THREE

Harry counted to ten, slowly and silently. The sixth-year Slytherin girl still hadn't finished her rant by the time Harry reached the final number, so he raised a hand to silence her.

"Miss Kikkebocker," Harry said. "I understand your argument, I really do, but I can't increase your marks if you have very clearly ignored the title of the assignment."

"But—"

"I appreciate students who are able to think outside the box," Harry said. "But you took your genuinely good thread right here, and then went completely off-tangent. If I were an Auror, and had to use your paper as a guideline on how to ward off vampires, I'd have a set of fangs in my neck before I could say Vladimir."

"But there—"

"If you'd like to re-do the assignment, you're fully welcome to, but you won't be getting anything higher than an Acceptable," Harry said firmly. "You should get going to your next class."

The girl sighed, but didn't argue any further. "Thank you, Professor," she said, and dejectedly left the classroom.

Harry exhaled slowly through his mouth, and the resulting almost-whistle echoed through the empty classroom. It had been one of those days, punctuated by the bottomless energy of students who were still on a high from Halloween. Harry had spent Hallow's Eve away from Hogwarts, visiting Godric's Hollow and dropping by Tonks' place to see his godson, but upon coming back, he'd been overwhelmed by the sheer energy of the population majority. Dumbledore had twinkled, patted him on the back and said something about youth being for the young, or something else just as irrelevant.

There was a weariness in Harry's shoulders, and he knew that if he went straight to bed after dinner, he'd be out like a light and soaked in lethargy the next morning. Harry reminded himself that it was much better to be buoyed by a purpose instead of being dragged down by it, just as it was better to be plagued by students who wouldn't shut up than nightmares that wouldn't end.

Harry didn't feel like basking in the usually welcome mindless chatter of the Great Hall, so he had the house elves send his dinner straight to his rooms. There, he ate while writing another letter to Ron and Hermione, rambling about the usual topics: students, teachers, the weather, all was well. He was about to sign his name at the bottom, but he paused and then thoughtfully added another few lines.

I was just wondering if I could visit the Burrow for Christmas. I don't want to impose, so let me know what your plans are. I'd love to see Victoire, if Bill and Fleur are still in the country.

Lots of love,

Harry

Suddenly the fireplace flashed green, and a small piece of parchment flew out from the flames and landed on Harry's desk. Without looking at it, he knew that it would be an invitation from Dumbledore for supper. The invitation would sometimes use the excuse of a staff gathering, or a review of Gryffindor activity with McGonagall, or some other variation of a theme. Harry had replied to the earlier invites, if only to be polite.

"Incendio," Harry said, and the parchment burst into flames, creating a happy little square of charred dust on his desk.

It wouldn't be long before Dumbledore himself would appear to personally request for Harry's presence. As a pre-emptive gesture, Harry leapt from his seat, grabbed his Invisibility Cloak, and fled from the room. It wasn't very Gryffindor of him, but he had no problem with that.

There were students milling through the corridors, since curfew was still a long way off. Harry navigated around them easily, not really knowing where he was going, and not feeling particularly worried about said lack of direction. For the fun of it, Harry walked straight through the Happy Friar, who felt his presence but merely rumbled happily. Harry thought about this, the nature of ghosts and the new ones who'd come into existence since the end of the war, and decided to pay one a visit.

There were no students on that side of the castle, because even they knew better than to mess about here. Harry found the empty corridor easily and removed his cloak, which he carefully folded and hung over his arm.

It wasn't long before Filch floated past, right on cue. Mrs Norris trotted across the floor near where Filch's feet would have been.

"Good evening, Filch," Harry said.

Filch looked at him and smiled maliciously. "No students allowed, Potter."

"Not a student anymore, Filch," Harry said.

Filch looked at him, confused, and then floated down (no need to bend, when floors didn't get in the way anymore) and conversed with Mrs Norris. After a while, he eyed Harry suspiciously. "You sure about that?"

"Pretty sure, Filch," Harry said. "You doing all right, then?"

Filch looked disgusted by the suggestion that he was doing anything but. He cooed something at Mrs Norris, and the pair went off down the corridor, as though nothing had changed.

Moaning Myrtle's head appeared through the floor near Harry's feet. "Hullo, Harry," she said.

"Hi, Myrtle," Harry said.

"Come to visit our lowly corner of the castle again?" Myrtle said, floating up and circling Harry's head. "Awfully nice of you. Not that any of them appreciate it." She sniffed delicately.

"Are you sure there's nothing I can do for you?" Harry asked.

"Hmm…" Myrtle made a thoughtful sound. "Do you have any new pieces of gossip? No one tells us anything."

"Sorry, that's one thing I can't do," Harry said, shrugging.

"Oooooh," Myrtle sighed, sinking back down into the floor. "It's so boring, Harry, so boring… No one's died in ages. There's been no big accidents, no moments of peril, no nothing… And it's so easy to scare the students nowadays, they jump at anything. I could blow in their ear and they'd start crying for mummy. I don't even have to flood their toilets while they're on it anymore."

Harry laughed at that. "Yeah, I guess you're right."

Myrtle made another wailing sound of pure sorrow. "You're so cruel, Harry Potter. Maybe I shouldn't tell you, then."

"Tell me what?" Harry asked.

"Something," Myrtle said, glad to have Harry's attention. "I could tell you, but you'd have to tell me something back. Something about you."

"Okay, then," Harry said, happy to be able to do something for her. "I'll tell you something about myself."

Myrtle floated close, her eyes ghostly bright behind her spectacles. "This is a doozy!" she said. She looked around surreptitiously with the pleasure of someone about to impart something important. "Snape got a love letter." Myrtle squealed and did a somersault, screeching all the way.

"What? When?" Harry said.

"Just this morning," Myrtle chirped. "A Slytherin girl put it in his pigeonhole eaaaarly in the morn, but he doesn't know that. He took one look at it and burned it." Myrtle cackled.

"Then how do you know it's a love letter?" Harry asked.

"One knows these things," Myrtle said. "I am a girl, I know what girls look like when they write love letters. She was giggling and doing this." Myrtle's face turned red. Harry hadn't known that ghosts had the ability of taking colour when it suited them. Myrtle laughed again, and returned to her normal grey colour. "Poor thing. Poor, poor thing. I was here, you know, when Snape was a student. I remember it well…"

"Of course you do," Harry said.

Myrtle looked disappointed. "You're not going to ask me about it?"

"No," Harry said.

Myrtle pouted and crossed her arms. "Now you have to tell me something about yourself. Fair's fair."

"What do you want to know?" Harry said.

Myrtle tapped a finger against her chin. "How about… Why do you sometimes sit on the Hogwarts roof before breakfast all by yourself? Does Harry Potter have his own demons that need to be chased away by sunlight?"

Harry looked Myrtle straight in the eye. "Do you want the truth, or the reason I tell Dumbledore?"

"The truth," Myrtle whispered.

Harry gestured for Myrtle to come closer. When she complied, he whispered, "It's because I like to watch the sun rise."

Myrtle was enraptured. "And…?"

"And what?"

"That's it?"

Harry shrugged, grinning. "Sorry to disappoint, but that's it."

"Don't lie to me, Harry," Myrtle moaned, lower lip trembling again.

Harry laughed softly, and tugged the Invisibility Cloak back around his shoulders. "I wouldn't lie to you, Myrtle."

Myrtle wailed again. Whether she really didn't believe him or was just pretending not to, Harry couldn't say. Myrtle floated up to the ceiling, went right through it, and there was a faint tink tink sound that signalled her re-entrance into the building's piping system.

Harry lifted the hood of the Cloak around his head and decided that it was probably safe to return to his rooms now. Although he took the long way back, he discovered that he'd been mistaken on that account, because Hooch was standing outside his rooms. Harry quickly ducked into a nearby corridor, removed the Cloak, and then walked into view like he'd been having a casual stroll.

"Harry!" Hooch said, relieved.

"What're you doing up and about, Rolanda?" Harry asked. "Something about the next Quidditch match? I won't be late again, I promise. I even got a clock for it." Harry muttered the password to his door, which swung open to reveal his rooms. Harry stepped inside, Rolanda close behind him, and he gestured to the clock above the mantelpiece, where one setting had "Time For Quidditch" clearly printed on it.

"Oh, that's good, Harry," Hooch said, her mind clearly not on that. "Actually, I just wanted to know if you were all—"

"Stop." Something inside Harry, the part that he'd been working so hard on – so hard on, couldn't any of them see that – went click. "Am I doing anything wrong? Have any of the students complained about me?"

"No, of course not," Hooch said, clearly uncomfortable. "They adore you—"

"Then what is this about?" Harry said. One. Two. "Dumbledore sent you, didn't he?" Three. Four.

"Well, actually…" Hooch looked at him guiltily. "Yes."

Five. Six. Seven. "Tell Albus that you talked to me, but I was mum and tired and wanted to go to sleep," Harry said. Eight. Nine. "He won't ask you to do this again."

Hooch's face fell. "We're just worried about you, Harry. You know that, right?"

Ten. "I appreciate the sentiment," Harry said, a little sharper than he meant to. "Please, I'd like to call it a night."

Hooch nodded, and left without another word. Harry sat at his desk for a long while, taking slow, measured breaths and staring at the fire. It was going so well, he hadn't lost his temper at all for months, but Dumbledore was still breathing down his neck, wanting something, anything – just like all the others – and waiting to see him trip up. Meddlesome old man, meddlesome, meddlesome, why couldn't he just…

One. Two. Three. Four.

Harry exhaled slowly, hand twitching over his wand.

Five. Six. Seven.

He stood up and walked over to the bookshelf. Pulling at a seemingly random book, the lower shelf tilted open to reveal a hidden compartment. Harry had installed it on the very same day that he'd moved in. Sure, he'd already taken great pains to keep his rooms safe and secure, but here he'd needed a little something extra.

In the hidden compartment were a few items, but the one currently needing Harry's attention was a small porcelain bowl that had been an ornament in its previous life. In fact, it had been a cat ornament, a present from McGonagall to celebrate his arrival back at Hogwarts. Harry hadn't been keen on letting a clay feline watch his every movement, so he'd put it to better use.

Eight. Nine.

Harry lifted his wand to his temple. Slowly, he tugged out a silver thread of memory and let it slide gently among the others already in the Pensieve. Harry didn't need a big one, because he kept very few memories in there at any given time. He was uncomfortable with letting memories lie about the place, even if they were in a hidden compartment in a locked room, because that meant that they weren't in his head. As far as Harry was concerned, people were defined by the memories they kept in their heads.

Ten.

Harry shut the hidden compartment, and went to bed.

The next morning, he woke up early, had a quick shower, and then spent some time reviewing last night's memory. Harry immediately felt bad for Hooch, who had been recruited against her will to become an Agony Aunt when she was more comfortable being a real-life Bludger. He decided that he had reacted as well as he could have, but the unfortunate side-effect was that Dumbledore was still far from placated. There was no helping that, at the moment.

Harry took the long way to breakfast, stopping by the Owlery to send the latest letter to Ron and Hermione.

Upon reaching the Great Hall, most of the staff were already there. Harry went straight to his chair, not making eye contact with Hooch nor Dumbledore. Breakfast consisted of French toast, which was a little salty, but not bad once slathered with a healthy helping of syrup.

Harry finished breakfast quickly, and left the table without a word to anyone. However, as soon as he left the Great Hall, he felt a hand grab his arm. Harry spun, wand at the ready, and then relaxed when he saw that it was Snape.

"Good morning, Snape," Harry said.

Snape looked troubled. So troubled, in fact, that he'd forgotten to comb his hair forward to obscure his face. "Potter, a word."

"Of course," Harry said, and followed Snape into an empty classroom.

Snape made a quick lookover to ensure that there was no one around, and then said, "I need…" He looked pained. "I need your help."

"Ah," said Harry, knowing full well what this was about, but trying not to let it show. "What is this about?"

"You have experience fending off amorous students," Snape said. It wasn't a question. "I find myself in the unfortunate position of… of…"

"I see," Harry said, knowing that it would take forever for Snape to finish that particular sentence. "Hasn't this happened before? You've been Potions Master since, what, the 1980s?"

"Yes, but at the time I did not have the presumptuous labels of supposed heroism and self-sacrifice hovering above my head," Snape said. "I made sure students hated and feared me, and for all intents and purposes, they had every reason to. Now they're harbouring the mistaken notion that I'm a cuddly creature with prickly thorns, just craving a hug from the first available person."

"Yeah, I can see where that'd come from," Harry said. He was thoughtful for a while. "What you have to do is let them know that that's not what you are, and be clear about it. Just taking away points or assigning detention won't help, because you've been doing that for years. You have to do something different, so they know that just because you're a little skinnier than before, you still mean business. I had to do that when I came in, so the students know that I'm not one of them anymore. You really haven't changed at all, except maybe in the way you stand."

Snape looked faintly surprised. "The way I stand?"

Harry almost laughed at the notion that such an obvious thing would startle Snape. "I guess it's because you'd spent years mastering the way your body moves, that's why you could do the looming thing so effectively. I positively pissed my pants that first year, you'll be glad to know. Now you've got to re-learn your body all over again, and it just looks like you're a Prefect-wannabe trying to intimidate them. Any seventh-year student worth their salt would be able to see right through you. Look at your robes."

Snape looked down at his robes, now definitely surprised. "My robes?"

"Didn't I tell you they were loose? Look." Harry reached out and tugged at Snape's sleeve, the material flopping easily away from his wrist. "It looks like you're wearing a hand-me-down. If I were a student, I'd think that was adorable."

Snape bared his teeth in disgust. "You must be joking."

"Get robes that fit you better," Harry said, nodding firmly. "I'm not sure what you can do to discourage that student, though… Or was it students, plural?"

Snape glared at his sleeve, but didn't answer.

"Well then, what you definitely have to do is not reward them with your attention, since that's what they want," Harry said. "Give them the opposite of attention and they'll move on soon enough, schoolgirl crushes usually do. It's a sad thing, but they'd probably be happy to lose House points if it meant that you would glare at them – yeah, just like that!"

"Oh, sweet Merlin…" Snape said, burying his face in his hands. "Why me?"

"Because some people find unusual features attractive," Harry said, shrugging. "You're not handsome, but your features are rather striking, especially now that all that awkward weight's gone. Did you really eat so little when you were younger? You're practically gangly, and at your height that can't be healthy."

"Don't criticize my eating habits when your own aren't worth mentioning," Snape said.

That line, the last one Snape said before he swept out of the room without bothering to say thank you, gave Harry the idea. It was an irresistible hook, and rather foolish of Snape to leave it out there. Harry didn't mention anything of it to any of the staff, and it took him a few visits to the kitchens to get the plan into motion.

That is why, a few days later at breakfast, Snape found himself staring down at a plate of oatmeal.

"Looks like a first year's attempt at a joint-locking potion," Snape remarked, and Harry watched him lift out a spoonful and then let it drop back into the bowl with a soft gloop. "Has the same consistency, as well."

"It's good for you," Harry said, optimistically scooping up a spoonful and swallowing it. It didn't taste great, but it delightfully bypassed the need for chewing.

Snape glared at Harry over Flitwick's head. "Laughter is supposed to be good for you as well, but you don't see me indulging in that either. Why the hell does everyone else have sausage and eggs?"

"You gave me the idea," Harry said. "Since we're the youngest on the faculty, we should make a good example and take better care of our bodies."

Hungbaur was further down the table, but Harry could hear him say to Snape in a soft mocking tone, "Yeah, Snape, eat your greens like a good little boy."

Pretending he hadn't heard that, Harry continued nonchalantly with, "Since you've got an extra twenty years added on to your lifespan, I thought you'd appreciate the sentiment. Not many people get a second chance at living what should be the best years of adulthood."

A strange meaningful silence fell on their side of the staff table. Flitwick had stopped snickering, and quietly pushed away his plate of remaining sausages. Snape's own face became calmly blank, and he ate his bowl of oatmeal without another protest.

Harry knew that he was only assuming. He had no idea whether the accident really had added an extra twenty years to Snape's life, and for all he knew, the man would revert back to his forty-something self the very next day. But right there and then, at breakfast, the accuracy of statement didn't matter.

Harry did hate the oatmeal, though, and resolved to look up more appealing alternatives.

The following week brought with it Neville's entrance at Hogwarts, primed and ready for his apprenticeship with Sprout. To mark the occasion, Dumbledore held a supper gathering (as usual) in the staff room, where Neville nodded and blushed, Sprout chatted and gushed, and Harry drank his tea quietly as he watched all of that unfold.

There was an uneasiness growing in Harry's stomach as he stood there and listened to Dumbledore's speech welcoming Neville to the staff. He hadn't thought much about Neville since the announcement, but right now, in the current situation where Harry and Dumbledore were awkwardly dancing around each other, Neville's arrival seemed suspect. It was a terrible thing to think, because Neville deserved his apprenticeship far more than Harry deserved his current post.

Neville's eyes flitted around the room uncertainly, but when they landed on Harry, the nervousness gave way to relief. Harry smiled above the rim of his teacup and nodded a welcome.

"With that, let's start on the tarts, I hear they're excellent," Dumbledore said, and the room erupted with chatter. Neville stood in the centre of it, accepting the welcomes of the various staff who laughed and immediately re-introduced themselves to Neville with their first names, just as they had done to Harry some months earlier.

Harry walked over to the refreshments table to re-fill his cup. Snape was there, sipping his own drink and looking quite passive. Harry had rather expected him to be scowling daggers at Neville and muttering about the lax standards of recruitment.

"Hmm," said Snape, his tone neutral.

"I agree," said Harry. Cup refilled, Harry left the refreshments table and walked up to Neville. The staff members who had been crowding around him mysteriously gave way, and Harry walked the cleared path up to his former classmate.

"Hi, Harry," Neville said, his voice betraying his nervousness, though it was tinged with excitement. "What a world, eh?"

"Both of us back here in the same year, you mean?" Harry said. "Yeah. You'll do great."

Neville nodded gratefully. "Thank you. Gran's really proud of me for getting the offer, but I don't want to do it just for her, you know? I want this, I really do."

"Yeah, I understand," Harry said, and he did.

"Uh… Hope you don't mind me asking, but what happened to Snape?" Neville said, briefly glancing in Snape's direction. "I read something about it in the Quibbler—"

"You read the Quibbler?" Harry said.

Neville's cheeks were pink-tinged. "Luna's practically running it now."

Harry laughed behind his cup. "Ah. It's just an accident, Neville, and so far not much in the way of side effects. I reckon that if you keep to your part of the school, and he keeps to his, there'll be no problems."

Neville nodded, and drank his own cup of tea thoughtfully. In a soft voice, he said, "It's good to see you, Harry. None of us heard from you for—"

"Yes," said Harry. Manoeuvring the teacup of harm's way, Harry leaned in to give Neville a partial hug, and once close to Neville's ear he spoke in a tone no one else would hear, "All is well, Neville. I hope we can leave it at that." He pulled back, and to his relief, Neville nodded with an understanding smile.

Not much changed upon Neville's arrival, the only obvious thing being that the staff table had to be extended to enable him to sit at the far end with Sprout. Harry's prediction was correct, and as long as Neville and Snape kept out of each other's way, Hogwarts was a peaceful place. The only change in Harry's routine specifically was that he occasionally met up with Neville for weekend tea or suppers, in which they laughed, Harry reported student mishaps, Neville discussed his favourite words (like "pullulate"), and they reminisced over the good 'ol days, respectfully avoiding all topics associated with the battle. Harry was thrilled that Neville had found his niche, taking to Herbology with more fervour than anything Harry had ever seen him do before, other than perhaps cutting off a certain giant snake's head, but that wasn't the sort of thing they talked about.