"Wes, go in. Headmaster Dumbledore is waiting for you," Professor McGonagall said, her voice brisk but not unkind. "I have other matters to attend to, so I'll take my leave."
"Thank you, Professor McGonagall. If I have time, I would love to ask you about Transfiguration. Your latest paper was truly remarkable—it gave me a lot to think about."
A flicker of surprise crossed her stern face, but it was quickly replaced with a small nod of approval. "I appreciate that, Mr. Irwin. We shall see."
With that, she turned and strode away, her robes billowing slightly as she disappeared down the corridor.
Wes took a deep breath, his fingers curling into fists for a brief moment before he forced them to relax. His heart pounded in his chest as he reached for the door handle. The weight of what lay beyond made his palms feel clammy.
The office was just as he had imagined—no, more than that. It was breathtaking.
The room was vast, circular, and lined with the portraits of past headmasters and headmistresses. Each slumbered peacefully in their frames, some snoring lightly, others shifting as if merely pretending to sleep. Their presence gave the room a quiet, watchful energy, as though the weight of Hogwarts' history pressed down upon him.
Wes's eyes wandered over the shelves filled with ancient tomes, over the gleaming silver instruments humming with soft, unfamiliar magic. The scent of parchment, candle wax, and something faintly floral filled the air. But something was missing.
Fawkes.
Dumbledore's famed phoenix was nowhere to be seen. Wes had hoped for a glimpse of the magnificent bird, but the perch by the desk stood empty.
However, what truly caught him off guard wasn't Fawkes' absence—but the presence of someone else.
Severus Snape.
The air seemed to chill slightly as Wes's gaze landed on the professor standing near the desk, his arms folded, his expression unreadable. The black robes, the ever-present sneer—it was exactly as he remembered from his student days.
Suppressing the nervous flutter in his stomach, Wes stepped forward and offered a respectful nod. "I apologize for keeping you waiting."
Dumbledore, seated behind his grand desk, smiled warmly. His half-moon spectacles slid slightly down his nose as he gestured to the chair opposite him. "Mr. Irwin, you are right on time."
Snape made a soft, derisive noise—barely more than an exhale—but said nothing.
Dumbledore's blue eyes twinkled with amusement as he laced his fingers together. "If you are ready, we shall begin the interview without delay. As you can imagine, the responsibilities of a headmaster are numerous, and my time is not as flexible as it once was." He added a slight, mischievous wink.
Wes couldn't help but smile, though it quickly faded when Snape let out a quiet scoff.
"Pay no mind to Professor Snape," Dumbledore continued lightly. "He is merely here to observe."
Wes inclined his head. "Understood, Headmaster. I'm ready."
Dumbledore's expression grew more serious. "Some of my questions may touch on personal matters. I ask only for honesty."
"No problem."
Dumbledore leaned back slightly. "Very well. Mr. Irwin, tell me—why do you wish to apply for this position? You must be aware that the salary for this role is... modest, to say the least. Certainly not enough to afford the robes you're wearing now."
Wes's fingers twitched slightly against his knee. He had anticipated this question, but answering it in front of both Dumbledore and Snape was another matter entirely.
Lying was pointless. Not in front of two of the most skilled Legilimens in the wizarding world.
_(Legilimency is the ability to access another person's mind and thoughts._)
He inhaled slowly. "My reason is simple—I want to return to Hogwarts."
Dumbledore arched a brow, motioning for him to continue.
"After graduation, I embarked on a series of adventures. Some were enlightening, some were... less so. Through it all, I realized something—what I learned here, at Hogwarts, was only the surface of magic's true depth. Out there, the world is relentless. Dangerous. There are no professors to guide you, no structured lessons to ensure you understand. Knowledge is hoarded, sold, or buried beneath centuries of secrecy."
He paused, steadying his breath. "I reached a point where I could go no further alone. I need access to Hogwarts' library—Europe's largest repository of magical knowledge. I need to learn, to break through the barriers I've encountered in my research. Teaching here allows me to do that."
A heavy silence followed his words.
Snape was the one to break it.
"So you are willing to take enormous risks—facing dark wizards, defying the law, and delving into dangerous ruins—all in pursuit of knowledge?"
His voice was cool, detached, but there was something else beneath it. Suspicion, perhaps.
Wes met his gaze steadily. "Yes."
Another pause. Snape's black eyes searched his, sharp and piercing. Then, without another word, he looked away.
Dumbledore adjusted his glasses, his expression unreadable. "You are honest, Mr. Irwin. That is something I appreciate. However, I must admit—I have heard troubling rumors about you. Rumors that, if proven true, would land you in Azkaban."
Wes clenched his jaw. He could feel his pulse hammering in his throat, but he refused to let the fear show.
"The Ministry of Magic," he said, his voice firm, "is just a pile of shit in my opinion."
Dumbledore's eyebrows lifted slightly. Even Snape looked at him with renewed interest.
"Those people," Wes continued, his voice gaining heat, "are no longer worthy of being called wizards. They cower behind bureaucracy, enforcing outdated rules while real threats grow in the shadows."
A beat of silence passed before Dumbledore chuckled softly. "My, my. Such passion. You know, last year, I very nearly became Minister of Magic."
Wes snorted. "Impossible."
"Oh?" Dumbledore tilted his head.
"Truly wise wizards stay far away from politics," Wes said firmly. "Politics is a cesspool. It corrupts even the strongest souls."
Dumbledore smiled, a glimmer of something like admiration in his eyes. "Ah. An insightful perspective, indeed. It took me decades to understand that truth, yet here you are, grasping it at your age."
Wes hesitated, then shrugged. "Perhaps it's because I wasn't raised in the wizarding world. Magic is... a miracle to me. It changed my destiny."
For the first time, Dumbledore's expression flickered into something more somber. "Destiny..." he murmured, almost to himself.
Then, after a moment, he straightened. "One final question, Mr. Irwin. Do you know the Dark Lord?"
Wes blinked. "You mean Voldemort?"
The name hung in the air like a ghost.
Snape flinched. It was small, almost imperceptible, but Wes caught it.
Dumbledore, however, remained unfazed. "Aren't you afraid to speak his name?"
Wes shrugged. "Why should I be afraid of a man who already lost?"
Snape's reaction was more obvious this time—a sharp glance in Wes's direction.
Dumbledore smiled. "Your courage is admirable, Mr. Irwin. It has been nearly eleven years, yet few dare to say his name aloud."
Wes simply shrugged again. "Maybe that's just my Muggle upbringing."
Dumbledore regarded him for a long moment before finally nodding. "You are hired, Mr. Irwin."
Relief and excitement surged through Wes as he grasped Dumbledore's hand. "Thank you, Headmaster. I promise I'll do my best."
"Good. Because Magic Patterns is not a particularly popular subject. Your salary—"
"I don't care about the salary."
Dumbledore chuckled. "That much is clear."
As Wes left, the room fell silent.
Snape exhaled slowly. "He is dangerous."
Dumbledore's gaze remained on the door. "No, Severus. He is pure. And that, perhaps, makes him more dangerous than any of us realize."
Snape's fingers brushed against the Dark Mark on his forearm, an unconscious habit born of years of vigilance.
"He has no fear of the Dark Lord," he murmured, his voice low and thoughtful. "And my Mark remains silent. He is definitely not a Death Eater."
Dumbledore leaned back slightly, his gaze distant yet sharp. "Then we must find a way to bring him to our side, Severus. My time is running out, and Tom's return is inevitable. We need all the power we can gather."
A heavy silence fell over the room.
Snape stood abruptly, his robes rustling with the movement. As he turned toward the door, he cast one last glance at Dumbledore.
"I hope your judgment is correct."
With that, he swept out of the office, leaving Dumbledore alone with his thoughts.