Chapter 4: Homesteading, And a Job
The Vorstellung Tower, Scottish Highlands, The Wizarding World
January 30th, 1972
A week had passed since he'd tested for his Masteries. He idly scryed the ensuing massacre of Irish Rights activists, his sight idly spectating a pair of goons from the Department of Education sent to spectate the scene. They were low-level members, effectively desk-clerks and coffee-boys working their way up the rungs of the Ministry ladder. The moment the shots were fired, they apparated away in shock. He followed the path of Apparition, and his scrying found itself within the Ministry. There, Madam Marchbanks herself was waiting, and she visibly cast the Tempus spell.
He didn't have audio, but he could read her lips saying something of the likes of 'on the dot'.
With a calm smile, he leaned back and devoted himself towards his current project, ignoring his newly created scrying Orb set up on his desk in favor of schematics. "Hmm."
He was building himself a massive fuck-off castle.
The schools of magic that he hadn't gotten his Masteries for didn't truly interest him at the moment, and while he was still studying them periodically, he'd scrapped his former routine in favor of new projects and tasks. For one, he decided to move out of his spatially expanded tent and start creating his own home. For that, he began construction on a castle.
He wanted it on a geographically advantageous position, and for that he'd purchased one of those brooms the Wizards all rave about, cast a stealth and invisibility charm on himself, and went for a few rides around Scottland. He'd eventually found a nice mountainous region overlooking quaint farmlands, and in his mind came an ideal castle.
He didn't want anything massive, although perhaps he'd eventually create such a structure, but for now he just wanted a defensible location that he could feel safe putting his head down. Not that he slept, but bases of operation, secluded and out-of-the-way were important.
He'd then gone through the Ministry, sold his current land, removed the Wardstones by folding them inside his Shadow, and then vacated his presence to move to his new location. Then he'd once again gone back to the Ministry, purchased the useless range of highland mountain that no sane person would ever think to build something upon, and started construction.
First, he gathered materials.
He carved a tunnel into a mountain's side, then simply summoned a Shoggoth. The construction workers of the Great Old Ones did their good work, carving out a massive amount of material that was all stored in a spatially expanded steel crate. Transporting the crate to his build site, he got to work, using Alchemy to transmute the harvested material into bricks. He then had a team of Shoggoths do the bulk of the construction, altering what they were building as they built.
Soon, he'd constructed a three-story tower sitting atop a very narrow mountain peak, overlooking a farming community. The tower was squat, but the size was only needed to fit him, so he didn't need a massive tower. The tower's base continued for four more levels down into the mountain, soon fading from view as it was swallowed by snow-covered rocky boulders that it was planted within.
To enter the Tower, he set up a link to the Floo Network on the very top of the tower. When one wanted to enter the Floo Network, one needed to take a pinch of Floo Powder, and throw it on the engraved markings on the floor in the image of a burning bonfire. A gout of green flame would swallow them and transport the person to their desired location. A storage of Floo powder was imbued into the circle and would burn when someone was trying to enter from the Network, limited only to himself, with anyone else trying to enter without his abject permissions being immolated by Eldritch plasma upon teleportation. Even if they subverted that protection, they'd then need to descend the Tower, which was Wardlocked. The visible part of the Tower was protected and locked down by Wards, activated to rearrange the anatomies of any unauthorized guests climbing up the rocky mountain to reach the tower, flying near the tower, or inside the Tower as an unauthorized guest. The Wards, after turning their insides their outsides and swapping their orifices around, would teleport the unauthorized invader into orbit to die of ebullism.
Of course this was after a verification of hostile intent, with several other means of reprimand possible. Ignorance would cause one to be teleported to the base of the mountain with a letter directing them to ring the bell at the base of the mountain, to send an Owl, call a certain number, or connect to a certain radio frequency. For yes, he'd gotten cable working by bending space-time to connect with an existing city line.
Where the real magic happened within his Tower was the basement, where he currently resided. He was debating on expanding further into the earth, creating a network of tunnels to house prison cells, storage areas, and other things; but shook his head as he decided to get to work on researching runic tattoos instead of such frivolities.
He spent the next few hours reading at his desk, enjoying a glass of fire whiskey while listening to a bit of magical music he'd enchanted and orchestrated personally. Drawing from his own memories and then creating an enchantment that was capable of producing sound to a fidelity rivaling modern acoustic devices was something he wished to share with wizarding society; but he held off for now as he developed more songs from his memories. Most were without lyrics, as he lacked the ability to replicate such; likely done with some potion or another, but for now he had a massive list of soundtracks and orchestral music numbers.
"You've Got Mail." An iconic voice sounded out, a result of his experiments in trying to achieve vocal shifting using charms, which always tended to sound mechanical and choppy; perfect for reliving early internet history.
Standing up, he started up the spiral staircases bringing him past his bedroom, through his potions lab, around his dueling arena, up through his swimming pool, and into the tower proper. Cold winter winds buffeted his form through a murder-hole archer's window, and entering the center of the base-level of his tower; he entered the Dovecotes of his tower. Here he kept a variety of birds he'd purchased from various markets; intelligent creatures he'd been experimenting on to make them even more intelligent and canny.
He didn't have a single owl within the dovecotes, and instead had a wide-ranging number of birds, from falcons and eagles, to crows, pigeons, and ravens. They were generally free-ranged, magically bound to this place, but otherwise fed automatically by a purchased House-Elf he hired to take care of the Tower -of whom he'd placed under strenuous magical bindings, vows, and requirements to work here- but the fae-like creature was just happy it found a master, so it agreed to anything he stipulated.
Within the Dovecotes was an Owl that was being stared at under dozens of hostile avian glares. The creature was obviously uncomfortable, so he just took its message and shooed it off. The creature took off like the hounds of hell were on its tail, Ebon filling his time by reading the message.
He smiled grandly.
Dear Ebon Chaoskampf,
It is under great inspection and review of your magical talents and academic achievements that we, The Ministry of Education, congratulate you on your attainment in not one, but five Masteries. Within this letter are the various documents declaring your credentials as a Master within the respective arts of Transfiguration, Alchemy, Defense Against the Dark Arts, and Divination.
We at the Ministry of Education look forward to witnessing your journey.
Sincerely,
Griselda Marchbanks
Out spilled five different diplomas, declaring his attainment in the perspective fields of magic.
'A single mistake could bring one's title as a Master into question by the board of Education, so to receive all five means I did everything effectively perfectly.' Ebon thought as he cycled through each declaration. He walked down his tower, entered his Alchemy Lab, and used some material to transfigure detailed displays for his Masteries. He then entered his office and framed them on his wall, feeling a smidgeon of pride for the achievement.
Then he frowned.
'Hm. What to do, what to do…'
Well, he wanted to figure out Runic Tattoos, but he found himself slowly growing somewhat bored with his current lifestyle. An elf and a horde of Eldritch abominations weren't conversation partners, truth be told, and he didn't really feel like behaving like a washed-up adult trying to socialize at a bar. He wanted friends, confidants, bonds; not a one-night stand to stave off the loneliness.
Frowning down at the envelope on his desk, he used his wand to vanish the remaining paper, only to blink as underneath it was an advertisement. A Job catalog.
'That old bint.' He mused, knowing this had Marchbank's hands all over it. She likely investigated him, found jack shit other than that he was slumming it in the wilderness, and sent this over to tell him to get employed. Snappy woman, that one.
Opening it up, his eyes glazed. He flipped through the magically charmed page holding more information than the paper it was worth, only for his hand to freeze as he leafed through it.
'I did read in the Daily Prophet…'
About halfway through the school year, the Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher, one Rassa Lestrange -some branch family member that was a third cousin to the main-house- had been fired and incarcerated within Azkaban after using Cruciatus on a student to teach them discipline during detention. There were unproven rumors that he'd also slept with said student using the Imperio, but those were unconfirmed, if likely to be true based on speculation. There's been rumors that the position's been cursed, and with this being the seventh or so year this trend has occurred, the job application for Defense Against the Dark Arts has been a permanent fixture within most job catalogs, ironically only warding perspective job hunters away from the job.
Frowning a leaning back, Ebon debated on throwing his hat in that ring. Education was something he never truthfully thought himself going into, although he had experience with it what with his mother being a teacher. Patience, lesson planning, doable homework assignments that didn't make people groan; shit like that. Plus, being a Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher was cool. Bring in the Saturday villain, show it off to some students in one class, and in another class introduce Counter-Curses, or in another Ward and Curse Breaking; then cycle students through a set curriculum.
Hogwarts itself allowed professors to effectively dictate what they wanted to teach, especially for the nonstandard class of Defense Against the Dark Arts, which was as broad as one could possibly make it. The first years, he'd toss into the grueling grind of learning countercharms, counter-curses, jinxes and hexes, and shit that the little goblins would enjoy throwing at one another in the halls. Then things could start getting more serious, and there were also NEWT classes that excellent students could take, which haven't been a thing for several years since the position was cursed.
'I'd also likely have assistant professors, and I could take apprenticeships for any of the masteries I've earned.' Ebon thought with a spark of realization. He'd be a very popular professor, both for his age, and for the opportunities he could provide a wise student. As a Master, he held the qualifications to hold apprenticeships, and those that he 'graduated' would reflect his name and reputation while practically guaranteeing any form of job the student wanted in the job market. He could also sponsor clubs, organize field trips, research initiatives, and all manner of educational content for his students!
Pulling out a sheet of parchment, his enchanted quill sprang to life and started to pen a letter to the Headmaster of Hogwarts.
Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore.
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