“First of all, Mr. Hickman, I need to offer you my apologies.”

At the very beginning of the conversation, Dumbledore folded his hands together and spoke with an earnest expression.

“After receiving your application, I conducted some basic inquiries in Diagon Alley without your permission. I hope you can forgive this.”

As expected.

Dawn muttered inwardly. He was not surprised at all.

A job applicant who appeared out of nowhere would naturally be investigated by Dumbledore.

Still, he carefully controlled his expression, letting it shift through surprise, hesitation, and then understanding.

“Conducting a background check on an applicant is perfectly normal, Headmaster Dumbledore. There’s no need to apologize.”

Dawn Richter had always lived a life where others adapted to him. He disliked making compromises for anyone else.

But if it came to acting and disguise, he was confident he would lose to no one.

“Thank you for your understanding,” Dumbledore said with a faint smile.

He nudged the plate of sweets forward, inviting Dawn to help himself, and asked, “Would you like something to drink?”

“Tea, please,” Dawn replied, appearing slightly reserved.

Dumbledore waved his hand lightly. With a clatter, two teacups jumped out of the cabinet.

Clear water appeared in the teapot and quickly began to boil, steam drifting upward as Dumbledore asked casually, “Mr. Hickman, are you Egyptian?”

“Well, more precisely, I was born in the United States,” Dawn answered. “But because of my parents’ work, I moved to Egypt when I was very young. You could say I grew up there.”

“I see.”

Dumbledore nodded, resolving one of his doubts. Then his tone shifted, becoming a little more serious.

“However, Mr. Hickman, I wrote to the headmaster of Uagadou School of Magic, and he informed me that in the past ten years, there has been no graduate by your name.”

He asked softly, “Did you attend another magical school, or is there some other circumstance?”

The doubt came suddenly.

Dawn had not expected Dumbledore to uncover so much in just a few days. The man truly lived up to his international reputation.

Dawn sighed inwardly, but outwardly he only scratched his cheek in embarrassment.

“I’m sorry. I never attended a magical school. From childhood to adulthood, I studied under a single wizard.”

“An apprenticeship wizard?” Dumbledore frowned.

The apprenticeship system was the primary method of magical inheritance before magical schools existed.

Wizards would take in a few magically awakened children as apprentices, keeping them by their side and training them as successors.

Although it sounded like an elite one-on-one teaching method, it had significant limitations, which was why it had been phased out by the times.

First was the narrowness of knowledge.

Many wizards mastered only a single field in their entire lives, some even relying on just one spell.

Apprentices trained under them were inevitably severely unbalanced, far inferior to the comprehensive education of schools.

Second was the danger. Many masters did not treat all apprentices as heirs. A large portion were merely free labor, or even materials or experimental subjects.

For these reasons, apprenticeship wizards had become increasingly rare in the modern era.

And after the school system became dominant, most apprentices were children who had been lured away early with sweet words.

It was easy to imagine that adult wizards who still practiced the apprenticeship system were often not good people.

An apprentice of a dark wizard?

Dumbledore felt wary.

“Pardon me… Headmaster?”

A voice interrupted his thoughts.

The applicant looked at him somewhat anxiously. “Is not having attended a magical school a disqualifying factor?”

“No, of course not.”

Dumbledore came back to himself, realizing he had been too quick to judge the man’s teacher.

“Forgive me if this is abrupt, but could you tell me something about your teacher?”

Dawn hesitated deliberately.

“My teacher was an archaeologist and historian.

He was fascinated by the magic and social structures of the pharaonic era, so he spent most of his time in pyramids and tombs.”

He paused again, then smiled bitterly.

“Of course, since he never received permission from the Ministry of Magic, you could say he was essentially an illegal tomb raider.”

Dumbledore showed no particular emotion at the mention of illegal acts, continuing to watch him gently.

“And where is your teacher now?”

“He passed away.”

Dawn closed his eyes slightly, as if suppressing grief.

“Seven years ago, he entered a newly discovered tomb to identify its owner. He was cursed inside, and after returning, he died.”

Dumbledore fell silent for a moment.

After thinking carefully, he asked, “Mr. Hickman, perhaps this is overly cautious of me, but did your teacher ever tell you about enrolling in a magical school?”

“…He did.”

Dawn nodded with some difficulty.

“But he exaggerated how difficult it was to enter. It wasn’t until after he died that I realized everything he said was wrong.”

He rubbed his face, appearing distressed, then straightened.

“But even so, I would never blame him. My parents died in an accident shortly after moving to Egypt. My teacher raised me.

No matter what, that debt is real.”

Dawn spoke solemnly, meeting Dumbledore’s gaze directly.

Ironically, in the past, whenever he faced the old headmaster, he would immediately use Occlumency, even knowing it might seem suspicious.

Now, he could lie while looking Dumbledore in the eyes, without taking any precautions at all, simply betting that Dumbledore would not read his mind.

That was the difference confidence made.

Thinking of everything he had endured over the past year, Dawn felt it had all been worth it.

His open demeanor earned him some of Dumbledore’s trust.

The old headmaster did not press further about the apprenticeship background and instead asked:

“Mr. Hickman, may I ask why you wish to apply for the position of Defense Against the Dark Arts professor?”

“Because Hogwarts has the most comprehensive library in Britain, and I love reading,” Dawn answered honestly.

He did not hide this point. He would be frequenting the library anyway, and lying would be unwise.

Dumbledore recalled McGonagall’s investigation and was not surprised.

“And what do you read for?” he asked.

Here it comes.

Dawn noted internally. He had known this question would be asked the moment he showed a love of books.

And he was certain that answering “for knowledge alone” would not satisfy Dumbledore.

After a moment of thought, Dawn spoke sincerely.

“I read because I want to find a universal method to cure curses.”

“Oh?”

Dumbledore guided the freshly brewed tea into the cups and floated one over to Dawn, listening intently.

“Headmaster, you may not know this, but my parents were also archaeologists in the Muggle world.

Like my teacher, they died after accidentally triggering curses in pyramids.”

Dawn’s expression was pained, his eyes filled with deep concern.

“I grew up in Egypt. I understand how dangerous curses are. I’ve seen too many people suffer because of them.

And the wizarding world’s current solutions rely on sacrificing lives to discover specific countermeasures. It’s not humane, and it’s not universal.”

“Even the Ministry’s official curse-breaking teams lose nearly twenty percent of their members every year.

And I want to change that.”

He took a deep breath, his words ringing with conviction, like an idealist ready to give his life for his beliefs.

Even Dumbledore was faintly moved.

But the old headmaster was not so easily convinced.

“And what results have you achieved so far, Mr. Hickman?”

“…None, for now.”

Dawn shook his head, then quickly added, “But I already have a direction.”

Dumbledore grew more serious. “Please, go on.”

Dawn had prepared long in advance.

“Headmaster, have you heard of the Blood-Decaying Curse?”

“I am familiar with it,” Dumbledore nodded. “A curse cast by dripping the target’s blood into five forms of filth. Extremely cruel and lethal.”

“That’s right,” Dawn replied, momentarily impressed by Dumbledore’s breadth of knowledge.

He continued, “A wizard afflicted by the Blood-Decaying Ritual suffers rapid blood corruption. Though rarely used due to its complexity, history records over a dozen cases.”

“In those records, treatment involved bloodletting while accelerating blood production with potions.

But that’s not treatment. It’s just delaying the inevitable until there’s no hope left.”

Dawn’s expression was solemn as he spoke of this grim history.

“However, in 1432, a spell developed from this ritual, the Blood-Decaying Hex, could be ended with Finite.”

“So I began wondering—why can’t we create a form of magic, like Finite, that has a universal curative effect on curses?

Or perhaps transform Finite itself from a spell into a ritual, allowing it to affect most curses.”

His eyes burned with expectation.

“For the past two years, I’ve been experimenting, only to find my knowledge insufficient.

That’s why I left Egypt—to travel the world and learn how other wizards understand curses.”

He fell silent after finishing.

Up to this point, Dawn had revealed the entire constructed persona of Leia Hickman.

A past that was too perfect would only invite suspicion. Hence the tomb-raiding teacher.

Moreover, Dawn suspected that Dumbledore, like many educators, had a tendency to want to save misguided youth.

Not everyone, of course. But one had to not be too far gone.

Dawn felt his setup was perfect. A teacher who broke the law but was not evil, and a student who emerged untainted, carrying lofty ideals.

If not exposed, this persona was practically tailored to Dumbledore.

The office fell into silence.

Hire him, or not?

Dumbledore hesitated.

In the past, he might have accepted Hickman immediately, trusting his ability to keep things under control.

But last year, with that same confidence, he had allowed Quirrell to take the post, triggering a chain of disasters.

That forced Dumbledore to reflect and become stricter.

“Mr. Hickman, before applying, had you heard that this position is said to be cursed?”

“I had,” Dawn nodded. “But I’m not afraid.”

He smiled.

“First, I study curses. If the rumors are true, I’d be delighted.

Second, I won’t stay in Britain long—at most two years.

I worried that leaving suddenly might disrupt the students’ learning. But this position is yearly, which fits my situation perfectly.”

He appeared considerate of others.

Dumbledore felt oddly stung.

Yearly position? Defense Against the Dark Arts was not supposed to be yearly.

But recalling recent history, he swallowed his rebuttal.

“What if I reject your application, Mr. Hickman?” Dumbledore asked softly, watching him closely.

Dawn looked disappointed but unsurprised.

“Then I hope you’ll allow me to purchase copies of some of the books here.”

Dumbledore narrowed his eyes. “And if I still refuse?”

Dawn hesitated, seeming lost.

“Then I’ll travel around Britain, looking for useful books. If that fails, I’ll go to other countries.”

Dumbledore said nothing, popping a sweet into his mouth.

He was still undecided.

Hickman appealed to him, but he lacked absolute reassurance.

After a pause, Dumbledore asked, “How do you view the subject of Defense Against the Dark Arts?”

Dawn felt exhausted.

Why so many questions?

He took a breath.

“I believe Defense Against the Dark Arts is less about theory and more about practice.

It teaches students to recognize threats and integrate knowledge from Charms, Transfiguration, Herbology, and Potions to neutralize danger.”

Dumbledore interrupted. “Neutralize?”

“Yes,” Dawn nodded. “I think the subject should be called Threat Neutralization.”

“If one only wanted to defend against dark magic, there would be no need for a separate course.

Learning Shield Charm and Patronus Charm in Charms class would already handle most problems.”

His reasoning sounded solid, though it overlooked a key point—not all students could master those advanced spells.

Dawn knew this, but he had to say it.

It added a flaw to his persona, reducing suspicion, and fit the mindset of someone raised in tombs.

Professor McGonagall, who had been listening, nodded slightly. She was increasingly satisfied.

Aggressive, perhaps, but it showed initiative. Better than a professor who only recited textbooks.

Dumbledore’s gaze flickered. “Mr. Hickman, do you know the Patronus Charm?”

Hooked.

Dawn suppressed the urge to smile.

He extended his hand. A wisp of silvery mist floated above his palm.

The Patronus Charm was fascinating. Older than Dementors, and rumored to be impossible for dark wizards to master.

Whether that was true or not, Dawn did not know.

But he could use it.

“I learned it after coming to Britain,” he said apologetically. “I can’t form a clear shape yet.”

“That… is enough,” Dumbledore murmured.

The scales tipped.

He stood and extended his hand.

“Congratulations, Mr. Hickman. You are hired. I hope you enjoy your time at Hogwarts.”

Dawn looked surprised, quickly standing to shake his hand, solemnly promising to take the job seriously.

“Please decide on your textbooks as soon as possible,” McGonagall added. “I need to notify the students by August at the latest.”

“Ah—about that, I’ve already thought it through,” Dawn replied, earning her approval.

“The previous textbook is excellent, especially its coverage of magical creatures and plants. It can continue to be used.”

He paused, then added, “Additionally, I’d like them to purchase Tears and Blood: On Magical Injury as supplementary reading, preferably the unabridged 1700 edition.”

“Tears and Blood?” Dumbledore repeated. “That book contains many dark and bloody accounts, doesn’t it?”

“Yes,” Dawn said seriously. “Teaching children only how to deal with harmless creatures is naive. They must learn how to prevail in real danger.”

McGonagall frowned slightly, glancing at Dumbledore.

After a moment, he nodded.

“Professors have autonomy over their curriculum. I respect your judgment.”

Dawn smiled sincerely.

After a brief conversation, Dawn excused himself to prepare his materials and left the office.

He did not leave the castle immediately. McGonagall led him to the third floor.

Passing the One-Eyed Witch statue, she opened an office door.

“This is the Defense Against the Dark Arts office. You may redecorate as you wish, but please avoid dangerous items.”

She shook her head. “Students’ curiosity can exceed expectations.”

“Of course. I’ll be careful,” Dawn replied softly.

McGonagall, busy as ever, finished giving instructions and left with an apology.

Before going, she added, “The library is on the fifth floor, if you need it.”

Dawn nodded goodbye.

Once alone, he exhaled.

He entered his new office, opened the window, and gazed at the shimmering lake below. Unable to help himself, he smiled oddly.

Then he turned around, examined the bone decorations, and shook his head.

“Absolutely terrible taste.”

His face filled with disdain.

So gloomy. Not mysterious at all.

He clicked his tongue, leaned against the wall, and began considering how to redecorate the place.

___________

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