Hard soled, worn boots clapped dully against stone floor and wooden stairs as the old wizard made his way up towards the second floor.  It had been years - decades, even - since the once (and always) Gryffindor had last found himself walking these corridors.  Deaglan McDonough had had few reasons to return to the castle since his own graduation but it was remarkable how quickly one could fall back in memories in the perpetually familiar, never-changing castle. 

The wandmaker hadn't expected to find himself back in the castle, especially at this stage in his life.  With more than seven decades behind him since graduation, the man was well settled into his life.  Traveling, tinkering, selling the occasional wand or salad serving set.  The old Pavee had seen no reason to change the course of his life. 

It was Deaglan's daughter, Sinéad, who'd encouraged him to apply for the Professor position over the family Christmas dinner.  The man had hesitated, at first, but the thought had stuck with him through the night and he'd owled off his peculiar and humble application the following morning.  He'd set out for Scotland the following afternoon and, with a little magical help, reached Hogsmeade within a few days. 

Deaglan smiled as he slipped past the statue and climbed the revolving to the large, wood door and knocked.  Once invited, he slipped inside the office and approached the Headmistress. 

"This notorious trek has a way of bringing back memories," Deaglan offered, with a warm grin as he extended a hand.  "I can't shake this nagging feeling I'm in for a scolding but I couldn't say what for, exactly."

At the knock on the door, Minerva looked up from the reports splattered across the ancient desk. Time had, once again, gotten away from the weary witch and the exhaustion was finally starting to get the better of her. The bags under the headmistress’s eyes were darkening and a yawn was always at the tip of her lips, a sure sign that things weren’t going as swimmingly as some might assume.

The flurries of winter brought with it a flurry of staff changes and that never made a head of school very happy. Add that to the fact that there were three other schools with their own staff and heads visiting, and you’ve got yourself a ‘grade a’ crisis on your hands. That’s not even mentioning that one of the professors stepping down was the head of Gryffindor house, Minerva’s own pride and joy. Needless to say, Minerva was anxious to fill the posts as soon as possible, with as little fuss as possible.

After the slightest of pauses, Minerva called for the man to enter. Rising to her feet, she groaned softly and greeted the man as he entered the office. The portraits on the wall gazed on inquisitively and silently, as curious about the man as Minerva was. She has spent the better part of the past two days interviewing potential professors and hadn’t been satisfied with any of them. Deaglan was one of the last on her list, and Minerva wasn’t fancy to having to post the ad again. Where had all the competent witches and wizards of the UK gone?

“Mr. McDonough, welcome,” She said, liking the man already. “I’ve found that a lot less scolding goes on in this office than you’d imagine. Now, if you were to meet Professor Storm… well, there’s a man you should worry about,” A twinkle filled her eye and a dry smile split her face as she spoke fondly about her deputy head. “Might I offer you refreshment? Tea? A Biscuit?”

No scoldings?  "Is that so?" Deaglan asked, cheekily, turning his attention away from the Headmistress to allow himself a more leisurely look around the room.  The large round room was remarkable and highly memorable.  Like the castle itself, anyone who'd spent any time there would find it rather unforgettable.  But, time had a way of gradually changing the finer details of a memory just as the room, itself, had likely changed over the years. 

The portraits, for one.  Deaglan looked at each in turn, regarding the faces in the painting with much the same curiosity as the faces were showing him.   He took a few, slow steps with much the manner of a man casually strolling the corridors of The National Gallery before stopping in front of two of the most familiar. 

"Phineas Nigellus Black.  Headmaster the year before I started."  Odd twist of fate, the man's death.  Though Death was never to be celebrated, the man's passing had been an integral part of Deaglan's magical career.  Professor Black had been a purist and, though, outright denying muggleborns had likely been too much of a political hardship for the man, denying admittance to the likes of a Pavee were not.  It was only the luck of Professor Newton Scamander's appoint during the following summer that had allowed the young Gypsy to find his place at Hogwarts. 

How very long ago that seemed.  Deaglan dipped his head in acknowledgement to Professor Scamander's portrait. 

"I would welcome a cup of tea," Deaglan agreed, finally turning back to Headmistress.  "It was a rather cold drive over.  My toes are only just coming back to life."  The older man took a seat, seemingly unaware of how out of sorts his patched wool coat and cap must have seemed in the castle.  Not to mention the dome-topped wagon and two rugged ponies waiting outside. 

He offered the Headmistress a broad grin.  "Now, I might ask you go easy on me.  Can't say as I've ever sat a job interview before.  Never seemed to be written in the cards for me."  The closest he'd come was a rowdy conversation over a pint with Ciarán Mac Cionaoith when the old wandmaker had agreed to take Deaglan on as an apprentice. 

Minerva took a seat and pulled from the bottom drawer a complete tea set. She sat quietly, busying herself with the preparation of the tea, setting the water to boil and otherwise trying to look busy while offering the man time to make his respects known. If this meeting were to be scored, Deaglan would have already earned the first point. Minerva respected a person that showed respect where respect was due.

“I’m afraid I have only bags of tea, shame if you planned on tea reading, but a sight less messy,” She said as the wizard made his way over to the visitor’s chair opposite the desk. She glanced casually over to the set, now pouring scalding water into two identical cups, all of its own accord. One cup levitated through the air to land mid-air in front of the wizard, the other landed lightly before Minerva.

She pushed the cup to the side, letting it lie seemingly forgotten as she picked up a quill and sat it upon a blank page of parchment. When Minerva next spoke, the quill came to life, scribbling furiously across the page, flecks of ink flying in the air as the quill tried to keep pace with the headmistress’s words. “I’m sure you’ll do fine,” Minerva said with a slight smile. The fact that he’d never needed to interview proved his worth even more than a bulging resume could have. Herbologists shouldn’t always be within the eye of society, and it appeared, just by Deaglan’s choice of clothing, that he’d had little interaction with formal events.

It caused Minerva to smile, a memory of another flyaway herbology master, a dear friend Pomona Sprout flashed through her mind. “Here at Hogwarts, we put high stock in our professors, Mr. McDonough, and I’m afraid our Herbology Professor has a bit more responsibility than most. On top of teaching hundreds of students, our Herbologist is in charge of keeping the greenhouses stocked and thriving. He must collaborate with our Potions instructor to ensure that the ingredients stores are well stocked. He must work closely with the Keeper of Keys and Grounds to make sure the lawns and gardens are kept in immaculate condition. And those are just the duties not regarding students and the many frivolities they bring. What makes you qualified to handle these duties?”

The older lad shook his head, wrapping weathered fingers around the warmed ceramic as it found its place in front of him.  "Not to worry," Deaglan insisted, allowing the fresh, earthen-scented steam to rise to his nose before taking a gentle sip.  As always, it would do well with a spot of whiskey but, perhaps, that should be saved for celebration.  Or consolation.  "As much as I, admittedly, took to Divination, it has been years since I've given more than a fleeting thought to my tea dregs.  And, should a tea leaf manage to find its way free of the bag, it will make the message all the more newsworthy."

Deaglan watched, with a subtle grin, as the Headmistress reassured him on one hand and started taking feverish notes on the other.  Try as he might, the gentleman couldn't remember the last time anyone had actually taken notes about anything he'd said.  He was much more accustomed to being the subject of tourist pictures as he went along through his daily routine.  Or, chatting with customers as they tried to decide between wooden salad servers or, in the case of wizards, tried to find their best wand match.  But, he supposed he should get used to it.  His own school days seemed ages ago, but he could still remember the hours spend trying to transcribe rushed notes as properly as he could.

"Oh goodness," Deaglan remarked, taking another sip of tea before settling back in his seat.  Minerva McGonagall's description of the position did sound like a mouthful but the workload, itself, wasn't the root of the man's reaction.  "Well, I admit I am a rather humble man.  I'm afraid I don't have much in the way of direct qualifications.  Never had so much as a patch of lawn."  If the woman was looking specifically for someone with previous experience with the specific skills, there were probably better choices. 

But, if he wasn't careful, his humility would cost him the opportunity.  He'd likely never hear the end of it from Sinaed.  "You, however, are already familiar with my credentials for teaching the material."  He nodded, slightly, towards the resume.  "And, certainly, the other duties are less about their specific skills and more about working with the other personalities.  And, keeping everything straight.  My craft certainly requires a fair bit of keeping items stocked and arranged.  Wandmaking is a tricky, intricate business and, given my lack of access to storage, I am required to keep a close eye on my materials.  Working with the Potions Master and Keeper of Keys is, mostly, a matter of communicating.  I'm afraid most of what I have to bring to that is life experience." 

“Indeed,” Muttered the headmistress, more to herself than to the man sitting before her. Unlike the previous applicants interviewed for the post, Deaglan seemed much less intimidated by the witch. Granted, most of the other applicants had been her students at one point or another and some were none too talented. Perhaps it was his age and perhaps it was something totally different, but McDonough held an air of maturity that some of the current staff seemed to lack. Another point for the seasoned wandmaker.

“Tell me about your life experience, Mr. McDonough. Specifically experiences that explain why you’re the one for the post. I can’t deny that it would be handy to have a wandmaker handy, especially with the tournament in full swing.” She said, a spark brightening her eyes. Minerva was a fierce competitor and the thought of gaining an asset for Hogwarts that the other schools lacked was almost enough to make the lioness hire the Gryffindor alumnus on the spot. Instead, she stood from the high-backed chair and crossed the room in long sweeping strides to stand before the window overlooking the grounds.

“You’ll have to forgive me, I’ve never been one to sit idly,” Said the headmistress, turning back to look where the wizard sat. The quill upon the desk continued to scratch out the litany.

The man's scraggly white hair flopped around in its usual rebellious manner as Deaglan shook off the witch's apology.  "Nothing to apologize for," he insisted as he took a few minutes to consider the question. 

His life experiences?  Well, he had over nine decades worth of life experience - surely Minerva McGonagall wasn't looking for a recap or summary.  As she said, just experiences that would explain why he ought to be taken on as the Herbology professor.  The man sipped his tea as he considered the question and tried to organize his thoughts. 

"Perhaps, if you'll excuse the nostalgia, my thoughts are shifting back to my own time here.  My records would be quite old by now - I'm sure they are lost in the dungeons somewhere. Even so, you may know that I came to Hogwarts as not only a muggleborn but as a student who had had no schooling at all.  I barely knew my letters my first year.  I know there have been some recent additions who found themselves in similar circumstances."  Deaglan grinned.  "Most in Gryffindor house.  We attract the standouts.  I struggled and I faced more than my fair share of push back from the early purists who didn't believe I should be here.  The world was very different back then, though. 

"But, I learned how to navigate the students and faculty.  Learned to recognize the connectivity of what we do here.  Our learning is divided into classes and the students into houses but few students are purely Gryffindor or Ravenclaw.  The study of magical properties of herbs isn't purely a Herbological endeavor.  It's Potions as well.  And, Care of Magical Creatures."

Sitting back, Deaglan found himself unsure whether he'd answered with witch's question.  He could, if necessary, prattle off any number of representative conversations or situations.