The high, arched windows of the Headmaster's office stood open to the soft rustle of a summer breeze, carrying with it the faint scent of blooming roses from the Hogwarts grounds.
Stacks of curious instruments ticked, whirred, and occasionally emitted polite puffs of violet smoke. Along the walls, rows of portraits of past headmasters and headmistresses dozed, murmured among themselves, or watched with polite interest.
At the center of the room, behind the great claw-footed desk, Albus Dumbledore sat in his usual calm, almost lazy elegance, a small dish of lemon sherbets in easy reach.
He was, at that moment, deep in conversation with the portrait of a former headmaster — a thin, beaky-nosed wizard in plum robes — who was attempting to lecture him on the impracticality of employing "wayward types" in the teaching staff.
Dumbledore, smiling mildly, popped another lemon sherbet into his mouth just as the door opened with a brisk click.
Professor McGonagall stepped inside, her tartan robes swishing at her ankles, her expression as composed as ever — though the set of her mouth suggested she had little patience for dawdling.
"Albus," she began, inclining her head, "you asked for me?"
"Indeed, Minerva," Dumbledore said, leaning back in his chair. "I wanted to speak to you about our vacancy in Defence Against the Dark Arts."
Her lips pressed together in a thin line. "Please," she said dryly, "don't tell me you've found someone in Azkaban who's decided to turn over a new leaf."
The portrait of the beaky-nosed headmaster gave a scandalized sniff.
Dumbledore chuckled. "No, no. This year I have convinced an old friend — one we both know well — to return and teach."
McGonagall's brow furrowed. "Who?"
"Remus Lupin," Dumbledore replied, his eyes twinkling. "I finally found him. It took some searching… and a bit of persuasion."
She blinked. "Lupin? Where on earth did you find him?"
"In a rather dangerous corner of the world," Dumbledore said vaguely, folding his hands together. "His circumstances were… poor, to say the least. But after a long conversation, he agreed to take up the post."
Her expression softened only slightly, but the concern remained. "Albus, you know as well as I do that his condition will make teaching difficult. Not to mention the prejudices of some parents."
"I have already thought of that," he said serenely. "I shall ask Severus to brew the Wolfsbane Potion for him."
Her eyebrows shot upward. "Severus? You cannot be serious. You know the history between those two — the old grudges. It will stir up all sorts of unpleasantness."
Dumbledore gave a small shrug. "That may be so. But I have two reasons for bringing him here. First, he needs help — a livelihood, a place of stability. Second… I want him to meet Harry. It is time Harry learned more about his parents, about the friends who knew them best. Remus can be a sort of uncle to him — someone who genuinely cares for him and can share memories of James and Lily."
McGonagall sighed, her gaze drifting briefly toward the window. "And what of Horace Slughorn? Have you tried to tempt him back? You know he was always—"
"I have," Dumbledore interrupted, smiling wryly. "I visited him not long ago. Found him living in the home of one of his wealthier former students… in a very comfortable Muggle community, no less. He was enjoying the company of his granddaughter."
"And?"
"And he rejected my offer outright," Dumbledore said, reaching for another lemon sherbet. "Quite firmly, I might add."
McGonagall gave a small, almost resigned nod. "I don't blame him, truthfully. After… everything that happened to him… he has every right to keep his distance. I imagine he's still more than a little haunted by the past."
"A shame nonetheless," Dumbledore murmured. "Hogwarts would be better for having him. He is an asset — one of the finest potion-masters I've ever known."
"Yes," she agreed quietly. "But I hope this year's staff will give me a peaceful year, Albus. I've no desire to spend my days breaking up feuds and chasing after the latest scandal."
Dumbledore's smile deepened, but he said nothing.
McGonagall turned toward the door. "Very well. I shall go and begin drafting the letters to our students — especially the new admissions."
"That's good that you reminded me," Dumbledore said suddenly, sitting forward. "Please include a letter for Celestia Slughorn."
McGonagall turned back, sharply. "Celestia Slughorn? Horace rejected our offer for her two years ago. He told me himself he would not send her within a hundred miles of Hogwarts."
"Yes," Dumbledore said cheerfully. "I am aware. But I believe he's mistaken. The girl is bright — very bright — and has been raised by Horace alone since she was very small. I think she should come to Hogwarts. And… if she does… I suspect Horace might follow."
Her mouth tightened, but curiosity flickered in her eyes.
"She is talented," Dumbledore continued, "particularly in potions. Severus would enjoy teaching her — she is the granddaughter of his mentor, after all."
McGonagall folded her arms. "I will send her a letter, but I very much doubt she will attend."
"Send her a couple of more letters," Dumbledore said lightly.
She arched an eyebrow. "A couple? You want to annoy Horace into submission?"
"That is exactly what I want to do," Dumbledore replied, his eyes gleaming.
McGonagall shook her head, though a faint smile tugged at her lips. "That's what you say, Albus. That's what you say. I'll do it."
And with that, she turned on her heel and swept from the office, her footsteps fading down the spiral staircase.
Dumbledore popped the last lemon sherbet into his mouth, looking back to the same portrait of the former headmaster and started the debate again.