Welcome Back
A bell sounded out of nowhere. "Attention please. We will be arriving at the Hogwarts Station momentarily. Please ensure you have all of your personal belongings. Upperclassmen, please proceed to your houses in an orderly fashoin. First-years, please form a group to the right of the engine when we arrive."
The older man shifted position in his seat, feeling a warrm glow of nostalgia. He'd chosen to ride the Express for the sake of that nostalgia. He could have flown, or he could have ridden in with his personal effects when they were shipped to the school. But he'd decided that one more trip on the Express was the perfect way to begin his new career. Several of the upperclassmen had casually walked past his compartment, trying to get a look at the new professor- but the blinds on the door were closed, and they were out of luck. When the train jolted to a stop, he stood, picking up his cane and lifting his owl onto a shoulder. The owl, a huge barn owl with blazing yellow eyes, settled herself on his shoulder and closed her eyes. He walked out of the passenger car, leaning on his cane. His foot had never healed properly, despite Madame Pomfrey's best efforts, after the House Cup match his senior year. He walked slowly, watching the students as they formed clumps of friends and rushed off toward the castle. He looked around as he walked, seeing the pack of first-years as they were given the tour by Hagrid's assistant, smelling the fresh paint on the grandstands of the Quidditch pitch. He raised an eyebrow, surprised to see a few upperclassmen in Gryffindor practice tunics taking speed laps on their brooms already. He entered the great hall, nodding to the ghosts that drifted through the room. The paintings were the same, the armor still watched as people passed through, and the fireplaces hissed and popped, sparks flying up the chimneys. He turned toward the Faculty Tower, feeling a strange sense of unease as he did. Students were absolutely forbidden in the Faculty Tower, which was guarded almost as well as the Sorcerer's Stone had been all those years ago. The stairway creaked, the top separating from the upper landing and curling toward a blank wall. The man rapped sharply on the finial at the end of the bannister with his cane, and the stairway straightened itself, reattaching to the landing. He smiled at this- Faculty did have some priveliges, at that. He stopped at the Memorial Cabinet, pausing to read the names listed. He surprised himself when he read "Draco Malfoy," because he found himself shedding a tear. Draco had been a horrible irritant in school, and had been a miserable human being. But no one deserved to die alone in the Himalayas, buried in an avalanche. Malfoy had been searching for a lost colony of Yeti, but had gotten lost and trapped in a late blizzard. He found his quarters, and spent an hour unpacking and putting his personal posessions away; hanging clothes in the closet, draping his intructor's robe over the hook on the closet door, putting his collection of reference books on the shelves, setting his Quidditch MVP trophy on one corner of his desk. He'd been awarded the trophy his last year at Hogwarts, and had been forced to accept it from a wheelchair. It had been the final match of the year, for the House Cup. As usual., Gryffindor and Slytherin were battling for the championship. He circled high above the pitch, scanning for the flash of gold. There! He leaned over, diving straight for the Snitch like a hawk on a mouse. The flittering gold ball had darted off to one side, and he had angled to catch it. He could hear the roar of the crowd dimly over the whistle of the wind in his ears. At the last moment, the Snitch had changed direction, darting between the legs of the grandstand. He'd followed, slaloming through the framework at a blinding speed, his eyes fixed on the tiny golden ball. He leaned forward over the head of his broom, stretching to grab the Snitch. Almost.... almost... it jinked to the left and he snatched for it, feeling it smack into the palm of his hand. He looked up just as his broom carried him into the support column of Slytherin's goal. The collision had cracked two ribs, broken his right arm, shattered several bones in his foot, and destroyed his broom. Oddly enough, it was the loss of the broom that had bothered him the most- he'd ridden it for so long, through so many practice sessions and games, that it felt like he'd lost a friend. After he had healed enough to walk again, he'd carried the broken fragments of the broom out to a secluded spot along the lakeshore and buried it, much like a boy will bury a favorite pet.
There came a knock on the door, and a familiar rumbling voice. "Sir, it's almost time for the Sorting. Headmaster sent me to fetch you." The man smiled at Hagrid, now white-haired and wrinkled, but still as huge as ever. "Just like the old days, eh, Hagrid?" "Aye, sir. Just like Professor Dumbledore when you were eleven."
The two men made their way to the Great Hall,. settling in their chairs just before the Sorting began. They sat, watching the first-years being divided into their various Houses, each thinking his own thoughts. "Gryffindor....Slytherin......Gryffindor......Gryffindor......." When the sorting was complete, the Headmaster stood, raising his arms for silence. He was more lined than he had been, all those years ago, and his hair was white, not black, but he was still the same hard-eyed, hawk- faced Professor Snape he had always been. He'd been appointed to the position of Headmaster three years before, when Albus Dumbledore had finally retired. Dumbledore had a house on school grounds, and could be seen almost every day, puttering with his flowers and watching the Qudditch practice. Headmaster Snape said, "Before we begin our meal, I would like to introduce our newest professor here at Hogwarts. He will be teaching Defense Against the Dark Arts, and will be an assistant Quidditch coach. Please help me welcome our newest instructor, Assistant Professor Harold Potter!" Harry stood, brushing back his unruly shock of salt-and-pepper hair, letting the old, faded scar on his forehead show. He smiled at the assembled students and faculty, listening to them applaud. The he sat down as Snape spoke again. "It has been many years since you were a student here. Let me say, welcome back, Mr. Potter."
A bell sounded out of nowhere. "Attention please. We will be arriving at the Hogwarts Station momentarily. Please ensure you have all of your personal belongings. Upperclassmen, please proceed to your houses in an orderly fashoin. First-years, please form a group to the right of the engine when we arrive."
The older man shifted position in his seat, feeling a warrm glow of nostalgia. He'd chosen to ride the Express for the sake of that nostalgia. He could have flown, or he could have ridden in with his personal effects when they were shipped to the school. But he'd decided that one more trip on the Express was the perfect way to begin his new career. Several of the upperclassmen had casually walked past his compartment, trying to get a look at the new professor- but the blinds on the door were closed, and they were out of luck. When the train jolted to a stop, he stood, picking up his cane and lifting his owl onto a shoulder. The owl, a huge barn owl with blazing yellow eyes, settled herself on his shoulder and closed her eyes. He walked out of the passenger car, leaning on his cane. His foot had never healed properly, despite Madame Pomfrey's best efforts, after the House Cup match his senior year. He walked slowly, watching the students as they formed clumps of friends and rushed off toward the castle. He looked around as he walked, seeing the pack of first-years as they were given the tour by Hagrid's assistant, smelling the fresh paint on the grandstands of the Quidditch pitch. He raised an eyebrow, surprised to see a few upperclassmen in Gryffindor practice tunics taking speed laps on their brooms already. He entered the great hall, nodding to the ghosts that drifted through the room. The paintings were the same, the armor still watched as people passed through, and the fireplaces hissed and popped, sparks flying up the chimneys. He turned toward the Faculty Tower, feeling a strange sense of unease as he did. Students were absolutely forbidden in the Faculty Tower, which was guarded almost as well as the Sorcerer's Stone had been all those years ago. The stairway creaked, the top separating from the upper landing and curling toward a blank wall. The man rapped sharply on the finial at the end of the bannister with his cane, and the stairway straightened itself, reattaching to the landing. He smiled at this- Faculty did have some priveliges, at that. He stopped at the Memorial Cabinet, pausing to read the names listed. He surprised himself when he read "Draco Malfoy," because he found himself shedding a tear. Draco had been a horrible irritant in school, and had been a miserable human being. But no one deserved to die alone in the Himalayas, buried in an avalanche. Malfoy had been searching for a lost colony of Yeti, but had gotten lost and trapped in a late blizzard. He found his quarters, and spent an hour unpacking and putting his personal posessions away; hanging clothes in the closet, draping his intructor's robe over the hook on the closet door, putting his collection of reference books on the shelves, setting his Quidditch MVP trophy on one corner of his desk. He'd been awarded the trophy his last year at Hogwarts, and had been forced to accept it from a wheelchair. It had been the final match of the year, for the House Cup. As usual., Gryffindor and Slytherin were battling for the championship. He circled high above the pitch, scanning for the flash of gold. There! He leaned over, diving straight for the Snitch like a hawk on a mouse. The flittering gold ball had darted off to one side, and he had angled to catch it. He could hear the roar of the crowd dimly over the whistle of the wind in his ears. At the last moment, the Snitch had changed direction, darting between the legs of the grandstand. He'd followed, slaloming through the framework at a blinding speed, his eyes fixed on the tiny golden ball. He leaned forward over the head of his broom, stretching to grab the Snitch. Almost.... almost... it jinked to the left and he snatched for it, feeling it smack into the palm of his hand. He looked up just as his broom carried him into the support column of Slytherin's goal. The collision had cracked two ribs, broken his right arm, shattered several bones in his foot, and destroyed his broom. Oddly enough, it was the loss of the broom that had bothered him the most- he'd ridden it for so long, through so many practice sessions and games, that it felt like he'd lost a friend. After he had healed enough to walk again, he'd carried the broken fragments of the broom out to a secluded spot along the lakeshore and buried it, much like a boy will bury a favorite pet.
There came a knock on the door, and a familiar rumbling voice. "Sir, it's almost time for the Sorting. Headmaster sent me to fetch you." The man smiled at Hagrid, now white-haired and wrinkled, but still as huge as ever. "Just like the old days, eh, Hagrid?" "Aye, sir. Just like Professor Dumbledore when you were eleven."
The two men made their way to the Great Hall,. settling in their chairs just before the Sorting began. They sat, watching the first-years being divided into their various Houses, each thinking his own thoughts. "Gryffindor....Slytherin......Gryffindor......Gryffindor......." When the sorting was complete, the Headmaster stood, raising his arms for silence. He was more lined than he had been, all those years ago, and his hair was white, not black, but he was still the same hard-eyed, hawk- faced Professor Snape he had always been. He'd been appointed to the position of Headmaster three years before, when Albus Dumbledore had finally retired. Dumbledore had a house on school grounds, and could be seen almost every day, puttering with his flowers and watching the Qudditch practice. Headmaster Snape said, "Before we begin our meal, I would like to introduce our newest professor here at Hogwarts. He will be teaching Defense Against the Dark Arts, and will be an assistant Quidditch coach. Please help me welcome our newest instructor, Assistant Professor Harold Potter!" Harry stood, brushing back his unruly shock of salt-and-pepper hair, letting the old, faded scar on his forehead show. He smiled at the assembled students and faculty, listening to them applaud. The he sat down as Snape spoke again. "It has been many years since you were a student here. Let me say, welcome back, Mr. Potter."