back to hogwarts
In the illustrious annals of magical education, Hogwarts stands as a beacon of excellence, having nurtured countless wizards of renown over its millennia-long history. Among its distinguished alumni, two names resonate most profoundly in today's wizarding world: Dumbledore and Voldemort. One draped in black robes, the other in white, both products of Hogwarts' hallowed halls.
After a brief respite at home, Ciaran prepared for his journey. Donning a pristine wizard robe, he embarked from his abode with determination. With a handful of floo powder, he stepped into the flickering flames, enunciating clearly, "Hogwarts."
Having received Professor Dumbledore's prompt reply, Ciaran found himself with a scheduled interview. Thanks to the interconnectedness of the Floo network between his home and Hogwarts, communication was seamless. It was a convenience that expedited his journey to the school.
"Mr Frémont, watch the dust," admonished a stern voice, unmistakably Professor McGonagall's.
"Good morning, Professor McGonagall."
The stern witch, perpetually more severe than her voice implied, sat behind her desk, absorbed in the latest edition of the Daily Prophet, her square glasses perched atop her nose.
Like Dumbledore, McGonagall often spent summers at Hogwarts while her colleagues departed for vacation.
Aside from her role as Transfiguration professor, McGonagall also served as Gryffindor House Dean, earning deep respect and affection from students. Though Frémont held her in high regard during his Hogwarts years, now, eight years after graduation, his sentiment had deepened to profound respect.
"Off you go, Ciaran. I'm sure you remember the way to the headmaster's office; no need for an escort," McGonagall encouraged, her smile warm. "But if you need me, I'm happy to accompany you."
"The password is swizzle guzzlers," McGonagall reminded him. "Good luck, Frémont."
Navigating to the eighth floor, Ciaran approached the stone gargoyle guarding Dumbledore's office.
"Swizzle guzzlers," he declared.
The gargoyle shifted aside, unveiling a spiral staircase. As Frémont ascended, the murmurs emanating from the office intensified.
Knocking on the door, Frémont heard Dumbledore's familiar voice granting him entry.
"Good morning, Professor Dumbledore," Frémont greeted upon entering.
The circular office boasted intricate silverware and portraits of past headmasters, some appearing to doze while others observed with half-open eyes, as though awaiting their turn to converse with Dumbledore.
"Ah, good morning, Ciaran. How does it feel to return to Hogwarts after eight years? I can imagine it's quite the experience," Dumbledore greeted cheerily.
"Yes, Professor," Ciaran replied, facing the most esteemed white wizard in the wizarding world. Despite Dumbledore's genial demeanour, Ciaran couldn't shake a slight sense of unease, perhaps mere psychological residue.
However, he detected a faint snicker from one of the portraits on the wall.
"Don't be nervous, Ciaran," Dumbledore reassured. "Shall we delve into the intricacies of the combat class?"
"Of course, sir," Ciaran replied, taking a moment to compose himself. He realized his apprehension stemmed not from the interview but from Dumbledore's formidable reputation. Despite having studied at Hogwarts for seven years and interacting with Dumbledore multiple times, their relationship had shifted from teacher-student to potential colleagues. Ciaran trusted Dumbledore's unwavering commitment to his students, even as an orphan associated with the Order of the Phoenix.
"A Hufflepuff student, I see..." A previously dormant wizard stirred, his goatee lending him a scholarly air. Clad in silver and green Slytherin attire, he settled back into slumber after a brief grunt.
Ciaran glanced at the portrait of Phineas Black, former headmaster of Hogwarts and a member of the esteemed pure-blood Black family, known also as the great-great-grandfather of Harry's godfather, Sirius Black, who remained incarcerated in Azkaban.
Ignoring Phineas' interruption, Dumbledore continued, "Ciaran, having graduated from Hogwarts, you must have insights on the combat class, considering it didn't exist during your tenure."
Ciaran chuckled nervously. "Professor, with all due respect, the Defence Against the Dark Arts position... as you know, it's been rather precarious."
Dumbledore nodded knowingly. "Indeed, I am aware. I once declined He who shall Not Be Named's request for the position..."
A glint flickered in Dumbledore's blue eyes at the mention of that person. Ciaran remained composed, unfazed by the rare lack of fear in the wizarding world.
Admiring Ciaran's resilience, Dumbledore continued, "He who shall not be named cursed the position, ensuring no professor served for more than a year. For decades, I've struggled to find suitable candidates."
With the interview underway, Ciaran shared his insights, navigating the discussion with cautious optimism, knowing that his experience and perspective could potentially shape the future of Hogwarts' curriculum.
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