Whispers, and Rumors, and Gold, Oh My!
Ivan closed his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose trying to ward off either fatigue, frustration, or both. He had no idea why pinching his nose would help... he just knew it was an habitual gesture of his. The reports he was getting were so tenuous, so flimsy. He leaned back in his creaky wooden chair, almost pulled the little chain on his desk lamp to plunge his office into nearly total darkness, and thought about sleeping right there in his office.
"No, this would not do," he thought to himself. "I need some proper rest, then a shower and some fresh clothes." When had he last changed his clothes, he wondered? Or slept in a bed, for that matter? He laughed to himself mirthlessly as he walked to his office window and stared out at the gray stone walls of the Radu Voda Monastery, so imposing and sepulchral in the ghostly light of this nearly full moon. "Bucharest by Moonlight," he mused. "That should sound lovely, like a song, and fill the heart with romance." For him, it only filled the heart with dread.
Opening the window just far enough, Ivan transformed into a hefty raven and launched joyfully from the sill into the still, cold, night air. He flew in ascending spirals, gaining ever more altitude until he flew high above the tallest structure in what was still called "Old Town" here in Bucharest. How strange was it for Old Town now to contain a Starbucks and the "All-In Casino and Poker Club"? Ah, well. "Tempora mutantur" as his father used to say. But then, didn't everything?
Now, for at least a few minutes traveling home, he could truly relax. He only felt completely relaxed doing two things: bathing in a hot tub of soapy water as a man, and flying or gliding on swiftly moving currents of cool air as a raven. These days there seemed depressingly little time for either one. And before he knew it, he was landing on his apartment balcony. Transforming smoothly as he entered, he shed his clothing between the balcony sliding glass door and his bed, leaving a laundry trail his house elf would eventually deal with. Sliding gratefully between the sheets, he was asleep before his head hit the pillow.
Buzz... Buzz... Buzz...
Buzz... Buzz... Buzz...
Buzz... Buzz... Buzz...
Conversation with self:
"My phone is buzzing..."
"Yes, yes it is..."
Buzz... Buzz... Buzz...
"It keeps doing that. I want it to shut up and leave me alone..."
"It won't. You must answer it."
Buzz... Buzz... Buzz...
"I don't want to answer it. I want it to shut up and leave me alone..."
"True. You want that. Irrelevant, but true. Now ANSWER THE PHONE. It's probably important..."
Buzz... Buzz... Buzz...
Groan... reach... push the stupid button... slide the stupid icon...
"Hello..."
"Hello... Ivan?"
"Da, what is it?"
"Get in here right away. We've found Aleksandur Bogdanov. I'm sorry... He's dead, Ivan. But we have the information. Come in right now. We have the proof and we need to get moving on this..." and the line went dead before he could answer.
Instantly alert as he heard Aleksandur's name, still it took a moment as he sat at the edge of his bed with his feet on the floor, to get oriented and sort out his thoughts. Aleks had been his best friend since boyhood, and his death struck him like losing a limb. All right, there would be time to grieve later. Looking around he breathed a small prayer of thanks for Misha, his house elf. Sure enough, there was a clean set of clothes laid out for him, all his mess from the night before was picked up and by now probably cleaned and pressed, even his phone had been placed on his nightstand... having been dribbled somewhere between the door and the bed just a few hours earlier.
He may not have time for a bath, but even rushed as he was he could take 60 seconds for a shower, then wand-dry himself off and wand his clothing onto himself. He looked handsome enough with scruff to bypass shaving for the time being, and it wasn't like he had to worry about keeping up appearances for his civil service job. One last look in the mirror, a quick check for undetectable weapons, a final dose of Pepperup tonic to compensate for four whole hours of sleep in the past thirty-six, and off he apparated to his office.
He got there just in time for his two best surviving operatives to walk him to the briefing room where their Division Chief awaited them. He rose as they entered and offered his hand.
Ivailo Chernev, Division Chief of the Auror and Intelligence Apparat, Protectorate of Magic, Romania, shook hands, then kissed Ivan on both cheeks as he offered his sincere condolences. "I'm so sorry this has come about, Ivan. But it seems you were right all along." Chernev, a tall gaunt man of somber bearing, folded his form into a chair at the table with an air of command. "Offhand, I found it hard to believe, but you can see for yourself, the penseive is right there..."
Ivan looked to his left at the swirling light glowing from the fluid surface. "Good old, Aleksandur," he thought. "Not only got the information through who knows what means, but managed to preserve it and get the memory vials back to us somehow..."
He took the time to submerge into the memories of his dead friend, and saw the fulfillment of his worst fears unfold before him.
Stoian Petrov, Bulgarian, leader of an assassination coven so long gone they were thought dead. Very possibly the most dangerous wizard alive, though there were those who sought to dispute that these days. Ivan tried to convince himself that he'd truly thought Petrov dead! "Tried" was the operative word there. "Hoped" was honestly more accurate. This man, this wizard, this... this monster... had once been the heart of Bulgaria's prime industry for export. Whether magical or muggle, the Bulgarians were the very best assassins. With the fall of the Iron Curtain, and the collapse of the KGB and its apparatchik, Bulgaria's prime client market had crashed.
"No good deed goes unpunished, and no good thing can last," they say.
Slowly, over time, the power vacuum left by the collapse of the Party and the Police State, had become filled by the same people with the same motives, now wearing entrepreneurial masks and free market business suits. Like rats scurrying from a condemned building into a city's pervasive sewer system, what had been an identifiable monolith of evil was now split into countless shadowy alleys.
Here now was the proof...
A contract. An open contract making its way through the Dark Net and every magical back alley, sewer, and dark coven in Europe. One million gold galleons, paid to any account anonymously or not. Wanted: Dead or Alive... Harry Potter, a mere boy, a student at the magical training academy in England. And Stoian Petrov and his entire organization, have now made it formally known, they plan to fulfill that contract. What's more, they were now offering their own rewards for ideas and information leading to its successful completion.
Ivan suddenly felt both very old and very young at the same time. He sank into the chair left open for him among his colleagues, and waited on the older man to speak.
"Are we agreed then?" Chernev asked gently. "You know he must be called. He's the only one who has ever beaten Petrov. They hate each other, and I know he's thought Petrov dead. You're good, Ivan. You are absolutely the best we have, and I have no doubts of your skill or capabilities, but..."
"No, my friend. No offense taken. I know you are right. I'm good, very good indeed... but he is doubtless better. Whenever I spend time with him he amazes me, and I learn more about... well... anything. I just hate... I don't want to see... This is just so very dangerous. We've already lost Aleksandur. I don't know if I could..."
"I know, Ivan. But do we really have any choice? Whether he's called or not, you know Petrov will go after him first. Clearly he must be told, if only for his own safety. And you know as well as I, once he is told..."
"Yes, I know..." Ivan laughed, almost bitterly. "Once he is told, nothing on earth will stop him. He has connections, old connections, with magic in England. I was even raised there for part of my life. No, dear Ivailo... Sir... Well, he's retired, sir."
"Ivan," the old man laughed, "I'm not even going to dignify that with a response. He is as retired as you or I are. He just gets around quite a bit more..." and Ivan looked defeated as he smiled at the irony. "Right, so the only question is, my boy, shall I call him? Or..."
"Oh, no, sir. I will definitely call him. In fact, I think we'll have dinner. It's been a while. I should tell him about Aleksandur anyway. He was like a son to him. In fact, hang on a moment. Let me call him from here on speaker, we can all say hello..." four wands wave at his phone to secure the call, as Ivan places it between them all and hits a speed dial number.
They hear ringing through the speaker...
A 'click'... then, "Ivan, my dear boy! How good to hear from you," came the sonorous baritone of Herr Doctor Professor Pavel Konstantyn.
"Hello, yourself, and I've some friends here to say hi to you as well. Listen, are you free for dinner, or... even better... say lunch today?"
"Certainly. I'd be delighted..." as his voice took on a bit of an edge. "I take it we all have matters to discuss."
"Yes, yes we do. I'll let you all chat for a bit, and I'll see you shortly for lunch."
"Very well, Ivan. I'll look forward to it."
"Me, too, Dad. I'll be there soon."
"Good."
And Ivan left the room, as his eyes misted just a bit.
Two Weeks Later:
The Dining Hall was filled with lights, children, and food as Harry's second year began and the Sorting Hat called out house after house. While all tried to put a brave face on it, some first years were relieved and others intimidated as they scattered to their house tables to meet the cohort they'd spend the next seven years with.
Harry, of course, missed the festivities, having been "rescued" from Privet Drive by the Weasley's and their flying Ford Anglia the first time, and then finally parking it with Ron in the Womping Willow after Dobby locked them out of the Hogwart's Special Train. So, while Mr. Filch and Mrs. Norris triumphantly marched the boys off to what the despicable custodian secretly hoped would be their execution - or at least expulsion - the boys missed Headmaster Dumbledore's introduction of their new History of Magic professor, Herr Professor Doctor Pavel Konstantyn.
"Yes, we're delighted to report that Professor Binns has accepted a commission to research some lesser known areas of magical history, more easily accessed from the afterlife, while Professor Konstantyn takes his place as lecturer here at Hogwarts. Let us show him a warm welcome," as the Headmaster backed away from the lectern a pace or two and led a brief polite round of applause. Herr Professor rose, made a slight martial bow as he smiled, and seated himself again without comment.
The first day of classes went by in typical fashion. Madame Sprout's botany class repotted mandrakes. Professor Gilderoy Lockhart created sheer havoc releasing a cage of Cornish Pixies who hung Neville from a chandelier. Ron received his howler from Molly Weasley in front of the entire school in the Dining Hall. Ron cursed himself with slugs as his wand rebounded his hex after Draco's filthy utterance at Hermione. And detention was served helping Professor Lockhart answer his fan mail. Yes, nothing seemingly unusual for Harry Potter and Friends at Hogwarts.
The next day, as Slytherins and Gryffindors teamed up for Divination, Potions, Transfiguration, and Charms, there was a bit of buzz as all approached their last class of the day with their new... reportedly "odd", according to not a few Ravenclaws and Hufflepuffs... professor.
They were not the least bit disappointed.
A/N Thank you for coming this far, Gentle Reader. I love the Potterverse and, having taught for a number of years myself, have always thought how marvelous it would be to be faculty at Hogwarts. This is AU, and will depart in a number of places from canon, but for the most part it will be the insertion of a character based on a real person I was very privileged to learn under. He passed away long ago, but I suspect were he able to teach at Hogwarts with the resources of magic at his disposal, things would develop much this way. Check this story out... it is a first effort for me... and let me know, even in a super brief review, how you like (or don't like) how the story evolves. Grace to you - Mort! :)