Chapter 2

Jack Harkness was used to seeing strange things. It is a common experience for most people, as children, to find each new event or discovery not just fascinating but fantastic, astonishing and sometimes as though too wondrous to really believe. Eventually, as time goes by, they learn that there is a certain way that the world works, we become accustomed to it and the things that once seem wondrous become ordinary. There is little left to astonish them. But for Jack, that experience of seeing something that challenged the whole way he saw the world never stopped. He had lived much longer than his youthful appearance suggested, and he had come to expect that there would always be some strange, inexplicable occurrence out there in the world which he had yet to see.

Nevertheless, watching Albus open the door to a building that Jack could barely even sense was one of the more unsettling experiences. He took a few steps towards the building but had difficulty going any further, simply because his eyes did not want to deal with what they were seeing. He could see Albus standing there. He was solid. He could also see the doorknob, and the outline of the door, and smudges of what was going on behind it. In brief flashes he could see the building that housed it suddenly appear between the shops either side of it. But only for a moment, as it slipped away from his vision and once again Albus seemed to be holding open a door which existed in the middle of nowhere.

Jack lifted an arm to shield his eyes. The visual confusion was giving him a headache. "I can't see."

"What do you mean?" Albus asked, suddenly concerned. He had to admit, he'd never even thought of what the effects of entering a hidden building could do to a Muggle. "You're not blinded, are you?"

"No, no, nothing like that," Jack admitted, shaking his head but still keeping his eyes hidden. Cautiously, he peeked over his arm and saw clearly for a split-second before something in his vision seemed to snap back to the way it had been before and a sharp pain shot through his head. "It's more like I can't focus on it. My eyes just won't look at what's in front of me. Every time I try it's as though something forces me to stop seeing it. I don't even look away, it just stops."

"So that's how the charm works!" Albus exclaimed, sounding excited. "It's one of the great mysteries, you see – how does it feel for the other half? Oh, we devise these charms, of course, and we know that they work, we know that they keep the Muggles away, but we don't know how they work. Because how could we? If they only work on Muggles then none of us can ever properly experience their effects, so we simply don't know how it feels! Of course, we could always test it on some Muggles and ask them how it feels, but I'm not sure whether we could consider that ethical, and besides which…"

"Albus," Jack said, his voice muffled by the sleeve covering his face, "I'm sure it's all very fascinating, and I'll give you a full report on how I'm feeling later on, but right now I'd love to just get inside so that your charms can stop doing uncomfortable things to my head."

"Why, of course," Albus said, warmly, "How rude of me to forget. I do get carried away sometimes; it's one of the hazards of being a scholar, I suppose. And I do find Muggles a rather fascinating group, even though few of my peers consider them worth learning about. Now, shall I guide you in?"

He was a little like the Doctor, Jack thought. He tried to avoid making comparisons. He realised a long time ago that he was never going to get anywhere if he kept comparing everyone to the Doctor, and just treated this time on Earth as though it were one long wait for the Doctor's return. He had to do something in the mean time, had to forget about him as best he could and be in the moment, enjoy what was going on right this minute. But all the same, he couldn't help feeling as though Albus was just a little like the energetic, enigmatic Time Lord he remembered.

And yet all thoughts of the Doctor disappeared when Albus did not grab his shoulders and push him through the door, the kind of rough treatment that Jack had become accustomed to in the last few years in the army, but rather gently took hold of his free hand and let him gingerly over the threshold. Albus Dumbledore, Jack decided, was something of a gentleman.

In a manner of speaking.

"Who's this then, Dumbledore?"

Jack opened his eyes and found to his relief that he was standing in the doorway of a completely ordinary-looking British pub, and that he could see perfectly. He also realised, belatedly, that as kind and well-meaning as Albus was, walking into a pub in the evening holding hands may not have been the smartest thing to do. The barman, who was the one who had spoken, was looking at them very suspiciously.

Albus, however, was the very image of calmness, dropping Jack's hand as though it were nothing of note and striding confidently towards the bar.

"This, Harold, is Jack Harkness. He's an expert on Muggles who's visiting from America."

"Really?" The barman still seemed a little suspicious. "An American, eh? Is 'e alright, then?"

"Perfectly fine," Albus assured him. Jack realised that he was still standing in the doorway, staring about him, and hurried to join Albus at the bar. "Professor Harkness only arrived today, you see, and I understand he's exhausted and somewhat bewildered from the journey. America is a long way away even by Portkey, Harold."

"Ah, you'll be needing a drink then," Harold said, heartily. His demeanour became much warmer once he realised that Jack's problem was one he could offer a solution for.

"Indeed," Albus agreed, before Jack could say anything. "Two serves of Firewhisky, please. I doubt the professor has ever had the opportunity to taste one of wizarding England's more unique beverages."

"No problem," Harold said, and pulled two enormous glasses from under the bar. To Jack's amazement, he began to fill them, not from a tap, but from his wand. "What?" he said, defensively, when he noticed Jack staring. "Ain't you never seen someone pouring a drink before? Or don't you folks know 'ow to do that on your side yet?"

"Oh, sure," Jack replied before Albus could jump in and answer for him. He'd had enough of that already, and he decided it was time to take a gamble. "But being in the field of Muggle studies, you see, I don't exactly spend a lot of my time with other wizards. Most of the time I'm in Muggle pubs with all their quaint machines. I'm so used to doing magic in secret that it's kind of weird when I see someone doing a… doing it openly."

He supposed, from the amusement in Albus' eyes, that he had passed that test.

"Understandable, understandable," Harold went on, not noticing the look that passed between them as he put the frothing glasses of Firewhisky down on the table. "You seem like a man who's very dedicated to his work, professor, so you'll be in good company here. Anyway, you're free to do magic however you like here at the Leaky Cauldron, so no need to feel the least bit inhibited."

"I'm glad to hear it," Jack said, warmly. He picked up his Firewhisky and followed Albus, who had politely excused himself now and indicated to Jack that he should follow as he headed over to a somewhat more private part of the pub to talk.

"I don't know where to begin," Albus admitted as Jack settled into a chair opposite him. "There is simply so much that is remarkable about you that I don't know what to ask you about first."

"Why don't we take it in turns, then? I'll go first." Jack took a sip of the Firewhisky and choked immediately. "What the heck is this?"

"It's Firewhisky, of course, as I said at the bar. Was that your first question? I would have thought there would be other burning questions on your mind – or is the Firewhisky burning enough?"

"Something like that," Jack said, eyeing it suspiciously for a moment before deciding that he liked it after all and took a longer gulp. "It might sound like a silly question, but is there actual fire in this?"

"That's not as silly as you might think. I have never taken much interest in the art of brewing liquor, and indeed less interest than I should in the most basic skill of cooking food, but I'm aware that Firewhisky is a concoction unheard of in the Muggle world and thus we can fairly safely assume that there is some magic involved in the process. It may well be that some magical 'element' of fire is infused into the drink and so affects the flavour – or should I say, the experience?"

"You like to talk, don't you?"

"Indeed, I suppose I do. My brother has often complained of the fact, and I suppose he is probably correct when he suggests that the reason I became a teacher was in order to have a captive audience to inflict my wordy ponderings on." Albus took a thoughtful sip of his own drink, and Jack felt a twinge of annoyance at the other man's ability to swallow the burning draught without flinching. He'd have to work on that. "Should I ask you a question now, or do you have another one?"

"I have plenty more. Just didn't start too well." Jack looked around cautiously to make sure that nobody else was listening, but there were plenty of people scattered about, and many of them were clearly intrigued by the appearance of a newcomer – a foreign newcomer, no less. For a moment he felt frustrated that most of his questions probably weren't safe to air in such a public place. Couldn't they have gone somewhere private? But on reflection, maybe it was best that they both have a drink and get to know each other first. Heck, perhaps Jack was being far too trusting of this man. But mysterious as Albus was, Jack couldn't think of any real reason not to trust him. Ah, well. Serious talk for later then.

"Seeing as you've told everyone that I'm a Muggle expert," he said, quietly, "Perhaps you should tell me exactly what that is. If I'm going to be playing a persona, I want to know something about them."

"Eminently wise of you," Albus nodded. "Muggles are the word we use to refer to non-magical folk in England. Though I'm not sure whether it's the term that's in common use in America, is it?" he added with a wink, for the benefit of a very curious witch who walked much closer to their table than was really necessary to get to the stairs.

"Er, yes, I'm familiar with the word," Jack agreed, trying to keep up with the pace of the charade. "And, er, Muggles and magical folk are completely, er, segregated here?"

"Very nearly. Which is why, of course, we have people who specifically study them – since our worlds are entirely separate, we know very little of how Muggles live and it's difficult to converse with them directly about such things. Although sadly, there are fewer who take an interest in Muggle studies than I would like."

"I can see that," Jack said. It was a little hard to tell from the insides of the pub, but he had a feeling that this hidden community he had fallen into was several decades behind the times when it came to technology. Naturally for him most human technology to be found in 1946 was laughably primitive, but this place was almost eighteenth century.

Not to mention the fact that it was lit entirely with candles. "You don't bother much with technology, do you?"

"Well, that would of course depend on how you choose to define technology," Dumbledore said, with a smile. "We do, of course, like most societies, continually work towards improvements, innovations and new inventions. But if by technology you mean the creation of new objects, machines and the like, then no, we place little stock in that. Our innovations are largely in the creation of new and more effective spells."

"I think that may be a fatal oversight on your part," Jack said, warming to his role as the Muggle expert now. "The acceleration of technical innovation by Muggles is very impressive, and the effect of new technology on civilisations is going to be really powerful. Besides, I'm sure you must make some use of Muggle inventions yourselves. I mean, you must use cars or trains or something to get around. You can't honestly say that you still use flying broomsticks, can you?" He said the last part in a whisper for fear of making a complete fool of himself.

"As it happens, brooms are hugely popular here." Albus corrected him and Jack stared in disbelief, then laughed.

"I don't believe it. So all those stories really are true."

"We do use cars and trains, though," he went on. "But you see, why work on creating new machines when we can so easily adapt what Muggles have created before us?"

Jack thought about that for a moment. "I suppose what you're doing is technological innovation, really. What is technology if not finding new ways of doing things? It's just…" he looked upwards and noticed, for the first time, the candles were all floating in mid-air, and thought back again to the way they had poured the drinks, also from nowhere. "I'm just astounded that this is an entire branch of human technology that I've never heard about."

"We do go to some lengths to keep ourselves hidden," Albus said, dryly.

"Even so," Jack said, with a grin, "You don't know how I've travelled and the things I've seen – or how long I've been doing it."

"Not as long as I have, I'm sure," Albus said. He looked at the hand that was gripping his glass. Still strong, but growing bony, and his skin seemed somehow thinner than it used to be. "I'm older than I look to you."

Jack laughed. "So am I, Albus. You have no idea."

Albus raised an eyebrow at him which Jack steadily returned, and there was silence for a moment as Albus realised the implications of what he had seen on the street outside. It was only logical that a man who didn't die would live for a long time. Another one of those things that neither of them wanted to discuss in the open. After a while, Jack steered them quietly back onto the topic of magic.

"You know, most of this isn't so shocking. The hidden building, the floating things, it's all within the realm of science. But making that drink appear from nowhere, that was something else. How exactly does all this stuff work?"

"As I have said before," Dumbledore, said, even more quietly, aware that the conversation was steering in a risky direction, "I am a wizard, all the inhabitants of this building are witches and wizards, and it is magic."

"Are you mocking me?" Jack asked him.

"My dear professor," Albus said, more loudly, "Why on earth would you think that?"

"It was once said that technology to advanced for one to understand may as well be magic. I know better. I've seen all kinds of things, and I know what science can do. I'm not going to resort to mysticism just because I don't get it."

"I don't doubt your intelligence or beliefs," Albus replied, almost apologetically, and warily as some heads started turning with that instinct that pub-going wizards all seemed to have for gossip. "But what I tell you is true. This is not a feat of science. Everything you have seen today is magic. After all," he said, with a twinkle in his eye, "What you say about incomprehensibly advanced technology is true – but is science still science even if the 'scientist' believes he is performing magic?"

Jack didn't have a response to that. He struggled with the question for a few moments but couldn't seem to articulate what he was thinking. "I've seen a lot of things," he said, at last, "Many more amazing things than anything you've shown me. But I've never met someone who did this stuff and really believed it was magic. For goodness' sake, I've travelled through time, but I know that was no magic, it was an application of real scientific principles. There must be something behind what you call magic, even if you don't know it."

Albus seemed keen to steer away from the question of magic, for security reasons perhaps. "We are capable of travelling through time as well, you realise."

"Oh?" Jack asked, intrigued. "How far have you been able to travel?"

"A matter of hours, in fact, although I'm sure if one were to perform enough revolutions of the Time Turner one could travel days at a time. It's limits have yet to be found…" He trailed off as he noticed Jack looking smug.

"Hours, Albus? That's not very efficient. I've travelled for years at a time! And much quicker than you manage with this Time Turner, I'm sure. Does it only move at one-hour intervals or something?"

"Yes, as a matter of fact it does."

"Not very accurate either, then."

"So you've been…" Albus wasn't sure exactly how to phrase his next question.

"I was born in the thirty-first century," Jack said, in a whisper, "And I've been through the second World War twice. Does that answer your question?"

"Is that why you don't…"

Suddenly Albus stopped. "Professor Harkness, it seems to me that we have more to talk about that is appropriate to such a public setting. Should we perhaps move somewhere more private?"

Professor Harkness liked where this was going. "Sure thing."

Albus stood up abruptly and walked towards the bar. Jack drained his Firewhisky hurriedly, then grimaced and hurried after him.

"My dear Harold," Albus said to the barman, "The professor and I have some matters to discuss which would be better suited to a less public setting. Would you happen to have any rooms free tonight?"

Harold looked from one of them to the other suspiciously for a few moments, clearly curious about what they could possibly have to say about Muggles that needed to be said in private. These wizards, Jack was starting to think, seemed to be terrible gossips. "Whatever you say, Dumbledore. Ain't none of my business what you an' your professor friends 'ave to say. Just keep the place tidy, eh?"

"Naturally, Harold," Albus said, diplomatically, "Intellectual discussion may not always be as tidy as it claims, but I doubt it should give us cause to vandalise your property." He paused for a moment. "Incidentally, could you possibly send us a flask of mead?"

Harold merely grunted in response to that and handed him a key, as well as a bottle. "There ought to be glasses in the room. We'll settle the bill in the morning," he said, waving Albus' money away. "Bar's about to shut anyway. Hope you enjoy your stay, Professor Harkness," he added, in a last-ditch attempt at hospitality.

Albus had already started towards the stairs and Jack turned to follow him, but looked back at Harold as he went. "Oh, I'm sure I will, Harold. In fact, I love it already. And please, just call me Jack."