~Written for the QLFC, Season 5, Round 8~

Team: Wigtown Wanderers

Position: Seeker (The Amazing, Uncomparable, Fastest and Most Awesome!)

Prompt: Beater 2, Inflorescences, Falcons: Harry eventually becomes the Defense teacher at Hogwarts

Word Count: ~2000

Beta(s): CUtopia, Magical Butts, DinoDina

Chapter 7: Fluffy Clouds and Silver Linings

The bell sounded, resounding through the yawning corridors of Hogwarts and trembling through stone floors. To the ears of so many, those bells bespoke commitment. They spoke a cessation of liberation, a beginning of routine, and weight placed upon the shoulders of the hard-worn teen.

Harry remembered when those bells had been less than a welcoming sound. Now, they bespoke something entirely different.

He didn't rise from his chair. He didn't straighten from his desk, dropping his quill and flicking his wand to open the doors and allow entry of the new students. Hogwarts was a large castle; the trip from the Great Hall to Harry's rooms took nearly a whole five minutes for those who didn't dawdle. And the newly returned students – they would dawdle. Harry knew that much, at least.

They always do, he thought, smiling slightly as he added a period at the end of his sentence before beginning the next. If there's one thing I've learned about teenagers…

That knowledge, at least, was one acquired from a number of sources. He didn't need a trio of his own to teach him that, just as he didn't need nearly ten years of history as a professor at Hogwarts to know, either.

Eventually, the sounds did come. Echoing on the tail end of the bell that still resounded like a ghostly wail, the bubble of student voices rippled through Harry's door. He glanced up briefly, across the spread of the empty desks waiting expectantly to be filled, the cluster of chairs that had sat untouched for months, and the door that stood with weary resignation of the stream about to flood through its frame. Harry felt his smile widen. He loved teaching, and had grown to love it even more over the years, but this year…

James took it in his stride, Harry thought, finally resting his quill down upon his desk. Probably because he had the Marauders Map on him, but he's always been the more confident of the two. Al, though…

The murmur of voices approaching Harry's door morphed into actual words, and he finally rose from his seat. With a shrug of his cardigan – for regardless of what Professor Malfoy said in all of his pride and pomp, he'd never been partial to wearing them – he skirted his desk until he stood at the corner. A swish of his wand, a swing of the door, and Harry was settling himself back upon the edge of his desk with the ease of years beneath his belt.

They were there. Of course they were there, waiting with the attentiveness and nervous energy that only first years possessed. In Harry's experience, the majority of first years tended to hasten to their classes early on the first day; history suggested that excessive punctuality was the most likely expression of their nervousness, when tardiness in the face of getting lost was avoided.

The first year waiting just at the door – a Gryffindor, hid tie a little crooked and robes a little rumpled – started as the room abruptly spread before him. The voices died down. Heads turned, eyes widened, and eyebrows rose as faces peered over shoulders to catch a glimpse inside of the room. Not a one of them moved, clustering like a horde of penguins on the edge of a glacier fearing the first dive.

Harry's smile widened. With a raised hand, he gestured to the room before him. "Come on, then. The desks won't bite you; they prefer the meatier fourth years and above for breakfast."

The Gryffindor boy started, and several others shifted slightly with a different kind of nervousness. But as Harry only smiled, shoulders eased and wide eyes became less fearful and more curious. It took another beckon to coax the first of them into the room, but Harry didn't mind.

I was never like that, was I? He pondered. He certainly hadn't felt like it.

Whispers kickstarted as the children scuttled into the room. A scraping of chairs and the thud of bags dropped beneath desks was the only accompaniment, and throughout it all, the children stared. They stared, and stared, eyes wide and still nervous, but definitely curious, too. Harry was used to that. He'd grown accustomed to those kind of stares over the years, from children who'd heard tales of the Boy Who Lived and the supposed Saviour of the Wizarding World. It was all frightfully exaggerated, blown far out of proportion over the years until Harry half forgot how completely lucky he'd been in the fight against Voldemort. He almost, almost believed the Prophet in their annual spiel about how he'd orchestrated the entire conclusive fight.

Almost, but not quite.

Hogwarts was an escape from that. To retreat to his first and only real home, to call upon skills he'd never even suspected he'd possessed but Hermione claimed, "Was actually rather obvious, when you think about it, Harry, especially given the DA in fifth year," was what felt good, and right. And yet Harry would be lying if he claimed it wasn't at least a little bit of a means to an end; there were, after all, certain wards around Hogwarts that forbade the access of reporters that really should be seeking fresher stories after nineteen-bloody-years.

But the children… His appreciation for their brightness, a mimic of his own children's, was a bonus he'd never even considered when he'd taken the job McGonagall offered him. That brightness beamed from the first years before him like a tangible glow.

When the bell sounded again, Harry rose from his perch on the edge of his desk. Fiddling idly with his wand, he strolled towards the front row of desks, smiling at a Gryffindor girl, a little Slytherin boy, a kid whose hair was such a mess he mustn't have run a comb through it since he'd left home. Harry couldn't help but smile at that; it reminded him so much of his own circumstances. Malfoy still complained in the staff room about his 'abominable hair'.

The students silenced. That was a first year thing, too. Come second year – or even a few weeks down the track – and they wouldn't be half as attentive. But at that moment, Harry held them in a rapture, and he couldn't help but warm for it. He opened his mouth to speak -

And stopped. Frowned. Blinked.

Where's Al?

The thought arose without his conscious effort, and Harry swiftly swept his gaze across the spread of students. A quick head count, a darting glance towards every green-tied neck in the room, and his frown deepened.

Al wasn't there. He definitely wasn't there.

Harry's fingers tightened around his wand. Of course he was worried about Al. What parent wouldn't be on their child's first day? Even more than that, however, Harry was even more worried for the fact that Al had been a blubbering mess the previous night. A sniffling, sobbing mess of, "I'm sorry, Dad," and "I didn't realise when the hat asked me that I should've said not Slytherin!" so of course Harry was worried. And now…

Harry swallowed. This wasn't good. He had a responsibility to his class, a whole twenty students he was supposed to be teaching. He couldn't very well walk out the door in search of his son, even if he was worried. A thickness settled in Harry's throat, but a second swallow did little to alleviate it.

Maybe I could just… "Mr Grayson," Harry asked, turning his gaze towards a twig of a Slytherin boy in the front row. The boy started slightly, flushed as all eyes swung towards him, but Harry hardly noticed. "Are you aware of where any of your missing housemates might be?"

Grayson blinked. The poor kid looked to be nearly choking on his tongue. Whether it was because Harry was his new teacher, the Head of Gryffindor House, or famous for a history nearly twenty years behind him, he looked to be somewhat starstruck. His mouth opened to reply, but little more than a cheep stuttered out.

Luckily for the boy, it wasn't needed.

The sound of slapping footsteps rebounded through the corridor just outside Harry's door, and he turned instinctively to the entrance. As one, the entire class turned their attention with him, and it was likely that as much as anything that had Al staggering to a stop on the threshold.

He was breathing heavily. Panting, even, and his eyes were wide, hair a frazzled mess as good as Harry's own could manage. But he was there, and Harry instantly felt his sudden influx of fear ease. Even more so when a second figure nearly crashed into Al in a yelp and stutter of apologies.

Harry smiled. Again. Good humour welled within him, though this time from an unexpected source. How could it not when Al turned to the boy at his side, leaned into him with the comfort of easy friendship, and whispered fiercely in his ear. Closing his eyes briefly, Harry shook his head before speaking. "Mr Potter. Mr Malfoy. If you would be so kind as to join us?"

Al started. At his side, little Scorpius Malfoy – of a height with Al but otherwise as opposite as could be – seemed to nearly leap out of his skin. Then Al flushed, and Scorpius' cheeks flamed even more brightly for his paleness, and the pair were stumbling into the room in a mess of tripping robes and ducking heads.

Harry bit back a chuckle and, even if it would cause just a hint of embarrassment, he couldn't help but say, "Tardiness isn't going to be accepted even if you are the son of a teacher, Mr Potter."

A ripple trembled through the classroom. Eyes switched between Harry and Al, and more eyes than Harry would have thought possible widened once more in sudden understanding. Hadn't they known? Had they not realised that Al was his son?

Al paused for a moment, glancing towards Harry. His cheeks still flamed but, like the quietly obliging boy he so often was, he ducked his head in a nod. "Yes, Da - I mean, Professor. Sorry, we just got lost."

"Then perhaps a map?" Harry said. "I know of a rather good one you can get your hands on."

Likely no one else in the class would understand Harry's words for what they were, but it hardly mattered. Harry spoke in reprimand for the benefit of the class, but he also spoke for Al's sake. The silent suggestion that he seek his older brother was clearly received, too; Al's lips quivered slightly in a small smile, then he dipped his head again in a nod. "Yes, s-sir." He followed Scorpius to the two remaining seats alongside the wall.

Harry had to hide a smile as he turned back to the class at large. He had to concentrate upon his prepared speech, the same speech he gave to every first year class, because it was that or glance once more towards Al, and that wouldn't be a good idea. Not when the warmth that welled within him at the sight of two heads, dark and so pale as to be nearly white, bowed together in a whispered exchange. Al was a nervous child, had his fears and anxieties that even Harry couldn't alleviate, and that anxiety had likely contributed to him becoming lost in the first place. And yet…

Maybe Slytherin's not such a bad choice for him after all, Harry thought. He wondered, idly, what Malfoy would say when he saw his son seated with such surprising familiarity beside Al come their first Potions class.

Not that it really mattered. Not that Harry really cared. At that moment, as he launched into his introductory spiel, Harry revelled in his usual satisfaction for the beginning class of the year. He'd grown to love his teaching, and that love expanded every year. Only this time, at least, there was just a little extra silver lining to the surprisingly bright cloud.