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The silvery lion dissolved into mist. A moment later, green flames roared in the fireplace, but no one stepped out.
Instead, a tall, thin wizard materialized from thin air in the center of the office. He wore midnight-blue robes and half-moon spectacles that seemed to X-ray Henry's soul.
Albus Dumbledore.
"I thought resurrection was quite common," Henry broke the silence, feeling awkward under the old man's gaze. "I mean, for your kind. You all live so long."
"It is not, Mr. Anthony," Dumbledore said softly. His voice was calm, but the air in the room suddenly felt heavy, charged with static electricity. "You gave Rufus quite a fright."
"He gave me a fright," Scrimgeour growled, his hand still tight on his wand. "Albus, this man claims he died and came back. He walked out of Azkaban. The Dementors—"
"—Are fond of him. Yes, I heard," Dumbledore interrupted pleasantly. He walked up to Henry, looking down at the cashier.
For a second, Henry felt like he was back in school, facing the headmaster after being caught skipping class. But he hadn't skipped class. He had just died.
"Tell me, Henry," Dumbledore said. "Did you use a ritual? Blood? Bone? A sacrifice?"
"No," Henry answered honestly. "I just... didn't want to die. I had rent to pay."
Dumbledore stared at him for a long, silent minute. Then, the oppressive pressure in the room vanished. The old wizard smiled, his eyes twinkling.
"Remarkable." Dumbledore turned to Scrimgeour. "Rufus, you can put your wand away. Mr. Anthony is not a result of Dark Magic. He is a victim of Accidental Magic."
Scrimgeour looked like he had swallowed a lemon. "Accidental Magic? He resurrected himself!"
"Time Magic, Rufus," Dumbledore lied smoothly. "I suspect his magical outburst at the moment of 'death' simply shifted his temporal state forward by one month. To the world, he died. To him, he simply... skipped a few pages of the calendar."
Henry blinked. That sounded like absolute nonsense. But looking at Dumbledore's knowing wink, he wisely shut his mouth.
"A temporal shift?" Scrimgeour looked skeptical. "But the Necromancy..."
"A side effect of traversing the boundary of life and death," Dumbledore waved his hand dismissively. "The point is, he is a British citizen, untrained, and currently unemployed. He needs guidance, not prison."
"He needs to be monitored!" Scrimgeour slammed his hand on the desk. "He is dangerous!"
"Then let me monitor him," Dumbledore offered. "Hogwarts has a vacancy."
The room went silent.
"You want..." Scrimgeour's voice trembled. "You want a Necromancer... to teach children?"
"Why not?" Dumbledore beamed. "Quirinus is moving to Defense Against the Dark Arts this year. We need a Muggle Studies professor. Who better than a man who has successfully lived as a Muggle for twenty-seven years? He even knows what 'National Insurance' is. I admit, I am still fuzzy on the concept."
Henry raised his hand. "Does the position include dental?"
Before Dumbledore could answer, the green flames in the fireplace flared up violently.
"Oh, absolutely not!"
A woman's head appeared in the fire. She had a face like a pale toad and a bow on her head that looked like a confused fly.
"Dolores," Scrimgeour sighed, looking exhausted. "I am in a meeting."
"The Minister has heard the rumors!" Umbridge's head shrieked, her voice sugary and poisonous. "A Necromancer? In a school? The Board of Governors will not stand for it! According to Educational Decree Number... oh, it doesn't matter. He is a criminal!"
She turned her gaze to Henry, her smile widening into something grotesque.
"And you," she cooed. "Mr. Anthony, is it? The Ministry has protocols for creatures like you. If you cannot control your dark impulses, we have ways to help. Article 73 allows us to... remove the source of magic."
"She means your hands," Scrimgeour clarified coldly.
"Or your tongue," Umbridge added giggling. "It's for the greater good, dear. You'll adapt."
Henry looked at the toad in the fire. He felt a cold, dark anger rising in his chest—the same anger he felt when they broke his cat.
"Madam," Henry said politely. "I need my hands to scan barcodes."
"You won't be scanning anything in Azkaban—"
"And," Henry interrupted, his voice dropping to a whisper that echoed strangely in the large office. "I don't need hands to cast magic."
He didn't shout. He just looked at her.
In the fireplace, the green flames suddenly turned a deep, rotting grey.
Umbridge's eyes widened. She gasped, choking as if the air had been sucked out of the chimney. The grey fire lashed out like a spectral tongue, slapping her magical projection.
POP!
With a terrified squeal, her head vanished. The connection was forcibly severed.
The office was dead silent again.
Scrimgeour stared at the fireplace, then at Henry. He slowly sat back down.
"Did you just... evict the Senior Undersecretary from the Floo Network?"
"She was rude," Henry shrugged. "And she was interrupting my job interview."
Dumbledore clapped his hands together, looking delighted. "Excellent conflict resolution skills! A vital trait for a teacher. So, Henry, about the job?"
"Headmaster," Scrimgeour rubbed his face, looking like he wanted to retire. "If you take him, he is your responsibility. If he raises one skeleton, one zombie, or even a ghost hamster on school grounds..."
"I will personally deduct points from his House," Dumbledore promised solemnly.
"I'm serious, Albus! If the Minister finds out..."
At that moment, the door burst open. Cornelius Fudge, the Minister of Magic, bustled in, wearing a lime-green bowler hat and a panicked expression.
"Albus! Rufus!" Fudge panted. "Dolores just came out of my fireplace screaming that a Death Eater attacked her! What is going on?"
"Misunderstanding, Cornelius!" Dumbledore strode forward, shaking the Minister's hand vigorously. "We were just discussing the new appointment for Hogwarts. Mr. Anthony here has agreed to fill the Muggle Studies post."
Fudge looked at Henry, then at the terrified Scrimgeour, and finally at the calm Dumbledore. He did the political calculus in his head: Option A: Arrest a man who scares Dementors and Umbridge.Option B: Let Dumbledore take him away and make it Hogwarts' problem.
"Excellent!" Fudge beamed, sweating profusely. "Muggle Studies! Very... educational. Yes. Just keep him away from the press. And for Merlin's sake, keep him away from my office."
Fudge grabbed his hat and backed out of the room. "Good day, gentlemen! I have... urgent matters!"
The door clicked shut.
Henry looked at the two most powerful wizards in Britain.
"So," Henry asked. "When do I start? And seriously, what's the pay?"
Dumbledore smiled, his eyes twinkling behind his glasses.
"Term starts September 1st. And the pay, Henry, is the opportunity to mold young minds."
"I can't pay rent with 'opportunity'."
"We also offer free room and board. And I believe the house elves make an excellent kidney pudding."
Henry sighed. Free rent. Food included. And no one would arrest him for having a skeletal cat.
"Fine," Henry extended his hand. "I'll take it. But I'm bringing my cat."
"I would expect nothing less," Dumbledore shook his hand.
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