Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter or anything else in this fic. They all belong to J.K.Rowling, and other smart peoples.

A/N: This is my first chaptered fic, so please be patient with me! Please leave a review and tell me what you think! I hope you like it!

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Chapter 1: Prologue.

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Our story begins on a cold, average, London day. Outside, people hurried to and fro, collecting children from school, buying last minute groceries and generally wishing for their warm, snug beds back home.

But our story doesn't start with any of these mindless and boring people.

Instead, ours starts in a comfortably warm apartment, on the third floor of an unremarkable building, in the middle of an unremarkable street. However, the person slouched on the soft, plush couch, in the middle of the plain apartment, dozing, was anything but unremarkable.

Normal people, like those outside hurrying around like a swarm of irritated bee's, would only see a good looking young man, with black, I've-Just-Been-Thoroughly-Snogged hair, and penetrating eyes. If they got a little closer, they might notice the lightning shaped scar on his forehead, or how his green eyes were unfocused, and never looked directly at anyone, or anything, for that matter. If they were brave enough to start a conversation, they might hear that his name was Harry Potter, and that he was blind. Of course, that was usually as far as they were game enough to go. After all, what do you say to a person that can't see? So, for those shallow people, he was a strange person that was far from remarkable; an ordinary name, a fairly ordinary appearance and unfortunate, non-existent, eyesight.

But, the special people, the magical persons who resided in a completely different and alien world, that lay only around the next corner, or perhaps behind that blank wall, or under your very feet, those people knew and understood that Harry Potter was far from unremarkable.

He was The-Boy-Who-Lived, The-Man-That-Defeated-You-Know-Who, the Saviour, or perhaps The Golden Boy. He was the hero of the wizarding world, coming forth when the world needed him, defeating the evil and maniacal tyrant, then disappearing in a mysterious cloud of secrets.

Then there were the select few who knew, or thought they knew, Harry. Not Harry Potter; just Harry. They knew the brave and loyal Gryffindor who hated publicity, who would do anything for his friends, the boy who would laugh and joke one moment, fire up and yell at whoever was near, then break down and sob the next. Of course, that was all before the end of the war, the end of Voldemort, before the curse that had left Harry blind, and before he left the wizarding world, meaning never to return.

But we digress.

Harry was laying on the couch, just drifting off after having stayed up well past midnight reading an engrossing book that just had to be finished, when a sharp rap on the window made him groan in protest and turn around, seeking to ignore the persistent tapping. When it became apparent that the annoying sound was not preparing to stop any time soon, Harry groggily pushed himself up and cocked his head to one side. He thought he knew that sound. It reminded him of...

He let out a sharp whistle and instantly he heard the flap of wings and the happy chattering of Shria. A slight weight landed on his shoulder, a furry tail wrapping around his neck, and two small paws gripping thin locks of his hair.

To any casual observer, they would have seen a black, furry creature they would have called a monkey, save for the beautiful white wings sprouting from its back, and wondered promptly if they were dreaming, before booking themselves into a mental hospital. To any magical observer, they would have seen a small, graceful Monkal, and thought nothing of it. The magical equivalent of a muggle Seeing-Eyed-Dog, Monkal's weren't an odd sight in the magical world. They helped guide blind people around obstacles in their path, acting as their eyes and also a blind persons dearest companion and trusted friend. Raised by caring Witches and Wizards, Monkal's were taught at a young age special abilities that allowed them to become indespensible help for blind and vision impaired people. Once they were of age, they were paired with the blind person they best suited, and the two's soul's were forever joined.

Just before Harry had left the wizarding world, after the final battle, he was gifted with Shria. Charming, cheeky and irresistible, she was Harry's partner, his friend, his eyes.

Standing up, Harry took a moment to regain his sense of balance and murmur 'lead' to Shria before stepping toward the tapping. Shria gave a small tug on the right lock of hair, and Harry instantly stepped to the right, knowing that he stepped around the coffee table. Shria guided him into the small, open kitchen without mishap, and then over to the window above the sink. Harry fumbled for the small latch, but found it and pushed the window open.

There was the unmistakable whip of wings, and then a heavy weight landed on his outstretched arm, sharp talons gripping gently. His unseeing eyes wide, Harry hesitantly reached out his free hand, and smiled softly as his fingers encountered the soft feathers of an owl. Shria and the owl exchanged greetings, chattering and hooting to each other happily. Ignoring them, he trailed his fingers down, and he found the raised foot and fumbled with the string tying the letter to the talons.

Finally untying the letter, he patted the owl, before it flew off, presumably to wait on the back of a chair, judging by the direction it sounded to be heading. Harry turned around and made his way back to the couch, Shria tugging on his hair when he needed to change his direction. He sat down, and Shria moved from his shoulder to his lap, curious to see what he held. Chuckling at Shria's curiosity, Harry felt the Seal pushed into the back of the envelope.

His finger running over the raised wax, Harry felt the smile instantly die, and his heart clenched painfully in his chest. There was only one place with a sign like that.

Hogwarts.

A myriad of memories he had ignored for the better part of five years rushed to the forefront of his mind, painting his dark world with beautiful and dark images. Sparkling sunlight glinting of the lake, Sirius falling into the curtain, he and his friends laughing, Remus lying pale and still next to Tonks, Hermione focused on the homework in front of her, Voldemort laughing as he tortured wandless wizards, Ron beating him at chess, Hogwarts looming magically above him from where he sat in the small boat, Hogwarts lit by hungry flames, multi-coloured curses being cast and the glowing Dark Mark, floating high above the turrets, flying high above the Quidditch Pitch, chasing the elusive golden snitch, Ginny Weasley falling-

With a broken sob, Harry dragged himself out of his past, focusing instead on the parchment under his fingers and the warm weight of Shria as she leant on his chest and pat at his face, sensing his distress. "Shh. It's ok Shria. I'm ok." He murmured, trying to reassure her, even as he breathed too fast and his heart raced in his chest.

Hastily wiping his suddenly tearing eyes, Harry ran a comforting hand over Shria's soft wings, finding the spot just below where the wings joined the shoulder that always made the small Monkal melt. Once they had both calmed down, Harry quickly broke the seal before he lost his nerve. Running his fingers over the parchment, he realised that the writing was not in brail.

"Shria. Fetch my wand." He said softly.

Immediantly, the small creature launched herself off of Harry's lap, and a few wingbeats later was back with his wand clutched tightly in her paws.

"Thanks" Harry said, to which he got an answering croon.

Taking his wand Harry murmured a quick 'Braliotos', and he instantly felt the raised lumps of Brail rise beneath his fingertips.

Taking a deep breath, Harry began running his fingers over the script.

'My Dearest Harry,

I hope this letter finds you well and in good health. It's been nigh on five years since we've heard anything from you; far too long. Though we all understand your need to get away, we all miss you. I believe Mister Weasley and Miss Granger have tried to contact you several times, but their owls seem to mysteriously come back after a few days absence with their letters still attached, and the owls apparently not remembering who they were sent to.You wouldn't have anything to do with that, now, would you?'

Harry smiled. He could just imagine Professor Dumbledore's sapphire eyes twinkling knowingly over those ridiculous half moon spectacles he insisted on wearing. The old coot had always known more than what he should, Harry thought fondly. As to the confused owls mystery, that would be due to the protective wards he had placed around his apartment, causing all owls to instantly forget who they were delivering the letter to, and return home. That Dumbledore's owl got through suggested that strong anti-warding charms had been placed upon the bird.

'As you have removed yourself from all proceedings in our world, I will do my best to inform you. Hogwarts is up and running, the same as you would remember it, save for a few small details. Professor Snape retired three years ago, claiming that he could not handle another moment with these impudent brats he had been daft enough to actually teach for the better part of twenty years. His words, not mine. He then went on to list all the things that the mischevious students had done to him, working himself into a rage just thinking about all of the pranks. I found it all rather amusing; some of the things the students came up with! I paticualy liked the prank a couple of fifth years pulled one Valentines Day; enchanting several suits of armour to follow him around for the day, singing love ballads specifically written for him. Quite a nice piece of magic, and seeing as it wasn't really mean or harmful the student masterminds got away with it; though I seem to recall that their class was buried in Potions homework for the next month. We were sad to lose such a gifted and talented Potions Master-'

Harry snorted. The students sure as hell weren't sad to see that grouchy grump go, he knew.

'- but luckily for us, his successor is as good, if not better. I believe you know him; Draco Malfoy?'

Harry's fingers froze in shock. Malfoy? That slimy weasel? As Potions Professor? Saying that he knew him was an understatement; as Dumbledore was very well aware. The two were schoolyard enemies, and before Voldemort had made a successful comeback, he and Harry were at each others throats at every opportunity. Of course, in the last few months in the war, Malfoy had become an invaluable spy to the Light, after Snape had been found out. It seemed after his father had tortured him on the behest of the Dark Lord, Malfoy had rethought his allegiances and approached Dumbledore. When he first joined the Order of the Pheonix, there had been a lot of suspicion, and Harry was ashamed to admit that he led the pack. But then, as the fights occurred more often, the casualties becoming more numerous, he and Malfoy had put aside their petty childhood disagreements, and opted for an uneasy truce that had worked surprisingly well. Malfoy had been a great help in the final battle, and all the clashes before that. But, still. Potions Professor? He had been good at Potions during school, Harry knew, but that good? Apparently, Malfoy had learnt a lot in the years Harry had avoided the wizarding world.

'He is a talented Potion maker, and he is a bit more sociable than Severus ever was.

All the Professors are about the same, though Sybill retired at the end of last term, mysteriously announcing; 'It is time.' Cryptic as ever, but who are we to mess with fates pre-determined? Hmmm... What else to tell? Ah, yes, I know. Seeing as Ron and Hermione's owls couldn't find you, I will take it upon myself to inform you of the good news. They are getting married over Christmas, and are expecting their first child in early May.'

The second time during the course of the letter, Harry's fingers froze on the parchment. They were getting married? His best friends - married? A delighted grin slowly stretched Harry's lips. Hermione and Ron always had been destined for each other - It didn't take a Prophet to figure that one out. Having missed his friends more than he cared to admit over the last few years, Harry eagerly continued skimming his fingers over the letter.

'They are very excited, though I believe they are upset that they could not contact you. It would mean the world to them if you attended their wedding.'

Harry paused. To attend their wedding. Ron and Hermione's wedding... Oh, how he wanted that, to sit and chat, and laugh like old times... But it wouldn't be like old times. The war would hang over them, like a dark, ominous cloud that refused to be blown away. Not to mention that he was blind. Nothing would ever be the same again.

'Ah, my dear boy. How we have all missed you.

I'm sure you've realised by now that I have had an ulterior motive in contacting you.'

Harry had.

'I've written to ask you to become the new Defence Against The Dark Arts Professor. Our last was unfortunately not up to the job of teaching moody adolescents full time, and had a nervous breakdown near the end of the last year. Now, I know that right now, you are most likely screaming 'No!', even if it's only in your head, but I ask you to think about this. You would live at Hogwarts in your own rooms, and paid an annual income monthly. You would be fed, and anything you needed for your classes would be provided. You cannot deny, dear boy, that you are not qualified for the job; you who fought more dark magic in the last ten years of your life than most wizards twice your age. And you are a natural teacher, if the DA in your fifth year is anything to go by. That you are blind is no hinderment; as you very well know. You will think about this, before you respond. The owl has been told to stay for two days before returning with your answer. If, you have thought about it, and decided that you cannot accept the offer, then I hope you at least attend your friends wedding, or establish communication with them, and me. If you do agree, then I will be in contact with you and we will discuss your employment in greater detail.

I hope you accept my offer, dear boy. We all miss you sorely.

Sincerely,

Albus Dumbledore

Headmaster of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry.'

Harry's fingers trailed to stop. His mind was whirling and his heart beat painfully in his chest. Shria trilled concernedly, staring up at him with her wide brown eyes, but Harry didn't notice, too busy was he trying to take it all in. Defence Against the Dark Arts Professor? Was Dumbledore mad? He knew that that was impossible; Harry could never be a Professor, let alone the DADA one! He had left the wizarding world for a reason. He couldn't just waltz back in as if nothing had happened! He was blind, goddamnit.

And yet... There was that longing in his chest that whispered enticingly that it had been far too long for his self-enforced exile, that he had healed enough to be able to re-enter the wizarding society, where his heart longed to be. With friends, and family, and a purpose again... To no longer drift aimlessly from one sucky job to the next, to no longer return to his cold and empty apartment, to no longer hide his magic... How the proposition enticed. How he wished to just drop it all, and return home as if nothing had happened, as if he hadn't been gone for the past five years, as if he hadn't been broken and beaten during the war, as if he was still just Harry...

But that couldn't be. He had been gone for the last five years, he had been broken and beaten, both physically and emotionally, he wasn't just Harry anymore. In one world he was the hero, the saviour, and in another he was the poor blind person to be pitied and laughed at. Either way, nobody seemed to see Harry.

Ron and Hermione did, his traitorous heart whispered. You could go, and show them who Harry is, who you are. Have them see the you that you know you are. The strong, resilient person who cares more about others than he does himself.

But... but... His rational mind tried to fight the tempting whispers, but found itself being persuaded by the gentle dreams and coaxing words. He knew he could be the DADA Professor, if he put his mind to it. He always had enjoyed teaching and helping students, and putting together a class schedule wouldn't be too hard. Being blind was a setback, yes, but only a small one. His rare ability to see and sense magical auras would enable him to sense any and all magic cast and by whom, and Shria would be there to help. The small Monkal was smarter than some people would think.

So, really, the only real problem that presented itself was his reason for leaving in the first place.

The war... It had been so horrible... So many dead... So many crippled, he being only one of many. How could he go back to the place that had been filled with so much light and laughter in his youth, knowing that his darker memories of fights and fires and terrible, cruel, monsters would constantly besiege him? But, then again, could he truly run from the past for the rest of his life?

Harry snorted.

The life he was living now was no true life, especially for one such as he. The memories, he found, were starting to escape from the tight barricades he had set them in, even in his muggle life. It was all only a matter of time before they came rushing out, like water from floodgates. So really, what had he to lose? Plus, maybe, just maybe, if he embraced the darker memories along with the lighter, then maybe it wouldn't be so bad. Maybe he could cope...

Coming back to himself, he felt Shria's small paws pressing against his chest, and heard her agitated chattering.

Grimacing for spacing out so bad and worrying Shria, he said, "It's ok, love. I'm ok."

Shria scolded him in annoyed little huffs before climbing back up to his shoulder, where she proceeded to run her paws through his hair, a soothing habit they had picked up in their first year of companionship.

Sighing, Harry relaxed under her gentle ministrations, and thought about how he would word the return letter.

Finally coming to a decision, he grabbed a pen Shria had fetched for him and quickly started writing his reply before he chickened out.

'Professor Dumbledore,

I trust you know how hard this decision was for me, and that I put a lot of thought into it. It pleases and terrifies me to accept your offer of becoming the new Defence Against the Dark Arts Professor. I only hope you know what you're doing.

Harry Potter.'

Harry carefully folded the parchment, then he sat back with a sigh.

Climbing back into his lap, Shria whistled enquiringly, and he rested a tired hand on her head, murmuring,

"Well, girl, it looks like we're going home."

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A/N: Please leave a review and tell me what you think!