Chapter Text
Harry attempts to smooth his hair yet again before finally admitting defeat. He’s going to have to meet his new colleagues with wild hair. Start as you mean to go on, he supposes. He’s pretty sure he’s had messy hair all his life and it’s not about to change.
“Thanks, Dad,” Harry mutters, staring into the tiny bathroom mirror as though it’s to blame. “Appreciate inheriting your completely mad hair.”
He takes one final look at himself in the mirror and hopes dearly that he’s going to make a good first impression. Aside from the hair, he doesn’t look half bad. New robes, new glasses, neatly shaved...he almost looks like a professor.
‘I am a professor,’ he thinks to himself, as though it might stick. “Professor Potter.’
Nope. Still weird. With a sigh, he stashes his wand in his robes and turns away from the mirror. The meeting will start soon and he doesn’t want to be late. Minerva had stressed the importance of this night, the staff meeting followed by all of the teachers having dinner in the Great Hall. There are several new teachers this year, so he won’t be alone, but it’s daunting that most of the present faculty already know each other. He won’t even have the advantage of recognising a lot of them from his own time here. Quite a few retired after the war, so many that it worries him he’ll only have Professor Binns to chat to. He hopes dearly it won’t come to that or he’ll die in the middle of dinner out of boredom and join the ranks of ghosts.
His friends had left him a few hours earlier, Hermione and Ron first (Hermione leaving with at least six books and he’s only lucky that she didn’t take more.) They both have work the next day and after giving up their whole Sunday, he doesn’t blame them for wanting an evening to themselves. And when Luna made signs of wanting to leave, Ginny did too. It hurts a little but he wonders if she’s that uncomfortable with being alone with him. They never have been before, always surrounded by family or friends or her Quidditch teammates when they’re together.
She’d paused right before she’d followed Luna out of the door, looking as though she was on the brink of saying something. In the end, she’d merely hugged him and vanished so she could Floo to the Burrow, before apparating back to her flat. It had left Harry feeling confused and a little lonely.
“We’re not getting back together,” Harry mutters, under his breath, in a strange fierce mantra. “We’re not. And I’m not going to cave because I have a new job and it’s scary and I’m away from my friends.”
Speaking of which...he really should leave. He checks his appearance, yet again, even though it can’t possibly have changed in the last few minutes and steps out of his bedroom. His living spaces are fairly organised, thanks to Luna. His office will need some work before the students arrive and Hermione and Ron worked like ogres helping set up his new classroom, but somehow his bedroom has been neglected. There’s only so much you can do in one day and so long as his bed has fresh sheets, he can deal with the mess. It’s not like anyone is going to see that room. If ever.
He clatters down the stairs as fast as he dares and swerves around the Bloody Baron, who’s drifting along the corridor. This doesn’t serve him well when he hits a patch of water steadily leaking out of a nearby bathroom and it sends a tidal wave over his ankle. He’s busy trying to shake water out of his shoes when he stumbles straight into someone.
“Shit!” Harry says, without thinking. He wobbles precariously on one foot when someone grabs hold of his forearms and pulls him back onto even footing.
“Thanks,” Harry says gratefully, to the man who is both his hit-and-run victim and his rescuer. “I’m really sorry.”
The gentleman releases his grip on Harry’s arms and smiles nervously. “No problem, old chap. Happens to us all.” The words are tinged with the faintest accent, one that reminds Harry of Victor Krum.
“Wet foot,” Harry says, lamely sticking out a leg to demonstrate that he is soaked to just above the ankle. He immediately feels no better than an awkward thirteen year old. Merlin, you’d think he’d grow out of stupid small talk.
“I see,” the man says, looking bemused. He’s an interesting looking fellow, with blood red robes and a ponytail of long mahogany hair. He’s certainly handsome but there’s a definite pallor to his skin and dark circles under his eyes. “There certainly seems to be water where there shouldn’t be.”
“And it’s not even Myrtle’s bathroom,” Harry mutters ruefully, wondering if this puddle is merely a plumbing issue or one of the high strung ghost’s usual tantrums.
“I think you may find that this is a Peeves problem,” the man says thoughtfully, taking a step away from the growing stream of water. “The last year that I taught here before the term started he tipped over a row of bookshelves like dominos. It took us hours to set everything right. Madam Pince was furious.”
“Oh!” Harry says, putting the pieces together. He knows that the Potions, Transfigurations, Divination, and Herbology positions have all been filled since he was at school. And he’s already met Muggle Studies. That leaves the elective teacher, one that only occasionally comes to the school. “Are you the Alchemy teacher?”
“I am,” the man says, offering Harry a well manicured hand. “Kristopher Mortenson. And you are…?”
“Harry,” Harry says, taking the outstretched hand and firmly shaking it. There’s a good chance the man recognises him but he appreciates the effort anyway. “Defence Against the Dark Arts.”
“Of course, you’re new this year,” Kristopher says, interest lighting up his pale blue eyes. “Should you need any advice, I’d be happy to give it. I’ve been teaching for many years, although I am not often called to Hogwarts.”
“It’s an elective, right?” Harry says, trying in vain to remember when the classes had been held during his time at school. He knew that Alchemy was only offered if there was enough interest in it and was sometimes offered by the Potions master themselves.
“Yes, Hogwarts doesn’t offer it as standard, as Durmstrang does,” Kristopher explains. “It was actually during my time at school where I gained my interest in it.”
“Well, it’s good to have you here,” Harry says, gamely trying to create connections with another of his new colleagues. “I’m afraid that I don’t know much about Alchemy. I didn’t take it at school. I’m not even sure it was offered.”
“It was,” Kristopher says quietly. “I believe Professor Snape often taught it when he was here. However, Professor Slughorn did not. I was brought in to teach that year in 1996.”
“Oh,” Harry says, thrown. He hadn’t known that Snape had known Alchemy, or that he’d taught it. But he’d spent as little time on Potions as he’d been able, lacking any interest in it due to the unpleasant methods and attitude of the teacher. And his Sixth year had been so full of Quidditch, Ginny, and trying to find out what he could about the Horcruxes that the whole year of classes feels like a blur.
“I didn’t realise,” Harry says, weakly. “Did you know Snape?”
“Only really by name and reputation,” Kristopher says, with a weak smile. He’s tugging anxiously on his robe sleeves, which Harry hopes isn’t down to this conversation with him. “I saw him briefly during my time here but he was never...well, I’m sure you know all too well what he was like.”
“Sort of,” Harry responds. Yes, Snape was never very friendly but given what he knows now about the man, he feels a little uncomfortable badmouthing him. Surely, some day in the future he’ll be able to make a few jokes about their prickly Potions teacher. But right now, only a few years on, it feels like bad-mouthing the dead.
“A very talented man,” Kristopher muses, with a touch of sadness. “But very lost.”
“Yes. I think so,” Harry agrees. Because what would Snape have achieved if he hadn’t been lost in bitterness and swayed by dark magic? If it hadn’t been for his mum, Lily, then Snape never would have returned to their side at all. It was only her loss that changed Snape and made him turn against Voldemort.
“Sometimes there is only grey,” Kristopher says, with a rueful smile, as though he can read Harry’s thoughts. “It’s all too easy once someone has died to remember them as a devil or a saint. Now, if you’ll excuse me, Harry, I must return to my classroom and you’d best dry that foot.” He gestures to the shoe that still squelches when Harry leans on it.
“Thanks,” Harry says absently. “It was nice to meet you.”
“And you,” Kristopher says, taking a step past Harry. “And remember what I said. I’ve been teaching for nearly twenty years. I’d be more than happy to offer advice.”
“Wait!” Harry calls after him suddenly. “Will I see you at dinner?” Kristopher’s mouth twists a little before it’s wiped clean, his face amiable once again.
“I’m afraid not, dear boy,” Kristopher says simply. “ I’m a little under the weather today. You must enjoy it for me.”
Harry watches him vanish out of sight around a corner. Hogwarts is a collection of interesting characters this year. Nice but...odd.
He hurries along the corridor to the staff room, more than a little relieved to see Neville pacing along it anxiously.
“Do I look awful?” Neville frets, tugging at his robes. Harry reaches out to sweep a stray cobweb from his hair.
“You look fine,” Harry soothes, dusting off his hands. “Don’t worry. It’s just the professors. I’m more worried about the students turning up the day after tomorrow.”
“Oh good,” Neville says dryly. “I’d almost forgotten.”
“I don’t think anyone will mind tonight if we’re a bit nervous,” Harry says, somewhat hopefully. He, Neville, and Harper are the only new professors this year, which is a little reassuring to be all in the same boat. But it’s also intimidating when the other professors are all established and familiar with the ebb and flow of the school year. “Come on, we’d better get a move on.”
But there’s another familiar figure waiting outside of the door, warily eying the gargoyle.
“Who’s this then?” Harper asks, a gleam of interest in her sharp blue eyes when she sees that Harry has company. She’s now dressed in aquamarine robes, her golden hair falling gently around her face. Harry wonders if she’d been waiting for someone so that she didn’t have to walk in alone. It’s what he would have done.
“This is Neville. He’s the Herbology professor,” Harry says. “Neville, this is the professor I met earlier.”
“Harper Scott,” she says, holding out a slender, manicured hand. “Hey, I think I have you on a chocolate frog card.” Neville flushes. While Augusta delights in her grandson bearing an Order of Merlin, Second Class, and a Chocolate frog with his face on, Neville is less thrilled when these facts are brought up in conversation.
“Good to meet you,” he mumbles, and then awkwardly gestures to the door. “Shall we go in?” Harper makes a face.
“We must be the last,” she says, nervously tugging on a slim silver bracelet around her wrist. “I didn’t want to go in by myself.”
“I don’t blame you,” Harry says, eyeing the door. He can hear the faint sounds of chatter, the distinct booming laughter of Hagrid. “They haven’t started yet, right?”
“Well, it will if we just stand out here,” Neville says, practically.
“Safety in numbers?” Harry suggests to them. Harper easily shrugs her shoulders, although the jitters on her face must match his own.
“Safety in numbers,” she agrees. “Merlin, I’ve never actually set foot behind this door before.”
“I have,” Harry says, nervously eying the entrance. But none of the occasions before had any sort of legitimacy to them - this time he’s not sneaking in under his cloak. “Okay then. Salem.”
To his relief, the staff room is already full of familiar faces, who all greet him jovially when he steps in. Hagrid is the first to see him, face crinkling with joy. Harry had raced out of the castle down to Hagrid’s hut not long after his interview had ended, so Hagrid was the first person to officially hear of the news. It felt right - after all, Hagrid was the one to bring him to Hogwarts all those years ago.
“Harry!” he booms, delighted and pats Harry on the shoulder. “Good to see you.” Harry takes the ‘pat’ with the tiniest wince. Hagrid still doesn’t quite know his own strength. Neville gets the same treatment a moment later, while Harper gets a polite nod.
“Are we late?” Harry asks but Hagrid shakes his head.
“Not at all. We’re just waiting for the Headmistress to arrive and get us started.”
“Thank goodness,” Harper murmurs, clearly not relishing the idea of Minerva’s disapproving stare if any of them had arrived late.
To Harry’s relief, there’s enough of his former professors there smiling at him warmly that his nerves start to lift. He also vaguely recognises a trio of witches from his school days, although he was never taught by any of them, and another witch about his age in robes of deep scarlet that flatters her golden brown complexion and matches the lipstick she wears.
Malfoy is missing, to his immense interest. He’d have expected the man to be early and wonders if it’s his presence that is perhaps causing the Potion Professor’s absence.
His head jerks up when the door opens, wondering if he’s managed to summon Malfoy by mere thought alone. But it’s just Minerva, followed by a tall, dark-skinned man in indigo robes beside her that he doesn’t recognise.
“Marvelous,” she says, as the room quietens just by her presence. “We’re very nearly all here. Who are we waiting for? Ah, Draco, Kristopher, and Argus.”
“Argus is handling one of Peeves’ little mishaps on the first floor,” Rolanda says, as she’d clearly also encountered the small flood.
“I spoke with Draco earlier,” says the man from behind Minerva. “He’ll be here.” Minerva nods.
“And Kristopher sends his apologies,” Poppy chimes in. She’s clearly familiar with the eccentric Alchemy professor. “He’s having one of his usual flare ups.”
“To be expected,” Minerva says, looking as though she’s also not surprised by this news. “I know how the journey here taxes him. Carry on, we’ll begin in a few moments.”
“I met Kristopher before I came down,” Harry says to the others, as the room eases back into easy chatter. “Nice fellow. Bit odd.”
“I learned Alchemy when I was here,” Harper pipes up. “I was always good at Potions so I decided it would be a good class to take. Well, it was!” she says defensively, seeing Harry and Neville’s faces.
“Well, we sucked at Potions,” Harry says, with a shrug. “Snape was always terrifying and only favoured the Slytherins anyway.”
“I thought you did it for Sixth year?” Neville says, looking surprised. “Weren’t you pretty good at it? I thought you won that potion. The luck one.”
Harper turns to him with a look of respect. “You won a bottle of Felix Felicis?”
“I’m sure that was a fluke,” Harry says hurriedly. Merlin, he doesn’t need a reputation for Potions, especially as it was all a lie.
“You won it over Hermione so maybe it was a fluke,” Neville says, good-naturedly ignoring Harry’s glare.
“Is she as clever as they say?” Harper asks curiously. “I mean, her chocolate frog card…”
“Cleverer,” Neville and Harry say as one. Harper laughs with delight.
“I’ll have to meet her sometime then,” she says, with a flash of teeth. “You know, for some intelligent conversation.” This comment results in them both making faces at her but it only makes her laugh more. It makes Harry amused at the contrast between Neville, who is easy-going and pragmatic, and Harper, who is clearly not adverse to a sharp word and a bit of competition. Hermione might like her, he decides, and if they team up for pub quizzes, they’ll dominate.
For a while, they mingle, easily chatting to old professors. Professor Binns floats by one corner, looking as vague and distant as he always has been.
“You could have blown me down with a feather when Minerva told us you’d be joining us this year,” Rolanda says, shaking her head. “Harry Potter, who I taught to fly! It seems only yesterday you were standing out in the grounds, taking your first flight on a broom.”
“It’s been a long time since then,” Poppy says, perhaps spotting Harry’s flushed ears. He hopes dearly that all of his former professors won’t reminisce too much about his own school days. “But it’s always good to have some young blood.”
“Speak for yourself,” grumbles Rolanda. “I expect you’ll take an interest in Quidditch, hey, Potter?”
“You’ve no idea,” Harry agrees, with a grin. “ I’ll be at every match I can get to.”
“I’d expect nothing less from one of our best Seekers,” she says, raising her eyebrows. “Perhaps there’ll be more of a rivalry between Slytherin and Gryffindor this year given…” Her voice trails off and Harry catches Poppy making frantic, strange expressions at her.
“With Malfoy here,” he says, just to release them from their misery. “I know. Does he have much to do with the Slytherin team?”
Rolanda and Poppy exchange a glance, the former looking as though she regrets bringing it up. But Harry’s far from throwing a fit about it, especially if he can gather intel about where and when to avoid Malfoy.
“Oh yes,” Rolanda says finally. “Yes, he’s very dedicated. Shows a great deal of interest but the Slytherin team is very promising, of course. As is the Gryffindor team, our Captain this year is Avery Dogwood. Tremendous talent, very like you. Of an age where Quidditch is all he can think about.”
“I can’t wait to meet him,” Harry says firmly. “The whole team actually. I don’t really play anymore but I have missed it.”
On his next lap of the staffroom, he catches Minerva’s eyes,indicating that he should come over.
“Harry, this is our Transfiguration professor, Jasper Covington,” she says, gesturing to the man who entered with her. As Harry takes his hand, he notices the glint of a gold earring in his right ear. “He’s been my replacement since I took over as Headmistress. He’s been slightly delayed today due to a family crisis, otherwise he’s usually here to assist me as my right hand man.”
“Good to meet you, Mr Potter,” Jasper says warmly, as he pumps Harry’s hand up and down enthusiastically. “We’re going to have a great year.”
“I hope so,” Harry says, unable to resist returning his infectious smile. I hope everything is alright with your family?”
“Just my daughter,” Jasper says, ruefully shaking his head. “She’s young and a little too reckless on her broom. We had to whisk her to Mungo’s pretty sharpish. But she’s made of stern stuff and when I knew she was going to be alright, I was able to leave her with my husband.”
“I thought those toy brooms didn’t get that high off the ground?” Minerva says, curiously.
“Don’t get me started,” Jasper says, with a groan. “It could go six inches off the ground, instead of six feet, and she’d still have an accident. We’ve learnt to roll with it or we’d never leave the house again.”
Harry lets Poppy press a warm cup of tea into his hands and accepts one of Hagrid’s homemade biscuits. There’s something bright and easy about the atmosphere in the room, as the professors happily mingle and dunk their biscuits.
Harry takes a seat next to Harper, who discreetly nudges him with an elbow.
“Not as bad as you thought, huh?” she says, out of the corner of her mouth. Harry just grins. After tangling himself in knots about this, he’s found himself back in the ebb and flow of school quite easily, even when he’s a professor instead of a pupil.
“Not so bad,” he agrees and when he looks up, he spots Neville chatting to the Divination professor. She is exceptionally pretty, he notes, with high cheekbones and a long dark plait. She also looks to be about their age, something that’s reassuring.
There’s a clatter at the door and Draco Malfoy appears through it. He’s greeted warmly by the other professors and he very deliberately avoids meeting Harry’s eye.
“Bit of history there?” Harper enquires and Harry dunks his biscuit until it’s close to disintegrating entirely.
“Tell you later,” he mutters, unwilling to get into it in public. But not long after, Filch also arrives, slightly damp and grumbling furiously about Peeves. Minerva claps her hands to draw the room’s attention.
“We’ll get started now we’re all here,” she says, raising her voice. “If everyone can have a seat.”
There’s a flurry as people hurry to sofas and armchairs, trying to get the best seats. Neville squeezes in between Harper and Harry, while Stella takes the stool next to them. Malfoy stands in a corner to Harry’s immense interest, arms folded across his chest.
“Welcome back to a new school year,” Minerva says, standing front and centre. Jasper stands just behind her, clutching a variety of parchment papers. “It’s wonderful to see so many familiar faces, as well as several new ones. As you all know, Pomona Sprout retired and we are lucky to have Neville Longbottom step in as the new Herbology professor!”
Neville flushes while there’s an enthused round of clapping. Harper catches Harry’s eye and they share a quiet commiseration that they will be next.
“And Henrietta Wilson has taken an exciting job role as an Archivist so Harper Scott has taken her place for Muggle Studies,” Minerva says. There’s more clapping, which Harper bears with a polite smile. “And Carmella returned to America with her husband leaving our Defense Against the Dark Arts position open for Harry to step into.”
Malfoy doesn’t clap, staring Harry down almost resentfully as the rest of the professors applaud. Filch does, but with barely any effort, which Harry would almost call fair. The man doesn’t seem to like any students, especially not ones who probably caused a fair amount of mess.
“We’re very fortunate to have three former students return to join us this year,” Minerva says, cutting off the loud applause that Hagrid seems to be solely responsible for. “Having taught all three of them, I am sure they’ll be excellent assets to the school. Jasper?” The man steps forward, barely needing any prompting to hand Minerva what she needs.
“These are the clubs looking for teacher advisors this year,” she says, taking a piece of parchment from Jasper. “As always, the new professors will be allowed to choose first before it is available to any more established members of staff. Please consider your other commitments and workload however. You do not have to attend every meeting, but you will be expected to be available to the students when they need it. Often a Seventh year or whoever has been elected captain will run the meetings but I do suggest frequent check-ins.”
She hands the list over to the three of them, Neville and Harry peering over Harper’s shoulder to look. Harper produces a quill, which Neville promptly whisks away to sign up for all of the various Herbology clubs. They must have previously been run by Pomona.
“See anything you like?” Harper asks, in a whisper, while Minerva begins talking about improvements to the west wing corridor. Harry grins.
“Why?” he asks. “Fancy the Chocolate Frog card collectors club, do you?” She makes a face.
“You can have that,” she says generously, holding out the quill once Neville has relinquished it. Harry signs up for that club - they only meet once a fortnight, so that should be easy. They may also enjoy having an advisor who has the unique privilege of being on such a card. He also signs up for the Pudding of the Month club and the Chudley Cannons fan association.
Harper chooses the sewing club and the Melody Quill fan club, a pop singer that Harry vaguely remembers hearing on the radio. Between the three of them, they leave only a few spaces open and Minerva takes the parchment back with a nod.
“Thank you, I’ll leave this on the noticeboard for everyone else to see,” she says. “Now, onto other business…”
Harry sits back, feeling strangely, absurdly content. This all feels right somehow, as Minerva explains the term dates, how many allotted Hogsmeade trips there are this year and the dates for the exams. He tries his best to absorb the information that Minerva is giving them but he half-slips in daydreams, about fresh spring days, and Christmas trees three times his size, and waking up each morning to look out across the sprawling grounds.
Even the dark cloud of Malfoy sitting across the room can’t ruin his mood.
“Now,” Minerva says finally, putting down her papers with a smile. “I suppose we had better go enjoy our meal.”
The Great Hall hasn’t changed, the ceiling full of rippling hues as the summer evening closes in. The four house tables are empty, the surfaces bare, waiting for the students to return the day after tomorrow. Their footsteps echo as they walk down to the head table and excitement flickers in Harry’s stomach when he sees the place settings, the chairs all in a line.
They climb the steps of the platform to the top table, and look for their seats. To his relief, the seats were marked with tiny, golden placards, so he doesn’t have to worry about sitting in someone else’s chair. The DADA card was marked with a silver Patronus emerging from a wand. Harper’s is labelled as Muggle Studies by a drawing of a muggle telephone, just to his right. To his left, the card bears a bubbling cauldron. Of course.
Harry tugs out his chair, ignoring Malfoy doing the same to his left. Harper just smirks at him, so he sticks out his tongue at her.
“Not what you were expecting then,” Harper murmurs, peering around Harry to watch Malfoy sit ramrod straight in his chair, without acknowledging either of them.
“No,” Harry replies and fiddles with his placard.
“Don’t let it get to you,” she advises. “We only have tomorrow and then we’re professors. Focus on that.”
It’s extremely hard to, with Malfoy glowering next to him. The aura of disdain is going to be difficult to ignore this year.
Their conversation is cut short by Minerva clapping her hands together and rising from her golden chair.
“I’d like to say a few words before we begin,” she says, looking from one end of the table, where Hagrid sits, to the other. Her eyes rest on each teacher briefly and Harry is somewhat reminded of when Dumbledore had that chair and how it always felt like he was speaking directly to you, no matter where you were sitting.
“This is a year of great changes. This is the most significant shift in staff that we have seen since the end of the war. I am delighted to have new blood in the faculty, both from other schools and previous students. I guarantee that if you give all you have to Hogwarts, you will gain everything back and more. I myself became a teacher here not long after leaving as a pupil and it has given me family, a home and a purpose.” Minerva looks a little distant, no doubt remembering her time as a young witch. Harry wonders if she was as scared as he was when she’d first arrived.
“Hogwarts has not always had an easy time. You all know the difficulties we’ve faced. Even in the darkest times, Hogwarts has stood together against all odds. And I hope that no matter what trials and struggles we face this year, that we can face them together. The past is the past. It’s time to face our future.”
The plates fill with food and there’s a clamour of noise as people chatter and scrape serving spoons against plates. Harry stares mutely at a plate of roast beef, as Harper prods him.
“Can you pass those potatoes?” she asks, gesturing to the dish to Harry’s left. He hands her the bowl, with an apologetic smile. She serves herself several spoonfuls before dumping a few onto his plate as well.
“Get started. You must be starving,” she says, concern in her deep blue eyes. “Are you alright?”
“Yes,” Harry fibs and reaches for the roast beef. “Fine. Long day. Do you want some of this?”
The food had been delicious enough that Harry’s worries had faded after a few yorkshire puddings. He’d spent his time chatting with Harper and Madam Pomfrey, who sat two chairs over to his right. Malfoy eats silently, making no attempt to talk to anyone and outright pretending that Harry doesn’t exist. The treacle tarts were just as delicious as before and now Harry is sitting in a contented daze, sipping his coffee.
He catches sight of the Divinations professor, Stella Imago, on the other side of the table. Her dark eyes are focused on her own coffee cup and her hands worry at the end of her long braid.
“Do you know her at all?” Harry asks Harper. She frowns, and tips a spoonful of sugar into her tea.
“Not really,” she says vaguely. “I spoke to her in the staffroom earlier. She went to Beauxbatons, I think? Her mother is French but that’s about all I know.”
Harry looks at Stella, alone between Filch and an empty chair, the missing Alchemy teacher’s spot. Kristopher is the only professor to not be present but perhaps given the man’s pallor when Harry had met him earlier, this may be justified.
“Maybe she’s just shy,” he suggests. “Not everyone is good with new people. I know I’m not.” Harper shrugs and swipes her finger around her pudding bowl before sticking the chocolate-mousse laden finger in her mouth.
“I think she’s a little odd but maybe that goes with the job,” Harper says, searching her bowl for any more leftover chocolate. Harry thinks back to Professor Trelawney with her large spectacles and dramatic proclamations of death.
“It’s definitely a Divination thing,” he agrees. “Is she much of a seer?”
She wrinkles her nose, unsure. “I didn’t ask. I don’t believe much in all that stuff anyway. My future’s my own and I don’t think some soggy tea leaves are going to tell me any different.”
Harry declines to reply. He knows better than anyone that prophecies can be very real. As batty as Sybill Trelawny was, she actually was gifted. But he can understand not wanting to know, wanting some control of what’s in front of you. He’s had enough of other people trying to set out his life for him. He had loved and admired Dumbledore as much as you can for another person but there will always be that small part of him that resents being moved like a chess piece. He was eleven, for Merlin’s sake, not a soldier.
Someone yawns - he’s not sure who - and it starts a chain of people yawning and stretching. Minerva smiles and Harry doesn’t know how she resisted the impulse. It’s probably not done for the Headmistress to yawn. No matter who does it, it’s never a dignified motion.
“Shall we retire?” she says, looking around at the full, sleepy-eyed group. “We have an entire school year to get to know one another and we need to be prepared for the hoards of students about to enter our doors.”
There’s a flurry of people rising from their chairs and Harry knocks back the last of his drink before doing the same. After a moment’s hesitation he reaches out and swipes the placard from the table and tucks it into a pocket. He wants a reminder of his first night back at Hogwarts.
People leave slowly in small clusters, although Malfoy and Stella are two of the first to leave - one to the dungeons and the other to her tower. Hagrid gives Harry a hug before heading out to his hut, but not before making Harry promise to come visit for tea one afternoon.
“I’ll see you around?” Harper asks, when they reach the Entrance Hall. They’ve made plans to meet up tomorrow, to speed through the final preparations. But for now, Harry intends to shove a few boxes aside and fall into bed. The coffee is doing nothing to keep him awake.
“Tomorrow,” he agrees, with a yawn, that Neville promptly copies. “Not too early though.”
“God, no,” she says with a grin and vanishes up the stairs with a jaunty wave. Neville waits until her robes are out of sight before he turns to Harry.
“You made a friend quickly,” he comments and Harry feels somewhat unnerved by the observation. Maybe not unnerved exactly...perhaps a little bit offended?
“I suppose so,” he says, the words coming out more defensively than he means to. He can make friends...but no one seems to understand that it’s just a little bit harder when he’s never sure that people want to be friends with him and not the Boy-Who-Lived.
“Calm down,” Neville says mildly, as Professor Sinistra strolls past them. “I was happy for you, that’s all. She seems nice enough.”
“Yeah,” Harry says, before airing the thought he’s had since he first met Harper. “Bit sharp though, isn’t she?”
“Yeah, well,” Neville says, with an uncomfortable, small cough. “Ginny can be too, at times.”
“No comment,” Harry says, rubbing his eyes. He’ll wash up and then get a goodnight’s rest - he’s only got one more day to get ready for the new term. “I’d better go clean up. I can barely keep my eyes open.”
“I hear that,” Neville says, yawning widely yet again. “Do you think Kristopher will come to dinner tomorrow?”
“Unsure,” Harry says, still not quite able to read the strange man he’d met earlier. Something in his head is ringing a little like deja vu...but he’s too tired to really think or worry about it. Maybe they’ve met before, maybe he did get a glimpse of the man during his sixth year. A tiny nagging feeling in his gut is hardly cause for concern. He’s been wrong before.
Harry can see the question on Neville’s face before he asks it. There’s something about the deep breath he takes, the way he bites his lip as he gears up to ask something he thinks isn’t his place.
“Harry?” he says and Harry gets a sinking feeling in his stomach. “You and Harper…”
“No,” Harry says bluntly, cutting him off. “Absolutely not.” Neville gawps.
“You don't know what I was going to say!” he protests, although there’s a faintly guilty flush to his cheeks. Harry restrains a groan, but only just. Questions about his love life twice in only two days. Merlin help him.
“I do,” he says, ruthless. “Who have you been talking to? Is it Ron?” The flush deepens. Right.
“Do not,” he says, taking a step closer to stare into Neville’s eyes...or tries to anyway. Neville’s a few inches taller and he actually has to look up. “Do not listen to Ron. It doesn’t matter if I get back with Ginny. It doesn’t matter if I decided to date Harper or anyone else. But I’ll do it in my own time!” This is clearly the wrong thing to say. Neville’s eyes take on a gleam of interest.
“Are you getting back together with…” he starts and Harry finally lets out a frustrated howl.
“No, for the last time we’re not!” he bursts out. “I don’t want to date anyone. Okay?” Neville shrugs. If it had been anyone else, they probably would put this down to one of Harry’s wilder moods and treat him with kid gloves. But it’s Neville and he lets it all roll off his back.
“Okay,” he says, with an easy shrug. “That sounds fair to me. But Ron…”
“I know what Ron’s been saying,” Harry says, giving Neville a smile to make up for the shouting. “And he shouldn’t. I know a lot of people want us to get back together.”
“But that’s what they want, not what you want,” Neville says, looking like he understands. But he would. He spent most of his life trying to live up to other people’s expectations and fearing he wouldn’t. Harry’s glad that Neville doesn’t have that anymore. Because he’s the first to say that it straight up sucks.
“Yeah,” Harry says quietly. “I’m good with being by myself for a bit. Got enough to be going on with, you know?” Neville nods.
“Okay, no more questions. Just...Harper’s nice. You guys get along. But I suppose dating a fellow teacher isn’t the best idea, right?”
“This castle wouldn’t be big enough after a breakup,” Harry says, wincing. After Ginny, it seemed that the whole of England wasn’t big enough to escape their friends and family wanting to know why the relationship had fallen apart. And he knows all too well how the students - and staff - are partial to a bit of gossip.
“I’ll see you tomorrow, yeah?” he checks. “Night, Neville.”
He hurries back towards the DADA classroom, feeling oddly jittery. You’d think he’d be used to people feeling like they have a right to discuss his life by now but he isn’t. And after everything, he still can’t help feeling uncomfortable with his friends discussing him, even if it’s in a well meaning way. He knows that Ron wants what’s best for him. He’s so happy with Hermione that he wants Harry to have the same too.
“Everyone is too interested in my love life,” Harry mutters furiously, much to the shock of a nearby portrait. “I’m not going to fall in love.”