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Back to Part Three
After spending hours in the pub, Jack decided that Hogsmeade was the least friendly village in all of Scotland. He'd attempted conversation with a handful of patrons, but not one was as attractive as that first man, and standoffish as he'd been, he still proved the most sociable of the lot. The rest merely offered shifty looks and stern headshakes.
Jack left the bar at last call, surprised to find the sky still glowing pale. That would help the long drive back to Ullapool, according to all accounts the nearest town with a hotel, but he would gladly have traded half of his everlasting life for one of Ianto's espressos before hitting the road.
He never even got behind the wheel, however. He returned to the SUV to find the rift detector screaming for attention, its energy readings showing rift activity akin to a ghost shift right in this backwater hamlet. His first thought was of ringing Tosh, just to hear her drool, before fury overwhelmed him. Ianto must have expected this, but instead of telling Torchwood—instead of telling Jack!—he'd taken off on his own. Jack swore that when he found him, he'd wring his neck, pretty silk tie and all.
With the portable detector buzzing in his hand, Jack tried to pinpoint the rift's source. The signal weakened as he walked away from the old train station, and lit up like a fireworks show when he returned to the crumbling stone platform. But that couldn't be right. With that much energy he should see something—reflections, shadows, incorporeal shapes of some ilk—but there was nothing but darkening sky on a cold mountainside.
"Damn it, Ianto Jones, where the hell are you?"
His words drew themselves out until they weren't his voice anymore, until they sounded deeper, like they came from the centre of a paper towel roll. And when they faded into the night, Jack blinked; he was in another world. No, the same world, the same sky, the crags still reflecting the last traces of sunset. But this place was fleshed out on the bones of the other. Here bright lanterns festooned a bustling village of gaily painted shops. The cobblestone street teemed with oddly dressed people—at least he assumed they were people, he was usually pretty good at distinguishing human from alien species, "excepting that time on Maldora Minor," he reminded himself, and then froze. "Did that Irish wolfhound just turn into a person? And that man, did he drop out of the sky? And what are all the lanterns connected to? They're just floating in thin air!"
It wasn't a simple time displacement. He was caught in some kind of alternate reality that existed in the same time and space as the real world … and that simply wasn't possible. Well, a Time Lord could manage it, and a Time Agent might make an effort. But on a human scale, no, not possible at all.
And yet here it was.
His eyes peeled for Ianto, Jack mingled into the crowd, his smile pleasant but his guard attuned to any possible threat. Vigilance was difficult, though, surrounded by these festive young people who seemed anything but dangerous. In fact, if not for their old-fashioned costumes, the ladies approaching him could pass for a hen party in Cardiff. Jack fixed his eye on the prettiest of the bunch, a petite woman with pitch black hair, clad in a tight bustier of emerald lace.
"Good evening, ladies."
The pretty one stepped forward, her swaying hips warning Jack that she could be trouble. But just before she spoke a foul smell assaulted them.
"Greg!" she cried, pinching her nose. "How childish!"
Disgusted, she gathered the folds of her long skirt and dashed towards a nearby pub. Her friends trailed behind, leaving Jack standing with the perpetrator.
"It was just a dungbomb, Pans!" The man shrugged as if that explained everything. To Jack's susprise, he wore what look like plaid barrister's robes; when he wiped his soiled hands on them, it left a streak of filth along the hem.
"Maybe not the best way to impress a lady," Jack advised.
He shrugged again.
"Apparently not the brightest bulb—perfect for a few questions." Smiling, Jack offered his handkerchief in lieu of a handshake. "I don't suppose you could help me? I think I took a wrong turn somewhere and I'm not exactly sure where I am."
Beady eyes studied the handkerchief with suspicion. "You're a Muggle?"
Unsure how to respond, Jack chose deflection. "I'm Captain Jack Harkness." His hands clasped behind his back on the off chance that this man might still offer a hand to shake. "And you are?"
"Goyle. Greg Goyle." His apprehensive cadence destroyed any hint of Bond-ness he might have hoped for, but the stick that suddenly appeared, pointed squarely at Jack's chest, was worrying enough. "You're not supposed to be here."
"Oh, I am," Jack assured him, enlisting his broadest grin to prove his trustworthiness. "I'm actually meeting someone. Ianto Jones." "Fuck," he thought as Goyle stared blankly, "What was that other man's name?" Jack pictured those unearthly eyes and it came back to him. "...and Draco Malfoy."
"You know Draco?"
"Oh, Draco and I go way back." When the stick dropped a fraction, Jack laid it on thicker. "Yeah ... we work together in Montréal."
"Well, why didn't you say so?" The stick disappeared and the man waved his hand to follow. "He left the dance early, but he's probably in the pub."
The Three Broomsticks could not have been more different from the pub in Hogsmeade—the other Hogsmeade, the black-and-white film version of this vibrant place. Cheerful cherrywoods greeted the patrons—"Ianto's classmates," Jack thought, studying their outlandish dress. He'd rarely seen Ianto in anything but a suit; imagining him in plaid barrister's robes was impossible. There was no sign of him in any case.
Draco, however, was nursing a tumbler on the far side of the bar. Jack sidled up beside him.
"You really shouldn't drink alone."
Jack heard the faint snort. "You're a fine one to talk."
Goyle hovered between them like a sentry. "He says he knows you."
"Did he now?" Draco lifted steely eyes to Jack's before tipping his chin slightly, signalling Goyle's quick exit. "Care for a drink, Jack? I'm sure you'll enjoy the local specialty."
"Don't mind if I do."
Draco's hand fluttered and a pair of tumblers appeared. Not sure whether that or the smoke billowing off them was the more surprising, Jack just gaped.
"Ogden's firewhisky. Quite palatable if your tastebuds have a Flame-Freezing Charm." At Jack's dubious look he added, "It's not actual fire, although the first sip is rather piquant."
Draco took the first drink as if to reassure; Jack reluctantly followed suit, nearly choking as the liquor scorched his throat. "How long have you been drinking these?" he gasped.
"Since I was fifteen. But tonight, not nearly long enough. So you found Ianto, I take it?"
"No, not yet." Draco was surprised by this, Jack could see. "Have you seen him?"
"I have. He should be here. If he doesn't arrive soon, I'll fetch him for you." His companion's eyes narrowed curiously. "But first, how did you get here?"
"I'm not sure. One minute I was on a train platform, and the next I was here." The second sip of his drink went down more smoothly; he didn't quite long for asbestos coating on his tongue. "To tell you the truth, I'm not entirely sure where here is."
"Here is Hogsmeade, of course. The real Hogsmeade. With shamefully weak wards, I might add. Did you say his name perchance?"
"I might have," considered Jack. "Yes, yes I did. I asked where the hell he was."
"That explains it, then. The wards are opened for guests, as long as you can identify yourself. Or them, to be more precise."
Draco looked like something had just been settled. Jack, on the other hand, was more confused than ever. "But what about that other place--"
"Where you were earlier? That's just the pale Muggle imitation."
"Muggle?"
Draco paused, smiling, his drink halfway to his lips. "Ianto's not told you much, has he?"
Jack frowned. "I'm starting to think he hasn't."
"You're a Muggle, a non-magical person. And I'm a wizard. And these fine people you see are my former classmates from the Hogwarts School for Witchcraft and Wizardry. We're celebrating ten years of not seeing each other."
Jack had heard stranger things, although admittedly not often, and not on earth. But what struck him most was the biting tone of Draco's voice. "Not one for nostalgia, are you?"
"Let's just say it looks better from a distance."
"And you're a wizard?"
"From a long and distinguished magical line. Not that that matters anymore, of course." Jack wasn't as surprised as he should have been, after all he'd seen, but that must have come across as scepticism because Draco exhaled wearily. "Oh, fine. Mobilimembrana."
A pair of bar mats sprung to life, waltzing together across the bar. They twirled in the air before inserting themselves under two fresh drinks.
"Impressive." Jack's voice dropped to a purr. "But you've got better tricks than that."
"Ah, yes, that." Draco had a nice smile when he wasn't moping, Jack noticed. "Highly illegal, using that spell with Muggles. Not that I've had any complaints."
"No, I wouldn't imagine so. And Ianto," he asked hopefully. His questions for Ianto were mounting with each passing moment. Really, if he was the one who possessed magical powers, he'd have damn well made sure they had a better way to communicate. But this might be even more promising. "He knows that spell, too?"
"It's in The Joy of Wizard Sex so he must. Not like a Ravenclaw to miss something from a book." Jack's puzzlement prompted Draco to explain. "Ravenclaw—that's his House at Hogwarts. Real bookslugs they are. Whether he uses it or not is a different sto--" Draco faltered mid-sentence, his eyes locked on the doorway for an instant before returning to his smoky glass. "Well, you'd have to ask him."
Jack's thoughts of sex spells and enchanted Bluetooths vanished at the sight of a man in the doorway, staring intently at them. "Someone you don't want to see?"
"Yeah … no, I knew I would see him, I just …" Draco paused, his thumb tracing the lip of his glass as he composed himself. He didn't seem the sort who liked being discombobulated. "It hasn't gone quite the way I'd expected."
"The one who got away?" "Striking men, both of them," Jack thought, appreciating the image they presented together.
"Hardly," Draco snorted softly. "We hated each other in school."
"Ah, old rivals then. They're even harder to escape. I've tried for a century." Draco's eyebrow twisted in curiosity, but he didn't interrupt. "Mine, he joined the Agency the same day as I did. I thought we'd end up best friends, but he always had to outplay me, outshoot me."
"What a prat. Sounds familiar, though."
Jack tapped the epaulette on his coat. "I've still got the burn from a sonic blaster on my shoulder."
Draco pursed his lips sympathetically. "Yeah, that sounds awfully familiar. Potter sliced me open with an illegal spell." Draco touched his fingers to a spot underneath his silk tie, gingerly as if the skin was still tender.
"The very day we got our vortex manipulators," Jack confided as he leaned forward, his hands as animated as his long-forgotten memories, "he landed us both right into the Hetressian Hot Zone. We hid in a phthalate trench for three days before they could retrieve us!"
Draco nodded vigorously. "I got my first detention because of him. This psychotic Dark Wizard was on the loose, and they sent the two us into the Forbidden Forest without a single defensive spell to our names!"
"He never served a day of detention, not even when he went AWOL to con the Liege of Enurtur." Jack chuckled at the long-forgotten memory. "Talked his way right out of it, the bastard."
Rolling his eyes, Draco shot back, "Yes, Potter always got special treatment too. He even got to play Quidditch in first year. Special allowances just because the teachers loved him."
They paused for another long drink, their wry grins fading as silence crept back. Silent, Draco's face looked hollow, skin pulled too tightly over his skull. Only his eyes looked alive, and they flickered across the room to the man sitting with his friends. Jack had already noted the other man's frequent glances in their direction. The two were like magnets charged to eternally repel each other. But charges could be reversed, Jack knew, and people could change, even cynical Time Agents. And why was he thinking like this anyway? Carefully Jack set down his glass.
Without taking his eyes off the other man Draco asked, "Did you ever want to kill him?"
Tilting his glass, Jack waited until a narrow column of smoke puffed over the rim. "I thought I did, sometimes. Mostly I just forgot what I wanted. All that mattered was beating him." He stopped suddenly, peering into his drink. "You know, I haven't thought about this in years. There's not some kind of truth serum in here, is there?"
Draco scrutinized his glass before shaking his head. "I doubt it. Veritaserum's tricky to get these days." He glared at it once more, looking not entirely convinced, then set it down too deliberately. Jack wondered if his companion was more affected by the alcohol than he let on. "So what happened to him?"
"I lost him. I thought he'd always be there, and then he was gone." This drink, this strange place, they were opening doors he'd closed long, long ago. He surprised himself by admitting, "Sometimes I think I'd give anything to find him again."
"What if you did?"
"I'd punch his lights out, and then I'd…" Jack finished the last swallow of whisky, letting the searing burn cauterise his memories. "It doesn't matter. It's not like I'll ever have another chance. I think you were right, nostalgia really does look better from far away."
"I'll drink to that." Another set of glasses appeared before them, warm tendrils of smoke just starting to tickle Jack's nose, when the pub door swung open. From out of the night stepped Ianto Jones who, for all his surprises, Jack thought might be turning out to be the best thing about this current lifetime.
Except when he stormed in, furious as he was now.
"You are not supposed to be here."
*****
*****
On to Part Five
After spending hours in the pub, Jack decided that Hogsmeade was the least friendly village in all of Scotland. He'd attempted conversation with a handful of patrons, but not one was as attractive as that first man, and standoffish as he'd been, he still proved the most sociable of the lot. The rest merely offered shifty looks and stern headshakes.
Jack left the bar at last call, surprised to find the sky still glowing pale. That would help the long drive back to Ullapool, according to all accounts the nearest town with a hotel, but he would gladly have traded half of his everlasting life for one of Ianto's espressos before hitting the road.
He never even got behind the wheel, however. He returned to the SUV to find the rift detector screaming for attention, its energy readings showing rift activity akin to a ghost shift right in this backwater hamlet. His first thought was of ringing Tosh, just to hear her drool, before fury overwhelmed him. Ianto must have expected this, but instead of telling Torchwood—instead of telling Jack!—he'd taken off on his own. Jack swore that when he found him, he'd wring his neck, pretty silk tie and all.
With the portable detector buzzing in his hand, Jack tried to pinpoint the rift's source. The signal weakened as he walked away from the old train station, and lit up like a fireworks show when he returned to the crumbling stone platform. But that couldn't be right. With that much energy he should see something—reflections, shadows, incorporeal shapes of some ilk—but there was nothing but darkening sky on a cold mountainside.
"Damn it, Ianto Jones, where the hell are you?"
His words drew themselves out until they weren't his voice anymore, until they sounded deeper, like they came from the centre of a paper towel roll. And when they faded into the night, Jack blinked; he was in another world. No, the same world, the same sky, the crags still reflecting the last traces of sunset. But this place was fleshed out on the bones of the other. Here bright lanterns festooned a bustling village of gaily painted shops. The cobblestone street teemed with oddly dressed people—at least he assumed they were people, he was usually pretty good at distinguishing human from alien species, "excepting that time on Maldora Minor," he reminded himself, and then froze. "Did that Irish wolfhound just turn into a person? And that man, did he drop out of the sky? And what are all the lanterns connected to? They're just floating in thin air!"
It wasn't a simple time displacement. He was caught in some kind of alternate reality that existed in the same time and space as the real world … and that simply wasn't possible. Well, a Time Lord could manage it, and a Time Agent might make an effort. But on a human scale, no, not possible at all.
And yet here it was.
His eyes peeled for Ianto, Jack mingled into the crowd, his smile pleasant but his guard attuned to any possible threat. Vigilance was difficult, though, surrounded by these festive young people who seemed anything but dangerous. In fact, if not for their old-fashioned costumes, the ladies approaching him could pass for a hen party in Cardiff. Jack fixed his eye on the prettiest of the bunch, a petite woman with pitch black hair, clad in a tight bustier of emerald lace.
"Good evening, ladies."
The pretty one stepped forward, her swaying hips warning Jack that she could be trouble. But just before she spoke a foul smell assaulted them.
"Greg!" she cried, pinching her nose. "How childish!"
Disgusted, she gathered the folds of her long skirt and dashed towards a nearby pub. Her friends trailed behind, leaving Jack standing with the perpetrator.
"It was just a dungbomb, Pans!" The man shrugged as if that explained everything. To Jack's susprise, he wore what look like plaid barrister's robes; when he wiped his soiled hands on them, it left a streak of filth along the hem.
"Maybe not the best way to impress a lady," Jack advised.
He shrugged again.
"Apparently not the brightest bulb—perfect for a few questions." Smiling, Jack offered his handkerchief in lieu of a handshake. "I don't suppose you could help me? I think I took a wrong turn somewhere and I'm not exactly sure where I am."
Beady eyes studied the handkerchief with suspicion. "You're a Muggle?"
Unsure how to respond, Jack chose deflection. "I'm Captain Jack Harkness." His hands clasped behind his back on the off chance that this man might still offer a hand to shake. "And you are?"
"Goyle. Greg Goyle." His apprehensive cadence destroyed any hint of Bond-ness he might have hoped for, but the stick that suddenly appeared, pointed squarely at Jack's chest, was worrying enough. "You're not supposed to be here."
"Oh, I am," Jack assured him, enlisting his broadest grin to prove his trustworthiness. "I'm actually meeting someone. Ianto Jones." "Fuck," he thought as Goyle stared blankly, "What was that other man's name?" Jack pictured those unearthly eyes and it came back to him. "...and Draco Malfoy."
"You know Draco?"
"Oh, Draco and I go way back." When the stick dropped a fraction, Jack laid it on thicker. "Yeah ... we work together in Montréal."
"Well, why didn't you say so?" The stick disappeared and the man waved his hand to follow. "He left the dance early, but he's probably in the pub."
The Three Broomsticks could not have been more different from the pub in Hogsmeade—the other Hogsmeade, the black-and-white film version of this vibrant place. Cheerful cherrywoods greeted the patrons—"Ianto's classmates," Jack thought, studying their outlandish dress. He'd rarely seen Ianto in anything but a suit; imagining him in plaid barrister's robes was impossible. There was no sign of him in any case.
Draco, however, was nursing a tumbler on the far side of the bar. Jack sidled up beside him.
"You really shouldn't drink alone."
Jack heard the faint snort. "You're a fine one to talk."
Goyle hovered between them like a sentry. "He says he knows you."
"Did he now?" Draco lifted steely eyes to Jack's before tipping his chin slightly, signalling Goyle's quick exit. "Care for a drink, Jack? I'm sure you'll enjoy the local specialty."
"Don't mind if I do."
Draco's hand fluttered and a pair of tumblers appeared. Not sure whether that or the smoke billowing off them was the more surprising, Jack just gaped.
"Ogden's firewhisky. Quite palatable if your tastebuds have a Flame-Freezing Charm." At Jack's dubious look he added, "It's not actual fire, although the first sip is rather piquant."
Draco took the first drink as if to reassure; Jack reluctantly followed suit, nearly choking as the liquor scorched his throat. "How long have you been drinking these?" he gasped.
"Since I was fifteen. But tonight, not nearly long enough. So you found Ianto, I take it?"
"No, not yet." Draco was surprised by this, Jack could see. "Have you seen him?"
"I have. He should be here. If he doesn't arrive soon, I'll fetch him for you." His companion's eyes narrowed curiously. "But first, how did you get here?"
"I'm not sure. One minute I was on a train platform, and the next I was here." The second sip of his drink went down more smoothly; he didn't quite long for asbestos coating on his tongue. "To tell you the truth, I'm not entirely sure where here is."
"Here is Hogsmeade, of course. The real Hogsmeade. With shamefully weak wards, I might add. Did you say his name perchance?"
"I might have," considered Jack. "Yes, yes I did. I asked where the hell he was."
"That explains it, then. The wards are opened for guests, as long as you can identify yourself. Or them, to be more precise."
Draco looked like something had just been settled. Jack, on the other hand, was more confused than ever. "But what about that other place--"
"Where you were earlier? That's just the pale Muggle imitation."
"Muggle?"
Draco paused, smiling, his drink halfway to his lips. "Ianto's not told you much, has he?"
Jack frowned. "I'm starting to think he hasn't."
"You're a Muggle, a non-magical person. And I'm a wizard. And these fine people you see are my former classmates from the Hogwarts School for Witchcraft and Wizardry. We're celebrating ten years of not seeing each other."
Jack had heard stranger things, although admittedly not often, and not on earth. But what struck him most was the biting tone of Draco's voice. "Not one for nostalgia, are you?"
"Let's just say it looks better from a distance."
"And you're a wizard?"
"From a long and distinguished magical line. Not that that matters anymore, of course." Jack wasn't as surprised as he should have been, after all he'd seen, but that must have come across as scepticism because Draco exhaled wearily. "Oh, fine. Mobilimembrana."
A pair of bar mats sprung to life, waltzing together across the bar. They twirled in the air before inserting themselves under two fresh drinks.
"Impressive." Jack's voice dropped to a purr. "But you've got better tricks than that."
"Ah, yes, that." Draco had a nice smile when he wasn't moping, Jack noticed. "Highly illegal, using that spell with Muggles. Not that I've had any complaints."
"No, I wouldn't imagine so. And Ianto," he asked hopefully. His questions for Ianto were mounting with each passing moment. Really, if he was the one who possessed magical powers, he'd have damn well made sure they had a better way to communicate. But this might be even more promising. "He knows that spell, too?"
"It's in The Joy of Wizard Sex so he must. Not like a Ravenclaw to miss something from a book." Jack's puzzlement prompted Draco to explain. "Ravenclaw—that's his House at Hogwarts. Real bookslugs they are. Whether he uses it or not is a different sto--" Draco faltered mid-sentence, his eyes locked on the doorway for an instant before returning to his smoky glass. "Well, you'd have to ask him."
Jack's thoughts of sex spells and enchanted Bluetooths vanished at the sight of a man in the doorway, staring intently at them. "Someone you don't want to see?"
"Yeah … no, I knew I would see him, I just …" Draco paused, his thumb tracing the lip of his glass as he composed himself. He didn't seem the sort who liked being discombobulated. "It hasn't gone quite the way I'd expected."
"The one who got away?" "Striking men, both of them," Jack thought, appreciating the image they presented together.
"Hardly," Draco snorted softly. "We hated each other in school."
"Ah, old rivals then. They're even harder to escape. I've tried for a century." Draco's eyebrow twisted in curiosity, but he didn't interrupt. "Mine, he joined the Agency the same day as I did. I thought we'd end up best friends, but he always had to outplay me, outshoot me."
"What a prat. Sounds familiar, though."
Jack tapped the epaulette on his coat. "I've still got the burn from a sonic blaster on my shoulder."
Draco pursed his lips sympathetically. "Yeah, that sounds awfully familiar. Potter sliced me open with an illegal spell." Draco touched his fingers to a spot underneath his silk tie, gingerly as if the skin was still tender.
"The very day we got our vortex manipulators," Jack confided as he leaned forward, his hands as animated as his long-forgotten memories, "he landed us both right into the Hetressian Hot Zone. We hid in a phthalate trench for three days before they could retrieve us!"
Draco nodded vigorously. "I got my first detention because of him. This psychotic Dark Wizard was on the loose, and they sent the two us into the Forbidden Forest without a single defensive spell to our names!"
"He never served a day of detention, not even when he went AWOL to con the Liege of Enurtur." Jack chuckled at the long-forgotten memory. "Talked his way right out of it, the bastard."
Rolling his eyes, Draco shot back, "Yes, Potter always got special treatment too. He even got to play Quidditch in first year. Special allowances just because the teachers loved him."
They paused for another long drink, their wry grins fading as silence crept back. Silent, Draco's face looked hollow, skin pulled too tightly over his skull. Only his eyes looked alive, and they flickered across the room to the man sitting with his friends. Jack had already noted the other man's frequent glances in their direction. The two were like magnets charged to eternally repel each other. But charges could be reversed, Jack knew, and people could change, even cynical Time Agents. And why was he thinking like this anyway? Carefully Jack set down his glass.
Without taking his eyes off the other man Draco asked, "Did you ever want to kill him?"
Tilting his glass, Jack waited until a narrow column of smoke puffed over the rim. "I thought I did, sometimes. Mostly I just forgot what I wanted. All that mattered was beating him." He stopped suddenly, peering into his drink. "You know, I haven't thought about this in years. There's not some kind of truth serum in here, is there?"
Draco scrutinized his glass before shaking his head. "I doubt it. Veritaserum's tricky to get these days." He glared at it once more, looking not entirely convinced, then set it down too deliberately. Jack wondered if his companion was more affected by the alcohol than he let on. "So what happened to him?"
"I lost him. I thought he'd always be there, and then he was gone." This drink, this strange place, they were opening doors he'd closed long, long ago. He surprised himself by admitting, "Sometimes I think I'd give anything to find him again."
"What if you did?"
"I'd punch his lights out, and then I'd…" Jack finished the last swallow of whisky, letting the searing burn cauterise his memories. "It doesn't matter. It's not like I'll ever have another chance. I think you were right, nostalgia really does look better from far away."
"I'll drink to that." Another set of glasses appeared before them, warm tendrils of smoke just starting to tickle Jack's nose, when the pub door swung open. From out of the night stepped Ianto Jones who, for all his surprises, Jack thought might be turning out to be the best thing about this current lifetime.
Except when he stormed in, furious as he was now.
"You are not supposed to be here."
*****
On to Part Five
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Jack asking if Ianto knew that sex spell, too, made me giggle.
I'm having so much fun with this story!
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I bet as soon as they get back to Cardiff, Jack will ransack Ianto's bookshelves. ;)
I'm glad you're enjoying it!!