"Yes, who could have predicted we'd meet under such circumstances?"
Ares replied, a polite, socially acceptable smile plastered on his face.
A warm breeze swirled around Ares and Dumbledore. Under the bright sun, the two exchanged glances, each silently assessing the other's condition after years apart.
"Tell me about yourself, Ares," Dumbledore said with a smile. "I heard you opened a shop?"
"It's called 'The Agency.' It's right here in Diagon Alley," Ares said, tilting his chin in the direction of his shop, his tone light. "It aims to help wizards who lack certain... capabilities... solve the tricky problems they encounter in their daily lives."
"A respectable choice." Dumbledore nodded, looking genuinely relieved.
"I don't possess your noble character or your profound magical power," Ares said with a humble smile. "I can only try to do my part—contribute my meager strength to make this world a better place... So, would you like to visit my little shop? Oh, of course, it doesn't matter if you can't. I know a wizard of your stature is always busy with a thousand—"
"Oh, don't be so presumptuous, Ares," Dumbledore said, looking exactly like a man whose trap had just sprung. He nodded, his eyes twinkling. "I would be delighted to broaden my horizons."
Ares: "..."
---
"This is it, Professor Dumbledore."
Twenty minutes later, in a deserted, chilly corner of Diagon Alley where few people ever ventured, Ares pointed to a shop.
Compared to the magnificent, towering facade of Gringotts, or even the Leaky Cauldron, Ares's shop—with its iron gate barely four or five feet wide—looked incredibly shabby.
Naturally, Dumbledore showed no sign of disdain.
Standing at the bottom of the steps, he looked up with great interest at the surprisingly impressive sign. It was a large wooden board made of many strips of bright red wood pieced together. In the center, "The Agency" was painted in gold lacquer. To the lower right, in smaller text, was the slogan:
The Agency—Dedicated to solving any problem for every esteemed witch and wizard.
Dumbledore's eyes flickered slightly. By the time he looked away, Ares had already pulled open the iron gate and unlocked the door, stepping inside.
Overall, the furnishings in the shop, which measured barely twenty feet across, were simple.
A few straight-backed chairs, a camp bed, a water-red bookshelf with peeling paint filled with file folders directly facing the entrance, and then—
Behind his half-moon spectacles, Dumbledore's piercing blue eyes followed Ares's back to a tea table and froze there.
The shop had been locked for half a month, and fine dust covered every corner. Yet, on Ares's tea table sat a pristine, dust-free letter. He watched as Ares calmly picked up the letter, opened it, and quickly scanned the contents.
"It's from my landlady, Mrs. Smith."
Ares turned around, waving the letter at Dumbledore with a shrug, his expression unchanged.
"Here to collect the rent... So, care for a drink, Professor Dumbledore?"
Ares naturally slipped the envelope into his pocket, walked around to the other side of the tea table, and pointed to a small wooden sign that read "Free Tea."
"I have plain boiled water and moldy black tea."
"Oh, if possible, I was hoping for a glass of Ogden's Old Firewhisky. After spending half a month underground, for someone of my age—"
Dumbledore stopped mid-sentence, the corner of his mouth twitching. He watched as Ares silently flipped the wooden sign around. The other side clearly read: "Alcohol at Your Own Expense."
"But then again, for an old man like me, plain water is perfectly fine, Ares," Dumbledore corrected himself smoothly.
"Please wait a moment."
Ares nodded happily. He placed a cold kettle on the tea stove, conveniently "ignoring" the fact that the charcoal inside the stove was also cold.
For two people who hadn't seen each other in years and were both harboring ulterior motives, having a pleasant chat wasn't easy. But Dumbledore found a topic.
He scrutinized Ares carefully and smiled. "You look well, Ares. It seems your half-month tour of Azkaban didn't do you any harm."
"I beg to differ, Professor Dumbledore."
Ares suddenly covered his mouth and coughed violently. Combined with the faint dark circles under his eyes, he instantly looked weak and frail.
"Azkaban lives up to its reputation. The Dementors are even more terrible than the rumors say. They always remind me of the worst day of my life... The most terrible thing for me, you know—being driven away by the unreasonable school administration while I was innocent... forced to leave my beloved Hogwarts... Cough, cough!"
Dumbledore fell silent for a moment, the light in his eyes dimming.
"Truly moving, Ares. I never knew your feelings for Hogwarts ran so deep."
But a few seconds later, Dumbledore recovered. He looked at Ares with delight and picked up the thread.
"What a delightful coincidence... There happens to be an opportunity right now that could make up for your regrets and also solve a problem troubling me."
"What is it?" Ares asked, feigning great interest.
"Well, look here." Dumbledore stared at Ares, a sharp glint in his blue eyes. "Given Quirrell's current situation, I'm afraid he can no longer serve as the Defense Against the Dark Arts professor. If you are willing... this would be the best of both worlds, wouldn't it?"
"Me? Defense Against the Dark Arts professor?"
Ares kept smiling. "You're joking, Professor Dumbledore. I don't have the qualifications."
"Modesty is a virtue, Ares, but excessive modesty is not. If you ask me, that move you used to take out the vampire was both efficient and elegant!"
"Surely you haven't forgotten that I never took N.E.W.T.-level classes. I don't even have an O.W.L. certificate."
"That move you used to take out the vampire was both efficient and elegant!"
"My wand was snapped when you expelled me."
"That move you used to take out the vampire was both efficient and elegant!"
"Please have some self-respect, Professor Dumbledore. I have my own business to run."
"That move you... Oh."
Dumbledore stopped. His gaze shifted from Ares's stiff smile to the wall behind him.
On the slightly faded wallpaper hung the same slogan as the sign outside: The Agency—Dedicated to solving any problem for every esteemed witch and wizard.
"Well then."
Dumbledore turned his clear gaze back to Ares and smiled.
"How about we do it your way? I can officially commission you, Ares, rather than invite you. Oh, and of course, money is absolutely no object. I've always felt I have a bit too much wealth."
Ares: "..."
---
Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, Headmaster's Office.
Albus Dumbledore stood before a tattered, old pointed hat, his expression grave. On the circular walls behind the spindle-legged desk, the portraits of past Headmasters and Headmistresses held their breath, listening intently. Some even pulled out ear trumpets.
"—According to my judgment, the most suitable place for him was Slytherin, but he told me he preferred Gryffindor. So I told him I knew that wasn't his true thought, but he insisted... The four founders told me that occasionally, we need to respect the student's opinion..."
Knock, knock, knock.
A low knocking sound came from the door.
"What do you want?"
When the door opened, a middle-aged man with greasy hair and a cold face strode in. He glared at Dumbledore, bordering on rudeness, and questioned him impatiently.
"Ares Delfino will be returning to Hogwarts to replace Quirrell as the Professor of Defense Against the Dark Arts," Dumbledore said softly, his face impassive.
"Keep a close eye on him for me, will you, Severus?"
---
The Agency.
Ares watched the old figure leave the shop and, through his magical senses, felt him walk briskly away.
The sun was dipping toward the west. The heat had faded, but the light was still blinding.
After staring out the door for a while, Ares withdrew his gaze. He casually tossed the milk bottle and the folded parchment from his pocket onto the tea table. His smile vanished, and he quietly read the letter.
But the carrion fly inside the bottle refused to settle down, constantly banging against the glass.
"Quit it."
Ares spoke calmly.
"The letter says the meeting time has been changed to August 31st. The location is on the Hogwarts Express... Hmph. I have to admit, that's a brilliant idea."
The fly did stop, but its two massive green eyes continued to stare at Ares, seemingly questioning him.
Why did you agree to Dumbledore's boring commission to be the Defense Against the Dark Arts professor?
The usual pleasantness in Ares's clear black eyes disappeared, replaced by a chill that could freeze the heart.
"Heh. Assuming you still have a brain, and assuming Dementors didn't rot it, and assuming it still functions even a tiny bit, then you should understand."
Ares spoke indifferently.
"Dumbledore is on to me. If I don't dispel his suspicions, he won't let it go... Of course, the simpler method would be to just kill him. But regrettably, after my careful and prudent assessment, I believe that if I make a move now, the probability of him successfully killing me is... perhaps just a tiny bit higher than the probability of me killing him."
The fly finally settled down, at least for the moment. Ares had no desire to continue business for the day. He stood up, tidied the room, wiped the gloom from his face, and locked the shop door.
---
"I've got news, Ares! I bet you'll be interested!"
At the Leaky Cauldron, Old Tom, reeking of dung, excitedly called out to Ares as he headed for muggle London.
"Oh? What is it?"
"Mr. Dumbledore just ordered a whiskey here."
"Whoa, that's big news, Tom. I bet that'll be the headline in the Daily Prophet tomorrow!"
"Oh, hold your horses, Ares." Old Tom smacked his lips and grinned. "He told everyone he's found a new professor for Defense Against the Dark Arts. But Mr. Dumbledore didn't say who the poor sucker... oh, sorry, did I say sucker?... I mean, who do you think the new professor is, Ares? Do you think they'll survive until the start of term?"
Ares (expressionless): "Woof!"
A moment of silence.
Old Tom: "???"
"I had no choice."
Ares tightened his lips, looking 'pained.'
"It's not that I wanted to say yes. It's just... he paid too much."