Despite the somewhat heavy conversation with Dumbledore, today remained a day of triumph; Alaric Thorn had successfully secured a professorship at Hogwarts.
Once the formalities were concluded, he stepped out of the Headmaster's office to find Professor McGonagall waiting for him.
"Congratulations, Professor Thorn," McGonagall said, stepping forward briskly. "My apologies for the delay. I ran into Professor Kettleburn just now; he mentioned you passed the Headmaster's test with flying colors. Is that correct?"
Alaric nodded. "It is, Professor McGonagall."
Upon hearing the confirmation, a rare smile touched McGonagall's lips, and her usually stern features softened with genuine warmth.
"Excellent, Professor Thorn."
She adjusted her square-rimmed spectacles, her gaze filled with a touch of professional pride. McGonagall hadn't seen Alaric in years, but in her memory, he had been an exemplary student—diligent, humble, and possessing a formidable talent for Transfiguration and several other disciplines.
Who wouldn't appreciate such a brilliant, well-behaved student who never caused a stir?
Well, perhaps the "never caused a stir" part required a small asterisk, given the vivid memory of a dozen students dangling like laundry from the castle battlements. Regardless, she wholeheartedly approved of his appointment to the Care of Magical Creatures post.
Alaric followed McGonagall through the familiar corridors. The walls were still lined with the same ancient, grumbling portraits, a few of whom peered out from their frames with renewed curiosity at the return of a familiar face.
McGonagall glanced sideways at Alaric, a nostalgic glint in her eyes. "Tell me, Alaric," she said conversationally, "do you remember the first time you came to my office to ask about the Animagus transformation?"
Alaric's eyebrows shot up at the mention of his school days.
"I remember it vividly," he replied. "I pestered you for months before you finally agreed to guide me. I believe I spent every Tuesday afternoon in your office. My initial application for independent study was a full roll of parchment long."
The corner of McGonagall's mouth twitched, a teasing light dancing in her eyes. She looked at him with a knowing, half-smile. "And tell me, Alaric... were you successful?"
Alaric offered a cryptic, effortless smile. "If I had been, surely you would know by now, Professor. After all, every Animagus is required by law to register with the Ministry of Magic, are they not?"
McGonagall's gaze lingered on him for a beat longer than necessary, as if searching for a crack in his refined composure. She narrowed her eyes slightly. "Indeed. According to the regulations, all legal Animagi must be on the Ministry's registry."
She paused, her tone shifting ever so slightly. "So, Professor Thorn... does your name appear on the Ministry's books?"
"Er..."
Alaric cleared his throat and gave a casual shrug. "Of course not. As you know, Professor, the Animagus transformation is an incredibly tedious and difficult branch of magic. It isn't something one learns on a whim."
"If you say so," McGonagall said with a soft chuckle. She came to a halt before a heavy oak door. "Well, this is the last available room. Have you decided on your office?"
Alaric had no specific requirements for his workspace, provided it wasn't in the dungeons.
"This will do nicely," he said, nodding as he pushed the door open.
McGonagall glanced at the doorframe and gave a slight nod. "This was the office of the previous Defense Against the Dark Arts professor."
"The previous one?" Alaric looked at her.
"Yes. As you are well aware, that particular position sees a high rate of turnover," McGonagall sighed, looking weary. "One can only hope the new candidate Albus has recruited for Defense will manage to last a bit longer."
Alaric had almost forgotten that particular bit of Hogwarts lore. During his own time as a student, the Defense professor had changed like the seasons. Voldemort's curse was clearly still in full effect, even after all these years.
The layout of the office was standard: a desk and chair, a large bookcase, and two smaller shelving units. Aside from that, it was barren. Alaric scanned the room, noting a few abandoned textbooks on the shelves and a charred, blackened mark on the corner of the desk—the unmistakable scar of a magical mishap.
In the corner, the large bookcase stood mostly empty, save for a single, yellowed roll of parchment stained with a blot of black ink. Alaric walked over, picked it up, and unrolled it.
Scrawled in a frantic, shaky hand were four words: "RUN. DON'T LOOK BACK."
Alaric: "..."
Noticing his expression, McGonagall cleared her throat, a faint trace of embarrassment flitting across her face. "Rest assured, Professor Thorn, the 'occupational hazards' of this castle are strictly reserved for the Defense Against the Dark Arts post. All other professors remain quite safe."
Alaric stared at the parchment for a moment, his lip twitching, before he placed it back on the shelf with an air of practiced indifference.
"Has no one ever attempted to break the curse after all these years?" he asked.
"Do not speak that name!" McGonagall hissed, looking genuinely startled.
She took a sharp breath, her brow furrowing. "Many brilliant witches and wizards have tried, including Albus himself. But this curse is not a simple spell; it seems to have taken root within the very foundations of Hogwarts. To break it would require reversing the magic from its very source."
Alaric nodded slowly, deciding not to press the issue. After all, he wasn't the one taking over the Defense post. He would leave that headache to the next unfortunate soul.
Quirrell, wasn't it? Alaric mused. If the timeline held, the back of Quirrell's head was likely already occupied.
McGonagall, satisfied that everything was in order, turned back to him. "Very well, Professor Thorn. The space is yours. You are free to decorate and arrange it however suits your habits."
She paused, adding, "Additionally, as a member of staff, you may choose to reside within the castle or maintain your residence elsewhere."
Alaric nodded. Most professors seemed to live within the school, likely because they had nowhere else to go—or perhaps they simply never left.
"Thank you for the reminder, Professor," Alaric said. "I'll tidy things up here, and then I'll be heading back."
"If you wish to return via the Floo Network, you are welcome to use the fireplace in the Headmaster's office."
With a final nod, McGonagall turned and departed, leaving Alaric alone in the hollow silence of his new office.