Chapter Three: The Offer

"Blimey, Harry, they want you to teach?" Ron exclaimed after Harry had recounted his meeting with McGonagall to him, Ginny, and Hermione.

"And she wants me to help you teach?" Hermione questioned aloud to no one in particular, still trying to wrap her head around what she had just been told.

Ginny was being oddly silent. She had listened with the same level of eagerness as Ron and Hermione, until Harry reached the part where McGonagall wanted Hermione to help Harry teach the younger students. At that point, she sat back in her char at the kitchen table next to Harry and stared at her hands. Harry, sensing something was wrong with Ginny, said quietly, "Are you okay?" Ron and Hermione were too busy imagining what their final school year would be like with Harry and Hermione as teachers to notice Harry or Ginny.

"Yeah… Fine." Ginny said with little emotion.

Harry not convinced by her response but not wanting to push, took a hold of her hand and gave it a small squeeze. "What do you think about this, Ginny? Should I do it?"

Ginny perked up at the Harry asking for her opinion, "It's quite an honor, Harry. And… And no one is more qualified than you, I think…" She paused. She wasn't sure what to tell Harry. He would make a great Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher but for some reason, she was not comfortable thinking about Harry and Hermione teaching together. Ginny's mind flashed images of Harry and Hermione alone in his office, working on lesson plans late into the night, becoming close, and…

"Ginny? Well, do I think I should do it?" Harry interrupted Ginny's jealous thoughts.

"I… You should do what you want." Ginny said, sharp and short.

Harry, Ron, and Hermione exchanged concerned glances. Ginny, sensing she was about to be asked once again what was wrong, quickly excused herself and left the table.

"What's up with her?" Ron asked. "Harry, what did you do?"

"What? I didn't do anything!" Harry said. "She seemed fine until I started talking about McGonagall's offer."

"I bet she's afraid that Harry is going to be so busy between being in class and teaching class that they won't have any time together," Hermione said. "Can you blame her?" she said to Harry. "You were apart for almost a year, she went months wondering whether you were even alive, and now when you can finally be together, you've been asked to teach."

"So, should I turn down McGonagall's offer?" Harry asked, now even more unsure of what to do.

They were all silent for a moment. Then, Ron said, "Didn't you say McGonagall gave you a piece of parchment with all the perks of the job?"

"Oh, yeah." Harry reached into his rucksack and pulled out the folded parchment McGonagall had given him earlier. Unfolding it, he read aloud.

200 galleons a month + room & board

Office on the second floor

Classroom on the first floor

A month paid vacation in summer

Right to administer detention and award House points (only during your class periods & fairly, Mr. Potter)

My undying gratitude and promise to help you anyway I can

Harry's heart warmed at the last line. He knew that McGonagall would never force him to take the position and that she probably did not want to ask him. Running his hands through the hair he tried to hard to flatten earlier that day, he let out a long sigh. Looking at his two best friends, he thought about how not two days ago he dreamed about going back to Hogwarts with them and enjoying a year of school where their greatest adventure would be passing their N.E.W.T.s. After the events of last year, Harry wanted nothing more than one quiet, peaceful year at Hogwarts. Yet, he had to admit, the idea of teaching Defense Against the Dark Arts did bring a smile to his face. Harry had greatly enjoyed teaching his classmates during his 5th year for Dumbledore's Army and if he was going to be an Auror, this would allow him plenty of practice and time to prepare for Auror training, which he would begin next year. Looking back down at the parchment, he reread the last line.

Harry thought back to everything McGonagall had done for him over the years. Getting him placed on Griffindor's Quidditch team, buying him his first broom, vowing to help him become an Auror, though she was a stern women, McGonagall clearly cared deeply about Harry. Her scream still echoed in Harry's ears, when she saw what she thought was Harry's dead body at the Battle of Hogwarts. Besides, what would McGonagall do if Harry said no? She had already admitted she had not been able to find anyone and surely she would have only asked him as a last resort.

"I'm going to do it," Harry announced suddenly, making Ron and Hermione jump slightly. "After all," he said with a sly smile, "how often does a 7th year get a chance to be a professor? It certainly has to be more impressive than being 'head boy.'"

"Alright then, mate!" Ron said, slapping Harry on the back. "Hermione, what are you going to do?"

"Well, I guess if Harry can handle classes and teaching, there's no reason I can't," said Hermione. "Besides, Harry's right, this will look more impressive then being head boy or girl. Though I suppose I'll probably need to resign from my prefect duties."

"Oi, we're still prefects?" Ron asked, apparently forgetting he was one.

"Of course, Ronald! Once you're a prefect, you're a prefect until you leave Hogwarts or resign," Hermione answered matter of factly and with a hint of annoyance.

"Right, right," replied Ron, embarrassed.

Before another word could be spoken, Mrs. Weasley came in and shooed them out of the kitchen so she could begin making dinner. Hermione headed upstairs to begin outlining lesson plans. Harry, not quite ready to give up the freedom of his summer holiday, grabbed Ron and led him outside for some Quidditch practice.

It was quite a bit warmer than it had been when Harry had flown this morning, but it was a beautiful day regardless. The sun shone brightly in the cloudless blue sky. The fields of tall grass around the Burrow swayed lazily in the wind, the rustling a welcome summer song. As Harry and Ron soared through the air, Harry closed his eyes, letting the warm air flow over his face like a welcome hug from an old friend. Harry had forgotten how much he missed flying on a broom, he had trouble remembering the last time he had flown on one since purchasing his replacement Firebolt. However, no one would have been able to tell Harry had not ridden a broom in over a year. He flew with the grace, speed, and precision that had made him a great Seeker.

After a few circles around the Burrow, Harry flew up to Ginny's window and gave it a quiet knock. Ginny pulled back the curtains and opened the window, smiling once she realized it was Harry.

"Grab your broom. Ron and I are flying over to the orchard for some Quidditch practice," Harry told her.

"Alright, I'll meet you over there," Ginny replied, excited to have a chance to spend time with Harry without Hermione.

As Harry flew towards the orchard, he let his mind linger on his relationship with Ginny. Harry had to admit there was a lot he did not understand about dating. After all, Ginny was only his second girlfriend and his brief relationship with Cho was not exactly ideal, considering the circumstances leading up to that kiss in Room of Requirement after a DA meeting. While Harry felt that he and Ginny were doing much better than he and Cho, there was something odd about it. He was happy with Ginny. He enjoyed their long walks through the orchard behind the Burrow and the late night conversations in the kitchen after everyone else had gone to bed. Harry smiled, and the kissing, well, was more than satisfactory. Perhaps it was the happiness that was odd. Happiness, happiness without fear of death or someone close to him getting hurt, was an unknown concept to Harry. He had spent so many years trying to keep his heart from feeling too much joy. Experience had taught him that happiness and peace were always fleeting and seemed to guarantee that hurt, grief, and agony were soon to follow.

Carefully weaving through the trees of the orchard towards the hidden Quidditch pitch, Harry unconsciously touched his scar. It had not pained him since Voldemort's demise, yet he still felt its burden. Hero of the wizarding world. Mortal enemy of the few remaining Death Eaters and Voldemort sympathizers. The Boy Who Lived. The Boy Who Killed Voldemort. Master of the Elder Wand. Though Harry used his holly and phoenix feather wand, he technically was still the rightful owner of the Elder Wand. He had intended to put the Elder Wand back into Dumbledore's tomb but Ron and Hermione reminded him that they did not know how many people, especially Death Eaters, knew Voldemort had obtained the Elder Wand. Ron had suggested placing it in Gringott's before realizing that if they could break into Gringott's, it might not be as safe as they had all once thought. So, after much deliberation, and to Harry's dismay, the wand was placed in the mokeskin poach that Hagrid had given him for his 17th birthday, which hung around Harry's neck all the time. Harry hated having the wand so close. It reminded him too much of Dumbledore, whose death he still grieved, and of Voldemort, whose memory he wished he could forever forget. Yet, he knew Ron and Hermione were right in that he was the best person to protect the wand from those who would use the wand for evil and personal gain.

"We have no chance of winning the Quidditch Cup if you fly this slowly, Harry."

Harry looked behind him and saw Ginny approaching.

"Just waiting for you to catch up," he teased. His heart thumped a little harder seeing Ginny's bright red hair waving in the wind and her eyes bright with anticipation for a round of Quidditch.

"Well, in that case," Ginny shouted, "last one to the pitch is a Blibbering Humdinger!"

Laughing, and forgetting about the world's most powerful wand, hidden under his shirt, Harry chased after Ginny. For now, all Harry wanted to do was focus on honing his Quidditch skills with his best friend and his girlfriend. A few hours later, they returned to the Burrow, covered in sweat and a bit sore from being on the brooms for so long. Mrs. Weasley turned around from the stove, pleased to see her children and Harry, who she considered to be her own son, laughing and smiling. As she turned back to the stove, flicking her wand this way and that, putting the final touches on supper, she made a silent wish that this year would be a year of happiness, life, and peace. Unfortunately, there were others who did not share this wish.