A/N: Sorry for the delay, but to make up for it I made the chapter extra long. However, this chapter bothers me for some reason. It could be the fact that I have read it 50 times trying to tweak it to say what I wanted. As always, let me know what you think.
Harry sat down at the desk, eyeing the stacks of books and papers that had been placed there by Serena Snape. He was almost loathe to touch them, to disturb the neatness of a woman who would never have the opportunity to use them. The desk was now almost a monument to her meticulousness as a teacher. He leaned an elbow on the desk and rested his head in the palm, toying with the edge of a book on top of one of the stacks. Maybe this whole thing had been a mistake. He hadn't been content as an Auror, but who knew if he would be here? Grimacing, he thought back to his conversation with Snape. Well, if you could really call it a conversation. Maybe clash was a more accurate word. Honestly, his meeting with Dumbledore hadn't been much better. Dumbledore had merely assigned his quarters and said that he would send Professor Snape's former assistant to help him organize the contents of Serena's classroom. It had been a stilted affair that Harry had been only too happy to escape when it was all over. Groaning, he concluded that this hasty decision was looking better and better all the time.
He pushed back from the desk and knew that he should really start preparing. The start of the term was only a few weeks away and he had no idea of what topic he was even going to cover first, and even worse, he had absolutely no clue where to begin. He hoped the assistant would be able to give him some guidance. Hearing a knock, he looked up to see a young woman peer around the open door. His eyes narrowed as he took in the dark curly hair pulled back and tied loosely at the back of her neck and the large green eyes that stared at him apprehensively. She was certainly very young to be an assistant, Harry thought.
"Professor Potter?" Her husky voice was low and inquiring as she entered the room. "Professor Dumbledore sent me to help you sort out the room." Her voice wavered slightly and her hands twisted in front of her as her eyes surreptitiously swept over the room. A look of sorrow flickered briefly across her face, only to be replaced by a smile that never quite reached her eyes.
"Well, I can definitely use all the help I can get." He watched her smile widen slightly as she stepped closer to the desk. "And you are?"
She blushed, "Oh, I apologize for my lack of manners. My name is Esme."
"No need to apologize, Esme. Are you here for the summer?" Harry questioned. He knew that sometimes students who had recently graduated would often intern with certain professors during the summer before attending university.
Esme's eyes clouded with confusion, and then brightened as she realized what he was implying. "Oh, no. Wow, I am really making a mess of this, aren't I?" She shook her head as though reprimanding herself. "I am the new Charms professor. Professor Dumbledore simply asked me to come down and assist you, because I… well because I…." her voice drifted off.
"Because you were Professor Snape's assistant," Harry finished for her.
She cringed. "Yes, something like that." Harry knew that there was something that she wasn't quite telling him, but considering they had just met, he didn't feel like he could press her. Besides, he had to surrender his Auror role sometime and stop trying to interrogate everyone he came in contact with.
"Where would you like me to start, Professor Potter?" Esme asked, tucking a stray curl behind her ear.
"Well, to begin with, since we will be colleagues why don't you call me Harry? Besides, hearing Professor Potter makes me feel so old." Harry grinned.
She raised her eyebrows and looked at him solemnly. "I think that you should probably get used to it, Harry," she said, trying out his name, "because you will be hearing it a lot."
"Oh, I don't know. Perhaps I shall have the students call me by my first name. What do you think Professor Dumbledore would think of that?" Harry asked with a wicked gleam, trying to see if he could coax a real smile out of her.
He was rewarded with a small smile. "Somehow, I don't think he would approve, but you never know. I could see you somehow getting away with it," she said.
Harry laughed at her candor. "And just how would you know what I could get away with? We've only just met."
She leaned toward him and said in a mock whisper, "Yes, but you see, the stories of Harry Potter are quite legendary around here."
The smile left Harry's face and he turned his head away, resenting the fact that no matter where he went he was always 'that famous Harry Potter'. He rubbed a hand roughly over his mouth before answering quietly, "You shouldn't believe everything you hear, Esme. Very little of it is actually true."
A tense silence filled the room. Esme bit her lip wondering why she was cursed to deal with temperamental men. She had her hands full with her father and Sidney, and she really didn't want to add another name to that list. Sighing quietly, she walked around the desk and opened the drawer on Harry's right. Pulling out a large file, she set it on the desk in front of Harry and opened it.
"These are the lesson plans that my-," she paused and took a deep breath. "That Professor Snape prepared for the new term. She kept very detailed notes and plans, so feel free to use whatever you choose." Her voice softened, "She would be pleased to know that they were helpful."
Harry flipped through the first few pages, grateful that she hadn't seemed to take his moodiness to heart. "You're right. These look very detailed. I am sure that they will be a big help." Looking up at the woman standing next to him, he was drawn to her large eyes. They seemed so familiar. In fact, everything about her seemed familiar, but he knew that they had not met before.
"Excuse me," she said as she reached behind him and opened the opposite desk drawer. Pulling out another large file, she set it on top of the lesson plans. Opening it, she leaned over and flipped through the new pages. "This is an up-to-date inventory that we completed this summer of all the books and items in the room."
She was so close that Harry could smell the shampoo that she had recently used. His eyes narrowed as he placed the smell: lavender. It seemed to be too much of a coincidence that he had come into contact with lavender twice in as many days. Pulling back, he looked at her again, studying her face intently. Mentally he made a checklist of the features that had seemed so familiar: large green eyes, high cheekbones, full lips, dark hair and expressive eyebrows. Straightening up, Esme looked at him, wariness in her eyes at his intense perusal.
"Is there something wrong, Harry?" she asked, her smooth, cultured voice wrapping around him. Even her voice was reminding him of someone.
Looking back down at the inventory, he flipped through the top two pages and asked nonchalantly, "How well did you know, Professor Snape?"
"Wh-What?" she stuttered, taking an unconscious step back. "She was my mother. I thought you were aware of that."
Harry shook his head. "No, I wasn't. No one bothered to mention that fact."
She walked around the desk. "I'm sorry. I wasn't trying to hide it." She leaned against one of the student desks and looked at him. "I just get so tired of the pitying looks that everyone keeps throwing my way, that talking about it is the last thing I want to do."
"I can relate to that," he said quietly. "It really doesn't matter; I was just trying to figure out why you seemed so familiar. And now I know."
Esme smirked. "Ah, yes. I know I look a lot like my mother, I probably should have said something. Again, I apologize."
"You have a lot of your father in you as well," he said, disturbed by the image of her smirking at him. What was it with Snapes and smirking? It must be a genetic thing, he decided.
She inclined her head in agreement. "I often hear that as well." She looked at him seriously. "I know that you and my father did not get along when you were a student."
He stretched his legs, feeling a tingling from sitting so long. Standing up, he walked to the front of the desk and leaned against it, crossing his ankles and folding his arms across his chest. "That may be putting rather mildly, I think."
"Whatever you may think about my father, he does respect you and what you were able to accomplish."
"He has a funny way of showing it," he said, the bitterness evident even to him.
She gave him a lopsided grin. "Yes, but you see, that is just my father. He has trouble expressing his true emotions. Once you know that, it makes him a little easier to understand." She wagged a finger at Harry. "But don't you dare tell him I told you that. He would have my head, probably literally," she joked.
Harry chuckled. "I'll have to take your word for it." They stood there for a few moments in a comfortable silence. He looked up to find her staring at the floor, an unreadable expression on her face.
"I must say," he began, "for someone who just lost her mother, you certainly are taking it well. Better than most would, I suspect."
He held his breath wondering how she would react to his assessment. It was rather forward, even for him.
She shrugged her shoulders, her eyes never leaving the floor. "I have to be strong for my father and Sidney. They are struggling, and showing my pain would only increase theirs."
"Yes," he said, wondering why he was still pushing. "But she was important to you as well, and you can't bury you feelings forever."
Esme pushed away from the desk and looked at Harry, a cold look in her eyes. He suddenly knew that he had said too much. "I think that you have enough to keep you busy, Professor. I will return tomorrow and you can tell me if you will require further assistance."
Before he even had a chance to respond, she turned and swept from the room, so reminiscent of Snape's exit yesterday, though she was missing the robes swirling around her. He sure wished he knew how to do that. Returning to the desk, he picked up the top folder and started reading through the list of books that Serena had acquired over the years. However, his mind kept returning to Esme's insistence that she had to be strong and not show her true emotions. Uncomfortably, he realized that he was operating under the same belief. He wondered if either one of them would ever be able to express how they truly felt or if they were doomed to forever put the needs of others ahead of their own.
The next morning, Harry entered his classroom and was surprised to find Esme was already there. She was sitting on the floor in front of the bookcase, her back to him, carefully dusting off each individual text. From the size of the stack on the floor, she had been there for quite awhile.
"Good morning," she said without turning around.
"Morning," he answered. Harry walked to his desk, setting the folders down that he taken to his room to read. "Listen, about yesterday," he began.
"What about it?" she asked casually, though he noticed that her hand hesitated as she reached for the next book.
"I just wanted to apologize for overstepping my boundaries. It is certainly not any of my business. We just met and for me to criticize you was…' his mind searched for an appropriate word. Finding none, he finished weakly, "not right."
She turned toward him and narrowed her eyes, as though trying to figure out his intentions in apologizing. He held his breath, waiting for her reply.
Turning her attention back to the books, she said quietly, "There is nothing to forgive."
Harry pursed his lips and considered saying something else, but thought better of it.
Gesturing toward the books she was meticulously cleaning, he asked, "What are you doing?"
The corners of her mouth lifted slightly. "Believe it or not, I am cleaning your books. My mother had a very specific cleaning schedule. Once in the summer before the term began, and then once during the holiday break. She hated the cliché that old books must equal dusty books."
Harry sat down in one of the student chairs and leaned his elbows on his knees. "I can see that you are cleaning them. What I meant was why are you cleaning them by hand?" He pulled his wand out. "You could just say a quick spell and your work would be done."
She looked at him in horror, rising slightly to place her body between Harry's wand and the bookcase. "You can't use magic on these books. They are hundreds of years old. The bindings may not survive such a spell."
He lowered his wand and shrugged his shoulders. "Sorry, I didn't know."
Esme remained where she was for a few moments, as though she didn't trust him not to try it anyway. Once she was certain that he wasn't planning on using a spell as a shortcut, she eased back down and picked up the book she had dropped. Harry watched as she flipped through the pages, and then wiped off the front cover and back cover with a damp rag, only to immediately wipe them off with dry one.
Harry's brow furrowed. "Is that water that you are using?"
She stared at him open mouthed. He shifted under her scandalized gaze and muttered, "I guess not."
Shaking her head, she answered, "It is a restorative potion my father created to protect the books from wear and tear. You simply wipe it on and then wipe off the excess and it will be protected for several months. My mother was very particular about her books."
Harry raised his eyebrows. "It would seem so."
Throwing a rag at him, she pointed to the other end of bookcase. "Why don't you make yourself useful and start at the other end."
Harry shivered and stood up. "You sounded like you father when you said that. I almost expect you to assign me detention next." He leaned over and picked a tattered book from the shelf.
Esme's head whipped up. "Detention!" she said, delightedly. Harry straightened and looked at her incredulously, not really sure if he had just been given a detention.
She waved at hand at him dismissively. "No, not you. I just realized that I can now assign detentions." She giggled as she put the book she had cleaned on the nearest stack.
Harry stared at her. "Now you are really starting to scare me. Was it really necessary to channel your father there?"
Esme threw her head back and laughed. Harry watched entranced. It wasn't like the dainty laugh or polite chuckle he was used to hearing from women he knew or met at Ministry events. This was a boisterous deep laugh that was startling and very inviting. His eyes traveled from the intriguing glimpse of neck, revealed to him as she laughed, up to her green eyes that were sparkling brightly.
Mentally smacking himself, he turned his attention back to the books, suddenly very aware of her presence in the room. For goodness sake, Harry, he thought, she is young enough to be… for some reason herefused tofinish that thought.
Finishing the task in silence, Harry sat back and looked at the stacks of books lying on the floor. Dropping the rags on the nearby desk, he wiped his hands together and looked at Esme expectantly.
"What now?" he asked.
Her mouth curved at his eager tone. "Now we replace the books on the shelf, remembering, of course, to alphabetize them."
"Of course, as if I would place them any other way. Who doesn't alphabetize their books?" he said, teasingly.
Esme just gave him a dark look. Harry held up his hands in surrender and started with the pile nearest to him. Since they had already been in alphabetical order on the shelf, it was surprisingly easy.
Standing back, they both eyed the expansive bookcase that now shone. Esme reached out and flicked a hand over the top shelf, pushing the books flush against the back of the bookcase. Her hand lingered on the books and he wondered if she was thinking about her mother.
Picking up the used rags, he handed them to her and said, 'Thank you for all your help. Considering how yesterday ended, I wouldn't have been surprised if you hadn't returned."
She wrinkled her forehead and shook her head, not understanding why he was making such a big deal about it. "I said I would return and I did."
"Not everyone would," he replied.
Esme didn't respond. Instead she reached into the pocket of her black skirt and pulled out a key. "Oh, I nearly forgot. This is the key to the cupboards in the back. They have been spelled so you will not be able to use magic to open them. Everything that you may require for your lessons can probably be found there."
Harry held out his hand and she placed the key in the center of his hand. Holding the key up to inspection, he said, "So I guess you're telling me not to lose this key." He lowered the key just in time to see her mouth twitch.
"That would probably be a good idea," she said softly. She looked around, "Well…"
"How is your room coming?" Harry interrupted.
She gave him an odd look. "Fine. I should be done with it in a few days."
"Even with all the help you've been giving me?"
"It hasn't been that much, Harry, only a few hours." She held her hands out, looking around the room. "And it appears as if we are done."
"Yes, well, I do appreciate the help. If you need any assistance I will be glad to reciprocate."
She smiled in amusement. "I shall keep that in mind. I'll see you at the staff meeting."
She walked to the door and was gone before he could even think of a response. Palming the key in his hand, he slipped it into his pocket and returned to his desk. Sliding into the chair, he rubbed the back of his neck, easing the tense muscles. Who knew cleaning books could be such hard work? Eyeing the bookcase, he snorted, "Detention, indeed." He smiled to himself before turning his full attention to the work in front of him.