"Yes, your Majesty."
"Now, let's pass to another subject. How goes our efforts to explore the ruins of the Han dynasty?"
"Not very well." Answered a being in azure robes who had until then stayed silent. "I've lost two squads of local curse-breakers in the last month, and so far we have only managed to recover third-rate artefacts from it. Much less I want to admit it, it does look this quest is more and more a dead end."
"Continue your work for one more month, Knight Explorer. If there is no major achievement at that date, terminate the project. Now, let's discuss our involvement in the Middle East..."
14 July 1992, Hogwarts, Scotland
Albus Dumbledore had decades of experience in political infighting, backroom dealings and negotiations with characters the majority of the wizarding world was happy to kill first and ask questions later. The number of times he had lost his temper in this last decade could be counted on one hand.
However, as the door of his office closed on his latest visitor, his self-control broke, the dam of his calm forged by a century of life exploding under the fury of his emotions. Taking the pile of books which had been just left on his desk, the old and venerable headmaster proceeded to launch them one by one on the opposite wall, ripping their pages, blasting them with his wand, cutting the covers with original curses most of witches and wizards had forgotten their very existence. All the while, the self-proclaimed 'Leader of the Light' screamed a torrent of insults which would have made many Death Eaters stare open-mouthed in stupefaction. With a swiftness and an agility every person of his age would have envied, Albus proceeded to kick the last book like a ball of football all over the office, only pausing mere moments to throw more curses at the different books and trampling them.
This surge of fury lasted no more than five minutes, but the pile of books which had just been the target of Dumbledore hadn't survived it. There were now no more than confetti of paper, pulverised by the wrath of the man who was undoubtedly at present the most powerful wizard of the British Isles.
His fury abated and satiated for the time being, Dumbledore posed his wand on his desk and then sat in his comfortable chair, the weight of the years heavier than ever after having unleashed his rage.
"Each year, finding a new teacher for the post of the Defence Against the Dark Arts is getting more difficult." Sighed Albus Dumbledore. "Tell me Fawkes, why do I keep this class when I know very well Tom has cursed the position?"
The phoenix, who had remained silent when the Headmaster vented his frustration, trilled in sorrow.
"You're right. Cancelling the class would be admitting defeat to Tom and all the wizards and witches who followed him."
There were more practical considerations, of course. First, the Board of Governors, allergic to everything which more or less looked like an innovation or a tool to break the status quo, had outright refused to modify the name of the class or to create another course which would deliver the same teachings. So much of his efforts had already been consumed by the need to find funds for the school brooms and Quidditch was the popular pastime by excellence!
The second reason why the class of Defence against the Dark Arts still existed was stemming from his incomplete knowledge of the curse the Dark Lord had used. It might be possible changing the name of the course or altering the curriculum would end the problem once for all. But it was far from certain, and Tom Marvollo Riddle had been one of the most brilliant students in Hogwarts long and distinguished history. In spite of, or perhaps because the dark rituals and research that had given birth to the Dark Lord Voldemort, Albus Dumbledore was ready to bet his left hand the person who had engineered the opening of the Chamber of Secrets on his fifth year would have anticipated such an obvious move.
And finally, there was a more personal reason for Albus: pride. Labelled a genius and one of the most brilliant minds of Magical England in his youth, he had found for the first time in decades a challenge in trying to break the curse Tom had created. Changing the class would be an admission of defeat, and Albus Dumbledore was not feeling vanquished at all. There were more mysterious paths of magic he had not explored, more combinations and enchantments which had not been tested. Sooner or later, Albus would find the solution. And then his triumph over Tom Riddle would be complete. Hiring a Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher and one assistant every year was well worth the potential award.
Or at least it had been until this morning. With the death of Senior Professor Quirell at the hands of Neville Longbottom and Junior Professor Devkins at the hands of Alexandra Potter, Dumbledore had been in need of finding two new teachers to fill the DADA slots. In spite of the fact the deaths of the two men had not been publicly announced, the rumours of their brutal demise had spread everywhere, making the applicants a rarity. There had been three demands for the job of Junior DADA Professor, perhaps because the position had in some occasions left its titular teacher last more than a year. There had been none for the job of Senior Professor, which had left very little latitude for Albus to refuse meeting Gilderoy Lockhart when the famous author had requested an appointment for today.
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