"Finally," Evans breathed, a slow smile spreading across his face. "I'm home."
Under the golden afternoon sun, Hogwarts Castle shimmered, a beacon of magic and memory. He stood on the path, suitcase in hand, his heart full. But his gaze kept drifting past the magnificent spires to the dense, dark line of trees bordering the grounds. The Forbidden Forest.
His true destination.
The journey here had been a whirlwind. After their trip to Diagon Alley, Hagrid had vanished on some mysterious errand, leaving Evans to escort Harry back to the sterile misery of Privet Drive. He'd managed to leave a lasting impression on the Dursleys—enough that their usual displeasure was muted by a healthy dose of fear. He only wished he'd had more time to truly… reinforce the lesson.
A month to explore London in this era before bringing Harry to the Hogwarts Express would have been ideal. But duty called. He had people to see, an office to claim, and lesson plans to draft. And, of course, a report to deliver to the Headmaster about his activities over the last four years—a period spent not just traveling, but searching for rare magical creatures and taking on the occasional… commission. It was, after all, part of what had secured him this professorship.
But most importantly, he finally had legitimate, unrestricted access to his beloved Forbidden Forest. The ancient, sealed runes; the creatures long thought extinct to the outside world; the old friends waiting within its shaded depths… Just the thought of it made his eyes gleam with anticipation. The urge to drop his suitcase and plunge straight into the trees was almost overwhelming.
"Evans? Is that really you?"
A surprised voice cut through his thoughts. He turned to see Professor Sprout bustling towards him, her face alight with pleasant shock. She wore gardening gloves still dusted with soil.
"Good afternoon, Professor Sprout."
"I was wondering why I hadn't seen Professor Kettleburn all summer," she said, her smile warm. "It seems the Headmaster finally convinced him to retire?"
"I saw him in Hogsmeade earlier," Evans replied. "He seems quite content. Still adores his creatures, of course."
"Yes, you're both cut from the same cloth," Professor Sprout said, though a complex, knowing look flashed in her eyes. She would never forget the day Evans, still a student, had marched a legion of beasts from the Forbidden Forest straight into the Slytherin common room to wreak havoc. It had all been over a Slytherin pure-blood who had deliberately injured a Niffler—one of Evans's friends.
The incident was officially ruled an "accident," but she knew just how much of a fabrication that was. Afterward, several influential governors from Slytherin families had demanded punishment for the creatures that had "invaded" the school. A few days later, the ancestral home of the Selwyn family—the most vocal of the complainers—was mysteriously flattened, leaving behind only a few strange footprints and several mentally shattered pure-bloods. The culprits were never found.
No, no one could ever question this young man's love for magical creatures.
"Oh, by the way," she said, snapping out of her reverie. "Evans, do you happen to have any fresh Mooncalf dung on you? The Chinese Chomping Cabbages in Greenhouse Three have been terribly listless."
The creature's dung was a potent fertilizer, perfect for reviving flagging magical plants, but its efficacy faded in less than a day.
"I should have some. Let me check…"
"S-so that's the n-new Professor of Care of Magical Creatures?"
From the castle entrance, the man in the heavy purple turban watched the exchange, his voice a nervous stammer. He stood beside Severus Snape, who ignored him completely. Snape's entire focus was fixed on Evans, his teeth clenched so tightly his jaw ached.
"Yes," Snape bit out. "The first and only student to ever lead an attack on Hogwarts with an army of magical creatures."
Professor Quirrell, his face pale and clammy, flinched. "An attack on Hogwarts?"
"…A slight exaggeration," Snape conceded, his voice a low sneer. He had no intention of elaborating.
Quirrell peered at the new professor, trying to commit the man's features to memory. "He l-looks very young. I… I d-don't recall him."
"That's hardly surprising," Snape said, his gaze unwavering. "He was nearly finished with his studies when you first arrived, and he had learned a measure of restraint by then. Besides, he never took Muggle Studies. It's perfectly logical you wouldn't know him."
Quirrell nodded absently. Just then, he saw Professor Sprout walk away with a small bag, her face beaming. Evans turned, and his eyes met theirs from across the lawn. He offered a casual wave before dissolving in a flash of silver-white light, vanishing on the spot.
Quirrell's eyes bulged, his stutter momentarily forgotten. "Apparition is impossible within Hogwarts grounds!"
"That wasn't Apparition." Snape's voice was laced with a chilling mix of disdain and grudging acknowledgment. He glanced first at Quirrell, a flicker of contempt in his dark eyes, then back at the empty space where Evans had been. "That is the innate talent of a Diricawl. One of that man's… unique spells."
"A unique s-spell?" Quirrell asked, utterly bewildered. He knew of Diricawls and their frustrating ability to vanish and reappear at will.
"A spell he cannot teach, and one no one else can learn," Snape clarified, his face impossibly grim. "One day," he vowed under his breath, "I will find out precisely what he is."
A silver-white shimmer resolved into solid form, and Evans appeared silently before the stone gargoyle guarding the Headmaster's office.
"I wonder if the great bat of the dungeons was just whispering ill of me," he mused, recalling the piercing stare from Snape.
He pushed the thought aside and addressed the gargoyle. "Lemon Sherbet."
The stone guardian sprang to life, leaping aside to reveal a spiral staircase grinding slowly upwards. Before Evans could take a step, however, a streak of crimson fire swooped down from above, landing gracefully in his arms. A wave of gentle warmth spread through his chest.
"It's been too long, Fawkes," Evans murmured, stroking the phoenix's magnificent head.
Cradling the bird, he stepped onto the moving stairs and ascended into the Headmaster's office. The familiar circular room, filled with the gentle whirring and puffing of strange silver instruments, welcomed him. The walls were lined with the portraits of previous headmasters, most of whom were dozing. A few, however, watched the young man enter with Dumbledore's own phoenix nestled in his arms.
Evans's gaze swept past the portraits, over the frayed Sorting Hat on its shelf, and finally landed on the powerful wizard seated behind the grand desk.
"Good afternoon, Headmaster Dumbledore."
The sound roused several of the portraits, who began to point and whisper amongst themselves. One, a man with a sour face and a pointed goatee, looked particularly agitated and opened his mouth to speak, only to be silenced when the wizard in the adjacent frame reached over and clamped a hand over his painted mouth.
Dumbledore looked up, a familiar, mischievous twinkle in his blue eyes. "Lemonade? Tea? I have a fine assortment of sweets, if you'd prefer."
"Lemonade would be lovely, thank you."
As a cup flew from the desk and settled on a nearby table, Evans took a seat opposite Dumbledore, feeling a bit more formal than he'd intended. A new professor would normally undergo an interview, and though Dumbledore hadn't mentioned one, the thought made him sit a little straighter.
Dumbledore seemed to sense his unease and chuckled. "No need to be so nervous, my boy. Your interview passed long ago. I've called you here simply to follow up on the task I gave you." He winked at the phoenix still in Evans's arms. "If I didn't know any better, Fawkes, I'd think you'd chosen a new partner."
At that, Fawkes gave a soft trill, left the comfort of Evans's embrace, and flew to his perch, tucking his head shyly against his chest.
Feeling the lingering warmth from the phoenix, Evans relaxed. He reached into the pocket of his coat. From the outside, it looked like an ordinary pocket, barely large enough for a hand. But his arm sank deeper and deeper, disappearing almost to the shoulder as if reaching into an unseen, cavernous space.
Watching the display, Dumbledore's gaze sharpened behind his half-moon spectacles. Even now, he couldn't quite fathom the boy's magic. It wasn't just similar to the abilities of magical creatures; it was their abilities, manifesting without a trace of magical fluctuation. This particular trick, which Evans called the Niffler's Pocket, was utterly seamless.
After a moment of rummaging, Evans's hand reappeared, holding a stack of about a dozen photographs. He spread them across the desk. They shimmered, the images within them moving restlessly.
"This is what I found in the Albanian forest…"
Dumbledore listened intently as Evans delivered his report, his expression growing thoughtful. A strange, calculating light flickered in his eyes, but he let Evans finish without interruption before giving a slow, deliberate nod.
After the official business was concluded, the two fell into a long, casual chat. It had been a long time since Hogwarts had hired a new professor, and the conversation was a welcome one for both. As they were winding down, Dumbledore's expression shifted, and a mysterious smile touched his lips.
"By the way, Evans," he said, his tone light but his eyes sharp. "Among your many… friends. Do you have any that are, shall we say, particularly dangerous, but also exceptionally obedient?"
He paused, letting the question hang in the air.
"I find myself in need of a small favor."
(End of Chapter)
***
(End of Chapter)
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