Chapter 2: An Unwanted Invitation

Chapter 2: An Unwanted Invitation

Dumbledore's office was just as Rosetta remembered; a grand, round room crammed full of snoozing portraits on the walls and delicate silver instruments perched precariously on spindle-legged tables. As Dumbledore busied himself with pouring them tea from a tinkling set of porcelain, Rosetta examined the ornate leg of his enormous claw-footed desk. It was inlaid with gems and what looked to be gold leaf. Must be worth hundreds if not thousands of Galleons, she thought to herself as the old man sent a cup and saucer flying over to her with his wand. She only just managed to catch it without spilling a drop.

Dumbledore took a sip of tea and set his cup down. He steepled his fingers and looked over the top of his crescent-shaped glasses at Rosetta. She felt like she was being x-rayed. Trying to hide her feeling of discomfort, she busied herself with drinking her tea, gazing around at the instruments and wondering if they were Goblin-wrought silver or not.

"So, Rosetta. I can see you are anxious to find out why I invited you here, and as time is short, I will spare the formalities. I have a proposition for you." He smiled, and his blue eyes crinkled. "You've worked at Gringotts and at the Merperson Liaison Office at the Ministry Of Magic. You are one of the few people I know, besides myself of course, who has a natural aptitude for magical languages. That is why I would like to offer you the position of Hogwarts' very first Magical Languages professor."

He sat back in his chair and took another sip of tea.

Rosetta let out a disbelieving laugh. "You want me to teach? Are you kidding me?"

"Absolutely not," Dumbledore replied mildly. "It has been apparent to me for some time that magical languages should be on the curriculum at Hogwarts but there has been no-one qualified to teach it. Until now, that is." His blue eyes twinkled.

"Qualified?" Rosetta scoffed. "I'm not qualified to teach! I don't even like children!" She could not believe what she was hearing. Perhaps the old man had finally gone mad after all.

"Believe it or not, one doesn't have to like children in order to instruct them." He laughed and shook his head. "And by qualified, I mean someone who has magical languages in their blood. Someone who can speak another language, a magical language, as easily as they breathe. Those people are few and far between." He held her gaze once more.

Rosetta sighed. "I'm grateful for you thinking of me, but I have no desire to teach. I left the Ministry because of the boring paperwork, and I left Gringotts because it was too corporate. I'm just not cut out for a day-to-day job."

Dumbledore studied her carefully.

"I had a feeling you'd say that." He paused to stroke his beard before continuing, weighing his words carefully. "You remember how life was when you were at school, during the reign of Voldemort."

Rosetta gave a barely imperceptible flinch at the name, but stayed quiet. She had a feeling they were coming to the real reason she'd been invited here today.

"Misinformation and mistrust were rife in our society. People didn't trust their fellow wizards or witches, let alone other magical beings. I often wonder if Voldemort could have been brought down sooner had we, the magical community as a whole, pulled together as one. If we had the support of Goblins, Merpeople and yes, even the Giants, then Voldemort certainly wouldn't have been able to divide and conquer so easily, so to speak."

Dumbledore looked down at his desk with a rueful smile.

Rosetta's brow furrowed as she took this in. "But that was years ago. Why would me teaching magical languages make any difference now?"

"As Headmaster of this school, my answer would be that it is crucial to preserve and share these languages, so they are not lost to witches and wizards in the future. Personally, however, it has become clear to me that unity through communication is becoming more important than ever." He steepled his fingers again and gazed across the desk at Rosetta. "You strike me as being a very street-wise witch, one with her ear to the ground. I am sure you have heard rumours circulating this summer."

Rosetta's pulse started to quicken. She'd heard whispers about The Boy Who Lived being attacked in his first year of Hogwarts and Voldemort not really being dead. Like most rumours, she had taken them with a pinch of salt, but deep down they had disturbed her.

"I had heard... certain things," Rosetta admitted carefully. This particular line of conversation was making her uncomfortable.

"Certain things regarding Voldemort?"

Rosetta nodded.

"Well, these rumours are not without foundation."

She paused to let this sink in, visibly shocked. She didn't doubt what he was saying was true about You-Know-Who. Dumbledore may be a meddling old soul, but she knew he would not joke about something so serious. However, something just didn't add up about the teaching job. What possible use could she be in Hogwarts teaching obscure languages?

Rosetta shook her head. "I'm sorry, Professor. I still fail to see how any of this is relevant to your job offer."

Dumbledore smiled. "As I said before, if Voldemort is back, we will need every single ally we can get to beat him. And in order to do that, we need to be able to communicate. You hold the key to passing that information on to our students. But the teaching job is just the first part of my proposition."

Rosetta sat up straight and the hairs on the back of her neck stood on end. She knew there was an ulterior motive; there usually was with Dumbledore. She dared to even breathe as she waited for the old man to go on.

"You're clearly very gifted with languages, Rosetta. You were never formerly taught, and yet you seem to be able to pick them up as easily as a song. It's in your very nature. Which brings me to the second part of the proposition: I need your help with another magical language. But this time, it is one we will need to learn together. An extracurricular activity, you could say. And the language in question is Parseltongue."

Rosetta couldn't help but let her jaw fall with surprise. Parseltongue was a famously rare language, tainted with an edge of darkness. There were very few Parselmouths in the wizarding world and those that could speak Parseltongue were mistrusted. It was common knowledge that You-Know-Who a Parselmouth.

"Isn't Parseltongue passed down through families?" Rosetta asked after regaining her composure. "So what makes you think that you or I would be able to speak it?"

"Being a Parselmouth is often hereditary, but not always," Dumbledore replied. "Parseltongue is a language like any other and as such, it would be subject to grammatical rules and phrases. I want us to discover the roots of this language and uncover it's secrets together. I presume I don't need to tell you why it's so important." His blue eyes twinkled seriously over his half-moon glasses.

Rosetta breathed deeply through her nose. Of course she could see why it was important. You-Know-Who was back, and Dumbledore was looking at every which way to understand him and stop him. She was flattered that Dumbledore had recognised her natural ability for languages and deliberately sought her out to help. And she had to admit that teaching magical languages was a brilliant smokescreen for the real undercover work of learning Parseltongue. She'd be lying if she said her interest wasn't piqued, but she didn't live in the UK any more and wasn't sure she wanted to move back to a cold climate and the threat of impending darkness to come. As far as she was concerned, if You-Know-Who was back, she was best off out of it in the sunnier parts of Europe.

"I'm flattered you think I can help you, Professor, but I really don't think I can."

Dumbledore's lips twitched. Wordlessly, he reached inside the drawer of his desk. With an unceremonious thump, he placed a huge, bulging leather pouch between them.

"Perhaps a thousand Galleons might incentivise you."

Rosetta's dark eyes stretched wide as she gazed hungrily at the pouch; a look which did not escape Dumbledore's notice.

"That's in addition to the standard Professor's salary, of course," he added casually. "Twelve thousand Galleons for one academic year. Thirteen thousand in all. Consider this," he nudged the pouch gently towards her, "an advance."

Rosetta swallowed, fighting the urge to snatch up the pouch and count the glittering coins within.

"That's all I am asking of you, Rosetta," Dumbledore continued, sensing victory. "One academic year, from the first of September to the eighteenth of June. Your meals and board are, of course, part of the package."

Money talked and Rosetta, it had to be said, was a very keen listener. Her mind began racing as she weighed up the offer. Thirteen thousand Galleons! For teaching a bunch of stupid children and pursuing Dumbledore's fool's errand! On a particularly fruitful year of trading she would make half the amount of Galleons Dumbledore was offering, and he didn't even require her services for a full year. Ten months of her life for thirteen thousand Galleons. That seemed like a highly reasonable exchange.

Plus, she realised, she would be getting free board and food. She wouldn't have any outgoings at all. She could save all the gold and finally buy that little cottage on Rhodes she'd always dreamed of. When put like that, it was an offer she couldn't refuse.

Rosetta knew, in the back of her mind, that Dumbledore had manipulated her into this position. That he had known her weakness was money and that she would not, could not say no to the ace he held up his sleeve. But at this point, she really didn't care. She had done a lot worse than teach for gold, after all.

"I'll do it," she said quietly, her dark eyes never leaving the pouch of Galleons.

"Excellent," Dumbledore replied. "In that case, I'll see you on the first of September."