That September, Scorpius began his first year at Hogwarts. He was Sorted into Slytherin, to the delight of both his father and the Dark Lord. Harry found the situation amusing all the way up until Scorpius' Defense professor was eaten by a Chimera over the winter holidays.

"There is no one in all of Britain who is stupid enough to take this position," Harry said. "At best, it's a nine month inconvenience. At worst, it's a glorified death sentence. Can't you just remove the curse? I doubt it'll do much to change public opinion, but if I can get it in writing, maybe I can convince someone to take the job."

Tom twirled his wand in hand, not meeting Harry's gaze. "The only way to remove the curse is for the requirements to be fulfilled."

Harry glowered. "Where am I supposed to find someone whose credentials fulfill your moronic curse requirements? Are you going to go and teach Defense for a year?"

"Hmm." Tom sat up, eyes alight, and Harry knew that he was about to hear a terrible idea. "Why don't you teach the class?"

"What? Me?" Harry stared. "I'm your assistant."

"Don't be ridiculous. I am not attempting to get rid of you," Tom said. "I have full faith that you will fulfill the curse's requirements. It is the simplest solution, Harry. I would hardly set you up for failure, now would I?"

Harry narrowed his eyes. "I dunno, would you?"

"Your lack of faith wounds me."

"I don't know how to teach a classroom," Harry said.

Tom had gone back to looking at his book, signalling that he was now set on his awful decision. "You've taught before, haven't you? In the past."

In the past. Harry shrugged, uncomfortable. "A bit. But that was years ago. I'm hardly as skilled as I once was."

"Nonsense. You'll do it," Tom said with finality. "I have every reason to believe you will succeed."

"You think I can teach a Defense class to the ridiculously exacting standards you hold for yourself," Harry said. "When I end up in St. Mungo's, I am going to tattoo the words 'I told you so' on your left arm."

Tom only hummed in response, which Harry took to mean his threat was effective.

"Fine," Harry said. "I'll teach. I'll fill in for the rest of this year, and then I'll do the next year. One year, and then the curse better be done with or else I'm going to tell them you're going to teach."

"I hear you're finally moving out of this place," said Theodore.

Harry stood up and cast a quick glance to his desk, which was mostly cleared. He hadn't gone out of his way to keep his departure a secret, but he hadn't advertised it either. "News travels?"

"It does." Theodore stepped closer, placing a hand on the empty surface of the desk.

"It's only for a year, really," Harry said, unsure why he felt the need to defend himself. "Then I'll be back."

"You do good work here," Theodore said. "You always have. But do you really think you'll be back?"

"What do you mean?" Harry asked, flustered. "Why wouldn't I?"

"You're not a politician, Harry." Theodore shook his head, his mouth settling into a slant of disapproval. "You work best with people who don't have hidden agendas whenever they talk to you. Can you honestly tell me you don't think you'll enjoy working at Hogwarts more than the Ministry?"

It was hard to imagine himself anywhere other than here, by the Dark Lord's side. "I don't know."

"Make the choice that's right for you," Theodore advised. "It's not wrong to want something for yourself."

At Hogwarts, the only thing Harry had really wanted to do was play Quidditch. After that, his life had been about defeating the Dark Lord. He'd taught people in the Order to duel, but that wasn't the same as overseeing a classroom of students, and it certainly wasn't the same as having an aspiration to be a professor.

"I'll do my best," Harry said lightly. Then, flashing a smile, he added, "We'll have to see if I survive the year before we start celebrating."

"I'm sure you will," Theodore said, tone still serious. "If anyone could ever be the Dark Lord's equal, Harry, it would be you."

The dying winter sun was high in the sky when Harry appeared on the outskirts of the Hogwarts grounds. He had a leather satchel with him, the insides expanded and filled with the essentials. There was a room waiting in the castle that would soon be his.

Hogwarts had not changed much. There were the same towers, the same forest grounds, the same Quidditch pitch. Harry had fond memories of his Hogwarts years, fondness in spite of the torturous political climate that had existed outside the walls.

Filius Flitwick was at the entrance, smiling as the gates before him parted. "Harry Potter, as I live and breathe. It is good to see you again."

As Harry passed through into Hogwarts, he felt the wards pass over him, welcoming him.

Harry stepped forward and shook hands with his old Charms professor. "It's good to be back, sir."

"Please, call me Filius. We are to be colleagues now, aren't we?"

"Filius," Harry said. "I'm happy to be here. Almost feels like coming home."

"Hogwarts is always a home to those who need one," Filius said, solemn. "And it can be home for you again, if you wish."

Harry eyed Gryffindor Tower for a long, long moment, wondering how much of its contents had changed since he had graduated.

Then he thought of Potter Cottage, which had been remodelled, its interior familiar yet not, now home to Remus Lupin. He thought of how Astoria Malfoy had gone out of her way to build a home, not a manor.

And lastly, he thought of where he and Tom lived together. He thought of their two armchairs by the fireplace in the study, of the bedroom which he had grown into liking. He thought of Tom.

"Thank you," Harry said, trying to think on how to phrase it delicately. "But I won't be here permanently, and I don't plan to be."

Filius met his gaze for a second, searching, and said, "I see. If that ever changes, please do let me know. We would love to have you."

Harry taught classes during the day, and he would Floo back to the manor for supper on Tuesdays, Thursdays, and weekends. He had a duty to his students to be available for office hours.

As the term progressed, Harry found he enjoyed teaching more than he'd anticipated, and with this new awareness of himself came unexplainable feelings of guilt. He liked teaching.

His work at the Ministry was fulfilling, but it would never be fulfilling in the way that teaching was. Seeing his students flourish and develop their skills. Seeing someone cast a Patronus Charm for the first time. There was, and would never be, anything comparable to that feeling.

As a professor, he could work free of the blinders he had to use at the Ministry. At Hogwarts, he dealt with bullies and detentions. That was the extent of the harm committed amongst the student body, and while it could get out of hand at times, Harry never had to shut down parts of himself to decide on a proper resolution. He was fair. He was impartial. There was no talk of blood status when he set out to discipline students for misbehaviour. There was no threat of pain for daring to act outside the norm.

Hogwarts existed inside of its own bubble, separate from the rest of the world. A domain where Harry could exist as Professor Potter rather than as the Dark Lord's aide.

Without the schedule of exams to provide structure, without the time he spent with Tom, Harry might have found himself happily adrift in his new environment. But there was structure, there was the clear passage of time as the school year drew to an end, and so Harry found himself watching the calendar as the days continued to tick by, sand in an hourglass, to the end of his teaching career. He had time, he told himself. He still had one more year.

That summer, he and Tom went abroad again, only this time they travelled for pleasure, not for business.

Not that this stopped Tom from poking his head around everywhere they went. Harry knew that the task of averting his death was still present in Tom's mind, regardless of how many tasty foods they sampled or clever magical items they purchased.

Where there was talk of immortality, Tom would go, and Harry would follow.

Tom continued to seek Harry's advice on problems at the Ministry, continued to pry for Harry's opinions. And when Tom had no need for a conversational companion, he would talk through whatever was on his mind while Harry listened, attentive, used to his role as muse and inspiration to the man who ruled Wizarding Britain.

But the fact remained that Harry liked teaching. With his work at Hogwarts came pride, an emotion he had not experienced in a long time.

And so Harry worried. Had Tom noticed his shift in perspective? What consequences would there be? If Tom forced him back to the Ministry, Harry couldn't imagine how that would go. He wouldn't fight it, but he would be disappointed, and that thought felt so much worse.

"The school year is nearly done, Harry. Have you come to a decision on what to do?"

Harry, sat at the staff table with his coworkers, poked sullenly at his breakfast plate. He had been avoiding the subject for weeks now, here at Hogwarts and at home with Tom. The longer he put this off, the more awkward it would be to bring it up, but he found himself unable to vocalize a decision.

"Not really," Harry said.

Susan pursed her lips. Though she kept herself neutral in public, it was clear to Harry that her true loyalties did not lay with the Ministry. "Is it because the Dark Lord wants you back at the Ministry?" she asked, tone light.

Harry thought over her words. Tom factored into every decision he made, had done so for as many years as Harry had been living in the manor with him. Harry's presence in this very castle was a result of Tom's authority. Harry was a secondary character in his own life, his purpose instead devoted to the life of the Dark Lord.

"You should think about it," she added. "You fit in so well, and the students adore you. Hogwarts is a safe haven for many of them, and they look up to you."

Maybe it was. But it had never been his safe haven. His safe haven had always been with his people, with friends and family. What was a home without someone to share it with? It was an emptiness that hung heavy in every step. It was how he felt whenever he walked into Godric's Hollow.

Harry had colleagues here at Hogwarts. Colleagues who had become friends. But it wasn't a home, and he didn't think it ever would be.

"I'll think about it," Harry promised her, and he hoped that she would not bring it up again.

The final Quidditch match of the year was between Slytherin and Ravenclaw.

Scorpius had inherited a taste for the sport from his parents, a penchant for Seeking from his father, and an impressive prowess for flying from his mother. He was the type of Seeker that Harry might have been, if Harry had ever played for the Gryffindor team.

Both Narcissa and Draco were in attendance in the stands today. Astoria was in the midst of preparing to finish her Masters; she had been threatened by husband and son both to prioritize her studies over the Quidditch game.

After some wheedling on Harry's part, Harry had also secured Tom's attendance for the match. The break would be good for him, Harry thought. A change in routine, a chance to touch base with the reality of the world outside of the Ministry.

The Quidditch game was as exciting as ever, the score bouncing back and forth between the two teams. The outcome would be down to whoever caught the Snitch. Scorpius flew a loop around the pitch, then stopped, turning sharply.

The stands grew wilder, the noise level rising as the spectators picked up on the reason for Scorpius' change in direction. Harry could even see the Snitch at this distance, golden and glinting.

The Ravenclaw Seeker was far away from Scorpius, but one of the Ravenclaw Beaters slammed a Bludger down the field to their teammate.

Harry followed the trajectory of it, mapped out the paths, and realized what was going to happen a mere second before it did.

Scorpius fell into a dive just as the second Ravenclaw Beater smashed the Bludger in Scorpius' direction, a last ditch attempt to avert the end of the game. Scorpius twisted his body mid-air, shielding his good arm from the hit as his hand stretched for the Snitch.

The Bludger slammed into his left arm with a violent snap.

Scorpius' body swung a loop as he toppled over, his legs clinging to his broomstick, and began a rapid descent towards the ground.

Harry had risen from his seat, wand at the ready, a spell on the tip of his tongue—

"Arresto Momentum."

Tom's voice carried loudly across the pitch, silencing the crowd. Under the direction of the Dark Lord, Scorpius drifted slowly down to the grass pitch.

Draco wasted no time in scrambling out of the stands; he was the first to reach his son on the field. Harry was right behind him, Tom and Narcissa striding after.

"Someone do something!" Draco demanded as he drew near. Scorpius was cradling his broken arm, curled on his good side, face tracked with tears. Draco knelt down in the grass, panic stricken, his hands fluttering around his crying child.

"I know some spells," Harry offered quickly. He could repair a broken bone.

"I want someone who actually knows what they're doing, Potter," Draco spat, not looking up.

"Dad?" Scorpius said weakly.

Tom pressed near, his presence solid and commanding from behind Harry's shoulder. "If you would allow me, Draco?"

Draco stiffened, then withdrew from his protective crouch. "Of course, my Lord."

Another spell cast, a bright glow of light, and then Scorpius' mangled arm was healed, the only evidence of the injury visible with the faint, already-fading scar and the jagged rip in his Quidditch uniform.

"I caught it," Scorpius said breathlessly, struggling to sit up despite his father's pleas to remain still. "I caught it, dad. Did you see?"

Some of the other players had landed nearby and were watching the gathering with wide eyes. Concerned for their classmate, but also held back because of the Dark Lord's imposing nature. The Malfoys were a favoured family, and Tom's actions had only confirmed this further.

In his first year at Hogwarts, Scorpius had found it hard to make friends, unsure if people wanted his companionship for his connections or not. Harry had helped the boy through it, had given advice as best he could, and eventually Scorpius had made a few good friends, even some from other houses, to round out his educational experience.

Both Scorpius and Draco stood up. Scorpius wiped at his face with the arm that was holding the Snitch. Then he blinked, glancing down at the golden ball before turning to face his father, his mouth forming words—

Hannah Abbott ran over, wand in hand. "Let me through! Let me see him!"

Tom gripped Harry's shoulder and pulled them both a step back. "No need, Nurse Abbott," Tom said. "As you can see, everything is perfectly fine."

Hannah seemed flustered as she examined Scorpius' arm with gentle hands. "He'll still need to be checked over in the Hospital Wing, my Lord. Just to ensure there are no other injuries."

"I would expect nothing less," Tom said politely.

"I will go with you," Narcissa said in a rush. "Come, Scorpius." She took him under her arm, pulling him close as they walked back to the castle, Nurse Abbott beside them.

Draco was rooted in place, staring after them. His hands were shaking.

Harry was reminded of the decline of Astoria's health, how her strength had drained month after month. During that time, Draco's composed countenance, devastated with anguish and drenched in agony, had burned into Harry's mind. Draco had coped poorly, partaking in prolonged bouts of solitude whenever he was not fussing over his wife. It had been hard for Scorpius to have his father at arm's length during such a traumatic period, but Draco was trying hard to make up for that now.

"Are you alright?" Harry asked.

Surprise flashed across Draco's face, but it was rapidly replaced with a placid mask. "I'm fine, Potter," he said, sneering. Then he looked away again, frowning, that haunted look still present in the slump of his shoulders, the sallowness of his skin.

A second passed. Harry could practically feel Tom's ire rising, and so he touched Tom's chest lightly, pressing back, urging him to be quiet.

It was then that Draco's eyes unfroze from their stern expression, those grey irises flickering back to Harry. Then Draco added, the words slow, like they were being pulled from him one at a time, "Thank you for offering to help. I didn't mean to be short with you."

"Don't worry about it," Harry told him. "I understand."

Draco turned to face the Dark Lord, bowing. "And thank you, my Lord. For your aid. You have my eternal gratitude."

Tom glanced at Harry, pensive, then back at Draco. "As Harry said. You need not worry about it."

Harry pulled away from Tom and placed a hand on Draco's forearm. "Go with them," Harry whispered. "He wants you there."

"I know that," Draco said evenly. "I know he does."

"Then make sure he knows you want to be there, too," Harry said, gentling his tone. "He just wants to know that you're proud of him. Go tell him."

As Draco strode towards the castle, Harry swivelled back around and grasped Tom by the arm.

"Let's walk around the grounds," Harry said. "It's been a while." Since the start of the school year, they'd not had much time for walks.

They left the pitch and set out down the hill towards the Great Lake. They passed the broomshed, traversed the winding path lined with dirt and pebbles. Harry knew, with great familiarity, where all the dips and cracks lay in this particular path. He liked sitting by the lake whenever the weather was nice. The view of the water was calming; it helped ease his anxiety, helped steady his heavy heart.

"Hogwarts was my first home," Tom said. His profile, outlined by the sun, was equal parts luminescent and ethereal.

"Hogwarts has a way of growing on you," Harry agreed. "It's home for a lot of people." He'd made friends here. He'd met Ron, and Neville, and so many others. He'd enjoyed the most peaceful years of his life at Hogwarts.

"And for you?"

The question was delivered with a casualness that Harry would never mistake for true nonchalance. Tom's eyes were a warm, burning red in the light of late afternoon. His mouth was relaxed, a sloping line refined by decades of practice.

"No," Harry said. "I've learned that home isn't about the place. It's about the people."

"The people," Tom repeated patiently. They walked a few more steps, and then he added, "People like the Malfoys?"

Harry had called their manor 'home' for years now, had never used the word 'home' for anything else. And before that, before he had reconciled with spending the rest of eternity with Lord Voldemort, he had leapt between safehouses, always on the move, always wary of creeping shadows and sudden loud noises.

This was no hero's journey Harry had undertaken, and he was aware that Tom would never be anything less than a villain, regardless of what the history books had been told to say. There were wrongs between them that Harry had yet to forgive. Wrongs he might never be able to forgive fully.

But Tom had saved Astoria, and today he had saved Scorpius. Those actions had value. They had meaning.

"I want to stay at Hogwarts," Harry said, stopping mid-step, his decision snapping into place. "As the Defense professor. And it's not because I want to live here, or because I don't like working with you. I want to teach, and you helped me realize that. That I like teaching."

Tom said nothing, but his pace slowed to a halt. Harry felt Tom's full attention on him like an unrelenting vice in his chest, straining his lungs millimeter by millimeter.

"I asked you once," Harry said, holding Tom's gaze, unblinking, "if you had actually wanted to teach at Hogwarts. You never really gave me an answer."

That conversation had happened before all other things had happened. Before their path had curved in the direction they now followed. Harry had asked his question out of curiosity, out of a desire to hear the origins of the monster explained. As though Voldemort's reasons could have been as simple as hating Dumbledore and wanting to teach Defense. It was not that simple, not at all, but that did not mean there were no grains of truth hidden within the words.

Harry took a breath, inhaled the cool summer air of the Hogwarts grounds. "You kept this position cursed for years. Because Hogwarts means something to you. Because this job means something to you." Harry paused, then added, "You wanted me to be the one to break the curse."

"This position is hardly more prestigious than any other," said Tom, with a cultivated, detached air. "I have no need for it. I could pass the time as Headmaster, if I desired."

"I know," said Harry, taking Tom's hand in his, running his thumb over the clunky heirloom ring that rested on Tom's forefinger. "But listen to me. I'm not going to leave our home for Hogwarts, or Potter Cottage, or even, Godric forbid, Malfoy Manor. I like where we live because you're there, okay? I'm content with what we have."

"If you are content with what we have," Tom said, a hint of stress fraying the edges of his perfect mask, "then why do you need to work here? Is your work at the Ministry not suitable?"

"This is something I want," Harry said. "Something that will make me happy."

Tom's cheek muscle twitched. Harry eyed it, waiting, then glanced back up. Tom always looked the same. Same dark curls, same severe bone structure, same alabaster skin. His features were devastating in their contrast, like Tom had been chiselled from pale marble rather than flesh, modelled as a caricature of what the perfect man ought to look like. Crimson eyes, straight nose, and thin lips. Handsome, but inhuman, accentuated by decades of dark magic.

"You have years with me," Harry said softly. "Years and years and years. Let me share just a bit of my time with the world."

Tom's hand curled, smothering Harry's smaller one, swallowing it up, the fingers clasping tight like teeth. Then Tom's eyes slid shut, as though to savour the moment. Their palms grew warm. The heat, the physicality; all of it was almost unbearable.

"Harry," Tom said softly. He pulled Harry in, closer and closer, so that his other hand could brush at the hair on Harry's forehead. "There is nothing I wouldn't do to see you happy, you understand. So long as you never leave, I will provide what you ask of me."

Tom was fond of him. Harry knew this, could hardly dare to believe it, most days. But with moments like today, with words like that, it made sense.

Harry tilted his head back, felt the sun warm his face, felt Tom's words soak into his skin, a sunkissed vow.

"I've made my home with you, Tom." His hand slipped from Tom's, moving to cup the harsh curve of Tom's face, to lightly thumb at the shadowy shapes under his eyes. "I made a promise that I would stay by your side. You have me until I die; no more, no less."

And then Harry smiled, because here was where they parted ways, here was where Tom refused to meet him. Here was the gaping chasm between them that Harry attempted to bridge.

"You have me," Harry promised, "until you decide to let me go."

The moment did not break. The golden warmth held, the sun reflected in Tom's eyes, the beautiful summer skies above them, the two of them locked in partial embrace.

"Let's go home, then," Tom murmured.

Hands held tight, and then they Disapparated.

A/N:

this chapter underwent a lot of major edits; more than once, actually. i think i am satisfied with the result. honestly, i expect the end of the story to be the hardest to write. we'll see how it goes. no idea if it'll take me one more chapter or not ¯\_(ツ)_/¯