It was odd, John thought, seeing Minerva McGonagall in the throne-like headmaster's chair. Not sickening, as it had felt when Snape sat there, but an odd reminder that returning to school did not mean a return to how things were. She was a thin woman, but the chair did not dwarf her. She sat ramrod-straight and proud, claiming the new position with her natural dignity.
"She looks upset," Lindsay observed quietly from across the table.
There was a tiny knot of survivors from the battle who had congregated at the far end of the Gryffindor table. Ginny Weasley and Hermione Granger were not among them, having been immediately swept to the head of the table, where both looked fairly uncomfortable, surrounded by adoring eyes. After the initial boisterous greetings, the group had tucked into the meal and a sort of communal discomfort that, while not overpowering, was definitely at odds with the rest of the hall. Lindsay seemed to be the closest to be pulling out of it, but even her trademark gusto was more contained, her gaze sharper than John recalled. He turned back to look at McGonagall.
"It's her first start-of-term speech," he observed.
"Maybe that's it." Lindsay was unconvinced. She cut her eyes down the staff table next to Slughorn, where the new teacher sat chatting with Sinistra on his left. "I still say there's something different about that new professor."
"The job's jinxed," said Dean Thomas, who had been on the run most of last year and had been one of the few who decided to come back and complete his seventh year. "When was the last time someone stayed longer than a year? Even with You-Know-Who gone, I reckon it's not an easy post to fill."
"Voldemort," John said suddenly, and rather louder than planned. Most of the people around him jumped. A few head swiveled round, but he didn't care. "He's good and dead, isn't he? Why not use the bloody name?"
It might not have been so awful if Professor McGonagall hadn't just risen from her seat, prompting the noise to die down around the room. Curious eyes now came from other tables, and about half the staff had turned their attention from McGonagall to him, including the new teacher. Lindsay held out a bowl of pudding with something like amused understanding. John accepted it with poor grace, attacking the gateau with ferocity.
"Good evening, students," McGonagall began, her clipped Scottish butt somewhat sharper than usual. "Welcome to a new year at Hogwarts. Whether you were a part of the events of last year or have never set foot in this castle till tonight, the staff and I are thrilled to see you and offer you a year of learning without the pall of war hanging over us."
Lindsay was right, John decided. McGonagall looked uneasy, and he didn't think it was just nerves. Her eyes flickered often over the students' heads, searching the corners, the windows, the doors. John tuned out her words, following the path of her eyes. Nothing seemed out of place. The room was brighter than it had been last year, making it harder for anything to lurk in the near-nonexistent shadows. He looked up at the ceiling. It was partly cloudy, the last rays of sun catching the fluffy edges. He wondered, not for the first time, if anything could hide beyond the enchanted barrier, or if the mirage of sky pressed against the rafters. His 11-year-old Muggleborn fascination had turned to watchfulness last year, when spies and dangers were everywhere in the castle. Still, he'd never seen any evidence that something could hide there, and McGonagall didn't seem to be paying it any more attention than the rest of the room. He turned his attention to the ornamental tapestries lining the walls.
"… am pleased to introduce the newest member of our faculty, Professor John Smith."
John started clapping automatically when others did, but it wasn't until he saw the man in the pinstripe suit stand that his mind left possible hiding places in the room and returned to Professor McGongall's speech.
"Professor Smith will be teaching Defense Against the Dark Arts this year." Another spatter of polite applause. 'He is new to the castle, having been educated elsewhere, so I trust you will all do your best to make Hogwarts feel like home."
Did John imagine it, or had she hesitated before saying "elsewhere"? Why the vagueness? Why mention it at all? He caught Lindsay's eye and saw the lingering suspicion there as well.
Paranoid, he told himself ruefully. Too used to looking over his shoulder to find trouble. Healer Gillysmythe had said the same. There was no trouble to be had here. Hogwarts was safe. He'd helped make it so. Then why did his stomach feel heavier than it had while watching for the Death Eaters to descend upon them?
He was one of the last ones out of the hall by choice. He had no desire to be bowled over by the first years and his leg wasn't up to sprinting to beat them. He wasn't looking forward to tackling the seven flights of stairs, either, and preferred to do it without a hundred pairs of eyes to watch. It was with a silent groan, therefore, that he saw Lindsay Lovejoy waiting with an indecisive air at the base of the stairs, having just waved the last group of students past her.
"I wasn't sure if you were coming or –"
"Or decided to sleep in the Great Hall?" John asked, the joke coming out far harsher than intended. Her reflexive smile looked anxious at the edges. "I think Mr. Filch would be only too happy to slap me with detention for that."
They both chuckled. John wondered if her laugh was as forced as his. They took the first few steps in unison.
"So," said Lindsay, visibly slowing her pace to match the tap of the cane. "Professor Smith is our head of house this year. That will be a change."
John paused at the first landing. "What?"
"Just now, in the Great Hall," Lindsay prompted. "Professor McGonagall said she would keep the Transfiguration courses until a suitable substitute could be found, but she's giving the duties of head of house to Professor Smith." They took the next flight slower still. "I thought it was odd, since he can't be a Gryffindor proper if he went to a different school. But I suppose most of the teachers are Ravenclaw or Hufflepuff and aren't qualified either. I wonder if there are any other Gryffindor professors now?"
"Hagrid," John offered, a real laugh in his voice this time.
Her eyes lit up. "Yes! That would be fantastic!"
It was almost like last year as they took the remaining flights – flashes of camaraderie as they staved off the moment to moment uncertainty with jokes. It lasted all the way to the portrait hole, where a Ravenclaw girl was saying a rather passionate goodnight to a Gryffindor boy. They gave no indication that they'd noticed the newcomers.
After about 30 seconds, John gave a loud harrumph which split them apart as effectively as a Repelling charm. The Fat Lady gave a sigh of relief that made Lindsay laugh as the couple exchanged a parting kiss and the girl turned down the corridor toward the Ravenclaw dormitory.
"Gillywater," the boy said dazedly, and the Fat Lady swung open to admit them.
"I suggest you drink some and cool off," she said as he passed, turning a friendlier eye on John and Lindsay. "I was getting claustrophobic with them pressed up against my frame like that, and you know I couldn't leave till everyone is inside for the night. I don't care if they haven't seen each other since May, it's just good manners to do such things in private." She eyed them with sudden severity. "I hope you two weren't planning –"
"No, we're just –"
"Of course not!"
The indignant exclamations came from both of them simultaneously, not defensively, but with the amused surprise of friends. The Fat Lady looked unconvinced, but John knew by the gleam of pure merriment in Lindsay's eye that the denial had been expected and welcome. People always assumed he was "with" any girl within hailing distance. He'd never understood it. He'd had his share of girlfriends, it was no good denying it, but he had no aspirations to conquests or gaining a reputation.
He climbed through the portrait hole, swinging the cane through first, and nearly smacked into the back of Professor Smith. He sidestepped just in time to allow Lindsay the honor.
Lindsay rocked back immediately, and Smith stumbled forward a step, breaking off midword as he threw out his hands to right himself. He turned around to face the two students, both of whom were pink with embarrassment.
"Well, then," Smith said cheerily. "You must be the last two. I've just come up to get properly introduced to everyone in my house. Class lists aren't much help if you don't know the faces, are they? But then, I've already met you, haven't I?"
John nodded shortly, doing his best to ignore the laughter floating around the edges of the common room. He shifted his cane behind a fold of his robes, but had no doubt a good many had seen it, including the professor, considering the way he was looking at him as they shook hands for the second time that day. The man was younger than he'd seemed either on the train or in the Great Hall, but he had a weariness in his eyes that John recognized, and the realization surprised him. It was the weariness that had settled in John at the first disappearance last year – the acceptance that battling on, while the only right choice, would be a costly thing indeed.
He shook himself into the pleasant expression that had become his armor as Professor Smith turned to Lindsay.
"So," Lindsay began, only tinged with pink over their unceremonious introduction. "You're to be teaching Defense Against the Dark Arts this year?"
"That's right," he said with a breezy confidence. "Should be a good year."
"Ever taught the subject before?"
So, Lindsay had picked up on the too-casual note as well. Having seen the man up close again, John was no longer so eager to brush off concerns about him. Something didn't add up, and that was certain.
Paranoid. He mocked himself.
Professor Smith's smile had slipped a notch. "Not exactly, no," he said, fumbling inside his coat pocket for a piece of paper. "But I've got loads of teaching experience, see?"
Lindsay looked down at the paper, blinked, and looked again. Her eyes when she returned them to Professor Smith's were skeptical. "Do you habitually carry a list of your teaching posts with you?"
Smith folded the paper with another wide smile. "Not habitually, no." He turned to face the room, now humming with conversation. "Good night to you all. Should you need me, I've taken the Defense Against the Dark Arts study rather than Professor McGonagall's old one, so come look for me there. You'd best get to bed soon. Tomorrow will be an interesting day."