Plan A
Merlin had kept his head down in the year after the World Cup. No matter how many times he went through it, reinserting himself into the Wizarding World never ceased to be a hassle; coming up with a convincing story about where he had been, who he was, then reaching out to old contacts so that they could confirm a fake backstory, crafting what skillset he’d show off, and finally earning the trust of new acquaintances so that he could actually help with whatever the newest crisis was. It was even harder this time thanks to his carelessness during the World Cup (not that he regretted helping Winky) which would need to fit into his story too.
Frankly, it was exhausting. Sygni was a godsend during the year, providing much needed relief from monitoring the wizarding world and catching up on everything he had missed over the decades he’d spent first travelling and then in Romania with their kin.
Most of the time, he used scrying to keep an eye on things, the art Nimueh had used to watch them all in Camelot. Unfortunately, her ability to do so had always creeped him out and so he had warded Hogwarts against it, which in hindsight had been a bad decision. He was the only one left who remembered such things, after all.
He’d watched, mostly powerless, as Harry Potter was forced into the Triwizard Tournament, though when he’d heard from his Romanian friends that the first task was involving dragons (and he’d had what equated to a magical temper tantrum at that, considering how monumentally stupid it was to make schoolchildren steal from nesting mothers) he had taken the time to Command the dragons not to kill any children during the tasks.
He hadn’t been able to make the Command anything more specific because he didn’t want their odd behaviour noted, and it would feel a lot like an abuse of his Dragonlord powers to take away their ability to defend themselves. Most of the time, he agreed that people stupid enough to get close to dragons deserved whatever they got, but it really wasn’t the kids’ fault that their Ministries were a bunch of buffoons.
One thing he had learned over the year, however, was that things always seemed to happen at Hogwarts. He could recognise Destiny’s hand when he saw it; whether they liked it or not, events were revolving around Harry Potter, and that meant Hogwarts. It also meant that Merlin had had a year to think up how he was going to find a way to get involved without causing suspicion, because from what he’d seen of Dumbledore the man was brilliant, if a little batty. It was good for the war effort but bad for Merlin, who had never yet gotten out of the habit of keeping secrets.
Albus Dumbledore seemed to be the kind of person who was devoted to learning as many secrets as possible whilst keeping so many of his own that it was a wonder he was able to speak without tying his tongue in knots. He gave out information in minuscule crumbs, and that was an approach that long experience had taught Merlin never worked out in the end.
There was no way he was de-aging himself to become a student; he was not going to give the ‘adults’ an excuse to keep information from him, and magic came so instinctually to him it was sometimes problematic for him to remember that other people struggled with spells he saw as basic.
In the end, he’d decided on a cover story that he’d come to England in the hopes of becoming a teacher at Hogwarts and had sent an owl to the headmaster accordingly. From his scrying (spying) he knew that not only was the Defence position semi-permenantly available but also that Hagrid, their Care of Magical Creatures teacher and Dumbledore’s man through and through, had been sent on some kind of mission and wouldn’t be back for the start of term.
If he didn’t take the bait (not that Merlin didn’t expect him to; the lure of an unknown wizard would probably convince the wily old man to attempt to keep him close rather than anything else), Merlin would go with Plan B and make enough of a nuisance of himself that the Death Eaters would try and assassinate him, and thereby coax the Order out of hiding in an attempt to protect a ‘civilian’.
But that was a flimsy plan at best, and he was grateful when it turned out that he wouldn’t have to use it.
***
Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore was sat in his office when the bird came.
And it was a bird, and not an owl, which was what originally caught his attention. He had heard that other countries occasionally used less conspicuous birds to communicate but had never received one himself. Nor was the falcon currently perched on his window particularly inconspicuous.
It was a beautiful bird, with sleek, dark plumage and a white speckled breast, and as soon as he opened the window it hopped inside and fluttered straight over to Fawkes.
His phoenix, resplendent in the prime of his current lifetime, cooed softly and began to chirp at it, looking for all the world as if the two were engaged in conversation. He chuckled softly as both birds puffed up their feathers and began to preen, as if competing to see who could look more presentable.
At the sound, the visiting falcon looked up, a fierce intelligence in its golden eyes, and presented him with a letter.
With Voldemort’s return still fresh in his mind, Albus carefully cast several diagnostic spells over the thick parchment. The bird precked indignantly, as if insulted, and he gave it a surprised look. Bonds with wizards could improve an animal’s intelligence – he’d seen it more than once, most recently with dear Harry and Hedwig – but it was a reasonably rare phenomena that required a great deal of power on behalf of the wizard.
Albus prided himself on knowing all the ins and outs of Wizarding Britain, which made it all the more strange that he had no idea who would have sent him a falcon of all things. Nor did he recognise the handwriting on the outside of the letter, which was addressed in perfect calligraphy.
It suggested a pureblood upbringing, but Albus knew all of the prominent purebloods and had taught most of them. He knew that none of them had writing quite like that, and furthermore he had never met a British wizard who did not use an owl.
Eyes twinkling curiously, he brushed a hand down the falcon’s smooth feathers. The texture was strange under his fingertips, but he could not discern why that might be. “Apologies, my friend,” he told it gently. “Can’t be too careful in these times.”
Mollified, the bird again offered the letter, and this time he carefully detached it and took it back to the desk with him. The falcon made no move to leave, which suggested that the owner wanted a reply.
Mysteries were few and far between at his age, especially harmless ones, and Albus took a few moments to enjoy the suspense before he carefully opened the letter.
Dear Headmaster Albus Dumbledore, it read in the same elegant calligraphy.
My name is Emrys and I am writing to enquire about any available teaching posts at your school, Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry.
Having recently moved to England, I find myself in need of employment as I currently spend far too much time by myself, and I can think of no place I would rather do this than your esteemed establishment. I have always enjoyed educating others in the wonders of magic and have had the honour of teaching several promising apprentices during my travels in France and Romania, but as I intend to stay in the United Kingdom for the foreseeable future I would prefer something a little more robust. I have hopes that a position at your honourable institution will allow me to re-familiarise myself with English culture again after spending over a decade abroad.
I am experienced in several magical fields, but most prominently amongst them History, which has always fascinated me, and Care of Magical Creatures, due to spending several years at a dragon sanctuary, however my travels have educated me in most magical areas and I would be interested to hear in any vacancies that you might have.
I have attached a brief resume, and am at your disposal should you wish to meet the strange person sending you a letter out of the blue.
I look forward to your prompt reply, and may Magic bless you.
Sincerely Yours
Aquila Emrys
Well. That was a surprise. It wasn’t often that Albus got letters from prospective teachers that didn’t seem to care what they taught; Emrys hadn’t even explicitly excluded Defence Against the Dark Arts and no one wanted that job.
Then again, if he was new to England then perhaps he didn’t know about the curse yet. Albus just wished he could take advantage of it. Unfortunately the Ministry had already stepped in and demanded that he hire Delores Umbridge, no matter how unqualified the woman was for the post or how he hated having to allow someone with her reputation into the school.
This might be the very first time Albus had received a letter like it, in fact, but perhaps that was only because there were very few witches and wizards who moved to Britain and even fewer were interested in teaching. Especially because they only had one magic school here, and most of the positions were already filled.
Other than Defence, of course.
Curious about this mysterious person who seemed to have come out of nowhere – magical immigrants were relatively rare, and had he still been in favour with the Ministry then Albus would have heard about him long before now –the headmaster turned the letter over to find the list of achievements Emrys was claiming.
The parchment was surprisingly thick and high quality; like the calligraphy, it suggested a pureblood upbringing. But there was no House of Emrys that Albus had ever heard of – then again, he had implied that he was foreign. Such idle speculation was almost forgot, however, when Albus actually looked at the full list.
As Emrys had mentioned in the letter, there were several years at a dragon reserve listed, along with a reference to back it up, and the names of several wizards he vaguely recognised as up-and-coming talents from around a decade ago, when the writer claimed to have left England. There were several other exotic-sounding activities listed, including studying with a hidden order of monks known to be very reclusive and spending half a year with a Veela colony in France, but most intriguing were the examination grades listed.
Despite Emrys having apparently spent a great deal of his life abroad, the grades were familiar – NEWTs. And more of them than Albus had ever expected. There were no OWLs listed, and he did not remember an Emrys ever attending Hogwarts, so presumably he had taken the exams at the Ministry and done very well for himself.
Ancient Runes – O
Arithmancy – O
Astronomy – E
Care of Magical Creatures – O
Defence Against the Dark Arts – O
Herbology – O
History of Magic – O
Potions – O
Transfiguration - O
Nine NEWTs; very few people ever managed that many. And eight of them Os, too. Briefly, Albus touched his wand to the embellished M embossed into the parchment, which flickered briefly into full golden colour. The seal verified the document; the scores were real.
Looking at the O in Defence, Albus sighed regretfully. If only Aquila Emrys had contacted him sooner, he might have been able to avoid the Ministry’s interference. Then again, with how unreasonable Cornelius was being at the moment, perhaps it was better that his chosen teacher would be in a cursed position and therefore guaranteed to be gone by the end of the year.
With scores like those added to the experience quoted beforehand, it could only be that Emrys was a rarely gifted wizard. It made Albus uneasy to have a new player added to the game so late; he had never heard of an Aquila Emrys and had no idea if he might sympathise with Tom or not. The tone of his letter suggested a friendly young man, though he had no way of gaging Emrys’s age, and Albus looked over at Fawkes as he thought deeply.
“What do you think, old friend?” he murmured. “A letter like this out of the blue… a chance to gain another ally, perhaps, or at worst keep an eye on an unknown?”
The phoenix let out a gentle croon, lifting his spirits and cementing his decision. If Emrys was anywhere near as strong as his achievements suggested, then he would be a valuable person to keep an eye on. Whatever he was like, there was no excuse for not meeting him, and he did need another Care of Magical Creatures professor to cover for Hagrid…
Unbidden, his eyes slid to where Wilhemina’s letter blinked innocently up at him. Whilst Hagrid’s predecessor had said that she supposed she could come if there was absolutely no one else, it was clear that she did not want to return to Hogwarts. Considering her numerous scars, Albus could not blame her, and he knew that the students would fare far better with a teacher who actually wanted the position.
As long as he was capable. But from the letter, that would be the least of Albus’s problems.
Abruptly making up his mind, Albus dipped his fanciest quill (a feather gifted from his fiery companion) into the vibrant green ink he used for all official Hogwarts correspondence (an old man was allowed his eccentricities, was he not?) and began to pen his reply.
Dear Mr Emrys
I was delighted to receive your letter regarding a possible teaching position at Hogwarts. It is always a pleasure to find others committed to the education of young witches and wizards and your resume is most impressive.
If it is convenient, I would be pleased to interview you at Hogwarts on Monday morning at ten am. Please acknowledge no later than Friday evening if this is amenable to you.
Awaiting your falcon
Albus Dumbledore
Headmaster of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry
As soon as he set down the pen, the falcon fluttered over to the desk and obligingly held out its leg. Fawkes watching him go with a strange look in his deep eyes, and Albus reached over to pet him. “Not jealous, are you?” he jibed gently, glad for the one being that he didn’t have to keep up his normal near-omniscient persona for.
The phoenix just pressed further into his hand, sending the falcon a smug look. Albus could have sworn that the other bird rolled its eyes.
Giving up on securing the letter one-handed, the headmaster finally traced his wand in a complicated movement that tied it to the leg whilst ensuring it wouldn’t hinder the falcon in any way. The bird gave a grateful chirp and then turned his back very deliberately at the phoenix, wringing a muted chuckle from the elderly headmaster, before finally taking to the air and vanishing through the window.
If the falcon’s behaviour was any reflection of its master, then the coming meeting was sure to be interesting.