Disclaimer: I own nothing and this is not for profit.
Chapter 2: Missing…
July 1, 1997
Remus Lupin's sleepy eyes slowly opened to find a mess of dark black hair in front of his face. He smiled as he wrapped his right arm tighter against Dora, taking in her scent. He loved seeing her like this: sleeping peacefully. It was only in moments like this that her metamorphmagus-abilities failed to change her true appearance. Her breathing was even and rhythmic. Her body felt so warm against his. Remus felt like he could watch her sleep all day.
She had gotten back from her shift at Privet Drive some time after midnight. After working out some of their collective stress and tension, she had asked Remus if he wanted to get married that very summer. The thought of it both scared and excited the hell out of him. For so many years, Remus could only see a solitary life in his future; a loneliness that made him want to wail at the moon every night, not just the nights he dealt with his furry little problem. Before him now lay an opportunity at leading a somewhat normal life; of knowing true companionship. He wanted that so badly it made his heart ache, but the fear that he would hurt her—that his condition would jeopardize their life together—always sent a cold chill through his veins.
He felt his hope at happiness begin to stir against him and heard a small moan from her lips. Her eyes creased open only slightly as she turned to look at him. She smiled brilliantly as her hair changed to a bright pink while the few blemishes in her skin disappeared. "Wotcher…" she said sleepily.
"Hello, beautiful," Remus said with adoration in his voice.
Tonks shifted slightly and felt something next to her bum; her eyebrows shot up though her eyes remain closed, the smile still on her face. "A little early for that, love, don't you think?"
Remus sighed with a smirk. "Is that all I am to you? A piece of meat for you to play with?" he asked jokingly.
Tonks' smile never left her face. "Oh good, I'm glad you're finally catching on," she responded; the humor evident in her voice as she pressed herself against him.
Remus moaned softly and leaned his head down so the he could press a soft kiss against her neck. "You're going to be the death of me…" he whispered.
The mood was quickly sucked out of the air, however, when a patronus in the form of a fox burst into the room with a blinding flash of light. The voice of Hestia Jones was unmistakable.
"EMERGENCY! PRIVET DRIVE!"
Remus felt his heart skip several beats before he and Tonks quickly scrambled out of his bed; wrestling with their clothes.
No, no, no, no…the chanting in Remus' head was unending. It felt like his heart was trying to break out of his chest. His hands shook and he had trouble with the buttons of his shirt.
Tonks was just as flummoxed if not more so. She kept dropping things or putting them on backwards. She tripped over twice trying to put her underwear on. Oddly, it reminded her of a time that she had nearly been caught with a boy by her father the summer of her sixth year. She shook the image from her head. She knew she was panicking. She had trained for this.
They had only just laid Dumbledore to rest the day before. While no one in the Order had relaxed their guard or forgot the danger; part of them expected the Death Eaters would lay low for awhile; at the very least to celebrate the death of the "only wizard the Dark Lord ever feared" before returning to their murderous campaign. Now it seemed their bloodlust knew no end.
Remus finished tying his other shoe and quickly made for the door. Tonks fell over once more struggling with her shoes before she followed on his heels. They burst through the front door of Remus' cottage in the forests of Derbyshire and ran to the edge of his wards. Once past, they both turned on the spot and disappeared with a pop.
Conscious of muggles, they had apparated into a wooded area just behind an old storage shed at the end of Privet Drive. Jones was there, ready to meet them.
"Oh, thank Merlin," she said with a shaky voice. She had tears in her eyes and on her pink cheeks. She appeared to be shaking. She looked directly into Remus' eyes when she said, "He's gone!"
Remus felt his stomach drop and his chest constrict painfully. He winced slightly before he got a hold of himself. Tonks kept shifting from one foot to the other with excited energy; her eyes wide with shock and panic.
He hated to do it, but Remus raised his wand and pointed it at Jones. This could be a trick. He didn't know the woman all that well, so he resorted to one of the code-phrases the Order used: "I don't remember it being this hot in England last year," he spoke the code verbatim.
Hestia's face winced in desperate confusion. "Wha-I…?"
Tonks' raised her wand as well as Jones' eyes widened in shocked realization. She held up her hands in surrender and backed away slightly. "B-better this than the winter we had two years ago," she said shakily, confirming her identity.
Remus let out a breath he wasn't aware he was holding and lowered his wand. He took two steps closer to Jones and put his hands on her shoulders to calm her. "What did you mean 'he's gone'? Who's gone? Just calm down and tell us what happened," Remus asked in the most collected expression he could manage.
Hestia's eyes drifted away as she blinked away tears. "I-I came to relieve Diggle at 8 o'clock like I was supposed to and…" she hesitated, "I-I couldn't find him…"
A flicker of hope welled up inside Remus: maybe they were only missing Diggle.
However, Hestia quickly continued: "I panicked so I-I went to check on Number 4 and…Remus…" she shook slightly in disbelief, "he's gone!"
"Were there any signs of an attack?" Tonks asked quickly. She couldn't quit her nervous footwork. It was obvious she was anxious to get up the street.
"N-no," Hestia stumbled, "you don't understand!" She was clutching on to Remus' arms as they continued to hold her shoulders. "They're gone! The Dursleys! The wards! They're all gone!"
Remus felt the world stop. Almost as if someone had ripped the needle off the record mid-play. He dropped his head and tried to summon the will to go on. He felt Tonks' hand on his back. He picked his head up again.
"Hestia," he said calmly, determination in his eyes, "I want you to stay here and wait for the others. Okay?"
She nodded, though her eyes were still wide and glassy.
Remus looked back and gave a small nod to Tonks which she quickly returned. They left Hestia and the wooded area and began to make their way up the sidewalk of Privet Drive. Many people were out; most just leaving for work. They could hear children playing.
As they came around a bend they caught sight of Number 4. The first thing they noticed was the missing wards. Even from a distance; a witch or wizard should be able to sense the presence of wards if one could see what they were meant to be protecting, especially blood wards. Remus and Tonks felt nothing.
As they got closer, they noticed other things that only confused them. They didn't recognize the car in the driveway. The curtains were open, and both Remus and Tonks knew full well that the Dursleys never opened their curtains. There was a bike lying in the front lawn; a bike far too small and colorful for Dudley.
As they got closer, they saw the front door open and a man in a business suit holding a briefcase step out. The thing that shocked both Remus and Tonks to the point of making them stop in their tracks was that the man was most certainly not Vernon Dursley.
He was tall with sandy blonde hair and a swimmer's build. He bent to pick up the paper and turned back to the doorway. Standing behind him was a woman of average height and curly brown hair. She smiled up at him and stood on her tip-toes to give him a kiss. The man turned to leave when he seemed to notice the bike on the lawn. He pointed at it and said something to the woman. She just laughed and made a motion with her hands, shooing him away and closing the door. The man was in his car and backing out of the driveway before Remus or Tonks could release their breath.
"What the hell is this, Remus?" Tonks asked through heavy breaths.
Remus didn't know how to answer her. He was as shocked, confused, and scared as she was. One thing was very clear: Jones was right. The wards, the Dursleys, Harry…were all gone.
Remus' mind was racing. None of it made any sense. 'Why would the Death Eaters do this?' he asked himself. 'They wouldn't!' he quickly responded. 'Why would ANYONE do this?' Remus needed some answers.
"You saw nothing last night?" he asked Tonks, the accusatory nature of his voice unavoidable.
"No!" Tonks said fighting back her own anger at his tone. She understood how he must have felt. "When I left the wards were fine and the Dursleys were sleeping. I even saw Harry sitting at his desk," she explained quickly; shaking her head in confusion. "Charlie relieved me at midnight…"she trailed off as she thought of something. "We need to check on Charlie!" she said, panic in her voice.
"We will," Remus said grabbing hold of her, "but right now we must see to this," he said looking back at Number 4. He looked back at Tonks: "I'm going to knock on the door," he said before he looked around, scanning the area, "and I want you to get to the other side of the street and watch my back."
Tonks nodded and tried to suppress her hysteria. She looked down and around for a moment before she saw a large rock lying off to the side in the grass. She looked around to ensure no one was watching before she pointed her wand and transfigured it with a whispered incantation into a small puppy; chain and all. Transfiguring inanimate objects into animate beings wouldn't last very long, but Tonks only needed it briefly for her cover. She gave another reassuring squeeze to Remus' hand and a significant look into his eyes before she trotted off across the street—her hair now strawberry blonde—fake puppy in tow.
Remus took a deep breath and closed his eyes, steeling himself. He didn't know what the hell he was walking into; all he knew was that he had to. He walked the rest of the distance to Number 4 and made his way up the sidewalk of the house. He gave a reassuring pat to his wand inside his left sleeve. He reached the front step, took another deep breath, and knocked twice.
The woman with the curly brown hair answered. From the look and the smile she gave Remus, it was clear she did not recognize him. He did notice the slight shock and shift in her eyes at the sight of his scars. He could hardly blame her for that, though. Everyone did that the first time.
"Yes?" she asked expectantly. "Can I help you?" If she had been expecting Remus, she was a terrific actor.
"I'm sorry," said Remus appearing confused, which wasn't that difficult, "I must have the wrong address." He dropped back a step to appear non-threatening, but continued nonetheless. "Perhaps you could help me, though," he said politely, "I was looking for the Dursley residence." He gestured his head to the number "4" on the side of the wall next to the door: "I was told they live here."
Now it was the woman's turn to look confused. "Dursley, you say?" she looked away as if trying to remember something, but quickly shook her head. "I can't say I'm familiar with anyone by that name in this area."
Remus nodded at this, registering the sound of a puppy barking behind him on the other side of the street. "I see," he said. He decided to probe further. "Perhaps they were the former residents," he said, knowing full well that was the case.
The woman only smiled. "It would have to have been some time ago," she said with a small laugh, "This house has been in my husband's family since he was a boy."
July 8, 2008
Harry was back sitting in the passenger seat of the Range Rover parked on Spinner's End; only this time he wore a tailored suit and had a shiny, black leather briefcase in his lap. He sighed heavily as he looked up at the light coming from Snape's windows.
"What the fuck am I doing?" he asked aloud more to himself.
Mike had a smile on his face as he sat behind the wheel. "Supposedly you gave your word," he said, giving Harry a knowing look.
"Does anyone even give a shit about stuff like that anymore?" Harry said with a groan in his voice.
Mike gave a small laugh. "Not really, but you do," he said shaking his head.
"Yeah," Harry said looking down at his lap, "I do." His eyes stared off into space.
"It's bollocks if you ask me," Mike interrupted Harry's musings.
"I appreciate that," Harry tossed back.
"Still," Mike said as he adjusted himself in the seat, "I can't believe Jenkins and Seven are going along with this." Mike reached into the backseat to retrieve his ridiculous Skeeter book. "Certainly going to shake things up a bit," he said flipping through pages; his meaning obvious.
"That's why you guys are coming with me," Harry said as he pulled his sleeve down to check his watch, "to protect me from the press." His eyes traveled over and he looked at Mike's book: "Although if I see her I'm just going to start shooting."
Mike flipped the book over. "She can't be all that bad, can she?"
"You know she's an unregistered animagus? A fucking beetle of all things," Harry said quickly before his eyes looked away and narrowed. "If I see a beetle on this bullshit job, I'm smashing it with a newspaper."
"Ooo, you should use the Prophet!" Mike said excitedly. "Very poetic!" The smile slid off of Mike's face though as he tapped the book against the steering wheel. His expression became very serious and collected. "You know it's not the press you should be worried about, right?" Mike asked in a warning tone.
Harry only rolled his eyes and sighed. "I know."
Mike decided to persist: "There's going to be a lot of them there--"
"I know, Mike, alright?" Harry cut him off. He opened his suit and unholstered his 1911 and did a press-check. He released the tension on the slide, flipped the safety on, and reholstered. "I'll deal with them when the time comes," he said not looking at Mike.
Mike seemed unconvinced, but nodded his head anyway and looked away.
Harry heaved another sigh as he looked at his watch again. "Alright, time to do this," he said before taking a couple of deep breaths. "This is going to be so weird," he said shaking his head.
The smile came back to Mike's face. "You'll be fine," he said giving Harry a pat on the shoulder, "everyone gets nervous before a job interview." He giggled slightly.
"Shut up," Harry said with a groan. He rubbed his face with his hands buried the heels into his eyes. "I fucking hate floo travel," he muttered from behind his arms.
"As well you should," Mike said with a laugh. "Cell phones?"
"Right," Harry said as he reached into his pants and coat pockets to retrieve two cell phones: one a standard flip-up and the other a Blackberry. He turned them both off before returning them to his pockets.
"Got your mirror on you?" Mike asked as he checked to make sure his own Blackberry was on. When people couldn't get in touch with Harry, they went to Mike.
"What are you, my mother?" Harry asked as he reached inside coat pocket and pulled out a highly-polished, rectangular obsidian mirror; the wizarding world's latest answer to long-range communication. Harry flashed it to Mike before putting it away.
"Just looking out for you, mate," Mike said with a smile on his face.
Harry paused for a second and looked back at Mike with his own smile. "I appreciate it," he said genuinely.
Mike's eyebrows furrowed. "We're not going to have a 'Brokeback' moment, are we?"
"You're such an asshole," Harry muttered as he rolled his eyes and opened his door to step out.
"I don't know how to quit you--," was the last Harry heard before he slammed the door shut. He had to smile just a little bit. Mike's attempt at an American accent had been amusing.
Harry took a deep breath before he made his way across the street. His dress shoes sounded incredibly loud as they fell against the dank, dark cobblestones. Somehow this didn't feel real to him, like his legs were moving absent his willingness or control. He briefly wondered if someone had brainwashed him but quickly discounted it. He was too well trained for that. He then considered if he had brainwashed himself. Now that was a definite possibility…
He made his way up the steps and was about to knock on the door when it opened quickly. Septima stood facing him, her eyes wide and her mouth slightly open in shock. Harry quickly determined she had no problem recognizing him now.
She blinked several times and made an awkward gesture with her hand. "P-please," she stuttered; "come in."
Harry could already feel the annoyance crawling up the back of his neck like a centipede. 'What the fuck am I doing?'he asked himself again. He had successfully avoided the civilian population of Wizarding Britain for the last 10 years. It had been the only luxury of that time. Now he was pissing away sweet anonymity for shocked stares and ridiculous platitudes. In the weeks before his return to England, Harry had been in West Africa rescuing a couple of oil workers from a cannibalistic juju cult led by a sadistic, megalomaniacal witch doctor. Six weeks in the bush surrounded by machete-wielding, qat-chewing psychopaths with a basic understanding of only the darkest magic.
Compared to this, however, Harry felt like it was a vacation.
Harry followed Mrs. Snape into the study where he stood stiff next to the fireplace. Harry's eyes shifted to the fire and he glared at it. 'I fucking hate floo travel…'
Septima turned to face Harry, wringing her hands which shook slightly from nerves. Her mouth opened and closed several times as if she wished to say something. Finally she cleared her throat and appeared to steel herself. "Mr. Potter, I—I just wanted to say--"
"Is Severus ready yet?" Harry asked, quickly cutting her off. "I would rather not be late," he said looking at his watch. His tone was cold and frank.
Septima was thrown by Harry's rudeness and decided to leave well enough alone. Before she could answer him, Snape came in from the kitchen; dressed in his very familiar black robes.
Snape looked at Harry up and down and his eyes narrowed at his suit. "You're not wearing robes?" he asked in a curious if somewhat snide tone.
Harry just gave a short nod. "I'm not wearing robes," he said; his expression blank.
Snape gave a little sigh. "Potter, I really think you should--"
"The only robe I own is in my bathroom, Snape," Harry said sharply. "Are you ready or not?"
Severus shared a quick regretful look with Septima before he looked back at Harry and nodded. He walked to the fireplace and took a handful of floo powder from the large cup on the mantle. He gave a quick toss and the fire roared green.
Snape looked back to Harry. He seemed to study him for a minute as he scrunched up his nose. "I wish you would have shaved as well," he scorned.
"Are you quite finished?" Harry asked, exasperated.
Snape looked from Harry back to the flames. "Would you like to go first?" he asked in a sarcastic tone.
Harry just sneered at the fire. "I'm right behind you."
'That's what I'm afraid of,' Snape thought to himself before he took a deep breath and stepped into the fire, picturing the office of the Headmistress of Hogwarts in his mind.
Headmistress Minerva McGonagall sat at her desk reviewing paperwork as she did her best to ignore the snoring coming from the portrait of Armando Dippet. How Albus ever got used to the incessant snoring Minerva would never understand.
She looked over at the portrait of her mentor and longtime friend. He sat in his favorite armchair, sleeping peacefully. A day did not go by that she didn't miss him or wish that it was still he that sat in her chair. She smiled sadly, thinking how he would have enjoyed living in such times; times when he would no longer need to worry about protecting his school or his students from the darkest wizard of this age or his minions.
'And such busy times as well!' Minerva thought to herself as she looked down at all the paperwork in front of her. The student population of Hogwarts had doubled in the time since the end of the Second Wizarding War. Every incoming class was bigger than the last, and the school's magic had accommodated the population growth accordingly. It was hard to recognize any of the dormitories anymore with how much they had grown, or the Great Hall for that matter as well.
Most had chalked up the growth to the fact that many of the old pureblood families were no longer homeschooling their children, most having not trusted the safety of the school (or the sanity of its quirky headmaster). Over time, though, Minerva became convinced that the magical population was indeed simply growing. More and more muggleborns appeared in the registry every year. This fact gave her pause sometimes: having no explanation for something so important baffled many after all. Over time, though, she had simply learned to accept it. The more the merrier.
That's what she hoped at least.
The fireplace seemed to growl as the flames sputtered and turned green. She had left the floo open knowing that she had an appointment with Severus at six o'clock, but the truth was that she had become rather lax with security in recent years.
The flames jumped and Snape came striding out gracefully, his black robes billowing behind him. McGonagall stood from her chair and came around her desk to greet him.
"Severus," she said with a small smile. "It's been too long," she said extending her hand.
Snape took her hand tentatively. "Minerva," he said with a nod, it was difficult for him to look her in the eye.
With some guilt, McGonagall still felt a little uneasy around Severus. After all, Albus had died at his hand, though she long ago learned and understood the circumstances of the event. Seeing Snape's memories of the relationship Severus had with Albus—how he had looked up to his old teacher like a father—had made it impossible for Minerva to hate her old rival. It also made Minerva understand how painful it must have been for Snape to do what he did, and she had long since forgiven him.
But a part of her still hated the fact that there had been no other way, and the fact that Snape refused to talk about the rest of the war—about what happened to Voldemort.
'…Or Harry,' she thought with a sharp pain in her heart.
She blinked and tried to shake those thoughts away before smiling again. "Septima tells me you've been doing well," she said looking him up and down. "I trust she's enjoying her summer break?"
"She is, Headmistress, thank you for asking," he said giving the tiniest of smiles before quickly dropping it and glancing nervously behind him.
Just as she was about to scold Severus for not calling her 'Minerva', the fireplace roared again and—much to McGonagall's surprise—another figure came stumbling out. He righted himself and Minerva could just barely hear him swear under his breath as he glared back at the green fire.
The first thing Minerva noticed was that he was not wearing any kind of robes, but rather an expensive-looking muggle suit. He was a well-built man, tall and broad-shouldered. She guessed he was probably in his late 30s or early 40s with the early gray on his head and in his facial hair. He batted away some ash off his pants. She noticed his face was scarred and worn, and he had cold distance in his eyes when he looked at her, though his expression remained blank.
McGonagall had her eyebrows raised in surprise when she looked back to Severus. "I see you've brought a guest?"
Severus had the oddest little expression on his face, a crooked smile and a knowing look in his eyes. "Minerva," he said gesturing to their new arrival, "I would like to introduce you to your new Defense Against the Dark Arts professor," he said with a hint of excitement in his voice. "Should you choose to appoint him, of course," he added; his sarcasm only a little obvious.
Minerva couldn't hide her astonishment if she tried. She looked at the man again and found his expression unchanged. She gaped a few times before composing herself and turning back to Snape. "My word, Severus," she said, her breathing picking up, "and to think that I was prepared for you to demand the position yourself!"
"Oh," Snape said; his coy demeanor unfazed, "I trust you'll find him far more qualified." Severus was almost shaking in anticipation.
Minerva noticed the man shoot a quick glare at the back of Snape's head.
If possible, Minerva's eyes widened even further and she gave a quick laugh of incredulity. "That's quite the endorsement coming from you, Severus!" She did her best to school her features before she took two steps towards the man and extended her hand. "And your name, sir?"
"Harry Potter, ma'am," he responded stoically as he shook her hand briefly.
Just as Minerva was about to scold the man for his inappropriate attempt at humor, her breath hitched in her throat and her jaw dropped. She could see his scar: the familiar lightning bolt. Though lighter and much less prominent, it was still there, clear as day. She looked back into his eyes and with some effort was finally able to recognize the boy she saw Albus lay on the doorstep of the Dursleys all those years ago, the boy she saw snatch a falling remembrall out of thin air the very first time on a broom, the same boy she saw brave a dragon in the first round of the Triwizard Tournament, the same boy…the same boy that had been missing all these years…the Boy-Who-Lived…the Savior of the Wizarding World…the Chosen One…
…and he had just introduced himself as if he sold insurance for a living.
Minerva staggered backward slightly only to feel Snape's arm come up to support her back, the expression on his face a once in a lifetime event. None of the portraits were snoring now.
"Are you alright, ma'am?" Harry asked with a furrowed brow; his tone genuinely concerned as he stepped forward.
Minerva felt like the world had dropped away under her feet. Ten years—ten years of worry, of not knowing if he was alive or dead, of not knowing anything—and here he was, standing there like it had been a day. He didn't even seem bothered by the fact that McGonagall didn't recognize him, that she didn't shout for joy at the mere sight of him. The ridiculousness of it all made Minerva want to slap herself in the face just to check if she was breathing.
"Harry?!?..." she all but coughed out as her lungs released the huge gulp of air she had sucked down.
The look of concern vanished quickly as Harry looked down and away. He plastered a smile on his face that didn't go to his eyes as he made gesture with his hands. "In the flesh," he said; a tinge of annoyance in his voice.
Minerva couldn't make sense of it. He was so different. His build, his hair, his face, his eyes. He seemed so old, far older than he should have been. She couldn't make sense of any of it. So Minerva did the only thing that did make sense.
"Harry!" she exclaimed again as she ran forward and wrapped him in a tight hug—a grandmother's hug. Tears of joy slowly began leaking down her face as she pressed it into the tall man's shoulder. 'Oh, thank Merlin,' she thought to herself, 'thank Merlin!'
Snape just wished he had a camera, though he supposed the pensieve memory would do. Of course, the ice cold look of death that Potter was currently giving him dampened his mood somewhat. An image of his own neck being snapped like a twig flashed in his mind and Snape winced and looked away. Harry's skills in the magic of the mind had certainly improved over the years.
Harry cleared his throat loudly. McGonagall, seemingly just realizing what she was doing—and realizing that Harry was not returning her embrace—quickly released him and took a few steps backwards.
"Sorry," she said quickly as she wiped the tears off her face. "My apologies, Mr. Potter," she said trying to regain some of her usual decorum.
"It's quite alright, ma'am," Harry said emotionlessly as he wiped the wet spot on his shoulder, "think nothing of it." He plastered on another fake smile.
McGonagall looked thoroughly uncomfortable. "Yes, well," she began again averting their eyes, "please sit down." She motioned to the two seats positioned in front of her desk.
As they made their way across the large office, Snape stopped when he noticed the portrait of Dumbledore looking at him with a smile on his face. "Hello, Severus," Albus said with fondness.
Snape swallowed thickly and gave a nod and small smile in acknowledgment. "Hello, Professor," he returned
Much of the tension Minerva had been feeling up to that moment eased when she saw the heartfelt exchange between the two wizards. She found it remarkable just how much Severus had truly changed.
She was startled, however, when Harry brushed past both of them and took his seat; completely and utterly ignoring the portrait of Albus Dumbledore. His face and neck seemed taut, almost as if he was forcing himself to stare straight ahead. Snape saw this and he seemed to almost cringe as he looked away. He shot a quick remorseful look to Dumbledore before he too moved to take his seat. Dumbledore simply furrowed his eyebrows in perplexed observation, staring at the back of Harry's head.
Minerva brushed it aside. She was simply too excited to have Harry within ten feet of her again to really consider and interpret his apparent anomalies. She moved behind her desk and took her seat, Severus taking his as well.
"Well," she said shifting some papers around on her desk, "Severus, I suppose we should start with you," she said with almost the tiniest hint of annoyance and regret in her voice. It was obvious she couldn't wait to get to Harry. "As you know, the Board of Governors has already approved your selection as our new Potions Master. As you are a re-hire, there have been some amenities made to your contract…"
Harry drowned out the rest of what the two said to each other as papers were exchanged back and forth. He took the time to let his eyes explore the room. He reached out with his mind and focused, he listened very intently. Occasionally, his eyes would fall on an object: a book here, a quill there, an inkwell, a cabinet doorknob, a candlestick, etc. He focused on all these things and he smirked to himself. Very few others in the world would have been able to sense the ever so subtle vibrations, the smallest amount of energy; the presence of a thought, of an idea. He shook his head slightly.
McGonagall's office was filled with monitoring charms.
'At least Seven is still thorough," Harry thought to himself. Some of it was rather sloppy work actually. Harry would need to use his wand to find the good ones. He chuckled to himself when he realized the others were probably just there as decoys. 'It's what I would have done," he thought admiringly.
Harry was pulled from his musings when McGonagall turned to him. "Now, Mr. Potter," she said regaining some of the authority in her voice, "am I to understand that you wish to submit your name into consideration for the position of Defense Against the Dark Arts Professor?" she asked formally.
"I am, ma'am," Harry responded just as formally. He leaned to the side to open up the leather flap of his briefcase. He pulled out a large envelopment made of thick parchment with a wax seal. Handing it to McGonagall, Harry said, "The contents of the envelope include my CV, copies of my school transcripts and examination results, my Mastery certification, and a few letters of recommendation and commendation I have received over the years."
Just as Minerva felt herself wanting to tell Harry that none of that was necessary, a more rational side of her painfully forced her mouth to stay tightly shut. She took the parcel as if it as the most precious gift in the world. The information alone would be worth millions to some. 'Rita Skeeter, eat your heart out," McGonagall thought to herself.
Almost as if he had heard her, Harry explained, "The contents of the envelope are, of course, protected by a Fidelius charm. You—and you alone—may read them." He leaned forward again as he passed her a small note. "You merely have to think the password in order to open the envelope and read the materials inside."
McGonagall took the small, folded note in her hand with some trepidation. This was very advanced magic. She wondered if Harry was doing this for her benefit or if he truly was that serious about his privacy and security. She slowly unfolded the parchment and saw written in near perfect cursive: 'Torn Victor.'
Just as she registered those two words in her mind, the small note disappeared before her eyes in a flash of red flame.
After seeing something as complicated as a Fidelius charm used with such ease and precision over something as small as a job application; McGonagall was prepared to write off on Harry right then and there. Still, with a curiosity that matched her animagus form, she ripped open the seal and slowly removed the stack of documents inside.
She knew she would agonize over the documents later for hours on end, but she couldn't resist quickly skimming through at least some of them. The first thing she noticed on his CV was that he had listed no address; merely the number of an Owl Perch (OP) within the Ministry's main London Owlery. It seemed the mystery of where Harry now lived would endure.
Her next disappointment came when she flipped through Harry's CV for his employment history. Very simply, the section of the CV began: "Department of Mysteries, Ministry of Magic, UK; 1997-2001. Position: N/A."
Minerva did not even know what "N/A" meant. Whatever had happened during the war, as confusing and inexplicable as it remained to that day, would remain unanswered as well.
Still, there were gems of information to be found. McGonagall rifled back through some of the papers to find Harry's N.E.W.T. scores: "O's" in Defense, Transfiguration, and Charms with an "E" in Potions. This hardly surprised her, however. She always knew Harry was a wonderful student, if only a little distracted (and who could blame him). Granted, the scores were higher than what she had seen from Harry in the past, but with a little application, she had always known Harry was capable of "Outstanding" level work.
What made her eyes widen and her jaw drop was Harry's other transcripts. While still in the employ of the Department of Mysteries, Harry had earned a Mastery of the Dark Arts from the Salem Institute in the United States. This impressed McGonagall, but also troubled her slightly. The Americans approached the study of the Dark Arts in a much different and more controversial fashion, and given the wide variety of magical forms studied and practiced in the New World, Mastery of any particular subject was hard to come by.
To say that this qualified him to teach at a secondary boarding school would be an understatement to say the least.
What shocked and disturbed her even more so, however, was his PhD. in Parapsychology from Princeton.
McGonagall, like most academics in the Wizarding World, had heard of Princeton's Engineering Anomalies Research Laboratory (PEARL to wizards, PEAR to muggles), and like many she did not approve. The lab was the ultimate flirtation with the divide between the magical and muggle worlds. Unaware muggles worked side-by-side with wizards and witches, performing experiments and recording results, the whole time only seeing what they were allowed to see. Representatives from the ICW had been permanently stationed at the site to make sure the Statute of Secrecy remained intact, but rumors abounded of botched experiments and mass memory modifications. The muggle side had formally shut down just the year before, but many believed the work continued nonetheless.
Beyond the fear of exposure, many simply feared what PEARL did research on. Supposedly, much of the work focused on the difference between muggles and wizards, and whether or not some muggles possessed the latent capability to use magic. In the muggle world, the work of PEAR was criticized and dismissed; the stuff of science fiction and fantasy. In the wizarding world, however, the work of PEARL was not so easily ignored.
McGonagall's attention immediately snapped back into the present when the sound of Harry clearing his throat startled her out of her thoughts. She looked to Harry to see him looking at his watch, obviously annoyed and impatient. She fixed him with a stern look.
"Is there somewhere you need to be, Mr. Potter?" she asked; a familiar strictness in her voice.
Harry gave her a cold look before breathing out heavily through his nose. "No, ma'am," he said dispassionately.
She held her severe look for a few more seconds before looking down again to continue reading with eagerness.
On his CV, beneath the academic schools and degrees, Harry had listed several other non-academic schools and courses he attended and completed successfully; some of which simply baffled Minerva. She read words like "CTCRM Sniper", "ML2", "CRW", "CQB", "CTR", "SERE", etc. as if the had been written in Chinese. She understood that they must have had something to do with the muggle military, but for the life of her she could not understand why the DoM would have sent Harry there to train. 'What could muggles teach Harry that would do any good against magic?' she asked herself incredulously.
She was also astonished to see Harry list fluency in nineteen languages other than English: French, Spanish, Italian, Portuguese, Dutch, German, Serb, Russian, Chinese, Japanese, Thai, Arabic, Dari, Hindi, Igbo, Afrikaans, IsiZulu, Gobbledygook, and—much to McGonagall's distress—Parseltongue.
She was trying to skim faster; words like "Krav Maga", "Systema", "Eskrima", "Silat", "Kali", "Aikido", and "Karate" seemed like just more gibberish to her; something she would have to research later. It was the job history she was more interested in.
"Mr. Potter," she said with curiosity as she stared down at the paperwork, "could you tell me a little bit more about this company you work for…Invictus?"
"We're a private security firm, ma'am," Harry responded almost flippantly. McGonagall could have sworn she saw his knee bouncing in agitation.
She blinked a few times. "I'm not sure I understand that, Mr. Potter."
Harry gave a forceful and noticeable sigh. "We provide an economical private sector solution to security problems normally the responsibility of sovereign authorities; as well as security services to private citizens, corporations, and institutions in need of such assistance. We specialize in projects concerning supernatural or paranormal activities," he recited from memory.
McGonagall was trying her best to read between the lines, but it just wasn't coming to her. "Mr. Potter, I'm not sure I--,"
"They're mercenaries," Snape interrupted impassively.
McGonagall took a sharp intake of breath not only from Snape's words, but also from the utter look of rage and fury that Harry shot at Severus. Severus himself winced severely and moaned slightly in pain when his mind was flooded with an image of himself on fire, screaming. Harry's imagination provided more than enough details.
"We are not—mercenaries," Harry said icily, his glare on Severus only getting worse. "We are private security contractors." Harry's face went stoic; unemotional.
Silence hung in the air for a little while as McGonagall tried to take in everything that was happening. It was more than a little overwhelming. She only knew one thing: whatever Harry's CV said, whatever he had been doing for the last ten years, she was determined to bring him home, no matter what.
"Well, Mr. Potter," Minerva said as she quickly flipped through the letters at the bottom of the pile, "everything seems to be in order here." She saw letterheads from various governments, ministries, agencies, corporations, the ICW, etc. "Granted, your appointment must still be approved by the Board of Governors, but once that goes through we'll be able to draw up your--,"
"Actually, ma'am," Harry interrupted, "I had my solicitor take the liberty of drafting my contract if that's alright." He reached back into his briefcase to pull out another set of papers.
McGonagall felt herself slightly put out. He may have been Harry Potter, but he didn't have to act like it. "Mr. Potter," she said with authority, he eyes narrowing, "all new professors of the school receive a standard, fixed salary that--,"
"Oh, I assure you, Headmistress," Harry said as he handed over the paperwork, "the contract abides by Hogwarts' salary regulations." Harry said this with a straight face, but it was a bald faced lie. Sure, Hogwarts would be paying him as a new-hire, but the contract that Seven had awarded him to go through with this whole mess would make Harry's Hogwarts salary look like a 5 year-old's allowance money.
"There are some provisions, however," Harry said as McGonagall began leafing through the pages, "none of which are negotiable." Harry's expression remained blank, but a part of him felt like feral cat getting ready to rip apart an unsuspecting prey.
"What sort of provisions, Mr. Potter?" McGonagall asked as she looked down at the paperwork, her brow knit in confusion and worry.
Harry interlaced his fingers. A part of him immediately chastised himself for such predictably cheesy act, but he just couldn't help himself. "Invictus International and the Black Group are prepared to donate a rather large sum of money to the school, provided that a portion of the funds is used to satisfy the conditions of my contract," he said as he steepled his fingers.
McGonagall felt her heart-rate quicken. The Hogwarts scholarship fund had suffered with the growth in the student population. Cuts had been made, standards raised. A little more gold in the Hogwarts' vaults in Gringotts was a win-win for everyone. Minerva was a little ashamed to admit it to herself, but a part of her couldn't get over the idea of picking up Harry Potter as the new Defense Against the Dark Arts professor while simultaneously rejuvenating Hogwarts' struggling financials. Needless, to say, she felt like her animagus form just ate the canary.
Still, it didn't feel right.
"What exactly are these special conditions, Mr. Potter?" she asked, intently suppressing the feeling of anticipation in her chest. Beyond the excitement, there was a hollow feeling of worry. She didn't like this talk of "conditions" and "provisions".
"Not much, ma'am," Harry said as he looked into her eyes meaningfully. "Primarily, the school must hire and field a guard force of no less than thirty well-qualified men and women. Furthermore, the wards and physical fortifications of the castle and its grounds must be reinforced with outside consultancy." Harry's expression betrayed nothing.
Minerva raised her head a little higher in realization. She was beginning to see the game being played. "Am I to presume it will be this Invictus International that will provide said guards and consultants?" she asked giving Harry a wary look.
"You may presume whatever you wish, Headmistress," Harry said monotonously, "but if you can find another company better suited to the task, I would be more than happy to welcome their input and assistance."
McGonagall gave Harry a skeptical look. 'Of course there was no other company that could do this,' she thought to herself, 'until today I have never even heard of such a thing.' She found the passage in the contract regarding the new security provisions.
"Mr. Potter," McGonagall said shaking her head with a heavy breath, "I can assure you that the safety and protection of Hogwarts is near absolute--,"
"Headmistress," Harry interrupted; his eyes cold, "perhaps you would spare me from having to relay to you my own experiences with the safety and protection of Hogwarts before you understand my concern for the upgrades."
The corner of Snape's lip twitched. 'He's got you there, Minerva,' he thought to himself, suppressing a chuckle.
Minerva's eyes fell in resignation before looking at Harry again. "Very well, Mr. Potter," she said as she set the paperwork down. "If you find these precautions necessary, I will agree to them." Her head tilted slightly as she seemed to consider something. "I must ask, however, just how large this donation of yours will be?" she asked, her eyes narrowing. "These measures could prove to be quite expensive," her tone was biting.
Smaller pieces of parchment appeared out of Harry's briefcase, Gringotts' checks to be precise. "Once I sign, you need but endorse it on the back," he said handing the two checks to McGonagall.
As she read the numbers, McGonagall's eyes widened impossibly and she fought with all her might to keep her mouth closed. The amounts of the two checks added up to close to Hogwarts' entire yearly operating budget. Once Harry and she signed, the goblins were going to have a hell of a time moving all that gold between vaults.
The one check puzzled her, however. "Mr. Potter, what exactly is the Black Group?" she asked hesitantly. She assumed it had something to do with Sirius and the fortune he had left Harry in his will, but she wanted to make sure.
"It's a private equity venture capital firm I'm involved with, ma'am," Harry responded. "My partners and I see this as more of a…investment," Harry said, his head nodding forward, "rather than a donation."
Something about the way he said "investment" made a shiver run down McGonagall's spine, but she did her best to dismiss it. This was not a gift one could return in good conscience.
"Very well, Mr. Potter," McGonagall said trying to keep her voice even. "I have no objections to your proposal. Once I consult with the Board, I'm sure we can--,"
"Headmistress," Harry interrupted again, this time with some exasperation in his voice. "I have no doubt that the board will sign off on not only my appointment but also the conditions thereof, and as I am a rather busy man, I would prefer if we could conclude these matters this evening."
"Such arrogance!" came the whispered outcry from the portrait of Phineas Black to Harry's left.
Harry's eyes darted to look at the old portrait but his head didn't move, giving the effect of a rather dark glare. He smirked slightly. "You know, Headmistress," he said almost casually, looking back to Minerva, "if the school truly is on tough financial terms, you may want to consider auctioning off some the school's numerous paintings on the wizarding art circles," he said, ignoring the hushed gasps and outcries from around the room. "I'm sure they're worth a considerable fortune."
"Mr. Potter!" McGonagall looked aghast. "The selling or even removal of the school's paintings is strictly forbidden by Hogwarts' bylaws!" She understood Harry was simply trying to insult Phineas (who she was not too fond of, anyway), but she found the very idea of selling the magical artwork of the school almost grotesque.
Harry shrugged. "Pity," he said flippantly. His glare returned to Phineas, "The portrait of Headmaster Black's granddaughter certainly boosted my gold reserves when it sold at a closed auction last year."
Phineas quickly left his portrait enraged. Harry allowed himself to smirk.
But his face fell when he felt it. Someone was approaching McGonagall's office from the gargoyle's revolving stairs. Now that he was focused, Harry could clearly hear their footfalls on the stone floor. When he reached out and heard a few whispers of thought, a very uncomfortable feeling washed over him.
'You've got to be fucking kidding me,' Harry thought to himself.
A/N: AH! CLIFF!!! Don't worry, the next chapter is already up.
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