Tap Tap Tap Tap Tap
Harry Potter groggily opened one eye and looked toward the offending noise. He was much too tired after his flight home from Bulgaria yesterday and late night arrival to open the window for the owl. He closed his eyes again and put a pillow over his head, but the tapping continued. Wearily, he fumbled for his wand on the bed stand and pointed it at the window. It opened to admit a rather large, tawny owl, one he didn't recognize. The owl hopped over to his dresser and looked up at him expectantly.
"Alright, alright," Harry said, accepting a cream-colored envelope with green handwriting from the owl and tossing it half of a cream cheese sandwich he'd bought at the airport and had been snacking on when he went to bed. The owl caught the sandwich and flew back out the window while Harry squinted down at his letter, reaching for his glasses.
Though he hadn't seen one of these in years he immediately knew that the letter had come from Hogwarts. The school crest was emblazoned on the envelope, but even without it the green ink would have identified the letter's source. Curiously, it was July 31st—his 31st—birthday, the very day he'd gotten his first Hogwarts letter 20 years ago.
Harry turned the letter over and broke the seal. He drew out a single sheet of parchment, cut into a rectangle and folded neatly in half. Minerva McGonagall's fine, spidery handwriting greeted him.
Dear Mr. Potter (Harry):
Welcome back to England! Once again, close to start of term, Hogwarts finds itself without a Defense Against the Dark Arts professor. This is a difficult situation for Hogwarts, especially since we had finally broken the "curse" on the position with the successful two-year tenure of Professor Flynn. However, Professor Flynn has recently tendered his resignation due to some residual curse damage, and will be unable to fulfill the terms of his three-year contract.
I sought the consul of Remus Lupin and the Hogwarts Board of Directors, and your name was mentioned several times as a strong candidate for the job. I would consider it a personal favor if you would consider accepting this position, at least for this academic year. All staff are provided salary and stipend as well as full room and board at Hogwarts. Term begins September 1st, as always.
Harry, I know that you have had quite a few exciting years since leaving Hogwarts. After eight years as a professional Quidditch player and nearly six more as an Auror, a job at your old school might seem terribly mundane. I am also aware that you have devoted your life to philanthropic causes, your family, and to the education of the wizarding masses to help ensure that another Lord Voldemort does not arise in your lifetime or afterwards. I am convinced that you can continue these activities from Hogwarts, and ask that you consider helping out an old friend.
Please consider and reply by owl by August 3rd.
Cordially,
Minerva McGonagall
Headmistress, Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry.
P.S. Happy Birthday!
P.P.S. I have also contacted the Department of Magical Law Enforcement. They have assured me that you may take a leave of absence for up to two years without permanently giving up your position or losing any seniority you may have attained.
Harry finished reading the letter yet remained on his bed, staring at the parchment. A job at Hogwarts? Teaching? A slow smile stretched across his face. He looked out the window and imagined he could see the castle off in the distance. He'd had an incredibly eventful life since leaving Hogwarts but the best years, despite the battle that nearly claimed his own life and the lives of many of those he held dear, were those spent inside the castle grounds. He hadn't been back to Hogwarts very often and wondered if having a job there would force him to face the ghosts he'd been avoiding all these years. The last visit, three years ago, on the 10th anniversary of the battle, had been the briefest he'd made. He had endured the welcoming presentation by the current Minister of Magic and had sat stiffly between Hermione and Ron for the calling of the roll. A name followed by a deep bell peal for each life lost.
Cedric Diggory . . . boooom . . . Sirius Black . . . Albus Dumbledore…Percy Weasley . . . . Rubeus Ha…
Harry shook his head, willing the oppressive memory to cease. "Just DO it," he muttered out loud. "Don't think about it anymore." He carried the parchment into the kitchen and grabbed a quill from the jumble of items on the counter where he had emptied his pockets the night before. He scribbled a "Yes. Send more details, please!," signed his name and hurried out to the atrium to find Hedwig.
Hedwig was Harry's owl. He'd had her for 20 years now, and she was definitely showing her age. She'd gone to his "hardship" assignment in Bulgaria with him two years ago and they had both returned last night. She'd gratefully claimed her homey roost when he'd opened her travel cage. He didn't use her as much anymore for correspondence, but she still enjoyed a fly about to exercise her wings.
"Fancy a trip to Hogwarts, girl?" he asked softly as he rolled up the parchment and tied it to her leg. Hedwig hooted throatily and nipped his finger. "Take this to Professor McGonagall," he directed. "Headmaster's office . . ." Hedwig stretched her wings as he finished attaching the letter then hopped to the railing and was gone.
He leaned against the railing, watching her disappear from view over the trees.
Crack!
Harry whirled around, practically falling over the railing in the process.
"Happy Birthday, Harry!" said Hermione Weasley, rushing forward to wrap him in a tight hug. She stood back and held him at arm's length to look him over. His hair was as messy as ever, his eyes just as green behind glasses that were still round and frameless. The trademark scar that he'd carried on his forehead since the age of one was still there, though half-hidden behind long, unruly bangs, and much fainter since the final defeat of the Dark Lord who had given it to him. He had grown to nearly 6' tall and was, in the opinion of Witch Weekly and most of the witches in England and across the continent (and Hermione herself), quite handsome. It helped, of course, that he was also one of the richest wizards in the world. But looking at him in this modest cottage, built on the property he inherited from his parents in Godric's Hollow, one would never guess that he was better off financially than the Prince of Wales.
"You're looking good," said Hermione, releasing him and smiling broadly. "And happy . . ."
"I am happy, Hermione," replied Harry. He had already decided to keep this new piece of news to himself for a while. "It's my birthday after all, isn't it?" He laughed then and hugged her again.
"And you're finally home!" she added.
Harry grinned back at her. "You're looking good yourself," he teased, patting her stomach. "Last time I saw you you were waddling like a duck and looked like you swallowed a basketball. How is …." He closed his eyes, pretending to think very hard. "Little . . . Will?"
"Finally sleeping through the night," she answered.
"Where are Ron and the tribe?" he asked as they walked together back to the kitchen.
"Waiting for you at the Burrow, of course," Hermione answered. "You're going to be there in 15 minutes for Quidditch . . ."
Harry groaned and slapped his forehead. Hermione laughed. He loved it when she laughed. She had grown so much lighter, so much more relaxed, over the last dozen years.
"You promised, you know," she said. "Harry's been looking forward to this for weeks. These last couple years with you off in Bulgaria have been hard for the kids . . ." She paused and reached over for her friend's hand. "And for us, of course. We've all missed you Harry. We're so very glad you're back. You are back to stay, aren't you? This Auror business is ….well, it's worrisome, Harry." She studied him carefully, as if looking for new scars. Harry was quite grateful she couldn't see the long white slash across his stomach that he'd acquired on his last assignment.
Harry laughed. "You sound like Molly, Hermione. But stop worrying for a while. No more trips off the island for me for a bit," he said as he went back to his room and started pulling things out of his trunk. "Ron still has my old Firebolt, doesn't he?" he called back.
"Of course," answered Hermione. "And Harry is taking great care of his Comet XL. You really shouldn't have you know . . ." Hermione had walked over to his door and waited there while Harry pulled his old Chudley Cannon Quidditch practice robes over his head.
"Of course I should have," he answered. "He's my godson. My first godson too!"
"You're too good to him, Harry. To all of us . . ."
"How can I be too good to my family?" he quipped, giving her a peck on the cheek as he rushed by her toward the bathroom.
"All the others were expecting brooms for their birthdays after he got his," she called to him down the hallway.
Harry poked his head out of the bathroom doorway. "And they weren't disappointed, I assume?. Godfathers giving brooms to their Godsons is a tradition I want to continue." Memories of unwrapping his Firebolt for the first time flitted through his head and he pushed them aside quickly, but Hermione caught the wistful look.
Hermione smiled as her friend came out into the hall and did a mock twirl in front of her.
"All right then?" he asked.
"Absolutely," she replied with a laugh. "Except that those robes clash horribly with your eyes."
"Not as badly as they do with the Weasley hair," he answered.
"Ready then?" asked Hermione, preparing to apparate.
Harry nodded. "Home, then," he said. And with a double crack, they were gone.
