Samsara
Team: Pride of Portree
Position: Chaser 1
Position Prompt: Write about your member of staff's job interview.
Optional Prompts:
4. (word) search
7. (quote) 'Every new beginning comes from some other beginning's end.' - Seneca
8. (phrase) 'Fingers crossed'
AN: Special thanks to CorvusDraconis and Sehanine, who saved us all much pain by correcting my abominable tenses and pointing out some flaws in my plot. Thanks as well to Moka-girl for the final editing check-up. Awesome title accredited to CorvusDraconis, much love.
May of 1972
Hogsmeade was the only all-Wizarding village in Scotland, and, as it so happened, it also lay a hop, skip, and a jump away from Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Hogwarts had existed since the Middle Ages, and its history was as varied as the ages it had lived through. I had never had the privilege to attend Hogwarts due to my lack of magic. I would have given almost anything to attend, but I had been born a Squib—a person of magical ancestry but unable to access magic in any of its forms.
There had been a storm building for almost a decade. Its fingers were reaching across the whole of Britain. I could feel the changes happening around me, yet exactly what those changes were eluded me. It was a sense, like an itch, but whenever I tried to touch on what it was, it was gone.
There were some rumours and speculations that the Ministry of Magic was attempting to rewrite laws, but historically all law changes tended to fail due to the long and arduous process that got the law to the Minister for his or her stamp of approval. Purebloods were pushing for more privileges for themselves and restraints on Muggleborns and magical creatures, but really it wasn't anything new. Salazar Slytherin had been pushing for that for the majority of his life, and that hadn't ended well for him. No one seemed to know what had happened to Salazar Slytherin's line other than the once proud Pureblood family had seemingly disappeared off the face of history.
There had been a few strange disappearances popping up here and there in the news, but it was happening both in the Wizarding and the Muggle worlds. It hadn't really been a significant thing, despite the tragedy of it. Kidnappings were much the same, and murders were an unfortunate occurrence, but nothing that had happened had been so unerringly mysterious and repetitive as to consider a serial killer. There were rumours, too, that a young Dark wizard was whispering his promises of change, improvement, empowerment, and hope to the Pureblood families, but it was, at least at that moment, conjecture.
"All he delivers is terror and confusion," I muttered to myself. "In many ways, they deserve him." My thoughts were, as they tended to be when thinking of such things, bitter. For all of their 'superiority,' a nation of witches and wizards couldn't even deal with one ruthless, violent 'revolutionary.'
People like myself were looked on with a sort of inherent shame, scorn, or the even more common pity. Sometimes, we were not even acknowledged at all. One might ask why I was walking through Hogsmeade, given that people like myself were hardly a welcome sight in the Wizarding world.
The short answer was: a job.
I had grown up around magic, and though I had never attended a magical school in my life, I had not been blind to it or the world of people that used it. Even though the majority of wizards and witches shunned or ignored me, I believed the magical world was where I belonged.
As a Squib, getting a decent job in the Wizarding world was a great deal more difficult than obtaining one in the Muggle world. The typical wizard or witch was capable of doing many things a Muggle would struggle with with far greater ease than a Squib. The closed-off mindset against Squibs was, at the heart of it, discrimination, and it filled me with a sort of brooding anger, self-loathing, and a general feeling of impotency that I had to fight with constantly. No matter how much I believed in my heart that I deserved a fair shake just like the next bloke, I didn't just have to believe in it myself. I had to prove it to the world.
I clutched Mrs Norris closer to me. She was under my trenchcoat, where I had been concealing her from the cold and windy spring afternoon. A soft, reassuring meow greeted me from within the warm layers. Mrs Norris had been the only one that had accepted me for who I was, and it just so happened that she was also my cat.
I had found her, or, rather, she had found me while I had been heading back to my apartment after a long day's work at the corner shop I had been working at. That day I had seen her for the first time, staring at me with wide eyes in the cold, pouring rain. She had peered up at me with sad, yet hopeful eyes, giving me a plaintive mew. There had been many things said in that one, small, half-drowned mew, and I had known leaving her there was not something I could do. Now, five years later, she was my steadfast companion. She refused to leave my side, and I would smuggle her everywhere. If I didn't, she would show up anyway to wherever it was that I was, almost as if by magic. I had taken her in with an initial offering of food and a warm place to sleep, and she had become both my friend and my world.
We stopped in front of the inn where my interview was supposed to take place: the Three Broomsticks. I had received word that Headmaster Albus Dumbledore was looking for a new caretaker for the school. The opportunity the opening left for me went without saying. This was the kind of job I'd been searching for. My search for a job had often left me with very few good opportunities, and I knew this was one of those rare ones. I had to at least attempt to get the job. I would be able to set my feet into the same castle that had housed my ancestors. Best of all, Hogwarts was renowned for being a safe place from the chaos being woven by the nebulous, uprising man who was slowly being seen as the next Dark Lord.
"It will be a job that will give me the power to instill some bloody humility into the next generation of wizards and witches," I thought with some satisfaction.
I had done my research on the position before I came, truth be told. I had also asked around the Wizarding tavern, the Leaky Cauldron, about the person I would be succeeding: Apollyon Pringle. The man was, according to all those who spoke with me, notoriously heavy-handed with his punishments. I couldn't help but think that was the only proper thing to do when dealing with a school full of brats able to cast magic willy-nilly whenever they could get away with it.
Stepping up to the door of the inn, I smoothed my lanky hair, which I had tied into a ponytail in an attempt to give myself an appearance of respect and professionalism. It honestly irritated me a little, how disrespected I was simply for being a Squib, and yet I was surely expected to show the utmost respect to my future employer. It helped at least somewhat that he was worthy of some respect for what he did in regards to the last Dark Lord that had risen to power in Europe.
I took a deep breath and looked down at my sweet cat's head poking out of the top of my coat. She turned her head up to meet my gaze as though she could sense me looking at her. I gave her a rare smile reserved only for her and stroked her furry cheek. She leaned into my touch with an approving purr. It might seem odd to some that I'd carry my cat with me to my job interview but, as I mentioned before, if I hadn't taken her with me, she would have shown up anyway. I had stopped asking how she always managed to track me down.
Taking a hold of the doorknob, I told her, "Let's keep our fingers crossed, Mrs Norris." I paused and looked back down to see her still staring at me. "And paws," I added.
Her ear twitched before she looked forward again. The action brought a wry chuckle from my lips as I walked across the threshold.
Immediately, a welcoming warmth seeped through my clothes. Looking around, I could see several witches sitting at the bar treating themselves to some of Madam Rosmerta's most popular beverage, butterbeer, and gossiping with the bartender.
Rosmerta gave an open, if slightly hesitant, smile when she looked up and saw who had entered her establishment.
"It's to be expected," I muttered to myself. I had a reputation for not only being a Squib but also a snappy and bitter human being pretty much everywhere I went. I realised that I was frowning again, but I gave her a nod in reply. She'd never been less than cordial with me the few times I'd been there, so she deserved that much at the very least.
I started to search the modest crowd of customers for the great Albus Dumbledore, but I was coming up empty handed. Someone began to stand near me, and my automatic assumption was that it was a wizard who probably felt he was too good to share this particular space with me. But, as I turned, I saw that it was an elderly man with graying hair.
'He has a phoenix?' I wondered in awe. The rare and colourful bird sat on the man's shoulder, and that alone told me this was none other than Albus Dumbledore. His clothes seemed to match the bright and flamboyant colours of his familiar. Both the coloured robes and half-moon glasses made me wonder if I was underdressed… or overdressed. I wasn't sure which was more appropriate.
'That's an impressive beard,' I thought to myself a little juvenilely.
The man's eyes were twinkling behind his glasses as he made a gesture of invitation.
"Hello, my dear boy. You must be Argus,. You don't mind if I call you Argus, do you? Come, sit down!" he said lightly, sitting back down again. Then, he noticed my cat. "Ah, and who's this?" Dumbledore asked, still smiling that damnably kind smile and looking at Mrs Norris, who was poking her head out of the neck of my coat.
"Her name is Mrs Norris," I informed him, lifting her out of the coat's confine and onto my lap. She peeked over the tabletop to eye the magical bird and was ignored in turn. Instead, the bird settled its unnervingly intelligent gaze on me.
"This is Fawkes. A phoenix, as I'm sure you've guessed. Magnificent creatures," Dumbledore said fondly.
His piercing blue eyes flicked up to meet my own. "You must care for her a great deal," he observed. There was something in his tone, as if he knew more than I would suspect.
"She's everything to me," I clarified tonelessly. "She doesn't care that I'm a Squib and that what family I had abandoned me. Many Muggles think me odd and difficult. She takes me as I am and I her."
Professor Dumbledore beamed at me. "Love, in all it's forms, should always be cherished. Try to keep an open mind with others though. Not all wizards and witches see only a Squib, my boy."
I gave a noncommittal grunt in response.
"So, to the matter at hand," Dumbledore said, clasping his hands together. "Your duties as Hogwarts' Caretaker would entail late night patrols with other staff, confiscation of contraband, assisting with the upkeep of the castle, and attendance at mealtimes. As for punishments," he said, looking at me pointedly, "you may assign detentions, but not oversee them directly. That responsibility is delegated to the teachers, as is the rewarding and removal of house points. You will have access to all of the castle, barring personal quarters, and be given room and board in addition to a set wage. Your room may be personalised however you see fit. I believe that is it. You have until the start of the next school year to transfer your belongings and familiarise yourself with the castle." The headmaster started to stand, not even waiting for a reply.
"Wha—but I haven't even been hired yet! Don't you need some of my credentials? References?" I asked, feeling rather gobsmacked.
Dumbledore, now standing, looked at me with a knowing smile, "This interview wasn't just about whether Hogwarts needs you, but if you need Hogwarts. I can say, with certainty, that we'll be proud to have you and Mrs Norris, Mr Filch."
'But—but you don't even know me…' I thought, watching him pay Rosmerta some Sickles and exchange a few words with her before walking to the door.
I saw the headmaster pause and turn back to me. "Every new beginning comes from some other beginning's end, Argus." After giving that random bit of perspective, he was gone.
Still in my chair, baffled at how this could even be considered an interview, I stared dumbly into the drink I didn't even remember ordering.
"Meow," Mrs Norris commented, staring up at me from her perch on the table. She stuck her tail into my face and rose up her rear end to the touch of my hand as she simultaneously tried to slam her cheek against my jaw.
"Looks like we're going to have a new home now, my girl," I whispered into her face. "What do you think?"
"Mrrrrrowww," she replied, slapping the side of my face with her tail.
I smiled at her. "Yeah," I agreed. "Me too."