Hermione had reacted with surprise at the announcement. Harry had gone home and told her and he really shouldn't have been shocked that the full title of Professor had lit up something in Hermione's brain. He had to be the one to stop it or he would not have been able to teach any classes in the morning ('You should go back to your dorm now, Ms. Granger', 'Yes, Professor!') This turn of events was something he didn't mind at all.
The first class would be third year students, who had never had class with him. They were all very animated, if the sorting feast had been anything to go by. Two new professors was probably as much excitement as this generation had ever seen. He sipped from his black coffee over the table in the teacher's lounge looking over the edited third year curriculum.
"Well, well, well," Slughorn mused over from the couch. "Professor Potter! Never thought I'd see the day. Not in my tenure at least."
"It's only temporary, Horace," Harry said.
"That's what they all say," Horace laughed. "I said the same thing when Headmaster Macmillan asked me to step in. Now look at me, too fat to move from my position!"
"We'll be happy to have you here, Harry," Flitwick said. "It's been so dour lately. Say, do you or do you not like raisins? I can't remember."
Merissa rushed inside and went to pick up something from her slot in the lounge. "Hello, everyone," she said, rushing to take her things. "I still need to make it to the tower."
"Can't be late for your first day of class!" Flitwick giggled.
"The first hallway on the left when you enter the dungeons will get you there quicker," Harry said, remembering the shortcut.
After a brief pause, Merissa nodded at him and took her things back out the door.
"Revealing our secrets so soon?" Horace asked.
"Can't let Filch have all the fun."
McGonagall came in with a good morning and looked them over like a coach might look over a winning quidditch team. "All going well?"
"Quite well I'd say!" Horace called.
"Professor Potter even thought to help out our new colleague!" Filius beamed.
"Well, I'd expect nothing less," she answered with a pleased smirk. She came up to him as he put away his things. "In that case I wonder if I could sit in for your first real class. I promise I'll be quiet as a mouse."
Harry nodded. "I think that'd be fine."
"I'll see you in a bit then," she said with an affectionate pat on his shoulder. "Good luck."
Breakfast was in full swing in the hall when Harry went to the Defence Against the Dark Arts classroom. On the way there, he got a few greetings from 7th year students, and a few wide-eyed looks from those fifth year and below. He didn't have time to put on his personal touch as many teachers would, but luckily aside from eloping with mistresses, Dan Winston had left the space in a good state. Third years probably had rudimentary defensive spell knowledge so he decided to stack the desks to the side.
He sighed as he put Hermione's planning into a drawer of the class desk, knowing he would be upsetting it in just a matter of minutes. As the voices of the students echoed beyond the door in the halls, Harry felt a shiver of anticipation, fear even. It seemed that the Halls of Hogwarts still had that effect on him, to bring forth strong memories.
The spell was broken as the first students entered the class and Harry found himself in great spirits. A group of girls, groups of boys, those alone, those boisterous until they saw him. Last of all to enter was Minerva McGonagall, taking place in the back of the room with a wave and a nod.
"Good morning," he said confidently. "You've all gotten to know me during the welcome feast, but I haven't had the same pleasure, so you'll forgive me if I do some pointing until I know your names. If you want me to remember, feel free to remind me when I call you."
"Are we going to duel?" one brown-haired boy asked.
"Your name?"
"Jim Morgansson."
"We might, Mr. Morgansson. But it's not the focus of your third year."
The boy shrugged to his mates, looking satisfied with himself.
"Everyone form up in a half circle first, there's some in the back I can't see."
With murmurs, they all followed his instructions.
"I wonder what you all know about vampires," Harry said.
Several hands shot up. He pointed to a round girl on his right.
"They fear sunlight… Jane Baker, that's my name."
"Somewhat correct," Harry said, pointing to a blonde boy trying to slink in the back.
"Alan Zoras. They can't stand garlic."
"Can you expand on that, Zoras?"
The boy sheepishly looked to the side.
"They dislike the smell and taste of some foods," Harry explained. "Garlic, fish, cheese, anything that's strong on the senses."
He pointed to a blonde girl raising her arm.
"Anna Breaker. They drink blood!" she said proudly.
"More specifically, they can consume only blood. Anything else is like rotten food to them."
Another boy raised his hand and Harry pointed his finger again.
"They don't age. They can live for centuries. Um. I'm Christian Wallace."
"Right. Probably the most important thing to remember about vampires. Vampires live forever, and tend to be skittish about who they meet with — at least the smart ones are." He waited to see if anyone else wanted to fill in. A plain looking boy with dark hair slowly raised his hand.
"Charles Wing. They collect all sorts of things. Artefacts, books."
"That's very good Mr. Wing. Doesn't usually make the list of Vampire characteristics in the books. What would you do if you lived for centuries? If you couldn't eat food normally or go sunbathing. Books, magical artefacts, art — vampires tend to be patrons of the arts. So if any of you have talent, you might be looking to get patronage from a vampire."
"D'you ever kill a vampire, professor?" Breaker asked.
"I actually haven't. Vampires don't really pick fights they're likely to lose," he said with a smile. He continued before his wit gathered too much fanfare. "I did have a friendly duel with one, Count Vlad III. He was quite good."
"THE Vlad?" a bespectacled boy asked.
"The one and only, or the third I suppose."
His answer caught laughs from the students. Minerva, content that he was handling the class well, waved goodbye leaving quietly. He proceeded to have them throw a few spells at training dummies. Talent was widely spread, as was interest, but for now he was in his element. Anna Breaker left the classroom with an obviously lovestruck 'bye professor'. Harry hoped it wouldn't be as bad as the first time around, or he would have another identity crisis comparing himself to Lockhart.
He got 4th years and 5th years too that day, all Ravenclaw and Gryffindor groups. There had been talk of adding a new class group to the schedule. Apparently, the coming years would see more students attending Hogwarts. As he made some notes on students and class progress in the DADA teacher's office, he was surprised to hear the floo. What he saw made his eyes widen and he instantly locked the door.
Standing there, was Hermione, dressed in the standard Hogwarts uniform — albeit only in name, what she brought was much too skimpy for any student to wear. Her robes were spread wide, showing off the short skirt and tight shirt, in front of which hung a black tie. She had an innocent look on her face, at least as innocent as she could still manage. He felt the urge to smirk at how she was biting her lip, but clearly, this was to be in character.
"Miss Granger," he said, clearing his throat and pretending to look for something on his desk. "I didn't expect you this evening. Is something wrong?"
"N-no professor… I mean, we left our earlier lesson unfinished."
"Unfinished?" Harry said with a grin. "As I recall you did finish. Several times even."
"But there was so much more to learn," she cooed, inching closer.
Harry lifted the side of her skirt, revealing silky black panties. "Perhaps it's best we review the course material again."
She pressed her breasts against his chest and looked up with a lustful grin. "You're the best, Professor Potter."
#
If he knew taking the job would get Hermione in a frenzy, he might have applied earlier. Well, not really, but it surely was a nice bonus. Things sort of went on at a Hogwarts pace. Those he remembered from before enjoyed pushing their newfound skills, and the news ones slowly acclimated to his way of teaching. Things weren't as tense with Neville as they had been after the bill. They had a bit of a reunion with him, cutting into their after-school activities.
It was the third year of his Assistant-Professorship and he was expected to complete his graduate project sooner rather than later. "I've had the worst luck with my gyrocacti," he said, looking exhausted. "They'll grow just fine and suddenly they start to die. Professor Sprout says it might be light or heat, but at this point I've tried nearly everything."
"I'm sure you'll figure it out," Hermione said. "You're brilliant at what you do."
Harry had somehow fell in with Flitwick and Slughorn as a teacher. He saw a lot of Hagrid, often going to visit him when they both had a free period. But usually he was busy with some or other magical creature. On a cloudless afternoon, he offered to go visit the hippogrif flock. Buckbeak was among them. Harry was looking forward to getting to fly on the winged creature again.
"E's a bit of a flock leader nowadays," Hagrid said proudly. "Keeps the other 'griffs in line an' happy."
"I'm sure being a war hero helps him with the ladies," Harry said.
"Sure does," Hagrid said, patting Harry on the back. "E's got a few of his own by now. The youngest took flight last year."
It was easy to spot which one Buckbeak was. With a pointed beak and a dash of dark feathers, he turned and squawked as he spotted Hagrid. The other hippogriffs were lounging in two groups behind him.
"Well, ye don't need 'ny introduction. Go say hello!"
"Hey, Buckbeak," Harry whispered to himself, stepping forwards into range.
The hippogriff blinked and closed a few steps. Harry bowed low and Buckbeak slowly bowed back.
"Tha's how you do it!" Hagrid cheered.
Harry went on gingerly, as he'd been taught. He went to stroke his wing. Suddenly, Buckbeak's eyes turned alert and in a quick motion, he flapped his wings and struck out with a three-pronged claw. Harry, in an effort to avoid the lunge, stepped back, hand on his wand. But it was too close. Looking to his arm, there was a long gash where the claws had hit. Buckbeak squawked loudly, flapping his wings again. There was a look of fear and alarm in the creature's eyes. Clearly he'd seen something that spooked him.
Hagrid darted forwards and bellowed: "BAD BUCKBEAK. BAD!"
He gave him a shove with his giant hand to his side and Buckbeak turned back to his flock, his eyes keeping Harry in sight.
"Crikey, are you all right, Harry?"
He grimaced, seeing the wound and frowned apologetically. "I'm sorry Harry, I dunno what happened. I think Buckbeak might be losin' his sight in his old age."
"It's okay, Hagrid. Just a scratch."
"You better go see Madam Pomfrey fer this. I'm sorry."
Harry nodded and held his bloodied arm. "I'll see you later, Hagrid."
He went straight for the hospital wing. As much as he hated it, he really didn't need yet another scar. A few students also with free time spotted him. This would surely add to his reputation, or notoriety. By tomorrow there would be a dozen stories making the rounds. Entering the wing, he saw Madam Pomfrey rummaging in a cupboard, while a girl sat on a nearby bed.
"Good afternoon," Harry called out.
An air of despair fell over her as soon as she saw him. "Well, of course it would happen," she said, walking up to him. "Hippogriff wound I see. How might that have happened?"
"I think Buckbeak is getting grumpy," Harry answered.
"That's quite the gash there, Professor Potter. We should get it cleaned immediately. Why don't you go sit on the bed next to Ms. Borgin over there?"
"Thank you," Harry said, going to sit on the bed. "Hello, Ms. Borgin."
The girl stared at his wound for an uncomfortable amount of time before she responded. "Hello, professor," she answered. He knew her fairly well. A sixth year Ravenclaw with bright blue eyes, wavy black hair and bushy eyebrows. She was one of his best students when it came to duelling, even three years ago, and she'd improved considerably.
Her hands, covered in a gelatinous salve, were marked with yellow boils. "Oh, that's a bad one," Harry said, recognising the symptoms. "It's never happened to me, but a friend of mine had a similar injury. Bubotuber pus?"
She gave an embarrassed nod and shifted on the bed.
"Here we are, then," Madam Pomfrey said, coming over with a vial of clear liquid. Harry held out his injured arm and she poured the liquid on the gashes, making them sizzle and knit up. "Not a peep, aye? Sad to see you get used to the painful treatments."
"I've had worse since," Harry said.
"I'm sure you have," Pomfrey sighed. She looked at the large clock in the middle of the ward and cursed. "Darn. I hate to leave a patient, but I have an errand I can't leave. Can you watch over Ms. Borgin for fifteen minutes?" She put a roll of bandages next to him on a tray. "Just a simple bandage to cover the salve for the young lady, could you do that?"
"It's no problem."
"Thank you. Once that's done, you're both good to go. You'll come by tomorrow for your murtlap essence treatment then?"
Harry nodded.
Pomfrey left with a thankful smile and went out the wing, so he was left with the quiet student. She definitely stood out, to him. There was something special about her he just couldn't put his finger on. "A shame about your hands," Harry said, making conversation. "You'll have to sit out duelling next week."
She nodded again, still seemingly embarrassed. Now Harry was wondering if she was hiding something. She at least seemed responsive in his classes. "Someone didn't do this to you, did they?"
"No, nobody did," she hurriedly answered. "I just got some and I was careless. I was trying to make it into a cream."
She was definitely lying, but why?
"Well, you don't look like you need it much."
She smiled and looked down at her hands again. "Is it time for the bandages yet?"
"Just about."
She held out her hands and Harry carefully wrapped them in the cotton, cutting at one end and applying a sticking charm to hold them in place. "All done."
Moving her hands slightly with a scrunched up face, she looked back up at him. "Thank you. I…"
"Yes?"
"Well, I just heard a rumour, and I wondered if it was true."
"What rumour?"
"Are you a Parseltongue, professor?"
Harry laughed. "I'm not. Disappointed?"
"No. I mean. I didn't think there were any left. It was just something I heard." She looked towards the exit. "Thank you again, Professor Potter."
"It's no trouble. I'll see you in class."
Harry now made it a point to deal with extracurricular matters on weekends. Hermione would bring him up to speed and he would have a drink with Mathilda and Alfred if possible. A plan for the new Wizard Prison was starting to form, put forward by Hermione in concert with Augusta Longbottom and Alpharius Greengrass.
He'd mentioned it a few times, but now it seemed that a real possibility that it would be built in the North York Moors. Relatively remote, and in a conspicuous location much different than Azkaban. If they played their cards right, the prison might even lead directly to the old Potter basement without the architects even having a clue. Another advantage, even though he had no idea how it might come in handy.
The Azkaban investigation was still in a deadlock, and while the response from the press was occasionally scathing, the people at large didn't really seem to care. The danger was slowly blowing over. Even a terrorist attack of that magnitude tended to disappear in the passage of time.
He eventually got to talking with Slughorn about the Slug Club, his pet project.
"Shame I didn't ride on the Express this year, but my old bones don't agree with sitting in one place for so long."
"Any remarkable students in it?" Harry asked.
"Mr. Dale, in seventh year. The most marvellous talent with a brush. I told him two years ago. Beauxbatons has a wonderful art program, but he said he would be too homesick. He'll make it big, mark my words."
"I've been helping him with his charm work. He's quite good," Flitwick added.
"But, Harry," Slughorn continued, "if you do happen to scout out any potential members, I'd be delighted to hear your opinion. We start our gatherings after Hallow'ene."
With it still being September, he had time enough to make up his mind. Mary Borgin instantly sprung to mind, but he wasn't sure he wanted to divulge too much about her.
"I will keep an eye out for you, Horace."
"Wonderful!"
#
Carlize stood down the hall from Chief O'Brien's office, nervously biting at her nails, still painted black from her cover assignment. Chief Auror and First Commander Hall Karsis was inside, talking about God knows what. They'd extracted and analysed Weasley's memories and proven them to be altered, so she wondered what was going on in there. They should have restored him and brought the facts to the table already. The assignment was a blight on her well-being. At this point she just wanted it to be over.
"What the fuck are they talking about?"
"I don't know," Mark said, "but he called us here right after this meeting for a reason."
"I don't like it. I swear if this is all going down the drain —"
"Shut up," Mark snapped. "We'll know soon enough."
Carlize sighed and brushed her hair behind her ears. She'd been sleeping like shit, and probably looked like shit. If this was the thing that killed her marriage she would probably go postal.
Chief Karsis came out a few minutes later, nodding his crooked jaw at them. They followed and went in behind him. He always lorded it over the other departments when he had the chance. With over one thousand men under his command, he pretty much ran the long arm of the Congress. He was a veteran of the Floridan Uprising, and he'd let you know any chance he got.
"Chief O'Brien has told me you've been doing some good work with our asset," he said. "Now we've confirmed Weasley's memories of the assault were fabricated, it gives us leverage against Potter. Like has been discussed before, the coincidence of him gaining political sway is a little too convenient with the recent deaths and disappearances. That being said, we still have no hard evidence, and if we are to push into the UK we'll need more than just a hunch."
Chief O'Brien butted in, puffing on a freshly lit cigar. "What Hall here is sayin' is that we're in a wait-and-see situation. Shevon contacted us again, with a warning. Now, before I go further I want you to consider a most interestin' offer."
She shared a look of relief and surprise with Mark. "What kind of offer, sir?" Mark asked.
"We would like you two to be UIAD liaisons in the operation to come," Karsis said.
"Operation?" she asked. "So something is happening?"
"Soon, agent Berkley. Soon," O'Brien said. "We have been assured by our contact with Wallaby that our manpower and skill will be required in the near future. Hence, me callin' in Hall for this. By the end of the month, we will have three hundred Aurors on call to respond to any political situations that might be arisin' as a result of our here investigation. I take it you would be game for such a task?"
"Yes, sir," they both responded.
Jeckyll O'Brien laughed and clapped Chief Karsis on the shoulder. "Well ain't this a grand old get-together?"
Chief Karsis nodded and turned to the both of them. "Weasley might need to be activated in a hurry. I trust you can do that?"
"I can, sir," Carlize said.
"Then I'll leave you to wait for my instructions."
Karsis shook O'Brien's hand and left with a superior salute. O'Brien's eyes narrowed when he left and a sly smile appeared on his face. "You two are gonna be my eyes and ears when this goes down. Am I making myself clear?"
"Of course, sir," Mark answered.
"Good," he growled, "you're both dismissed. Next time you hear from me will be when the fireworks are happenin'."
#
"It's a shame you're not coming."
"Harry, the department is juggling so many things. I can't take time off. And now I have to help weekends. Between that and the prison proposal, I don't have any time. I wish I had, but I don't."
"I know, I know," Harry sighed. "I know you're overburdened. We should do it when you have the time. I mean… it's Hogsmeade. Hogsmeade weekend."
"You really are getting into the teaching lifestyle then?" she said with a smile.
"Maybe, but I'm sure I'll change my mind about that."
They made coffee for breakfast and both had a cup. It was part of their changed morning ritual, very early in the morning. And it also gave them time to talk, something they were too mentally exhausted to do after work.
"So tell me how it's going," she prompted. "How's your first month of teaching, Professor?"
"It's going fine — and we don't have time for roleplaying."
"Anything of note happen?"
"Not really, apart from my sparring session with Buckbeak. I guess some animals just know, or maybe I'm reading too much into it. Oh… there was this girl in the hospital wing for bubotuber boils. Reminded me of those awful letters you were sent."
"And if only I'd been dating you, it might have been worth it," she said with a smile. "How did it happen?"
"Huh?"
"How did she get hurt, the girl? She must have pissed off some dedicated people. The price of bubotuber pus has tripled in the past five years."
"Didn't sound like someone did it to her," Harry answered. "Something about face cream, though I'm not sure she was telling the truth."
"And Frengis?"
Harry looked up at Hermione. He hadn't really thought about the Divination Professor much. "She's struggling with her position."
"And?" she prompted. "She's supposed to be this… Carlize's spy, right? Shouldn't we be worried?"
"You know I've been checking up on her," Harry said, taking a bite of eggs. "She spends most of her time in the Divination tower."
"But you're the one who was all paranoid about her getting the job! Maybe you should just try to figure out a way to find out what she's up to. She's going to be at Hogsmeade as well, isn't she?"
Harry was taken aback by her idea. "I mean, yeah, I guess I could. What, flash her a charming smile and invite her to Madam Puddifoot's?"
Hermione rolled her eyes. "Just take her to the Hog's Head for a drink or something. You won't be too busy with security, will you?"
"No. They just want me there in case something happens. And we both know that won't be the case."
"Then you have your work and I have mine, which is pouring over the plans for Blackmoor Prison and making sure the Acting Director doesn't have a stroke."
"All right," Harry sighed, and checked his watch. "Remind me to take a long vacation when this is all over. I can't stand to see you overworking yourself."
"If you want good weather we'll have to change hemispheres this winter," she smiled, and kissed him goodbye.
Harry floo'd into Hogwarts as soon as he finished his breakfast. The increased Hogsmeade outings had been a plus since the end of the War. Why shouldn't students enjoy their time now that the world was—for the most part—safe? He took some time to review his classes for next week and graded a pile of scrolls on Vampire lore.
They were mostly well done. All second-year students, and that had been their assignment. He never really understood the use of essays when it came to the Defense class. So as long as they didn't put blatantly wrong information in it, they passed. Any knowledge or plans would rarely survive contact with the enemy, especially those of the humanoid variety. They'd be better off following the Quidditch League so they'd have something to talk about if they ever met a vampire.
He gathered with the other teachers who would be chaperoning, and Horace, Pomona, Flitwick and Neville. Neville was acting as Gryffindor Head of House, ever since he'd started his apprenticeship. They sorted out the students and their permissions slips, who quickly dashed in the direction of the town. When that was done, Harry met up with Horace, Merissa and Eric Vildebrand, the Transfiguration Professor. They were all chosen to chaperone, and Harry would have to meet up with the Guards assigned to Hogsmeade.
"Shall we go ahead to the Three Broomsticks?" Horace said. "We'll keep you a seat."
"I have to pick up an order at Scrivenshaft's, but we can meet up there," Eric answered.
"We're not supposed to keep an eye on the students?" Merissa asked, looking between Horace and Harry.
"You could come along with me," Harry said, seizing the opportunity. "Have you visited Hogsmeade before?"
"Not really," she answered. "Is it all right if we meet up with you later, Professor Slughorn?"
"Of course, I'll see you later then!"
Horace and Eric both took off.
"Thank you," Merissa said, "I don't have anything against him, but Slughorn can be a little much sometimes."
"I'm sure you'll get used to him eventually," Harry smiled back. "I'll have to quickly meet up with the Azkaban Guard stationed here… Come to think of it, they probably should change that name."
They entered Hogsmeade, among the cries of students entering Honeydukes eager to resupply on sweets. Harry made straight for the hill overlooking the Shrieking Shack. Two Guards stood together with two more joining them. When they noticed Harry, they snapped at attention and the shorter of the four stepped forwards.
"Auror Potter, sir," he said with a v-sign over his chest. "Everything seems to be in order."
Harry nodded and made the v-sign in return. "Have one team of two placed at the roads leading into Hogsmeade. The two others will patrol the town. Don't interfere too much. If you see anything suspicious, investigate like you've been taught. If anything happens," Harry nodded towards the rings on their hands, "my beacon will let me know and I'll be right there."
"Anything else, sir?"
"If things calm down later in the day, I'll have you alternating taking breaks. Other than that, keep your eyes open. If I can't be reached for some reason, Professors Slughorn and Vildebrand are here, and they'll know what to do."
The man nodded. "It's a pleasure working with you, sir."
"My pleasure," Harry said, turning back to Merissa, who was standing a few feet behind. She had a curious look on her face.
"Did you want to meet up with Horace straight away?"
"I'd love to have a tour first," she said, shaking her head.
"All right. Behind me's the Shrieking Shack, which as far as I know is not haunted."
"Oh, I know."
"You do?"
"Yes," she answered, looking out to the dilapidated house. "I was staying here in Hogsmeade for my interview. Some neighbours asked me if I could find out if it was haunted, and… well it is my job, so I accepted."
"So you are familiar with Hogsmeade?"
She wrung her hands around her large and varied rings, and took a deep breath. "I would like to clear the air. About the reason I am here at this school."
Harry was surprised and on edge. About her coming out with this now, and about her having seemingly ulterior motives. In every interaction, she'd just seemed overwhelmed. So was there really something to worry about?
"We'll go to the Hog's—"
"It's closed," she interrupted. "We'll have tea at Madam Puddifoot's."
"Fine," Harry said after a moment of deliberation. It's not like there was any romance in the air anyway.
She entered the brightly pink establishment ahead of him. Some students tried to hide from them as they entered, probably not wanting the Professors to know what was going on in their love lives. Merissa found a corner table and they took a seat. Did she just want a private talk in a public place because she was afraid? She ordered some tea, and so did Harry. No pastries at least.
"I was sent here to find things out about you," she said matter-of-factly. "At least that was Carlize's goal in getting me this job."
"Why?"
"Because you're an important person?" she shrugged. "I don't know what she was expecting, I wasn't told why to come here, just to find out as much as I could about you."
"And you don't think telling me this will ruin your chances to spy on me?"
She laughed nervously and smiled at the aged owner bringing them tea. "Spying might be why Carlize sent me here, but that's not my purpose."
"You know, the problem with you seer types is nobody ever knows what you're bloody talking about. So, in plain English, I'd like to know what you've been doing here for the past month, looking into me as you say."
"I wasn't told much," she answered, pinging her rings against her cup. "I'm supposed to find any information that would give the MACUSA leverage over you, anything they could use to have a hand in Magical Britain's politics. It seems they've been wanting to get influence here, and are interested in you. But all of that doesn't matter, because I won't have to do that."
"You won't?"
"No. Because it won't come to pass. Pluto hangs over this country, over you."
"Well congratulations," Harry said with a frown, "you've finally reached Trelawney's level. Took you a month, but you finally predicted my death."
"Nobody ever believes me," she said, forcing a smile. "But I'm used to it by now. I'd like to read your future. Your hand?"
"I don't think I want that," Harry said sipping his tea. Still she held out her hand.
He had come to hate prophecy, divination and anything to do with it. He didn't trust this Merissa in the slightest, but then why was he here? She hadn't found out anything about them, about the terrible things they did. The truth that would be their end if it was ever found out.
"Please?" she asked.
Still after all she said, he could sense no malice in her, no sign that she would use this against him somehow. She was the one giving him information. Harry held out his hand. She took it and looked at it intently, focusing on the creases and calluses. The sweet air in the tea shop seemed to grow thicker, vapours and smells floating around them like syrup. The surrounding chatter dimmed and for a second, the hue of the interior light shifted. Her brown eyes glazed over and she traced several lines on his palm. "Solstice," she whispered in a hazy voice.
She seemed to come out of her trance, letting go of his hand. The chatter returned and Harry wondered if he'd dreamed it all, or if it was some trick. "I confirmed it," she said. "That there is death in your future, Harry Potter."
"Of course there is," Harry sighed. "And what, you're here to help me? Why are you telling me this?"
"Because I am meant to!" she snapped. "I don't have a choice coming here at Hogwarts, and I don't have a choice in telling you all this. It's what's meant to happen." Her breath was shaky as she composed herself. "Tell me you want to know, and I'll tell you."
"Tell me."
She leaned forward, and he did instinctively as well. She said in a soft voice: "Three people will betray you. When the sun is at its furthest from where we are. That is what you need to know. That is what I had to tell you."
"Betray me how? Who will?"
"I don't know more, and that's not my place."
She leaned back, looking nervous and uncertain.
"You come here speaking of betrayal and predict my death, and you expect me to—believe you and what then?"
Standing up from her cushioned chair, she put her shawl back on. "I don't expect you to believe me. You won't. But I did what I had to. I'd appreciate if we don't talk of this again."
She took two sickles from her purse and placed them on the table. "I never got to thank you for telling me about the shortcut to the divination classroom. So, thank you."
Harry was left in the shop thinking over the strange encounter. Something had happened, that's what he thought. But the more he sat there, the more it seemed like he'd just witnessed the eccentricities of a Diviner. She was under a lot of pressure, had a task from Carlize to spy on him, so she just made something up to deal with it. Did she? It was all nonsense anyway, right? If she really did know the future, she would have known about Azkaban, and Harry would already be facing the wands of every outraged wizard at the Ministry.
#
There were a lot more practical lessons coming up mid-October. So the lectures, interspersed with demonstrations, gave way to duelling lessons and wand work. Mary Borgin's hand had healed and she outshone most of her 6th year Gryffindor-Slytherin class. The day finished, he was up in his office, and saw he'd forgotten his request for a live grindylow in the teacher's lounge.
He was always keeping an eye out. Sometimes he would spot two figures in a broom cupboard in the later hours, which he deliberately ignored. However, that evening, he spotted a red outline in one of the transfiguration classrooms. Students weren't supposed to use classrooms past hours, so he got curious. He opened the door. A boy was sitting at the far end, in front of an easel and canvas. The moving picture was striking. A sight of the lake, a poplar blowing in the wind as the water rippled, and in the distance the tentacles of the giant squid. It was so lifelike he had to shake himself out of a stupor.
The student seemed unperturbed, the tip of his brush adding to the foliage on the banks, stroke by stroke. Finally noticing him, he turned. "Professor Potter? I have permission from Professor Flitwick, you can ask him."
"I wouldn't want to stop you either way. Seth Dale, right?"
"Yes, professor," he answered.
"It's really beautiful," Harry said, coming closer. "You've been doing this long?"
"Er, yes. I—hold on."
Dale stood up and put his palette down on a desk. He went to a large cupboard and opened it. It was stacked with paintings. "Here, I'll show you," he said taking a large landscape painting of Hogwarts, framed from somewhere around the Forbidden Forest.
"Amazing. I didn't want to disturb you, but do you mind if I take a look?" Harry said, pointing to the cupboard.
Dale shook his head and returned to his stool while Harry looked through the paintings, careful not to damage them. There were about two dozen of them. Portraits, forests, even one of what had to be a quidditch match. Every one of them flowed with life. It's like he was being drawn in every time he looked at one. When he got to the last one, he raised an eyebrow. It was a painting of a forest in flames, being devoured by an inferno. Harry swore he could feel the heat radiating from it, so intense were the flames in the painting. Blasts, cinder, and wood creaking under the heat.
When Harry looked back, Dale was packing up. He must have lost track of time. "I like this one," Harry said.
"Oh," Dale said with a frown. "Oh, yeah, I—it's kind of one of the first I made." He went to stand beside Harry. "There was a fire near where we lived. We just barely got out of our home, and everything burned down. It just really stuck with me, how the flames seemed to be alive."
"When was this?"
"May 3rd, 1998."
Harry put the painting back with the rest and smiled at Dale. "I can't help but think it's a happy coincidence that we met now. See, I've been thinking of commissioning something for myself. Have you ever done any sculpting?"
Dale smiled back in surprise. "Er… yes, I have. Clay and sandstone."
#
It wasn't too hard to convince McGonagall to give floo access to a talented student. He got a letter on the 19th of October, one which he couldn't help but smile at. Luna had taken the request for a grindylow and was going to deliver it. Harry got to visit Neville to tell him the good news and they would meet up in his office.
Harry went to meet her on the day of the delivery. She had portkeyed into Hogsmeade with the large water tank containing the energetic little creature. She greeted him with a hug and smiled. "I took a more healthy one," she said. "It's a good thing it's thick glass."
The grindylow swam forwards and bit at the glass, making loud pings.
"Brilliant," Harry said. "Thanks for doing this."
"I like visiting Hogwarts," she said with a shrug.
"Right, well, let's get this set up," Harry said, levitating the tank.
They had to move slowly so that it wouldn't slosh too much and tip over.
"How is being a teacher?" she asked.
"It's fun, in a way. It's a lot easier talking about dark creatures when you've actually seen them. Hence, this little one."
"Even when you were in school, you were very good. Now being an Auror for so much time… Your students are very lucky."
"Well, it's easy when you're just stepping in. Doing this every year for years. It's not for me."
"I guess Neville is more suited to it. He's very good at scolding."
They both sniggered, knowing how true it was. Neville really had taken the mantle of teacher very well. It was now becoming hard not to see him as a teacher. They went to the classroom and put it inside. Harry took the blanket he'd readied and threw it over the tank, knowing it would calm down the creature. Luna was standing next to a practice dummy, looking like a rain cloud had just dropped over their meeting.
Coming closer, Harry could see tears glint in the corner of her eyes. She turned to face him with wavering determination. "I went to visit Ron," she said.
"Oh?"
"I didn't believe it… that he would hurt Hermione like that. So I did a lot of thinking. And I decided to go over to New York. I asked him about what happened."
"And what did he tell you?"
Her arm was trembling, holding her wand. "He was convinced of what he did, haunted by it. So I told him it would be good… if he could show someone, and share it."
Harry's eyes narrowed, the annoyance of Ron's mention niggling at his brain. And in her voice and in her eyes and in the beating of her heart there was only one possible conclusion he could draw. She knew about what they had done. Harry's temper rose, thinking how this could crash everything he'd built.
"Go on," he said.
"Did you do it?" she asked. "Did you alter his memories? Was he right? Did you really change into… something?"
"Is that really a way to talk about a friend?" he asked. "Something?"
"Are you still… my friend?"
Harry smiled unrestrained, letting the mask slip and feeling the world around him breathe. Luna responded with fear, much like Buckbeak had. Her eyes went wide and her entire body shook. "Did you tell anyone?" he asked. "I'd rather not have to find out on my own."
She slowly shook her head. Harry was waiting for it, that reptilian response, the barbs of fear telling her mind and body what to do. Her wand shot up and Harry sidestepped her hex, two fingers coming to rest on his shoulder. Iron tendrils shot up from the stone and bound Luna's arms and legs like growing black vines. It twisted and tightened, until her hand opened and her wand fell to the floor. Despite everything happening, she didn't scream.
"To answer your question, I'd still like to think of you as my friend," he said, unbuttoning his shirt.
He parted it to show the scar, and further to show the red-etched rune in his shoulder. "Ron was right, but he couldn't leave it alone. I have changed. And to tell you the truth, I'm tired of wearing this facade. One day, maybe, I'll be able to show what I've become, but for today, it's just you."
Harry stepped closer to her. She was being very brave, still looking at him, and not screaming in fear. "Why didn't you tell anyone, Luna?"
Her breathing was ragged as she answered, her lip trembling. "Because… Because…"
She looked resigned. As if knowing this would be her last moment, and still facing it with open eyes. Anyone sane would have cried out for help, turned away, plead, given up.
"You walked into danger knowingly?"
She nodded, and her fists balled up with the tension of her admission. She must have been more in pain than she let on. There were a dozen ways she could have acted on it. So many ways out, magical or not, if she really wanted to.
"Why me?" he asked. "I can't help but think you want me to talk you out of it. Or talk myself out of it, as it is."
"I didn't think that far ahead," she answered.
Harry laughed and bent down to pick up her wand. The tendrils around her arms shrunk back so she could move them. He held out her wand to her left hand. She took it.
"I think you were being hasty, and I don't think I'm okay with letting you die." He held out his right hand for her to take, and that too, she did. She was unbound from her iron restraints. "I think you should make a vow to me. That you'll live and protect my secrets. Would you do that, even though I've deceived Ron?"
"I don't want to live," she said. "Neville has moved on. My father is dead. Ginny is with the Harpies. Even Ron has a girlfriend. I don't have anything."
Harry pulled on her hand, bringing her closer, letting his tone slip to a whisper: "Ginny hasn't moved on. I think you'd be surprised at how many people haven't."
"She hasn't?"
Harry shook his head, finally realising why her despair had brought her here. Why did people rely on him, even though he had turned into something so commonly called 'twisted'? "She hasn't," he said.
"What now?" she asked, a bead of sweat dripping down her temple. Her eyes looking for something… anything, maybe.
"Now you become one of us."
Harry pointed his wand where their hands met. A swirl of magic erupted from their palms, enveloping their hands and arm. "Swear it," he said, looking at her with a commanding gaze.
"I… Luna Lovegood… swear to live, and to keep Harry Potter's secrets."
The magic swirled back to their hands and with a searing pain the vow was sealed. Harry let out a sigh. He was glad how this had gone down, how happenstance had brought another into the fold. So much for betrayal.
"Well then," he smiled. "Let's go have tea with Neville."