Chapter Text
"So Ms Azulay,” Dumbledore began, “it is surprising that…”
“...I plan to work in the UK during such dangerous times?” Blue eyes gazed through the wooden table at the headmaster, eager for the job interview to progress beyond polite, plain talking. “Sir, My home country has been plagued with war and terrorism for nearly fifty years. When you are born, raised and live in a war-torn country, you develop a different perspective on danger.”
The old headmaster had taken a deep breath before continuing:
“So, why teaching?” and the tanned witch had smirked.
“Well,” the brunette answered steadily, “I am familiar with teaching and instruction. I used to instruct teenagers in my youth, teaching them how to give basic first aid. Later, as my professional training progressed, I instructed adults with further medical training.”
“But you have never taught non-medical material, as I see in your Curriculum Vitae, “ Dumbledore mentioned, “why wouldn’t you continue working in the healing profession? You are, after all, a muggle nurse and a certificated healer.”
“I loved my previous profession,” the witch admitted, “but I had to quit for professional and personal reasons. It's hard to stay sane in this intensive profession, and it’s more challenging in the muggle healthcare system, where one knows a spell that can save a patient but can't use it. If one has to change profession, switching to a familiar one is always beneficial.”
“Well,” Dumbledore continued, “ I must admit - some of the best teachers are retrained. Why do you want to teach here, in Hogwarts?”
“I would like to spend some time in a foreign educational system. One way to have insights about a certain profession is to work in an unfamiliar environment.”
“Interesting…” the old headmaster had mumbled.
“I have one last question, Ms Azulay, for the sake of adjusting possible accommodation,” the headmaster inquired as he took notes, “Do you have a family of your own?”
The witch’s body language showed her obvious uneasiness regarding the question.
“No, unfortunately,” she answered after a brief moment of silence.
Dumbledore had smiled at her lightly, and Sol wanted this smile to fade. He reminds her of a creepy puppet she had as a little girl, with repetitive laughter. She hated it but couldn't hurt her Dad, from whom she had received the puppet. Eventually, she intentionally lost it in the neighbourhood playground. She wished she could get rid of her problems in the same manner.
“What a shame that some of the most untrustworthy people are the ones you need the most.”
“Well,” the old headmaster said, “your resume is impressive. You have experience as a combat, eh… Pa-rey-mee-dik…
“-Paramedic.”
“- and having an employee with medical experience is always good. A past teaching experience - a little one, but still… past service in an all-wizard unit in the Israeli military - impressive… And your stay here as an exchange student is quite memorable - old man Slughorn still talks about ‘The Israeli Wonder’...”
Conversation and time passed in a painful, torturous manner. Dumbledore kept talking, but that plain talking was just an annoying cricket chirping for the foreigner.
And then, Dumbledore said the words she waited to hear.
“Congratulations,” Dumbledore said, “you’re in. It's tough to find a decent teacher for the Defense Against the Dark Arts subject, but as I see it - we are lucky this year. ”
While she had muttered some polite words and shook his hand, Sol Azulay’s head screamed six words:
“It has been far too easy.”