After the fuss was all over, Harry decided to aim for at least six weeks of a perfectly normal school experience. It was going…okay, by his standards.
The back of Harry's neck often prickled as he walked the cool, stone hallways of Hogwarts.
There was a little too much attention on him as he passed by the other students, and in breaks and over meals there were a few too many rumours that included his name. The Potter Spotter column, as well, was having a field day! At first Harry ducked his head away from the attention, but a stray thought stopped that.
I'm not ashamed of anything, he realised, and paused in his footsteps on the way to Charms class. There was nothing to be embarrassed about. Actually, his mind insisted, he didn't deserve to have more people wondering why he was embarrassed. Stories got made up that way, Harry knew.
He straightened his posture up immediately, relaxing his shoulders down and stepping forward with a confident stride as the realisation settled.
With his hand on Nev's elbow, he could pace out self-assuredly so he'd do so.
"Alright, Harry?" Nev inquired, not quite sure why they'd stopped.
"I am actually." And as they stepped forward again to shoulder through the crush of Hogwarts students, it was beginning to be true.
As the days passed, Harry got used to projecting an air of confidence. It helped that, having so many eyes on him these days, he started developing the sense of when the stares were curious as opposed to malicious.
It gave Harry a strange insight into how Moody, the real Moody, must live his life and the thought disturbed him a bit when he realised.
But aside from that, it was mostly catching up with his homework again, and once more picking up the habit of wandering Hogwarts with Luna in search of its secrets to add to his map, and sneaking private chats with Draco who had opinions about Harry's latest brush with death and was not amused.
Oh. Harry'd also resolved the issue with the golden egg, too. Sneaking into the Room of Requirement for an hour's relaxation seemed like a good idea after the week that he'd had, so on Saturday morning, Harry found himself blindly pacing the seventh-floor corridor, more-or-less opposite Barnabas the Barmy, with a specific vision in his mind.
The door appeared as it usually did, its frame feeling curiously stone-like under Harry's grasping fingers when he reached out to feel his way through the door.
Sprawled over his shoulders like some kind of shoulder pelt, Crookshanks remained unimpressed, but then the great cat tended to be.
As such, aside from a waft of warm, humid air that smelt like minerals when he pushed the heavy door open, Harry wasn't quite sure that he'd called up what he intended. He thought it would be bad when the great kneazle puffed himself up in indignance, but within a minute, it all worked out.
It turned out, Harry realised, that the Room of Requirement could do a good bathroom the likes of which Hogwarts did not otherwise provide.
It was magnificent. Of course, he didn't know what it looked like since he couldn't take the blindfold off, which made everything a bit more difficult, but after only a few minutes of fumbling, Harry took what became the best bath of his life.
It didn't take long for him to divest himself of clothes and scoot nervously over the stone floor – was it marble? It was smooth and uncomfortably cold on his thighs – and swing his legs around to carefully feel out where the waterline began. A tiny shock flushed through his system as his toe met the water sooner than expected, and it was a tad warmer than he'd thought.
But then muscles stretched, and he extended his legs to slip deeper into the liquid warmth, and it felt smooth and creamy on his skin, smoothing his goosebumps away.
The tiniest of ripples lapped up against his feet, his shins, his thighs as Harry slid his body further forward, and the steam enveloped his face with a calming scent.
Once he was in the bath, Harry found his body floating within the water with unusual ease, and the eddies in the liquid somehow warmed and eased muscle pains he hadn't known he had.
The golden egg also floated just below the surface of the water, singing its little song until he let it go silent, and then Harry discovered the eager little pulses of water that flowed out from the bath – it was more of a pool, really – pool-sides, that churned and frothed and massaged all sorts of muscles on his back and legs and arms.
And then, cutting through the warm mist of humid air that seemed to envelop the bath, Harry came across a fresh, cool cross-breeze that cut through the heat and would allow him to stay in the water without overheating for much longer than he'd anticipated.
Head tilted back on a convenient rock-thing, arms and legs floating buoyant at his side, Harry closed his eyes and let the water drain his tension away.
In the silent room, filled only with the sound of Harry's breathing and water bubbling, it was easy to hear the contented little purrs coming from wherever Crookshanks had got to, and he felt his breathing slow, his heart rate calming down.
Harry resolved to come back to this place whenever he'd had a bad day.
He could definitely use a private sanctuary like this one.
Having done all the things he'd demanded of himself at this stage, Harry's determination to live the life of an average student seemed to be going well.
Slowly the gazes of others returned to normal. The interviews with reporters, lawyers, and foreign investigators peaked and then went away. Neville stopped torturing Harry with 'heroic' Potter Spotter extracts read over breakfast.
And Harry began to pick up the usual classes again. Divination came first, as his delicate eyes – still so sensitive to mage-sight and the light and burning glory that was Hogwarts – could actually cope with the magical aura of the Divination Tower.
'Aura,' Harry heard himself think it, and almost tripped over his feet when his chosen vocabulary sank into his conscious mind. Merlin, but was he turning into that kind of wizard?! Bloody hell!
(But it wasn't the wrong word, Harry's traitorous mind whispered. It was particularly accurate, in fact.) He swiftly redirected his thoughts.
It turned out, at any rate, that Trelawny might have a point about 'disruptions to the Inner Eye.' The Divination Tower really did have a different au—web of magic around it than the rest of the castle. Less intense. Less…distracting. As if there were gaps in the web, maybe, or more creativity in an otherwise rigid structure, the Tower had…For lack of a better word, Harry found himself wanting to say it had less 'worldly influence'.
Whatever his chosen language, he felt the Divination Tower air weigh less heavily on his magical senses. It let him feel the magic within him rather than around him, and that was surely a very useful thing.
Harry discovered this when he rejoined the class in the middle of their unit of Astrology, to Trelawny's delighted enthusiasm.
"The hero returns, as I always foretold," she intoned breathlessly to the class of entrapped fourth-year Gryffindors. "Welcome back, Mr Potter. The omens have improved for you in recent days. Please, take a seat. Miss Granger, foreseeing your return, has saved for you the pink chintz seat on her left."
"Uh, thanks," Harry muttered, making his way through the incense-filled room to sit next to his fellow Gryffindor. It was more cluttered than he remembered, with tasselled chair covers and throw cushions and the hand-painted little flowers on the teacups in the cupboards, and the winter sky let only drab grey light filter through the heavily curtained windows. Nevertheless, it was good to be back.
"'Mione," he grinned.
"Harry." She smiled back.
Pacing the other side of the room in her voluminous shawl, Trelawny kept talking for a bit while Hermione shoved a bunch of her handwritten notes in Harry's direction. "All the stuff we've covered in class recently," she muttered. "If you, I mean…since you seem to be taking this seriously. I'm not convinced by any of this…are you sure you want to come back here?"
"To Divination?"
She nodded, and Harry found himself appreciating, even in the relative gloom of the classroom, how he could see her riotous curls bounce, and her eyebrows quirk in a puzzled frown. "I'll drop this class if you do," she continued. "All this airy-fairy 'inner eye' business…"
Trelawny's voice droned on. "–Sun conjunct Mercury transit has allowed us to put our focus on thinking and communication, and so today the stars tell me that you will hand in your group projects. Mr Potter, although you were exempt from this project, it seems likely that you should complete a complimentary task to prepare you for an event next June –"
Exams, Harry translated.
"– so I have prepared these instructions for you in advance." A rolled-up piece of parchment was dropped on the table in front of him.
Harry politely waited for the sound of the teacher's clinking, dangling, reflecting necklaces and bracelets to move away, before leaning closer to Hermione again.
"Percy kept it up until O.W.L.s," he reminded his friend in a murmur. "Have you tried bibliomancy? Because Divination's been surprisingly…rational…for me so far."
"Hrmm." She frowned and settled into silence, allowing Harry to pick up and follow the lesson.
Within days after that, Harry's eyes became good enough to work normally in Arithmancy and Runes, the former of which Harry particularly enjoyed. The delightful Professor Vector had been very understanding about his previous struggles, but Harry's grades had definitely slipped and he was determined to earn her appreciation back.
He had homework to catch up on, and tons of Hermione's notes to review in his own time.
By the second week of December, Harry had pretty much planned his whole Christmas holidays, including the Yule Ball, and decided on the next steps in his Horcrux Hunting Plan.
The only massive issue that remained was the one last class he'd been missing. Potions. And its professor.
"So," Harry began after sliding into the wooden seat opposite the desk in McGonagall's office one Tuesday afternoon. "That's basically what I have to tell you. I…Hermione and Neville told me that they'd mentioned it to you before. Maybe last year or so? I didn't realise that they'd spoken to you again."
It had been a while since he'd been here, and Professor McGonagall's office was as busy as ever, in a completely different style of clutter to Trelawny's cutesy style.
Her bookshelves were chock full of fine, leather-bound reference books, there was a pile of textbooks and parchments piled precariously behind her office door, and her glass-doored cabinet behind her desk was full of little knick-knacks that she'd been gifted by students, Harry figured, and surrounded by a collection of greeting cards, written in a variety of hands.
What with the heavy snow now blanketing the pitch below her window, McGonagall had her fire flickering cheerfully in its grate and a couple of creamy-white candles floating above where she currently sat, the better to see her paperwork with, Harry assumed.
He flickered his eyes back to her stern, upright figure on the other side of the desk.
"Go on, Mr Potter." It was an unusual thrill to be able to look the woman in the eye, and see her lips thin into a displeased line. That was usually not good news for anybody in the vicinity, so Harry felt it odd to admit to enjoying the sensation.
This blindness thing had really messed with his perceptions.
"I've never needed to bring it – Potions I mean – up to you before, because I've totally be handling everything just fine. I mean…It's less than ideal, but I can cope well enough, and it's just the way that Potions has always been, you know?"
"Not precisely. Please, continue to enlighten me."
McGonagall's desk was piled high with stacks of homework that she pushed to one side, leaving some desk space clear and Harry feeling pressured by the focus of her gaze.
"Yeah. Well." Harry shrugged. "If Sn—Professor Snape's always giving me the detentions and point losses and all, it means he's not focussing on anyone else, right? I'm better at coping with it than anyone else would be. I've never blown up a potion, my actual potions skills won't suffer, and I don't mind about the homework stuff since the O.W.L and N.E.W.T results will be marked fairly, and they're what counts. Plus," Harry added, the thought emerging from the part of his brain that remembered what it felt like when he was going through Fourth Year for the first time, "I don't need to worry about people getting angry at me for the point losses. Unlike almost everyone else in that class, I can make the points up through quidditch, normally, and my work in other classes instead. It had better be me than anyone else."
Harry paused for a moment, waiting for the other shoe to drop. "I mean…I've genuinely been avoiding him in case he tore off the blindfold or something. I've…It's been a real concern. But now I won't go blind to him, I need to go back and…I just don't see it going well. At all."
"I see."
Harry found himself speaking faster. McGonagall always did that thing that made you feel guilty so you'd talk more. "I don't want to make a big deal out of it, but now that Hermione and Nev have spoken to you, yes, it happens. No, I'm not happy with it…but as Head of Gryffindor, I figured you should probably get a heads up. See it coming." He shrugged. "You know."
McGonagall pursed her lips again, her brow creasing. In the awkward silence that she let go on, Harry's mind raced. She really did look tired. Harry felt a pang of guilt for adding to her burdens.
"Look. You know what? It's not really a big issue in comparison to what I'm sure you have your hands full with. I don't want t—I just wanted to let you know, is all. You should probably stay focused on…the Tournament, and the investigation and the other, more imp—"
She tsked. "While it is true that these things are keeping my hands full, Potter, it is my job to keep students safe at Hogwarts. Previously, I had indeed been made aware…" she trailed off. "Prior to this, certain concerns have been raised…" She sighed. "I shall find time in my schedule to pop in and out of your Potions class in the foreseeable future. Perhaps have the members of the Board interview randomly selected students for feedback."
Harry winced. "Er…You really don't have to. Actually…Most importantly, I'd like you to keep my name out of it, if you don't mind."
One singular eyebrow rose. "Potter?"
"The last thing I want is for Sn—Professor Snape to be made aware that I've made, well, a complaint against him? I was more thinking that you might have to keep an eye out on the House Point system, and—"
"Potter," McGonagall said quellingly, and Harry subsided. "I will do my duty and keep an eye on Professor Snape's teaching practices." Then she sighed, and looked suddenly a lot older than Harry remembered her being recently; in fact, she looked for an instant as tired and aged as she'd seemed when Death Eaters threatened her students, last timeline. "I believe that now would be a good time to run an internal investigation into the processes of the school as it is. The Board has made enquiries into…Have you been reading the Prophet these days? Ach," she tsked again. "Your eyes…never mind about that."
His own brow furrowing, Harry sat in the wintry little puddle of sunlight that fell through her window and onto the spot he was sitting in.
He opened his mouth, but wasn't quite sure what to say to his favourite teacher as she pushed her square eyeglasses further up the bridge of her nose and looked down at her desk to shuffle papers from one pile to another. Then she picked up a quill and made a scratchy note to herself, ignoring Harry all the while. Harry closed his mouth again.
Finally, Professor McGonagall looked up again. "Now. As necessary and illuminating as I feel this conversation has been, it was not in fact why I had Ellsworth call you into my office.
Harry gaped. "Uh…it wasn't? So Hermione didn't…Oh, Merlin."
McGonagall shot him a thin-lipped smile, her eyes barely betraying her amusement as Harry flailed around for emotional balance. "Indeed. So I appreciate your unsolicited honesty and feedback into Hogwarts' teaching practices. But what I have invited you here for is…" she paused, and Harry eyed her curiously. If it wasn't Snape she wanted to talk about, then what else…There too many things that came to mind.
"It is actually a somewhat parallel point that I wished to bring up with you this afternoon," the Deputy Headmistress continued when he was ready. "You will be particularly aware, I'm sure, of the events that occurred just prior to your First Task?"
Harry flushed red. "Oh, Merlin. I'm so sorry about all the fuss that was caused that day! I mean, obviously, it wasn't all my fault, and I really do feel that I needed Mr Lloyd-Elliot there at the time, but it's just occurred to me that I didn't actually ask anyone if I could invite him onto school grounds, or if there were specially processes to go through because of the Tournament, and I mean, I certainly didn't expect the Prophet to blow things up the way that they did – although, to be fair, I probably should have. And I know I didn't get permission from the school to have all those interviews with reporters either – I just assumed that they'd sort the official side of things out since it—"
"Calm yourself, Potter."
Harry paused, and found his chest heaving a little for breath.
McGonagall eyed him with keen concern from where she sat opposite. "Can I offer you a beverage, while we talk? Tea and biscuits, perhaps?"
"What? I mean, sure?"
The tall woman did something with her wand that Harry didn't quite catch, and in about thirty seconds there was a little pop of sound on her desk. A delicately arranged tea tray had been sent up, with a fine bone china tea set, a malty tea scent steaming out of the pot.
Harry watched bemusedly as his professor set about serving the tea up: Harry was offered a plate of freshly baked hobnobs that smelt like buttery golden syrup, and after McGonagall served herself, the tea was steeped, the milk poured in, and they paused for a moment to taste-test.
Harry let the still-warm biscuit soften in his tea before chewing slowly, feeling the crumbly texture melt in his mouth, his tongue letting the warmth spread through his mouth.
Then he watched as McGonagall did the same, chewing silently and taking a sip of tea with an expression of pure contentment on her face.
"Our house-elves have just the right touch with their baking," she informed him after she'd swallowed. "I can never get biscuits to come out the same."
Unsure whether to agree with her or not, "Er? Me too," Harry muttered, before taking a sip of his own tea and watching as the steam fogged up his glasses. Then he placed the cup back into his saucer with a clink. "But, ah, what was it you wanted to talk to me about?"
"The event to which I refer is the arrest of young Barty Crouch, and the subsequent condition of your actual Defence teacher, Alastor Moody."
"Oh, that. Er…I do know about that, yes?"
Curiously, Harry watched Minerva McGonagall shuffle in her seat before clasping and then unclasping her hands.
"The point has been raised, Potter," she began again, speaking slowly, "that Hogwarts does not have a Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher anymore."
"Oh, is Moody, the real Moody…in a bad way?"
That familiar gimmer of stern kindness flickered in McGonagall's brown eyes. "It has been recommended that Alastor stay in St Mungo's for a few months. His prostheses will need recalibrating, and your lawyer in fact, amongst others, has suggested that his mental state may need some…assistance. Alastor has been known for his paranoia for a good few years now, already, before…" She trailed off.
Fair. Harry had no idea how long the wizard had taken to recuperate last time, but if he'd taken more care of himself, he might not have died when he had.
He nodded supportively. "Oh, it's good that he's getting help then."
"Indeed."
"Yeah. Ah…?"
All of a sudden, the professor sat very upright and clasped her hands on the desk in a very professional, efficient manner. Harry sat straight up in response. He had no idea what was going on here, but McGonagall seemed to, and it was probably important if she felt the need to act like—
"Your Patronus Club has seen uncommon success, Potter," she told Harry with a sharp head nod.
"Oh?" What was she talking about now? Just a moment ago, it had been Moody in hospital. "Ah, thanks, I guess."
"Your high grades have maintained themselves surprisingly well for a student grappling with, shall we say, an unfamiliar barrier to learning."
That was mostly true, and Harry was proud of it. And being blind had had its benefits. Of course, now all he wanted was to get back to living the life of an ordinary student until the Yule Ball, at the earliest.
"Thanks. I've tried really hard."
"Thirdly, you have managed your surprise entry into the Tournament with impressive determination, grace and maturity. Not to mention skill."
Harry couldn't help it. He hummed a little and scratched the back of his head, ducking his flushed face as the compliments kept coming. "Thank you for the feedback, professor." He swallowed loudly. "It means a lot, coming from you."
Her face softened. "You have shown yourself to be a very responsible, mature and reliable young man, Potter, and you do Gryffindor House much credit. As such," she went on just as Harry was going to try to thank her for the fourth time, "the staff and school board have suggested that you may be able to teach a limited Defence curriculum to your fellow students until such time as we find a new professor."
The room was perfectly cosy and warm, the rug soft under his feet, and the crackle of the fire seemed unusually loud as Harry sat there, on the wooden seat, and tried to process what he'd just heard.
"What?" Harry blinked. "I mean, I beg your pardon, but…I thought I just heard…"
McGonagall nodded wryly. "With Fu—Minister Fudge currently refusing to provide auror cover, due to…current events, Headmaster Dumbledore is having some trouble finding a teacher to pick up Professor Moody's curriculum at this stage of the year and so publicly visibly? To be fair, a huge percentage of ministry members, including the aurors, are all busy dealing with the Tournament and its details: there's Barty Crouch Sr. to replace on the judging panel and organisational side of things, and the huge investigation into the Tournament and Hogwarts' own safety to be focused on."
She took another sip of her tea before replacing it precisely back on its saucer. Harry couldn't find any words to force out before she began speaking again.
"Professor Lupin has determined to remain in Germany to accompany your godfather, the council members of the Dark Force Defence League have refused the post on behalf of all their members, all serious contenders for the European Duelling Confederation Championship are dedicated to seeing the season to conclusion, and other European experts are currently unhappy with the British Ministry and have so far refused to relocate to Scotland until the political landscape changes."
"…Oh."
"It was raised at our last staff meeting," the baffling witch before him kept talking on in that precise, clipped voice, "that you have skills in Defence well beyond your own year level – N.E.W.T-level, even, as demonstrated by your Patronus; that you have the respect of all your year-mates and juniors – no matter what House they are in, and that you have been gifted an abundance of Time this year that you have not abused to our knowledge."
To their knowledge: ha! Then Harry finally got it. Oh no.
"Obviously, you will have all the staff support that you would need," she continued inexorably. "I myself am happy to dedicate an additional hour or so to support you in this endeavour, if you would grant me the favour of sharing your Time Turner usage on occasion – my schedule, you understand, is even more full than usual due to the Tournament."
"Blimey," a voice said from far away, and Harry realised with distant astonishment that it was his own voice that said it.
"Professor Flitwick has volunteered to support, teach or co-teach some more senior classes with you, on the subject of charms, jinxes and hexes. Professor Sprout has mentioned that she can provide assistance in flora and fauna-related subject matter. Professor Hagrid..." she sighed. "Professor Hagrid has offered to provide you with any creatures or beasts that you may need to make use of during class. Additionally, there are five Master's students whose time and expertise will be made available to you. These include Filius' Desiree Caldwell and Colm Faulkner, my own second-year Amity Maxfield, Pomona's fourth-year Lachlan MacAulay, and Poppy's new first-year, Sumire Tsubaki—"
"Sumire's back?" Harry startled.
"Oh, you know her? That's perfect then. Yes, she's just ready for her first practicum experience and Poppy positively jumped for her. I'll let Albus know that you can work with them then, shall I? It's a pleasure to have you on board, Potter."
"Wait, wait...hang on a moment!"
"This will practically guarantee you the Prefect's badge next year, you realise."
Harry subsided. Bloody hell.
