DISCLAIMER: As I am not nor will I ever be JK Rowling, I solemnly do swear that I will get not so much as a knut from publishing this as the characters and earlier plot line alluded to are NOT MINE. In fact, since these ideas often distract me while I am working, they cost me money. Throw in all the money I have spent on Harry Potter items over the years… Ms. Rowling should ignore anything I ever write. Really.
He glanced at his visage in the mirror, his image so much different than before. Dark hair still, but a very dark auburn, not the former jet. And his eyes – a warm pale grey, not the obsidian orbs they once were. It had been a year since he had become this new man. He was annoyed that he was slightly shorter. But the stockier build had its uses. His face looked warm; almost approachable. He chuckled mirthlessly. Since his new appearance had been the choice of his mentor, he wasn't surprised by the wont of a friendly image. He glanced away from the mirror, crossing to open the blinds, letting the warm early sun of the Tuscan morning warm his face.
He had spent most of the last year wandering the continent, but he had stayed few places for very long. He was looking for a home for his new life. For the first time in his adult life he was free of his past; free of his mistakes, and felt atoned for his misdeeds. His skin was darker too, almost as if he worked in the sun. He had left England, his home, his job, and everything he knew behind.
With the fall of the Dark Lord and his life's work complete, Britain had held nothing for him anymore, or so he had thought. He had followed his interests – researching magical lore, searching for interesting and rare potion ingredients, trying new recipes. He had supported his wanderings through his vast knowledge of magical objects, hiring himself out to identify and rediscover the magical properties of long forgotten familial heirlooms of the magical elite. His cover story and how he had come by the knowledge was air-tight. The New Zealand accent was not that much different from his previous British one, and he had cast a spell… the New Zealand witches and wizards were a very tight-knit group, and this is where his mentor had chosen to place false memories about his alter-ego's childhood and education for his eventual cover. It would take a very skilled legilimens such as him to discover the truth; and only if there was ever a reason or a profit would someone go through the trouble. As the whole wizarding world knew his former true self to be soundly dead, none would bother. He sighed. The thought should make him feel free, but over the past year, it was not freedom he had savored, but a longing that had plagued him. Is any place going to feel like home he wondered?
A light rap at the door, and a quiet question broke into his musings.
"Mr. Savoy? Are you awake? Your breakfast is at the door."
The announcement brought his thoughts from his reverie and to the present. The staff of this hotel had been told to bring the food to the door, so he could dine at his leisure. But best to be about it before his morning tea cooled. He crossed slowly to the door, not wanting to actually have to converse with the hired help, knowing they would drop the food and leave. He left a gratuity at the counter for them each day. He heard the retreating footsteps down the hall through the door, and when he was satisfied that they were out of sight, he swung the door open to retrieve the tray.
A Dailey Prophet lay beside his breakfast. It was a week out of date. The small hotel was a long way off the beaten path, even for Wizards, but they had procured the paper from time to time. He perused the news from Britain with interest. For the first few months, he had not cared. He had even gone to New Zealand to visit those who had the false memories of his alter ego as he had taken on the new role and appearance. Besides, in New Zealand magical plants were potent and rare, as well as the country having an excellent assortment of native magical creatures. However, with time, his curiosity had gotten the better of him, and on occasion he would at least scan the headlines. Page one was mostly on the reconstruction of the Ministry. Not that there had there been that many casualties during the war, but it had been horrifying how deeply the death eaters had infiltrated its organization. Traitors were being sent to Azkaban in record numbers. Page 2 showed the graduating 7th years with Harry Potter. He sighed inwardly. It had taken him many months of his 'rebirth' to realize how very wrong he had been about the boy, perhaps as wrong as the boy had been about his dreaded potions professor. He had shared his 'dying' with him, locked in that final scene with Nagini – the boy had been so ignorant about everything, he thought, feeling a twinge of anger resurface. Past is past, and that was no longer his life he told himself sternly, trying to shake himself of the painful reverie. Harry had been interviewed and testified – on behalf of his old self, one Potion Master Severus Snape, who was posthumously being celebrated as a martyred hero on the boy's word. He had loved the boy's mother, he thought, a hurt twinging as he thought of Lily, but the success of the war and her son's safe triumph over the Dark Lord had somehow dulled his pain of loss, and alleviated some of his guilt. The boy was ignorant about Lily, but it wasn't the boys fault, he thought ruefully, a small frown playing at the corner of his lips, but the boy was ignorant about legilimency too. The boy didn't even realize that as his mind had joined with the boy's, he himself had seen much of the boy's life. What had bled though was the true nature of the boy. Damn Albus for ever giving him the idea of sharing his mind like that if there was someone around at his 'death'! His cheeks heated. He had never meant to share so much with the boy. He and Albus had often felt that his 'death' should it occur would most likely come by Nagini – as that is how Voldemort had killed his most faithful servants when their usefulness ended or when their demise simply suited him. He had been taking a brew of phoenix tears and herbs for year, and had spoken with his mentor about such a joining, perhaps with an auror, before his portkey spirited him away. But he had been unprepared for how painful the actual event had been. Even as the opportunity to share his 'death' to make sure no one knew he was alive had entered his mind, the pain had swept through; overwhelming and terrifying. He had shared far more with the boy than he had intended. It pained him to admit that this was so, because the pain had been so intense that its strength almost convinced him that he had been truly dying at the time. But the boy, unshielded, and he admitted, cringing to himself, poorly trained in the mental arts, had revealed a great deal as well. Abuse by those who had cared for him. Mocked as cruelly as he himself had been mocked as a boy… He shook himself. The next article said that Potter and his constant companion Weasley had been accepted as Auror apprentices. He sighed. The boy's naiveté was likely to get them both killed one day and another. But that was no longer his problem. He sighed inwardly. He almost didn't feel guilty about that. Almost.
He munched on the warm scone from his tray has he flipped to the back page. There was an article on Hogwarts. Seems that the Auror's office had been filling in on the DADA position, but could no longer do so – and there were no applicants. There was an article literally begging for an applicant. He sighed. It woke an old pang of longing in him. He had always thought he hated the school, the teaching, and the students. And what he had found in this last year was he had spent more time and energy trying to keep his mind off the place than his mind actually being on anything else. Eighteen years of knowing nothing else had twisted him, he thought bitterly. If he applied in his new persona, he would likely get the job he thought disgustedly, folding the paper sharply and tossing it to the far side of the table. He poured a second cup of tea, using a silent, wandless warming spell to ensure it was piping hot. He sipped. His lip curled in silent mirth. He would apply. When he got the job, and for some reason he knew he would, he would sincerely and wistfully refuse. A small act of irrational revenge against his late mentor, but one that promised satisfaction; a small, petty vengeance, to be sure, but one he could not resist. Who would it harm? It would give him the opportunity to see how Minerva was faring, and end his curiosity on how the new potions master was faring, to boot. With a wave of his hand, the tray was cleared and pen and parchment was sailing from the desk…
"Mr. Savoy… thank you so much for the long trek for this interview," Minerva McGonagall said, trying to smile warmly at the oddly silent fellow seated across from her in the headmistress's office. He had a warm face, but very still eyes that seemed to note every detail. He was about 6 foot, of medium frame, and even a bit muscular she thought to herself. He didn't chat much, but he didn't seem distant. He seemed unusually perceptive, but in a quiet, unobtrusive way. He faintly reminded her of someone… Remus perhaps? Thinking of her friend and colleague that had passed a year and half ago during the final battle still stung. Yes, that must be it. This fellow was a slightly taller, darker version of the werewolf. Quiet and thoughtful, but warm, just not talkative…
"I shall dive right in to the interview – I have much to ask you, and want to take as little of your time as possible. The first question then," she started, clearing her throat and changing her expression from a warm smile to her most severe, headmistress scrutiny. She picked up a scroll that had a list of notes, and peered sternly over her spectacles.
"Especially given recent historical events, we here at Hogwarts School of Wizardry and Witchcraft take the Defense of the Dark Arts as a vocation to keep our entire way of life safe." She explained. "While I know the history of the position hardly recommends it for those of a careful nature, I would ask that you carefully consider what it will mean for you to teach the very future of our society the skills to prevent the type of tragedy that we have lived through in the past 18 years. Why do you think you would be the best candidate to teach this, and what will your plan be to instill values in our children to sustain us in times of future darkness?"
"Well, that certainly does get to the point," droled Mr. Savoy. He returned her severe scrutiny with a guarded expression as he carefully considered his words. "I am the best candidate because even though I have extensive knowledge of, skill with and mastery of the very evil that plagued our culture, I have not allowed it to corrupt my integrity or my values" he explained slowly and succinctly. "I will not bow to a dark master, and seek above all else to ensure that when, and my dear headmistress, darkness is as much of the natural world as the light – it will rise again, but when darkness does rise again, the light of the world will be found to match it. It is the responsibility of every witch and wizard, not just teachers, to ensure that the children are that future of light." The headmistress didn't lighten her gaze. That is exactly the right answer she thought to herself.
"You say you have experience with the dark arts, yet, you have not allowed it to corrupt you. Not even once? Never?" she asked severely.
Mr. Savoy's eyes narrowed and he seemed to register surprise. "Once. As a teenager. I made a bad choice, and got on the wrong path… I have always regretted it. But my conscience is clear – I have learned from and paid for my past mistakes. I am by no means blameless, but I am neither a martyr nor a fool; I have moved past it. My plan for my students, should I enter your employ, would be to assume that the path that was not clear to me is also not clear to them – and to show them the path clearly - that they have a choice, a very clear choice, and that they understand the implications of making the wrong choice. Often, it is the harder path to simply do the right thing each and every day."
"Isn't that a bit much responsibility to put on a child?" the headmistress asked quietly.
"Indeed. But it is a responsibility they have none the less, in every decision they make for themselves, whether with an adults guidance or not. We, as teachers, would be blind not to see that. And ultimately which path they take is a choice that is only theirs to make, and at their majority, they will make it regardless. We, as adults, cannot prevent our children from making mistakes, only provide the best and safest circumstances for their choices to become clear" he replied mildly.
"Mr. Savoy – I have only one reservation in offering you the position, and that is that you are from out of country, and it might be difficult for you to understand the aftermath of the demise of the dark lord. We have children here who have suffered, and this position will be head of the house of Slytherin – many of which had relatives who died, went to Azkaban or worse – that need to be tended. The emotional health of the student population isn't nearly as level as it has been in the past, and without the context of being here when the dark lord plagued our country, I fear this will prove quite difficult. Do you have a plan for that?"
"My dear headmistress," he returned coldly, "surely you are not making the mistake of assuming every negative experience I have ever had is on my resume? Certainly, I have dealt with dark times and dark lords, and had my fair share of 'context'. I will not assume that I can perfectly understand the children's trauma, but don't presume that I have no past experience on which to draw. That is hardly the case."
McGonagall sat there, considering the man for several long moments. Well, he certainly wasn't overtly warm, in fact 'aloof' would be a good term, she thought, but he certainly understood the subject matter, and the importance to the children. He would likely be a firm hand – a teacher, not a friend. After losing Serverus, they needed a disciplinarian other than herself. There had been no other applicants, so truly, what other choice did she have?
"Welcome to Hogwarts, Professor Savoy."
"Welcome to Hogwarts, Professor Savoy."
He sat their looking at her blankly. The sudden shift from grilling interview to smiling optimism caught him off guard. He had been irritated, surprised at how much it stung for him not to be able to acknowledge exactly how much he knew of being in the shadow of the Dark lord. But here was his moment for vengeance. He already knew through a brief moment of legilimency that he had no competition, and minutes ago, he had relished it. Now, he realized his grave mistake. He had been in Hogsmead 2 days… he had seen the castle, walked the lake. All the old memories - he thought it would be the memories of Albus and spying and Potter…. but rather it had been the true old memories to enter his mind. Sitting with Lily, inventing a new potion, creating a new spell, learning form an ancient text… the only place in his entire life where he had felt any form of acceptance or belonging had been within this castle. He had spent the entirety of the last 18 months looking for a home only to discover he already had one, a home of the heart, and he couldn't let her go. Even seeing Minerva had reminded him that when his own mother had died, he had looked to her for strength. And now she was giving him a second chance, to be accepted here at his first true home, to do it right. He could not refuse. Vengeance seemed absurd. His pride stung badly at this realization, and he hoped his eyes did not show w the heat he felt behind them.
"I would be honored to be your next defense instructor" the man known as Eugene Savoy returned.