"Every Flavour Bean," Harry muttered at the gargoyle that guarded the headmaster's office. He was glad that this time, at least, he wouldn't have to guess the password. He could only imagine how silly he must have looked that one time standing in front of the figurine and yelling out the names of every sort of sweet, both Muggle and magical alike, that he knew.
"Come in," Dumbledore called out as soon as the gargoyle had fully moved out of the way and Harry had ascended the staircase and knocked on the office's door.
Harry entered the office, closing the door behind him quietly. He gave the ancient wizard a weak smile, but couldn't really find any words to say as he nervously approached the desk.
"Mr. Ashworth," Dumbledore greeted him neutrally. "Please, have a seat."
Harry sat. There wasn't much else he could do at this point, except wait to see what Dumbledore had to say.
"We meet again."
"So we have," Harry agreed.
Dumbledore stroked his beard and reached for a small glass bowl with his free hand. Holding it up to Harry, he smiled benignly. "Lemon drop?"
"Err - no, thanks," Harry said, shaking his head slightly. He had tried one once, and never again.
"Tell me, Harry - may I call you Harry?"
"Sure."
Dumbledore nodded and took a piece of candy. "So tell me, Harry, how is it that one such as you makes the acquaintance of Romulus Malfoy and impresses him enough to receive such a sterling recommendation only a week or so later?"
At least his tone wasn't accusatory - yet. But Harry knew that Dumbledore was curious, and he had to defuse that curiosity immediately-nip it in the bud, before it grew and the headmaster started digging and found out that Harry Ashworth didn't really exist. "Miss Black kindly arranged for me to be invited to a Christmas party because I was new in the country. She seemed rather eager for me to get to know her acquaintances."
Sticking to the basic truth would hopefully minimize any future contradictions in his cover story, Harry decided. "I met Mr. Malfoy there and mentioned that I was currently looking to explore and expand my horizons, since I had not yet decided on a line of work. I hadn't expected to hear from him again, but he contacted me two days ago and told me that there was an opening on your staff, if I was qualified."
"I see."
Harry shrugged, not really perturbed by the headmaster's noncommittal answer. Dumbledore's posture was still relaxed, his eyes intrigued, but not suspicious yet. "I really wanted to thank you again for having me; I know it cannot be easy trusting someone whose skills you know nothing about with your students."
"Of course," Dumbledore acknowledged graciously, though he wasn't really looking at Harry anymore. In fact, he was staring off into space, and, Harry, thought, seemed distracted with something. "You are welcome, Harry, though I have to be frank. Your position here is only temporary until Horace recovers from his… malady. It's nothing personal."
"I understand," Harry replied easily, "as it is, I am already grateful for the chance to be here. Perhaps, by the time Mr. Slughorn returns, I will have found another opportunity." Harry stopped himself before he mentioned that he was probably more qualified to teach DADA than potions, but decided that drawing Dumbledore's attention to that particular set of skills right now probably wasn't a good idea.
"Well, I wish you the best of luck with your ongoing search," Dumbledore said as he reached for a stack of papers and handed them to Harry. "As you are no doubt aware, Potions is one of the core subjects taught at Hogwarts. Unlike an elective it is an important requirement for the OWLs and NEWTs, which are our standardized tests here in Britain." He glanced at Harry over the rim of his glasses. "Mr. Malfoy hinted at the fact that you are familiar with our schooling system?"
"I am," Harry admitted. "Unlike the system in the United States, the Australian schooling system is very much like the British. It's been a while since I have heard some of the terms used, but I do remember them well enough."
"Good, good. Now, it is imperative that your students do well on their tests, though, especially if they have high career ambitions."
"Right." Harry absently wondered if Dumbledore had ever bothered to give this speech to Snape. If he had, the greasy-haired potions master apparently had not listened very well.
Dumbledore continued, glancing through another set of papers that Harry immediately recognized as a copy of his forged schooling documentation that he had provided Malfoy upon request. "It would be comforting for me to know that you, yourself, had earned your OWL and NEWT majoring in Potions, but as Mr. Malfoy reminded me, you have not actually been schooled in Britain." Dumbledore cocked an eyebrow. "Though I suppose your work at foreign schools will suffice and has rendered you competent."
The blank stare Dumbledore gave him wasn't outright hostile or suspicious, it was more of an evaluating gaze that told Harry the headmaster didn't know what to do with him just yet, and would wait and see how he performed before passing judgment. Although, Harry could almost hear the unspoken words. If you're incompetent, we'll find out soon enough.
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