The profanity was expected anytime one came into contact with Mr. John Silver, though of course as the older professor approached him something odd stood out. It was as if he were looking for something and having trouble finding it.
“Help you find what you’re looking for?” He said, drawing nearer with a devious grin on his old wrinkled face.
“Mary, Queen o’ Scots!” John yells, whipping around to look at Myrddin. “Professor. Er... I didn’t realize ye were here.” He breathes hard and smooths a hand through his hair. “I’m not lookin’ fer anything. I... er... I am just a real fan of architecture.” He chuckles nervously and runs his hand along a column. A security guard gives John an angry glare.
Dash had been roaming around Westminster Abbey on the day he took off simply because he couldn’t stand the desk he was working at any more. He was around his family 24/7 it seemed and he couldn’t stand it. His sister at work and his family at home. Not that he really ever spoke to any of them. Dash had most recently picked up a form of communication in the form of grunts. That along with sneaking out to muggle London for drinks until midnight and only coming home in the dead of night had kept him sane during this… weird time.
When he saw the man run into the girl Dash couldn’t help but laugh. He might be grumpy, but this man was much grumpier. “You going in there with all the fucking kids that just entered?” Dash said, he didn’t know why he was talking to the man but he couldn’t help but relate.
John looks up from where’s he’s queued and face-palms when he immediately recognizing his student. “Looks like I can’t escape from kids anywhere, in there, or right here!” He grumbles, gesturing at Dash. “Don’t ye have something stupid and teen-like to be doin’? What do kids like these days? Dabbing?” John stares at Dash. “Boy, go off and dab somewhere and leave me some peace.”
Tourists passed left and right and swirled all about the grand abbey in a clutter of noise as Myrddin Ambrosius stood stationary amidst them all gazing up at the impressive architecture and the fine window off to the east end of the Lady Chapel. It commemorated soldiers who had died and the battle that took place so many years ago. While his mission was not one of soldierly duty, the old man still preferred to find the time to pay his respects.
His tired old eyes wandered, slowly, scanning the room until he caught sight of a familiar face. A one John Silver. What on earth was he doing here?
John awkwardly waddled his way around tourists, making sure nobody bumped into any of his hastily concealed prosthetics. He grumbled under his breath as he scanned the walls and stained glass for something--anything-- that would indicate that Slytherin had left his incredible treasure here.
However, his laser-eyed focus and unbroken string of curses was causing people look at him strangely and give him a wide berth. So focused was he on his mission that he barely took note of the people around him.
Buster tried not to flinch as Silver whipped out his wand again, and he didn’t, but the drop in height of the back of the chair certainly made him hold on a little tighter. He liked his toes very much, so Buster once again kept quiet, though his grin showed that he didn’t regret his palazzo comment at all. The two noticeably relaxed in the quiet.
“Perseus, yea? And then, that’s Algol, making up Medusa’s head. The Demon Star.” He glanced over at his professor for approval. “You know that there’s a Batman guy named after that? Ra’s Al-Ghul?” Buster didn’t think his knowledge of muggle comics would at all impress Silver, but it was pretty cool to him.
A salty tear metaphorically gathers in Silver’s eye and spills down his cheek as a student actually correctly names the constellations. He grunts low to show his approval, clinking his cup to Buster’s. He frowns at the mention of a man-bat “What now? Are you speaking Gobbledegook? Keep that dirty Goblin language out yer mouth son, or ye’ll catch something gross.” He harrumphs and sips his tea delicately. “That whole language has been hexed with tricky Gerblin magic. It’ll give ye mouth herpes if ye speak it too long.” John nods sagely, proud that he is steering Buster on the correct path.
Dash had been roaming around Westminster Abbey on the day he took off simply because he couldn’t stand the desk he was working at any more. He was around his family 24/7 it seemed and he couldn’t stand it. His sister at work and his family at home. Not that he really ever spoke to any of them. Dash had most recently picked up a form of communication in the form of grunts. That along with sneaking out to muggle London for drinks until midnight and only coming home in the dead of night had kept him sane during this… weird time.
When he saw the man run into the girl Dash couldn’t help but laugh. He might be grumpy, but this man was much grumpier. “You going in there with all the fucking kids that just entered?” Dash said, he didn’t know why he was talking to the man but he couldn’t help but relate.
John looks up from where’s he’s queued and face-palms when he immediately recognizing his student. “Looks like I can’t escape from kids anywhere, in there, or right here!” He grumbles, gesturing at JJ. “Don’t ye have something to be doing for the ministry? Helpin’ little ol’ ladies cross the street? Gettin’ cats from trees? Wiping the chief auror’s shit-caked bunghole?” He grunts as he shuffles forward in line.
Buster literally spit out his tea at the revelation his teacher was trying to communicate to him. “Stop! Stop, stop,” he exclaimed through bouts of laughter. He knew Silver was trying - like really trying his hardest - and so he appreciated the effort. “It’s fine, don’t worry about it. Look, let’s just have this tea and figure out what’s going on the stars okay?” He moved his a chair so we was more next to the professor. “…who owns palazzos anymore, mate?” Buster asked jokingly, unable to help himself really.
Silver scowls, flicking his wand so that a leg on Buster’s chair goes an inch shorter, de-stabilizing the seat and making rock annoyingly. “I will hex yer into next week, kid, I know a curse that turns each o’ yer toes into little gnomes and I swear t’ Merlin himself I will use it on ye!” He huddles into his chair and frowns at the stars until eventually his shoulders slump and his face relaxes. “Ain’t she gorgeous? Ye know which constellation that one is?” Silver gestures with his metal hand out into the dotted sky.
The school was eerily quiet without all of the sounds of its bustling student body. And now that the Castle was largely devoid of witnesses, it meant that John could finally get down to what he’d come here to do: win big.
He clunked his way into the library and peered inside. After the disaster of the May explosion had been cleaned up, John had worried that the library would be under intense surveillance but, no, there seemed to be no one in sight, including staff. Grinning, John eased inside, shut the doors behind him, and pulled out a crumpled paper from his coat. It read:
“If the treasure you would seek, listen closely to what I speak;
only my true successor will find its place, all those unworthy will find disgrace;
Find the place where there are more spines than men, go to the east and count pace to ten.”
Legend told that the Enchantress Morgana amassed a great fortune before she was eventually struck down by Merlin; but not before she purportedly hid said fortune on a remote Caribbean island. In the diaries of Salazar Slytherin, the noble Hogwarts founder made mention of having found and hid that treasure somewhere within the castle.
However, because Slytherin recorded this entry during the twilight years of his life—when he was more belligerent than coherent—most historians chalked this up the delusions of an old man’s imagination. Of course, many students and wizards alike had searched the castle for such a treasure but with no luck.
In his heart, though, John knew that this couldn’t have been just the fancies of a barmy old codger. Slytherin was a blood-purist and straight up dick, but the man was sharp and proud. Silver had always had faith in his house and as such he had always been certain that there was more to this legend that met the eye.
And that suspicion had been confirmed after a poker game in Leeds one year ago.
--
One year earlier…
John hadn’t expected much when Crabby, who’d run out of sickles, had wagered the rusty copper gadget. Honestly, the lad had a habit of tall tales: “Oh, yeah, dis here machine can sees da future!” or “No, Johnny, I swear dat dis pickle-fork can sense danger!” but since he was a pal, and John had been beating him handily, he let Crabby toss down the spindly decoder onto the money pile. Sure, he’d wailed something fierce when he (inevitably) lost, but John took up his winnings all the same.
“What’s this thing even do, Crab?” John dangled the gadget from his metal fingers.
Crabby shrieked and made to grab for the item, but John swiftly held it out of the shorter man’s reach. “It’s a decoder! Ya know, for decoding things!”
Ah. Clearly Crabby didn’t have any idea what the thing actually did; he probably swiped it from some old wizard’s garage sale. At any rate, John didn’t think much of it and went about his life just the same.
A few months after John found himself reading through Slytherin’s complete works yet again. Now, John wasn’t much of a reader himself—he much more preferred practical application—but the writings of Slytherin were something that John couldn’t tear himself away from.
John’d always returned to reading the passages the wizard had written about the treasures of Morgana. Salazar had described it in such poetic detail: the size and shimmer of rubies, gleaming emeralds, milky opals… the thought of it was enough to drive any man crazy. Loads of people thought that Salazar was a nutter and never really found the treasure, but something in John’s gut told him otherwise. Salazar Slytherin was kind of a dick, a blood purist, and a paranoid narcissist, but the one thing he wasn’t was a quitter. John knew that the founder of his own house would have rested at nothing until he’d uncovered the famed treasure of Morgana.
“And there I stood, the vast cavern of riches before me. I knew that Morgana had left all of this for me, for someone truly worthy of her legacy.”
A tickle crept up John’s nose, and the big man let out an enormous sneeze, shaking his chair and propelling his body forward. The copper decoder fell out of his coat pocket and clattered noisily onto the desk. John grabbed up the gadget—he’d nearly forgotten about the stupid thing.
“Back into me coat you git, little bugger.”
John made to put the thing back into his coat when he realized he’d gotten snot onto his book. “Oh fer fucks’ sake!” Rubbing at the boogers with his coat, something incredible happened. The glass circle of the decoder turned a lavender, and suddenly John could see words through them that hadn’t been there before.
“If the treasure you would seek…”
--
And so here John was a year later, in the library where there were more spines than men, about to uncover the mysterious location of Morgana’s treasure. He faced the East and counted his paces exactly until he entered the stacks labeled, “Magical Medicine, Maladies, and Mundification.”
John eagerly entered the aisle and was momentarily disappointed when the treasure didn’t immediately leap out to great him.
“Alright Johnny, get a grip.” He muttered to himself, stalking up the row and searching for anything that stuck out…
…and again…
And again…
And again…
He paced up and down the stack of books like a caged tiger. This was ridiculous! What was he even supposed to be looking for? John scowled down at the paper in his hands where he’d hastily scrawled the directions. No mention of what he would actually find when he got here.
Glaring, John scanned the spines of each and every book in excruciating detail.
Bezoars and Breathing: A Guide to Respiratory Magic didn’t really seem like it would contain a map to the treasure so he moved on. Common Magical Ailments and Afflictions(1), The Healer's Helpmate(2), Healing at Home with Herbs(3), while all common books, were too newly printed to be of any use.
As John moved down the row the books got older, mustier, and more leathery. A Dullard’s Manual for Easy Bloodletting seemed closer to what he wanted but after paging through it, John tossed it over his shoulder angrily. With a snarl, John ripped Bald's Leechbook(4) from the shelf and set it ablaze when it, too, turned up no results.
Damn it all to hell! John was getting mighty impatient with this fuckery when suddenly he went cross-eyed.
“What in Merlin’s tits?!” John rubbed at his human eye and stared hard at the shelf again. Sure enough, his metal eye stayed firmly in its proper place while his other zoomed off into another direction. “Ah! Ye cheeky bugger,” John chuckled, realizing that there must have been a light distraction spell on the book he was looking at. While his human eye was susceptible to the magic, his metal eye could easily cut through it, alighting on a hefty tome labeled, Canon Medicinae(5,6): Annotations by the Great Salazar Slytherin.
John snorted as he opened the book, amused that Slytherin had gone so literal with his spine hint. He withdrew his decoder and leafed through the book, coming to a stop when a page made the decoder glow with a familiar lavender.
He eagerly drew the tome closer to his face as words scrawled themselves across the page.
Well met ye seeker to get this far,
But the journey is not yet done.
In vain your efforts may have been
As the search has just begun.
Across the isle you must venture,
If the treasure’d be yours.
To a place with walls of stone,
And sealed with iron doors.
There the muggles kneel and beg,
Blubbering words by rote.
Belonging to a simpering Earl,
who wears a checkered coat.
When John gets to the bottom of the page he blinks hard and goes back to the top to read it again. And a third time, and a fourth time, until his eyes begin to blur and he lets out a guttural yowl. Of course he shouldn’t have expected it to be that easy!
John tries to light this book on fire as he did the last but Slytherin, that fucker, must have put an enchantment on the ruddy thing so it couldn’t be destroyed. Pettily, John jams the book back onto the shelf backwards and clomps out of the library.
The last riddle had been fucking easy, and it had been accessible. Now John only had a vague idea of where he needed to start and that was clear across the fucking country.
John slams into his office, knocking his things off is shelf in the process. He settles into his squashy chair and resigns himself to several nights of not sleeping while he un-muddles this clue.
It is looking more and more like Slytherin was a barmy old codger… and worse, one who was obsessed with shitty rhyme schemes.
John Silver lays his head on his desk and sighs wearily.
Honestly, Quasi could only understand half of what John was saying. He had no idea what ‘feckin’ meant. Maybe it was a different type of wizard? Maybe a wizard with magic limbs. He’d have to figure it out later.
The plate had been put down in front of him and while his stomach ached, he didn’t touch it yet. He thought that this man would give him whatever work he was doing before he allowed him to eat. Quasi had always been given his list of duties before Frollo would actually give him the basket of food he’d brought up for the night. So when Silver ordered him to eat first, he jolted wide eyed. But then given permission, he absolutely scarfed it down. It was so quick and almost animalistic that it actually drew the attention of surrounding tables. But Quasi didn’t seem to notice.
John watched Quasi eat with the pity of a man who had witnessed people go hungry before. With that in mind, he glared down the damn Frenchies who dared to scoff at the boy until they looked away.
“What is your deal, kid?” He asked, when it looked like Quasi was nearing the end of his meal. Silver took a more relaxed approach as he casually spooned his stew. “How’d you end up on the street?”
Jack-Jack smiled, taking the blow to his confidence with a positive outlook. His eyes trailed down to his uniform and chuckled, “Sadly, no. Hit wizard.” He smirked, “Gotta ask for documents as a part of the extremely boring part of the job.” Of course, he couldn’t let the joke slide entirely away as he eyed the astrology professor with a large smile, “Though if you want, I can sing a note or two~” He responded in an upbeat sing-songy tone.
(but he can sing)
“Bah!” John grumbles, realizing that his jibe has backfired. “Cut it with that! If I give ye one of those ‘fidget spanners’ like all the kids like nowadays do ye promise not ter bother me during my time off?” He starts digging around his numerous coat pockets. “I swear, I get enough of ye bite sized babes durin’ the school year. There was a time when the pub was a man’s sanctuary, I tell ye, undisturbed by the youths!” When John says this, an extremely inebriated man who is nearly passed out on the bar hiccups a little “wha-hey!” in agreement and feedbly lifts his glass in salute.
Normally the dark haired boy wouldn’t let someone just pluck his ID from him, but professor Silver wasn’t exactly a man to take no for an answer and had it out from the younger boy’s hands before he could comment. “Thanks…?” He offered at the compliments, right before it was stowed away an confiscated.
Donald groaned, “Really?” His eyes rolled, “How about cutting your favorite student a little break? Like you didn’t do it when you were my age…” Of course, the belch aggravated the dark-haired boy in a way that made his eye twitch. “Well… I suppose I can agree with that at least. ‘Least it’s quiet here, most days.”
“Alright, alright. But ye should know that it’s very rude to ask back a gift you’ve given someone.” John chuckles, reaching back into his pocket and withdrawing the ID. He hands it back to Donald face down, doing a simple wandless spell to change the picture on the ID to a balding man in his 70′s. “There ye are.”
With a small scrunch of his nose, the movement making his face tingle in his inebriation, Logan shrugged. “I’m trying ‘ard, Sir, it’s just I can’t seem to pack 'em on.” He grinned stupidly, glad to be out of school, his seventh year barely a spark of sun on the horizon.
He took another quick swig for good measure and nearly choked, eyes shut tightly for a moment. That was sour, and vile, and weak as all get out, wasn’t it? But for fear of actually seeming a child, he gulped down another sickening few sips at a time, only slamming it down when nothing remained but the pale froth of what was left of the head. He shuddered in utter disgust. “Anyway 'ow’s your summer?”
Respect, John feels it for the boy as he watches Logan stomach the transfigured beer. “A damn sight better than my last one, I’ll tell ye.” He whistles for the barkeep and orders them both a second round. “I feel obligated ter ask you how yers is, but please keep in mind,” John says earnestly, “That I’m only asking out of social niceties and what-have-ye.”
“Mm, is that so, kid?” Silver raised his only eyebrow incredulously. “Yer aim ain’t so good, so I’ll give ye another chance ter shoot fer the truth.” He shrugged, “Don’t miss the detentions much, but then, there are other ways o’ gettin the youth of today into trouble if ye care enough,” He winked his metal eye and chortled.
What a burn. Val couldn’t help but snort at his words. “Well, I have a great ID. Wizard-proof and everything. But I’m not even going to drink, I just wanted somewhere to be.” At least she wasn’t going to drink anymore. “I do hope that means you’re saying you could get me in trouble, but you won’t because I am your best student. Right?”
John chuckles and pats Val on the back. “Not by a mile, kid.” He doesn’t admit that his actual best student is a huge pain in the ass. “But yer right, I won’t turn ye in. It does me old heart proud to see an enterprising youngster like yerself trick some dumb cunts into giving ‘em what ye want.” He laughs, salutes Val with his drink, and takes a long gulp.
Buster rubbed the back of his neck awkwardly as Silver spouted off. It wasn’t like the man would be mad for long but Buster still preferred to keep his mentor happy. Could he call the professor his mentor? I mean, Silver was certainly his favourite teacher of his favourite class, but he decided it would best not to say that. The man kept a tough exterior, and Buster didn’t want to embarrass either of them with sentimental, mentorship stuff.
Part of avoiding those sentimental topics was not involving him in the more…touchy subjects of Buster’s life where it wasn’t necessary. Thus, Buster was surprised that Professor Silver returned to the topic. “Uh, Nesbit,” he said with a nervous chuckle, hoping Silver would remember that name from one of their previous conversations. “I woke up last holiday at a tea festival in Cardiff and so I figured I’d stay for a bit before the train ride home. I picked up a few things like lower temperature brewing or whatever. Oh, and they had lots of free samples,” Buster said, giving a thumbs up and a smile.
“Ah, I see.” John falls into an uncomfortable silence for a second before saying, “I once woke up in Jakarta in nothin’ but a ski cap and palazzos, with no memory o’ how I got there.” another uncomfortable silence falls as John realizes that his attempt to be relatable has gone horribly wrong. “--feck all I meant is that yours sounds nicer, don’t yer ever tell anybody about that.” John rubs at his face, cheeks ruddy with embarrassment.
“Ooooh, yer ‘chillin’ is it? ‘Chillin’ is what we’re doin’ now, lad, EH?!” John wiggles his metal finger in Buster’s face. “I ought t’ launch you over the side meself, save ye the trouble of doin’ it by accident!” John huffs angrily before tottering back to where he’d left his thermos by the door. He pitches his voice several mocking octaves higher. “ ‘I’m just chillin’” John scoops it up and heads back over to Buster. “Why, I’ll be a goddamn milkmaid, boy.”
Pouring out a measure of tea into a cup, he gruffly hands it over to Buster. “Drink up, boyo, ‘fore I finally git me senses and give ye a thousand years of detention.”
With that, John pulls out his stubby, crooked wand and conjures two armchairs. A sigh escapes his lips as he levers himself down into the Silver-Sized one of the pair.
Buster kept a tight lip and listened as Silver ranted and threatened. He knew where it was all coming from, and so he knew that there wasn’t a chance the old man would throw him off a ledge. Even as he imitated Buster’s voice, Buster refrained from laughing or retorting. However, a brief chuckle escaped with the image of the burly man as a milkmaid. “If either of us are still around in a thousand years, you can put me in detention,” he said, before thanking Silver for the tea and sitting down.
“Why are you up here so late anyway?” he asked as he sipped the hot drink. It felt nice in his hands on such a windy night. “Cassiopeia calling your name?” he jested, although the feeling as though space was drawing him in was certainly a familiar one.
Buster took another sip of tea. “You know, if you steep at a little lower tempurature you can get a really nice flavour… ugh, nevermind that. It’s really good, thanks.” It was such a dumb Nesbit thing to say that the boy felt a little embarrassed.
The surly professor was not about to admit that he was only up here because he had a hunch that the space-loving boy would be out looking at the stars. It just absolutely would not do to have John’s reputation ruined. He couldn’t be seen going soft.
So John ignored the boy’s first question and grumbled at Buster’s presumption instead. “Don’t ye tell me how ter make a cuppa, I know how to make a cuppa!” He sniffed hard, allowing the silence to stew.”
Eventually he cracked. “Steep it at a lower temperature eh? How d’ye figure that?” John was a man of learning, and he asked only out of a pure academic desire, and not because he loved a good brew almost more than the stars, which was to say, well, a lot.
For hating the big bad wolf as much as he did, he certainly huffed and puffed like one. When Silver took his glass, Ziggy’s eye twitched and he was half tempted to bump the man’s hand so he would spill it on himself. However, Ziggy was signed up for his course next semester and he knew better… He knew better, but that didn’t stop him from thinking the worst.
“Really?” He couldn’t help himself at this point. He had to say something otherwise his forehead vein was going to burst.
“What?” John turned his head, tipping his ear toward’s Ziggy. “Sorry lad, this old man’s hearing ain’t so good as it use t’be. Did yer say something?” He blinked innocently at the Gryffindor, as cherubic as an angel.
“Son of a bitch,” Toulouse cursed, despite the lingering of a smile on his face. So this is how they were going to do it, the sneaky old bastard. The younger boy let out a small sigh before reaching into his pocket. ‘You’re rich, you have money’ replayed stubbornly as he made his move.
“You heard the man,” he said as he slapped cash onto the counter. “A pint of whatever he wants. We know he’s getting up there, so we need to celebrate while we can,” he added the second part in a false whisper.
Silver hooted a laugh, clapping Toulouse on the back and grabbing up his new pint after it had barely been put down. “Here’s to m’good health, then, lad! And here’s to many more years of ye treatin’ yer Uncle well.” He clinked his glass with Toulouse’s fresh pint and took a large gulp. “This gaffer may be old, but his memory is good alright. And he’ll remember this.” Silver tapped his nose conspiratorially and winked at his student.
