Chapter 2: The Meeting
As was now becoming customary, Harry did not spend much time at the Dursley's house last summer. For some reason, Uncle Vernon found it appropriate to not bother repairing his boarded-up fireplace, which Mr. Weasely had entered two years ago via Flu Powder. Maybe he didn't want to spend his hard-earned money. Maybe he was just lazy.
Or maybe he was afraid.
In any case, it wasn't long before Mr. Weasley again visited Number Four, Privet Drive again, in the same manner as before. This had been Harry's shortest visit yet (only a couple of days!), and Mr. Weasley had again brought Harry back to the Burrow.
The three friends were walking down the long corridor to what had been Professor Dumbledore's office, now in the possession of Professor Magonagle. After not too long, they reached the massive, gargoyle-guarded door.
"Sugar Snaps," said Professor McGonagall. Apparently, candy for passwords had become a theme as of late.
The four of them walked into the room. "Take a seat, Potter. You two," she said, gesturing toward Hermione and Ron, "are welcome to stay, however I am sorry to say that I have no extra chairs."
Harry sat down in the chair opposite Professor McGonagall's desk, while his two friends remained standing.
"Well then, let us begin," she said, cheerfully. Harry couldn't help but wonder if this cheerfulness was feigned. "Proud of you though I am, Potter, for deciding to nix the last year of your education for, shall we say, 'higher callings,' I can't help but be disappointed. In fact, I would have thought that you would have taken a better route."
"What do you mean, Professor?" Harry stammered.
"Simply this, Potter," replied McGonagall. "Has it never occurred to you that you need much more training and learning before you go out to face Voldemort? I'm afraid that, had Albus been alive today, he would have also been very disappointed in you."
Harry hung his head. He had nothing to say.
"Anyway, Potter, I think I may have a better idea." Harry looked up, hopefully. "I suggest that you begin an intensive study program in Defense Against the Dark Arts. Naturally, you are already a graduate, so the supervising teacher would obviously not get paid for such an undertaking—"
"But who IS the supervising professor?" Harry had interrupted her, now getting utterly excited. He had not thought he would be able to study just one class. It just so happened, that, much to Harry's delight, this class also happened to be his favorite.
"Why, Professor Lupin, naturally," she replied. Harry was ecstatic. Not only would he be taking his favorite class, but he would be studying under his favorite teacher. Harry allowed her to continue.
"You will be allowed to stay with your fellow Griffindors while studying as, of course, you will do so here. I cannot afford to not have you under the protection of Hogwarts until after you have completed your training, of course.
"Moreover, after you complete your duties, I have been instructed to offer you this position as Professor of Defense against the Dark Arts."
Harry was, once again, speechless. He, Harry, a Hogwarts teacher! But it was too good to be true, and he knew it. "But Professor, who instructed you to—"
"I did!" said a familiar voice. Harry's heart leapt within his chest. He wheeled around to see…no one. "B-but Pro-professor," Harry stuttered, "Wh-Who"
"Over there, Potter, behind you, and above!" Harry looked where McGonagall was now pointing her finger—to the portraits lining the wall. Harry didn't understand at first, but then he saw it.
There, at the very end of the long row of former Headmasters, was a portrait of Albus Dumbledore.
"If you can wait just a minute, Minerva," said Dumbledore, "I have something I wish to say to Harry before he leaves."