Although Harry's first day as a Professor started with a free period, he still trudged up the spiral staircase to his classroom first thing in the morning. He had gone to the Great Hall for breakfast, but none of those who interested him were there. The only other people at the table were Professor Doge and Minerva McGonagall heatedly discussing some Transfiguration issue.

Once inside, Harry sat at the teacher's desk he'd asked elves to find for him the day before—no way he was using Trelawney's—and started emptying his pockets. He fished out a crystal ball similar to all the other ones in the classroom and put it on the desk with great care. What followed was a much stranger assortment of things. One by one, he took out a powder compact box, a galleon, a bezoar, a penknife, a couple of small snow globes and half-dozen Muggle gel pens of different colours.

Harry critically eyed a silver pen that seemed to be empty, fiddled with the galleon, changing the words along its edge, and finally wiped the crystal ball with the sleeve of his robe. An image appeared on the milky white surface, making him jump up in surprise.

His brows knitted in confusion as he peered into a luxurious living room done in silver and green. A fire was cracking merrily under an intricately carved mantelpiece, and a light-grey robe was floating on a hanger over the sofa. Unlike one would expect from such a fickle Divination tool, the picture was very clear and crisp.

In a minute, just when Harry was about to turn away from the ball, a blond man entered the room, putting a cufflink on the sleeve of his obviously expensive white shirt. Harry's eyes widened in recognition. He swore under his breath.

Grabbing the powder box, he clicked it open.

"PARKINSON!"

His own reflection in the box's mirror changed into a face of one disgruntled Pansy Parkinson, clearly just roused from sleep.

"You'd better have a damn good reason to wake me up at this ungodly hour," she moaned, putting a hand over her face. Her usually perfect hair fanned out over the pillow in disarray.

"Believe me, I do. And it's almost ten in the morning!"

"Blaise came from Florence a couple of days ago, so we finally caught up."

Harry looked at her suspiciously. "Is he there with you?"

"What? No!" Pansy cried aghast. "This is certainly not a relationship I want to rekindle that way. Not to mention I'd be sure to catch something nasty after all those Italian exploits of his."

"Speaking of your exes," Harry drawled. "Could you please explain to me just why and for how long you've had surveillance on Draco Malfoy's flat?"

Pansy tensed up and immediately went on the defensive.

"Just because you're posing as a Divination teacher doesn't mean you had to take the ball with you. After all, we only have one. You know you cannot be trusted with breakable things." She sat up, probably so that she could better glare down her nose at him. "And I don't know what you are insinuating here, Potter, but Draco has been under surveillance because he was a suspect in a number of our cases."

"Which cases?" Harry quirked his eyebrow.

"Well, the vampire cult, for one thing!" Pansy said as if it was the most obvious thing in the world and Harry was an idiot for not figuring it out himself.

"And what pray tell has Draco Malfoy of all people got to do with vampires?"

"He is a notorious figure honest public must keep an eye on, which alone warrants a close investigation!"

That was a rich accusation coming from Pansy. Harry sighed.

"Cut the bullshit, Parkinson. I know you don't care that stalking is unethical, which is why you're in this job in the first place. But this unhealthy obsession does nothing but hurt you, and you know it."

Pansy's eyes, shining so bright just a moment ago, dulled, although she still looked mutinous.

"Besides," Harry pressed on. "What will happen if he learns about it? I don't know about you, but I'm not looking forward to explaining this to the Aurors, they're too happy to throw up roadblocks for us as it is. I certainly don't want anyone in the Ministry to get their hands on George's globes. Merlin knows what the likes of Umbridge and Dawlish could do with that."

"It's just a modified Protean Charm, not some groundbreaking invention. They could easily develop something similar on their own," Pansy protested.

"They could, but they won't. Not with their tested and proven ways of doing things in this Department," Harry raised his voice mockingly, seemingly quoting someone. "Anyway, take the surveillance down. Today."

"You are a tyrant, Potter." Pansy pouted.

He turned the conversation to Rowle's case. Harry recounted the previous day's events and revelations, making sure to gloss over his new appreciation of Snape. Judging by how Pansy's eyes narrowed, he didn't entirely succeed. He anticipated many days of teasing ahead.

"From what I remember about Richardson, his anti-Slytherin bias is rather new. After all, he used to be a frequent guest of my father's," Pansy said tensely. Jacob Parkinson, former Head of Department of Magical Transportation and a Death Eater, was in Azkaban for life. As far as Harry knew, Pansy never visited him or ever talked of him outside of their cases. There were a lot of things Pansy didn't talk about. "Dear old Papa called him absolutely shameless once, although coming from him it was most likely a compliment."

"I've sent Dean a message. Maybe he'll tell us more."

Pansy made a face. The last encounter with the Aurors was evidently all too clear in her mind.

"I'd try to track Rowle's mother in Liverpool, but you know I'm no good with Muggle authorities."

Yes, Harry knew that well.

"I'll do it. Old Trelawney has even fewer lessons than she had in our time, with the fifth year combined for all the Houses and sixth and seventh years together with a whopping five people there."

"That's five people too many. Who does N.E.W.T's in Divination of all things?!" Pansy herself had chosen Divination but dropped it halfway through the fourth year.

"Not arguing there."

They chatted some more, Pansy really curious about Emma Weasley. Harry was curious as well, so after she cut the connection, he called another name.

"Harry, old man!" Instead of Ron whom Harry expected to see, the face on the other end belonged to his brother. "That's some beard you have! And what is that thing on your head? Ron's mentioned that you've gone deep undercover, but I hope you aren't actually standing on the streets prophesying the second coming of nargles!"

"Actually, you are not that far away from the truth, George." Harry made a face.

"Do you still use that powder box?" George asked curiously.

A little over a year ago, Harry's communication mirror broke, and Pansy conspired with George and Ron to enchant her powder compact box instead. After a couple of months and many loud protests, George finally made another, more masculine, mirror. By that time, however, the box got Harry out a couple of sticky situation, so he continued to use it and was almost upset when a Jarvey stole it during what was in hindsight a very embarrassing case. Harry recovered the powder box when the creature somehow contacted Hermione during a very important Department meeting and definitely spiced things up for all the participants. It took two boxes of Parisian macarons and a musty tome with an unpronounceable name for Hermione to start talking to him again.

"It's got better reception," Harry deadpanned.

"Gimme that, George!"

George's face disappeared. For a minute, the picture shook violently, showing only a part of the ceiling and rows of boxes.

The battle for the mirror was finally won, and Ron showed up in the mirror, smiling victoriously. He had dropped out of the Auror's training programme even earlier that Harry to work with George in the shop, where his talents truly shined. He took over the financial side, allowing George to focus on inventing and work in his lab. The first year, the profits doubled. Now they exported WWW products to sixteen countries and thought about opening a branch in Hogsmeade. They had also launched a hugely successful adult line, which the Prophet still decried at least once a month whenever they ran out of actual news.

Ron was as shocked as Harry to hear about a Weasley in Hogwarts, and in Slytherin no less, but it was George who actually had an answer.

"It's probably Uncle Lotty's daughter. Dad checked upon them during the war and mentioned that their youngest kid was magical."

"Huh," Ron said thoughtfully, "Haven't seen Uncle Lotty since the day they had that big argument with Mum and Dad when I was what... Five? Six?"

"Yeah, I remember that! Freddie and I," George's voice hitched only slightly, "Fred and I put some Stinking Stickers on his bag that day. Which, now that I think about it, probably didn't endear him to the idea of mending fences. They are a bitch to scrape off without magic."

"Uncle Lancelot is a squib," Ron explained. "I think I told you about him once. He is an accountant and married to a Muggle."

Their conversation was interrupted by a hesitant knock on the door. Harry looked at the clock and swore; it seemed his free period came to an end sooner than he expected. Now he had to teach Divination to impressionable third years, oh joy. Slytherin and Hufflepuff, and he would have their Gryffindor yearmates tomorrow. Ravenclaws this year were apparently all above such inexact subjects.

Closing the connection, Harry stuffed everything except the crystal ball back in his pockets and braced himself.

"Come in!"

All in all, things didn't go too bad.

Harry had decided to start his first lesson for every class with a speech on the uncertain nature of Divination and what a bad idea it was to base your life choices on it (he only wished somebody had told young Tom Riddle that). With the fourth-year Slytherin-Ravenclaw class, it devolved into a discussion that lasted for the whole lesson, to the great joy of both Harry and students, none of whom seemed eager to start with Haruspicy. He made a note to change up the curriculum. There was simply no way he could keep a straight face pretending to read bird livers.

After the last students left, Harry warded the classroom and set out to his first task for the day. He was briefly waylaid by two Gryffindor girls wishing to know his opinion on the best tea blend for telling the future. They reminded him greatly of fifteen-year-old Lavender and Parvati, down to the pink ribbons in the blonde girl's hair. Nowadays, Lavender was a werewolf rights activist, organizing protests and once even leading a riot in Diagon Alley, and Parvati had her own high-end jewellery store.

He opined that classic Earl Grey was best for mundane short-term predictions, while green Gunpowder tea would reveal insights into a more distant future, but was trickier to decipher.

Having escaped the girls, Harry ventured down. Once on the third floor, he made a show to look lost, peeked into the Defence classroom, and then finally reached Richardson's office. He knocked at the door politely, even though he had checked the Marauders' Map not even ten minutes ago and knew that the Defence Professor wasn't there.

The door was unlocked, so he took it as an invitation.

Inside, the office looked just as it did in the memory, minus the Beater's bat. The stack of the parchments on the desk had seemed to grow even bigger.

Harry brushed the dark leather spines of the books on the top shelf opposite the desk with his fingers. Complete History of Early Byzantine Curses, volumes 1 to 7. Although house-elves made sure there wasn't even a fleck of dust, it didn't seem that Richardson had cracked these books open even once. The perfect place, then.

He took a snow globe out of his pocket and put it on the shelf. A tap of his wand, and the Christmas tree inside glowed with golden light for a moment. Another tap, and the globe disappeared, adjusting his colour and texture to the spines behind like a chameleon.

Just as he put away his wand, the door to the office opened and Richardson himself stepped inside. Spotting Harry, he frowned.

"What are you doing here?" he asked sharply.

Harry pulled his most hapless expression and pretended not to notice the tone.

"Oh, I've been looking for the staffroom for full thirty minutes already! I'd like to know my colleagues better, if I can find them, that is! How do kids manage to ever be on time with all these moving staircases? I think I got to the first floor, and now I'm suddenly on the third! Enough to make my Third Eye all confused." He made a vague gesture, scattering the stack of papers on the desk with the hem of his poncho. "Luckily I've come upon your office at least."

Richardson's left eye twitched. Harry didn't see why he would be upset; the desk looked neater now than before.

"The staffroom is on the ground floor. There is a secret passage leading there behind the tapestry with a unicorn and a thestral down the corridor," he said curtly.

"Secret passages, how exciting!"

"Well, you can explore them at your own time. Now if you excuse me, Thomas–"

"Thompson. But please call me Paul."

"If you excuse me, Thompson, I have a lot of papers to grade. Some professors here have quite a busy schedule, you see."

Harry wished him a cheerful goodbye and left. Desire to stuff that office full of dungbombs was almost irresistible.

The only other person in the staffroom was Professor Bell. She was sitting in a plush armchair in front of the fireplace and knitting something that looked like a cross between a sock and a glove. Her robes were nowhere to be seen, and she was wearing a skirt with a blouse and a cardigan, all slightly old-fashioned. Harry wondered if she felt the need to dress up Muggle because of her subject. When he saw her that one time at home, she was wearing robes.

Professor Bell raised her head and smiled at Harry.

"I see you're already getting familiar with our secret passages, Paul dear?"

"Professor Richardson showed me this one, or I'd be still wandering around the castle, completely lost!"

"Oh, I forgot you didn't go to Hogwarts," her eyes lit with curiosity. "Were you homeschooled, or did you attend another school, Beuxbatons, maybe?"

He shook his head. "Nope, no other schools. My Aunt and Uncle didn't want to let me out of their sight for most of the year, especially after my parents' death, so they saw to my education themselves."

"That must have been hard for you," Professor Bell said sympathetically. "Well, at least you've got your chance to experience Hogwarts now! I understand that the castle may seem a bit overwhelming at first. It's so nice of Alfred to show you around!"

"He was most helpful," Harry said dryly.

"We are so lucky to have Alfred teaching here! Such a brave and noble man." She positively gushed. "It's unfortunate that he had to leave the Aurors, but their loss is our gain."

"Why did he leave?" Harry asked with interest. "Was he injured in the field?"

"Oh, that's such an exciting story. He stood up to the Head of the Magical Law Enforcement during You-Know-Who's foul regime, Corban Yaxley, opposing that horrible Muggleborn Registration Committee." Her face clouded. "Oh, I barely got away myself, staying with my cousins in Canada. Horrible, horrible times!"

"I'm glad you were able to get to safety, Elizabeth."

"Thank you, dear. Anyway, Alfred refused to take part in that travesty, even though it meant he lost his job. He hinted that he'd even duelled Yaxley. That's how he got his scar," Professor Bell added in a hushed voiced.

"Did he now?"

"He never talks about it, though. He's too modest."

Harry resisted the urge to snort. Richardson didn't strike him as a particularly modest type.

"And he is such a good teacher, too," Professor Bell went on. "Children love him. And those who don't… Well, Aurora might feel dismayed over that Rowle boy, but she just didn't see him as I did. Nasty piece of work. Alfred's always seen right through him."

That caught Harry's attention. "Why would you say that? Did Rowle have Muggle Studies?"

Bell laughed derisively. "Oh, don't be silly, why would a Slytherin son of a notorious Death Eater want to learn anything about Muggles? Of course not, though his friend Mr. Farley was in my O.W.L class, so Rowle would come sometimes and comment on my syllabus."

"Oh?"

"Yes, he had the gall to correct me about computers. And he said that now all Muggles carried telephones in their pockets! What utter rubbish! If he'd ever seen a phone in his life, he'd known they're too big and heavy to carry like that, not to mention that they must be connected to a wire to work!"

"I heard there are some newer models," Harry offered carefully.

"Of course, Muggle technological advancements do not stand still. I as a Muggleborn ought to know that better than anybody! But some things are just too ridiculous to imagine," Bell huffed, resuming her knitting.

She might be a Muggleborn, Harry mused, but she seemed to have lost touch with Muggle word a long time ago.

"They say forgive and forget, welcome all these children of Death Eaters with open arms. As if they'd ever show us mercy if they had their way!" Bell said with surprising poison in her voice. "Mercy! Harry Potter himself pleaded for mercy for Draco Malfoy, since apparently he was 'just a child'."

The way she spat Harry's name made him wince; he didn't realise she had any bad feelings towards him when they met.

"And now he is in the society pages of the Prophet, while my Katie will never have the Quidditch career she always dreamt about, and no amount of blood-soaked Malfoy galleons he threw at us will ever change that!"

Harry didn't know that necklace had long-lasting consequences. He felt bad for not checking on Katie. "What happened, if you don't mind me asking?"

"That Malfoy boy almost killed my daughter with a cursed necklace back in her last year at Hogwarts. She is mostly fine now, but still has tremors in her hands occasionally, so riding a broom professionally is not an option."

Harry had seen Katie a couple of times after the war, and she seemed happy with her work at Madam Malkin's. He wondered if Katie herself also carried a grudge against him for getting Malfoy out of Azkaban.

One by one, the staffroom filled with people: Flitwick came in with a stack of parchments to mark; Madam Pomfrey dropped over from the infirmary. Hooch flooed in and engaged Harry in an eye-opening, if a little one-sided, conversation about Greek Oracles. Apparently, she had a whirlwind affair with some Delphi prophet during her Quidditch days. He discovered that she had a really dirty sense of humour when the students were not around. Only when the door opened once again to let Neville in, did Harry decide that it was time to leave, vaguely disappointed that a certain black-haired professor hadn't come as well.