Welcome to Your New Future

Albus Dumbledore sat in his office in Hogwarts Castle, musing over several old, yellowing documents, spread across his desk. The morning sunlight came through the open balcony doors, Fawkes sat in his newly hatched egg, and Dumbledore tickled his chin with the quill he was using to write.

There was a knock on his door and Dumbledore looked over the half-moon glasses. "Do come in," he called.

The door opened and James Potter stepped into the Headmaster's office.

Surprise passed over the Headmaster's face as the former student walked into the office, glancing around at the corners of the room, eyes darting about to the corners, even the ceiling, and Dumbledore chuckled, "It looks smaller when you step inside after having graduated, doesn't it, Mr. Potter?" 

James's eyes met Dumbledore's. "Yes, sir," he said.

Dumbledore smiled. "To what do I owe the pleasure of your visit, Mr. Potter?" he asked.

James stepped closer. His eyes flitted to the parchments on Dumbledore's desk, but before he could see much, Dumbledore mused, "Ah let me just tidy up." With a wave of his wand, the documents rolled up into scrolls and flew off to the book shelves behind the Headmaster's desk. He waved his palms at the chair opposite him. "Have a seat, Mr. Potter."

James sat down, and Dumbledore waited until he was situated, then ran a hand over his beard, smoothing it down, and set himself into the large chair behind the desk. He smiled benignly a moment, then repeated, "To what do I owe the pleasure of your visit?"

James took a deep breath. "I'm here to apply for a job, sir." 

"A job!" Dumbledore said, amusement tickling his face. 

"Yes sir, the coaching job."

Dumbledore chuckled. "Ah but James, you've already got a job, haven't you? Working at the Ministry? In the office of the Director of the Auror Training Center? The Deputy Head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement? If I'm not mistaken that is, you were reinstated... less than a month ago."

"Yes sir."

"Then why would you be looking to apply for a job, Mr. Potter?" 

"Because I hate it at the Ministry," James said. "But more importantly, we ought to pursue things that ignite us, sir, and nothing fires me up more than quidditch. What's more is that I am good at it - damn good at it, sir - and I like teaching others how to be good at it and that, sir, is where the teaching job comes in."

Dumbledore cleared his throat, "And have you put in your notice to Mr. Underhill yet?"

"No sir, I wanted to confirm with you that the job was mine before I go to Underhill."

"Job security?" Dumbledore guessed.

"Not counting my chickens, sir," James corrected. 

"Wise," Dumbledore murmured.

James said, "Sir, not to be rude - or arrogant, as the case may be - but I have to just say that you'd be nutters not to hire me on the spot."

"And why is that Mr. Potter?"

"You've seen me fly," James answered, "And more over you've seen me teach other kids to fly. Including Oliver Kent - the star player of Gryffindor - who I am working with as a personal trainer, as he hopes to go League after school." James reached into his pocket and withdrew a parchment, holding it out to Dumbledore. "Here is my official CV. It's not long and we've already discussed most of what you'll find on there." He paused as Dumbledore took the parchment and put it down on the desk. James stared at the parchment, then looked up at Dumbledore.

"Thank you for your application, Mr. Potter, I shall consider it and reach out to you when I've made a decision," Dumbledore said.

James shifted in the seat, then leaned forward so he was scooted all the way to the front edge, and half leaning on Dumbledore's desk. "Sir," he said boldly, "I feel as though you've made a decision already, not in my favor, and simply don't want to be looking at me when you tell me so, but will wait a few days and send me an owl passing me up. But listen, that's a mistake because I'm definitely a good candidate for the job and I reckon you're making the wrong decision."

"Mr. Potter," Dumbledore said, "We worked incredibly hard at this school to educate you and all of the other children that we see year over year. You set a goal in fifth year to achieve certain goals and those goals became our goals, became the things that all of us strived for in educating you. You are incredibly close to fulfilling the dreams that you had for yourself at that time - the dreams that we have for you. You have made it into the Program that we strived to get you placed into, and not only have you won the spot in the program but you've made a very prestigious position within it." He paused, letting that sink in, then added, "You owe it to yourself and to all of us here at Hogwarts to persevere and find your success at the MInistry, James."

James shook his head. "I'm not happy as an auror and I have nothing real to contribute there. I thought I did, and maybe in fourth or fifth year when I first chose that path I did have what it takes, but I haven't got it anymore."

"May I ask when you changed your mind?" Dumbledore's voice was suddenly hardened - not the warm jovial tone it usually carried. He seemed grayer, too, darker.

"In a cell in Havmork, sir, being tortured by He Who Must Not Be Named." James hardened his voice, too, just the same as Dumbledore had. It was clear that this was not usually how things went when this darker version of Dumbledore came out because when James stared Dumbledore directly in his eyes he could see a flicker of surprise that he was being challenged, and Dumbledore stood up and so did James only to find that they were the same height now and the stare did not break. "It is up to me, not you, what I do with my life and how I spend my time... sir.

Dumbledore seemed formidable, he seemed larger than life, though nothing visually changed, James felt his perspective warping and he recognized it instantly as magic - magic he himself did not know to be able to match, but certainly unnatural. He'd seen Voldemort do this, too, during the time he'd spent under his wand, and it was wholly terrifying. But, James would readily admit, Dumbledore doing it was more terrifying than the Dark Lord doing it - for reasons that James could not quite explain in that moment. He seemed to tower over James in greatness, as though the strength of his power and not his actual stature was what he were looking at. For there was no denying that Albus Dumbledore was a powerful wizard. There was no way to match this, James realized, as he felt himself shrinking before Dumbledore.

But why? Why was he shrinking? James asked himself. Why should he cower? Hadn't he done enough shrinking away from powerful wizards? And what was Albus Dumbledore going to do to him that the Dark Lord had not done already?

James squared his jaw.

"Our lives are never to do with as we each decide but destiny's for there are things deeper than any individual one of us that are at play in any given moment, Mr. Potter, which must be taken into consideration... Fate, destiny... It is dishonorable to turn away from the things that time has worked hard to weave for us... and cowardly... to know one's place in the grand scheme of things... and walk away."

Dumbledore stared down.

"It is selfish and it is wicked to know what one's duty is in destiny and to choose to diverge and go the way which is more pleasing to him, despite what one knows is the greater good."

James's voice was as steady as he could keep it. "You are not the one who writes what my destiny is."

Dumbledore searched James's eyes. "I do not write it but I know what it is and you are making a grave mistake, Mr. Potter."

James paused and looked around, he laughed, then shook his head. "I'm not."

Dumbledore asked, "And how can you tell, Mr. Potter, have you suddenly become a seer yourself?"

James said, "If it was wrong, then Mopsus would be here to fix it."

Dumbledore glanced around as well, and he seemed a bit more life-like, a bit less gray, a bit lighter, a bit more himself, as though deflating slowly, but his eyes were still not smiling, even as he came back, slowly becoming Dumbledore again, more closely aligned to the way James knew him. He chuckled, shook his head and turned, looking at his chair, and running a hand over his beard. He sat down with a sigh.

James stayed standing a moment - because he could - and he stared at Dumbledore... defiantly. "Contrary to what most people think, sir, it seems that you do not know everything." James let the words hang in the air, and when Dumbledore did not answer, then - and only then - did he slowly sink down into his chair again, too.

There was a long silence that hung in the air between them.

And suddenly Dumbledore's eyes were sparkling blue once more and he smiled - the color returning to his face. He reached into a drawer and pulled out a sheath of parchments. "Here are the details, Mr. Potter, for the coaching position, including the schedule for the 1979-1980 matches... here are the times of the first year flying lessons for the coming term... and these are the keys to the locker rooms, the pitch offices, and the broomstick shed." Dumbledore put these things all in a pile on his desk and then slid them across, smiling at James as though none of the things that had transpired between them had happened, as though James had handed him the CV and Dumbledore had instantly agreed to take him on as the flying instructor slash quidditch coach.

James hesitated, then picked up the things Dumbledore had handed him.

"Sir?"

"Welcome to your new future, Mr. Potter," Dumbledore said jovially.




It was drizzling in London, the sidewalks wet and glistening, the smell of wet dirt and leaves filled the air around Hyde Park. Peter came up from the underground at the Marble Arch and scrambled down the road toward Speaker's Corner, carrying the flyer in his hands, his heart racing as he glanced around the street, wondering if he would see anyone at this thing that he recognized. He wove through early morning tourists and street sweepers in their landscaping uniforms, and arrived at last to the Corner.

A smattering of people milled about and he stood off to one side, near a large bush, which he ducked behind. He suddenly had a strong desire to see without being seen, and he looked around before quickly melting into his rat form, skittering between the low branches of the bush until he was peering out over Speaker's Corner through his beady, terrible rat vision. But his hearing was crisp.

At precisely the correct time, he could only blearily see the form of a lanky man walk into the center of the square, put down a box, and climb upon it, a makeshift stage, elevation over the heads of the crowd. People paused and looked and Peter realized there were more people here now than he'd realized before and there were several clusters that seemed to have arrived specifically for this speech.

"Good morning," he said loudly.

Across the Corner, he was surprised to see - and indeed rushed to get closer, scrambling along the perimeter of bush and stone wall that surrounded Speakers Corner to confirm that he was seeing right, it was hard to see details as a rat, after all - but yes, yes it was - Oni Lamm, sitting on a bench, her eyes fixed on the man on the box who was waiting for all eyes to turn toward him.

Peter changed back in the shadow of the brush behind Oni Lamm, and came 'round to sit beside her on the bench. She looked over in surprise at him. "Peter? What are you doing here?" she asked.

Peter reached into his pocket and took out the flyer, handing it to her.

She looked at it, then looked back at him and reached into her pocket and pulled out an identical flyer. She laughed.

They both turned to look at the speaker in the center of the square.

The strawhaired boy standing on the box looked around at the people - he had their attention - and he cleared his throat... and Peter and Oni sat as Barty Crouch Junior began to speak.

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