Elias Reed was fastening the last rune-latch on his backpack when the air around him flared like a struck match. The smell of smoke and song filled his cottage, the small space suddenly glowing with golden light.
"Bit early for fireworks," Elias muttered.
The light swelled, filling every corner, until in a brilliant burst of flame, Dumbledore and Fawkes appeared together in his living room. The Headmaster stood in flowing robes of deep midnight blue, eyes twinkling behind his half-moon spectacles. Beside him perched Fawkes, proud and radiant, feathers catching firelight in molten rubies and gold.
"Professor Reed," Dumbledore said with a grin. "I trust we are not interrupting?"
Elias leaned back against the chair, smirking. "Only my kettle's nap schedule."
From inside the backpack came a sharp metallic clatter. "WHAT IS THAT?!" squealed the kettle.
Elias tapped the bag. "Calm yourself. That is Fawkes — phoenix, firebird, immortal, melodious, generally considered out of your league."
The kettle rattled violently. "Overhyped! Does it whistle when it boils?"
Fawkes trilled, a sound of pure mirth. He stretched one shining wing and tapped the kettle's lid. The kettle yelped indignantly.
Elias folded his arms. "All right, deal time. Headmaster — I'll trade you. You give me Fawkes, and I'll give you this kettle."
The kettle shrieked. "TRAITOR!"
Dumbledore's eyes twinkled. He stroked his beard, pretending to consider. "A generous offer. Tempting, very tempting. But alas… I believe Fawkes might never forgive me if I agreed."
Fawkes gave a trill that could only be described as smug.
"See?" Elias sighed. "Worth at least two kettles. Maybe three."
The kettle clanged its lid shut in outrage, while Dumbledore chuckled. "You've not changed, Elias."
"Neither have you," Elias replied, slinging his pack over his shoulders. "Still appearing dramatically in people's homes. Very on brand."
"Shall we?" Dumbledore extended a hand.
Fawkes spread his wings.
Elias grasped the Headmaster's arm, bracing himself. Heat surged, golden flames wrapped around them, and with a rush like plunging into sunlight, the cottage disappeared.
Traveling with Fawkes was unlike Apparition can be more nauseating the first time but Elias is no first-timer. No bone-crushing squeeze, no suffocating pull. Instead, warmth. Light. A sense of being carried gently through fire itself.
Then, just as quickly, they landed.
Elias opened his eyes. Before him rose the silhouette of Hogwarts Castle, standing tall and unyielding against the evening sky. The Black Lake shimmered nearby, the Forbidden Forest stretched like a dark ocean, and the turrets glowed faintly with torchlight.
He inhaled sharply. "Well. Still standing."
"Where else would it be?" Dumbledore asked lightly.
"Oh, I don't know," Elias said. "Collapsed, perhaps?
Dumbledore chuckled. "Then perhaps it is good fortune you've returned."
Fawkes trilled softly before bursting into flames and vanishing, leaving only the faint smell of smoke.
Inside Elias' bag, the kettle muttered, "Show-off.
The castle's great oak doors opened with a groan. Warm golden light spilled out across the stone steps, and inside the Entrance Hall stretched tall and proud as Elias remembered — banners high, torches flickering, the floor gleaming like glass.
A line of professors stood waiting.
At the front was McGonagall. Stern, sharp, hair pulled back as tight as ever. Yet when her eyes landed on Elias, her face softened into a smile rare and radiant.
"Mr. Reed," she said warmly. "At last. It does me good to see you."
"Professor," Elias said, bowing his head slightly. "Still terrifying, I see."
Her lips twitched. "And you are still cheeky. You were one of the best students Gryffindor has ever produced. We are fortunate to have you return."
The words startled him more than expected. McGonagall was not one for easy praise. He dipped his head again, humbled. "Thank you, Professor. That means more than you know."
Flitwick bustled forward, eyes gleaming. "Splendid! Simply splendid! Why, Elias, I still recall your rune demonstration in fifth year — the levitating tables! Marvellous innovation!"
"The tables deserved most of the credit," Elias replied with mock solemnity.
"Humility!" Flitwick beamed. "A fine quality in an academic!"
Hagrid pushed through next, towering and grinning. He clapped Elias on the shoulder hard enough to nearly knock him over. "Good ter see yeh, lad! Yeh look like yeh haven't aged a day!"
"Flattery will get you everywhere, Hagrid," Elias wheezed.
And then, of course, came Snape.
He didn't move closer. Didn't smile. His eyes, dark and sharp as obsidian, narrowed with disdain.
"So," Snape drawled, his voice like dripping venom. "The Gryffindor prodigy returns. I suppose we are to endure your… innovations now."
"Endure?" Elias tilted his head. "No, Professor. You'll enjoy them. Eventually."
"I doubt that."
"Good," Elias said cheerfully. "Lower expectations make surprises more satisfying."
Snape's nostrils flared. He said nothing more, cloak sweeping behind him like storm clouds.
The Headmaster's Office
"Come," Dumbledore said, leading Elias through familiar halls up the spiraling stair. The gargoyle leapt aside at the password, and the staircase carried them to the Headmaster's sanctum.
The office was just as Elias remembered — shelves lined with peculiar instruments, portraits of past Headmasters whispering, the Sorting Hat mumbling in the corner. Fawkes preened on his perch, humming softly.
"Sit, Elias," Dumbledore said, conjuring a chair.
Elias dropped into it, stretching like he owned the place. "So. Let's talk business."
Dumbledore's eyes twinkled. "Business?"
"Salary: abysmal. Autonomy: promised. Experimental freedom: implied. I want it in writing. Or better yet — in magic."
McGonagall, who had followed them up, raised an eyebrow. "Magic?"
Elias steepled his fingers. "A magical contract. Bound in runes, sealed by oath. Otherwise, I fear the Hogwarts budget will 'forget' me when it comes time to pay."
Dumbledore chuckled. "You distrust me, Elias?"
"I distrust bureaucracy," Elias said. "And inflation."
Dumbledore waved his wand. Golden light flared in the air, shaping itself into a glowing parchment. Words etched themselves in runes across the surface, clauses curling neatly into place.
Salary (stipend, room, and board).
Full autonomy in Alchemy curriculum.
Freedom to pursue experiments, so long as they do not endanger students.
Naming rights for inventions.
"Reasonable?" Dumbledore asked.
"Add one more," Elias said. "Protection from Snape's sabotage."
McGonagall stifled a laugh. Dumbledore smiled faintly, flicked his wand, and another clause appeared.
Elias leaned back, satisfied. "Now that is a contract."
The parchment flared as he pressed his hand against it. Blue light etched around his palm, binding the agreement in magic.
"Done," Dumbledore said, as the parchment rolled itself and vanished in a puff of sparks.
"Excellent," Elias said. "Now I can rest easy knowing I'll be paid enough for… two butterbeers a month."
Elias trailed after Dumbledore, McGonagall, and Snape as they wound through the castle. Several rooms were suggested: a modest chamber near the library, a snug suite beside the greenhouses, even a respectable set of rooms overlooking the Black Lake.
Elias shook his head at each one.
"Too small. Too damp. Too… underground," he said, wrinkling his nose. "If I wanted to live in a cave, I'd have gone into Potions."
Snape's glare could have curdled milk.
Finally, they climbed a narrow staircase spiraling endlessly upward. At the top, a circular room opened onto a balcony that looked across the entire school grounds. The air was crisp, the view dizzying — the Black Lake glimmering, the Quidditch Pitch glowing faintly in the torchlight, the Forbidden Forest stretching like a dark sea.
Elias spread his arms. "Now this… this is what I'm talking about."
McGonagall sniffed. "This tower has been unused for decades."
"Perfect," Elias said cheerfully. "No nosy neighbors. And the height is ideal for what I have in mind."
"What exactly do you have in mind?" McGonagall asked suspiciously.
"Coverage," Elias said simply, tapping his bag. "If you want to cast a net, you start at the highest point."
Dumbledore's eyes twinkled with amused understanding. "Very well. The tower is yours."
Snape's lip curled. "Of course it is."