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what_we_dreamTitle: Bush the Temporary Hogwarts Divination Professor (Prologue)
Series: Hornblower/Harry Potter
Pairing: None
Rating: G
Notes: So much crack. Inspired by this fic
Summary: Title pretty much says it all
Prologue One Two Three
It was a grey August morning when the sole interviewee for the position of Divination Master stumped up the gravel drive to Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardly, watched from above by a pair of professors standing high on the battlements eating summer plums.
"An unusual candidate, to be sure," commented Pomona Sprout, flicking her wrist to shake off the dark juice running down her arm.
"Compared to the applicants, though..." Minerva McGonagall frowned stiffly for a moment. "Such a bunch of officious, doom-and-gloom windbags I have never seen listed in one place." She took a small, sharp bite of her own plum, and then added cuttingly, "Barring private meetings with Fudge these days, I imagine."
"I'm sure some of them would have been great fun. Old Fitzgerald Sprucepaddle did wonderful seances, so realistic until he lost concentration and the spectres slowly shifted into palm trees - born in South America, you know. Or Marigold Drawer, she had a wonderful sense of humour. Of course, she may have been a touch too bawdy for the children..." the small witch trailed off in reflection, juice dribbling down her fingers once more.
"Well, in my opinion we're well shot of the lot of them. Although whether he'll be any better..."
The two witches watched consideringly as, far below, the man in the navy frock coat and trousers - almost unknown outside the Department of Magical Law Enforcement - knocked on the castle door and was admitted.
"Poppy told me Dumbledore found him; asked him to come down to discuss the position on his own initiative."
"Well, given the actual applicants, one can hardly blame Albus," replied Minerva tartly. "I believe he is employed in the Naval branch of Law Enforcement, down in Portsmouth.
"It would be quite novel having a real tar on staff. D'you suppose he drinks rum?" The notion of a Divination master who didn't drink heavily was almost unknown in the history of the school.
"I have no idea. I've never met the man. He served with - or under - Hornblower, I believe, and afterwards took a desk job."
"I wonder what the Headmaster wants with him. Sailors are notoriously superstitious, but he had his pick of that with the regular applicants."
"Perhaps," said Minerva quietly, throwing her pit over the edge, "he wants an auror - a former auror - close at hand."
----------------------------------------
There was no true sunshine slanting in through the wide windows in the Headmaster's office, only diffuse daylight, but the room was quite hot regardless. There was a merry fire burning in the grate, the telltale green at the very edges of its flames suggesting recent floo use, and the thick carpet and heavy drapings kept in the heat.
Professor Dumbledore was sitting at his desk fooling with a metal finger-trap when the chime preceding his door opening sounded. He looked up and greeted his guest with a wide smile and twinkling blue eyes.
"Come in, come in Mister Bush. William, if you'll allow me. How very good of you to come all the way up here. Pray have a seat." He motioned to the worn easy chair placed in front of his desk as he withdrew his fingers from the trap - it snicked shut with a disturbing finality behind them. "Quite a devilish little thing," he added in an aside, putting the sprung trap down on his desk. "Turn it one way, and it's a harmless party favour. But turn it the other way..." he shook his head.
By now Bush had advanced to the chair offered him, moving across the distance in a firm, stumping walk which drew attention to the wooden peg serving as his left leg. It being summer he was not wearing a full robe but rather a navy frock-coat with elaborate vents lined in white, and the dark trousers which many aurors preferred - the sea-going ones in particular. His face was weather-beated and in seemingly stern, but his blue eyes hinted at an even humour. His hand, when outstretched to shake the Headmaster's, was gnarled and calloused.
"My pleasure, sir. My work is not over-exciting; an excuse to take a leave from it was welcome. But I am not altogether sure what I can do for you, sir. I was never much in the way of being learned, as I'm sure you recall."
Dumbledore smiled easily. "You showed great strength and exactness, William. I am quite sure it was those talents which supported you in the essential role you played guarding our coasts 15 years ago."
Bush didn't flush, but his eyes dropped to the desk top. "Thank you, sir, but I fear those days are behind me. Even if the Minister decides to raise the lists again, and not everyone is convinced he will, there are plenty of young aurors with both legs waiting for their chance." He spoke lightheartedly, simply relaying facts.
"It is a difficult service," agreed Dumbledore. "And not always fair to those who make great sacrifices on its behalf, particularly in difficult times. But it isn't that which I wanted to speak with you about." He leant back and wove his long, yellowed fingers together. "I don't imagine you've heard, but last year there was a minor altercation between my Divination Mistress, Sybill Trelawney, and the Ministry-appointed representative. As a result, Professor Trelawney had an extremely stressful year, and I believe ought to take at least a term's rest, if not an entire year's. Consequently, I find myself with a vacant position which I am having some trouble filling." He finished speaking and settled back to watch Bush through his half-moon glasses. Bush did flush now, not in embarrassment, but in surprised confusion.
"Sir - I..."
"As I recall, you scored very highly in Divination, William. An O on your OWL, and a commendation from your examiner. No NEWT, of course, studying for Enforcement, but still. And I've heard impressive recommendations since, I might add."
"I'm no seer, sir."
"Very few of us are - far fewer than those who claim it as their profession. No seer, certainly, but a fine diviner. You predicted the rising of prisoners on your ship in the Pacific, I believe, and did your utmost to prevent it - received commendations. And you prevented your ship running aground in the fog in Brest during the blockade, navigated her blind through the shoals."
Bush didn't refute it, but he spoke sincerely against the veiled proposition. "Sir, I hardly believe I could teach a class divination. Seamanship, if you like, even Defense Against the Dark Arts, if you had a taste to see long-range spells on the curriculum, but divination is a talent, not a skill, sir. It can't be learned - either you have it, or you don't."
"And yet even those who are so gifted - you yourself, for example - would flounder without being taught how to recognize it, how to draw it out."
"Maybe, sir, but -"
"I will ask a favour of you, if I may, William," interrupted Dumbledore, serene as ever "You have the means with you to make a prediction?"
"Well, yes, sir." Bush reached into a pocket of his frock-coat and produced a pack of old muggle playing cards.
"Excellent. Should anything unusual happen before you leave, I ask that you will be good enough to provide me with a prediction."
Bush shifted in his chair, frowning slightly, as he began to thumb the cards in his anxiety. "It doesn't really work that way, sir. Things aren't laid out all neat and tidy. You just get glimpses. Impressions, sir. Especially with these." He flipped the cards through his fingers, the battered cardboard making a soft thrumming noise. "Full-fledged divination takes time and power, and in my case a lot of water, sir."
But Dumbledore went on smiling politely, and opened a glass jar on his desk filled with small yellow balls. "Ah, yes, I had heard you favour the Drowned Earth. Quite wet, I think? Sherbert Lemon," he added in parenthesis, pushing the jar to Bush who took one and then sat with it in his hand, plainly puzzled by it.
"Yes, sir, very wet. Not so bad at sea, of course, but it doesn't answer indoors." Following Dumbledore's example, he popped the yellow sweet into his mouth, and his face froze in an attempt not to purse with the tartness.
"You sailed with the decorated Captain Hornblower, I believe," said Dumbledore, veering away from the topic slightly and contriving to speak with perfect clarity despite the candy.
"Yes, sir. We met before he was promoted, out down by Jamaica where there were rumours of cursed voodoo goods being transported. And then, when the Dark Lord rose, we served together in the blockades and the Inshore Squadron as you know, sir, keeping his followers from bringing their cursed items from the continent. He was a captain then, and never did a man more deserve it. If the Ministry has any sense, they'll give him another command. Should have done already," he said, crunching angrily on the lemon and then deflating with a slightly embarrassed hanging of his head.
"He had a fine eye for transfiguration," mused Dumbledore, "and one of the brightest intellects I've known. And never too much of a troublemaker." Dumbledore smiled, eyes twinkling. "Admirable though they are, it is calming to occasionally find a bright student who prefers to bend his genius to studying rather than breaking school rules."
"I imagine it is much like finding a well-trained, intelligent Mid, sir. Theoretically possible, but damn had to come by in practice." Bush thumbed his cards again. Dumbledore leaned forward, resting his elbows on his desk, and spoke with sincere curiousity.
"Tell me, William, would you return to the sea? If given the chance?"
"It is my life, sir," answered Bush earnestly. "I would have gone back as soon as they liked, but they laid me up in dry dock instead for this foot of mine, sir. Gave me a well-paid position as these things go, but cataloging victualling requests and processing the lists ain't the service, sir. It's clerk's work, and I've no loyalty to it. If I thought I could get something better, I'd take it, but folks aren't too keen to hire former naval aurors - or any kind of auror, for that matter. Since the attack in the Ministry, there's been some talk of raising the lists, but like I said, sir, even if Fudge can resolve himself to it there are plenty more likely lads than I." Bush didn't speak bitterly, but with a kind of resignation, his honest face resolved.
"You may find," began Dumbledore, and was interrupted by the door chime. A moment later it opened and Rubeus Hagrid lumbered in, turned half-sideways to fit himself through the doorway, and still knocked his head against the lintel. Dumbledore glanced across at Bush, eyes lowering pointedly to the pack of cards. Bush, taking his queue, shifted quietly with his eyes on Hagrid and then began to draw cards.
"Beg pardon, sir," boomed the gameskeeper and Care of Magical Creatures professor, striding slowly towards the desk. Bush stood to be out of the way, still pulling cards and glancing at them. "I jus' came 'bout them new grubs," began the man, reaching into an inner pocket of his moleskin waistcoat.
Before he had time to withdraw it, Bush had dropped the cards and pulled his wand from his left sleeve in a flash. "Petrificus Totalus"
The huge man froze, hand halfway out of his waistcoat, a wand just perceivable in his fingers. Behind Bush, Dumbledore gave a short round of applause. "Very perceptive. Excellent, indeed." He stood as Bush turned to half-face him, his own wand held steady and still aimed at the frozen professor. Dumbledore drew his wand, and lifted the hex. Hagrid unfroze, and dropped the wand back into its pocket.
"Thank you, Filius," said Dumbledore kindly. "Exceptionally accommodating of you."
"I won't take the antidote now, if it's all the same to you," said the huge man in a soft Oxford accent. "These clothes would bury me. A pleasure to meet you, Mr. Bush," he added, and turned to stump out.
Bush watched him go, tucking his wand slowly back in the holster from which it came.
"Now, I wonder if you would be so good as to tell me how you suspected Hagrid wasn't quite himself," said Dumbledore amiably. He twitched his wand at the floor, and Bush's cards leapt up and stacked themselves on the corner of his desk, in order from the Ace of Clubs to the King of Spades.
Bush glanced at the office door, now closed, and then back at the Headmaster and spread his hands in an apologetic gesture. "Well, sir, I'm afraid it had very little to do with the cards at all. Hagrid - or whoever he actually was - caught his head a wallop on the doorway when coming in. People, even not particularly clumsy ones, might catch their elbows or shoulders on doorways from time to time, but we're much more cautious of head room. You may take it from me, sir, we don't often bang our heads in the Navy after the first few times, and by the end of a month a six foot man may find himself walking like a hunchback under any roof if he's used to a Sloop. Hagrid's been working here since I was a boy, and even if he hadn't been, doorways are built to a standard height. He would never have banged his head on it unless dead-drunk, and probably not even then. Besides which, I knew you would be setting me some test or another." He picked his cards up, tucked them into his pocket, and held out his hand to shake. "It was good of you to ask me here all the same, sir."
Dumbledore, already smiling gently, now broke into a laugh. "You're much too honest for the teaching profession, William, where we spent all our while trying to trick our students into picking up a few glints of knowledge. I assure you, I can get convincing actors by the dozen to fill this position. What I would prefer, however, is a breath of fresh air. Some honesty, in fact. That the children learn divination is important, but that they learn to avoid being swindled is equally so."
"Sir -"
"It would not be an indefinite position, of course. Just a term, perhaps two. You would not be abandoning Law Enforcement, if you chose to return. Just some fresh air for yourself, as well. I won't ask you for your decision now. Take a day or two to consider it. I'm afraid I can't offer you more - time is running a bit short."
"I'm accustomed to moving hastily, sir," said Bush. "I certainly do appreciate your offer; even in the service we consider teaching at Hogwarts to be a high honour, not in the least as it requires your approval."
Dumbledore smiled politely. "Thank you, William; very kind. I shall look forward to hearing from you." He held out his hand again, taking Bush's hoary one with a firm grip and twinkling at him. The former auror took a step back to turn and was stopped by Dumbledore. "Oh, pardon me, one last thing. Might I ask for your prediction?"
Bush's eyebrows raised in surprise, and his expression flickered through an almost-unnoticeable flash of schoolboy-like guilt. "Caution, falseness," he said, after a moment. And then, flushing gently, added, "Success."
Dumbledore's smile widened until he was beaming. "Thank you very much, Mr. Bush."
"Yes, sir."
Series: Hornblower/Harry Potter
Pairing: None
Rating: G
Notes: So much crack. Inspired by this fic
Summary: Title pretty much says it all
Prologue One Two Three
It was a grey August morning when the sole interviewee for the position of Divination Master stumped up the gravel drive to Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardly, watched from above by a pair of professors standing high on the battlements eating summer plums.
"An unusual candidate, to be sure," commented Pomona Sprout, flicking her wrist to shake off the dark juice running down her arm.
"Compared to the applicants, though..." Minerva McGonagall frowned stiffly for a moment. "Such a bunch of officious, doom-and-gloom windbags I have never seen listed in one place." She took a small, sharp bite of her own plum, and then added cuttingly, "Barring private meetings with Fudge these days, I imagine."
"I'm sure some of them would have been great fun. Old Fitzgerald Sprucepaddle did wonderful seances, so realistic until he lost concentration and the spectres slowly shifted into palm trees - born in South America, you know. Or Marigold Drawer, she had a wonderful sense of humour. Of course, she may have been a touch too bawdy for the children..." the small witch trailed off in reflection, juice dribbling down her fingers once more.
"Well, in my opinion we're well shot of the lot of them. Although whether he'll be any better..."
The two witches watched consideringly as, far below, the man in the navy frock coat and trousers - almost unknown outside the Department of Magical Law Enforcement - knocked on the castle door and was admitted.
"Poppy told me Dumbledore found him; asked him to come down to discuss the position on his own initiative."
"Well, given the actual applicants, one can hardly blame Albus," replied Minerva tartly. "I believe he is employed in the Naval branch of Law Enforcement, down in Portsmouth.
"It would be quite novel having a real tar on staff. D'you suppose he drinks rum?" The notion of a Divination master who didn't drink heavily was almost unknown in the history of the school.
"I have no idea. I've never met the man. He served with - or under - Hornblower, I believe, and afterwards took a desk job."
"I wonder what the Headmaster wants with him. Sailors are notoriously superstitious, but he had his pick of that with the regular applicants."
"Perhaps," said Minerva quietly, throwing her pit over the edge, "he wants an auror - a former auror - close at hand."
----------------------------------------
There was no true sunshine slanting in through the wide windows in the Headmaster's office, only diffuse daylight, but the room was quite hot regardless. There was a merry fire burning in the grate, the telltale green at the very edges of its flames suggesting recent floo use, and the thick carpet and heavy drapings kept in the heat.
Professor Dumbledore was sitting at his desk fooling with a metal finger-trap when the chime preceding his door opening sounded. He looked up and greeted his guest with a wide smile and twinkling blue eyes.
"Come in, come in Mister Bush. William, if you'll allow me. How very good of you to come all the way up here. Pray have a seat." He motioned to the worn easy chair placed in front of his desk as he withdrew his fingers from the trap - it snicked shut with a disturbing finality behind them. "Quite a devilish little thing," he added in an aside, putting the sprung trap down on his desk. "Turn it one way, and it's a harmless party favour. But turn it the other way..." he shook his head.
By now Bush had advanced to the chair offered him, moving across the distance in a firm, stumping walk which drew attention to the wooden peg serving as his left leg. It being summer he was not wearing a full robe but rather a navy frock-coat with elaborate vents lined in white, and the dark trousers which many aurors preferred - the sea-going ones in particular. His face was weather-beated and in seemingly stern, but his blue eyes hinted at an even humour. His hand, when outstretched to shake the Headmaster's, was gnarled and calloused.
"My pleasure, sir. My work is not over-exciting; an excuse to take a leave from it was welcome. But I am not altogether sure what I can do for you, sir. I was never much in the way of being learned, as I'm sure you recall."
Dumbledore smiled easily. "You showed great strength and exactness, William. I am quite sure it was those talents which supported you in the essential role you played guarding our coasts 15 years ago."
Bush didn't flush, but his eyes dropped to the desk top. "Thank you, sir, but I fear those days are behind me. Even if the Minister decides to raise the lists again, and not everyone is convinced he will, there are plenty of young aurors with both legs waiting for their chance." He spoke lightheartedly, simply relaying facts.
"It is a difficult service," agreed Dumbledore. "And not always fair to those who make great sacrifices on its behalf, particularly in difficult times. But it isn't that which I wanted to speak with you about." He leant back and wove his long, yellowed fingers together. "I don't imagine you've heard, but last year there was a minor altercation between my Divination Mistress, Sybill Trelawney, and the Ministry-appointed representative. As a result, Professor Trelawney had an extremely stressful year, and I believe ought to take at least a term's rest, if not an entire year's. Consequently, I find myself with a vacant position which I am having some trouble filling." He finished speaking and settled back to watch Bush through his half-moon glasses. Bush did flush now, not in embarrassment, but in surprised confusion.
"Sir - I..."
"As I recall, you scored very highly in Divination, William. An O on your OWL, and a commendation from your examiner. No NEWT, of course, studying for Enforcement, but still. And I've heard impressive recommendations since, I might add."
"I'm no seer, sir."
"Very few of us are - far fewer than those who claim it as their profession. No seer, certainly, but a fine diviner. You predicted the rising of prisoners on your ship in the Pacific, I believe, and did your utmost to prevent it - received commendations. And you prevented your ship running aground in the fog in Brest during the blockade, navigated her blind through the shoals."
Bush didn't refute it, but he spoke sincerely against the veiled proposition. "Sir, I hardly believe I could teach a class divination. Seamanship, if you like, even Defense Against the Dark Arts, if you had a taste to see long-range spells on the curriculum, but divination is a talent, not a skill, sir. It can't be learned - either you have it, or you don't."
"And yet even those who are so gifted - you yourself, for example - would flounder without being taught how to recognize it, how to draw it out."
"Maybe, sir, but -"
"I will ask a favour of you, if I may, William," interrupted Dumbledore, serene as ever "You have the means with you to make a prediction?"
"Well, yes, sir." Bush reached into a pocket of his frock-coat and produced a pack of old muggle playing cards.
"Excellent. Should anything unusual happen before you leave, I ask that you will be good enough to provide me with a prediction."
Bush shifted in his chair, frowning slightly, as he began to thumb the cards in his anxiety. "It doesn't really work that way, sir. Things aren't laid out all neat and tidy. You just get glimpses. Impressions, sir. Especially with these." He flipped the cards through his fingers, the battered cardboard making a soft thrumming noise. "Full-fledged divination takes time and power, and in my case a lot of water, sir."
But Dumbledore went on smiling politely, and opened a glass jar on his desk filled with small yellow balls. "Ah, yes, I had heard you favour the Drowned Earth. Quite wet, I think? Sherbert Lemon," he added in parenthesis, pushing the jar to Bush who took one and then sat with it in his hand, plainly puzzled by it.
"Yes, sir, very wet. Not so bad at sea, of course, but it doesn't answer indoors." Following Dumbledore's example, he popped the yellow sweet into his mouth, and his face froze in an attempt not to purse with the tartness.
"You sailed with the decorated Captain Hornblower, I believe," said Dumbledore, veering away from the topic slightly and contriving to speak with perfect clarity despite the candy.
"Yes, sir. We met before he was promoted, out down by Jamaica where there were rumours of cursed voodoo goods being transported. And then, when the Dark Lord rose, we served together in the blockades and the Inshore Squadron as you know, sir, keeping his followers from bringing their cursed items from the continent. He was a captain then, and never did a man more deserve it. If the Ministry has any sense, they'll give him another command. Should have done already," he said, crunching angrily on the lemon and then deflating with a slightly embarrassed hanging of his head.
"He had a fine eye for transfiguration," mused Dumbledore, "and one of the brightest intellects I've known. And never too much of a troublemaker." Dumbledore smiled, eyes twinkling. "Admirable though they are, it is calming to occasionally find a bright student who prefers to bend his genius to studying rather than breaking school rules."
"I imagine it is much like finding a well-trained, intelligent Mid, sir. Theoretically possible, but damn had to come by in practice." Bush thumbed his cards again. Dumbledore leaned forward, resting his elbows on his desk, and spoke with sincere curiousity.
"Tell me, William, would you return to the sea? If given the chance?"
"It is my life, sir," answered Bush earnestly. "I would have gone back as soon as they liked, but they laid me up in dry dock instead for this foot of mine, sir. Gave me a well-paid position as these things go, but cataloging victualling requests and processing the lists ain't the service, sir. It's clerk's work, and I've no loyalty to it. If I thought I could get something better, I'd take it, but folks aren't too keen to hire former naval aurors - or any kind of auror, for that matter. Since the attack in the Ministry, there's been some talk of raising the lists, but like I said, sir, even if Fudge can resolve himself to it there are plenty more likely lads than I." Bush didn't speak bitterly, but with a kind of resignation, his honest face resolved.
"You may find," began Dumbledore, and was interrupted by the door chime. A moment later it opened and Rubeus Hagrid lumbered in, turned half-sideways to fit himself through the doorway, and still knocked his head against the lintel. Dumbledore glanced across at Bush, eyes lowering pointedly to the pack of cards. Bush, taking his queue, shifted quietly with his eyes on Hagrid and then began to draw cards.
"Beg pardon, sir," boomed the gameskeeper and Care of Magical Creatures professor, striding slowly towards the desk. Bush stood to be out of the way, still pulling cards and glancing at them. "I jus' came 'bout them new grubs," began the man, reaching into an inner pocket of his moleskin waistcoat.
Before he had time to withdraw it, Bush had dropped the cards and pulled his wand from his left sleeve in a flash. "Petrificus Totalus"
The huge man froze, hand halfway out of his waistcoat, a wand just perceivable in his fingers. Behind Bush, Dumbledore gave a short round of applause. "Very perceptive. Excellent, indeed." He stood as Bush turned to half-face him, his own wand held steady and still aimed at the frozen professor. Dumbledore drew his wand, and lifted the hex. Hagrid unfroze, and dropped the wand back into its pocket.
"Thank you, Filius," said Dumbledore kindly. "Exceptionally accommodating of you."
"I won't take the antidote now, if it's all the same to you," said the huge man in a soft Oxford accent. "These clothes would bury me. A pleasure to meet you, Mr. Bush," he added, and turned to stump out.
Bush watched him go, tucking his wand slowly back in the holster from which it came.
"Now, I wonder if you would be so good as to tell me how you suspected Hagrid wasn't quite himself," said Dumbledore amiably. He twitched his wand at the floor, and Bush's cards leapt up and stacked themselves on the corner of his desk, in order from the Ace of Clubs to the King of Spades.
Bush glanced at the office door, now closed, and then back at the Headmaster and spread his hands in an apologetic gesture. "Well, sir, I'm afraid it had very little to do with the cards at all. Hagrid - or whoever he actually was - caught his head a wallop on the doorway when coming in. People, even not particularly clumsy ones, might catch their elbows or shoulders on doorways from time to time, but we're much more cautious of head room. You may take it from me, sir, we don't often bang our heads in the Navy after the first few times, and by the end of a month a six foot man may find himself walking like a hunchback under any roof if he's used to a Sloop. Hagrid's been working here since I was a boy, and even if he hadn't been, doorways are built to a standard height. He would never have banged his head on it unless dead-drunk, and probably not even then. Besides which, I knew you would be setting me some test or another." He picked his cards up, tucked them into his pocket, and held out his hand to shake. "It was good of you to ask me here all the same, sir."
Dumbledore, already smiling gently, now broke into a laugh. "You're much too honest for the teaching profession, William, where we spent all our while trying to trick our students into picking up a few glints of knowledge. I assure you, I can get convincing actors by the dozen to fill this position. What I would prefer, however, is a breath of fresh air. Some honesty, in fact. That the children learn divination is important, but that they learn to avoid being swindled is equally so."
"Sir -"
"It would not be an indefinite position, of course. Just a term, perhaps two. You would not be abandoning Law Enforcement, if you chose to return. Just some fresh air for yourself, as well. I won't ask you for your decision now. Take a day or two to consider it. I'm afraid I can't offer you more - time is running a bit short."
"I'm accustomed to moving hastily, sir," said Bush. "I certainly do appreciate your offer; even in the service we consider teaching at Hogwarts to be a high honour, not in the least as it requires your approval."
Dumbledore smiled politely. "Thank you, William; very kind. I shall look forward to hearing from you." He held out his hand again, taking Bush's hoary one with a firm grip and twinkling at him. The former auror took a step back to turn and was stopped by Dumbledore. "Oh, pardon me, one last thing. Might I ask for your prediction?"
Bush's eyebrows raised in surprise, and his expression flickered through an almost-unnoticeable flash of schoolboy-like guilt. "Caution, falseness," he said, after a moment. And then, flushing gently, added, "Success."
Dumbledore's smile widened until he was beaming. "Thank you very much, Mr. Bush."
"Yes, sir."
