Written for nanayoung and the challenge he posted.
Challenge:
On , I found an article called 4 Movies That Followed the Wrong Character. One the second page, #2, it talks about an unknown wizard who was only shown for ten seconds in the Prision of Azkaban movie. And yet, despite the fact that he was only shown for a brief amount of time, he was quite possibly the most interesting character there:
Let me start off by saying that this isn't a joke.
This is a wizard spotted in the Leaky Cauldron pub as he's reading Stephen Hawking's A Brief History of Time, which touches upon such lighthearted subjects as the beginning of the universe, black holes, and thermodynamics. Quite an interesting choice of literature for someone who can make the laws of physics his bitch with the snap of his fingers.
WHO IS THIS GUY? What are his thoughts about the science of humans? Is he just silently laughing his ass off at the hilarious misinformation laid out in the book? Is he fascinated by it? Oops, no time for that. The angelically good Harry Potter has to kill the monstrously ugly Voldemort. Gee, I wonder if he'll make it ...
But that's not all: In the few seconds that he's on screen, we see this nameless, background wizard stirring his cup with a twist of his finger, i.e. performing wandless magic, which in his world is like programming drunk in Malbolge. Wandless magic is performed only by the most skilled magical users out there, and one of them is just sitting in a dingy bar, reading a book about astrophysics, and we don't get to know anything more about him? Bull. Shit.
Harry's arc is boring. He begins and ends as the Chosen One.
Please. I am begging you. WRITE ABOUT THIS CHARACTER.
I Hope you like it.
"Hey, hey you," he says to The Special Girl, the one with the golden glow of power and the forgotten cracks of a hero.
The Special Girl doesn't look up from her shiny leather-bound book, and he puffs out a breath at being ignored.
He watches as she pushes a piece of curly, frizzy hair away from her face.
She looks quite ugly now, he suddenly thinks, in this moment, all young and flat, reading a jumble of words he couldn't quite understand…
No, wait, he could read that, he could feel the words making connections inside his brain, it was English.
Wow, who reads English any more?
Oh yeah, they do.
This is England. He is in England, England in the late twentieth century sitting next to The Special Girl who wasn't yet special and he can see her soul stretch out, he can see the lives she might live and the lives she won't, all of it cracked and golden, shining brightly and making him wonder.
"Hey," he calls out again, because he doesn't normally do this, he doesn't normally give people much attention after seeing them, only he wants to talk to her. "You, the girl with the teeth," he starts to speak louder when she twitches. "Special Girl, I need to ask you something, something big, oh, it's so big, you need to answer me Special girl or else he'll win."
A vague image of who he is fills his mind.
After he said that she moves, flinches.
The Special Girl closes her book and slams it down on the table. "What," she hisses; "I'm trying to read, if you couldn't tell."
She doesn't say anything about the comment he made about her teeth, even though he can tell she wants to.
Was that a bad thing to say?
There is hurt in those brown eyes isn't there? Maybe it was because he didn't know her, because she isn't Special yet.
Or maybe it was because that was a rude thing to say.
Nah, defiantly not, he was never rude, everyone told him so, after they called him, wait, what was it they called him?
"I'm the Doctor," he says to her, because he can't think of anything else to say now that she's talking to him, now that she's looking at him with strange eyes that are almost too close together, but not quite.
That's what they call him, he remembers as he says it, The Doctor, a mad man with a box.
"No you're not," she says back and this stumps him for a moment, because he is The Doctor, travelling all around space in a blue box that's bigger on the outside.
"Yes," he says slowly back because he's so sure and maybe she just doesn't get it, "I am."
"No," she replies, even more slowly, like she thinks he's thick, "you're not, The Doctor isn't real."
Ah, no, he isn't The Doctor was he? That is Matt Smith, or is it William Hartnell. He can't quite remember. Past and Present, all the same thing really, and he does get so mixed up these days.
What year is it again?
The Special Girl starts to turn back to her book and no, no, no, he can't have that, he wants to talk, to break open that huge crack of time that runs right down her middle and see what comes out, yes, that'd be good, that'd be fun.
No, that would be BAD because he might break her, break her like an ugly plate that's going to be pretty one day but not quite yet.
And anyway, he doesn't want to be bad, not again, it's just so boring.
"So," he says, "Special Girl, what's your name? Is it Steve? Because you look like a Steve."
"My name is not Steve." She says and he smiles at her.
"Nice to meet you Steve, I'm Hermione, here, have a hand to shake."
He sticks out his hands and waves it in her face.
She glares and he feels something prickle inside of him at the anger she shows. Oh boy, this is fun.
He smiles and moves closer.
The Barkeep looks over at him and then moves his gaze to Steve, The Special Girl.
MINE a part of him Growls.
Bring my some food my fine man another part asks, nice as anything.
"You alright there Hermione?" The Barkeep asks and eyes him wearily.
"Why yes," he says, jumping up and bounding towards the balding man. "I am doing splendid my fine man, and yourself, how are the days treating you? Ah, a storms coming my boy, a big storm, it'll blow this fine tavern apart, I'm sorry about that. Very sorry, but you know, it's not the end of the world, at least not yet, because that's coming too you know, I can smell it, it smells like apples."
He pauses for a moment and stares off into space.
"It's okay Tom," Steve says, "He's not bothering me."
"TOM!" He cries, "Tom, Tom, Tom," he reaches out and shakes the man's hand, up and down, up and down, "I knew a boy named tom once, a lot younger then you, prettier too, ah that boy, he was a riddle, one minuet he was on the side of the angles and the next he decided he wanted to become a evil overlord and rule the world."
He shakes his hand and walks over to sit by Steve, who opens her mouth like she's about to say something.
He cuts her off with a wave of his hand.
"Now, now, I can't say anything about that, spoilers, spoilers, I think, what year is it?"
Steve raises an eyebrow at him and looks back at her book. "What did you want to ask me?" she says, keeping her voice level and slow. "And what, do you know about Tom Riddle?"
He smiles bigger.
"Steve, Steve-" he says.
"My name's not Steve." She interrupts
"Isn't it? Are you sure, I mean, you really do look like a Steve, I think I'll call you Steve." He pauses, "So, Steve, this is a very important question, what year, exactly, is it?"
"1993."
"Ah, are you sure? I mean, I could have put my sworn on my life that you're at least thirteen years off."
Steve rolls her eyes, "Was that all you wanted to ask me?" she says, gesturing to her book Numerology and Grammatica "because I've got reading to do."
"I don't know anyone called Tom Riddle." He says, and stirs his tea with a spoon.
"Of course you don't, there is nobody called Tom Riddle anymore, just a memory of him trapping in the minds of others, so tell me," she lens way from the book and towards him, her eyes alight, "Do you have a boy trapped in your memory call Tom Riddle?"
He wonders what he's done to spark such interest because a moment ago she was glaring.
He raises an eyebrow and she raises bow back.
A minute ago his didn't have tea, slip up, slip up, slip up; it appeared in front of him didn't it?
Wandless magic, he could see the words in her head now, floating about in-between the memories of a black haired, sour faced man, and an old wrinkled fellow with a bread tucked into a belt buckle.
"Ah yes," he says, even though the little boy is no longer trapped, even though the boys morphed into man and than a monster, "good old Tommy Riddle, I was there when he killed his dad you know, a little stump of a man with the looks of a pinecone, age had not been as good to him as it has been to me, anyway, I saw him raise the wand and felt the green light leave it."
He shakes his head, it was never meant to be like that, there was never meant to be so much power within one person, and anyway, the kid just wanted to talk, to know why, and, well, it had all gone down from there.
"He's a monster you know, that little boy you once knew."
"Oh I know, I knew what he'd become the moment I saw him, even though I hoped, prayed, that'd turn out different, but he's dead now, well, as dead as he's ever going to be."
His voice goes quite now, making Steve frown.
"You believe in God?" She says, because it seems so odd, that anyone in this world would believe in such an unlikely figure, especially with the power at their finger tips, with the knowable they have.
"You don't?"
She shakes her head, and his frown becomes deeper.
"I just think," she says in response to the unasked question, "that if someone was that powerful, why would he let it all happen? I mean, not just the things happening in this world, but everywhere else, the wars and the death and poverty, there's no reason behind it, no logical thought, just, nothingness, the will of men and men alone."
"He gave you freewill, and it's up to you what you do with it."
"I don't know, I guess I'd just get tried of it, of watching the same mistakes made over and over again, watching people making more and more progress without moving a single step forwards, and that's why I don't believe in him, so much power, and what did he do with it? He made us."
He smiles at her, at The Special Girl with the cracks of time and power, with the soul of bravery and wisdom.
One of a kind he thinks.
"Would you blame him, I mean, if he left."
She pauses for a moment, thinking, thinking, thinking.
"No" she says at last, "as long as he came back."
He doesn't think about this, he doesn't think about God coming back, instead he thinks about the cracks all around him, the cracks that are forming at this very moment.
People will be dying, crack, being born, crack, and creating memories that they will remember forever and ever, crack, crack, crack.
"How old are you Steve?"
"Thirteen." She shrugs and winces as he claps his hands together.
He thinks then, really thinks because he needs something to do and every little helps, so he says what he thinks and hopes Steve answers because it'd be no fun otherwise, "Thirteen, so young, how are you so young? Time travel, yes that would make sense, the cracks, the wisdom, so tell me Steve, if you name is really Steve, how did you do it?"
"My name's not Steve" she deadpans.
It comes to him then, the answer, one so wise yet so young, so powerful yet so small.
"Ha! I knew it, so tell me Tony, how did you do it? Angles, Demons, they've been kicking up a bit of fuss recently, or was it Gabriel? Yes, I can imagine he'd be up for something like that; he always was into a bit of trickery, always wanting to step on that fish and see what happens, but let me tell you this Tony, Fate will not be happy, every mess you make, every person you save, they won't make it, people are meant to die, Death is meant to come for them and nothing you can do will stop that-"
She interrupts him by slamming her book on the table, "I'm thirteen, I've never travelled in time, not once, in fact, I don't even think that's possible, and I'm not trying to save anyone other then my best friend whose got an escaped murderer after him that he doesn't even know about, and, no one will likely tell him about." She pauses again, "and my names not Tony either."
She's said too much he thinks, she's said something that she wasn't meant to say because she got riled up, oh, this could be helpful, useful.
"Well," he says, "what is your name?"
"Hermione, my name's Hermione Granger."
"Nah ah," he taunts, "You can't pull that trick on me, that's my name."
The Special Girl Pauses for a moment, thinking, thinking, thinking and he thinks that she should be called Tony or Steve or maybe Bruce, the names suit her, engrave themselves into her skin, screaming themselves horse at trying to prove that they are her names, she's Tony Steve Bruce and she's Special.
"I'll tell you my name," she's says after awhile, "If you tell me how you did that."
"Did what?" he says and looks at her.
"One moment you're cup of tea was over there, sitting on the table and the next it was in front of you." She pauses for a tiny, tiny, tiny amount of time, and composes her face into something stern, fierce, "Explain." She demands.
"I honestly have no idea what you're talking about." He bluffs, but he knows she's already made up her mind about him, just like he's made up his mind about her.
"What about the spoon?"
"What about the spoon?"
"There wasn't spoon before, just a chipped cup."
"Ah well, there was a spoon, you just didn't see it."
"It's a sliver spoon, look around; do you think this is the sort of place that would give you a sliver spoon? Especially when one half of their cliental aren't exactly human and the other are mostly thieves and conmen."
He looks over to a demon and sees a werewolf sitting in the corner, worn down and hopeless with mousy brown hair and a scared body.
Hope's coming soon, he thinks to the man because he looks sad, hope's coming and friends and family and love, you'll be happy again.
"They have salt shakers on the table." He says to The Special Girl, "Demons don't like salt, and I can bet you anything that Tom keeps a gallon of dead mans behind the counter encase any of the local vamps get bit loud."
"One," she says, holding up a finger, "Demons aren't real, and two, the dead mans blood is there just in case, the vampires aren't likely to pick it up and drink it by mistake, silver could cause real harm,"
"How do you know its real silver?" he says, because he'd almost forgotten about the slip up and explaining is too much hassle.
"It is real silver?"
"Demons are real." He says, because it is real silver and he knows she'd see right though his lie if he said it wasn't.
"Just like you're really The Doctor I suppose?"
"What's that got to do with anything?"
"It means you lie to distract people from what you're trying to tell them, right now you're lying so you won't have to answer my question about the tea cup and spoon."
"How do you know I'm not going to answer?"
"Well answer then, and prove me wrong."
He pauses, because he doesn't want to answer and he doesn't want to explain, but he also doesn't want to prove a thirteen girl with the world knowledge of worm and the wisdom of a fox right.
"Why do you think demons aren't real?"
She shrugs. "Because they aren't, I mean, black eyes, sulphur, I guess there's a point when you just stop believing."
"You know, that says a lot about you."
"You think wizards believe in half the stuff muggles have done? You think they believe in airplanes and AOL, most of the purebloods wouldn't last a week in the real London, the one where people don't stop."
He doesn't quite know what a pureblood is, or a muggle, but he doesn't ask, he can see the tense in her mind, the fear, and he doesn't want to say anything else for fear that she'll leave.
"You see that man over there, the one with the soup and spoon, he's sitting in the corner, not looking at anyone, not making eye contact, in a minute he'll leave and enter the alley, go to the big bank and take out some money. His is a demon, the thing you see is a dead body and the soul inside of it had been to hell and back."
She raises an eyebrow, "And why," she says it slowly "should I believe you? A man who thinks his name is Hermione."
"My name is Hermione."
"No my name is Hermione."
"No, your name is Steve, or Bruce."
"What happened to Tony?"
"What you seen your hair? Like a fine upstanding fellow called Tony would go out with hair like that."
A hand shoots up to her head, smoothing back the curls.
"What's wrong with my hair?"
"Nothing, it's just not Tony hair, and anyway, that's not the point, the point is, do you see that man."
"Yes, I see the man; I also see that he has some white in his eyes, which means that he's not a demon."
"They don't always have black eyes you know, it only happens when they lose control, or they get bored, or they want to scare someone, and that fine specimen of evil over there is currently in none of those predicaments, which means his eyes are normal, and no, you don't see the man otherwise you'd see he was a demon, so close your eyes and look."
She doesn't look like she believes him, in fact, she looks like she thinks he's crazy, but she still closes her eyes.
"Now," he says because he knows she has no idea what to do next, "reach out, imagine a wave of magic rushing towards him, see it, feel it."
She doesn't do anything, just wrinkles her forehead.
"Remember" he continues, because he's not sure she's getting it, "when you cast your first spell, you people forget that feeling, the power, the rush, but remember it now, because that is your magic, running though your veins, answering your every command, try to expand on it…" and he could feel her, feel the magic spreading and spreading, moving towards the demon and his host.
Closer, closer, closer.
All at once she opened her eyes and the man's gaze shot towards the pair.
Black eyes met brown and Tony/Bruce's body freezes up, becomes ice and stone and marble, a statue of fear and pain that hits him like a tonne of bricks.
"Don't worry," he says, his voice low, "he won't do anything, too many people, too much to lose. I bet he's got a nice set up in that body, power and money, he won't attack, that green curse of yours can do more then kill a man, with enough power it can send that demon back to hell as well."
He moves his chair slightly, so he was between him and her. He reaches out and taps her hand, tries to get her attention back to him.
"I felt him," she says, "I mean, he was there and I could see him, but I couldn't, it was like he was real and not real at the same time, and then he looked at me, and I really saw him, his face, a mass of black and blue and blood, it was, it was…" She couldn't say anything else, the words were drying up a like a pond in summer, she looks down the table, picks at the splinters with her chewed nails.
She doesn't want to look at him, doesn't want to admit how much it scared her.
"Yeah, I know," he says, because the semi sort of silence is louder then he ever thought it could be and the demon's got up and walked towards the entrance of Diagon Alley, before shooting a last look at the two of them, "I mean, after a while, after seeing them everywhere you get used to it, I forgot, I'm sorry."
Only he doesn't seem sorry, a smiles creeping onto his lips, morphing his face into something wild, he looks glad, like the fact that someone else could see what he saw proved something, proved that he wasn't mad.
"Not many people can see them." The Special Girl says.
It is not a question.
"No."
He answers anyway.
So, what do you think?
If you see any errors, please tell me and I'll fix them.
Review!
:)