James leaned back in his chair. So magic was real. Why the fuck not? Remnant had had magic, more or less, despite everyone there insisting that Aura and Semblances weren't magic. So talking paintings, ghosts, competitive sports on broomsticks, giant spiders in the forest that had made him go through a few dozen shotgun shells and a trio of grenades, half horsemen, and a school for young wizards and witches? Why the fuck not?
He didn't know how he had gotten here, he didn't even remember what he had been doing before, but one day he had woken up in a massive office that looked more like a storage place for antiques. It was all in shockingly pristine condition. When he had gotten to his feet, he had found that an elderly man in a flowing robe and half-moon spectacles had been looking back at him, more curious than shocked that a heavily armed man was now sharing his working space. "Good afternoon," he had said, smiling warmly.
The conversation that had followed had been long and awkward, though mainly just for James. The man, Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore (James had been badly tempted to both fall back on just calling him Brian and ask how someone's parents could be that pretentious) had done a lot to fill him in. Dumbledore, or Professor Dumbledore as he liked to be called, was Headmaster of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry in Great Britain, along with countless other things about the "wizarding world."
Once again, James's life was flipped upside down and everything he thought he had understood about the world was thrown merrily out the window. He was back on Earth but on the wrong continent. And then, just to make his life even more of a living Hell, Dumbledore had offhandedly revealed the date. 1997. So he was back on the right planet but had somehow missed the mark by nearly 300 years. He was starting to rethink his position on God. It seemed that there was one, and he was fucking with James for giggles.
Dumbledore had noticed James tense at this point. His smile had been a little more knowing than James was comfortable with. "You're in a rather difficult situation, aren't you?" he asked. That didn't even begin to describe it. James had talked to him as much as he had felt comfortable with, deciding to keep to the basics about the nuclear war and the state of life on the west coast. He had left out Remnant, no need to make things more absurd than they already were, there was always a chance that he could still be checked into a mental hospital.
For some reason, Dumbledore had not seemed to doubt a thing he said. Maybe it said something about a school for wizards and witches that they didn't blink when time traveling Americans popped up on their doorstep. He couldn't say the same thing applied to him when Dumbledore informed him that the Cold War had ended around a decade ago. He hadn't so much as blinked as he had babble incoherently for a few seconds. The Soviet Union had collapsed, China was communist in name only, though still fairly tyrannical in nature, and nuclear war was no longer hanging over the human race. He had actually let out a nervous laugh of relief.
After that, things had moved onto what would happen to him. The way things had developed after that rang familiar for him. Once again, he had not been viewed as an insane person. Once again, the headmaster of a local school made a job offer to him as a way to give him a place to stay. Though this one was a bit more up his alley, security. As Dumbledore had explained to him, he could use an extra set of eyes. A wizard named Voldemort, who apparently headed some sort of magical supremacy hate group, was a threat concern. Voldemort had, and James had wondered if he had been talking to an insane person this whole time when this topic had come up, come back from being a barely alive husk. And he had an obsession with killing a student at the school, Harry Potter. Dumbledore headed a group designed to counter Voldemort called the Order of the Phoenix, and they could use James's help in keeping Harry and the students safe at school.
"So keep a homicidal madman and his fanatical bigots from murdering a teenager," James said to no one in particular. "Is my life on repeat?" He sighed and then got up. "Wonder how long until I end up in the land of the lizard people." He took a quick glance at this Pip-Boy. Then remembered that, whatever was going on with this school, it had it on the fritz. Garbled static was all he could get out of it anymore. Grumbling, he turned it off.
He was in the Hogwarts staff room. An empty plate on a table in front of him had held his breakfast not too long ago. It had honestly been some of the best food he had ever had. Toast, sausage, eggs, something called a kipper, they just didn't have anything like it in the Mojave. He got up, stretching as he did. He was supposed to patrol the hallways and the grounds, acting as a halfway point between a security guard and a truant officer. The guns wouldn't be of much help for the latter half of the job, he doubted anyone would approve of him bean bagging students.
"Good morning, Mr. Walker." An elderly woman with a noticeably thick accent, wearing dark green clothing and a pointed hat had entered the room, giving him a polite nod before crossing to a cabinet on the far side. "Pardon me, I need a few supplies for my next class." Reaching in, she pulled out a rather large box. Peeking at it, James was surprised to see a dozen or so live iguanas scurrying around inside. "Fifth year at Hogwarts is O.W.L. year," the woman said, noticing him looking. "A time where we test students to see whether they are qualified to enter the more advanced stages of a course. Vanishing spells will most likely be covered, and more complex beings will be needed for my students to test on."
"Gotcha," James said. The idea of magic users having standardized testing was, ironically, one of the things he had a harder time wrapping his head around. Wouldn't they gather around in a candle-lit room with hoods and have judgment passed on them by an elder? Then again, what were tests except for a more refined version of that? "Sorry, I don't think I got your name. I've only been here a few days."
"Oh, my apologies," she said, putting the box down on the table and holding her hand out. "Professor McGonagall. Head of Gryffindor House, and transfiguration teacher." James took her hand. For a person her age, she had quite a firm grip. "I trust Albus filled you in on the houses, and the unique relationships they have with each other?"
"Yup," James said, nodding as he mentally scrambled to remember all the bizarre names. "Gryffindor, Ravenclaw, Hufflepuff, Slytherin." He internally sighed with relief as she gave a confirmatory nod. Nothing made you look more like a fool than forgetting what you were told yesterday. "And they've got a few friendly competitions going on between them?"
McGonagall pursed her lips, a sign that told James that he had gone and stuck his nose into a situation that was fairly complicated. "I'm not one to speak ill of other houses," she said, leading James to start counting down until other houses were spoken ill of. "Most of the time the competition between the four houses is civil, if passionate. However, I must admit, the rivalry between Gryffindor and Slytherin boils over at points. It gets rather nasty." She grimaced. "Just our last Quidditch match, there was a chorus of taunts organized to target Gryffindor's new Keeper. Tensions grew even higher when Gryffindor won and the Slytherin team Seeker goaded on Gryffindor players, insulting their families."
Her eyes narrowed in disgust. "They stupidly rose to the bait. Attacked him. Got themselves a lifetime ban from the sport. More pride than brains sometimes."
James felt taken aback. "I get there are certain behaviors you want to encourage and some you want to discourage, but isn't a lifetime ban a bit much? Wouldn't suspension from a game or two be more in line?" Once again, James found himself injecting his opinion into a situation where he was very firmly an outsider. Well, he had gotten to the 50-year milestone in his life acting this way and he was somehow still alive. Not much point in changing it now.
"Frankly, I agree, but it's out of my hands," McGonagall said. "Hogwarts's new High Inquisitor was the final arbitrator on the matter." James nodded. Then he frowned. He wasn't certain that he had heard right. High Inquisitor? Most of his knowledge of the Pre-War world came from the thousand and one questions he pelted Arcade with on a regular basis, be he was certain that an Inquisitor was a religious position. Hogwarts had not struck him as that sort of institution.
"I'm sorry, High Inquisitor?" he asked. Professor McGonagall's brow furrowed to an impressive degree. James half expected something to snap.
"Our latest addition to staff, Professor Umbridge, holds the position of High Inquisitor and Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher," McGonagall said. She sounded as if she was attempting to stay calm, but despite that, there was so much concentrated venom in her voice that James half expected her to start growling. "She was appointed by the Ministry of Magic after Albus was unable to find a candidate to fill the vacancy. The Ministry also created the Inquisitor position to...ensure the quality of education of the school." James might have bought that line if McGonagall wasn't making a face that was usually reserved for finding out you had just stepped in dogshit.
"And she thought that a lifetime ban for these students ensures education quality how now?" James asked. Something was going on here, he would've had to be blind to not notice it.
"Oh I'm certain she has her reasons," McGonagall said, in a tone that made it very clear she believed nothing of the sort. "Just as I'm certain she has a reason from banning me and all other teachers from giving information to students that isn't related to our subject."
"You're fucking with me."
Professor McGonagall's eyes narrowed so viciously and quickly that James had to suppress an urge to take a step back. "Mr. Walker, I can assume that I will not have to remind you that that kind of language will be unacceptable around our students?" James gave a hasty nod. He wasn't entirely sure what McGonagall was capable of, only that he was fairly certain that being locked in a room with ten feral Deathclaws was preferable to being locked in a room with her when she was irate.
"Good," she said tersely. "But no, I am not. That was educational decree number twenty-six. All teachers are banned from giving any information that isn't related to their subject matter." She paused, looking down at her box of iguanas. Then she looked back at James, scrutinizing him. Her eyes widened in realization. "But...you're not a teacher, are you?" she said. "Nor are you a student."
James could already see where this is going. "Need me to run a message?" As far as jobs went, it was hard to get more basic than that. Not when there wasn't even a letter. And there certainly wouldn't be if they were exploiting legal loopholes, no one wanted a paper trail here.
"Not at the moment, but I may need you to do so in the near future," McGonagall said. "Some of the students here are in very delicate situations. But they're young and impulsive, they may need help to be kept safe." She looked very concerned now, taking a quick glance at the entrance to ensure that no one was there before she continued. "Can I count on you for that, Mr. Walker?"
James nodded. "Is this some Order of the Phoenix related stuff?" That got a very interesting reaction out of McGonagall. Her eyes widened in surprise as she took a quick look around the classroom.
"Albus must trust you a good deal if he told you about the Order," McGonagall said. "Though it makes sense. You are a Muggle, after all, you would never willingly pass information to You-Know-Who." James blinked, puzzled at her cryptic remark, only to remember something Dumbledore had told him. Voldemort had apparently conducted a years-long campaign of terror before he had finally fallen. It had been so traumatizing that many, even those who hadn't been alive at the time, were terrified to even speak the man's name. Privately, he didn't understand this. Caesar had done more terrible things than he could count, yet he would still say Caesar's name. Often after saying the phrase "that little prick." Still, poking open wounds wouldn't get him anything except enemies.
"He doesn't like...what was it again?" he asked. Too many proper nouns had been thrown at him in the past year of his life.
"Muggles, non-magic users," McGonagall said. "You-Know-Who and his followers view them as lesser beings, and feel it is unjust that we have to hide from them." She shifted uncomfortably on the spot. "Speaking of which, I do hope you realize that Albus is bending quite a few rules for you to be here. Normally, when a Muggle discovers evidence of the wizarding world, their memories are modified. Obliviate is a relatively simple charm that can remove all memories of magic, particularly on Muggles." She glanced at him sadly. "But in your case, you don't have anywhere to go, do you?"
"Not unless you have a spell that can send me to an irradiated wasteland a few hundred years in the future," James said, surprising even himself with how matter of factly he said it.
She shook her head. "Time travel is something magic can accomplish, but it is heavily regulated. Even then, one can only travel backward by a number of hours. Not forward, and certainly not into alternate realities." She gave him an apologetic look, which he nodded at. For some reason, this didn't bother James as he thought it might have. Apparently, your first dimensional hop was the worst one. At least this place didn't have giant demonic wolves running around.
"Well, thank you anyway. And please, let me know if you need anything passed along," he said. He checked his Pip-Boy, remembered it wasn't working, fought back a curse, then checked the walls for a clock. A grandfather clock in the corner read 9:30. "Well, better hit the hallways, gotta make sure everyone was in class." He wasn't sure what to think of Dumbledore not asking him to help in class, but to act as security. Sadly, this probably meant that his skillset had been judged fairly accurately.
McGonagall nodded. "Mr. Walker, please do keep quiet about the Order. It's a secret society meant to oppose You-Know-Who, and the Ministry of Magic is fervently denying that he has returned." Her mouth curled into a snarl that James deeply hoped would never be aimed in his direction. "The current Prime Minister was behind the appointment of Professor Umbridge to her current positions. She, above all others, must not know." James was starting to connect a lot of dots now, and they weren't painting a pretty picture.
"Of course, not a word to anyone," he said.
"Mr. Potter and his two close friends, Ms. Granger and Mr. Weasley all know of it. In fact, half of the Weasley family is in the Order, but none of the other students know of the Order. Keep that in mind." Nodding to McGonagall, he stepped out of the staff room and into the school as a whole.
Breakfast had ended an hour ago, meaning the students had gone off to their first class. Reaching into his pocket, he pulled out a makeshift map of the school that Dumbledore had drawn for him. His instructions were simple. Make a circuit of each floor, go up one, repeat. Once he had hit the top floor, he would begin the process again until he hit the bottom and then loop until lunch. James had asked if he should patrol the grounds too, only to be told that someone called Hagrid, who was apparently the groundskeeper, would be able to take care of that. There was a sub-level he had to check before he started, however. Apparently, this school had dungeons, a side effect of being a thousand-year-old castle.
Deciding to get that out of the way, he followed the map through the marble-encrusted front hall. He had to admit, it was nothing short of gorgeous. Shining, towering above him, a whole part of a whole world. He grinned. Whatever Voldemort could pull, at least this place didn't have to worry about nuclear armageddon. Sadly, the welcome feeling that had started to crawl over him faded as he found himself at the entrance to the dungeons. At least, he assumed it was. He was concerned if there was another dark and dingey passage leading downward. Wondering if he should don his helmet and night-vision, he took a step down.
"Hem! Hem!"
He paused, someone was coughing behind him. A cough that could only be described as obnoxious. Frowning, he turned around. Upon seeing the noise, the first thing that came to mind was the image of a malnourished Mirelurk King stuffed into a pink dress. The person standing before him clearly was human, but at the same time looked as if she had hatched from an egg, with a squashed and wrinkled face that was stretched into a smile. A smile that was far too big. "Hello," she said, in the same tone of voice James would adopt for a shy five-year-old. Frankly, he felt a little insulted at it. "I don't believe we've met. You're a new hire by Albus?"
"Yes," James said slowly. This woman's smile had an insincere sincerity to it, a kind of condescending kindness, but her eyes told a much different story. Narrow and beady, slowly moving up and down. She was sizing him up. "James Walker, security. Forgive me if I'm jumping to conclusions, but are you Professor Umbridge?"
The woman let out a giggle. James fought back the urge to cringe. He couldn't put it into words, but that little laugh had a forced innocent quality that made James feel like a hot poker was being shoved in his ears. "Oh, I see I'm quite well known," she said. "Yes. Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher, and High Inquisitor. A pleasure to meet you, you Mr. Walker."
"Well, if you're teaching defense, I have a few tricks that I wouldn't mind sharing," James said. "Things that are good at knocking your opponent off balance." He highly doubted that this school taught much that wasn't related to bright colors and magic incantations, but there was nothing wrong with going over the basics. If a wizard supremacist was attacking you, sweeping the leg would be just as effective as a spell to the face. Anyway, it would be best to extend an olive branch to this woman, even if it was turned away. If anything, he was expecting that.
What he was not expecting was for Umbridge's face to twist even further into her smile. Even if he hadn't been given a warning about this woman, this still would've caused him to take a step back. Umbridge's thought process seemed to be that the happier you looked, the more welcoming or agreeable you appeared. It didn't work. The mutant like facial features didn't help, but Umbridge looked more like a serial killer than anything else. "That may have been the more archaic subject matter taught by previous teachers, but there have been improvements made. I use Defensive Magical Theory to teach my students. We focus on appeasement and negotiation to end the confrontation in non-violent, not barbaric curses and spells far above the appropriate level for students. Which my predecessors unwisely did."
James frowned. He wasn't about to knock stopping a fight before it started, him using his words had gotten the NCR out of unnecessary fights with the Kings and Great Khans, but diplomacy was one of the tools in the arsenal. Going around with it being the only arrow to your bow was the happy place where optimism met suicidal overconfidence. But there was something more to this. Something about the air of this woman suggested that while she was all too happy to teach non-violent solutions, she wouldn't actually practice them herself. "And if your students ever find themselves in a position with someone who can't be reasoned with?"
Umbridge's smile never faltered for a second. "Well. I imagine that this might be difficult for a Muggle to understand. Meaning no disrespect, your kind is exceedingly violent compared to that of wizarding kind. Of course, Wizards and Witches born from Muggles do show excellent potential at integrating into our society, we must make sure that they are held to a higher standard that you, sadly, are not. After all, it-" James decided he had had enough. Without a word, he turned and began to walk into the dungeons. Even though he wasn't looking at Umbridge any longer, he could tell that her smile had faltered for the first time. "And where exactly do you think you're going?"
"To go do my job," James called back, a bit of a sour note slipping into his voice. "Not all of us can afford to stand around pontificating all day when there's work to be done. I mean really, two jobs and you've got that much free time on your hands?"
"Mr. Walker, may remind you that as Hogwarts High Inquisitor I possess the authority to observe and dismiss those who perform those who are less than satisfactory?" she said, her forced cutesy nature sounding as if it was at its breaking point.
"Last time that checked, that was for teachers," James replied as he continued to descend.
There was a sharp intake of breath behind him, only for it to be replaced with the same hollow sweetness that Umbridge had first spoken to him with. "For now, Mr. Walker. For now."
"Get back to me when it's a little less hypothetical," James replied, finally reaching the bottom of the stairs and turning the corner. Thankfully, taking him out of her sight. So, that was Umbridge. He hated her already.
"Making enemies already?" James paused. A man was standing in the middle of a doorway, looking as if he had been leaving when he had stopped to listen in on the conversation that had just happened. If Umbridge looked like something that had hatched, this man looked like something that would be found living under a rock. His hair was greasy, a common enough sight in the Wasteland where no one could afford to wash but an odd sight here, a sharp nose, yellow teeth, and skin that suggested he didn't see much daylight. Frankly, James was surprised that this man wasn't from the wasteland too.
James shrugged. "It's a gift. James Walker."
The man nodded, not taking his eyes off of James. "Severus Snape. Potions Master." James vaguely recalled Snape being the head of one of the houses. "I must admit, I was uncertain on how to react to Dumbledore bringing you into Hogwarts. I don't know how much he told you, but our world places great emphasis on secrecy." He gave an ugly frown. "I doubt the Ministry will approve of what he's doing very much."
"Kind of sounds like they already don't like him that much," James said. He briefly wounded if he would ever go anywhere and not get instantly caught up in local politics. "Can't exactly get much worse when someone already hates you."
Snape gave a noncommittal shrug. "You're not entirely incorrect. Still, needlessly provoking them at this stage would be unwise. I trust that you will keep that in mind."
"I've already gotten this lecture once today, you don't need to repeat it," James said. "I know what's expected of me. Keep the students in line, don't blab about more than I should, keep Harry Potter safe." The moment he said the boy's name, a look of unfiltered disgust.
"But of course," Snape said. "Though I must warn you Mr. Walker, your attempts to protect Potter, no matter how valiant, will not be respected. Potter considers himself above such things and views all precautions, precautions taken for his benefits, to be burdens put upon him. He and his friends take delight in rule-bending and breaking, regardless of how much it puts them in danger. Just like his father."
James was more than a little alarmed at Snape. There was nothing short of pure disdain in the man's voice, and while he was talking about a student. Concerning was a word that came to mind. Along with, fuck, the, and what. "Being a bit harsh on a fifteen-year-old kid, aren't you? And how does his dad come into the equation?"
Snape's eyes narrowed. "I knew his father quite well. Arrogant, self-centered, and egotistical. The moment I met the boy I knew that he was nothing more than his father. He lets sloth keep him from performing vital duties that are put in place to keep him alive." James was openly frowning now. Dumbledore hadn't given him a whole lot to go on in regards to Potter, but he was certain that he would've been told if he was that much of a problem student. It wasn't that simple. And the way Snape was ranting about the boy's father gave him a firm suspicion.
"Are you sure you aren't turning this into a sins of the father situation?' he asked briskly. He was fairly certain he had doomed the conversation to at least some level of tension. Sure enough, Snape's lip curled upon hearing the question.
"Mr. Walker, I have been the boy's Potions teacher for five years," Snape said in an icy voice. "Five years of suffering his petulance and disrespect. I have been charged with saving his miserable skin from horrors you could not even begin to imagine. Do not presume to tell me that I do not know the boy."
James clenched his jaw. In for a penny, in for a pound. "Ok. First of all, let's stress test that idea, shall we? I pretty vivid imagination, it's a side effect of fighting warlords, mutant, apex predators, and pretty much everything else the world threw at me. So feel free to try and actually surprise me. As for presuming, I know someone who doesn't know how to let go of a grudge when I see it. Potter's parents died when he was a baby, right? That's well over a decade. So tell me, did his dad kill someone you know? Because that's the only way I can see you acting like this and not being emotionally stunted."
Snape didn't seem deterred by James's retort if anything he rose to the challenge. "The Dark Lord has powers and forces far beyond anything you have ever seen, regardless of what little adventures you have been on. He magical talents are enough to breach the inner sanctum of your mind, to cause you agony beyond what you could possibly imagine, to bend your will to his own." Snape's voice, despite the disdain that now filled it, was still surprisingly low. "A Muggle with a sharp stick and one of your guns does not compare to the power he has amassed. Only the most skilled witches and wizards are able to withstand his abilities. I am acting on the Headmaster's orders to prepare him for the assault that awaits him, and he is pitifully lacking in effort."
A cruel smile spread across Snape's face. "As for your accusation, James Potter didn't kill anyone. Luckily for him. Had his best friend been a little quicker and he a little slower to save his own skin, I might not be here talking to you right now."
James gave a dismissive snort. "You think we don't have mind readers where I come from? Psykers, mutants, some of them get the read and control powers in one package." James had never actually met anyone like this, though the Master of the Super Mutant army had been like this. No need to let Snape know that. "And I want you to imagine a ten foot tall monster with talons the size of your head, enough force to take it clean off, and the ability to not make a peep while running flat out. Now imagine an entire nest of them. I'd like very much to see Voldemort survive in-"
"Do not say his name," Snape hissed, recoiling as if he had been struck.
"Oh what, all that piss and vinegar gone because I said the bad man's name?" James said, letting a bit of sarcasm in his voice. "Fine. Even Voldekins wouldn't be walking out of that one with all of his limbs. That's the kind of crap I deal with. And in regards to James, sounds like he wasn't the one who didn't anything to you, more like his friend. So pardon me if this comes off like you throwing a tantrum."
Snape stiffened. He recovered quickly and strode forward until his face was an inch from James's. James had to give the potions master credit, he radiated an intense feeling of unease. The urge to step back was hard to resist. "You have the same boastful arrogance that both Potters did," Snape whispered, his voice so low that James could barely hear him. "The Dark Lord has personally attacked some of the most skill witches and wizards of our age and beaten them. Soundly. His forces can move undetected, Dementors and giants are his servants, and the only one he truly fears is Albus Dumbledore. Continue to underestimate him, pretend that your Muggle weapons scare him, and you will be the latest in a very long list of victims."
"Brave claims," James said, doing his best to keep his cool. He was starting to understand why Snape was considered a good pick to be a teacher. There was an aura around him that demanded respect, accompanied by a whispered "or else." "I've heard braver." There was a sneaking feeling in the back of his mind that he was pissing off more people than he was comfortable with. He hadn't been lying to Snape earlier, it truly was a gift.
"Then I imagine you'll join Potter's father quite soon," Snape shot back. "Bullheaded pride only gets you so far. Potter has his hand to show for that."
James had started to turn to leave, but he stopped. "I beg your pardon?" he said, not turning around. He didn't like anything about this.
"Potter was warned, time and time again, to keep his head down and his temper under control," Snape said. "Hogwarts is in a very delicate position right now, the Ministry suspects Dumbledore of conspiracy. Umbridge is keeping a close eye on him. He chose to fight a pointless battle in her classroom, and she chose to practice...rather severe disciplinary methods in her classroom." James turned to look at Snape and caught a look of disgust on the man's face. Snape disgusted over something happening to a person he hated. Oh. Oh no.
"What happened?" Snape hesitated. Then he spoke. Rage boiled through James as he took in every last word, to the point where he was barely paying attention to Snape anymore. But he understood the core of what was being said all too well. Umbridge was forcing Potter to cut open his own hand and write with his own blood. He had no idea who Harry Potter was, but frankly, he didn't care very much about that. Anyone doing to anyone else was bad enough, but the fact that she was doing it to a fifteen-year-old made it even worse. Seconds ticked by and James realized, with a jolt, that Snape was still talking to him. He ignored the incessant droning and weighed his options. "Does Dumbledore know this?" James asked.
"Of course he is aware," Snape said. "He has been having all of us keep very close tabs on-"
"Right, that's all I needed to hear," James said, abruptly interrupting Snape before spinning on his heel. "Nice to meet you professor, but I don't think you'll be seeing a whole lot more of me anytime soon." With that, he strode off. Forcing a student to write with his own blood. Something so depraved and barbaric that it sounded like the most demented of warlords would come up with it. James pictured Umbridge in his head and imagined her doing that. Sitting and watching with a smile on her face as a helpless victim was forced to torture themselves in front of her. It wasn't hard to picture.
He produced the map that had been given to him and scanned it for Umbridge's office. Spotting it on the second floor, he made for the stairs, taking them two at a time. He didn't have a plan. He had no idea what he was going to do when he actually reached Umbridge. All he knew was that no one else was doing anything about this and he would sooner blow his own brains out than fall in line.
Leaving the dungeons, he took the main staircase up one floor before sprinting down a side hallway. Coming to a halt on a corresponding place on a map, he found himself in front of a door that looked like the right place. He grabbed the knob and turned it, only for it to barely budge. "Professor? I need a word," he said, knocking sharply on the door. No one answer. "Umbridge! You in there!" he yelled, hammering now. Silence. "Ok. If we have to," he said. Taking a step back, he reached into his rucksack and produced a hairpin and a screwdriver. Kneeling down, he went to work on the lock.
It was a higher quality lock than what he was used to. He had barely started to turn it than his hairpin snapped, sending him scrounging back into his bag for another. This happened another six or seven times before he finally got a feel for the lock, pushing the screwdriver over and earning a gentle click. The door slid open and James slipped inside, closing it behind him.
The office inside was, to be blunt, an eyesore. Everything was pink, far too much pink. James struggled to think of any color that could be used that much without it being gaudy, but the pink was exceptionally garish for reasons he couldn't quite put his finger on. The plates with cats painted on them almost looked like an afterthought. Aside from the desk at the far side of the room, it looked more like a Pre-War shop designed by someone with too much time on their hands. The kind that you were almost glad had gotten nuked. "Right," James said. Since Umbridge wasn't here, now was a good time for reconnaissance. Best to see just how deep this rabbit hole went before he went off looking for her again.
Crossing to the desk, he started pulling open drawers. None of them were locked. Apparently, Umbridge had thought that the door would be the only line of defense that she would need. James certainly wasn't complaining. He began flicking through them, skimming each one before moving onto the next. He quickly gave up on the first few drawers when he realized that they had nothing but graded papers and handouts in them. The drawer after those had what appeared to be some wizarding catalog for sundries. But as he started moving towards the lower drawers, he found something more useful.
Letters and official documents, emblazoned with an M with a wand through it. James pilfered through them, one by one. His anger had died down a bit with the catharsis that had come with breaking and entering. Reading Umbridge's mail caused them to flare right back up. A magazine had been banned from the school for speaking positively of Potter and Potter had been given a week's detention for giving the interview. Potter's pet owl had been attacked in order to intercept his mail. But what truly sent James's fury to new heights was the document on the bottom of the pile.
"Proposal. Approval for Whipping. Mr. Filch has proven to be a helpful assistant. Enabling his more preferred form of punishment may prove to improve discipline and further maintain his loyalty." James couldn't stop himself, he let out a laugh. A bitter, sardonic laugh. What was this? What the fuck even was this? In the middle of his strangled laughter, he heard something. A squeak. At once, he dropped the files and reached for his shotgun, gripping it but not drawing it. "Anyone there?" The squeak had come from the far corner of the room, but it was well empty.
Reminding himself that he was dealing with magic, he approached the corner, one hand still on the stock of his shotgun. Maybe Umbridge had had more defenses than a locked door after all. Maybe one of the stones was enchanted to watch the room or something to that effect. Reaching the corner he stopped, just short of the wall. Slowly, half expecting something to jump out at him, he drew his shotgun and poked the wall with the barrel. Nothing happened.
James snorted. He was being paranoid. Holstering his weapon, he turned and made for the door. And promptly walked right into something. James let out a yelp of pain, one that was being shared by three other distinct cries. The next thing he knew, he was on the ground, half entangled in a silvery cloth. Three teenagers were on the ground now as well, two boys and a girl. A bushy haired girl who was looking at him with utter fear, a redheaded boy who was scrambling to his feet as if he was expecting a fight, and a black haired boy with an oddly shaped scar on his forehead. Wait a minute, a scar? "Potter?" James vaguely recalled Dumbledore mentioning something about a scar.
Extricating himself from the mess on the ground, James got to his feet and sized up the three of them. He had no idea who the other two were, but they both seemed to be sticking close to Potter as they recovered, Potter, scooping up the silvery cloth that had come out of nowhere, just as they had. "What are you doing here? How are you even here?" James asked, his rage temporarily replaced with confusion.
"Could ask you the same question, couldn't we," the red-haired boy said, giving James a distrustful glance. "Who are you supposed to be, anyway?"
"Ron!" the bushy-haired girl snapped, shooting Ron a glare before nodding apologetically. "We're sorry. We heard a noise and we got curious."
"Hermione," Ron said, sounding flabbergasted. "He's the one who blew the doorknob off, we haven't done anything he hasn't done. In fact, he's done more." James had to admit, the kid wasn't wrong. "Besides, who is he?"
"He's the new security guard that Dumbledore hired," Hermione said, narrowing her eyes at Ron. "Honestly, it'd save you some trouble if you paid attention every once in a while."
"Ron, Hermione, now's a bad time," Potter said. He took a step forward, uncertainty heavy on his face. "We came here because we wanted to know what was going on. So. Do you mind telling us what's going on?"
James's eyes traveled down. Potter had one hand around the cloth he was holding, while the other was firmly grasped around a stick of wood sticking out of his pocket. There were scars just below the knuckles in the shape of writing. "I must not tell lies." A growl escaped James's lips. "I'm looking for the woman who did that," he said, pointing at the scars. "I've got a few choice words for her."
Ron blinked. "Oh. Well, that sounds all right then, doesn't it?" He glanced at Harry. "Doesn't it?"
"Mr. Walker, you need to be careful," Hermione said, her voice rising with concern. "Umbridge knows the Minister of Magic personally, she can-"
"Shh," Harry said, holding his hand up. Everyone fell silent. There were footsteps in the hallway. "Under here, quickly," he said, unfolding the cloth and draping it over him and the other two. James's eyes widened as bits and pieces of the three disappeared into thin air whenever the cloth covered them. Potter stopped just long enough for his head to be floating without any visible support. "It'll be a tight fit, you may need to double over, but maybe you can fit," he said.
"You stay out of sight, I need a face to face for this," James said darkly. Holding his shotgun firmly, he faced the doorway. Potter glanced at something James couldn't see before his head popped out of existence. Umbridge walked through the doorway, her smile stretched to the point where it looked like it was causing her physical pain.
"Mr. Walker?" she said. "I saw that my office door was ajar. Why are you in here? Why has the door been forced?" Her sweet tone had an uncurrent of venom to it. She was angry. Good. Let her be.
"I was wondering what kind of shitshow of a circus you were running here," he said, glaring at her. "So I decided to take a look." He stuck his thumb over his shoulder at the papers he had not bothered to put away. "What the fuck is wrong with you? Half the shit you've got over there is goddamn torture."
"I told you, Mr. Walker, wizarding society must be held to a higher standard," she said, gradually approaching him with that insufferable smile of hers. "Mr. Potter is proving to be a very difficult case, I'm not certain he's ready to properly integrate into wizarding society. I think the death of a student last year in a tragic accident has caused him some deal of mental trauma. I believe that, if this continues, I may need to advocate for a permanent stay in-" James didn't know when he did it. He didn't remember raising his shotgun, nor did he remember his finger tightening around the trigger. All he really did remember was Umbridge cocking her head in confusion at the weapon. After that, she didn't have much of a head left.
James had loaded slugs earlier that day, and the effect was very pronounced. The most intact portion was her neck. Nothing was attached to it anymore. The rest was splattered all over the walls, ceiling, and corridor outside. James watched coldly as the headless body toppled to the ground. He didn't regret making the choice, yet, even as he watched, he found it hard to enjoy. There was no relief. Simply an absence of the anger that had been tearing away at him from the inside.
Hermione screaming behind him. "Oh, God!" Ron bellowed, sounding as if he was about to throw up. There was a rustle of movement and the three students were visible again. "I-did you really-oh god." Ron looked away, starting to dry heave, while Hermione's hands were clamped over her mouth in horror. Harry simply looked stunned.
There were more footsteps in the hallway, and Professor McGonagall entered the classroom at a run. She took one look around and then focused on James. "You bloody idiot," she swore. Crossing the room to a fireplace by the back wall, she pointed her wand into it. At once, a fire ignited it in. Reaching into a pot beside the hearth, McGonagall took out a handful of powder and tossed it into the fire. The fire flared and turned bright green. "Albus wanted me to give this to you," McGonagall said, turning back and handing James a piece of paper. "Read it, quickly!"
Uncertain as to what was going on, (and sadly most likely having seen too much death to be reacting with the same panic as McGonagall clearly was) he took the paper and glanced at it. "The headquarters of Order of the Phoenix can be found at Number 12 Grimmauld place." He looked up, confused. "What the hell does Number 12 Grimmauld Place have to do with-" but before he could finish, McGonagall had drawn and flicked her wand. James was sent flying across the room and directly into the fireplace.
For a horrifying second, James thought that maybe McGonagall was planning on roasting him alive. But when he hit the fire, it didn't burn. Instead, he found himself in some sort of whirling vortex of green with flashes of light all around him. He was falling through it all, and just when he thought that he was going to puke, it was over. His back hit a hard surface, skidding a few feet before coming to a halt. "What the-Minerva?" Eyes watering, James looked up. An unshaven man who smelled like he had just gotten through a few bottles of cheap beer was standing by a chair that looked recently vacated. In fact, James realized that they were in a dingy looking house in front of a fire.
McGonagall's head was sticking out a fireplace in front of the two of them, green flames licking around them. "Sirius, I need you to keep an eye on him. Albus hired him, but he may have just made everything worse."
"I wasn't going to just do nothing," James growled. "Do you know what they were doing to Potter?" She shot him a stern look, but James couldn't help but notice that she didn't give him a no. "Ask him."
She didn't reply to him. "I need to take care of things on this end Sirius," she said, before pulling her head back into the fire. It vanished, and the fires turned a more mundane orange.
"What? Who are you? What's going on? What happened to Harry?" the man called Sirius asked. James wondered exactly where this road of his would end.
XXXXX
Author's Note: I bent the rules on Hogwarts messing with electricity just a little bit. Just enough so that James's heart and spine wouldn't crap out on him. Honestly, though, this has got to be the most fun I've ever had with writing one of these one-shots. I was constantly brainstorming ideas on my writing Discord. I just took awhile to get it done because personal problems hit my life at full force. Frankly I'm still reeling from some of them.
Frankly I wanted to get in a lot more, James meeting Hagrid, meeting the twins, a lot of fun stuff, but this was only ever meant to be a one-shot. And sadly that has limitations. Also, my mind took what initially started as fairly light hearted down a...dark road. Fairly dark road. This quickly turned into a case of "I didn't come up with it, I just wrote it." You know, when you have certain ways your characters act, and you can't see any other logical way of them getting out of a certain situation. Honestly I'm not sure how I feel about this story, (I wrote a lot of it at two in the morning) so I need a few days to sleep on it, but it's super late and I can't put it off any longer. I hope you enjoyed it.