Disclaimer: Yes I know I've been neglecting my other stuff, please forgive me! I had to get these out of my system! Well, anyways, Harry Potter doesn't belong to me, don't sue! Updated Version: 13 November, 2004

In the Quiet Seclusion

Chapter Two

Coming Home

Within moments he found himself following the malevolent figure of his potions professor. He couldn't count the times he had seen this scene played out before. As he watched folds of billowing black cloth he found that he still wondered if Snape used a special charm for effect.

Snape? When had he changed from Severus? He chanced a look around him as they ascended a flight of stairs. It seemed as if he had stepped back into another time. He was eleven years old again, following the vile, greasy, potion professor to another undeserved detention. The shadows played strange games on the walls, distorting what he knew to be there, tricking him into seeing what wasn't.

What was that? Was it really the wind, or was it one of the ghosts? Did he really want to know? A chill swept by and he shivered, clutching his jacket closer to him. Was it colder than before? He wrinkled his nose; his mind playing tricks on him more than likely.

They rounded a corner coming face to face with Filch, the caretaker who looked after the castle. Harry could hear a low meow, which resembled the cat's version of an evil roar. Sure enough when he glanced down he saw Mr. Norris sitting as still as a statue, staring at him with chilling amber eyes. Refocusing on Filch he almost grimaced at the wicked smile he wore.

"What's this we 'ave now, professor? A trespasser I warrant! Ah, Mr. Potter" Here he got right up into Harry's face, looking him in the eye, and smiling grimly." You always were one of the more rotten lot" Harry couldn't help but notice all the rotting, broken teeth that leered at him from Argus' lips. He suddenly felt nauseous. "We'll have you in the dungeons, lad" He smiled nastily again, giving Harry the sneaking sensation that he wouldn't ever want to be in the same room alone with this man. Especially if he had reason to be…displeased with him.

"No, Argus, Mr. Potter is not to be kept in the dungeons. I am taking him to see the Headmaster about filling the Defense opening."

It was hard to tell who was more disappointed, Filch or Mrs. Norris. "This early in the mo'nin'? No muggle or wizard in their right mind would be up at this hour!" He stared at them both suspiciously, more so Harry than Snape.

"Which leads to the interesting question of what you are doing up at such an unorthodox hour? At any rate, yes, well, the Headmaster's sanity has been the focus of much scrutiny over the past hundred or so years. And it will continue to be so for many more. Good day, Argus."

"Good day, professor. Potter."

"Filch." Willing himself not to look behind him as they continued on their trek to Albus's office, Harry could still feel Filch's nasty look following him down the corridor, and through a thick door.

Harry followed the professor through more corridors, past sleeping portraits and dozing suits of armor. He absent-mindedly wondered if anything had changed since he had left. They passed through a one particular door and Harry felt as if he had walked into a room filled with bees. The room was humming with magic. It was thick, almost as much as it had been by the gate. He knew it was a detection spell, and tracing the signature, wasn't surprised to find it was the Headmaster's. If this was just a detection charm, years old, Harry began to wonder what he would experience when he actually met the man.

At long last they came face to face with the gargoyle that had guarded the office to the Headmaster's office for centuries.

"Sugar plum fairy." Harry's eyes flitted to his former professor's face, which looked as if it pained him to say the three words.

"Sugar plum fairy?" He questioned as they ascended the stairs.

The professor sniffed disdainfully. "Headmaster Dumbledore has taken a decided liking to the character, since the Ravenclaws and Hufflepuffs put on the ballet last term." Snape looked even more sinister as he continued; "I believe last week was a rendition of the actual dance."

"You did ballet to get into his office?!" Harry could feel tremors of mirth about to explode inside of him, but bit the inside of his lip. But the mental images were too many, and his will power too little. He hastily feigned a coughing fit.

"For Merlin's sake, Potter, have a little more subtly."

Harry immediately sobered at the icy cold tones, but knew he wasn't going to forget any of the images he had conjured in his mind any time soon. Harry watched, as Snape was about to knock on the door when a muffled voice came drifting out.

"Come in, Severus, Harry."

The door opened of it's own accord but Harry felt the breath of fresh magic like ice water at four in the morning. They both walked in, shut the door, and advanced toward the office.

Fawkes was dozing by the window, his magnificent plumes in their prime. As Harry entered the room he blinked sleepily before giving a chirp and coming to land on his shoulder. Nuzzling his cheek for a moment he cocked his head at the potions professor who had been watching the scene with mild irritation.

After a moments debate he gave another chirp, less enthusiastic, but recognition all the same. After the moment had passed Fawkes flew back to his perch next to Dumbledore and the two guests also took their seats.

"Tea?" Harry braced himself as he turned to look him eye to eye, he hadn't forgotten his lessons in legilimency.

"Yes professor." He croaked, regarding the amusement that was hidden in the swirls of blue.

"Albus, I've brought Mr. Potter to see about the open Defence job. In the likely hood, I am again rejected, I would appreciate it if you at least hired someone who is-

"Competent?" Harry finished with an amused look.

Snape glared at him, but Harry was no longer paying any attention.

"Headmaster, I've been without a job for quite some time, and we both know I have done well enough on my N.E.W.T.s and O.W.L.s to fill several positions."

"Yes," the old mage acknowledged.

"But by all means, take time to think about it before you just hire me, I want the job because of my capabilities, not my name."

Snape sounded as though he had choked on something, but shifting his gaze Harry saw him take a sip of tea and look pointedly at the far wall.

"Albus, I have to attend to some things." The headmaster nodded his head, still staring at Harry through his spectacles.

Harry, who had been studying the potions professor, returned his gaze to observe the Headmaster carefully.

He didn't do, or say much for a few minutes other than take a sip from his tea and run a hand absentmindedly over Fawkes' feathers. Harry could feel his tension mount inside of him, slipping into the air about them. The room was quiet except for the sound of their slow, quiet breathing. Muffled by the wall he could hear the silver instruments whirr and chime with precision. It was calming, somehow and listening to the irregularity of it all found himself quite relaxed. He watched, detached, as the dawning sun moved across the rich oak desk, illuminating the portraits of all the past Headmaster's. All were of course sleeping, their heads nodding with each small snore, but Harry knew better than that. He could see a Hufflepuff's eyes flutter open and then shut every now and then. As he scanned the room, he almost jumped in surprise as he met the eyes of a very much awake Salazar Slytherin. The two eyed each other for a moment before Dumbledore's voice interrupted their mutual curiosity.

"Lemon Drop?" he asked. Harry quietly accepted, long used to the Headmaster's odd ways.

"Why do you want the position in question, Harry?"

Harry thought about that for a moment. In truth he wasn't at all quite sure about why he wanted the job. Did he even want the job? He mentally argued with himself, weighing the pros and cons of each potential answer. Perhaps he did want the job, if only for proving to himself that in the eyes of so many children, there would be hope for the future. Maybe he could make a positive impact on the students he taught. All great enemies, after all, started as troubled children. Maybe, just maybe he could prevent another Tom Riddle.

He chewed his bottom lip, mulling over that thought. What if he failed? What if another child, much like Tom, ascended into such power that he would try to ravage chaos. What if this time, there was no Savior to come to the aid of wizards or muggles?

He signed wearily, his vision drifting to the open window from which he could see the sun, steadily rising. Why did he care? If there were a Savior, he would have to go through the same expectations he had had to go through. Harry pitied the boy or man, maybe even girl who had to face that fate. But then again, that Savior would be stronger than he was. Strong enough to carry the weight of the world on his shoulders when Harry himself ceased to exist.

Finally, after tracing the shadowed lines on the desk before he glanced up and gave a sad smile.

"Hope."

Albus echoed the word with a thoughtful look on his face, his blue eyes far away for a moment. He stood suddenly if a bit stiffly, and Harry followed suit, he extended his hand and Harry grasped it somewhat reluctantly.

"Welcome to Hogwarts, Professor Potter."

"Thank you, Headmaster, yet I believe the title will take a little getting used to."

"Oh?"

"Well, of course! It is going to be a bit odd."

"Hmmm, well I'm sure you know where you're class room is, Harry, if you'll wait a moment I'll send Dobby to show you to your quarters."

"Thank you, Headmaster." Harry replaced his cap which he had been unconsciously wringing and heaved a sigh. He was actually going to be a professor.

Within moments, Dobby appeared with a loud 'pop' and was briefed on his duties.

"Dobby is happy to be of service to Master Harry Potter he is, sirs, Dobby is SO happy to see Master Harry Potter, Dobby will do anything for Harry Potter sir if he should be needing it!" Huge, fat drops of tears were leaking from his tennis ball sized eyes and he kept blowing his nose with one of Hermione's ugly green hats.

To be described as ecstatic would be a severe understatement.

Harry followed Dobby deep into the heart of the castle, stopping when he came face to face with an oil painting of a Griffin.

Climbing through the portrait hole he silently thanked Albus for giving him a relatively normal portrait for his quarters. In all actuality as long as he didn't have an intoxicated knight he was fine with just about any -thing or one occupying the canvas in front of his rooms. Whispering a simple illumination spell, Mark noted he had been provided the bare necessities.

A desk was by the far wall, a few bookshelves were on his right, and through one of two doors on his left he could see the corner of an armoire and a rug. He felt a slight chill and casting a warming charm he investigated his newest home. It seemed a bit nostalgic to be here, in the very same place he had first ever known a home, and consider it his first.

Following the hallway on his right, next to the bookshelves he found an empty room with a visible layer of dust on the floor. A blank canvas hung on the far wall and with a wave of his hand a landscape appeared with a raven flying in the backround. Conjuring a comfortable high back chair, he reclined, grateful for the peaceful silence. To be expected, it didn't last.

With a small 'pop' Dobby appeared in the room. "Master Harry Potter sir, the professor Snape wishes to enter."

Harry looked up, his eyes clouded by thought. It passed for a moment and he nodded his head, straitening his robes and making a gesture with his hand. "Let him in."

He could hear the portrait door swing open and soft footsteps approaching at an even pace. "In here, Severus." He heard the steps pause before slowly coming toward the closed door.

The older professor paused when he entered, casting a disdainful look around the room before his glittering black eyes came to rest on Harry. "The Headmaster sent me to tell you that breakfast is at six this morning, if you were hungry, Harry." He sneered.

"Thank you, Severus. Will you join me?" He waved his wand, conjuring up another chair next to his own.

"I think not, Potter, I have work to do."

"Of course, hour could have escaped me that one such as you doesn't need sleep. You see, Severus, there are two types of people. Those who would have sat down, and those who have 'work to do' no matter the hour." Harry stood up, placing his wand into the folds of his cloak. "Ah well, perhaps at another time?"

"Perhaps." And with that the sable robes were gone.

Later that morning, at eight o'clock, Albus' head appeared, sticking out of the fireplace smiling cheerfully.

"Ah, good to see you're awake! I just came to tell you that: staff meetings will be on Mondays and Wednesdays in the teachers lounge at six sharp, your Syllables is due by July seventh, and you already know when meals take place, ah yes! The new password for my office is 'Mars Bar'. How are you adjusting?"

Harry had previously sent a house elf to bring him a cup of coffee, and was now leaning against the desk sipping it whilst taking in how unabatedly cheerful the older wizard was despite the fact that they were most likely the only two conscious wizards in the castle. If not the entire solar system.

"Fine, thanks, and yourself? Need I ask?" He tacked on with a slight curl of his lip. He hid his smirk by taking another sip from his steaming mug. "Care to join me? It's quite disconcerting to talk to a head in a fireplace while trying to put together one coherent thought"

"Oh I wouldn't want to infringe…"

"Albus", he began dryly, "there isn't a soul in the whole of Hogwarts, if indeed the world, that is fit to put two words together civilly for you other than myself, I suggest you, and your flaming bird come down here. That is, before I permanently close my end of the floo network under sympathy of my sanity." From behind closed eyes Harry could hear the Headmaster chuckle before the flames in his furnace roared, and blinking back the sleep that lingered in his eyes, he saw the Headmaster and Fawkes occupying his "living room".

"You know, you're starting to sound like Severus."

Harry gave him a sour look, "Please, Albus, it's too early to be insulted. Would you like some tea? Biscuits?" he coughed, "lemon drop?"

"Now, Harry," he admonished.

"I know, Severus is loyal to the Order and to you. He is trustworthy and only bitter because of the life he had lived. He deserves more credit, too be commended, and not questioned and ridiculed and scorned. Is that about right, professor?" He said with a small, lifeless smile.

"Well that, and: I never have lemon drops before eight o'clock, but peppermints! Now that is another thing. I remember when I was younger my great uncle Sebastion, on my mother's side…" Harry cleared his throat, motioning to a cup of tea that had appeared before Albus. "What-? Oh! How splendid!" He took a sip, held it there for a minute and smelling it with a smile bordering somewhere between 'delighted' and 'insane'. Swallowing he gave Harry a smile, "And it's peppermint too!" Harry decided on 'insane'.

It wasn't until well after breakfast that the Headmaster finally took his leave, waving a cheerful goodbye as the floo powder took effect.

Waving the empty dishes and silver ware away, Harry thought it might be wise to begin dressing more like a wizard and less like an escape from the muggle prison Alcatraz.

Pulling out his patched duffel bag he pulled out his old school robes, he hadn't grown much since his seventh year so he didn't need to make any size adjustments. With a simple spell he took away the Griffindor emblem, and with another charm he changed the actual design of them. Levitating it he stepped back to look over his handiwork, and once satisfied he dressed, and left the castle. Once outside the cast iron gates he waved his wand and was at once transported to Diagon Alley.

The smoke cleared and he deduced that he was only a few blocks away from a respectable robe shop. Passing by various shops he stopped every now and then to enter and purchase a few necessities. Finally reaching the robe shop he entered, noting the bell that tinkled as it swung open.

Various robes of different colours and styles decorated the front room like a Christmas window shop, displaying sets, doubles and singular outfits. Three rooms branched off and he could see people milling in and out of each, browsing the racks and books that were charmed to speak and give advice.

Finally a woman, old and wrinkled with almond eyes spotted him and limped over, leaning on an ornate cane with her left hand, and holding a drab robe in the other. She smiled and ushered him over to the last of the three rooms were he saw different sections split up for each of the shop's helpers, the area he was directed to had three large mirrors around a wooden box. He was told to take off his robe, and replace it with the grey one she provided and to stand on the box. He did as instructed and answered her questions as they came.

"Color?" Her voice had a raspy quality as if she had at some time in her life swallowed sandpape.

"Black." She waved her wand twice in circular motions and his robe shimmered once and changed colour.

"Collar?"

"Yes, mid line, and no fancy renaissance cut either, if you don't mind."

"Length? What is your job description?"

"Full, but not a bit more. I'm the new defense professor at Hogwarts." He watched his reflection in the mirror as she waved her wand and grey mist swirled about him form, altering the small, black robes into a length that brushed his boots. Satisfied, he nodded for her to continue.

"Material?"

"Spell Weave," he answered quickly, chancing a look at her wizened face to read her expression. "You do have it, do you not?"

She studied his face and seemed to forget she was holding the spell that retained the image of his desired robes.

"Yes, but it is extremely rare, and therefore expensive."

"Of course." He knew how rare it was, and he also knew the benefits. It was light to wear and stronger than any metal, therefore the perfect shield against attacks. Spells were also woven into the fabric when it is first made, and the dyes are mixed with potions to protect against poisonous concoctions, jinxs, curses, and even some pranks.

They continued the fitting for a few minutes longer, careful to get each detail taken care of before he ordered it.

"How many would you like to order?" She asked after jotting down his specific measurements and styles.

"Three," Harry said, signing the form she handed him. "I'll pay on sight."

She nodded and filed the form in a drawer under the letter 'P'. "They will be ready in seven days."

Leaving the shop he entered another, cheaper, shop a few streets down and bought a few cheap robes to wear until his new ones came in. He only bought four: one grey, one black, one dark blue, and one emerald green. Escaping into the restroom he changed into the grey robes, wanting to keep as low a profile as possible.

With his other things shrunk and inserted into his pockets he headed down a less traveled road into the darker corners of Diagon Alley. In fact he was no longer in Diagon Alley, but in fact in 'Pearson Alley'. He passed by several run down, dusty shops before finally coming to a stop at 'Dragon's Bane: Vials and Potions'. Stepping inside he noted with a curl of his lip, there was no bell on this shop's door.

Walking through the shop lazily he levitated a few ingredients and bottles as he came by them, making sure each was what he wanted. He passed by a wooden box that seemed strangely out of place among the glass vials and bottles. Drawing closer he opened the lid warily, inwardly smiling at his own nervousness when he saw it was only powdered snake skins.

Passing through the rest of the shop he picked up what he needed, and some of what he didn't but might should the need arise. Noticing a table set off to one side behind the counter he rang the bell that hung mid air. A bent, troubled looking man appeared from the back room and approached the front counter, eyeing Harry with interest.

"Yes?" his raspy voice questioned, while his beady eyes sifted through what Harry had set on the counter top. "Is this all?"

"No, I would also like to purchase that potion, there," he pointed at the conspicuous table behind the man. The potion he had pointed at was a murky green, almost black, held within an ornate vial. The man's eyes widened ever so slightly and he scratched the nape of his neck uneasily.

"It is my last batch, it is very expensive to produce."

"Do not lie to me, shop keeper, I know for a fact that it is almost as cheap as the dust that covers it. But I too know, that it is the most poisonous of the batch behind you. I will pay you three galleons."

"Yes, sir," he answered, eyes darting around at the rest of what he had chosen.

Once it was paid for and shrunk away into his inner pockets, Mark thanked the man and took his leave. As the door shut behind him he almost smiled when he heard the faint 'jingle' as the door shut.

Heading back into Diagon Alley he paused when the glinting of a dagger caught his eyes. He turned and looked closer at the object in the window in fascination.

Twin daggers were set on black velvet, the light reflected off their pristine blades. Entering the shop he bought both and their finely crafted sheaths. It was a high price, but for these he might have spent even more.

Holding them his hands he felt the coolness of their white ivory hilts, and the deadly sharpness of their blades on his fingers. The sheaths of each blade were designed to be hidden within the folds of one's cloak or robes. The perfect assassins weapon.

Later that night, resting in a large armchair he had spelled for the living room he mulled over everything he had done and still needed to do. There was still the syllabus he needed to construct, that due to his late employment gave him not very much time to do.

When he had first returned he had gone on a hunt through the various abandoned classrooms and corridors for mismatched objects he could use or transfigure into household objects. His new home was now finely furnished with all sorts of furniture and he had even turned one room into a kitchen. A table not to far from the fireplace was already littered with papers. Bank statements for his reentry into the wizarding world; birth certificates, to prove it was really him; and the syllabuses for the first and second years thankfully completed.

Leaning back, he closed his eyes, thankful that after over twenty hours of semi-consciousness, he could finally go to sleep.