Hope you like this one! I'm getting back into fanfiction and this one just wouldn't leave me alone.

Also, I love Ginny. But she and Harry will break up in this story.

Audrey and Harry are gonna have a slow-burner.

Harry Potter is the chosen one. A gifted wizard. A good man.

Harry Potter is also an arsehole when he's hungover.

"Potter," I greet, as he sits next to me at the staff table. "Feeling a little sensitive are we?"

"Fuck off Audrey." He reaches out for the teapot at the end of the table tiredly. "You're the one that told me I should have the last half of that wine."

"You're the one that drank it," I say, absently poking at my breakfast. "Say, Harry — what do you think of the greasy pork sausages on offer today? The fat of it should sit very comfortably in your turning stomach-"

He gags a little, bending forwards to shield his discomfort from any onlooking students.

I sip my cup of pumpkin juice to hide my smile.

"Bitch," he croaks.

I roll my eyes. "Lightweight."

"You really are Harry." Neville takes a seat next me, grinning at us both. "You clearly didn't partake in the celebrations the rest of us did after the war, did you?"

"Neville, take pity on me. Please."

Neville raises a brow at me. "The Boy Who Lived? More like the Boy Who Dances to the Weird Sisters after three shots."

I burst into laughter. Even Harry huffs a reluctant chuckle.

Harry and I were unusual friends. He'd joined the faculty the year before I did, after the previous Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher resigned. He'd not recognised me from school, a detail that mortified him but made total sense to me; he'd more important things to deal with at the time.

"I could brew you a sober-up potion," I offer. "But tit-for-tat Potter. What will you offer me?"

"Are you sure you're a Ravenclaw?" Harry mumbles, head on the table. "That was awfully Slytherin of you."

"Ah, but it's all in the pursuit of knowledge you see." I don't tell him that the Sorting Hat had taken quite a while to decide whether or not I should be put in Slytherin.

He looks at me pleadingly. I am not swayed — he knows what I want. (We both know that, ordinarily, I would give him it for free.)

After only a moment more of hesitation, he sighs. "Fine. I'll teach you how to cast a Patronus."

I grin, delighted, and elbow him in the side. "Cheers Harry. I've actually got a couple in my stores, I'll go grab one before your first class."

"So you don't have to brew- oh." Harry glares at me. "You're unbelievable."

I wink at him, standing from the table and ready to take my leave. "I know. But think of the satisfaction you'll feel when I finally manage to cast a Patronus!"

"I'd get more satisfaction from kissing a garden gnome."

"Just as I enjoy torturing you at breakfast far more than curing your hangover," I counter, patting him on the shoulder as I walk past him. "But we have to sacrifice a few things to get what we want, don't we?"

Neville's laughter rings loudly as I move past him, much to the curiosity of the students closest to our table. I smile, wink at them, and they giggle.

As Potions master, I consider it my person duty to improve quite a terrible historical reputation.