Albus Dumbledore was not a fool.
There were those who wished he was, of course, and those who tried to prove he was, and even those who believed he was, though they were mostly fools themselves.
So, when he received word from someone who claimed to have information about what had happened to You-Know-Who and insisted he meet them, alone, in the rural village of Ombersley, he went expecting a trap. After all, there were few good reasons to ask him to come alone unless they intended to attack him.
He apparated into the street just outside of the village and cautiously approached the nearest house, casting a supersensory charm as he went.
The village was small, and at nearly two in the morning, there were few left awake. Those who weren't asleep in their beds were seemingly grouped near the center of the village, waiting for someone- most likely him.
He paused for a moment to consider his options. Broadly speaking, there were three things he could do- hide, and try to approach without being noticed; walk forward openly and discover their intentions; or turn around and leave.
It was tempting to use a disillusionment charm and sneak towards the men waiting for him, but it would be time consuming and he'd rather be back in his warm bed sooner rather than later. He could leave, of course, but then he'd learn nothing, and this whole trip would be wasted.
Besides, while he was no fool, he also hadn't been sorted into Gryffindor house for no reason.
Confident in his ability to deal with those ahead of him, he started forward at a sedate pace until he was nearly in the center of the people he'd sensed earlier, then stopped. After a few silent moments, he spoke.
"Well, gentlemen?"
"Stupefy!" came a shout from off to his left.
Professor Dumbledore spun with an agility that belied his old age and redirected the spell off into the night air. Around him, a group of at least eight men appeared from the darkness, each brandishing a wand.
With a wave of his wand and an idle thought, Dumbledore threw a full-body bind at the man who'd attempted to stun him. The man conjured a shield charm, but the force of the simple spell smashed through it and sent him tumbling to the ground, stiff as a board. Absently, Dumbledore deflected a jet of blue light that went soaring up into the sky.
"Impedimenta!" came another shout, this time from ahead of him.
Dumbledore conjured a massive shield in front of him, letting it absorb the spell, then transfigured the ground underneath his attacker into liquid so that he was suddenly foundering in water. A brief moment later, he turned it to stone, leaving only the man's head above ground.
A third man didn't even get a chance to scream before the vines on the picket fence next to him came to life and wrapped themselves around him, preventing him from using his wand.
"Avada Kedavra !"
At that, Dumbledore moved for the first time since the men had attacked him, twisting on the spot to Disapparate and reappearing a few feet to the left. The spell flashed past him and struck another of his attackers, who tumbled lifelessly to the ground.
The use of an unforgiveable curse added a new level of seriousness to the fight. As another jet of green light flew past the old wizard, he raised his wand and swept it in a circle over his head. At almost the exact same time, the three men ahead of him screamed out and fell to the ground, unconscious. Slowly, the Headmaster lowered his wand.
"Dumbledore, down!"
The shout had come from his right, and Dumbledore immediately dropped into a low crouch, raising his wand in front of him.
Crack! Crack! Crack!
Off to his left, a body toppled and fell. He spared a brief glance to find that it was the last of his attackers, who had apparently managed to conjure a shield charm strong enough to block his spell.
Most of his attention, however, went to the young man standing off to his right. He was in his late twenties, based on how he looked, and it seemed that he'd dressed hastily. A wide-brimmed hat, called a fedora if he was remembering properly, sat on his head, and he held a muggle weapon clutched tightly in both hands.
"Are you okay, sir?" the newcomer asked, looking at Dumbledore.
Professor Dumbledore straightened and brushed off his robes. "Quite all right, I do believe," he said, casting a critical eye over himself. "I don't believe I've ever had the pleasure of meeting you?"
"Lieutenant Nathan Smith, 22nd Special Air Service Regiment," the younger man said, eyes flicking to each of the seven remaining attackers, assessing them and discounting each of them as a threat. "Pleasure to meet you."
The Headmaster raised an eyebrow. "Special Air Service? The non-magical army?"
"Yes sir," the younger man said, apparently deciding his surroundings were secure and lowering his pistol."
"Then how, may I ask, do you know my name?" Professor Dumbledore asked, frowning.
The younger man's eyes flickered with emotion, so quickly the Headmaster wasn't entirely sure he saw it. "My wife was a witch," he said, his voice slightly quieter than before. "She described you to me once."
"I see," Dumbledore said, noting his use of the word was. "And I assume you heard the noise tonight and came out to see what was happening?"
"Yes sir," the man-Nathan- replied. "I'm a bit of a light sleeper these days."
Dumbledore flicked his wand to gather up his attackers. To Nathan's credit, he didn't flinch. Instead, he slid his weapon into a holster underneath the jacket he'd flung on over his nightshirt.
"And who was your wife?" the old teacher asked gently.
"Sophie Adams," Nathan replied quietly.
"Ah, yes," Dumbledore said, smiling slightly. "A young Ravenclaw."
"She was," Nathan agreed. "She was killed three years ago."
Dumbledore flicked his wand once more, shrinking his attackers and slipping them into a pocket of his robe. "And you've known about the wizarding world since then?"
"I have," Nathan said, nodding. "I've stayed out of the way for the most part."
While it had never been confirmed, it had long been rumored that the Dumbledore family had some traces of seer's blood running through their veins. Professor Dumbledore wasn't sure if that was the case or not, but often he had feelings-intuition, or inspiration, or whatever you may wish to call it- that suggested a course of action to him. While they were rare, they had never lead him wrong before.
"I have been considering adding a new post to Hogwarts School for some time now," he said, stepping towards the young man. "Times were dark here once, and I fear that darkness may rise again." He stopped just in front of the young soldier and peered into his eyes. "Would you be willing to work for me, as the Head of Security for Hogwarts Castle?"
"A muggle, working at a magical school?" the young man said, raising an eyebrow.
Dumbledore nodded and stayed quiet, letting the young man think.
"Why not?" the young man said, a small smile flickering across his face.
Without a word, Dumbledore held out his hand, and the young man shook it.