[ When he wants to be, and has to be, John can be a right sneak. His half-drunk and pitiable "hot mess" exterior is useful, forming a leather sheath which contains and preserves the sharp steel beneath.
He is silent and exacting as he prepares, drawing a circle on the ground in chalk, dressing it with candles and dead, shrivelled plants, pricking his palm with a pocket knife and letting it drip into the centre to bind it all together.
No going back now.
He thinks for a moment about whether the prisons will notice one of their guards missing, about the Ministry inquiry that will be launched, about all the bureaucrats who will come to breathe down Dumbledore's neck. He thinks about it and grins, knowing it's worth it a thousand times over.
Maybe Damian hears the whispering in the midst of his zen. Maybe he reacts. Maybe he'll just crinkle his nose in annoyance at his teacher and keep meditating. Even in hushed tones, John's lazy Northern lilt vanishes inside the primordial incantation coming from his mouth: ]
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He is silent and exacting as he prepares, drawing a circle on the ground in chalk, dressing it with candles and dead, shrivelled plants, pricking his palm with a pocket knife and letting it drip into the centre to bind it all together.
No going back now.
He thinks for a moment about whether the prisons will notice one of their guards missing, about the Ministry inquiry that will be launched, about all the bureaucrats who will come to breathe down Dumbledore's neck. He thinks about it and grins, knowing it's worth it a thousand times over.
Maybe Damian hears the whispering in the midst of his zen. Maybe he reacts. Maybe he'll just crinkle his nose in annoyance at his teacher and keep meditating. Even in hushed tones, John's lazy Northern lilt vanishes inside the primordial incantation coming from his mouth: ]
T́o͠i͏r̡̀ i͜bh̸ dh̕҉om̀h̴a̸̕n ̨͠à̧t̕h̴̶͠a͞ i̢̛͡ŕ҉ ҉͜b̷̛às̷͟
t͡͡h͢a̶m͟í ̶͟d̶o͜͞͝l͟a̴͠͝ ̷̨d̀͝h̕͝à͠n͏́am̛͏h̡͝ ̛b̵̡o͟c̨̕ḩ ̧d̢ŕ͠o҉͝ ̢͏g̸͟ha͡inn̵e҉҉ą͏ ̡҉b̨͘͠e̸͟͡ą͜t̢̢h̷̛ą̛͠
unali ͝k̡u u ͠ola