Disclaimer: JKR owns Harry Potter's arse and John Constantine has Vertigo
(or is it the other way round?).
RAISING HELL AT HOGWARTS
A Hellblazer/Harry Potter Crossover
Chapter 2: The Headmaster's Office
It was late, I was tired, and I had shit stains down the front of my coat. Needless to say, I was not in the mood for this, but I owe this old geezer my life more times over than I'd care to count so, there I was at Hogwarts School of bloody Witchcraft and Wizardry. I was sitting in the office of the headmaster, which was bringing back lots of memories of my days in school. Of course, I didn't go to this school. No, I went to a regular pisser of a school in London. Got sent to the headmaster's office plenty of times, that is until the dumb shit made the mistake of trying to give me the strap one day. I'm told he still screams every time he hears the name John. Warms me heart, it does.
So anyway, this headmaster is different. His name is Albus Dumbledore. From looking at him, you'd think he was just some nice old geezer who just had a few quirky ideas about fashion, and you'd be right. I still say he looks gayer than Liberace, George Michael, and Boy George put together (now there's a mental picture not for the faint of heart!). He's much more than that though. He's a very powerful wizard as well. Possibly one of the most powerful. Nice enough bloke, once you get past the clothes. Plays snooker like a demon and I'd know, I've played a few (even won a couple of times).
He wants me to teach here at the school. Just for one year, he says. Can you imagine it? Me, John Constantine, con-job himself, a teacher. A professor, no less! Mum would be so proud.
He wants me to teach Defense Against the Dark arts. I've heard the stories: the teacher of this subject usually ends up dead or insane before the year is over. Well, I've been both and come back more or less in one piece so I suppose that I have a better chance of survival than any of the other candidates.
But here's the real kicker. The main reason yours truly is being dragged to the butt-fuck end of England to teach a bunch of snot-rags how to stay alive. A kid named Harry Potter. That's right, the famous boy who lived.
Don't get me wrong, surviving a direct attack from old snake face is nothing to laugh at. The bastard is just as dangerous as the First of the Fallen himself. Not as powerful, but he's got loads more imagination. And this kid's done it five times already.
Thing is, there's a bloody prophecy to be fulfilled. Either the kid snuffs it or Voldemort does (what? You think I'm afraid to say his name? Don't make me piss myself laughing!). And the last time they tangoed, the little shit almost curled up his toes. Put it simple, our Harry doesn't have the nadgers to kill. He needs someone to teach him how to be a total prick while still being on the side of the angels (hey, I never said I was on the side of the angels, I just have to teach him how to do it!).
Well, I told old Albus that I'd check the kid out first. And that's why there's shit on my coat. Dumbledore's getting my dry-cleaning bill.
I don't want this job. But I owe Dumbledore, I owe him big.
On the bright side, the pay is good, I have a roof over my head and good food whenever I want it. And it's been ages since I had my leg over with Rosmerta down in Hogsmeade.
RAISING HELL AT HOGWARTS
A Hellblazer/Harry Potter Crossover
Chapter 2: The Headmaster's Office
It was late, I was tired, and I had shit stains down the front of my coat. Needless to say, I was not in the mood for this, but I owe this old geezer my life more times over than I'd care to count so, there I was at Hogwarts School of bloody Witchcraft and Wizardry. I was sitting in the office of the headmaster, which was bringing back lots of memories of my days in school. Of course, I didn't go to this school. No, I went to a regular pisser of a school in London. Got sent to the headmaster's office plenty of times, that is until the dumb shit made the mistake of trying to give me the strap one day. I'm told he still screams every time he hears the name John. Warms me heart, it does.
So anyway, this headmaster is different. His name is Albus Dumbledore. From looking at him, you'd think he was just some nice old geezer who just had a few quirky ideas about fashion, and you'd be right. I still say he looks gayer than Liberace, George Michael, and Boy George put together (now there's a mental picture not for the faint of heart!). He's much more than that though. He's a very powerful wizard as well. Possibly one of the most powerful. Nice enough bloke, once you get past the clothes. Plays snooker like a demon and I'd know, I've played a few (even won a couple of times).
He wants me to teach here at the school. Just for one year, he says. Can you imagine it? Me, John Constantine, con-job himself, a teacher. A professor, no less! Mum would be so proud.
He wants me to teach Defense Against the Dark arts. I've heard the stories: the teacher of this subject usually ends up dead or insane before the year is over. Well, I've been both and come back more or less in one piece so I suppose that I have a better chance of survival than any of the other candidates.
But here's the real kicker. The main reason yours truly is being dragged to the butt-fuck end of England to teach a bunch of snot-rags how to stay alive. A kid named Harry Potter. That's right, the famous boy who lived.
Don't get me wrong, surviving a direct attack from old snake face is nothing to laugh at. The bastard is just as dangerous as the First of the Fallen himself. Not as powerful, but he's got loads more imagination. And this kid's done it five times already.
Thing is, there's a bloody prophecy to be fulfilled. Either the kid snuffs it or Voldemort does (what? You think I'm afraid to say his name? Don't make me piss myself laughing!). And the last time they tangoed, the little shit almost curled up his toes. Put it simple, our Harry doesn't have the nadgers to kill. He needs someone to teach him how to be a total prick while still being on the side of the angels (hey, I never said I was on the side of the angels, I just have to teach him how to do it!).
Well, I told old Albus that I'd check the kid out first. And that's why there's shit on my coat. Dumbledore's getting my dry-cleaning bill.
I don't want this job. But I owe Dumbledore, I owe him big.
On the bright side, the pay is good, I have a roof over my head and good food whenever I want it. And it's been ages since I had my leg over with Rosmerta down in Hogsmeade.