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Title: Bush the Temporary Hogwarts Divination Professor (1/?)
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

“A temporary measure,” said Parvati to Lavender and anyone else who happened to be listening, while heading towards the Divination tower along with the rest of the Gryffindor 6th years. “You heard Professor Dumbledore. After all the stress Professor Trelawny had to suffer last year, it’s only fair she has a term off.”

“Too bad it’s only one term,” hissed Ron to Harry, the two of them straggling along at the end of the group. “You think if we’d admit to Hermione she was right to ditch it, she’d stop lording the fact that she doesn’t have to take it over us?”

“Maybe,” said Harry, beginning up the circular stairs to the top of the tower, “but probably only if you stopped pointing out how much homework she gets from Runes and Arithmancy.”

“Yeah,” agreed Ron contemplatively, and then shrugged. “Oh well. Can’t have everything.” He stopped when the group ahead of him did, a few steps from the door to the classroom.

At the front of the group, Pavarti knocked hesitantly at the door with a bandaged hand, a nick from a nail on the way to Platform 9¾. The sound echoed down the stairwell around the central stone pillar. At a quieter response, something like a gruff cough, she opened the door and led the way inside.

The poufs, pillows and low tables had all gone, as had the incense, and the thousands of glittering decorations that had made the classroom look like the inside of a magpie’s nest. Here and there a few still hung, either as a slight concession to Trelawny’s taste or simply as remnants forgotten in the cleaning. Higher tables with chairs, still set in pairs, had replaced the former seating. Each one had been provided with one of the typical fortunetelling instruments – a crystal ball, a sand-tray, a tea set, a pack of both regular and tarot cards, and a dozen others.

At what could loosely be called the head of the classroom, seated behind a heavy oak table that definitely hadn’t been there before, was the temporary professor. Professor Bush, Harry recalled, from the brief introduction at the opening ceremony. Standing up behind the head table, he had seemed an indistinct figure in blue, and hadn’t produced any sort of impression at all. Here now, closer to, Harry found he still couldn’t read much from the man. He sat easily, looking out at them with a relaxed confidence, but his back was straight and his weather-beaten face was sharp. He was shuffling a pack of Muggle playing cards in his calloused hands. If given a choice of positions on the staff, Harry would have guessed he was a groundskeeper, or a games keeper. Someone who did hard work outdoors.

“Good morning,” he said crisply, without standing. They chorused it back with uncertainty. He nodded, then took a hand from the cards to indicate the tables. “You can sit.” They did so, shuffling awkwardly to pair themselves and find tables with something they felt comfortable with. Harry avoided the crystal ball and the sand table only to find himself saddled with the fire bowl.

“My name’s Bush,” said the professor, resuming his shuffling. Every now and then he would pause to tap the cards against the side of the table, two pairs of two quick taps, straightening the edges of the deck. “I’ll be standing in for Professor Trelawny for the fall semester, at least.”

Harry glanced at Ron, Ron glancing back and raising his eyebrows. Up at the table closest to the front, Pavarti and Lavender shifted irritably.

“Now then, anyone tell me what this means?” He drew a card at random and held it up, face to them. The ace of spades. The students moved uncomfortably on their seats; Harry tried to dredge up memories of years of sleepy Divination lessons, and failed. Around him, a few were more successful, and some quivering hands rose half-heartedly into the air.

“Yes,” said Bush, indicating Lavender at the front with a loose gesture.

“Professor Trelawny always says, sir, that you can’t just look at one card,” began Lavender, but Bush waved impatiently.

“Not what I asked,” he said, and without waiting for a denial picked Dean from the back row. “You.”

“Death, sir,” said Dean, and Harry and Ron grinned. You could never go far wrong with that.

“Fair enough. Anyone else? You.”

“Can indicate time, sir,” a quivering Neville.

“Very good.”

Ron raised his hand, Harry glancing at him in surprise.

“You.”

“Means you're close to a good hand, sir,” said Ron, taking a chance.

Bush flashed him a quick, sharp, look, and Ron stiffened, but he let it go. “Certainly. There you are. Your textbooks will tell you that any card in this deck holds layers of meaning; this particular card,” he twisted the ace, “can mean from sudden death to water to eggs. Your textbook will also tell you that you can tell which meaning to take away by its relative position with other cards. That,” he said, slipping the card back into the deck and beating it against the side of the table again, knock-knock, knock-knock, “is rubbish.”

There was a murmur from the students, Harry and Ron breaking into grins, Pavarti and Lavender starting up in protest. Professor Bush waited for it to die down.

“Alright. You can sit in your room and memorize patterns, and maybe in fifty years you’ll be able to tell me to watch out for my neighbour’s mad dog. That’s no good to you. I’ll tell you frankly: like any other branch of magic, divination’s something different people have an affinity for. In one generation, maybe not even that, one witch or wizard will be born with true Sight. One witch or wizard in the whole world, ladies and gentlemen. If you haven’t discovered it by now, odds are that Seer isn’t any of you.” He waited for the laughs to pass.

“But, there are levels of affinity. None of you will ever be able to look into the future as easily as glancing into a mirror. None of you will ever be able to look into the future, at all. Probably most of you’ll never see anything but fog in a crystal ball. But some of you will be able to learn to pick up little hints. A nudge here, a warning there. And, unlike Ancient Runes or Astronomy, that could save lives some day. A fact which I hope those of you taking this course as a soft option realise.” He raked hard eyes over the class, and Harry straightened awkwardly as they met his for an instant, and then passed on.

“Right then. You’ve got before you most of the standard divination methods; hopefully in five years you’ve all learned at least the basics of how to use them. The remaining forty minutes will be divided into four ten minute segments. I want you to try to tell each other’s fortunes. If you need to, you can consult your textbook, but what I want you to pay attention to is whether you find any of these methods easier than the others. Whether you look at a pile of tea leaves, or the ball, or the flames, and feel confident even for one second in what you saw. Doesn’t matter if your book says it means anything. Just … watch for that confidence.” He paused, and when they all continued staring at him, waved a hand. “Off you go, then.”

Harry turned back to face Ron over the fire bowl, tiny flames licking up from the coals at the bottom.

“What d’you make of him, then?” asked Ron, glancing down into the red glow and then back up again.

“Better than Trelawny, at least. Doesn’t expect the impossible.”

“No,” cut Bush’s voice through the low-level chatter, not especially loud, just at a tone which somehow sliced through sound like a knife, “but I expect diligence Mr… Potter, I believe?”

“Sorry, sir.”

“Carry on, then.”

Harry looked back to Ron, who had his eyebrows raised, impressed. Harry grinned, and looked back down into the coals. “So, uh, there’s some little flames, and…”

----------------------------------------
---------

They switched tables four times, Harry and Ron trying their hands at the tarot cards (utter failure), the coin-reading (Harry accidentally wedged one between the floorboards) and then water ripples (Ron splashed water all over his robes) after the fire bowl. Professor Bush remained behind his table, occasionally offering advice, instruction or admonishments to whoever caught his eye. At the end of forty minutes, he knocked his cards back against the table – knock-knock, knock-knock, knock-knock – and looked around. “Alright, all of you. Settle down. That’s enough for today.” He paused to take stock of them, wet, burnt, and in Neville’s case covered with a light dusting of grey powder.

“Well, I can see Professor Trelawny must have had an interesting time of it,” he said. “I’m sure you’ll keep up your efforts. Your homework for next lesson,” he ignored the groans, surveying them with a hard face but not unkind eyes, “is to make a write-up of today’s lesson. I want the details of the four methods you tried, whether you noticed any were easier or harder than the others and why. Feel free to include other options you would like to try. At least a foot of parchment.”

They took it well; it was a fairer first assignment than some they’d had. Overhead, the chimes rang softly, pure and sweet this high in the castle.

“If you please, sir?” said Pavarti, who had managed to return to the front of the room again with Lavender. Ron rolled his eyes at Harry.

“Yes?” There was very little question in the professor’s tone.

“Do you have the Sight, sir?”

Professor Bush’s smile made it clear he had been expecting the question. “I’m no Seer, Ms…”

“Patil. Pavarti Patil.”

“Ms. Patil. But I’ve been known to take a few hints.” He stood, chair screeching back against the flagstones beneath, and took up his worn cards. His slow pace around the side of the desk was accompanied by an odd echoing thump. As he rounded the corner, it became clear why: his right foot was gone, replaced by a wooden stump. It took no effort at all to think back to Mad-Eye, and Harry found himself stiffening in the effort not to wince. But Professor Bush was paying no attention to the students’ interest in his leg; he stepped forward into the crowd and, with a smooth flick, fanned the cards out in front of Pavarti. Tartly, she reached out and picked one from the pack. Bush reached out his free hand, and she put it in it. He turned it for the class to see, the 6 of spades.

Harry could see her practically bursting with the urge to demand, “Well?” But the professor didn’t disappoint.

“If I were you, Ms. Patil, I would run up to the infirmary about that hand of yours. Could turn nasty,” said Professor Bush, sliding the card back into the deck. Pavarti glanced down at her bandaged hand, then back again. “You’re dismissed,” he said, in a louder tone. “See you all next week. Mind you don’t forget your homework.”

“Well?” said Harry, as they filed out.

“Well, I reckon Hermione won’t be able to lord it over us for missing out on this any more!”

Later, when news of Madame Pomfrey's scolding Pavarti's failing to report to her a wound that showed early signs of blood poisoining spread around the school, opinion immdiately skyrocketed from relief to extremely impressed.
 

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