Dumbledore looks up from the chess pieces, who have grouped themselves in their sets along the sides of the board, and almost look to be exchanging their opinions of the game.
"It's a fairly simple enchantment," he says.
Always strange to remember that Muggle chess sets are thoroughly lifeless.
"Or if not a simple one, then one that is fairly routine."
Wizarding game makers have been casting it on sets for centuries.
"I couldn't say, I'm afraid," Dumbledore says, folding his hands. "Magic from my own world is quite enough to be keeping up with, most days. But it does sound like it's something similar."
Jack glances over and sees the older man siting alone in front of the chessboard. At first he thinks the man's playing against himself, but then he sees the pieces move.
Even after this long in Milliways, it's the sort of thing that surprises him. In this case it's enough to make him stare without realizing just what he's doing.
"Sorry, I've never seen a chess set where the pieces moved on their own before. You mean they can learn the game themselves?" he says, watching as the pieces seem to gesture to one another. As though they're figuring out who made a bad move in the game.
"Some of the old ones are still polite about taking direction from the players. But others?"
"A dear friend of mine has a set that's four hundred and some odd years old. The pieces have been played with so often in that time, they know more about strategy than most anyone who plays. They're quite argumentative."
"He doesn't play with the set at all anymore. But it makes quite an interesting conversation piece."
Ginny sits back and watches him play, She's never been very good at it she will admit to that. But she does watching the pieces move. It should be noted she doesn't seemed shocked the pieces moved.
They game having reached its conclusion, they have sorted themselves into their respective sides, and seem to be, for all the world, going through a debriefing.
There's a boy sitting at a table, not exactly hidden from view.
He ... appears to be staring at Dumbledore.
His stare may resemble a deer's in headlights.
His hand, poised with his now dripping quill, has caused a rather large blot of black ink to ruin the first part of his essay on the Abuse and Rights of Giants in the 15th Century.
When he realizes that, he's set about to hastily tidying up the mess - which only means Albus, clumsy as he can be, knocks over the entire bottle of ink to the floor.
It lands with a resounding crash.
Merlin's beard, please don't let him see me, is all Albus can think.
"Ah, yes. A fascinating race. I fear wizarding kind is all too quick to relegate them to brute status."
Dumbledore nods, seemingly in approval at the way the boy has cleared the ink.
"I don't recognize you," he says, conversationally.
"I know all of my students, past and current. The benefit of a prodigious memory." And a finite pool of witches and wizards. "So, I would imagine that from the step on which I stand on Time's staircase, you are some ways ahead of me."
"I suppose distant past is a possibility as well."
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While he's eating his dinner, he notices Dumbledore and comes over to watch the game, "What's moving them?"
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"It's a fairly simple enchantment," he says.
Always strange to remember that Muggle chess sets are thoroughly lifeless.
"Or if not a simple one, then one that is fairly routine."
Wizarding game makers have been casting it on sets for centuries.
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The Old Kingdom has magic, but Sam's never seen a charm quite like this one.
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"Sameth, is it not?"
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Even after this long in Milliways, it's the sort of thing that surprises him. In this case it's enough to make him stare without realizing just what he's doing.
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"They are quite experienced, this set," he says, nodding at the black and white pieces.
The game concluded, the pieces are gathered on either side of the board, and look for all the world as if they are going through debriefing.
"A few more decades, and they may not even need to be told what to do at all. Older sets have something of a habit of developing minds of their own."
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"Sorry, I've never seen a chess set where the pieces moved on their own before. You mean they can learn the game themselves?" he says, watching as the pieces seem to gesture to one another. As though they're figuring out who made a bad move in the game.
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"Some of the old ones are still polite about taking direction from the players. But others?"
"A dear friend of mine has a set that's four hundred and some odd years old. The pieces have been played with so often in that time, they know more about strategy than most anyone who plays. They're quite argumentative."
"He doesn't play with the set at all anymore. But it makes quite an interesting conversation piece."
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"Thank you," he says with a nod.
"They are indeed pleasant to pass an evening with."
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"Very much so," he says, matter-of-factly.
"Of course, I have the benefit of many decades of practice."
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They game having reached its conclusion, they have sorted themselves into their respective sides, and seem to be, for all the world, going through a debriefing.
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She asks softly she could recognize him even with the age difference.
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"Black this time."
Dumbledore glances up with a slight smile.
"If you're asking which player, I'm afraid it's just me."
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He ... appears to be staring at Dumbledore.
His stare may resemble a deer's in headlights.
His hand, poised with his now dripping quill, has caused a rather large blot of black ink to ruin the first part of his essay on the Abuse and Rights of Giants in the 15th Century.
When he realizes that, he's set about to hastily tidying up the mess - which only means Albus, clumsy as he can be, knocks over the entire bottle of ink to the floor.
It lands with a resounding crash.
Merlin's beard, please don't let him see me, is all Albus can think.
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The crash, and its cause, catch Dumbledore's attention. He raises his head.
And offers a kind smile.
"It must be quite an essay. To cause such an abundance of excitment."
A Hogwarts student, no doubt about it. But not one that he recognizes.
One of the ones from a different step in time, then.
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Albus quickly grabs his wand, points it at the floor and mumbles 'Scourgify'.
Thankfully, the floor looks good as new.
And then he knows he ... has to face Dumbledore now.
Nervously, he glances at him again and nods.
"Erm. Yeah. I - I mean, it's just ... it's about Giants."
(... very articulate, Albus. Brilliant job, that.)
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Dumbledore nods, seemingly in approval at the way the boy has cleared the ink.
"I don't recognize you," he says, conversationally.
"I know all of my students, past and current. The benefit of a prodigious memory." And a finite pool of witches and wizards. "So, I would imagine that from the step on which I stand on Time's staircase, you are some ways ahead of me."
"I suppose distant past is a possibility as well."
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