A/N: My beta reader was temporarily MIA and so this is slightly less grammar-policed. I hope you enjoy it, anyway. R&R!
Chapter 10: Welcome to the Fifties
Harry looked around his new office, unsure of what to do with himself. Fawkes fluttered down to the desk, and twittered unhelpfully. Harry decided to fix the furniture first. He transfigured the desk into a larger one made of dark polished wood. It had useful shelves that rose several feet above its surface. Then, he looked at the wardrobe. He spelled its doors open. Floating within it was a dementor, tall and hooded.
"Boggart!" yelped Harry, and slammed the doors shut. The wardrobe rattled. He chuckled and sighed at his reaction. He was surprised that he hadn't sensed the boggart's presence. He must have been too preoccupied with his conversation with Dumbledore. Well, he thought, the boggart can be one of my lessons.
Harry conjured a comfortable swivel armchair. He was pretty sure that armchairs this comfortable hadn't been invented yet, but he didn't think anyone was going to call him on it. He sat down in the chair behind his desk. He decided that now that he had won his job, he had to do it. He began drawing up lesson plans starting with first year, and ending with seventh. He realized that he would probably have to amend them as he went depending on what the students had already learned. Having been a fantastic Defense against the Dark Arts student, a teacher in his fifth year, and a professional after his school years, he had a very detailed base of knowledge and knew pretty well how to divide the work between the classes.
Harry immersed himself in the task. He loved remembering all of his favorite spells that had come in handy so many times. Soon, he'd filled pages for each of the years, with animals to learn about, spells to practice, and facts to know. He looked at his watch. It was nearing 5:00. He was shocked at how quickly the time had passed.
He knew that dinner was served at 7, so he still had two hours. He decided to arrange his classroom more thoroughly. He went out of his second office door onto the balcony over the classroom and surveyed it closely. He decided that since he was going to teach his lessons practically, he needed to fix the space. He started by vanishing all of the desks and putting large pillows around the room instead. Next, he covered the wall without windows with mirrors, and protected them so that stray spells would not shatter them. These would help the class see everyone's progress, and keep the students looking around and on their toes.
He descended the stairs, and looked around the room. In between each of the mirrors, he conjured a shelf. On each of the shelves, he displayed a dark detector. He spent a few minutes adding protective spells to them so that they would not be broken by spells. He made sure to do the same to the windows. He cast a spell on the chandelier so that it would not fall or break, and he fireproofed both doors and the cushions. As an afterthought, he cast a cushioning charm on the ground and walls, so that if anyone were to fall or be thrown against a wall, they would be able to get back up unharmed.
Harry nodded, satisfied. All he had to do was think of something interesting to put in his office.
Thinking of Dumbledore, he cleared a space on his paper-covered desk, and conjured a bowl there. He filled the bowl with some of the lemon drops from his stash upstairs, and cast a spell on the bowl to multiply the lemon drops so that they never ran out.
He cast spells on both doors to make sure that no students could break into his office, and more spells that would let him know if someone tried. He left the office accessible to faculty, but made spells to alert him upon the entry of anyone but him. He could have cast spells to tell him exactly who was entering his office, but he had the Marauder's Map to tell him that. It wouldn't do to get too lazy, now, would it, he thought as he conjured a mailbox for the outside of his door, opened the door with magic, and attached the mailbox with magic. He also added a plaque to the outside of the door that read:
Professor Harry Crockett
Defense against the Dark Arts
He looked around the office to see if he'd forgotten anything obvious. Like the bed. He didn't think of anything, but he was sure he would add things later. He still had an hour until dinner, so he decided to take a walk around the grounds. He was a little restless after spending several hours drafting lesson plans.
Harry walked down the lawn, and found himself treading the familiar rout to the Quidditch pitch. When he got there, he felt all the memories come back of the plays he'd made…the games he'd won. He craved the wind in his face and the ground far beneath him, so he took out his broomstick from his bag, enlarged it, and jumped into the air, making sure to use occulemency against his ego trapped within the broom.
He zoomed around the stadium, faster and faster. He sped faster than any broom ever had in that time and he left his day behind him. But as he flew, his heart began to ache. And as he left his day behind, he traveled closer to what he had been avoiding for a year. He had pushed it down with a new name. He had avoided it by avoiding witches and wizards. He had even avoided it with using occlumency on himself to save himself from thinking about it. But now, it crashed over him like a tidal wave.
He, Harry James Potter, the boy who lived, the hero of the 21st century wizarding world, had been sent back over seventy years in time. He had been ripped from his life and shoved unceremoniously into the past. He had been torn from his friends and thrown in with people from another generation entirely.
He circled lower and lower, gasping at the enormity of it all until he collapsed onto the grass on all fours. Luna's face, Neville's face, Ron's face, Hermione's face, his children's faces flashed in front of his eyes. He wouldn't see any of them again until he was an old man, if at all. He looked at the grass beneath him, and it looked back at him, innocent and green.
Harry couldn't help but think of all the things he'd never get to do because he was in the past…well, there was his job. He would never go back to his auror's job. His auror's job, where each accomplishment was unimpressive compared to his defeat of the dark lord.
He thought of his friends. He'd never see his friends again. He would miss his real friends, though they seldom spoke except to reminisce about the defeat of the dark lord and the DA. And then there were the people who he had met after the war, who all wanted a piece of his purity and glory.
And he would never again be called "Harry Potter." He would never again be recognized in the streets and mobbed. He would never have to sign autographs for a greatness he had been destined to do since he was born. He wouldn't have broomstick models made to look like his face, or close-ups of his scar in the Prophet.
He realized he was sobbing into the grass. His forehead was pressed into the ground, and his arms were around his middle, the only thing keeping him together. He looked up at the castle in front of him, tears rolling down his cheeks.
He was free.
Like he had never been in his life, he was free.
He wasn't expected to be anything or anyone anymore. He didn't have to be an auror. He didn't have to be a Potter. He didn't have to be a saint. He didn't have to pat the ministry on the shoulder, or send opinions to the Prophet. He didn't have to be smarter than Ron but more cool than Hermione. He didn't have to be married to Ginny, or any woman, thank goodness. He was no longer Harry Potter, the Boy Who Wasn't Allowed to Change.
He was Harry Crockett, Defense against the Dark Arts teacher in 1957. He was a broomstick, a bowling ball, a wand, a hat, a record, a phoenix and a man. He was standing up and smiling, wiping away his tears. He was going to be the best damn Defense against the Dark Arts teacher Hogwarts had ever and would ever have. He was going to ask Dumbledore all the questions he had always wanted to and more. He was going to make a home for himself without all of the bullshit coddling. He was going to be the child he never got to be at Hogwarts or on Privet Drive. He was going to be the adult no one ever knew was behind the Boy Who Lived.
He was going to be late to dinner.
He made sure he was clean, and headed back to the castle, a new skip in his step.