I know, I know. It's been forever. I'm really sorry. Two months... hey, it's better than last time, or the time before that, when it took me, what, four months to update? This one's dedicated to SkyHighFan-- it's really only because of him (her? sorry, I don't know) that I wrote this. He nagged me enough to make me feel guilty so that I'd get it done.

Disclaimer: it's too late at night to come up with something clever. It's not mine.

Chapter 16

Returned

The class that he was both looking forward to and dreading the most was just before lunch on Friday. The first three days had gone very well. Although he had stayed up late every night in order to finish the lesson plans Professor McGonagall wanted him to draw up, he felt like he had taken on a job that was actually doable. In fact, he didn't seem to be working nearly as hard as Hermione, who, besides helping him with his lessons, was taking two classes more than anyone else, had her Head Girl duties to worry about, and was still trying to continue the Society for the Promotion of Elfish Welfare she had begun in their fourth year. He didn't feel very stressed at all, even though he spent two hours every evening after dinner giving extra classes as McGonagall had asked. He was amazed at the turnout, however; if he had believed people thought him to be a horrible teacher, he had to revise his thinking when nearly fifty people showed up to Monday evening's session. He had had to ask half of them to leave and come back the next night simply because the room wasn't big enough to accommodate them all. They had finally evened out to a reasonable number by Thursday night.

When Ron asked him at breakfast on Friday morning why he looked so pale, Harry told him it was apprehension for his next class.

Ron looked at him incredulously. "Why that class?" he demanded. "That's our class."

"Exactly."

"You think we're going to give you a hard time?"

Hermione, sitting on Ron's other side with a book propped up against a pitcher of orange juice, answered for him. "It's his first class of seventh years. He's worried because he'll be teaching kids who're the same age as himself."

Ron looked from Hermione to Harry. After a pause, he asked the latter, "Do you think she can read minds, mate?"

Harry shrugged, turning back to his bacon. "Maybe she's just a bit more perceptive than you."

Ron opened his mouth to say something, but Hermione interjected. "We could come with you a few minutes early, Harry."

"Yeah," Ron said, retort forgotten. "Help you get ready and stuff."

Harry accepted gratefully. He was more nervous than he would admit.

They left the Great Hall and made for the classroom. Harry went into his office to retrieve his lesson plan and the roll of parchment with the attendance on it. As he emerged, Ron asked, "What're we doing today?"

"I have a list of basic defensive spells that everyone should know, and I'm going to go through and make sure everyone can do them. If they can't, they can come to the extra study session tonight."

"What spells?"

Harry glanced down at his list. "Expelliarmus, Shield Spell, Boggart Banishing, Severing Spell, Alohomora, Blasting Curse, Body Bind Curse, Impediment Curse…"

Ron let out a low whistle. "We're going to be busy today, then."

Somewhere out in the hall, the bell rang, signaling the end of breakfast. Ron and Hermione sat down in the front row and Harry retreated to his office, he claimed, to grab something. In reality, he needed a second to calm down without anyone watching. He hadn't been this nervous since going to the Riddle House last summer.

He could hear the seventh years entering the classroom, chattering animatedly. When the second bell rang after what felt like forever, Harry emerged from his office.

Instead of quieting down as he expected, the talking grew in intensity. It took several shouts and finally a deafening bang from his wand before silence was restored.

"Alright," he began after clearing his throat. "I want to thank you all for coming, first of all. This is kind of a strange situation for all of us, seeing as most of you are older than I am. I don't profess to be better than you. The only reason I was offered this post is the experience I've had.

"I'm supposed to teach you to defend yourselves against Voldemort-" there was a collective shudder- "and I'm the only one I know—who's alive, at least—who has fought him before. I'm not saying this to brag; I've come this far only through sheer luck and people who care for me. But I know him, and I know him better than anyone else because of these encounters. That's why I'm teaching you, not some auror from the Ministry. Because I know him and I know what he'll try to do. His followers, too. I'm the one who can teach you how to defend yourselves from them."

He surveyed them for a moment, then Dean Thomas raised his hand tentatively. "Uh… Harry? I have a question."

"What is it?"

"Well, uh… I was wondering… We never got told, at the end of last year, there was too much confusion, what with Dumbledore's death and all… and there are rumors, but we have no idea what to believe… anyway, we don't know what happened. We know some general details—obviously, Dumbledore was killed—but we have every right to know what went on, don't we? It's our school, too."

The last statement was fervent and almost defensive. Harry sighed. "I'm not sure whether you weren't told what happened because there was too much confusion or because Professor McGonagall didn't want you to be told, but I agree, Dean. It's your school, too. You have a right to know the facts. It's better than hearing only exaggerated rumors, anyway."

"You'll tell us, then?" he asked, almost unable to believe his ears. A fierce whispering had broken out among the rest of the class.

Hoping he wouldn't regret it later, Harry nodded. "Yes, I'll tell you."

So he told them. He told them everything, down to the smallest detail, though he made it sound as if Dumbledore had been off on a mysterious errand alone and he himself had simply followed Malfoy up the stairs without being noticed. No need to be bombarded with questions about where they had been. He'd had enough of that.

The only person who knew that he had been with Dumbledore that night, besides Ron and Hermione, at least, sat still and said nothing. Neville Longbottom looked as though he had lost weight over the last few months. He had gained confidence since their first year—he no longer seemed embarrassed to ask a question or nervous and awkward around people—but be had also acquired a sadness of sorts. He looked melancholy, as though he had grown older than his seventeen years. It saddened Harry to see him like this; the years had taken their toll on him. He counted Neville as a very good friend.

"And Snape and Malfoy got past the gates and Disapparated." He finished his tale with no small relief; reliving that night was not one of his favorite pastimes.

Silence pervaded the room for a few more seconds, then an intense whispering started up. They were learning the truth of what had happened for the first time.

A Slytherin in the back of the classroom spoke up. "Snape… he… he really did kill Professor Dumbledore?"

Harry nodded slowly.

Dean spoke next. "There were rumors before, but we never really knew… the Prophet never said anything… What about the guy who was slashed by that werewolf who hadn't changed? Ron's brother?"

"Bill's fine. He got married last month…" But then he remembered what he was saying. Bill's wife had died barely an hour after the ceremony. Fleur Delacour was dead. He found that a lump had risen in his throat, and he was unable to continue.

"Wait…" said Parvati Patil. "That was in the news, though. I remember it because I remembered reading your last name, Ron… Didn't the Death Eaters kill her just after their wedding?"

Harry nodded miserably, wishing he had never brought it up. Ron was looking at his hands, and Harry could see that his eyes were filled with tears, more for Bill than for Fleur, for whom he had no particular love. He decided to change the subject.

"Well, I'm supposed to be teaching you something," Harry said loudly as Ron tried to wiped his eyes inconspicuously. "We're going to start out with just a testing day, to see what everyone knows. There's a list on my desk that has about twenty spells on it, and they're ones that you should be able to do. I want you to pair up and go do them all in order. If you can't do one or more of them, talk to me after class, please. Go ahead."

They paired off and began performing the spells, Harry walking around them and correcting the occasional error here and there. However, his mind was not really on the class. Instead, it was dwelling over everything that had happened since Dumbledore's death.

He had joined the Order of the Phoenix. He had accepted a teaching post at Hogwarts. Domohov Bokonovsky, a Death Eater, had been voted Minister of Magic. He had discovered the identity of R.A.B. He had retrieved a Horcrux from the Riddle House. He had found a way to destroy the Horcruxes. Bill and Fleur had been married, and then Fleur had died. He had talked to Dumbledore's portrait, and in doing so, another Horcrux was revealed. And now he was teaching classes.

Suddenly the sheer weight of the events of the last few months crashed down on him, and he wanted to curl up and cry. He slipped into his office and shut the door, sinking weakly against it.

Once he had regained his composure, he went back out. It was only another few minutes before the bell rang once more, signaling the end to class. Harry called out to the students heading out the door, "Every day after dinner there's an extra defense class, if anyone's interested. Those who had problems with the spells, please come see me."

Only about five hung back. Harry was rather proud to see that none of them had belonged to the D.A. in their fifth year. He informed them that he expected them all to come to the extra class at least once a week until they could do the spells properly.

He had one more class, then lunch, and then a free period. He used that to draw up a homework assignment for each of his classes the following week. Then came dinner, and then the defense class, and then he was done for the day.

Realizing that he hadn't yet been to see Hagrid, Harry decided he would that evening. After his classroom was vacated for the last time, he grabbed his cloak and went outside, deciding to go without Ron and Hermione for once because he thought he might want to talk to Hagrid alone. Students weren't allowed outside after dark without a teacher present, but Harry reminded himself smugly that he was a teacher.

Hagrid wasn't at home. Harry figured he was off doing his gamekeeper duties, and he decided to take a walk around the grounds to sort out his thoughts. He strolled along the edge of the Forbidden Forest, reflecting.

Four Horcruxes had been stolen from Voldemort: the diary, the staff, the timeturner, and the ring. Remaining were only three: the cup, the locket, and Voldemort himself. At least, that's what Dumbledore had thought they were, and he trusted Dumbledore's judgment.

Though the end of last year had taught him not to do so blindly. Dumbledore had been wrong, and it had cost him his life. He had trusted Snape, and Snape had killed him. And if Dumbledore had told him about the prophecy earlier, Sirius might not have died.

So he trusted Dumbledore's judgment. For the most part.

Harry found himself dwelling on Sirius, and it was the first time he had allowed himself to do so in months. The first time he had seen him, bitter, gaunt, and desperate. All his help in his fourth year trying to get through the Triwizard Tournament alive. Fenced in, walled up in a house he hated so much, unable to roam free because of the price on his head. The laughter that hadn't quite died from his face when the jet of light hit him in the chest. His body falling as though in slow motion in a smooth, almost graceful arc. The final fluttering of the veil in the Department of Mysteries….

"Hey, Harry."

Someone had come up behind him, taking him by surprise. Harry looked over, blinking. It was Jorden Andrews. "Oh, hi."

"What're you doing out?"

He shrugged. "Just walking. It's a nice night."

Jorden grinned happily, gazing at the sky. "I love autumn. It's beautiful."

The moon was out and nearly full, and it glinted off the lake and cast eerie shadows across the grounds. Harry could see the Whomping Willow in the distance, guarding a hole that led to the Shrieking Shack, where he had first seen Sirius.

He forced his mind away from Sirius.

"What about you?" he asked. "What're you doing?"

He shrugged. "I'm friends with the gamekeeper here, Hagrid, and I wanted to talk to him. But he's out."

"Really?" Harry asked, intrigued. "I didn't know you knew each other."

"Are you friends with him, too?"

Harry nodded. "That's why I was out here, actually… How d'you know him?"

Jorden smiled modestly. "I'm… I have a way with animals. I was always sneaking into the Forbidden Forest when I was at school, and Hagrid would have to come find me. We got to know each other, though he was never too happy about it…"

Harry laughed. It felt good to laugh.

"I would ask the same of you."

Harry had to think about that a second. It had been a long time. "He was the one who told me I was a wizard. Dumbledore sent him to my aunt and uncle's house to tell me. Terrified them out of their wits." Harry grinned as the memory of a pig's tail flashed in front of his eyes. That was one night he would never forget.

"You didn't know? Didn't your aunt and uncle know you were a wizard? I mean, your parents were, and so your aunt and uncle must've known."

"How do you know?" Harry demanded.

He chuckled. "Harry, you're an entire chapter in our history books nowadays. 'Harry Potter: the Boy Who Lived.'"

Harry felt himself flushing and was very glad it was dark. Jorden, however, seemed to catch his mood. "I'm sorry," he said sheepishly. "I didn't mean to embarrass you. I know you didn't ask for all the attention."

Harry shrugged. "It's alright. I—"

But he was cut short by a noise from across the grounds. They both paused, and they made out a yell: "Stupefy!"

A jet of red light shot across Harry's vision. Something was happening by the gates. Harry glanced at Jorden, who shrugged, and began to sprint towards the commotion, pulling out his wand. Jorden wasn't two steps behind him.

More shouts, more spells. Harry could see what they were being aimed at now. It was a man, hooded and cloaked, and he was sending spells at three other people in a hoarse voice. They hit the man with several spells, but they didn't seem to have any effect.

Seeing this, Harry abandoned all thoughts of magic and simply body slammed him. The man didn't see him coming. He didn't have a chance.

Harry fell on top of him and fought back as the man punched and kicked and cursed. The others were there in an instant. One grabbed his wrists and forced them to the ground, taking his wand, another sat on him. Jorden yanked his hood back.

Harry recoiled, shocked, then angry. Long, matted blond hair fell from a prominent forehead and over piercing gray eyes. A proud jaw and haughty gaze were by far the most memorable features. Harry would never—could never—forget him.

"Malfoy," he spat.

He looked horrible; his eyes were sunken into his face, and his skin was paler than the last time Harry had seen him. His hair was matted and filthy, his robe torn, and his face scratched and bleeding. He looked half mad.

"Hello, Potter," he said, glaring at him. "Doing well, I see."

"Yes, very well, thanks," he said coldly. "Tie him up."

Harry stood up and looked around for the first time, and to his surprise, Tonks was standing beside him. He had forgotten that there was a guard of aurors around Hogwarts all the time.

"Wotcher, Harry," she said.

Harry couldn't help but smile. "Hello, Tonks." He returned his attention to Malfoy. "What're you doing here?" he demanded.

"I was going to kill you, Potter," he rasped, grinning manically. "I would've. You took everything from me. You and your precious Dumbledore. My family, my status… you, Potter, I will kill you…"

Harry wasn't frightened by his threats. Malfoy had always wanted to kill him. He couldn't see how he worked out that Harry had been the cause of his demise, but then, he was insane. He must've been.

What Harry felt far more than fear was pity. As much as Malfoy had bullied him, taunted him, embarrassed him, Harry couldn't help but feel sorry for the wretch. He had ruined his own life, killed his own prospects, and was now simply desperate. He was petty, he was a bully, but he was not evil. He wasn't able to kill Dumbledore when it had come to it. He almost pitied him as much as he hated him.

The other two aurors dragged him off towards the castle dungeons, still muttering death threats, towards the dungeons. Tonks stayed a moment longer. "I have to go tell the Ministry," she said. "Any attacks on the castle are supposed to be reported, though I hardly think they were expecting a raving eighteen-year-old with a grudge to try to get in single-handedly. There are still three other aurors patrolling the grounds, if anyone asks, on the other side."

Harry nodded. "Thanks."

"Nah, thank you. We'd have got him eventually, but he was repelling spells… I don't know why. It might be that he has some sort of armor on underneath his robes. Might want to check that. We'll probably have him carted off to Azkaban by morning, though, so don't worry too much about it."

"Alright."

"Who's your friend?" she asked, gesturing towards Jorden.

"Oh. Jorden Andrews, meet Nymphadora Tonks."

"Harry…" she said warningly.

"Except don't call her Nymphadora, or she'll hex you."

She muttered something incoherent, shook Jorden's hand, and said, "Well, I must be off. Duty calls." She stepped outside the gate, waved cheerily, and Disapparated.

Harry and Jorden headed back up to the castle. It was after hours, so no one was in the corridors; the encounter hadn't caused much of a ruckus.

"Did you know that kid?" he asked as they mounted the steps to the oak front doors.

"Yes," Harry said darkly. "Not an acquaintance worth mentioning, I'm afraid."

He smiled. "I gathered that much."

Harry exhaled slowly. "He doesn't deserve to go to Azkaban. I spent my whole life wishing I could send him there, but now I don't think he should go. He's not a killer."

"Despite his vehement death threats?"

Harry shrugged. "He's wanted to kill me since our first year. I daresay the death threat thing has gotten rather old." He smiled slightly. The first week wasn't even over. He had to wonder what the rest of the year would bring.