"Sylvanus, do you truly wish to retire without giving it a second thought?"
"You know, you're not actually that old yet."
"It's a bit early to leave your post, don't you think?"
Dumbledore's voice was gentle yet firm as he gazed at Professor Kettleburn, his sharp blue eyes filled with concern. There was a deep sense of regret in them, a wistfulness that could not be hidden. Professor Sylvanus Kettleburn had dedicated years of service to Hogwarts, and while he was known for his reckless nature and often ill-advised enthusiasm, he had undeniably been a remarkable professor of Care of Magical Creatures.
Of course, his adventurous disposition had its consequences—over the years, he had been placed on probation a staggering sixty-two times. It was a record no other professor had come close to breaking. And yet, despite all the chaos, he had performed his job exceptionally well.
At least, things had calmed down somewhat ever since he lost most of his limbs.
Some said it was because he had grown wiser with age. Others, in a less charitable view, believed it was simply because his injuries left him unable to cause as much trouble as before. But whatever the reason, his commitment to magical creatures remained unwavering.
"I know, I know…" Kettleburn responded, his voice laced with an odd amusement.
Dumbledore tilted his head slightly, scrutinizing him. There was something peculiar about Kettleburn's expression. It was as if he was suppressing laughter. But more than that, Dumbledore noticed something else—his colleague was holding his cloak unusually tightly around himself.
"Sylvanus, are you all right?" Dumbledore asked, his gaze narrowing. "It may be chilly outside, but my office is quite warm. You needn't keep your cloak on."
Kettleburn's lips twitched into a mischievous grin. "Oh? You want me to take it off?"
Dumbledore nodded. "Of course."
Kettleburn let out a chuckle. "Well then, I must warn you, Albus—you're in for quite the surprise."
Dumbledore's expression shifted. "Sylvanus… did something happen?" A sudden thought struck him, and he frowned. "Don't tell me—you haven't lost your remaining arm, have you?"
At this, Kettleburn's face darkened. "Oh, Albus, must you always expect the worst?" he sighed dramatically. "Why can't you ever assume I've had some good fortune for a change?"
With a flourish, Kettleburn threw back his cloak.
Dumbledore's eyes widened in shock. "Sylvanus! Your hands—your legs—"
"Aha! I knew you'd be surprised!" Kettleburn exclaimed, beaming with pride. "That's right, my dear friend, you are not mistaken! I have all my limbs again!"
For a long moment, Dumbledore simply stared. Kettleburn stood before him, whole. His missing limbs, gone for decades, had somehow been restored.
"This… this is incredible!" Dumbledore finally said, stepping forward. "Sylvanus, how is this possible? What in Merlin's name happened?"
Kettleburn grinned. "Blake, Albus. It was that boy, Blake, who gave me my life back!"
Dumbledore's eyes flickered with recognition. "Blake?"
Lately, it seemed no matter where Dumbledore went, he heard that name. Blake had already astonished the wizarding world with his life-extending potion, earning the prestigious Knight Medal of Merlin, Second Class. The Daily Prophet had taken great delight in fueling the hype around the young prodigy. And now…
"You're telling me Blake has created a spell that regenerates lost limbs?" Dumbledore asked, his voice filled with both astonishment and curiosity.
"Exactly!" Kettleburn said enthusiastically. "It's a brand-new spell, Albus. One that truly works! I am living proof!"
Dumbledore stepped closer. "May I examine them?"
"By all means!" Kettleburn extended his right hand. "To be honest, I never thought I'd see the day when I'd be whole again. It's truly a miracle."
Dumbledore took Kettleburn's hand, inspecting it carefully. At first glance, he could tell this was no alchemical construct—no artificial limb crafted by magic. This was real flesh and blood. He ran his fingers gently over the pale skin, noting the slight difference in color compared to Kettleburn's original limb.
But beyond that, there was nothing unnatural about it. No dark magic. No hidden curses. Nothing ominous lurking beneath the surface.
It was as if time had reversed itself.
Dumbledore exhaled, stepping back. "This is remarkable… truly remarkable."
He had lived long enough to witness many extraordinary feats of magic. And yet, he had never encountered anything quite like this. Healing spells had their limits—serious injuries, especially lost limbs, were beyond their reach. Even St. Mungo's finest healers could only do so much. And yet, here stood Sylvanus Kettleburn, whole again, as if he had never been injured in the first place.
"That boy…" Dumbledore murmured. "He continues to defy all expectations."
Kettleburn smirked. "You think this spell will only get him a Second-Class medal like his potion? Ha! If those old geezers at the Order of Merlin try to downplay this one, they'll be making a laughingstock of themselves."
Dumbledore chuckled. "You may be right, Sylvanus."
He paused for a moment, then continued, "Actually, this aligns with something I've been meaning to discuss. Dean Bohan of St. Mungo's has recently expressed interest in consulting Blake on healing techniques. Perhaps we can suggest that he be the one to nominate Blake for the Order of Merlin, First Class."
Kettleburn's eyebrows shot up. "Bohan? That old codger? He actually wants to ask a young wizard for advice?" He let out a boisterous laugh. "Now that's a sight I'd love to see!"
Dumbledore smiled. "People change, Sylvanus. Sometimes all it takes is the right kind of inspiration."
"You're one to talk," Kettleburn shot back, grinning. "After all, look at me."
Dumbledore pointed at him with a knowing expression. "Indeed. And now that you are whole again… what of your resignation?"
Kettleburn hesitated, rubbing his chin. "Ah, well… I had planned on using my remaining time to visit the Fire Dragon Sanctuary. After all, I figured I wouldn't be able to do much else."
Dumbledore remained silent, watching him expectantly.
Kettleburn sighed, shaking his head. "But now… with the life-extending potion and this spell keeping me in top form… perhaps I can keep going for a while longer."
Dumbledore smiled knowingly. "So, do you still wish to resign?"
Kettleburn chuckled. "No, I suppose I don't. I can't abandon that brilliant young man, not now. I want to see what else he'll accomplish."
Dumbledore reached into his robes and pulled out an envelope, handing it to Kettleburn. "Your resignation letter—I never sent it to the school board. Something told me you'd change your mind."
Kettleburn took it, then promptly tossed it into the fireplace, watching as the flames devoured it.
Outside, at the edge of the hunting grounds, Hagrid dragged a massive pine tree across the grounds, completely unaware that the professorship he was so close to inheriting had just been taken from him once again.
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