26 August 2001
"I can't believe my baby is leaving for her last year at Hogwarts," Molly Weasley's eyes were misty and her lips trembled. She made a fluttering motion with her arms, but seemed to think better of it. Ginny couldn't help but be relieved that she'd managed to hold in her embrace. "I feel old," she added with a watery chuckle.
"You aren't old," Ginny replied automatically. And technically she was a year late graduating, though everyone was very kind and didn't mention that to her. She should've graduated last June. Three years, two months, and thirteen days. "And we'll see if I actually pass my NEWTs."
Ron let out a loud groan. "Don't get her started," he pleaded, tightening his arm around Hermione's shoulders. "She's dying to make up a study schedule for you. She was talking about it all last night." Ginny smiled at the two of them. Hermione swatted Ron away in mock indignation.
"I wasn't talking about it all last night," she said playfully, with deliberate emphasis. The tips of Ron's ears turned red, and Ginny felt a churning in her stomach that had nothing to do with the sip of wine she'd had. She curled her hand around Arnold, the Pygmy Puff that Fred and George had given her in 1999, and stroked his little body. He nuzzled closer and squeaked; Ginny knew that he wanted to burrow into her hair, and she felt a pang of guilt. She had it in a ponytail today. Maybe I should take it down?
The tension in her belly slowly dissipated, and she grew aware that an uncomfortable silence had settled over the group of four. The laughter and high spirits from the twins and Charlie - they were currently making the picnic tables duel each other - seemed oddly dissonant. "I'd like help with the study schedules," Ginny said, just because she knew she had to say something. Otherwise they'd ask her if she was all right, and she hated it when they pointed out the fact that she wasn't exactly normal. I'm managing, she told herself fiercely. What more do they want from me?
"Ginny, I-"
But Ginny interrupted Hermione. "I think I'm really going to need them," she said firmly. They backed off, much to her relief. "Especially in Transfiguration," she pulled a face. "I didn't understand half of what McGonagall was going on about last year." It really hadn't been that bad. "I don't know what made me decide to try for my NEWT in it." Schoolwork kept her busy, and she liked to have her hours filled. "Maybe you could help me... did you keep your old notes?"
She knew immediately that she'd gone too far; she'd been too enthusiastic. Her mother, Ron, and Hermione exchanged glances. She wanted to tell them that she'd only had a little moment, that she was perfectly aware that normal people had sex, and that she was just fine now, but the words stuck in her throat. To her eternal gratitude, a distraction in the form of her sister-in-law and her small niece arrived.
"There's Auntie Ginny!" Fleur said merrily. The tiny girl who had her mother's hair and her father's eyes reached out her pudgy arms and practically launched herself at Ginny. Ginny accepted her happily.
"Hi there, Victoire," she said, kissing the baby's smooth cheeks. Arnold warbled and scooted down to investigate; Ginny often thought that her pygmy puff was under the impression that Victoire Weasley was his personal toy. "Have you been good for Mummy and Daddy?"
The one year old gurgled and let out a stream of nonsense words, waving her fist at the sky.
"Oh really?" Ginny raised her eyebrows. "That's very interesting, sweetheart."
"I don't know what we're going to do without you around," Fleur admitted, patting her daughter on the back. Ginny forced herself to stand still and not back away. Fleur was very close, but that was okay, because Victoire was her baby and she ought to be able to stand as close as she wanted. "She looks for her Auntie Ginny, you know," she glanced at the others. "As soon as we got here, she was already craning her neck."
"I've noticed that," her mum said.
"Yeah, Ginny's got the position of favorite aunt in the bag," Ron said comfortably. He grinned down at Hermione. "You'll just have to graciously accept defeat."
"Maybe Victoire would like to have an aunt by marriage," her mum said waspishly. Ginny smiled; this was her mother's favorite topic. "Instead of a live in aunt. I know that she'd like cousins. And"-eyeing Fleur speculatively-"I bet she'd like brothers and sisters."
"Non," Fleur laughed, shaking her beautiful head. "One small barbarian is enough for now, Molly."
Ginny swayed side to side, holding Victoire close. She was going to miss her niece; she'd spent at least an hour almost every day at Shell Cottage the entire summer. If she was honest with herself, Victoire was the one person in her family that she'd miss the most. She was so easy to be around, such a joy. Ginny brushed the hair out of the baby's face and gave her another kiss, and tickled her under her chin, causing rich chuckles - which seemed too loud to come from such a delicate girl - to erupt, starting in her little belly and ending at the mouth that rested right near Ginny's ear.
A small, turquoise-haired canon hurtled into her. "HI!" Teddy Lupin shouted. He spread his arms out, beaming up at everyone. "I'M HERE!" Victoire leaned over and babbled at him. Remus Lupin approached the family more sedately.
"Just like his mother," said Remus. He tried to sound weary, but his wide grin gave him away. "Congratulations on starting your last year," he said.
"Thanks," replied Ginny.
"Where's Dora?" Fred asked, joining them. And suddenly, without warning, it struck her that while she'd been distracted by the children, the rest of her rather large family had come to join them - and dread undulated over her skin. They were arrayed in a very loose ring around her, but she thought it might be getting smaller and smaller-
"Ginny?" her dad said gently. "Do you want to go for a little walk?"
She resented the fact that she had to escape from her own going away party, and she wished that it had been anyone else but her father who had swooped in to rescue her. But she passed Victoire back to Fleur and followed him. There was a horrible moment when he forgot and reached out to put his arm around her and she had to sidle out of the way; and of course she couldn't look at him for a few moments after that. The hurt look on his face would just make her ill.
Sometimes she could still hear him sobbing at her bedside when she was first brought back to the Burrow, and even though it was stupid and unfair of her, the memory of that unbridled display of emotion made her want to run away. She glanced at him out of the corner of her eye; she wanted to say she was sorry, but a sudden wave of helplessness drowned the words in her throat. Ginny couldn't bear it when she knew when the others were thinking about it. The pain in their eyes made it feel like something was crushing her chest, and she just... couldn't do it.
"Are you looking forward to going back to Hogwarts?" he asked.
Ginny nodded. "I am." She neglected to mention that it was mostly because she needed an escape. Ginny loved her family very much, but it was just easier to be away from them and missing them than being near them and causing them hurt. "So is Arnold, though I think he'll miss watching the gnomes."
He chuckled. "I knew they were good for something - your mother thinks I'm too soft on them."
"Free entertainment for Arnold," said Ginny. "Be sure to tell her that next time."
"I will," he promised.
It's been three years, two months, and thirteen days, she thought desperately. I should be over it by now! She pushed that thought away, because the idea of bridging the gap between surviving and living was just too much. Her fingers shook a little when she reached up and pulled out her hairband. Arnold probably wanted to take a nap, and he liked it best if he could sleep in her hair.
"Are you all right?" he asked.
"I'm fine," she lied.
He sighed, but he didn't press it. The very worst part of Ginny felt a little burst of rage. What, exactly, did he expect from her? She wasn't the little girl who would run and jump into his arms, and it was stupid of him to think that she'd do it. Stupid.
"I wish you'd tell me why you're so angry with me," he said. She could practically feel his eyes on her face, and it made her as uncomfortable as if he had touched her.
Because you cried.
"I think you'd feel better if you could just talk about it," he continued, to Ginny's horror. "And I don't blame you for being angry with me; I'm pretty angry with myself."
Ginny desperately wanted to cover her ears, or take out her wand and put a silencing charm on him. "I'm not mad at you," she said automatically. Stop talking. Please just stop talking. She forced herself to take slow, even breaths.
Her dad was silent for a very long time. "Do you know if pygmy puffs have litters or just one at a time?" he asked finally, with the air of grasping at straws.
"Litters," she said firmly. They had turned around and were now heading back to the Burrow, where everyone was waiting for her to act naturally and cut the Quaffle cake her mother had made. It seemed very dark under the trees all of a sudden. "They have litters. Usually only three or four, though, not like a cat. Fred and George let me help out with a birthing once."
"That was very kind of them," he murmured.
"Yes, it was," Ginny agreed. Only thirty feet until they reached the picnic tables that had been set up. Dora Lupin had arrived; her bright pink hair (tipped with black; she was annoyed about something), was like a beacon.
They finally drew near enough that Ginny could hear snatches of their conversation, though judging from the dark looks on everyone's face, she wouldn't want to hear it.
"-Malfoy Manor?" Ron asked. He had the heel of his hand pressed up against his forehead.
"Yes, both of them," her mother answered. "Still..."
"I tried to talk some sense into him," Remus admitted. Ginny knew, without having to hear a name, that they were talking about Harry Potter. Three years, two months, and thirteen days since she'd seen him. "I was very firm with him, and I wasn't very kind."
"He retreats real fast if we mention any of you," Dora said; her lips were twisted up in a grimace. Ginny was torn between wanting to hear more about Harry and wanting to run away.
Her father took the choice away from her when he cleared his throat loudly; her mother pressed her lips firmly together and the subject was dropped for the rest of the day.
HPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHP
26 August 2001
Harry watched the barn owl fly away until it was a speck in the distance. And then he continued to watch, shading his eyes in the morning light. I've just agreed to teach at Hogwarts, he thought, still in advanced stages of disbelief. It was almost as though he'd been above himself, watching as he wrote with a firm hand his acceptance that yes, he would teach Defense Against the Dark Arts. If he didn't know any better (not that he trusted such things automatically; he'd checked the envelope himself for curses), he would've thought that some sort of compulsion spell had taken hold of him.
You're fooling yourself.
He only had to glance around the room at Grimmauld Place to know exactly why he'd accepted the position. It was empty. When he wasn't traveling, he lived here. It was empty and lonely. Hogwarts would be full of people; most of them would be students, and he was decent about defending himself. And he could help teach the students; it would almost be like leading Dumbledore's Army again, though now with Voldemort dead and his ashes scattered in the wind, it would be a lot safer.
Not to mention, Remus' words last week had rankled and festered. It had been an odd mirror of the long ago conversation he'd had with him in the kitchen. He'd accused Remus of leaving Dora and Teddy because he was a coward. And now Remus accused Harry of cowardice because he just couldn't be who Remus seemed to think he was.
Harry stepped back and determinedly pushed that particular conversation out of his head. He didn't want to think of it. Remus had believed what he was saying, and he was too old a friend (not to mention a friend of Harry's father's) to completely ignore. And every time he thought about it, he did rash things like agree to teach at Hogwarts even though most of his own professors had been wildly incompetent and what the hell did he know about teaching first years the basics?
Remus managed just fine.
And now I'm going to have to talk to him, Harry thought gloomily. He clattered down the stairs to the hearth, pulled the Elder Wand out of his pocket, and seconds later, a merry fire blazed. He dug in a few of the cupboards, looking for his floo powder. He finally found a nearly full, dusty box of the sparkling stuff and threw it onto the logs while kneeling down. "Lupin residence," he said firmly. He experienced the odd sensation of just his head spinning past other wizarding grates, until a cluttered kitchen with a whistling replica of the Hogwarts Express chugging through the air.
"Remus?" he called. "Remus! Are you home?"
He tried to ignore the fact that the last thing Remus had said to him was that Harry was making it so he would die friendless and alone. He had a feeling that the old wolf would be overly thrilled that he had taken the position, and his effusive praise was going to sting Harry's pride. But how else was he to get help with coming up with a decent lesson plan? He couldn't exactly drop back into Hermione's life after three years of silence and ask her to do it for him. It was tempting.
Quick footsteps. "Harry?" Dora appeared right in front of him. Her bright pink hair made the shock written all over her face even more apparent. "Twice in one week? Do I need to do a security question? Make sure it's really you?"
"Funny," Harry said. He shifted uncomfortably. He didn't know if Remus' quiet statements against Harry's character were worse than Dora's constant nattering. He suspected the former, but the latter was quite annoying too. "Listen... is Remus home?"
"Nope," she said cheerfully. "He has Teddy, and I'm about to follow my boys."
Damn.
"How is he?" Harry asked dutifully.
"He's really great," she said enthusiastically. "He's really coming into his own; he did a pig snout just yesterday. It was the first time he's ever made anything non human before. That's as big as a first step for a metamorphmagus."
"That's really great," echoed Harry. There was a moment of uncomfortable silence.
"Listen," she said, voice suddenly soft. "There's a party at the Burrow-"
"Don't," Harry said warningly.
She ignored him. "I'm sure they'd be happy to see you. It's been so long."
Harry was certain there was one person who wouldn't be happy to see him. He of all people knew how seeing someone could trigger memories and emotions, and Ginny had suffered horrors that were emblazoned on Harry's memory. Remus had said that she was doing all right...
But he was tempted to go home nonetheless. He kept his eyes downcast so that Dora wouldn't see his weakness. She had a tendency to speak her mind (last December she'd claimed that all of Harry's "broody-ness" could be cured by a good shag) and dig in her heels about something. And if she thought that Harry would give an inch, she'd yank him the whole bloody mile. And he just couldn't face them. He remembered the last time he'd seen the Burrow. He'd held an unconscious Ginny is his arms, and the Healer he'd kidnapped from the hospital and bullied into treating her stood beside him. He'd seen the lights on, and something had just... snapped. And he hadn't been able to walk those steps back home. Not yet.
But time had stretched on, and now it just seemed easier for all involved to just stay away.
"Will you tell him I called?" Harry asked finally.
Dora shook her head. The tips of her hair turned black and spiky, a sure sign of annoyance. "Why don't I tell everyone you said hi? Or - better yet - how about I grab you by the hair and force you to tell me where you live so we can all come over and kick - your - arse? I never thought I'd hate the Fidelius Charm."
"I'll see you later, Dora," Harry said. He pulled his head out of the fire before she could respond (or possibly make good on her threat) and rocked back onto his heels. He supposed he'd have to figure out the lesson plans himself.
HPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHP
01 September 2001
Ginny Weasley clutched her pygmy puff tightly, only loosening her grip when poor Arnold led out a little squeak of dismay. The first day of school was always the worst. There were just so many people jostling for position in the carriages, and the train ride had left her feeling slightly trapped. But it's a lot better than last year, she thought. Last year she'd had to sit in a quiet compartment all by herself because she'd felt so hemmed in by everyone, but this year she'd shared it with Demelza Robins and Emma Dobbs. And she had to admit that the first year after she'd been captive, she couldn't have gone near a train at all.
But she didn't think she was up to the Welcoming Feast, much as it galled her to admit that she had boundaries; being near so many people would be crossing one of them. Halloween, she promised herself. I can go to the Halloween Feast. She held her new broom - the result of months working in the storeroom in Fred and George's shop - between her knees and turned her attention back to the spirited conversation between Demelza and Emma.
"I heard from Susan Bones that they were having a really hard time finding a Defense Against the Dark Arts professor," said Demelza. Ginny had a strange sense of deja vu. The curse on the position had apparently been broken, but the swift turnaround in the position was still an issue. Professor Robards had only taught for two years before he had returned to the Auror Department.
"I hope we have someone young this year," Emma said. She hooked her dark brown hair around her ears, eyes twinkling excitedly. "Robards was pretty cute, but he was too old."
"I liked the first year after the war," Demelza said wistfully. "Remember when the cute blokes from Dumbledore's Army took turns? Michael Corner was just so..."
"I know," Emma nodded, sighing a little.
Ginny resisted the urge to roll her eyes. She liked Emma and Demelza well enough - the three of them were in the same boat; they were the three oldest Gryffindor girls, and they'd all been forced to add another year to their education plan for one reason or another. Not to mention, Demelza was also on the Quidditch team. And when she wasn't too busy reminiscing about Michael Corner's teaching methods, she was fun to talk to. And Emma... she was about as different from Luna Lovegood (another of her brother's friends that she'd had the fortune to inherit) as night was from day, but they both had the ability to say off the wall things to distract her.
But when the talk turned to boys, Ginny just couldn't relate.
She jiggled her foot nervously; her palms were hot and sweaty, and she spared a moment of pity for Arnold. It must be like being in a very hot, humid prison. He made a mournful sound, and she opened her fingers a little, waving her hand a bit so he'd get a bit of a breeze. Fred and George had teased her over the summer, because she'd brought Arnold to work with her every day, but one of her greatest fears was somehow hurting him or waking up to his cold little body on her pillow. That had happened to Fleur's first pygmy puff, and though Ginny knew that their life expectancies weren't very long, she didn't want him to leave her.
"Ginny? Ginny!" Emma snapped her fingers in front of Ginny's face. "Are you all right?"
"I'm fine," Ginny said sharply. Of all the things Ginny Weasley hated to be asked, those four words were right beneath "what happened to you?" and instantly drew her ire. Why does everyone insist on asking me that?
"It's just that we stopped about a minute ago," Emma pointed out, almost as sharply. "Fancy sitting in the carriage for the rest of the night?"
Ginny glanced around. The thestrals stamped their feet and huffed out breaths as though they were annoyed with her as well. One even looked back at her and tossed its head as though urging her to get out. She grimaced and wanted to say she was sorry, but she just couldn't. The words stuck in her throat; they were trapped. She felt herself blushing as she stepped down, awkwardly balancing Arnold and the Nimbus 2121, the Millennium Broom. Stupid name for a great broom.
"I'm going up," she said.
"Do you want us to bring you any food?" Demelza asked quietly.
"No, thanks," Ginny said vaguely. "I'm so tired... I'm just too exhausted to stay up."
The walk up to the castle was not as bad as it usually was. Demelza and Emma (who appeared to have gotten over her annoyance) kept up determined chatter, specifically designed to force Ginny to talk. She tried to keep up, even though the shadows were particularly creepy, and Ginny sometimes thought she saw movement where it ought to have been still.
"No, I don't think the Cannons have got any chance of winning any games at all this year," she said determinedly. "Though don't tell my brother Ron that I said that."
"How is Ron?" Demelza asked with great interest.
"Still with Hermione," Ginny said, grinning despite herself. It baffled Ron to no end that witches thought of him with longing. The laughing fights Ron and Hermione had about his cluelessness had quickly become a family legend. A tree branch moved and she twitched away from it. Stop it, Ginny. There are no more Death Eaters. None at all...
She switched hands, wondering if Arnold might be more comfortable if he was inside the sleeve of her shirt. But she was already wearing her school robes, and she couldn't very well strip them off in the middle of the drive. I should have thought of that before, she thought. I should've thought about it on the train. What if he's too cold? She concentrated very hard on the hand that held Arnold - making sure that she wasn't squeezing too tightly - and tried to determine if the little guy was trembling or not.
"Ginny!" It was Demelza's turn to sound exasperated.
Blinking in surprise, she realized that they stood in front of the doors that led to the Entrance Hall. They must have walked very quickly, because the rest of the students lagged behind, and Emma was breathing heavily, as though she had run from the carriages to the school. Their head start, however, was swiftly lost as the shouting, laughing students drew even with them and streamed around them as though they were three small boulders in a river.
And suddenly the normal sounds of young witches and wizards enjoying themselves became something more sinister. The laughter had a harder edge, and it tugged at something in her stomach. Because she didn't want to close her eyes and see something she saw in her dreams often enough, she opened them wider. The back of her neck tingled and despite her best efforts, she could almost feel Greyback behind her-
"Arnold," she said thickly. "He needs to get back up to the room. It's too loud for him." And without waiting for a response, she shoved her way forward. She forced her steps to be as even and measured as she could. The humiliation of completely losing her head in front of Hogwarts would be more than she could handle.
"Are you sure you don't want us to bring you any food?" Emma called after her.
"I'm not hungry," Ginny called over her shoulder, lying through her teeth. She was a Weasley who hadn't eaten since she'd bought a few chocolate frogs off the trolley; of course she was hungry. But she had an emergency stash of food in her trunk courtesy of Ron; it would be waiting for her upstairs.
She paused only once on her non-flight to Gryffindor Tower, and this because of another ghost. A tall man stood with his back to her; his black hair was rumpled and untidy, and even though she knew it wasn't him, her heart seemed to leap and sink all at once. Unlike Greyback and the Malfoys, who were creeping shadows, Harry Potter was a shining light that somehow seemed to hurt almost as badly.
She shook her head and forced herself to turn away. She hadn't seen Harry in three years, two months, and nineteen days; there was no reason to think that her mind wasn't playing tricks on her. Again. "Come on, Arnold," she said, she opened her hand and placed him on her shoulder where he cuddled against her ear. "Let's go to bed."
The Gryffindor common room was silent and empty and Ginny hurried through it and took the stairs to the girls' dormitories two at a time. Once she'd entered the new room added for those who didn't really fit with any of others (it had originally been added the first year after the war, and Ginny was so glad that she was in her last year and could live in it), she closed the door and leaned against it with a sigh of relief.
The best thing about the room was that large privacy screens had been placed around each bed; it was almost as though the three of them had their own room. And for all intents and purposes, they did, as privacy charms had been built with the partitions. She thought it had been a nice touch, almost a reward to the students for surviving Voldemort, and loads of other people felt the same. Headmaster Flitwick had since enjoyed immense popularity. Ginny wouldn't have really minded being in a room with other girls who hadn't been in her original year, but the screens were a blessing.
Arnold appeared to be blissfully happy to find himself on her pillow. He rolled around making snuffling noises and emitting little squeaks. Ginny grinned at him. "You're a happy little blighter, aren't you?" she asked fondly. Then, unable to ignore the pangs in her stomach, she threw open her trunk and found a large, badly wrapped sandwich sitting right at the top, just as she'd known she would.
"Thank you, Ron," she murmured. He made the best sandwiches, and this time was no different. He'd been generous with every ingredient; Ginny knew that it would barely fit in her mouth, which watered at the sight of it. She attacked it ferociously, and half of it was gone before she even bothered to open the cold bottle of butterbeer he'd also provided (though she knew that the cold and freshness charms were all Hermione). "I love you," she moaned. I'm having my own little feast right here in my own little room.
She patted her stomach, content. Her eyelids felt heavy and she yawned, knowing that she ought to hurry into her nightgown, otherwise she'd fall asleep right in her robes. She rifled through the trunk and pulled it out. So intent was she on getting out of her robes and into the nightgown as fast as she could that she almost didn't notice when a tiny bottle fell out of the folds and nearly rolled under the bed.
Dreamless Sleep Potion. Mum must've packed it, she thought. It shimmered in the low light. Ginny didn't really want to take it; she didn't want to have to. But her mind had played a trick on her and made some bloke look like Harry. And the nightmares that involved Harry jumping in front of a Killing Curse aimed at her were almost worse than the ones that starred Fenrir Greyback, and Lucius and Draco Malfoy. She knew it wasn't really a real memory; the exact details of her rescue and Voldemort's defeat had been lost in a fog, though she knew that it was absurd to expect that Harry had somehow survived it twice.
And he was still alive, that much she knew. He kept in very sporadic contact with the Lupins.
"I don't want to be a troll tomorrow," she said out loud. Not on the first day of classes. She was never at her best after a nightmare. With a sigh, she tipped it back and swallowed it down. Stumbling over to the bed, she pulled the crimson covers back and slid in, careful to spread her hair out across the pillow. Arnold liked to use it as a nest. Sure enough, he bumped over to her and made a series of squeaks and murmurs and rooted near her ear.
"I love you too, Arnold," she said sleepily. And she slipped into a deep, peaceful sleep unmarred by nightmare or dream.
It has been three years, two months, and nineteen days since Malfoy Manor, and I am safe.
HPHPHPHPHPHP
The drive was still empty, but Harry felt unaccountably nervous as he waited for the students to approach the castle. He couldn't quite believe that he was standing here. Back at Hogwarts. It was surreal. And everything was the opposite of what it had been. He was expected to call his old professors by their first names. He'd already been shown to the lounge reserved for professors; it was entirely different from the Gryffindor common room. It wasn't as warm, for one, and the coloring was wrong: muted colors, as opposed to vivid. But even he could admit that it was the absence of a red-haired wizard and a bushy-haired witch that made it seem wrong.
"How are you, my boy?" Horace Slughorn said enthusiastically. He looked exactly the same as he had years ago.
"I'm fine," said Harry, so happy he was at the distraction that he overlooked the fact that Slughorn - or 'Horace' as he must now call him - had an ambitious gleam in his eyes. "And yourself?"
The large wizard patted his belly. "Fat and lazy, dear boy. Now! About you - far more interesting than me, I'm sure - where have you been? You've been avoiding the public eye-"
"-as much as I can," said Harry. "And I've been... around. I've traveled some."
"Always modest," he said comfortably, peering at Harry with eyes that were far too shrewd.
Harry glanced back at the drive. He could see several students leading the rest of them, though he could not yet make out their faces. He looked around for some way of escape, and saw Professor McGonagall standing just inside the Great Hall - she could distract him from his nerves just as easily as Horace, and was less annoying at that. "Excuse me," he said, and hurried over.
Several minutes later, there was a flash of red out of the corner of his eye. Harry had been speaking to Minerva McGonagall ("Call me Minerva, Harry," she'd ordered him) and he'd caught a glimpse of what might have been a Weasley head, and all of a sudden he was a student again. Ron would come through those doors at any moment, starving, and moaning about the food he wanted to eat. Hermione would be scolding him for poor manners and lack of attention span. And Harry would be sixteen again...
With effort, he turned away from the open doors and bent his head to listen to her again. "I'm sorry?" he murmured.
"I asked how it is for you to be back here," she said. "We haven't seen you in these last few years," she added delicately. He took this to mean that she knew that he'd spent the last few years running and hiding. He supposed he should've expected it; she'd been part of the Order of the Phoenix, after all, and it wasn't like it was a secret. He was only thankful that she hadn't come out and called him a coward like Remus had done.
"It's strange," he admitted. When Flitwick had contacted him just last week, his first reaction had been to refuse. He'd become quite comfortable in his solitude, and the idea of coming to Hogwarts and teaching students to defend themselves against the Dark Arts had been almost laughable. And yet he'd sent off the owl with his acceptance - and stipulations - the very next morning. And here he was. "I feel young again." She seemed about to reply - perhaps about to claim that twenty one was still young - but seemed to think better of it.
"I'm sure you'll be a fine professor," she said finally. "Speaking of young, would you like to take care of the sorting? I usually do it, but..."
"No, I don't think so," Harry refused as politely as he could. And before he could begin (yet again) to dwell on all the reasons why he shouldn't be around small children (he had a special knack for ensuring that those who hung around him long enough were exposed to the cruelties of the world), he asked, "How have you been? How has it been since the war?"
"We've recovered," she said. She looked out over the laughing, milling students. The slight Notice-Me-Not Charm he'd used appeared to be working. The younger witches and wizards did not stop to gawk, nor did they stare. Harry did not see one person do the familiar double-take upon seeing his scar. It was refreshing. "The Carrows did a lot of damage, not least of which was a few of the... older students were a bit too enthusiastic about using the Unforgivables."
"I won't tolerate that," Harry said in a hard voice. "If I ever see them using the Unforgivables against each other, I'll send them straight to the Ministry." Especially the Imperius Curse. He regretted his outburst when he saw how taken aback Minerva was.
"We've mostly gotten rid of that problem," she assured him after a long pause. She eyed him speculatively, and Harry had a feeling that he knew what was coming. Not even Remus could restrain himself, and Dora was constantly trying to challenge him whenever he was around (though that was about twice a year). "Harry... what happened?"
This was his absolute least favorite question in the world, though "are you all right?" came a close second. Voldemort's defeat had come at a heavy price, and no matter how hard he tried, Harry just couldn't forget. He vaguely remembered being young enough to think that it would be a happy occasion, though those delusions had died at Malfoy Manor. But this was Professor McGonagall - Minerva - and he felt slightly guilty about refusing to answer. "Voldemort died," he said shortly. It might have been different had it been his secret to tell. His hand twitched; he'd been about to ruffle his hair, a nervous habit he thought he'd broken long ago when he'd first realized that if people knew he regretted not telling them the truth of what had happened they pressed him even harder.
She nodded once. "That's fair."
"Thanks," Harry said, relieved. She glanced at him sharply, and he thought she might understand that the events of three years ago did not resemble a heroic tale. There had been so many articles after the war speculating about the defeat and Ginny's involvement in it. He hated the fact that he was made out to be some knight in shining armor when if that had been the case, he would've gotten there months before he actually had. Months.
"You'd best get up to the staff table, Harry," she said. He knew a dismissal when he heard one.
He was halfway there when he realized, with a start, that he probably looked as sullen as Snape always had. He almost touched his untidy hair again, but this time to make sure that he hadn't gone a few weeks without washing it. He tried to think of what Ron might say, but couldn't quite manage it. Hermione was easy (A horrified gasp, then: "You haven't planned out any of the lessons? Harry!"), and so was Mrs. Weasley ("You need your food, dear, I'd better see you take third helpings during the feast."). But as he threw himself into his chair (feeling like a teenager again as he did so) and, nerves jangling, tried to imagine what they would say to if him were he at the Burrow... he couldn't manage it.
Not anymore.
Harry watched as the incoming first years were sorted. There seemed to be an inordinate amount of Gryffindors; he clapped right along with the others as the last three (Rachel Wiggins, Wilfred Winte, and Robert Zell) joined Harry's old house. It might have been just him, but they seemed very small, and he briefly wondered if they'd started to allow in nine year olds. Don't be silly, he told himself. Ron might say that Britain's population was just getting shorter - he might've even blamed it on Fred and George...
Flitwick stood up; Harry was grateful that his thoughts had been interrupted. "Welcome to another year at Hogwarts," the tiny headmaster squeaked. He'd done the Sonorus Charm on himself, but the students in back still strained to listen. "Before we begin the feast"-here it comes, Harry thought, grimly satisfied-"I'd like to offer a very special toast." Sparkling goblets of pumpkin juice appeared before every plate. "You students have the opportunity to study under the best; I myself have always thought so - especially since I became the Charms professor..." A few students tittered. Harry didn't agree that he was the best - even if he did have the Elder Wand - but it would be churlish to argue.
"First," the headmaster said, lifting his own goblet. The teachers followed suit, and so did the students. Harry swept his eye from row to row. "Let's toast to the position of Defense Against the Dark Arts professor itself - may it always fill a headmaster's life with the excitement of trying to find someone to fill it."
Chuckling, Harry sipped along with the rest of them, though he had no real need to. He had to appreciate Flitwick's wiles - it seemed rather more Slytherin than Ravenclaw of him. But whatever methods had been used - and he trusted Flitwick to not use anything dark, nor anything illegal - it could only be for the best that the students would not be able to share who was teaching them Defense Against the Dark Arts. There would be fewer interruptions.
Keep telling yourself that. It sounded like Sirius at his most acerbic. Harry ignored it.
"Now... you have a new professor this year," said Flitwick. "Though I don't think you'll need an introduction once you see his face."
Harry grimaced inwardly, stood up, and took off the Notice-Me-Not Charm. The students were silent and confused for a good ten seconds. Then:
"It's Harry Potter!" shrieked a young Hufflepuff. She looked quite beside herself.
"Indeed, Professor Potter has graciously agreed to teach this year," Flitwick said, sounding quite delighted. Harry couldn't help but wonder if a flare for the dramatic was a requirement of Potter. It sounded strange. He wondered if the Marauder's Map would have anything sarcastic to say if he called himself that. He had a feeling that Mr. Padfoot would have something to say about it, and Mr. Moony might even express astonishment. It would think that Professor Potter was James, not Harry, but still...
He smiled vaguely at the crowd while they expressed shock and amazement. He sat down to thunderous applause and wondered if he'd ever get used to that. For the millionth time, he wondered what the hell he was thinking when he'd agreed to do this. It had been rash and stupid, and now he was in way over his head just because a small part of him had wanted to give back to the school that had shaped him.
He left the Great Hall as soon as it was decent to do so. He didn't need to stay for the end; he already knew what the rules were (he'd been given a comprehensive list by Minerva, along with the admonishment that he'd have to enforce them), and he'd set his own password for his quarters. But he had no intention of going there just yet. The sun was down, the moon was up, the wind was just right. And, most especially, Harry was back at Hogwarts and he wanted to fly.
Five minutes later, he soared through the air on the Firebolt he'd bought to replace the one Sirius had bought for him. The wind ruffled his hair. He bent low over the broom and sent it to the top of its speed until it made a continuous sound that was half whoosh, half scream. He chased the moon across the sky and hovered so close above the lake that if he made one sudden move, he'd tumble in.
If the rest of the year is just like this, it might not be so bad...