Chapter Text
“What persuaded you to apply for this position, Mr Potter?” Professor McGonagall looks at Harry over her large, intimidating desk, so reminding him of his first year at Hogwarts that he swallows nervously. He loves her dearly, as his former teacher and a friend, but right now her expression is firmly set on ‘no nonsense headmistress’ and he has to remind himself that he is not an eleven year old who snuck out of bed at night but a man of nearly twenty-five who is applying for a job.
“Well, obviously I’m passionate about Defense against the Dark Arts,” Harry says and immediately hates the words as they come out of his mouth. Conscripted into a war at eleven doesn’t exactly translate into ‘passionate.’ “Uh, I mean to say that one of the most inspiring teachers I ever had was for DADA. Re-...Professor Lupin’s lessons were always well taught and interesting and he made time for students if they had a problem or were struggling.” Without meaning to, his mind flashes back to sitting in Remus’ office, drinking tea and talking. He’d never had a teacher like that before. Like they were friends. Like his opinion meant something.
“I guess I’m saying that I’d like to make a difference like that in someone’s life,” Harry finishes, hoping he’s getting his message across. Applying for the position was always a risk. McGonagall wasn’t going to be one of those to give him what he wanted just because he’s Harry Potter. With a pang, he thinks that maybe she won’t give him the job because he’s Harry Potter.
“Why did you decide against becoming an auror?” McGonagall asks curiously, eyes gentle behind her glasses. Surely she already knows the answer - or at least can guess at it - but she’s giving him a chance to be truthful.
“Because I’ve had enough of fighting,” Harry says, honestly. And that right there is the core of everything. That’s all he’s done his entire life - fighting to survive, fighting Voldemort - and he’s sick to the back teeth of it. He’d left school with his excellent NEWTs scores and when faced with the offer for the ministry, hadn’t been able to stifle the panic in his belly. The letter had been shoved in the bread-bin and abandoned. Every time he’d tried to look at it, he’d broken out in sweats. He lay awake at night and when he did sleep, he dreamt of flashes of green light and endless screaming. The thought of late nights stakeouts and cruelty and flying curses...being an auror wasn’t too different from his year hiding out with Ron and Hermione. And it had taken a lot of time for him to realise that it wasn’t what he wanted anymore.
“Mate, it’s alright if you don’t want to do this,” Ron had said, brow creased with concern.
“Harry, do you think that maybe it’s alright for you to take a break, just for once?” was Hermione’s contribution after she’d found the scrunched up letter shoved behind a loaf of Hovis.
“You’re an idiot,” Ginny had said ruthlessly, plying him with Molly’s homemade biscuits. “Why are you forcing yourself to do something you don’t want to do?”
So he hadn’t. And the day he’d sent an owl back, turning down their offer had been the day he’d finally slept all through the night.
“It’s all I’ve ever done,” Harry continues. He fiddles nervously with the sleeve of his smart robes. He’s aware that he’s being a lot more open with his former teacher than he would normally be in an interview. But after all they’ve been through, he reckons that she deserves it. “And I decided that I wanted the chance to do something else for a change.”
“Which you certainly have done,” McGonagall says, with a carefully raised eyebrow. ”Charity and travel, public appearances...several temporary jobs. You worked in Mr Weasley’s shop for a while, didn’t you?” Harry’s ears burn as he meets her gaze.
“I did,” he says. He’s worrying at his sleeve so much he’s probably fraying it. Molly won’t be happy if he goes to her with holes in his best robes. “George offered me one during a slow patch. I don’t like sitting around. He said as I was an investor, I should maybe put some work in.”
“And you didn’t choose to stay at any of these enterprises because?” McGonagall pushes, looking at him over her glasses. Harry has the unnerving feeling that she’s looking for something. Some answer that will let her know whether he deserves this job or not.
“Because…” Harry says and then pauses, looking for the right words. He could probably spend the rest of his life without a steady job, Merlin knows he has the money. But he hadn’t wanted that. He’d had a brief vacation and then flung himself into whatever he could find. Volunteering at St. Mungo’s, doing research for Hermione about rehabilitation in wizarding London, even baking with Molly...he took on every task, trying as many things as he could, feeling like he had to make up for the time he’d lost. He’d enjoyed many of them and they all made him feel like he was doing something worthwhile.
But the problem was, none of them were right for him.
“Because they weren’t where I was meant to be,” Harry says firmly. “Ron was always meant to be an auror. He’s a strategist, he’s brilliant at it. And Hermione is clever and determined to make a difference to the laws we have, so she was easy too. All of my friends had a calling, somewhere they were meant to be when they left school. All of them,” he says, thinking of George making the world laugh and Ginny making a name for herself at Quidditch and Neville going to do research on magical plants.
“Turns out I’d always been where I was meant to be,” he says, finally turning his eyes to his right where he knows the portrait of Dumbledore is watching. As he suspected, the old man was watching him carefully from the frame. He’d tried his best when he’d set foot in the door to not look at his former Headmaster. But he did what Dumbledore wanted him to do. The rest of his life is up to him. “It took me a little while to realise it but I want to be what Lupin was. A teacher. A good one.”
McGonagall tilts her head slightly and then sighs heavily.
“Thank you, Potter, that will be all,” she says crisply, tapping her wand on the piece of paper in front of her so that it curls up and turns black, finally vanishing into a wisp of smoke. Harry feels dread curling in his stomach. They’ve barely been here ten minutes. He hasn’t had a great many interviews but he feels like that’s not how it’s supposed to go. Surely he can’t have failed that badly?
But McGonagall is pulling herself up from her chair, rising elegantly. She collects her wand and stows it away up her sleeve before gesturing to Harry.
“If you’d like to follow me please?” she asks and feeling cowed, Harry obeys. He takes one last look at Dumbledore’s portrait and wonders if maybe he really has let his former mentor down. Sure, he defeated Voldemort and saved the Wizarding World but it looks like the world outside of school is a different matter.
He follows McGonagall down the stairs and through a corridor to the grand staircase. Hogwarts is silent, it being the summer holidays and the only creature they see is Mrs Norris, quietly licking her paws. She watches them cross the quad balefully, golden eyes never moving until they’ve vanished through the archway.
He thinks at first that maybe they’re going to the Gryffindor tower but they don’t make the turn for the staircase. Instead, they wind through the corridors to a very familiar room.
The Defense Against the Dark Arts classroom hasn’t changed much since Harry’s time here, five years ago. The dragon skeleton hasn’t moved from its place on the ceiling, overlooking the neatly arranged tables and chairs. The previous teacher must have removed most of the personal effects as the walls and surfaces are mostly bare, leaving it a blank slate for the incoming teacher. With the professor changing every year, Harry had seen everything from magical creature posters to all of those large smiling portraits of Lockhart.
“Well?” McGonagall asks expectantly. Harry looks at her in confusion. He’s not entirely sure of what she’s asking.
“There’s an office to the back, up those stairs,” she says, gesturing. “Although I’m certain you already know that. And the quarters are attached to the office. They’re not much but they’re comfy enough. Private bathroom, small kitchen should you not feel like coming to the great hall. They’ve been left empty a while so I expect they could all use a good, hard clean,” McGonagall says, with a delicate wrinkle of her nose. Harry stares at her, open mouthed.
“Sorry, Professor,” he says. “But do you mean to say...I’ve got the job?” McGonagall’s mouth splits into a rare smile.
“I do mean to say,” she confirms. “Honestly, Potter, I’ve known you since you were a boy. I know what kind of person you are and what you stand for. I think Hogwarts could use someone like you. And besides, you had excellent marks when you had a...competent teacher.” Again her nose wrinkles in disgust, no doubt remembering the likes of Lockhart, Umbridge and Quirrell. “And no one here would doubt your real world credentials. Over all, you have a good knowledge of dark creatures, curses and potions, as well as their practical use and counterspells. I think the students will be lucky to have you.” Buoyed by her praise, Harry returns her smile.
He’s done it. He’s the new DADA teacher. Hogwarts is his home again. Although, he backtracks slightly, he will have to make a stop to Grimmauld Place to pack and make arrangements. And clean, if McGonagall’s description of his new quarters is accurate. And he has to tell his friends...He’s not supposed to see Ron and Hermione until Friday but can he wait that long to tell them?
Harry exhales and turns again to look at the classroom, his mind ticking over with ways to make it his. More books, he thinks, and some informative posters on the walls. He wants to rearrange the desks, so they can easily be pushed back for a space to practice wandwork in. Maybe he can even get a grindylow for his office, like Lupin had.
“I’ll make you proud,” he promises, and he could be talking to McGonagall, Lupin or even Dumbledore. He wonders briefly about the Snape portrait up in the Headmistress’ office, yet another DADA teacher that passed through these halls, cursed to only hold the position for a year.
“Uh, Professor?” he asks, frozen by a sudden thought. “Why did the previous teacher leave?”
“Minerva will do just fine now that we’re going to be colleagues,” she chides him gently before clicking her tongue. Clearly she can see his train of thought. “And Professor Sinclair left because her husband is an American Wizard. They've returned to his native country and as she held the position from Hogwarts’ rebuilding to now, there is no need to worry about that curse, Mr Potter!” Harry grins, no longer as scared of her as he was sitting across from her in her office.
“Just wondering, Professor. Minerva,” he corrects himself, the name not quite falling off his tongue. Still, he’ll get there.
“We expect all teachers to arrive a week before the beginning of the school year,” Minerva says briskly. “To set up classrooms, have lesson plans prepared and be there to assist with the incoming students. Will that be quite alright with you?” Her tone suggests that any other answer than a positive is not acceptable but Harry has no problem with that. The last week of August is a little over four weeks away. Four weeks until he’s back in the first place he truly called home. Until he’ll be known as Professor Potter.
“That’ll be just fine,” he says.
“Harry, this is really great,” Hermione says admiringly, as she slides another of his brand new textbooks onto the shelf. Harry just beams at her, too delighted to say anything.
The last four weeks have been a whirlwind. Harry has barely stopped since he’d arrived back at Grimmauld Place after his interview. But it’s been worth it, Harry thinks as he looks around the classroom. This is all his now.
Sometimes it still doesn’t feel real. He’s certain that he’s going to pinch himself and wake up at an auror’s desk, slumped over paperwork and utterly miserable. Or even back at Grimmauld Place, trying yet again to figure out where he’s meant to be. But instead he’s here, with his friends, making the final adjustments to his new classroom. His birthday had passed by in the chaos, celebrated only by a small dinner at Ron and Hermione’s. Hermione predictably bought him a planner for the new school year. Ron just bought him Firewhiskey. ‘In case the little shits drive you to drink,’ he’d said before Hermione returned with the cake.
“More books,” Ron groans, stumbling in the door, carrying yet another box. “How many do you need?”
“I may have gone a bit mad,” Harry admits sheepishly. “But they had so many I’d never read and I wanted to cover all of the bases, you know? Dark creatures and spells and potions…” Ron dumps the box down by Hermione, who doesn’t waste a moment breaking into it and pulling out the first book she sees.
“Dark Curses and Protections in Wizarding Ancient Egypt,” she reads out, before flicking open to the first page. “Can I borrow this?”
Ron not so discreetly rolls his eyes. “I’ll go get another box. Try to keep her from bringing all of your reference books home, okay?”
“I’ll try,” Harry says, not entirely confident in his ability to keep Hermione from something she wants to read. Filling the shelves wouldn’t have taken her so long if she didn’t keep stopping to investigate every book. However, at least she is doing something. He appears to have lost half of his unpacking team. Ginny went to fetch another box twenty minutes ago and hasn’t returned, and Luna is lost back in his private quarters. He just hopes she’s not trying to set up protections against nargles or something. “Where the hell did Ginny get to?”
Ron shrugs. “Skiving off from lifting the heaviest boxes?” he suggests, halfway out of the door.
“I’d believe if it Ginny weren’t stronger than you,” Hermione counters, not even bothering to look up at her boyfriend. Harry suppresses a smirk at Ron’s scowl, although he doesn’t counter it. All that Quidditch training has made Ginny incredibly strong.
“Seriously though, where is she?” Harry asks, putting down the posters he had been holding and heading towards the back of the classroom. Maybe she’s been in his new living quarters, filling the cupboards with tea bags and Molly’s good biscuits. Molly had somehow managed to get him to accept a box filled to the brim with food, somehow under the belief that he would forget to feed himself. He thinks she’s exaggerating a little bit but is still grateful. This week promises to be full on, starting with meeting his fellow teachers and ending with the arrival of thousands of new students. Students he has to teach and inspire and discipline. He hasn’t told anyone but that’s the part he’s most terrified of. At the end of the day, they outnumber him and he has his own memories of the teachers he disliked, mistrusted and outright hated. He wants to be like Lupin. He can even deal with being like Moody, minus the whole ‘Death Eater in disguise’ issue. So long as he tries to do everything that Umbridge wouldn’t do, he figures he’ll be okay.
Which is fine in theory. In practice, he’s still terrified.
His new living quarters reveal nothing other than Luna in his new kitchen, carefully stacking tins by colour. She has an intense look of concentration on her face as she decides whether to stack the pineapple or sweetcorn first. Having his food in a particular order isn’t of vital importance to him but it seems to make her happy.
“Have you seen Ginny?” he asks and she looks up, startled. Her new earrings - tiny planets - spin in place with the sudden movement.
“Not recently,” she says, pink lipsticked mouth twisting in a frown. “She was here, unpacking your clothes but I haven’t seen her for a while. I think she went to get another suitcase?”
“Okay,” Harry says. “Thanks, Luna.” He heads back, through the office and down the stairs, where Hermione has her head buried in yet another book. Presumably Ginny got waylaid on her way back. The floo in his office was temporarily taken offline, as his predecessor apparently hadn’t liked having one so close to her living quarters. Unfortunately, this meant bringing everything through to the Transfiguration classroom. It was the closest option they had but it didn’t feel like it when they had to move stacks of boxes and furniture through the corridors. Luckily, the Transfiguration teacher hasn’t arrived yet, so at least they’re not disturbing anyone.
“I’m going to get another box,” he says to Hermione, who only nods distantly. He suspects that she hasn’t actually heard a word he said. He also suspects he’s not getting that copy of ‘A complete guide to Lethifolds’ back.
He heads out of the classroom and swings a right down the corridor. It’s a fairly straight shot past the courtyard to the Transfiguration classrooms. Profess….Minerva no longer teaches so he doesn’t know who teaches there now. He knows a good few of the staff from his time at Hogwarts have moved on, mostly to retire or to pursue other interests. He hopes that a few of the newer teachers will be in the same boat that he is and be more amenable to making friends.
The Transfiguration door is open but the room only contains Ron, shifting boxes about. The room is considerably fuller than the last time Harry was here so presumably George has sent more through from the other end of the Floo.
“I didn’t know I owned this much stuff,” Harry says, uncertainly and neatly sidestepping a potted plant. Ron grunts and heaves a heavy box out of the fireplace as it flares a bright green.
“Maybe it didn’t look all that much in Grimmauld Place,” he says. “Also you bought tons of crap when you got this job.”
“It’s not crap,” Harry says in amusement, slightly protective of his new teaching equipment. Maybe he did buy more than he needed but he wanted to be sure he had everything. He’s had a vision of what his classroom would look like since the moment he applied for the job. “I need that stuff.” Ron gives him a stern look, that’s slightly ruined by the pink flush of exertion on his face.
“And you absolutely weren’t going overboard at any point,” he says dryly. “Is the fetal pig absolutely necessary?”
“Maybe not,” Harry says defensively. “I just thought it looked cool.”
“Well, I will give you that one,” Ron says with a grin. “It is pretty cool. Hermione would never let me have one in the house.”
“She would not,” Harry agrees. It’s a testament to their love that Hermione allows so much Chudley Cannons merchandise to clutter up their London apartment but he thinks it won’t allow for a dead pig. “Hey, have you seen Ginny? Luna said she came to get another suitcase and she’s pretty much vanished.”
“No, she wasn’t in here when I came in,” Ron says, straightening up with a groan. “But with Ginny who knows where she might have got to. Maybe she’s off meeting your new colleagues.”
“She’s been gone a while,” Harry notes. “Although it sounds about right that she’d make friends with my colleagues quicker than I can.” Because that was how it had always been. Fun-loving Ginny had no trouble settling in with new people. After a few days with her new Quidditch team, she had them all over for margaritas and karaoke. But years of being in the limelight and endless discussion of ‘what is Harry Potter up to now?’ has made Harry suspicious of new people.
“You share a castle with your new co-workers,” chides a voice behind them. “You should actually try and get to know them.” Ginny stands in the doorway, arms folded across her chest. Her dungarees bear dust on both the knees and she has an old flashing Holyhead Harpies badge pinned to her chest.
“Where have you been?” Harry asks curiously. Ginny merely flicks a strand of red hair over her shoulder, unbothered.
“I went to the kitchens to ask if they could bring us some drinks. And yes, I asked for food as well,” she adds, catching sight of Ron’s hopeful face. “I think mum has raised your expectations too high of having food available at all times. Hermione isn’t going to stand for that.”
“It took you a long time,” Ron points out. “We wondered if a staircase had devoured you whole or something.”
Ginny quite sensibly ignores him, while Harry mouths ‘that doesn’t even make any sense!’ at him over her head.
“Get another box, Ron, and stop complaining. I just...ran into someone. That’s all,” she says, with a casual shrug. She easily heaves a bag over her shoulder and scoops up a small box into her arms.
“Someone?” Harry and Ron say at once. It’s not like Ginny to be so cagey.
“Just someone I wanted to talk to,” she says and it’s clear from the set of her jaw that she’s not willing to give anymore details. She vanishes out of the door with her load, in a whirlwind of red hair and disdain.
“Shit. What’s with her?” Ron says, looking equally stunned at Ginny’s unusual attitude. Ginny is many things: a flirt, wild, occasionally brutal with her teasing...but never distant. Something has rattled her. Something that she’s not willing to share.
“Couldn’t say,” Harry says, bending to pick up a box and then abandoning it when it’s also labelled ‘Books.’ Fuck, how many did he buy? Another box that has ‘shoes’ scribbled on in Sharpie looks preferable. He envies Ginny’s strength, naturally built up from training and clinging onto a broom in all weather. He misses playing Quidditch, not getting many chances and even less to have a proper game. These days it’s just a case of messing around on brooms in the Weasley’s garden after Sunday lunch, and no one puts in much effort after being too full of Molly’s roast lamb. It’s fun and chaotic and ends with them drinking hot chocolate on the lawn in an exhausted heap but somehow it’s not the same as the rush of an actual game. He can watch the games here, he realises with a jolt of excitement. Of course, he always could before, no one was going to dissuade Harry Potter in the stands watching his old house play but he can have that full experience again as a teacher.
“So...uh,” Ron starts and Harry can see the tips of his ears go red, which usually means that Ronis trying to bring up an uncomfortable topic. “You and her haven’t talked recently?”
“Talked?” Harry says, feigning ignorance and not as though he and Ron have had this conversation about six times over the last year. Without fail, it comes around every few months, usually after Harry and Ginny have been getting along especially well or fall back into their natural banter. He’s not entirely sure why Ron would bring it up now.
“Yeah. About…” Ron pauses, looking for the right words and dawdling by looking for a box, despite the fact that the floor is littered with them. He clearly doesn’t want to have this conversation where they can be overheard, especially as Hermione would probably just tell him off again. “Well, about you two,” he finishes awkwardly.
Harry shifts the box in his arms with a groan and briefly debates putting it down again. “Why would we talk about us? And what about her being prickly just now suggests that we have?”
“Just that maybe she meant ‘someone’ when she said someone,” Ron explains sheepishly. “There’s other teachers here, maybe people our age. She might have bumped into someone and not wanted to say that she got distracted flirting.” Harry gives a huff of laughter and drops the box back down. Clearly they’re not going anywhere.
“Ron, we broke up over a year ago,” he points out. “Ages ago. We’re good friends now, and we’ve been on dates with other people. I think we both know that eventually we’re gonna meet someone else.” Ron looks deflated. Despite his reservations when Harry and Ginny first got together, Harry thinks that Ron probably liked the idea of his best friend becoming a permanent member of the family. Harry had liked it too. But it hadn’t worked out that way.
“But you got on so well together,” Ron says mournfully.
“We still do,” Harry says defensively, and quite rightly because fuck, did they work at it. Their break up had been pretty mutual but even so, Harry had had to stay away from the Burrow and lunches for a while. They hadn’t been able or ready to see each other for a few months and Harry had missed her. They weren’t meant for each other but she was still one of his best friends. Finally being able to be in the same room as each other was a relief, as though a limb he’d been missing had returned.
“I know,” Ron says. “I just thought…”
“No,” Harry says, shaking his head. He’s a little bemused. He’d thought that after he’d dated that Irish witch for a few months that Ron would be past this. “Ginny’s free to date who she likes. Although one of my new colleagues might be a bit weird,” he amends. “We’re used to the idea of dating other people, I’m not sure either of us want it right in front of us.”
Ron nods and hopefully that seems to be the end of this round of ‘Why don’t you and Ginny get back together?’ But there’s still the matter of boxes and boxes littering some poor Transfiguration teacher’s office.
“Do you think we can levitate all of this instead?” Ron says, wrinkling his nose.
They stop for lunch amidst the collection of boxes and loose cardboard and assorted lamps that litter the half finished classroom. They don’t bother with the countless chairs that are lying around, instead pulling out a blanket from Harry’s luggage and laying it on the ground. They eat sandwiches and scotch eggs and mini eclairs, as though they are sixteen again and not people in their twenties, with budding careers and home lives.
“That cheddar is to die for,” Ron swoons, as he manages to fit a slice and half a pork pie into his mouth at once. Ginny wrinkles her nose.
“If you chew with your mouth open, that can be arranged!” she threatens and Ron hurriedly clamps his mouth shut. Harry hides his smile behind a sausage roll but honestly, he agrees with Ron. He’d forgotten how good Hogwarts food is. There are even miniature treacle tarts.
“You’d think you’d be used to it by now,” Harry says instead.
“Used to it, yes. It’s still gross,” Ginny says, folding a slab of cheddar and chutney inbetween a piece of crusty bread. She seems to have cooled since earlier, although she’s still not willing to discuss who she ran into on her way to the kitchens. When the house elves turned up with their lunch, he caught her looking at him with a strange, worried expression, but it was gone when she pulled out her wand to shift the tables and chairs back.
It would be entirely stupid and presumptous to think that after all this time that she’s having a change of heart. They have dated other people, but sparsely. Harry went on two blind dates - both disastrous - but at the beginning of this year he did manage a few months with Siobhan, a healer at St. Mungo’s. She was perfectly lovely but it just fizzled out. They didn’t have enough in common to keep going.
Ginny, on the other hand, appears to have dated much more frequently. With her job and naturally outgoing personality, she meets far more people. Harry only met Siobhan because he turned up at St. Mungo’s needing his wrist to be reset, after a particularly icy winter morning and his front steps. Ginny gets invited to parties and outings and Quidditch matches that she’s not even playing in. However, it’s either worrying or comforting that she also hasn't had a significant relationship since they split.
He doesn’t think that he wants to get back together with Ginny. They get on well together and he is the first to admit that she’s beautiful- even now, in her dungarees with dust on the knees and a dot of chutney on her lip. Their relationship had been fun and easy, it was just…
Harry frowns. Even now he’s not sure how to explain why their relationship fell apart. It was just missing...something.
“I miss Neville,” Luna says distantly, looking at a tomato as though it holds all the answers. She’s been a little quiet today. Harry isn’t surprised that them all being together would make her miss Neville. While she gets on very well with all of them, she and Neville have always been close, two gentle souls together.
“I know, Luna,” Harry says, patting her knee. “We do too. It’s not quite right without him here.”
“I’d say he doesn’t know what he’s missing out on, but he’s probably happy as a pig in shit, in some rainforest, collecting specimens,” Ron says bluntly. Hermione rolls her eyes.
“That’s a lovely turn of phrase, Ronald,” she says primly. “But you’re probably right. He loves magical flora as much as….well, Ginny loves Quidditch or…”
“Ron loves bacon?” Harry suggests. Ron makes a face before considering it.
“I do love bacon,” he admits, eyes flickering over the diminished spread in front of them. “This is definitely missing some bacon. ‘Mione, do you think-?”
“No,” Hermione, Harry and Ginny all chorus. There's a considerable attempt on their part to reduce Ron’s intake of bacon, out of fear he might not live to see forty otherwise.
Ron wrinkles his nose, looking put out. “Fine,” he sighs. “No bacon.”
Harry watches his friends eat, feeling terribly fond of them. He spent so long without family that sometimes it feels strange to count all of the people who love him. People drift after school,he knows that much, and while there are friends he doesn’t see or talk to often, he’s grateful that didn’t happen to these few people. He can’t live without seeing Hermione and Ron on Friday nights or Ginny talking about her latest matches at Sunday lunch or Luna sending him a batch of her latest strange baking creations. He has letters on his corkboard from Neville, detailing the beautiful wild flowers he’s found on his research trip. Postcards from Seamus and Dean in Ireland and boxes of new products from George arriving in the post.
“Are you alright, Harry?” Hermione asks, catching sight of his face as she refills their drinks.
“Just happy,” Harry says, holding out his own goblet. All of those pork pies have made him thirsty.
“We should have a toast,” Ron insists, holding up his now full goblet and, bemused, they all scramble to do the same. He clears his throat, all ceremony. The regal air clashes with his bright Holyhead Harpies t-shirt.
“To us - and Neville. May things only get better from here, whether our futures lie in sports, politics, government, magical flora or fauna or molding young minds. Please try to not fuck that last one up, Harry.” Harry makes a face of mock outrage.
“So long as you're not Umbridge, you’re fine,” Ginny advises him, echoing his earlier concern back at him.
“Or Quirrell.”
“Definitely not Lockhart!” Ron mutters with some distaste.
“Or Snape!” Luna finishes, looking horrified.
“Christ,” Ron says, horror dawning on his face. “It’s a miracle we got a good education. Did they not have very good hiring procedures when Dumbledore was alive?”
“I still reckon that he met Lockhart and just thought it would be a good laugh,” Ginny says, darkly.
“Knowing him, that’s probably horrifically true,” Harry says, draining the last of his pumpkin juice.
“I swear to be better than the terrible teachers we had at school. Acceptable?”
“You’re going to be brilliant, Harry,” Luna says softly. Harry pats her hand, touched by her certainty. His friends responded to the news with overwhelming joy, all absolutely sure that Harry is where he’s meant to be. But that doesn’t stop the fear that creeps up Harry’s spine every so often. And tonight he meets some of his new colleagues for the very first time.
“Merlin, I hope so,” he says and swipes the last eclair out from under Ron’s nose.
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.
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. Dinner will start soon and he doesn’t want to be late. Minerva had stressed the importance of this night, when all of the teachers have dinner in the Great Hall and meet each other for the first time. 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 so 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 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, to the Transfiguration classroom 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 room/kitchen are fairly organised, thanks to Luna. His office will need some work before the students arrive and Hermione and Ron worked like ogres setting 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.
It has occurred to him that he may meet someone here. But if it didn’t work and they broke up, sharing a castle might be hard. Maybe best to not get involved with co-workers.
But he’s never going to find out if he doesn’t just fucking go.
His stomach is churning with nerves as he steps into the Great Hall. It seems strange to walk in and it not be filled to the brim with children, eating and filling the hall with noise. Instead there’s a small group of distinguished adults clustered near the top table and Harry has to find his nerve, before he walks down to meet them.
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.
“Am I late?” Harry asks but Hagrid shakes his head.
“Not at all. We’re still waiting on some teachers, especially the new ones like you. Merlin, Minerva’s not even here yet!”
“That doesn’t sound like her,” Harry says, letting Hagrid draw him closer to the cluster of witches and wizards at the far end of the hall. Now that he’s closer, Harry can see several familiar faces and a flood of relief sweeps through him. “I’d expect her to be first.”
“Ah, she’s a busy lady,” Hagrid rumbles. “Don’t know what we’d do without her. She doesn’t teach anymore, did yeh know?”
“I think so,” Harry says. Weird. He’d have expected Minerva to be the first here. Even weirder will be meeting her replacement. He certainly wouldn’t like to have applied for that role. It was scary enough applying for a different subject. Minerva has high standards, especially when it came to her lessons. She wouldn’t expect anything less than perfect from her replacement.
Several of his former professors are first to come up to greet him. Flitwick beams with delight from behind his beard.
“Happy to have you here, Harry!” Flitwick enthuses, as Harry bends to shake his hand. “Wonderful to have some young blood!”
“Speak for yourself,” grumbles Hooch but her eyes are warm when she shakes his hand. “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, taking a step back for Madam Pomfrey to take her turn.
“Of course, we’ll be Filius, Rolanda and Poppy to you now,” Madam Pomfrey says. “It might take some getting used to. Just please, turn up less in the hospital wing than you did in school.”
“I had good reasons for those,” Harry says defensively. “Dementors and willows and...well, Lockhart.” Poppy rolls her eyes good-naturedly.
“Well, I will give you that last one,” she admits. Rolanda’s hawk-like eyes narrow sharply.
“That Lockhart was a complete fool,” she says contemptuously. “As if I’ve never had broken bones on my Quidditch pitch before!” Poppy pats her arm.
“I believe you never had the joy of being taught by these good people,” she says to Harry, gesturing to the people behind them. Harry turns his attention to the crowd of witches he vaguely recognises from his school days.
“Aurora Sinistra - Astrology.” This is the dark skinned witch, with high cheekbones and a copper coloured hat. “Bathsheda Babbling - Ancient Runes.” This is an older witch, with sharp eyes and greying hair pulled back in a tight bun. And Septima Vector - Arithmancy.” This is a dark haired witch in ruby robes. All three smile and shake his hand.
“Hopefully, I’ll get to know all three of you better,” Harry promises, as he leaves them to resume their conversations. There’s something of a clatter as a young witch in bright aquamarine robes hurries down the Great Hall. Harry doesn’t recognise her and judging from the panic on her face, she’s also new.
“I’m not late, am I?” she asks, heart-shaped face flushed with red. She must have dashed all the way here.
“Not at all,” Poppy assures her. “Harry here has only just arrived as well.” The witch smooths back her thick blonde curls, wild from her race across the castle and beams.
“Thank Merlin,” she proclaims. “That wouldn’t be a good first impression. I’m Harper Scott. I’ll be teaching Muggle Studies.” Harry takes her hand when she offers it.
“Harry,” he says, deliberately missing out his surname. “I’ve just started too. Defense Against The Dark Arts.”
It’s as Harper is introducing herself to the others that another witch arrives. This one sweeps in gracefully, in robes of deep scarlet that flatters her golden brown complexion and matches the lipstick she wears. She pauses, lingering on the edges of the group, not as willing to insert herself as Harper had. But the Arithmancy professor notices her hesitation and steps forward.
“Stella!” Septima says warmly, placing a hand on the new witch’s shoulder and pulling her into the circle. “Harry, Harper, this is Stella Imago. She teaches Divination.” Stella nods coolly at them, her dark eyes appraising the new additions. She appears to be a young woman in her thirties, her long dark hair pulled back into a professional, complicated plait. She’s a far cry from the Divination teachers that Harry is used to.
“Nice to meet you,” Harry says, offering her his hand. After a beat, she takes it.
“And you,” she says and Harry is surprised by the subtle French accent in her voice.
“We’re still waiting on quite a few people, aren’t we?” Aurora says, with a frown. “It’s very unlike the Headmistress to be so late.”
But as soon as she’s finished speaking the doors open, revealing Minerva. She looks harried, mouth set in a small, thin line.
“Are we all here?” she says, when she arrives at the group. As one, it seems the assembled company decide to not comment on her crooked hat or the lines in her forehead. “Should we take our seats?”
Septima is the one who speaks up. “We’re missing several teachers, Minerva. Are they not coming?” Because they are indeed, several staff members short. Looking around, Harry tries to work out what teachers might be missing. The new Transfiguration teacher, that’s for sure, and as Professor Sprout retired, there must be a new Herbology teacher.
“I’m afraid that our new Alchemy teacher is unwell and won’t be joining us,” Minerva announces. “Our Herbology professor is on route from his research trip and will arrive later in the week. And I’m afraid Jasper has been held up with family business.”
“What about the Potions professor?” Harry asks, the words slipping out before he can stop them.
“He has declined to join us this evening,” Minerva says, mouth pursed with displeasure. She strides past them up to the table. “Now, shall we begin our meal? I see no reason to delay it any further.”
“Yikes,” Harper mutters, under her breath. “Who do you think pissed her off?”
“Not sure,” Harry says, as the group begins to take their own seats, quietly chatting to themselves. Minerva is at the Headmistress’ chair, back ramrod straight, even though her eyes are distant and unfocused. She may be here in body but Harry suspects her mind is elsewhere. Whatever happened while she was out of the room has rattled her. “Braver person than me, though.”
She giggles, although Harry suspects it’s half out of nerves than anything else. It’s something of a relief to know he’s not the only one to find all of this intimidating. Stella has drifted by to take her seat at the table, as cool as a cucumber, and is now chatting calmly with Aurora.
“She is a bit scary, isn’t she?” Harper agrees. “I thought I’d have grown out of that. I haven’t been taught by her in nearly thirteen years and yet somehow one look turns me back into a quivering first year!”
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 seat. 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. To his right, the card bears a bubbling cauldron. So he’s sitting next to the less-than-social Potions professor. Fun.
“You went here?” Harry asks, tearing his attention away from the place settings “I’m sorry, I didn’t recognise you.” She grins, looking slightly mischievous.
“You wouldn’t,” she agrees. “I was long gone from Hogwarts when you arrived. I’m actually thirty-four.” Harry blinks at her in surprise. She’s actually older than he suspected. The blonde curls and youthful face had led him to believe that she was his age, not nearly ten years older.
“I know, I get that look a lot,” she says, smoothing down a strand of golden hair. “I suppose I play it up a lot.” It certainly explains her fashionable robes and neat makeup.
“Handy,” Harry comments. 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 it always felt like he was speaking directly to you.
“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 right. 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. 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 Stella 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 ran into her in the North wing earlier. She went to Beauxbatons, I think? Her mother is French but that’s about all I know. She’s not very friendly, is she?”
Harry looks at Stella, alone between Filch and an empty chair, the missing Alchemy teacher’s spot.
“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 guess,” she mumbles. “If you want, we can ask her to have afternoon tea or something tomorrow.”
“That’d be good,” Harry agrees. “I mean, we’ve got to stick together, don’t we?”
She removes the finger, looking vaguely bemused. “Is this your thing? Like, I’d have thought the whole rallying, inspiring the troops fuzziness was just a war gimmick but are you this nice all the time?” He flushes under her slightly pitying gaze.
“I just know what it’s like to not be good at making new friends,” he says defensively. “I got my best friends by accident, I suppose. And Ginny was Ron’s sister and I shared a dorm with Neville. Oh, and then Luna became one of us somehow...so I ended up with all these friends without trying and then I went out into the real world and it didn’t happen so easily. Approaching new people is hard.”
“Alright, alright, simmer down,” she says, mouth twitching in a badly restrained smile. “We’ll be buddies. I think she’s a little odd but maybe that goes with the job.” 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 all of this week to get to know each other further and prepare 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. Hagrid gives Harry a hug before heading out to his hut, but not before making Harry promise to come visit for tea one afternoon. He sees Stella quietly slip away out of the door before he can call out to her. No matter. They share a tower. He can climb up to the Divination classroom tomorrow and ask her if she wants to come for a cup of tea and some of Molly’s biscuits.
“I’ll see you around?” Harper asks, when they reach the Entrance hall. She’ll take the stairs to the first floor and Harry will cross the quad to get to the DADA classrooms. He intends to shove a few boxes aside and fall into bed. The coffee is doing nothing to keep him awake.
“Probably tomorrow,” he tells her. “I’m going to unpack a bit more and make some lesson plans but do you want to come have tea in my office at about two? I’m going to ask Stella.”
“Tea for three at two then,” she says, with a grin. “I’ll see you, Harry.”
“Night!” he calls after her, as she trots up the stairs. He watches her blonde hair vanish from sight and turns around just in time to see a cloaked figure vanish down the stairs that lead to the kitchen.
There are two people in the castle who missed dinner and he’d place bets on the late night snacker being one of them. Either, the Alchemy teacher or the Potions teacher as the other two haven’t even arrived yet. He’s tempted to follow them down and introduce himself but the urge to climb into bed proves to be too strong. He wearily winds through the corridors, across the dark quad and into the quiet of his classroom. He has enough wits to lock the doors behind him and brush his teeth in his small bathroom, before he pulls off his robes and falls into bed, wearing nothing more than his underwear. He tugs off his glasses and drops them onto his bedside table before burrowing his head into his pillow.
But he doesn’t fall asleep as quickly as he expected. Something about the different smells, the strange sounds of the castle are enough to remind him that this is something new he’s about to embark on. Maybe if he was in Gryffindor tower, he’d be able to sleep but his rooms still smell vaguely musty and unused. Nothing like his bedroom back at Grimmauld place.
Harry sighs and rolls over onto his back. He tries to summon back the sleepiness he’d felt at the Great Hall, the warm feeling of having just finished a large meal. But something prickles at the back of his mind until he’s forced to address it.
Minerva’s speech hadn’t sat quite right. While it was very similar to the speeches that Dumbledore had given, there was no need for it. There was no war anymore, no one trying to sow discord from inside or out. Why had Minerva felt the need to express her desire for them to come together, no matter what trials they may face?
“The past is the past,” Harry mumbles aloud to the empty room, echoing Minerva’s earlier words. What had she meant by that? Because if she meant the war, Harry had no problem putting that behind him. But somehow, he has the feeling she was referring to something else.
Frustrated, Harry punches his pillow and tries to settle down again. Would it be too much to ask for one year at Hogwarts without a mystery?