside the safety of the common room, fucking snakes. House unity and all that. Severus had been alright, but the poor bloke had his own hide to worry about, and John couldn’t blame him for blending into the background when it came to house politics.
House politics. What a nice way to rephrase “casting the cruciatus on a twelve year old”. At least his non magical prick of a dad hadn’t had access to a wand. God only knows what he would have come up with.
That wasn’t to say that the community had never had a good idea. John wasn’t one to discredit any branch of magic.
In fact, he would call himself a bit of an addict when it came to hoarding magical items, and that society was rife with them. Since he hadn’t technically been expelled, the library had been open to him until he turned seventeen. He must have read through the entire thing before he hit magical maturity.
Sirius and Potter had noticed he was back with that map of theirs, and when he told Padfoot why he had left regular schooling but was still showing up in the library, the black sheep of the Blacks (now that was a funny coincidence) had scooped him up and taken in as an honorary younger brother. Moony, Padfoot, Wormtail and Prongs had treated him like family.
More importantly, they had also taught him how to get into the restricted section. A few months after his fifteenth birthday he finished the library, and decided to travel and focus more on occultism. The darker magics had always called to him, and he hadn’t yet learned why you were supposed to ignore that calling.
Learning how other magical communities functioned made him feel a bit saner. First he went to France, then gradually made his way through western Europe, and moved on to Eastern Europe and the Middle East. Seeing the mix of wand and wandless magic practiced throughout different countries made him realize how restricting only practicing wand magic was to practitioners.
He counted himself lucky that he left Hogwarts when he did, giving him time to let his core recover. If he had continued to only practice wand-based magic until he was seventeen and graduated, he would have lost the ability to practice other types of magic he encountered. The more ancient and powerful the spell, the less likely it was to rely on a wand.
When he was nineteen, he got a message from Chas that he was starting a band, and traveled back to England. He hadn’t talked to any of his old friends in the Amish sector since he left to travel. Then Newcastle happened. It had broken him, and after Ravenscar he had basically fled to America to escape reminders of his failure.
He had heard rumors that the wizarding civil war was over, but never really paid attention to that sector. Macusa wasn’t perpetually stuck in the Dark Ages like its British counterpart, and he enjoyed his time in the states.
It wasn’t that he didn’t care what happened to his old school friends, but he tended to make situations worse by intervening, and he couldn’t really see the point in fighting a society that was so systematically oppressive to people not born into some made-up elite. So he stayed in “muggle” England when he was in town, minding his own business.
Until this bloody wanker decided to waltz in and disturb his night. He didn’t know what they wanted him for, and he didn’t care. He wasn’t a very powerful warlock compared to people like Zatanna or Nick, but compared to the average British “wizard”? He was a fucking god. They never even considered that there were possibilities outside of using a wand, and it handicapped them.
When he was sure the man was close enough to see his eyes, he rolled them, trying to put as much dramatic flair into the action as possible.
The man froze, his expression simply gobsmacked. His face looked like a frog, and Constantine laughed and told him just that. Pinching the bridge of nose and trying to regain his composure, he started over.
“My name is Kingsley Shacklebolt, and I’m with the Ministry of Magic. However, I’m not here on Ministry business, I’m here on behalf of the Order of the Phoenix. To be honest, another war is brewing on the horizon, and we need your help.”
“Nope, not interested. Go away.”
“With all due respect, people are dying and–”
“When aren’t people dying? Mortality and all that. Bugger off, I’m trying to watch the game.”
If looks could kill, Constantine wouldn’t just be dead at the moment, he would probably have been castrated and stabbed to death with a blunt fork.
“We can make it worth your while.”
Not looking away from the telly, a little smirk started to form on Constantine’s face. “I’m listening.”
“Whatever you need, Dumbledore will be able to provide.”
Constantine decided to twist the knife a little, finally gaining the upper hand. “Now, if it’s money I want, I believe the other side would be a bit more providing. No offense, luv.”
True anger, not just frustration began to show on Kingsley’s face. “You’re a muggleborn, they would be more likely to kill you than come to you for help.”
“Yet here you are, blood status or no. I’m more powerful than you lot can accept, and I’m sure that offers from the other side will start coming in soon.” He neglected to mention that they had already sent a messenger, who was currently six feet under. He could still remember Selwyn laughing as Nott held him down and dear Bella tortured him. Fucker deserved it, and no one would look for him. He had always been a right nasty bastard.
“Contrary to my best judgment, the offer stands. We would like your help guarding Harry Potter and acting as the Defense Against the Dark Arts professor.”
John’s blood ran cold hearing that last name. “What do you mean, guard Harry Potter? James should be more than capable enough to protect and provide for any Potter.”
A dark look crossed Kingsley’s face. “A lot has changed since you left. James and his wife Lily have been dead for over a decade.”
Shite. Shite, Shite, Shite. John had not expected that. In his mind, he had always put the marauders on some untouchable pedestal. They were older, and had seemed so strong. He had too much to drink, and wasn’t able to school the despair off his face in time. Why he ever assumed that anyone he cared about would be safe, he couldn’t tell. And when the poor sod had finally ended up with Evans.
The worry must have bled past his poker face because Kingsley showed a dash of pity. “My condolences, I was unaware you were close.”
“What about Siri and Remus? And Peter? Are they…”
“All alive, at least. There was a fidelius charm involved in the deaths of James and Lily, and while the public thinks the keeper was Sirius, in reality it was Peter. He was a death eater the whole time.”
“Jesus. What happened to Remus?”
“You could join the Order and ask him yourself.”
John turned back to the telly. He had left that society, and he wasn’t coming back without a better reason. Remus was better off without him, anyway. Siri could handle Wormtail. “You’re gonna have to throw me a bone here, Kingsley was it?”
Kingsley curled his lip in disgust. “Innocent people are dying–”
“Like I said, when aren’t they? Besides, I’d give it four generations before your beloved ‘wizarding’ world breaks down from the inbreeding. The Order’s just delaying the inevitable.”
If the man had been fuming before, now he was seething. “Name your price.”
“How about… a million pounds.”
“We are funding a war effort, you greedy, cheating–”
“Why, that’s not a very convincing tone. You know I don’t have to follow you?”
Instead of blowing a fuse (which would’ve been quite entertaining) Kingsley took another deep breath. “Half a million.”
“A million and fifty.”
Kingsley drew his wand, while John sat there and smirked. Was the idiot finally going to attack him?
“Expecto Patronum” A wispy silver lynx protruded from the wand. “Ask Dumbledore about how much he’s willing to pay this guy, he’s being unreasonable.”
“What, you’ve never heard of a cell phone? Instant communication not attached to a bloody fireplace?”
“Electronics do not work in the presence of magic.”
“Pfft. Your outdated magic, maybe. When were most of those textbooks written, again? 1600s? 700s?”
Five minutes later, the lynx was back. “He is willing to pay whatever is asked.”
Constantine whistled lowly. “Three mil should do it.”
The lynx stared at him. “You will receive a small portion of the compensation at Order headquarters, and the rest after you have completed your task.”
Standing up and giving Kingsley a shite-eating grin. “Ta, love. Lead the way.”
Rolling his eyes, he held out his arm for side-apparition. Still grinning, John grabbed his arm and after a quick glamour charm they disappeared.