Hey, my first Harry Potter fic here. Don't be gentle, though, if you can find something to complain about please tell me. Criticism helps me grow.
Now please read, review and enjoy
Harry Potter was moving briskly through the corridors of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. His absence from the castle had been longer than ever, yet it still felt like coming home. On any other occasion Harry would gladly walk around at his leisure; there was an abundance of people to talk to, from the teachers to the portraits to the ghosts that glided through the walls. After five years of absence Harry would gladly stop for a chat with Filch, for eventhe man's quivering jowls could send him into a state of nostalgia. It was strange, he knew, but people had enjoyed stranger things.
Unfortunately Harry had no time to make small talk. He was forced to strut right past Professor Flitwick and Nearly Headless Nick, feeling a pang of guilt as their voices bounced off the stone walls in an attempt to get his attention. He muttered a quick apology and was off again.
Finding his destination was no hard feat. Years and years of skulking around after hours had made Harry and expert on all the secret passages that the castle had to offer. As he wound his way through the halls he stumbled upon a few, using them gladly to avoid further contact with students and staff. Today it would be wise to keep his intentions to himself. It would save him a good deal of embarrassment.
The stone gargoyle was still in the same place as he remembered it, standing sentry on the third floor and, to any passerby, seeming like a part of the decor. Harry knew better. The gargoyle opened its grey mouth to speak to him, but Harry cut it off short by raising his hand.
"Well aren't you a pleasure," the gargoyle said. Harry acted as if he hadn't heard.
"Bagpipes," Harry stated. The gargoyle have him a nasty look; one might figure that, after all the times that he had leapt aside for this boy, a proper greeting might be in order. Then it jumped to the side, allowing Harry to step onto the spiral staircase behind it.
The stairs began to move as soon as Harry placed his feet on them. As it twisted and turned the young man had second thoughts about his mission for the day. Perhaps it was not necessary, he told himself. He was overreacting. Not to mention what Rita Skeeter would say if she ever got wind of it. That woman had been buzzing around him like a big, blonde bee. Or beetle, if he were to use the proper term. Even after all these years she still hoped to pry something out of him that hadn't been measured out in the tabloids. Harry was not going to give her the opportunity.
Still, his feet remained glued to the steps. He simply allowed the staircase to take him up. When they stopped Harry was facing a heavy, wooden door. He balled his hand into a fist and gave a sharp knock. He waited to be beckoned inside and did not have to wait for long.
"Enter," the voice was familiar and made Harry smile. He did as he was told and stepped inside.
The Headmaster's office was, as usual, an assault on the senses. The silver trinkets that Albus Dumbledore had introduced were still present; during the short time that Severus Snape had occupied the quarters they had not moved an inch. What appeared to be a hundred voices were all whispering, most of them in excitement, though others seemed less pleased with the new arrival. All of them were talking to the woman behind the desk, a witch in a set of tartan robes.
"Potter," McGonagall was peering at Harry over the rim of her spectacles. Her face showed not a trace of surprise. "How splendid that you've decided to pay me a visit."
"Professor," Harry returned the greeting, then corrected himself. "Headmaster. It's great to see you again."
During his years at Hogwarts Harry had seen Minerva McGonagall smile only a handful of times. Seeing her do it now almost made him feel uneasy; the thin white line of her lips was a sight he had grown accustomed to.
"Potter, if anyone is allowed to forget his courtesies, it is you," McGonagall told him.
"I'd like to think not!" the speaker was Phineas Nigellus. This did not surprise Harry at all; the Headmaster from once-upon-a-time was quite easy to offend, mostly so when even the most miniscule aspect of life at Hogwarts was scrutinized. "No matter what the boy has done, a Headmaster should always be addressed by their title! Where would we be, if not for the proper customs of showing respect?"
"Oh, Phineas, let the boy be," this time it was Armando Dippet who spoke, waving a hand as if to shush the other. "Minerva is quite right to let Potter speak to her as such. The boy has, after all, saved not only the school, but perhaps the entire Wizarding community. I think that he can be allowed some wiggling room, wouldn't you agree?"
Phineas opened his mouth, most likely to let Dippet know that no, Harry should not be granted such privileges, but McGonagall held up a hand to silence them both. All of the other Headmasters were watching the exchange with emotions ranging from interest to boredom on their painted faces.
"Now Potter, as much as I would like to believe that you've come to visit an old woman for the sake of a little chat, I assume that you have business to attend to," McGonagall, sharp as a knife, said this like she was predicting tomorrow's weather. "Had you come do so, you would not have tried to avoid every soul inside the castle, living or dead."
"How did you-" Harry was about to ask, but yet another Headmaster took a speaking turn now.
"I am afraid that it is my doing," Albus Dumbledore explained, his blue eyes twinkling behind his half-moon spectacles. "See, I had left my portrait for a relaxing stroll through the castle this evening. I was having quite the hearty conversation with a few of the ladies in the portrait on the second floor when, just in the nick of time, I might add, I saw you, Harry. I hope you will forgive me for running to Minerva right that instant."
Harry smiled at Dumbledore. "Not at all, Professor. It's great to see you again."
"I would like to say the same to you," Dumbledore said. "Now I will no longer delay this conversation, which I assume is of utmost importance."
Harry nodded at the man and turned to McGonagall. "Headmaster, if you wouldn't mind, do you think I could speak to one of the old Headmasters?'
"Oh, by all means." McGonagall waved her wand and a chair appeared, facing the wall of Headmasters. "But please, do not take too long. I fear that once Albus begins to speak it is hard to get him to quiet down."
Harry looked at his feet. "Well, to tell you the truth, Prof- Headmaster, I didn't come here to speak with Professor Dumbledore. I came here to speak to him." Harry's eyes lingered on a certain spot on the wall. Hung there was the portrait of a man with a sallow face and long, greasy hair parted like curtains.
McGonagall did not bat an eye, bless the woman's heart. Had Harry told this Ron, Hermoine, Ginny or anyone else, they would've sent him to St. Mungo's without a second's doubt.
"Very well," McGonagall said, wrapping herself more tightly in her tartan robes. "I can only assume that you would care for some privacy, so I will be retreating into my quarters. Do let me know when you leave, Potter, it has been far too long."
Harry returned her smile. "Will do, Headmaster."
Once McGonagall was gone, Harry turned his attention to the portrait of Severus Snape. The man's dark eyes were observing him with utmost curiosity. It was a very strange sensation; years ago those very same eyes would look at Harry with nothing but contempt. Yet ever since the Battle of Hogwarts, Snape had shifted attitudes towards Harry. It was still no love, but nor was it hatred. Harry could only describe it as mutual tolerance for one another.
"Mr. Potter," Snape addressed him. "To what do I owe the pleasure?"
Harry could not fully meet the man's eyes. Right now he would have to confess why he had chosen to come to Severus Snape, of all people. Doing so would not be easy. It would be quite the embarrassment, actually.
"Professor," Harry began. "If I were to take your portrait off the wall, would I be able to take it outside the castle?"
Snape raised his eyebrows. "Why would you want to do that, Potter? Can we not discuss whatever matters you want to discuss right here?"
"Well I could," Harry explained. "but the thing is that I need advice, Professor, and I think that you are the only person qualified to give it to me."
"And where would you want to take me?"
"The Auror Office at the Ministry of Magic." Harry ignored the squabbles that erupted among the other Headmasters. "I would need your help there for an extended period of time. I will fully understand if you choose to decline, sir. It's just that I didn't know who else to turn to."
And then came the thing that Harry expected least of all. Snape shrugged. "Well, why not, Potter, a chance of venue might be just the thing I need. Sitting here all day can grow quite dull."
Kingsley Shacklebolt strode into the backroom of the Auror Office just as Harry was busy stirring through a cauldron full of pearly white potion. Though Kingsley had risen to the Office of Minister years ago, he could not refrain from visiting his old colleagues, nor could he ignore the new arrivals.
"Harry," he addressed the young man. "Is there any reason why you are brewing a potion at three in the morning?"
Harry looked up from his cauldron, his glasses misty. "Oh, Minister, I thought you would be home by now."
"I would be, were it not for the upcoming Triwizard Tournament that needs arranging. And that's still Kingsley to you, not Minister."
"It seems to become a trend," Harry chuckled. "People not wanting to be addressed by the title they deserve. Sure, Kingsley then. Would you get mad if I said that I am here for personal reasons?"
Kingsley gave him an amused look. 'Well that would explain why I heard Severus Snape barking orders. Hello, Severus."
Snape's portrait had been perched on a chair not too far away from the cauldron. Snape inclined his head at Kingsley, but otherwise remained silent.
"Yeah, Professor was kind enough to help me," Harry said. "I once owned one of his old potions books, but it was destroyed during the Battle of Hogwarts. It seemed only natural that I turned to him instead."
"Though I am still doubting the decision," Snape remarked casually.
"Oh please," Harry laughed. "Like you haven't enjoyed our quality time together."
Kingsley, not at all feeling up for their jibes at this time of night, excused himself and left the room, all the while musing that the world really had changed. He was Minister and Harry and Snape could talk to each other almost amically. Perhaps he had sustained a serious injury to the head five years ago and he was lying in a bed at St. Mungo's. That would've been nice; Merlin knew he would enjoy a day off from Madame Maxine's constant delegating.
Morning came too early, far too early. Harry woke just as the first rays of sunlight began to creep into his bedroom, tinting the horizon outside the window in a beautiful shade of red. When he turned away from it that very same colour greeted him. Ginny was still fast asleep.
Harry spent some time just watching her, drinking her in. She was so beautiful that it was almost unfair. Unfair to the world that only he could have her. It made him smile seeing her like this, her lips curled up from a dream that he could not see into, but was most certainly a happy one. He moved closer against her, relishing in her presence. The warm feel of her body against his was like a shield. The sound of her breathing was better than any song that Celestina Warbeck had ever sung. And the smell of her hair was like the oxygen he needed to stay alive. He loved her so much that it hurt.
When the sun had fully risen it was time to rise themselves as well. Harry nudged Ginny, rousing her from her slumber. The first thing she did when she opened her eyes was smile at him.
"Hey, you," she said, pressing a quick kiss to his lips. 'What time is it?"
"Time to go, unfortunately."
Ginny groaned as swung her legs out of bed. She began to look for her Quidditch robes and found them fairly quickly. Harry watched her as she dressed; he had no obligations today, so he could stare at her until nightfall, had her schedule allowed it.
Once Ginny was fully dressed she sat herself down on the bed once more. "Are you sure you will be okay without me?' she inquired. Ginny, now captain of the Holyhead Harpies, would be travelling to the other side of the country for three days in order to play a match. Harry would've gone with her, were it not for the fact that he was helping Kingsley with the arrangements for the Tournament to come. "You aren't going over to Ron and Hermoine's and stay there until they kick you out?"
"No promises," Harry said, smiling. He kissed her and wrapped a bare arm around her. "Besides, I now have something to remind me of you." He nudged his head at the vial that stood on his bedside dresser.
"Of course, how could I forget." Ginny stood up, but not before catching his lips in one final kiss. "Try not to destroy anything when I'm gone, will you?"
"Once again, no promises."
When Ginny was gone, Harry reached for the vial. There was a potion inside it, a potion with a mother-of-pearl sheen to it. Harry took the cork off and dabbed a single drop onto his wrist, rubbing it into the skin there.
Slowly he brought his wrist to his nose and gave a little sniff. The potion smelled of treacle tarts, the wooden smell of a polished broomstick, and something else. Something flowery that he had first smelled at the Burrow years ago.
The smell of Ginny's shampoo.
Smiling, Harry fell back onto the bed and rolled over, determined to get some more sleep. He would have to thank Snape for his help sometimes. Were it not for him, Harry wouldn't have been able to fall asleep to the smell of his wife's hair. Without it he would hardly sleep at all. No sleeping draughts for Harry Potter, no, all he required was a vial of Amortentia and the smell of something flowery.