A/N: Anime!verse, Justin stays firmly on the side of Lord Death. DWMA and affiliates are a secret society. English rather than Japanese is used as far as honorifics and titles and other phrases of that nature go.
The aged Headmaster sat at his desk. Said desk was dark, wood and cluttered with papers, books and strange machines. Like the desk, nearly every flat surface in the room was covered either by books or a random assortment of the bizarre contraptions scattered about the room. Some ticked, some buzzed, some shot out fumes of purple smoke, but all of them were very loud. The various noises had melded into a sort of dissonant symphony, one that most people would probably find distracting.
But, Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore, was hardly most people, and he would be the first to defend the cacophony. The familiar sound was soothing and helped him think.
And he really needed to think. Any help was appreciated.
"I suppose that anything is better than letting Madam Umbridge into the school," Dumbledore mused aloud.
"You don't know anything about this 'Justin Law' though," Phineas Nigellus' portrait replied, ever happy to play the Devil's Advocate.
"Better a stranger than a Ministry lackey," another portrait said.
"Is he even qualified to teach Defense Against the Dark Arts?" Phineas countered.
"It's not his qualifications I'm concerned about," Dumbledore said. "He was schooled in America and graduated when he was thirteen. Before applying for the position he took the OWLS and NEWTS, just to clear up any doubts that might surround hiring a young, foreign wizard," Dumbledore continued, "From what the test administrators have told me, he did extremely well. Much better, in fact, than he needed to for me to consider hiring him."
"He graduated at thirteen? What's his alma mater?" Phineas asked.
"The DWMA," Dumbledore said gravely.
A ripple of silent shock made it's way around the room.
"That's not possible. Their graduates never interact with us," Phineas said, shaking his surprise before the other portraits. "We don't even know if that school exists."
It was true. The DWMA was more a rumor than an actual belief. Supposedly, deep in the deserts of Nevada, there was an entire hidden city and school. However, the area surrounding the school was so hard to traverse and the wards around it so strong, that some people believed it might not even exist. But there were whispers, small bits of gossip here and there that spoke of the power the students of the DWMA possessed. That to go against a meister was suicide, that the school was training the next generation of Witch Hunters.
Either way, the mystery combined with the rumors led to all sorts of myths about the DWMA. And, without ever having to prove themselves, a certain amount of prestige attached itself to the school.
Dumbledore didn't buy into the rumors. He doubted that the students there were any more powerful than the average wizard, even if the portion of people who claimed the school existed believed differently.
However, that didn't stop him from being intrigued by someone claiming to have studied there.
"Do you have any proof he's telling the truth?" Phineas asked.
"He has several documents that have lead me to believe him. Recommendations from teachers, and his headmaster, his transcripts, a few projects he did during his time there, things of that nature. He also says that one of his teachers is willing to speak to us to verify his claims."
"The opportunity to make contact with that school is enough incentive to at least consider him for the position," the portrait said after a few moments of thought. "Especially when the alternative is one of Fudge's lapdogs."
"Madam Umbridge teaching here is something we all wish to avoid, but I still find myself hesitant to accept him. He's only seventeen," Dumbledore said. "Technically, he's of age, but only just."
Dumbledore's aged brow furrowed as he continued. "And his timing is too good and his origins too mysterious. He may be a spy for all we know."
"Well, interview him. No matter what you decide to do, talking to him can't do any harm," said an elderly female portrait.
"I suppose you're right," Dumbledore replied.
The room he was staying in was interesting, to say the least. The mirror talked, the fireplace never went out and the jug of water refilled itself every time he emptied it. Wizarding Britain was fascinating, but he wasn't sure he'd ever stay in the Leaky Cauldron again. The room, while comfortable, was a little too musty for his taste. And the pub below his room was even grimier.
Justin stared mournfully at his headphones before placing them in his pocket. Magic and technology didn't mesh. He hadn't been able to listen to his music for weeks. The whole mission was unpleasant though. He couldn't use his head phones, or his dune buggy or a good portion of his abilities (Unfortunately he was limited almost entirely to magic spells. He was only allowed to use his weapon abilities in case of an extreme emergency.), and what power he was allowed had to be channeled through a piece of wood.
He held the stick up in front of him and studied it again, despite the fact that he'd already done so on several occasions.
It was white, straight and measured about 13 inches long. One edge was covered in a slightly more metallic color which gave it an almost bladelike appearance. Connecting the handle to the rest of the wood was the DWMA's logo, Lord Death's mask. From what he understood, wizards and witches had some sort of core in their wands, but his was only a piece of wood.
Apparently the soul of the average witch and wizard was fairly weak so, in order to perform their form of magic, they had to have a source of energy to draw and amplify their wavelengths through - which had definitely made his job easier. Their dependence on their wands had resulted in techniques designed for people with souls so much weaker than his own, that, even though their magic was completely different to the way he normally used his soul to fight, mastering it hadn't taken long.
He did have to use the wand though. While weak, without a certain kind of soul, their magic was impossible to perform. Lord Death had done something to the wand that allowed him to mimic their abilities by channeling his own soul wavelengths into the wood. But, without it, he'd be completely incapable of using their magic.
Also, Lord Death had thought it would help him blend in with the locals.
Lord Death had suggested several other things he could have done to blend in better. But Justin had been reluctant to give up his clothing and, more specifically, his cross. He knew that walking around wearing a large cross with a skull imposed over the middle probably wasn't the best way to remain incognito, but the idea of not carrying it had been alarming to say the least. His whole outfit was a little ostentatious, but the wizards would just have to deal with it.
He pocketed the wand before sitting down on his knees. He wrapped both hands around his cross and bowed his head. A quiet prayer filled the room.
Awhile later, he stood up and brushed a thin layer of dust off his pants. Dirt happened to be another 'perk' of staying in the Leaky Cauldron.
Satisfied with his clothing, he stretched and rolled his shoulders to work out the stiffness that came from sitting on his knees for so long.
The mission involved a lot more waiting than he had expected. He'd taken two tests and then waited several days before he had actually gotten his results back to send with his application, which he'd submitted over a week ago. Overall just to apply for one job, it had taken him about a month of preparation. A week or so to brush up on the culture and magic itself, about a week and a half of taking tests, the next half of the week waiting for his results and a few more days to finalize and send his application. That, plus the past week he'd spent waiting for Dumbledore to get back to him was starting to add up.
It was kind of nice, being able to stay in one place so long. Being the Death Scythe in charge of Europe gave him a lot of responsibility and he usually was forced to remain constantly on the move in order to deal with the corrupted souls that appeared all over his jurisdiction. But, even though he appreciated the break, at the same time, he was getting a little restless. He'd been staying in the same hotel for a month and while exploring Diagon Alley had been interesting, the amount of time he'd wasted was troubling.
Lord Death had told him to completely prioritize his mission so he'd remained in Wizarding Britain as ordered. But being on assignment didn't mean that corrupted humans had stopped appearing. He couldn't help but think that he could have been out disposing of them while he'd been waiting.
The Death Scythe shook his head and mentally scolded himself for such disrespectful thoughts.
(It only took a month and he was already allowing doubt to enter his mind? It wasn't his place to question.)
A few minutes later, Justin finished stretching and moved towards the door. It was about nine in the morning, and breakfast was probably being served in the dining area.
He set his hand on the doorknob when a burst of light filled the room. Reacting almost instantly, he moved away from the door, his arms came up to defend his face, and his knees bent as one of his legs moved back to create a more balanced stance. His eyes scanned the room before landing on his bed.
Sitting on it was a bright, red bird holding a scroll in it's beak. Justin's position relaxed a bit.
"Are you Dumbledore's Phoenix?" he asked.
The bird blinked once before dropping the scroll on the floor. The Death Scythe walked towards it and picked the piece of paper up.
Dear Mr. Law,
After reviewing your application, I'm pleased to say that you are more than qualified to take up the position of Defense Against the Dark Arts. I'm interested in speaking further about your potential employment at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. If it is convenient for you, I would like to schedule an interview at noon tomorrow. I will send a representative from the school, to escort you to Hogwarts, around half past eleven, if you are available.
Headmaster Albus Dumbledore
Order of Merlin, First Class, Supreme Mugwump, International Confed. of Wizards,
Chf. Warlock, Grand Sorc., etc.
Justin read the note before turning to the phoenix. "Can you take a letter back?"
The bird bobbed its head and Justin assumed that meant yes. He walked to the small desk in the corner of the room and penned a quick note.
Dear Headmaster Dumbledore:
Thank you for considering me for a position at Hogwarts. I am available to interview with you tomorrow. Currently, I am staying at the Leaky Cauldron. Unless you had another location in mind, I can meet your representative there.
Justin handed the note to the bird and it disappeared in a flash of fire.
He smiled. Maybe, he'd actually be able to start his mission now.
Soon, Voldemort would be eliminated.
A/N: Justin's character is just fleshed out enough to give you an interesting foundation to work with and from there, pretty much everything is left to personal interpretation. So he's definitely a fun character to write about.
Anyways, apologies for any errors, grammar, cannon or otherwise. Reviews and Comments are always appreciated.