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House has ingrained his magic into his office.
The amount of magic vibrating through the air of the room, and the adjoining conference room brings an air of safety. It’s not something that happened overnight. He’s been working in this room for the better part of a decade, and at some point the little spark of magic inside of his chest bled into the very being of his space. The intentional wards etched into the glass, the salt and spices melted into the carpet for protection, and a row of five plants along his back window of the inner office to make a potion that are mixed seamlessly with the unintentional heavy air of magic that comes from years of a magician calling the same space his own.
No one in the hospital has ever called him on the magic he surrounds his office in, nor the charms House keeps on himself and he forces Wilson to carry. It’s not even like he overdoes it. House was taught young and early that magic is for yourself. It’s personal and familial, and that little spark nested in your chest is solely your own. You don’t talk to other people about their spark, even if you can feel it lick your fingers when you shake their hands. People are afraid of the unknown, most people don’t know about magic and most people don’t know what other people’s magic is capable of. So, House keeps his magic to the minimum, and never on patients; he uses it just enough for him to feel safe, and for his spark to stretch its legs. His office bleeds his magic from years of wards and potions coating every inch. It’s comfortable, and no one has ever asked after it. That’s the way he likes it.
House isn’t sure if that’s because people tend not to ask after magic or that people just don’t know. He doesn’t ask — he won’t. He spent years making this place safe and he doesn’t plan to let anything come in the way of that.
No one has asked House about his magic and he didn’t expect that an interview with a blonde kid straight out of med school to change that.
Normally, he wouldn’t even have let this kid — Dr. Robert Chase, he’d introduced himself as — get this far in the process. He would have been weeded out for being too new, not enough experience, nothing to bring to the table, not qualified enough any of those really, but his dad made a call and House wanted to interview the kid just to prove a point that being a Medical Doctor isn’t an old boys club.
Chase answers the questions Wilson asks, and House sits there rubbing his thigh thinking more about the potion of pain dilution he’s going to make when the young man walks out the door. Chase doesn’t have anything to surprise him.
Wilson asks, “Is there anything else you’d like to know?” and that’s House’s queue to tune back into the conversation.
Chase blinks owlishly at him from across the desk and asks, “Which one of you did the wards on the room?”
Oh, well, that is interesting.
“Wilson, get out.” House says, leaning forward a bit. Dr. Robert Chase does have something worthwhile to bring to his department and it’s something not listed on his CV or anything he’d found in the personal digging he’d done after daddy dearest’s phone call.
“House, I can't…” They share a look and House must have some kind of excitement written on his face because Wilson just sighs, standing and dropping the clipboard with Chase’s CV clipped to it before walking into the conference room with a huff.
“So, how much magic do you know then, Dr. Chase?”
“I mean. Just the basics I guess? Enough to get by.”
House stares. His spark jumps in his chest, pushing to feel a connection with the other magician’s spark. If this kid just knows the basics, his magic, his spark, isn’t that strong. But still useful, a little magic is better than no magic. A little magic means he can still detect wards and curses, and find things that others can’t because they lack the spark inside their chest. House nods.
“Who taught you magic? Daddy Chase?”
House expects a curt nod, or maybe a correction to his mom. He doesn’t expect Chase to open his mouth and say, “I mean, no one really? I just kinda taught myself with stuff I found in books.”
House is surprised but his magic aches. Fathers are meant to teach sons, just as mothers are meant to teach daughters, parents are meant to teach the in between. Not that his father taught him, his father didn’t have magic so it was his mother who taught House the start of what he knew. He taught himself the rest -- just like this kid.
House just stares at him and then stands, clapping his shoulder on Chase’s shoulder. He’s expecting a dull spark, low level magic that barely reaches out to House’s own. House is not expecting the sheer brightness and vibration that rolls off of Chase. This kid never had a teacher and he’s all potential rolled up into a red spark in his chest.
He doesn’t pull his hand back when he says, “I’ll give you the job on one condition.” Chase nods. “I’m gonna teach you how to use that.”
And his spark, from deep within his chest, pokes at Chase’s. The kid doesn’t even know how to stop it. House laughs and pulls away, and Chase deflates a little the way people always do when your spark is poked and prodded by another’s.
“I thought your job was to teach me medicine?”
“Are you taking the job or not?”
“I… Yeah, of course, just… I don’t understand?” House doesn’t either. Chase isn’t his son, and he’s certainly not a parent. He doesn’t have any obligations to teach this fresh out of med school Aussie anything other than the medical knowledge he’s looking for. He has zero requirement to even acknowledge Chase’s inquiry into his spark. Yet he does.
It’s interesting. Interesting is often worthwhile. It’s a puzzle. How much can a magician learn if they don’t learn as a child? What does this kid already know, what doesn’t he know that it should? House can’t turn down a puzzle. Not one that benefits himself in ways that only another magician can.
“You’ll start Monday. Wilson will set you up with the paperwork.” He bangs his cane on the glass to the conference room to get the oncologist's attention. “We’ll talk about magic training once you start.”
And he’s out the door.