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It was a sleepy Wednesday afternoon. The hours seemed to stretch on lazily as the the heat climbed to a 34 degrees. The Doctor was sitting on his porch, his feet kicked up on the outdoor table, tossing Quaffle against the side of his cottage and catching it with the ease of an experienced Chaser. The Doctor was deep in thought. The TARDIS was still recharging from his trip from the Jurassic and he was bored. He planned future trips inside of his head. He'd go to World War II torn Berlin. Or, or... Venice during the Renaissance! Maybe--
At the sound of a distinct pop in his front yard, he missed the Quaffle and it soared over his head into his spacious yard, bouncing a few times before rolling to a stop in front the visitor.
The Doctor didn't bother to turn around. He crossed his feet and leaned further back into his chair. "Not sorry that I didn't answer your owl, River. I'm not coming to get you out of trouble this time. I'm not your dog."
"And what time of trouble does Professor Song get into?"
The Doctor knew that voice from his boyhood. Everyone who ever stepped foot into Hogwarts did. In a flash, he stood up, tripping over his feet. He pulled on his bracers and combed back his unruly hair. "Professor McGonagall."
The elderly witch smiled. She had aged since his time at Hogwarts.There was a long scar on her cheek from the Second Wizard War and her eyes were dimmer than they'd been when she had taught the Doctor Transfiguration all those years ago. "Headmistress," she corrected. "It's been that for a long time now."
"Ah, of course," the Doctor nodded. "Old habits die hard. Do you want any tea or biscuits since your here? I imagine you're not just dropping by for a social call."
McGonagall strode across the lawn with purpose and stopped at the steps. "No, I'm here to ask that you reconsider the teaching position."
He scoffed, leaning against the porch railing. "I already told my ex-wife--"
"And now I am asking you," the headmistress interrupted. "Hogwarts needs someone like you, John. After seeing all of your credentials, you are the only person I've offered this post to. I know of no other witch or wizard who is as qualified as you to teach this class. I know I could ask a dozen people," she waved her hand. "But all of them are either busy or would be terrible teachers."
"So, I'm your last pick, thanks."
McGonagall gave him a scathing look. "If you decline than am I afraid that there will not be Defense Against the Dark Arts this school year. And you do come highly recommended. Please," she begged. "Think it over." The headmistress slightly inclined her head and turned on her heel to leave.
She had reached the Quaffle when the Doctor yelled, "I'm going to need a Auror team ready to mobilize, street-level maps covering all of Hogsmeade, a pot of coffee, twelve jammie dodgers and a fez."
His lips were curled up into a smile as he watched her slowly twist around and stare at him in shock, her mouth slack. "What?"
"My terms," He jogged down the creaky porch steps and towards his former professor. "For the job."
McGonagall eyed him for moment, taking him in to see if he was serious. "You can wear a fez," she settled. "Auror team, no. Even third years have Hogsmeade maps. The coffee and jammie dodgers are on you." Then she Disapparated.
The Doctor dug his hands into his trouser pockets, threw back his head and laughed. He had a fez to find.