Greetings all! This is my first HP fic so hopefully it's alright. All constructive criticism welcome! I have a vague idea of where this is going but any ideas people may have would be very much appreciated.
Disclaimer: None of the characters or locations in this belong to me. They are all the property of the fabulous Ms Rowling.
Chapter One
Harry took a deep breath and closed his eyes. He couldn't quite believe it. He was returning, after a six year absence, to Hogwarts. The idea both thrilled and unnerved him. There was a time when he could scarcely imagine leaving the towering castle and its sprawling grounds. It would have felt like an amputation. But now... Something had changed after Voldemort's defeat. The castle had transformed from a place of consuming security to a painful reminder of all that had been lost. After the battle, he had never looked back. But the castle still held its grip on him. He would see the endless spires and hear the echoing of the vast halls in his dreams. A familiar scent, a forgotten memory could suddenly send him reeling back to the home where he had spent six happy years. And one truly horrific night. He swallowed, absentmindedly tapping the frames of his trademark glasses to give himself something to do.
He was returning now for a fresh start. A clean slate. At least, that's what he tried to tell himself. But, of course, his past would never leave him and his future seemed as irrevocably tied up with Voldemort as it had done thirteen years ago. People never let him forget. They were always hungry for more, trying to squeeze every last detail from him until he wasn't quite sure if the stories he told were true or something he'd simply made up to quieten them. It didn't matter anyway. He was coming back now to teach, to fill young and hopefully inquisitive minds with all the knowledge he had to offer. He tried to imagine what his eleven year old self would have said at the idea of him becoming a professor and snorted at the resulting picture.
He had spent a year after the battle helping Dromeda Tonks raise little Teddy. She had taken on full guardianship of the orphaned baby after Tonks and Lupin's deaths and had assured Harry that he need not be involved if he didn't want to, if he needed time to regroup after everything that had happened. But Harry was not interested in shirking his duties. That's not what Potters did. And, truthfully, he knew she was overwhelmingly grateful for his help. She had not escaped Voldemort's rise to power unscathed either.
Harry had spent many months somewhat adrift; visiting the Weasleys as often as possible, writing letters to Hagrid, even passing entire days roaming London's muggle streets. Eventually, after numerous meaningful hints from Hermione, Harry had visited Kingsley, now Minister for Magic, and enquired about how to start training to become an Auror. Kingsley was only too happy to help. The entire Auror department had welcomed him with open arms, although he initially found the simpering smiles and joking comments about how he should nearly be teaching them rather nauseating. This calmed down eventually.
His relationship with Ginny had lasted just over two years. He remembered their time together with great fondness. It wasn't necessarily that they grew apart, they were just too different. Ginny was far too independent to hinge all of her hopes on a young man still trying to find himself. She loved Harry dearly but she had done her waiting. Fred's death had ignited a passion and energy in all of his family: if you wanted something, really wanted it, you might as well go for it. There was no telling if you'd still be around tomorrow. She had won a place on the Holyhead Harpies team and spent 18 months travelling the world with them. A year ago, though, she had unexpectedly quit the squad and was now working her way up through the ranks of the Ministry. Something in Security, Harry had been told. He smiled ruefully. They'd be lucky to have her.
The newly discovered autonomy the Weasleys had all come to embody was also the cause of Ron, rather sensationally, breaking up with Hermione after three years together. In some senses, Harry was surprised they had lasted that long. They were so enamoured with each other in the beginning that they were blind and deaf to the other's annoying habits. Twelve months in and a numbing weariness had set in. Hermione was continuously frustrated by Ron's lack of initiative, his laziness, and his love of home comforts. Ron couldn't stand her desperate need to succeed, her pointed comments, and her insistence on perfection. Harry still wasn't quite sure how, after all this time, these traits appeared to come as a shock to them. Regardless, the relationship staggered on for another two years, through numerous arguments, a couple of blazing rows, passionate reconciliations, endless reminiscing, and one almost-engagement. However, one dreary morning in October, Ron had had enough and that was that.
Harry and Ron had drifted apart from Hermione after this. It wasn't something Harry had actively planned but he was caught in the awkward position of being in the middle of two friends who could hardly stand to be in the same room together. And, though he hated to admit it, the debt he felt he owed to the Weasleys obligated him to 'choose' Ron. As the next few years passed, the former partner's relationship had definitely improved but those initial months were achingly fraught. Ron had continued to work in his father's office, a job he despised but maintained because "it was there". It was difficult not to argue with Ron over this, for fear of sounding like Hermione. For her part, Hermione had moved to Australia. She had, of course, lifted the memory charms on her parents but they were so taken with the heat and relaxed climate of Down Under, they had decided to stay indefinitely. Once her ties to Ron were severed, Hermione could see nothing holding her to England and so decided to join them for the time being. She had travelled extensively and had learned a lot, particularly from the many Aboriginals she had encountered. This was all regaled to Harry in increasingly lighter rolls of parchment as the months trickled by. Eventually, their letters back and forth ceased altogether.
However, last year, news had reached him that Hermione had unexpectedly returned to England. A number of months later, he found that she had accepted a teaching post at Hogwarts, starting in the next school year. His thoughts were suddenly consumed by his former school. He had tried for so long to repress any memories of the place that he was surprised to learn he had a deep yearning to go back. He was becoming increasingly listless about his Auror training. Sure, he was good at his job but hauling wayward witches and wizards in for questioning over, to his mind, petty crimes seemed ridiculous when he'd once triumphed over the greatest dark wizard of the age. A chance comment from Mrs Weasley six weeks after this informed Harry that Professor McGonagall was also searching in vain for a new Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher.
Although Voldermort's suspected curse on the position appeared to be lifted, the last two professors had only lasted a couple of years apiece, with the latest one opting for early retirement. This seemed to be enough to discourage others from taking the post. There were also some scathing comments, decreasing since the Battle of Hogwarts but still persistent, that there was little need for such a subject anymore. The wizarding world was buoyed with a sense of accomplishment and triumph. Nobody, surely, wanted to cling to vestiges of those days? Harry, and apparently Professor McGonagall, disagreed. "Constant vigilance,' he murmured to himself with a chuckle.
The idea had a hold on him and one unremarkable day in April, he sent a tentative owl to the new Headmistress, politely enquiring whether the post had been filled and if he might be considered for it if not. He was nearly gored by the speed of the owl that returned within the hour. His former teacher would be only too delighted if he would consider taking up the post. And, she kindly added, if he chose not to, Hogwarts would always be there to welcome him, if ever he chose to visit. A lump had instantly formed in Harry's throat. It was as if the castle was calling him home.
He had promptly resigned from the Ministry, although Kingsley insisted on calling it a sabbatical, vowing he would always be happy to employ him again, in whatever capacity Harry so wished. Harry had then spent the summer months devising lesson plans, researching text books, and generally preparing himself for this new stage of his life. He had sent an owl to Hermione a fortnight ago, expressing his eagerness to see her again. She had sent a warm, though somewhat hesitant, reply back within the week. He understood her cautiousness but was determined to get their friendship back on track. If Ron and Hermione had managed to slowly mend their bridges, there was no reason he and Hermione couldn't do the same.
Looking around his empty bedroom at Grimmauld Place, Harry nodded once to himself. He was doing the right thing. Although he often thought it would be kinder to let Kreacher retire, he knew the old elf would be bereft if he were to leave the Black's home. With this in mind, he entrusted the security of the house to Kreacher while he was away teaching. The elf had maintained a tireless perimeter patrol ever since. He grasped a heavy suitcase in each hand and took one last look around him. With a sigh and a flutter in his stomach, he disapparated: Hogwarts-bound.