Disclaimer: Harry Potter belongs to J. K. Rowling, and Howl's Moving Castle belongs to Diana Wynne Jones

For those of us who may be wondering about the significance of the title… there really isn't any. I couldn't think of one, and Welsh Rugby stuck. Besides, that's the catalyst that caused all the trouble in the first place.

Welsh Rugby
In which two Wizards walk into a bar

Albus Dumbledore was known, to all who had met him and to quite a few who had not, as an enthusiast.

This, of course, was a polite way of saying "a crazy old bat," for they referred to him as such in the same manner that one would call Hagrid a lover of pets. It was a true statement, taking into account that what Hagrid named pets, most people called exotically dangerous beasts once they had run far enough to feel sufficiently safe. Popular rumor speculated that Dumbledore gave the half-giant his job because he liked the man's tastes.

Although Albus' enthusiasms were varied and wide, they had in common one of two characteristics: either the eccentric, or the mundane so mundane to the point of eccentricity. Things like a pet phoenix and an endless supply of lemon drops enhanced this theory. So it came as no surprise to find him thoroughly enjoying his stumble upon a rugby reunion.

It was summer and, trying to kill two birds with one stone, he was touring the various pubs of Wales while searching for another replacement teacher. Perhaps this was not the best way to go about picking up professors, but by now people had long since given up trying to question his unorthodox methods.

He savored the June evening as he went, waving jovially at all who paused to stare at his rather outlandish Muggle clothing. Nothing could dampen Dumbledore's mood this fine Midsummer Eve, for he knew there to be a particularly fine university in this city, thus the location of the bar, and he had always been rather fond of schools. Granted, most lacked the characteristic quirks of his own educational institution, but it was the thought that counted.

He was most pleasantly surprised to enter his destination and discover, from the drunken enthusiasm, that this particular university had a rugby team, and that said team was hosting a Rugby Club Reunion. Albus, of course, greatly enjoyed Muggle sports, for it was amusing to see their creativity in finding entertainment without the use of magic. He thought to have a good evening of mingling and chatting with the locals.

At about an hour that must have either been very late at night or very early in the morning, he spotted the wizard.

Dumbledore could not believe he had not noticed the young man earlier. This was in part because he was very loudly singing in a manner most unbecoming for a Welshman, but also due to the man's flamboyant air. He demanded attention—Albus had half a mind to ask him how he got his hair that particular shade of white, he rather fancied it.

He strolled over and sat beside the man. "Wonderful evening, isn't it? It's so nice to find a fellow wizard here."

The man's green eyes were rather unnervingly glassy, and he had a curious notion that it might not be because of the alcohol. It reminded him somewhat of Alastor Moody. A shrewd look settled into those eyes. "If you're with the King, tell him he doesn't want me, I'm a terrible dishonest coward."

"I'm the headmaster of a school, actually. And if you truly were dishonest, you would lie and call yourself honest. Although," he continued thoughtfully, "if you were truthful, you would never call yourself dishonest."

The young man gave it a few moments' contemplation before neatly avoiding it. "He's found a replacement for her already?"

Studying the spells on the man's hair and outfit, he had not been paying the strictest attention. "Oh, no," he remarked offhandedly, "I'm still searching. Are you interested in the post?"

"I'm not a Royal Wizard," he replied automatically. But before he could begin elaborating on how black his name was, he found a hand shaking his own warmly.

"Wonderful, you're unattached! I'll send you the details closer to the start of term, of course. My name is Albus Dumbledore."

Vaguely apprehensive that he ought to be slithering out of whatever the elderly wizard was babbling about, he skipped to the final remark. "Howell Jenkins."

"By the way, who on earth is your tailor?"

And thus it was that Albus enjoyed the rest of his summer vacation immensely, having acquired his newest Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher.

…
to be continued
…

-Windswift