I'm here to apply for a divination professor position. What do you want from me?

Summer vacation begins in 1991, Hogwarts Great Hall.

Professor McGonagall sat in a row with Dumbledore and Professor Snape in the Great Hall, which had been drastically altered, serving as the interviewers for Hogwarts' annual recruitment drive. Because of Hogwarts' generous compensation, many wizards applied for professorships every year at this time.

However, after seeing off yet another wizard who had come for an interview, Professor McGonagall let out a long sigh.

She looked at the old man with a flowing white beard beside her:

"Albus, this is the twentieth applicant already, but still not a single person wants to apply to teach Defense Against the Dark Arts. If this continues, not to mention this year's professors, we won't be able to recruit anyone next year or the year after."

"...It's precisely because everyone knows we'll have to recruit again next year and the year after that we can't recruit a single person every year," Professor Snape said coldly from the side.

This is indeed the case.

By now, everyone knows about Professor K's Defense Against the Dark Arts.

Everyone in the wizarding world knows that no one has ever been able to stay in this position for a full academic year unscathed. Ever since several senior wizards in previous years met with misfortune while in office—either disappearing or losing a leg—no one has been willing to apply for the position anymore.

This isn't a professor's move, it's practically a sacrifice!

"Let me look again."

Dumbledore also let out a long sigh.

He has only received a transfer application from Quirrell, the former professor of Muggle studies, but Quirrell has been acting strangely lately.

It was a cloudy day at Hogwarts, with a light drizzle falling outside every tall window, making the room look cold and gloomy. But inside, warm yellow flames burned continuously on every intricate silver candle holder on both sides of the room, making one feel comfortable just sitting in the room.

This cheered Professor McGonagall up a bit.

"Next," she said to the doorway.

Soon, the tightly closed doors of the Hogwarts Great Hall creaked open, and a new applicant entered.

"Thump, thump."

The first thing they heard was two muffled footsteps.

The one who entered was a tall, slender young wizard, dressed in a black fitted cloak, who looked like a younger version of Severus.

—But he had a more sinister aura than Snape.

The first thing that caught Professor McGonagall's eye was a black top hat that covered most of his face. Beneath the hat, the exposed skin was deathly pale, a stark contrast to his black hair, which was somewhat unsettling.

When he raised his head, his black eyes, also black, were revealed beneath his top hat, but the black irises took up too much space, making them look like two dark holes when he looked at people.

If there are ghosts in horror stories, this is probably what they look like.

—But the moment Professor McGonagall saw him, she knew that the Defense Against the Dark Arts professorship for the year was secured!

Professor Albus Dumbledore paused in his beard-stroking motion, his eyes quickly brightening. He glanced at one of the resumes he had taken from a stack beside him:

"Mr. Victor Vanderbohm, is that right?"

"Yes."

The young man stared intently at Dumbledore with his dark eyes for a while before walking to the center of the Great Hall, to the chair prepared for the interviewees.

Professor McGonagall also carefully reviewed the resumes of the interviewees that had been collected in advance:

"I saw in your file that you received your apprenticeship in the Far East, but you never attended a magic academy?"

"Yes, the town where I was born is very remote and not within the enrollment area of ​​any magic academy. The residents there are also afraid of anything that is not 'normal,' so I had to move away from there."

"But as I was leaving, I happened to meet Grandma Baba Yaga, who was happy to take me on as an apprentice, so I studied magic with her for seven years."

"Baba Yaga...that sounds like a Slavic name."

Professor McGonagall glanced at the "Wizard Skills" section of the resume and couldn't help but frown. "So, you learned divination and psychic abilities from her? Isn't your specialty Defense Against the Dark Arts?"

"I know a little bit of all kinds of magic."

"Victor said softly."

Throughout the entire process, his expression remained unchanged, always expressionless. Even when he spoke, he didn't move any other facial muscles, which made several professors frown.

His behavior reminded them of the undead—evil creatures born of dark magic.

But the vacant Defense Against Dark Magic slots left them with few options.

Besides, even if he were the second Quirrell, he wouldn't cause any major problems in front of Professor Dumbledore.

Dumbledore then prepared to finalize the deal.

He stood up, looked at Victor with a kind smile, and handed him a form.

The cover reads "Information Form for Applying to be a Professor of Defense Against the Dark Arts".

"Very good, Mr. Vanderbom, we are aware of your resume. Just provide us with some additional materials to prove your level of Defense Against the Dark Arts, or direct proof of your spellcasting, and you can report to Hogwarts in two weeks..."

Victor: ?

He didn't reach out to take it.

Instead, he moved his dark eyes and looked at Dumbledore with a slightly suspicious expression:

"...Actually, I didn't come here to apply for the position of Defense Against the Dark Arts professor."

"What?"

"I hope to apply for a professorship in divination."

Professor McGonagall, standing behind him, seemed somewhat taken aback: "Mr. Vanderbom, the position of Professor of Divination is not currently vacant. Professor Trelawney has been a teacher for over ten years, and we will not be considering hiring a new Professor of Divination anytime soon."

"It will be vacant."

Victor, however, spoke calmly and confidently.

"When the seventh bell tolls at midnight, Professor Sybil Trelawney's fingertip will unfortunately touch the thorn of a poison ivy, and she will fall into a long slumber."

Upon hearing these words, the three professors froze on their faces. Professor McGonagall's brows furrowed, and Dumbledore's expression turned serious, his blue eyes sharply and calmly fixed on Victor.

This doesn't sound like a nice thing to say.

Professor Snape asked grimly, "Is this a curse?!"

"On the contrary."

"Two years later, when a comet streaks across the sky, she will awaken from her long slumber once more. From that day on, whenever a solar eclipse occurs, she will make a prophecy. The prophecy will always be half true and half false."

"Absurd!" Professor Snape couldn't help but exclaim.

Now, he felt that this young man named Victor was simply abnormal and should be sent to St. Mungo's Hospital for Magical Arts. In his decades-long career as a wizard, he had never heard anything like it.

What kind of curse or poison ivy could give someone prophetic abilities after they wake up?

He'd probably be bald from being poked by his own needles by now!

But Victor simply shook his head slightly, stood up under the varied gazes of the professors, and then said:

"Please feel free to reconsider. I will be waiting for you at the thirteenth shop on Charing Cross Road in three days."