Chapter 18: Meeting Dumbledore

"I thought you'd come to Hogwarts earlier, Sherlock." remarked Albus Dumbledore; the genial Headmaster was deceptively non-threatening as he made his observation.

"Please, have a seat next to me. Your introduction to the students is imminent," Dumbledore said, inviting Sherlock to a spot on his left. Sherlock joined him, promptly explaining the reason for his delay. "I held off on my arrival to perfect my lesson plans at my home, Headmaster."

Sherlock found himself face to face with the man known to be the greatest white wizard of the 20th century, his respect for Dumbledore evident as his words carried a warmth that they rarely did with others.

Dumbledore appeared pleased with this justification, warmly responding, "Such diligence can only ensure a smooth transition into your new role."

Throughout this exchange, the new first year students were crossing the vast lake that led to Hogwarts, their faces filled with wonder and anticipation. The Great Hall was beginning to hum with animated discussions from the older students, sharing tales of their summer holidays. Even the faculty members were having their fun, chatting amongst each other and with students before the official commencement of the Sorting ceremony.

With crystal clear blue eyes focused on Sherlock, Dumbledore said, "I initially had reservations about you becoming a professor, Sherlock."

It was Sherlock's turn to listen actively, his gaze betraying the intent concentration as though ready to internalize a profound lesson. "During your previous visit to Hogwarts, when you applied for a teaching post, I told you that your problem wasn't the insufficient knowledge of magic, but your apparent lack of an adult wizard's heart."

"Without a steadfast heart, even the strongest of magic can be rendered futile, like a hollow shell with no substance within. Thus, I hesitated to entrust you with a professor's responsibilities."

However, circumstances forced Dumbledore to reconsider. Gilderoy Lockhart, the overambitious yet incompetent Defense Against Dark Arts teacher, had landed in trouble forcing Dumbledore to contemplate alternative choices.

"Everyone tends to view me as infallible. Yet, I am not without my own errors, especially when it comes to picking the staff," Dumbledore confessed, interlocking his hands on the table, embodying an air of non-imposition. His tone held its usual gentleness as he continued, "I can acknowledge that perhaps I judged you too harshly. Power can be honed, but to strengthen one's heart requires more than just words."

"So, I've decided to provide you with an opportunity. However, The contract letter that Professor Minerva McGonagall sent you lacks full disclosure." It wasn't long before Dumbledore revealed his true intentions. "Hogwarts is offering you the position of Defense Against Dark Arts professor for the span of this year only—a probationary period. You will have a year to prove your worth, and if your performance doesn't measure up, your contract may not be extended."

Sherlock's mind had been wandering off for a while now, but these words sparked his attention. And within his turmoil, he managed to find humor – given the apparent curse plaguing the position of Defense Against the Dark Arts professor, was it even possible for anyone to remain in that role beyond the first year?

His intentions were purely survivalist; keeping alive for the entire year seemed like a great achievement. And yet, Dumbledore was considering a possible contract termination if he deemed Sherlock unfit. The thought was almost ridiculously ironic—was he anticipating a ghost sitting out his second year post-mortem? But such thoughts would remain unspoken; Dumbledore couldn't possibly be expected to fathom Sherlock's whirlwind of musings.

"I won't let you down, Headmaster. I am confident that by this time next year I will have signed a permanent contract." Sherlock asserted, meeting Dumbledore's with an earnest and sincere gaze.

Dumbledore's focus was soon distracted by the arrival of the freshman students, led by Professor McGonagall for the Sorting Ceremony. He responded, "I hope that by this time next year, Sherlock, you'll be able to tell me that you haven't let yourself down."

As the Sorting Ceremony began and the crowd hushed to listen to the musical strains of the Sorting Hat's annual ditty, Sherlock reflected. His first official interaction with Dumbledore, he believed, had ended on a decidedly promising note. Despite the brief exchange, the old man seemed decent enough. Sherlock still wasn't sure whether Dumbledore was sincerely good or if he was a shrewd and cunning man, as the movie reviewers perpetuated.

Even then surely he couldn't be delving into the thoughts of everyone he conversed with at all times, right? During their conversation, Sherlock didn't sense any discomfort in his body. He genuinely believed and hoped that nothing strange had happened and that his mind had not been read.

Right as the first name was being called for Sorting, a sullen figure stalking out of the Great Hall drew Sherlock's attention. His slick, greasy hair and dark robes gave the impression of a giant bat as he shuffled out, his gloomy face as pale as death.

Their eyes briefly locked as Snape passed by him, his orbs devoid of any liveliness, mirroring the ominous gloom that his whole persona exuded. This had to be Severus Snape, the enigmatic potions master—an uncertainty in the grand storyline. Though momentarily intrigued, Sherlock dismissed the speculation and decided to maintain a studied distance from Snape during his time at Hogwarts.

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The Sorting Ceremony adjourned and the start-of-term feast was announced.

Snape returned to the Great Hall, seeming hesitant yet hurried. Several hushed words were exchanged with Dumbledore and McGonagall—Sherlock heard murmurings of surnames—"Potter" and "Weasley." At the mention of those names, McGonagall's face turned a shade of pale blue, her anger barely concealed as she stormed to a tiny room adjacent to the Great Hall.

Dumbledore followed a moment later, his previous joviality completely replaced by an unsettling solemnity. Sherlock's perceptive nature allowed him to guess that the serious turn of events was likely linked to the infamous flying car incident involving Harry Potter and his friend Ron Weasley.

In spite of the escalating tension in the room, Sherlock chose to engage himself in a light-hearted chat with the Charms professor, Filius Flitwick.