Afu was trembling all over when he saw Dumbledore.
Rather like a toy poodle that had just walked into a dog-meat shop.
Skyl patted his head and solemnly introduced him. "This is Afu. He's a wolfhound."
At that pat, Voldemort simply went limp and toppled to the floor—and at the same time, he let out a long sigh of relief.
Professor Dumbledore gazed deeply at the handsome big dog, his expression suggesting that he had already guessed the truth.
"A very beautiful dog, Mr Skyl. But I'm afraid the school rules don't allow the keeping of large dogs."
"I can turn him into a little toy. Like this."
Skyl gave his hand a slight wave and, amid Afu's protesting barks, the wolfhound shrank rapidly until he'd become a plush toy—the kind a little girl could cradle in her hands.
Dumbledore murmured in wonder, "Transfiguration beyond compare."
"Thank you."
Hearing the praise, Skyl suddenly felt a pang of nostalgia for time gone by. "Professor, I've never forgotten the day we met in front of Zhdanov the wizard's door."
"I was only fulfilling my duty as an educator."
Dumbledore pointed at the chair opposite his desk, then at the large bowl on it, piled high with lemon jelly sweets.
Skyl smiled and pulled a bag of licorice wands from his pocket. "I also have a habit of carrying sweets around."
Dumbledore burst out laughing. He had a house-elf bring two steaming cups of black tea, then cheerfully dumped a massive amount of sugar into his own cup, turning it into tea-flavoured syrup before drinking it with obvious delight.
Skyl felt very much at ease around Dumbledore. The old man had been through everything; his heart was as clear as a polished mirror, yet he still chose to place his trust in the younger generation.
With someone like that, Skyl didn't feel there was much point in hiding anything.
He set the dog toy on the desk and nudged it toward Dumbledore.
"A gift for me?" Dumbledore blinked.
"Let's call it a present. Professor, I've brought back your favourite student from the old days."
"…Alas, so it is Tom."
Dumbledore looked at the toy dog. Its shiny plastic eyes reflected two white pinpricks of light, like tears—though a man like Voldemort had no tears to shed. "May I talk to him?"
"Afu will be safe in your care, I'm sure of it. But I doubt that's the only reason you called me here."
"Quite right. Ah, what a cheerful day this is."
Dumbledore removed his glasses and wiped the reddened corners of his eyes with a grubby blue handkerchief, smiling broadly all the while. "Forgive me, I'm so old I almost forgot. Here is the matter: Quirinus fell suddenly ill, so we need someone to substitute for him. He recommended you. Skyl, with your mastery of magic, teaching the students of Hogwarts would be well within your abilities. The question is—do you have the inclination?"
Those words tugged Skyl back toward his previous life.
Funny—he had already started, unconsciously, to treat the thirty-odd years of his old life as a "past life." Back when he was a Muggle with no magic, hemmed in by the fences of the mundane world, the only thing he'd been truly satisfied with was his job. Even after becoming a teacher he still had to deal with petty squabbles and small-time scheming, but schools, at least, were cleaner than most places.
He had never been anything special. As a student, he'd been unremarkable; as a teacher, he hadn't stood out either. His students' impression of him was merely that of an open-minded young teacher. His colleagues thought of him as a quiet, introverted, ordinary man.
He had never set himself any grand ideals about "shaping souls" or "educating the future." Being a teacher was simply how he made a living. Perhaps that was the hypocrisy of adulthood. The old Skyl had allowed himself that hypocrisy, because he was just another little nobody.
But the Skyl of today was proud. He possessed power and knowledge; there was probably not a single person on Earth who could truly threaten him. Even if he stood against the whole world, Skyl could fight—and win. That pride was hard-won. Modest, perhaps, but bright. It was the most important reason the Sorting Hat had placed him in Gryffindor.
Would someone with that pride allow himself to be a slacker at the front of a classroom?
Now it felt as though everything was starting from scratch again. Did Skyl still have the courage to step up onto the teacher's dais?
He kept silent for a long time.
Portraits of former headmasters and headmistresses hung on the walls of the office. Some were asleep; others were huddled together in one frame, muttering to each other. Apart from the faint murmur of their voices, the only sound in the room was Dumbledore sipping his tea.
The tea cooled, then reheated itself, steam billowing.
"I can give it a try," Skyl said at last. "I'm willing to try."
"Excellent." Dumbledore spoke as if he'd known what the answer would be. "Believe in yourself, and do not doubt. You're not only an outstanding wizard, you have a strong and kindly heart—enough to inspire every student who hears you teach."
Skyl had been flattered many times at the College of Winterhold and had never blushed for it. But being praised by Dumbledore made a genuine happiness well up from the bottom of his heart. How do you repay the kindness of a shared meal? Only sincerity can repay friendship.
"In that case, I'll leave Afu here with you, Professor Dumbledore. I should go back and prepare my lesson plans."
When Skyl stepped out of the Headmaster's office, his footsteps had unknowingly grown lighter, more relaxed. Being a substitute teacher was hardly a major life achievement for him—but the chance to relive those old days was worth being happy about in itself.
That night, Skyl stayed in the common room until midnight before returning to his dormitory. Anyone who saw him could see he'd been writing and sketching in his notebook the whole time.
No matter who asked, Skyl wouldn't say what he was working on.
At that hour, Percy was still awake. At the sound of footsteps he turned his head; Skyl mouthed at him, "Go to bed."
"Skyl, aren't you going out wandering tonight?"
The transfer student said nothing—he only gave him a strange little smile.
So Percy didn't ask anything more.
The next day, he kept worrying about Skyl's odd behaviour. The guy had actually, for the first time ever, stayed quietly in the dormitory all night. Heaven help him—Percy, as a prefect, felt more anxious than pleased at Skyl's law-abiding turn.
At breakfast, Skyl continued to act out of character by sticking with his roommates and sitting among the fifth-years, who were all happy to have him there. Percy's sense of unease only grew stronger—until Skyl joined them on their way to Defence Against the Dark Arts.
"You actually came to class?!" Percy hissed, lowering his voice in disbelief. The other roommates looked like they'd seen a ghost.
Skyl gave the ignorant little brats a placid nod. He didn't go into the classroom, however—he waited in the corridor.
Before the lesson began, Professor McGonagall walked in. The class had been buzzing over who the substitute teacher might be. At the sight of Minerva McGonagall, everyone breathed a sigh of relief; her ability and character were beyond doubt, and she was much more popular than the other top contender, Snape.
As McGonagall entered, both Gryffindor and Slytherin broke into cheers and applause. The classroom became a sea of celebration.
Skyl followed her in. He saw Percy waving from his seat, pointing at the empty spot he'd saved beside him. But Skyl only nodded to him and calmly took up position at Professor McGonagall's side.
The noise in the classroom gradually died down. What was this transfer student playing at?
Professor McGonagall wore a peculiar smile. She seemed pleased, and also a little embarrassed. In front of both houses' fifth-years, she announced that the one taking over Professor Quirrell's lessons would be Mr Skyl.
The classroom erupted.
Skyl looked at Percy, whose eyes seemed on the verge of popping out of their sockets; at his roommates, whose mouths gaped wide enough to fit a frog; at the Gryffindor students, stunned and delighted; at the Slytherins, each one sitting bolt upright as if they'd been jabbed with a nail.
The expressions were priceless. Unhurried, Skyl took out his mobile phone, opened the panoramic camera, and captured the whole delightful scene.
"Mr Skyl?"
"Yes, Professor McGonagall."
"Then I'll leave the class in your hands."
"Thank you for your help."
Skyl saw the Deputy Headmistress to the door, then turned to face the utterly silent classroom with a smile.
"Now… who'd like to see what magic can really do?"
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