Chapter One

Harry James Potter was utterly exhausted.

He sat slumped behind his desk, a mountain of paperwork before him. He rubbed at his scar, though the mark hadn't troubled him for years, and sighed.

A knock on the door drew him from his thoughts, and he sat up. "Come in."

A short, bushy haired woman entered, shutting the door carefully behind her. "Hello, Harry," she said brightly.

"Hermione," said Harry. "What brings you here?"

She approached his desk, picked up one of the papers from his stack, and looked at it. "Harry," she said, "I don't think this is going to work."

"What?"

"This! It's two years since you were made an Auror-you're barely twenty and it's killing you, really it is." She crossed her arms, looking down at him.

Harry shifted uncomfortably in his chair. "It's my job, Hermione. I don't have to like it. Besides, what else would I do? I was practically raised to kill Voldemort. Now he's gone, I consider it my duty to see his Death Eaters in Azkaban."

"That's just it," said Hermione sadly. "It's not your fight, not anymore. Voldemort is dead, thanks to you. You've done your part. Don't you see?"

He looked up at her face, her eyes desperate.

"Since Voldemort died, we've caught most of his Death Eaters. It's still vital that we catch them, but this-" she gestured to his cluttered desk "-isn't helping anyone. You deserve a break."

Harry wanted to protest, but he couldn't think of a decent argument. Finally, he sighed. "Oh, Hermione. You always know what to say." He smiled. "You really are a know-it-all."

She rolled her eyes, but he could tell she was delighted. "I've got just the place for you," she said, beaming at him. "Professor McGonagall is having some trouble filling a teaching spot at Hogwarts-how would you like to teach Defense Against the Dark Arts next year?"

The following afternoon, Harry found himself standing at the gates just outside Hogwarts, having Apparated to Hogsmeade and walked the rest of the way. He wore his robes from his eighth year, though they were tight around his stomach-a Muggle suit would have been too formal, and his Auror robes made him feel conspicuous outside the office. The sweaters and jeans he wore in his free time wouldn't have fit the bill for an interview with McGonagall.

Swallowing, he adjusted his red and gold tie and watched Filch hobble down the path, toward the gate. As usual, the Squib muttered to Mrs. Norris, who walked, tail upright, by his side. When he reached the gate, he looked Harry up and down.

"Haven't seen you in some time" he said, leering. "Things are a lot quieter with you gone, they are indeed… What brings you here, anyway?"

"I-" Harry's throat had gone dry. He cleared it and said, "I want to apply for Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher?" It came out as a question, but the caretaker's eyes narrowed anyway.

"You don't say." He pulled out a key and let Harry in, still eyeing him. "Don't try anything," he warned. "I remember-oh yes, I remember what you were like as a student. Not too long ago, was it, Mrs. Norris?" he muttered as they made their way back up the path. "Not too long ago indeed."

He continued in this way until they reached the Great Hall, and Harry made his escape with as much diplomacy as he could muster. "Thanks for your help," he said quickly. "I better hurry-" And he made his way to the Headmistress's office.

The large, ugly gargoyle didn't move as he approached. From his pocket, Harry withdrew a bit of parchment given to him by Hermione, and scanned it for the password. Like Dumbledore, McGonagall made use of wizarding candies as her passwords, and after a moment Harry said, "Licorice wand!"

The gargoyle jumped suddenly out of the way, and the wall split in half, just as it had on Harry's first trip to the Headmaster's office. He smiled ruefully, remembering how Fawkes had burst into flame in his presence, and how frightened he'd been. The staircase moved steadily upward, and Harry hurried up to the griffin door-funny how that sounded like Gryffindor-and pounded the brass knocker.

The door opened, just enough for Harry to slip through, then slid closed, and he felt suddenly trapped. Was he sure he wanted to do this? Certainly he'd enjoyed teaching back in fifth year, when the stakes had been high, with Umbridge looming. But-him? Teaching, in a real classroom, with attentive students watching him, judging him? He shuddered, but it was too late to back out now.

Professor McGonagall sat behind the high wooden desk that had once been Dumbledore's. Her spectacles were perched on the end of her long, hooked nose, and she peered down at him. "Mr. Potter," said McGonagall. "Miss Granger told me to expect you. Please, have a seat."

Her sharp eyes had lost none of their intensity, and Harry found himself sitting obediently across from her. "It's weird, being back," said Harry.

"I imagine so," said Professor McGonagall. "But before we begin-how are you?"

He paused, taken aback. "I'm well, Professor. And, er, how are you?"

"Well," she said. "Not much has changed for me these past few years, I'm afraid. But you're an Auror now. I take it that's not going well."

"Professor?"

"Since you're here, Mr. Potter, you're obviously interested in a different career than the one you already have."

He supposed she was right, and said, "I like being an Auror-well, okay, I don't like it much. It feels like a duty, you know? I was practically raised to kill Voldemort." It was the same thing he'd told Hermione. "I've always had to be the hero, and I don't know how to stop." He couldn't meet Professor McGonagall's eyes-he'd never admitted that to anybody. "I was Dumbledore's pawn, and now I'm the Minister's," he said, surprised at the bitterness in his voice.

McGonagall was quiet for a moment, then said, "Harry…" -she never called him by his first name, this was strange- "you've endured so much, for one so young. Honestly, I think this position would be perfect for you. You can train the next generation to be better defended from people like Voldemort, even ensure that we don't ever have another Dark Lord. Tom Riddle was not a good person to begin with, but the prejudice against Slytherin shaped him into Voldemort." She paused. "I hope I'm not too forward in saying that you could bring the four Houses together, and prevent anything like him from happening ever again."

Harry's mouth was dry, and he didn't-couldn't-respond. He just nodded.

Professor McGonagall cleared her throat. "Now, Mr. Potter, I presume you want to get to the interview?"

"Er, yes, Professor."

"Very well."

She asked him a series of questions about his work experience and aptitude, things she undoubtedly knew but wanted to hear him say. Harry recounted the past two years as an Auror, working alongside Ron Weasley and answering to Kingsley, the Minister for Magic. Once he was finished, McGonagall set down the long thin quill she held, and met his eyes.

"Harry Potter," she said slowly. "Are you aware of how many candidates have interviewed for this position?"

Harry frowned. "No." If she was asking, did that mean he wasn't in? He wasn't sure whether that was a good or a bad thing.

"You're the first," said Professor McGonagall heavily. "Despite the fact that the curse on the position, if in fact there was one, has been lifted since Voldemort's death, I've still had to actively search out new teachers each year. Just last week was the third anniversary since the Battle of Hogwarts, and since then, we've had three new teachers, none of which has stayed." She paused, her gaze still intent on his. "Harry, if I give you this position, you must agree to teach for two years, at least. Of course, I'd prefer if you stay longer, but for now…"

Harry could hardly believe it. Hermione would be so proud. "Er, yeah. I mean, of course I'll stay."

Her thin lips curved into a smile. "Excellent, Mr. Potter. I'm delighted to hear it. I think it's only fitting, that you take on the post cursed by Voldemort all those years ago."

He nodded, still feeling stunned. "Okay," he said. "What do I need to do?"

She handed him a piece of parchment and a quill. "Sign there, and there," said Professor McGonagall, pointing.

Harry dipped the quill in her inkwell-it was shaped like a cat, which he found fitting-and signed his name. "Is that all?"

"That's all for now, Mr. Potter. You'll receive a notification by owl including the details of your post and the suggested course of study, although it will be up to you to determine how closely you follow it. I expect you to prepare a book list-your students will need at least one textbook-and a few preparatory lessons, which you'll send to me to review."

Suddenly this was feeling quite overwhelming, and she seemed to sense his apprehension.

"Don't worry, Mr. Potter. You'll have me to help you every step of the way." Her eyes twinkled. "And the lovely Miss Granger, as well."

"Oh, no," Harry stammered, "it's not-we don't-Hermione and I are just friends."

She nodded. "I see. Well, Mr. Potter, do you have any other questions for me?"

"Er, I don't think so."

Professor McGonagall rose and offered him her hand. Harry stood too, and shook it. "I expect to hear from you shortly," she said, peering down at him. "Professor Potter."

That afternoon, Harry let Kingsley know that he would not be staying on as an Auror come September.

"Ah, yes," said the Minister with a smile. "Miss Granger informed me that you would be interviewing with Minerva this morning. Defense Against the Dark Art professor-a fitting position for an ex-Auror, I think."

"So it's all right with you, then?" said Harry, feeling relieved.

"Certainly." Kingsley paused, thinking, then said: "I will expect you to finish your current assignments, and once those are completed, you ought to take some time to prepare for the school year."

"Er, okay," said Harry. "Thanks."

The Minister extended his hand for Harry to shake and said quietly, "I am thinking of moving on myself, now that things have quieted down in the wizarding world. Perhaps you might suggest to Miss Granger that she run for the position of Minister for Magic?"

"That," said Harry, "is an excellent idea." He released Kingsley's hand and headed for the door.

"And Harry?"

He turned.

"Congratulations. And good luck."

Harry smiled and left the room, heading for Hermione's office. The moment his hand made contact with the door, it was flung open, and Hermione appeared, beaming. She threw her arms around him.

"Oh, Harry!" she squealed. "Minerva owled me the moment you left her office. I'm so delighted!"

Harry hugged her, a bit taken aback. "Er, yeah," he said. "Rather exciting."

She pulled away, still grinning. "Dinner at my house tonight," she said. "I've already invited the old crew. Ron's already there-he loves to cook, you know-and we'll go help him if you're not busy."

Harry nodded.

"Oh, I just can't believe it," said Hermione. "It's too perfect." She led the way out of her office and started down the corridor.

"I should stop by my office and get Hedwig," he said suddenly. The original Hedwig had been killed by Death Eaters, but following the Battle of Hogwarts, he'd found a snowy owl quite similar in appearance and named him after her. It wasn't the same, but he'd come to love Hedwig Jr.

They entered his office and he picked up the cage. Hedwig hooted disdainfully. "I only left you in the office so you wouldn't be home alone," said Harry. "I asked Ron to check on you. If he didn't, don't take it out on me!"

The owl turned away from him, and Harry shook his head. Hermione watched, amused. "Is that everything you need?" she asked.

Harry grabbed his briefcase-he'd left it in here while he'd gone to find Kingsley-and shoved a few papers inside. "There. Let's go."

They hurried down the corridor to the lift. "Hello, Hannah!" Hermione greeted her as they passed. "Oh, good to see you again, Dean. And hey, Seamus."

"Hey, Hermione, Harry," said Seamus as they passed.

"Were they holding hands?" asked Harry.

"Of course," said Hermione. "They've been dating for months. Hadn't you noticed?"

Harry glanced back. "I guess not."

They stepped into the lift, which was empty except for a few memos, and Hermione pressed the button for the Atrium. On the second to bottom floor, more memos entered, and when they reached the Atrium, they all flew out. Harry and Hermione followed them out.

"Hello there, Harry and Hermione!" A red-haired wizard was waving at him from the other side of the fountain.

"Oh-hey, Mr. Weasley," said Harry, waving back.

"Heard you're the new Defense Professor at Hogwarts, Harry!" said Arthur Weasley, beaming.

"How did you-nevermind. That's right, Mr. Weasley."

"Excellent! You'll do wonderfully. And Miss Granger, how are you?"

"Well, Mr. Weasley," said Hermione.

"And will you be joining us for dinner tonight?" Mr. Weasley asked.

Hermione ducked her head. "Er, not tonight, Mr. Weasley."

"Quite all right, quite all right. You know you're both welcome at any time, of course."

"Yes, Mr. Weasley," they chorused.

He smiled, the wrinkles around his eyes crinkling merrily. "Well, I must be on my way. Have an excellent evening, both of you."

"The same to you, sir," said Harry, and Hermione nodded.

As Mr. Weasley hurried away, Harry couldn't help but laugh.

"Merlin's beard," said Hermione. "That man has more energy than me, and he's well over twice my age!"

They hurried to a fireplace. "Ladies first," said Harry. "By the way, how are things with you and Ron?"

Hermione was blushing furiously as the fireplace whisked her away, and Harry laughed as he followed her. A hand on his shoulder made him pause.

"Potter," said a cool, silky voice behind him.

Without turning, Harry said, "Malfoy."

"I seem to have heard a rumor that you'll be teaching at Hogwarts next fall?" Draco Malfoy's voice sounded innocent enough, but Harry hadn't spoken to him in months. His long hair was tied into a ponytail, and he looked… happy. Less drained. Different.

"That's right," he said shortly. He didn't bother asking how he knew-everyone seemed to.

"Well, congratulations."

"Thank you."

Draco nodded and turned away.

"Malfoy-er, Draco?"

The pale-haired wizard looked over his shoulder.

"You're looking well."

A hint of a smile traced Draco's lips, and he nodded once before walking away.

Harry blinked, unsure what to think of the exchange, and stepped into the chimney, holding a picture of Hermione's house in his mind, and then he was whisked away.