Hogwarts: Homecoming

Chapter 6: The Interview (Part Two)

The extreme cold had frozen the great Black Lake into a solid sheet of ice. In the dim light, it was the Forbidden Forest, swaying in the biting wind, that looked more like a shimmering, rippling lake.

"Before Easter last year, I recall you wrote to tell me you were exploring the ruins of an ancient Greek wizard in Greece. You also mailed me five pints of dragon's blood and forty ounces of dragon liver."

Amos and Snape walked side-by-side towards the castle perched on the cliff's edge. As they passed the three tall goalposts at the side of the Quidditch pitch, Amos's gaze drifted towards the flickering firelight in Hagrid's hut. Seizing the moment, Snape studied the young man beside him, whose features had grown deeper and more defined in the three and a half years since his graduation. Snape's voice was heavy with an unreadable meaning.

"But then, the Daily Prophet published an interesting little piece. The Norwegian Ministry of Magic stated that someone had illegally entered their dragon reserve, stolen a priceless Norwegian Ridgeback egg, and, in front of two Muggles who had wandered into the reserve, slaughtered a Norwegian dragon. Amos, I trust the two events are entirely unrelated?"

"What do you think, Professor?" Amos pulled his gaze back from the distant hut and looked up towards the castle towers, towards the one room that was lit among a row of dark windows. He smiled. "Or rather, what kind of answer are you hoping to get from me?"

The corner of Snape's mouth lifted into his customary sneer, but the words died on his lips as he had a sudden realization. The young man beside him was no longer the poor-born student who disliked deep connections with his classmates and preferred to immerse himself in his own world. He had quickly grown into a wizard that even he found somewhat difficult to see through.

"It doesn't matter to me, Amos. I merely wished to remind you." The warm reunion Dumbledore might have envisioned between this teacher and student failed to materialize. Snape lowered his head and quickened his pace towards the castle. "I hope you know what you are doing. And I hope you know that this school is not as peaceful as it appears on the surface—especially these past few years, Amos. If your old habit of keeping a low profile hasn't changed, then I suggest you maintain it. Particularly in front of Dumbledore."

"And finally," Snape added, his voice low, "my advice is to leave this place as soon as possible. Leave the British wizarding world entirely. Wait until the dust settles before you return... if your head is as sharp as it used to be, you'll understand what I'm saying."

Perhaps due to the frequency of its movements tonight, the stone gargoyle guarding the office door bared its teeth in a subtle show of displeasure as it leaped aside.

"Thank you for the warning, Professor." Snape showed no intention of entering. As Amos walked past him, he smiled softly. "I have always known what I am doing, and I am fully aware of the risks I will face."

Inside the office, Dumbledore had taken the opportunity to change into a clean, respectable set of wizarding robes. He had clearly sensed his visitor's arrival in advance. As the wall sealed shut and Amos stepped into the office, Dumbledore was already standing behind his desk, smiling warmly at the entrance.

"Good evening, Headmaster Dumbledore."

Though he had mentally prepared himself, Amos still felt his face tighten and his heart unconsciously beat a little faster as those brilliant blue eyes—illuminated by the steady, bright firelight and holding a century of wisdom—fell upon him.

In its brazier, Fawkes heard a vaguely familiar voice and was now craning its neck out from a pile of ash, looking around with curiosity.

Thirty feet away, the tall, thin frame of the old man cloaked in firelight held more than just magic as vast as a sea of clouds; his legendary life was a living history of modern European magic. Standing before such a man, it was hard to imagine how the first and second Dark Lords had managed to endure for so long.

"Welcome, welcome," Dumbledore said, his eyes twinkling as he extended a hand to Amos, who strode forward. His piercing gaze swept over Amos's young face, lingering for only the briefest of moments on his pale violet eyes before moving to the snow-dusted strands of his graying hair. "Good evening, Amos. I do apologize for making you travel on such a dreadful night. As compensation, may I offer you a drink?"

"Thank you. That's exactly what I need."

Amos sat down where Dumbledore indicated. The Headmaster himself walked over to a bookshelf, opened a cabinet that held a Pensieve, and from a hidden compartment beneath, he retrieved a vintage bottle. "For the sake of my health, I've had to turn over most of my collection to Poppy. But this bottle... to be honest, Amos, I have yet to share this one with anyone else!"

"Ogden's Old Firewhisky. An eighty-year-old vintage is priceless," Amos said, inhaling the rich aroma that filled the air. He smiled reservedly. "Thank you for your generosity, Headmaster. For this alone, the trip was worth it."

The years had gifted the priceless spirit a deep, mellow richness. Amos took a small sip, silently waiting for the feeling to return to his stiff, cold fingers.

Dumbledore was in no hurry to begin their discussion. He watched Amos quietly, his gaze gentle. Though he asked no questions, he seemed to be getting the answers he sought, and he appeared satisfied with them.

"Severus has told me that for the past two years, you have been following in the footsteps of the great wizards of old, exploring magical ruins lost to time," Dumbledore said with a smile, once he saw the color return to Amos's pale cheeks. "I am glad that after leaving this school, you have not forgotten to refine your magic and improve yourself. It makes me feel that the educational philosophy I have insisted upon here has not been a complete failure. At the very least, a Hogwarts education has shown a select few that there are many other fine places in the wizarding world besides the Ministry of Magic."

Dumbledore hadn't mentioned the Board of Governors' commission or anything about the Chamber of Secrets, which slightly surprised Amos, who had come prepared with explanations and proposals.

"In my day, young wizards didn't rush to find a career after graduation. They would embark on a grand tour, to see the world. Before I graduated, I had planned to travel with an old friend to Greece in search of the magical creatures of myth, and to Egypt to visit the alchemists' workshops... But unfortunately, certain events interrupted my plans, and it has remained a lifelong regret." Dumbledore's eyes gazed into the distance, lost in memory as he sighed.

"Making such a choice might have something to do with my Muggle upbringing," Amos said, setting down his glass. He smiled in agreement, but a seed of confusion was planted in his mind.

Before arriving, Amos had rehearsed his conversation with Dumbledore many times in his head. In his scenarios, this enigmatic old man behind the desk would have rigorously questioned his activities over the past two years, refusing to be placated by simple explanations. He might have, like Professor Snape, been curious about his true motives for returning to the school. He might have engaged him in a deep discussion about the attacker in the Chamber of Secrets, questioning the preventative measures he proposed.

But now, it seemed Dumbledore wasn't interested in any of that. He just wanted to have a simple chat.

Was that possible?

Amos did not believe for a second that Dumbledore was that naive. His internal guard went up, but on the surface, he showed a keen interest in the current topic. "Children from wizarding families see the wonders of magic as commonplace. But someone like me, who grew up in the Muggle world, can better appreciate how precious it is to witness a miracle bloom with a wave of a wand. Compared to that, power and wealth seem so insignificant."

"You needn't be so modest, Amos. There are many children from Muggle families, but the reverence and tireless pursuit of knowledge is a talent unique to you." Amos's explanation had landed perfectly. A look of deep satisfaction shone in the eyes behind the half-moon spectacles. "Most importantly, even after all your experiences, you can still describe magic with a phrase like 'a miracle blooming,' and not simply as 'power'."

Dumbledore winked, a playful smile on his lips. "When you were a student here, Professor Snape often expressed his concerns to me privately about your research into the Dark Arts. This, of course, led to the two of us having several 'chance encounters' late at night in the library's Restricted Section."

Ahem!

Amos, who had been taking a small sip, choked on the Firewhisky. He wiped his reddened lips, his expression the awkward grimace of someone whose parent has just revealed an embarrassing childhood story. "It's rare that a wizard as busy as yourself would remember such trivial matters, Headmaster. I was never captivated by the power of the Dark Arts. I simply believe that whether it's Dark magic or Light magic, they are all just parts of magic as a whole. All of it is worthy of study—or rather, worthy of learning from. To reject it blindly only highlights our own ignorance."

"Of course, of course. A very philosophical statement," Dumbledore said, nodding in approval. However, his expression then turned grave. "But not everyone possesses such clear self-awareness and powerful self-control, Amos. Which is why, all those years ago, Professor Snape's worries about you were justified."