AN Back again! FFN stopped showing me the view counts last chapter, so i hope everyone's seeing this, thanks to the bbs, you know who you are
Chapter 6
Three days after the World Cup Harry woke with a trepidation wholly unrelated to his current predicament.
He had a staff meeting today.
He'd gone back to the castle, and owing to the late hour he'd waited until the following morning to update Dumbledore on the conversation he'd overheard outside the Malfoys' tent. Dumbledore was less concerned with the ominous words Crouch had bestowed upon Lucious, and he calmed Harry's fears with a reminder that the actions of Riddle's diary and the
Chamber of Secrets all but confirmed Voldemort's partial-demise thirteen years prior.
It was during their meeting that he informed Harry that the rest of the staff would be arriving at the end of the week and their pre-term meeting would be held in two days' time. That gave Harry ample time to dread the coming influx of students to the school, as well as his nerve wracking introduction to his former teachers.
Dobby brought his breakfast, as was tradition by this point, and he ate it reclined in his desk chair, staring at the wall of runes he'd been constructing. He'd had no new dreams since the morning of the big game, so there were no additional sections to the collage. Instead, three books sat open on his desk, two advanced runes texts and an arithmancy tome that was the source of his daily headaches of late.
Arithmancy was a topic he'd never truly studied, up to now he'd only ever learned what he needed when he needed it. Fleur was quite adept at the subject, so she sometimes struggled to convey simpler concepts that acted as the foundations for the more complex work they'd done together.
Now, with a mess of runes unique to Hermione's gifted mind, it fell to him to learn how to stitch them all together and make sense of what he saw in his dreams.
It was dull work.
He broke it up with more lesson planning, Dumbledore had asked for at least a skeleton of a syllabus by the start of term, though he'd reassured Harry that there was no excessive pressure to craft a grand lesson plan. He had a good idea of how he would at least start the year though, as well as a few fun challenges for his students centered around some inventions of his own. All in all, he was feeling more and more ready to start the school year as the days ticked by.
He left his quarters after midday, with frustratingly little progress made, and took to the skies as had also become a tradition since receiving his Firebolt. After flying away a long morning's stuffy research he spotted Hagrid outside his hut dragging a large wooden crate around his pumpkin patch and drifted over to see if he needed assistance.
"Oh, thanks professor," his half-giant friend said, dabbing sweat off his forehead with a tablecloth-sized handkerchief as Harry levitated the large crate and they moved around the back of the hut.
"No problem Hagrid, what's in here?" he asked as the box settled in the grass.
"A real treat professor!" Hagrid said with a giddiness that Harry's old Care of Magical Creatures lessons told him could only spell doom. Harry leaned over the edge just in time to stagger back as a burst of harmless sparks shot up into his face.
"Careful there!" Hagrid boomed, laughing, as Harry righted his footing.
He didn't need to peek back over the rim of the box to know what lay inside, but he did anyway. Atop a bed of saw dust writhed a mass of beetle sized creatures scurrying about their confined space.
"Blast-Ended Skrewts!" Hagrid said proudly, "bred 'em meself!" He stared down fondly into the container of insect-like terrors. Harry, knowing the end product of these particular beasts, could only just manage to maintain his grimace.
"For the tournament?" he asked, watching Hagrid coo down at the almost certainly illegal cross breeds. Hagrid nodded.
"Isn't it wonderful?" he asked Harry, who certainly wouldn't use that word to describe them. "The Ministry'll okay all sorts o' things for the tourney, did I tell ya there'd be dragons in the fall?"
"You did," Harry said, and then seizing on an opportunity he added, "Let me know when they get here will you? I'd love to see them."
Hagrid nodded enthusiastically and then shuffled over to his compost pile to retrieve a bucket full of worms that Harry could only hope he'd collected from the heap earlier that day. The disturbing image of Hagrid dumping a pile of wriggling worms into a crate full of murderous mites aside, Harry cleared his throat and said:
"Coming to the great hall for lunch, Hagrid?"
"Nah," the half-giant responded, "Wanna stick close by, jus' in case they need me." He jerked his head towards the crate, which was filled with the chittering sounds of Skrewts diving in for meal time.
"But yer welcome ta join me!" he added brightly, and though Hagrid's rock cakes were to be avoided at all cost in Harry's years at Hogwarts, he was smiling and nodding at the invitation.
"I'd be delighted, Hagrid."
Luckily for Harry, mealtimes these days were often sparse affairs, so he didn't have to try hard to limit his consumption of Hagrid's inedible food. Increasingly he found Hagrid's company enjoyable for one reason: he was perhaps the one person in this strange but familiar world that could provide him with the same treatment he was used to. A small part of him felt bad about how deftly he navigated the man's friendship, but ultimately he enjoyed the fact that with little effort he could be himself with Hagrid. It wasn't hard to chat with the man, because Hagrid took most things in stride, there was no fear of slipping up and saying something he shouldn't.
They passed the afternoon with amenable conversation, and tea that at least partially made up for the food, and they set off for the castle together in the late afternoon. Something about facing the lion's den that was a Hogwarts staff meeting with an ally made the whole ordeal easier, so Harry was grateful to have the Care professor at his side as he entered the Headmaster's office. Of course the comradery didn't help once they were packed into the cramped space of the office, but he stuck by Hagrid's side nevertheless.
The looks his way began even before Dumbeldore's address. Some, like Professor Sinestra's, were easy to ignore. Others less so. McGonagall did a double-take when her eyes passed over him. Her piercing gaze flayed him like an interesting specimen, an animagus transformation gone wrong, before moving back to the headmaster. Snape, predictably, zeroed in on him early and remained trained there throughout the meeting with increasing incredulity the longer it transpired.
"Welcome one, and welcome all," Dumbledore began warmly, "to another exciting year at Hogwarts. As you all know we have been working closely with Ministries, both domestic and foreign, to bring The Triwizard Tournament back this year, and I'm delighted to inform you all that the planning has gone off as hitchless as could be expected."
There was a smattering of perfunctory celebration at the announcement, small bouts of applause and a few congratulatory comments that Dumbledore accepted in stride before continuing.
"With the preparation, a few concessions must be made, most notably being the cancellation of the inter-house quidditch cup this year, as the pitch will be utilized for the third and final task."
Harry's memory of the student reaction to this news floated to the surface in contrast to the staff response. They took it with little protest, and Harry's own apprehension at the concept of keeping Neville safe throughout the challenges gave him new insight into what most of the witches and wizards gathered likely felt in the moment.
"The plans for the tasks have been finalized, as well as the visiting delegations' size, the latter of which I assure you was the more monumental of the two challenges." There was a polite laughter at the comment, though none spoke up to detract from the headmaster's speech. "The first task is set for mid November, and will see Hogwarts playing host to three dragons being imported with the help of the Department for the Control and Regulation of Magical Creatures."
Hagrid bounced on the balls of his feet at the words, unable to contain his excitement at the prospect.
"The second task, scheduled for mid February will center around the Black Lake. I have been in communication with the Merfolk throughout the summer setting the particulars of that in stone. Finally, the last task will be a maze run in early June, for which professors Sprout, Flitwick, McGongagall, and Hagrid will be assisting. They have all received preliminary instruction, and we will continue to work together throughout the year to provide the best possible challenges possible for our champions."
He gazed around the room, meeting the eye of the various teachers he had assigned roles, before finally resting on Harry.
"Finally, it is my great pleasure to announce two new members of staff this year. For those of you that have heard of my efforts to fill our vacant Defense position with renowned auror Alastor Moody, rest assured, talks have proved fruitful and Alastor will be joining us closer to the start of term. For today I'm delighted to introduce Professor Potter, who will be taking a new post this year in an effort to broaden our subject matter to better meet the expectations of our visiting students. Mr. Potter, if you would?"
Show time.
Dumbledore had fed him the lines he was meant to say now, a carefully crafted web of lies designed to shed suspicion and satisfy curiosity. He cleared his throat and stepped forward from Hagrid's side toward the center of the room as the collected witches and wizards shuffled to allow everyone a decent view of him. He was distinctly aware of the bug-eyed gaze of Snape, which quickly fell to a look of disgust as he was introduced.
He had delivered instruction to gathered adults countless times in the years following Voldemort's ascension, had wrangled panicked and fearful adults far his senior and forced them to heed his words, and he called upon that to address this gaggle of interested educators now.
"Hello everyone," he began nervously, but quickly mastered himself. "My name is Harry Potter, and I'll be filling the role of Enchantment and Warding professor this year-"
That was as far as he got before the interruptions began. Unsurprisingly, it was Snape that spoke up first, his snide and dismissive voice cutting into Harry's speech.
"Professor Potter," he drawled, his tone dripping in disbelief. "Impossible, the Potters are dead."
Harry had a defense for this, however, and he smiled politely as he looked Snape's way. He didn't meet his eyes long, as he knew the man's penchant for the mind arts, he matched his gaze long enough to present a challenge then dipped his head in acquiescence.
"True, sir, and in truth I am not a Potter by right," he took a deep breath and dove in. "Fleamont Potter was my father, though I only met the man a handful of times. My mother was a muggleborn from New Zealand, she attended Snakebinder Academy in Australia before moving to the UK and meeting my father. Their relationship was short lived, its secret well kept, and I was born here in England shortly before the war with Voldemort began."
There were a few gasps at his choice of words, but he pressed on unperturbed, meeting Snape's eyes once more in brief defiance.
"When the war began in earnest she fled the country, taking me back to her homeland where I was also educated at Snakebinder. After graduation I toyed with the idea of pursuing a mastery, but just then conflicts in South Asia were coming to a head, so I joined up." He tapped the side of his face marred by the largest of his scars, there were murmurs among the collected onlookers, both appreciative and commiserative. The recent bloodshed in southern Asia and the islands of northern Oceania was widely known and universally horrified. Snape's sneer told Harry he didn't believe him for a second, but he pressed on regardless.
"Though I am rather young for a position at your most esteemed school, I promise my time in the field has primed me with ample knowledge, and I hope to be a valuable asset to your students."
He bowed his head and stepped back, waiting to face the judgment of his would-be peers.
It was, all things considered, a well crafted lie. His false lineage provided him the ability to speak truthfully to his name and status among wizarding Britain, the tale of his childhood spent on English soil did a fair enough job at explaining his accent, and the embarrassing ordeal of being a Potter bastard gave him a shield to hide behind when faced with deeper delving into his upbringing. Snape, of course, was having none of it.
Dumbledore opened his mouth to continue his meeting but his surly potions master beat him to it.
"Are we expected to believe," he drawled with a contemptuous smirk, "that Fleamont Potter fathered a half blood bastard and kept it a secret from everyone?"
Harry was expecting this pushback, and he met it with an unimpressed raise of an eyebrow and a blank expression.
"Certainly, professor," he said, channeling Dumbledore's detached matter-of-fact tone as best he could. "As I said, I barely knew the man, I met him one time when I was young. As I understand it, he provided some financial assistance to my mother before I was born, but her pregnancy ended their affair-"
"And where is this flighty mother, who so expertly captured the esteemed Lord Potter's heart?" Snape interrupted, the image of a smarmy lawyer catching a witness in a lie.
"She passed," Harry said without missing a beat, even managing a downcast look at the pronouncement. "My fifth year, Dragon Pox."
He was winning the room, a few of the faculty wore expressions of sympathy and at least one shot Severus a nasty look for his cross examination. Snape was unaffected by the court of public opinion.
"A secret bastard," he carried on, contempt in his eyes, "that also happens to share the name of Lilly and James Potter's dead son?"
He delivered the question with the air of an undertaker delivering the final hammer strike on a coffin nail. Harry tilted his head to the side, a faux-genuine smile gracing his face, and he looked Snape's way carefully avoiding direct eye contact.
"I didn't even know I shared a name with my half brother's son until I read about their deaths in the papers. I don't even think James knew about me. By all accounts he seems like a good person. I'm confident he would have tried to reach out if he knew about me."
"Liar," Snape spat, and Harry adopted a frown, taking offense to the wholly correct accusation.
"I'm sorry professor, were you and James close? He never mentioned you…"
Snape looked like he was chewing his next words carefully, so as to make them as sharp as possible, but he never got the chance to hurl them into the room as Dumbledore stood and pulled the focus of the faculty.
"I think we'll go ahead and end the meeting here," said Dumbledore, his practiced fatherly smile spreading across his face as the assembled staff made their way to leave. McGonagall looked between Harry and Snape as neither had moved to leave, preferring instead to pretend they each found the paintings adorning the headmasters office utterly fascinating. With a final knowing look at Dumbledore she too left the room, the sound of the door closing behind her echoing throughout the chamber.
Harry made no move to speak, not seeing the point. Despite how much of a pain in the arse he'd been throughout his time at Hogwarts, he recognized that Snape was an intelligent man, one capable of seeing past the careful lie they had crafted. He suspected McGonagall knew as well, but unlike Snape, she didn't feel it prudent to interrupt the staff meeting for such things.
"Well?" Snape finally said, shooting a glare at the headmaster. "Are you going to tell me who he is? Or will you make me force it out of him?"
Harry laughed.
"I'd like to see you try," he said.
"Gentlemen," the headmaster said, his tone that of a parent reigning in his children. He looked back at Snape. "As I said, Severus…"
"I know what you said, Albus," the potions master interrupted. "Just as I know it was a lie. I don't need to read your mind to realize that. I'm not a fool. This man," he pointed at Harry, "Is not some Potter bastard. He looks too much like James Potter for that."
Harry thought for several moments, reflecting on his previous musings. There would be no hiding anything from Snape, of that he was sure. The man may have been dead for quite some time, but people spoke of his skill with the mind arts long after he was dead. Hell, Kingsley had once told him that Snape could read minds better than Dumbledore. If he could read minds with that much skill, it would be fair to assume he could keep secrets with just as much skill…
"You're right," he said, looking at the black haired man sitting to his right, "I'm not a Potter bastard. You're also correct in your assessment that I look like James Potter. I would hope so. He was my father."
Snape scoffed.
"Impossible. James Potter died the same night as his wife and son." Snape spat the name with some venom, but his gaze on Harry was growing more curious as the hostility faded to the background.
"He did. The same night the woman you loved died."
Snape rolled his eyes.
"That says nothing to make me believe you."
"My mother never did forgive you for calling her a mudblood, did she? Even after she defended you from my father and his friends, you still called her a mudblood. Do you believe me now…Snivellus?"
Snape immediately jumped to his feet, wand outstretched, pointing directly at Harry, a look of fear on his face before being replaced with one of loathing. Any interest he'd gained in Harry seemed lost in the wake of this upsetting of old wounds.
"Who the hell is this man, Albus?" Snape demanded, refusing to take his eyes off of Harry. Looking up at him, Harry simply smiled.
"Harry James Potter. I'd say it was nice to re-meet you but, alas, it's not. Now sit down, we have a lot to cover and outbursts will only delay things," he said, looking back at Dumbledore. "And stop trying to read my mind, you greasy git. We're about to tell you everything."
Dumbledore nodded, stroking his beard gently.
"Please, Severus, take a seat. Harry here has quite the tale, one that may very well decide all our fates." The old man nodded at Harry. "I take it you agree that Severus would be a valuable ally to have?"
"He would have found out eventually." Harry shrugged, "At least this way I don't have to deal with him stalking me the entire year."
He settled in and let Dumbledore take the floor, at least Snape would keep his interjections minimal and civil if it was the headmaster speaking. It didn't take long, considering the breadth of the subject, to get the tale out. Snape paced the office as he took it in, rubbing his temple as he attempted to wrap his mind around what he was hearing.
Harry almost felt sorry for him, knowing the enormity of it all firsthand. Then he remembered it was Severus Snape and all those feelings would be washed away, replaced with petty delight at the man's discomfort. Harry leaned back and took a sip of the firewhiskey he had pilfered from Dumbledore's cabinet.
"So, why haven't you gone after him? You know where he is, why wait?" Snape asked, to which Harry held up his hands.
"I asked the same thing, but the headmaster here wanted to wait," Harry replied, gesturing vaguely in Dumbledore's direction.
It was true, Harry had wanted to go after Voldemort immediately, but Dumbledore had urged caution. A level-headed approach was the term he had used. Harry understood he'd need Dumbledore's help to accomplish his task, so he acquiesced, letting himself breathe while they formulated a plan.
"Why the delay, Albus?" asked Snape, stopping to face the headmaster's desk. "It took him this long to get a proper plan for a body, why not stop him?"
"Let me ask you, Harry," started Dumbledore, deftly avoiding the question, Harry realized. "What was your plan when you got here? After we destroyed the diadiem, the ring, and the locket, what then?"
Harry shrugged, taking another long sip from his drink.
"Initially, I was going to march right up to the house and set it and anyone in it on fire, but then I realized that probably wouldn't be enough." Harry straightened up in his chair and took a deep breath to gather his thoughts. "I've got one advantage: knowledge. Specifically, I know where he's going to be on June 24th. I just have to be sure I'm ready by then."
Dumbledore raised an eyebrow.
"And his followers? I dare say, from what you've told us, you're used to battle, but not one with such heavy odds."
"Easy. I can lay traps. The festivities don't take place until after dark, so if I start in the morning, I can lay enough traps to get them all."
"You remember exactly where they stood?" asked Dumbledore. Harry shook his head.
"No, but with enough explosions it won't matter much." Harry shrugged and Snape scoffed.
"As arrogant and self-assured as your supposed father."
"And you're very dead for one so content to be miserable," he replied instantly.
"You would kill them all?" asked Dumbledore, choosing to ignore the two men's verbal jabs.
"They're killers, professor. The lot of them. Why shouldn't I?"
Dumbledore sighed.
"They will have committed no crimes that night, Harry. Regardless of their past misdeeds, you must see that what you plan to do is nothing short of murder."
Harry shrugged once again. Why couldn't he see the bigger picture? How was he content to sit back and let the people who would turn this world upside down walk free?
"It's no less than they deserve."
"And you are to be their judge, jury, and executioner then?" questioned the old man, a disappointed look crossing his face.
Harry simply refilled his glass, knowing enough not to look into the headmaster's eyes. He believed what he was saying, but he didn't need someone else rifling through his thoughts, looking for answers where they shouldn't be.
"So, you would have us wait? When we have the advantage of knowing what's to come?"
"Perhaps we don't have as much of an advantage as you thought?" proposed Snape, causing Harry to look up at him.
"Meaning?"
"There was no attack on the World Cup," Dumbledore cut in, "Walden Mcnair has been relieved of duty at the Ministry. You see, Harry? Things are changing. Your very presence here means that nothing will be as it was, and that may be for the best. You believe you were sent back here to prevent Voldemort's rise. To prevent your future from ever happening. So, why should this past play out the same?"
Harry thought for a long moment, rubbing his hands over his face as he concentrated. As much as he hated it, Dumbledore had a point. That Harry was here at all meant at least one thing was different. Hell, they'd already changed events, they were already in uncharted waters.
"I suppose you have a plan, then?" asked Harry.
Dumbledore nodded.
"Severus and I will work on keeping an eye on Barty Crouch Jr. We can ensure his master's plans do not come to fruition. There will be too many eyes upon you to keep tabs on another professor, but Severus and I can."
"And I'm to do what? Sit with my thumb up my arse?"
"Continue your research into the magic that brought you here. I will help you in whatever way I can, but it's important that you understand how it is you came to be here," Dumbledore said, his eyes twinkling with a wisdom that, for some unknown reason, caused anger to bubble in Harry's chest. Clearing his throat, Harry pushed the feeling down, snuffing it out before it could boil to the surface.
"I won't sit by while he uses Neville as his plaything. Nor will I be idle the night of his return," he proclaimed.
Dumbledore nodded.
"And I wouldn't expect you to. Protect Mr. Longbottom as best you can. Cheating is, sadly, a staple of the tournament, so take him under your wing. I fear he won't be quite as prepared as you were for what's to come. You will be in the graveyard that night Harry, rest assured. You'll be there to protect Mr. Longbottom and Mr. Diggory. We know Nagini will be there that night, so it's our best chance at getting her. But Harry, you mustn't seek to kill needlessly. We have to be better than they are, or what use is it to fight?"
Snape sighed, rubbing his temple again.
"As much as it pains me to say this, the headmaster is quite correct about one thing: Longbottom is going to need all the help he can get. If we're going to run interference with Crouch Jr. then you'll need to be the one to help him along. The boy may be a fool, but he's still innocent." Snape looked as if he wanted to vomit after speaking, much to Harry's amusement. That was likely the nicest thing he'd ever said about Neville Longbottom, and Harry doubted very much he would say it again.
"I can ensure Barty Crouch Jr. doesn't have a chance to meddle quite as much," Snape continued, "but I won't be able to keep an eye on him all the time. We'll need to keep up appearances. The younger Crouch was paranoid even before he went to Azkaban, so this will require a light touch. One that will be better served with you keeping your distance." He looked at Harry with a stare of displeasure.
Prick.
Harry felt uneasy, but nodded his head nonetheless. His gut told him he was right, that he needed to end the threat of so many in the graveyard, but his head told him that Dumbledore and Snape had a solid plan. There would be plenty of time to think about the graveyard later. For now, he could afford to take on other things. He needed to figure out what Hermione had done to send him back, and more importantly, how to get back.
To his time.
To his future.
To her…
-o-o-o-
We have to be better than they are, or what use is it to fight?
Dumbledore's words bounced endlessly around Harry's head for the remainder of the day. The staff meeting let out just before dinner, and he was sure the faculty would be gathering to take in a meal together to commemorate the start of term. His run-in with Snape soured the prospect even of it, as unappealing as it was in the first place. He ate in his office, roast chicken and potatoes brought by Dobby, because he didn't feel like going up to his room and sitting among the failed progress of his efforts to decipher Hermione's magic.
Better than they are…
Dumbledore's words angered him, but he was frustrated by that reaction. The headmaster just didn't understand. That was the heart of his feelings, and the source of his frustration, because he'd felt that way before. As a teenager, he'd believed that Dumbledore was wise beyond measure, and yet he still felt the man didn't truly understand his plight.
He'd been proven time and again that Dumbledore did understand more than he knew, and the lesson was always to have faith in the venerable old wizard.
Harry was no longer that lost youth though. He'd lived years beyond Dumbledore, to see a future the old man could never have imagined. It was a particular kind of frustrating to find himself in the same situation he'd been in at fifteen, with the same ultimate lesson to be learned, and yet feel so certain that this time he truly was in the right.
He groaned and ceased pacing his office. The coursework was fine, he was no longer uncertain how to handle his lesson plans, and angering himself over Dumbledore's passivity was not productive.
He left his classroom and descended the stairs to the ground floor, confident that the great hall would have emptied of dinnertime stragglers. He took his meal delivered from Dobby, but on nights he fancied a nice bottle or two of wine he usually strolled down to the kitchen's himself to retrieve it, as he was doing tonight.
The differences began just after he tickled the pear to gain access.
Normally, this far off from the dinner prep hustle and bustle, only a few house elves would remain active. They would be primarily focused on clean up, magically scouring the meal's tableware, with perhaps a select few doing some manner of overnight prep for the coming day's meals.
He knew the majority of the Elves would be out among the castle halls, doing nightly porter duties during the school year, but over the summer holidays the bulk of the workforce was simply sleeping when he stopped by for a drink.
Tonight, as the green grocer's still life swung forward, he heard the clamor of high-pitched voices and saw a gaggle of House Elves gathered around a pair of witches in the entryway to the kitchens.
"Oh-" he said, coming up short as he came face to face with professors Vector and Sinestra.
He knew on first sight the reason for their presence there; the tell-tale signs of a collection of Elves and one or two bottles in the witches hands was one he was familiar with.
"Evening professor," Aurora Sinestra said with a welcoming smile, "I see you've found Hogwarts' greatest secret."
Harry smiled and stepped fully into the kitchens. "Yes, well, glad I'm not the only one taking advantage."
A contingent of elves split off to greet him, eager to fill his nightly order, and he selected one of three bottles of wine proffered at random.
"That was quite the show you put on in the meeting," Vector said, clutching her own bottle of what Harry guessed was brandy. "Don't mind Severus, he's had the same stick buried deep in his arse for many a year."
Harry laughed, a true laugh, for he knew better than either could imagine how true the statement was.
"I'm not bothered," he dismissed with an easy smile, "the school year would be rather dull without at least one adversary." He couldn't help the loaded statement, secure in the fact that they would have no way of identifying the irony of it.
The Elves were in proper form, observing the collected teacher's small talk, a team of them had a small table and chairs conjured before any could think to turn and make their way out. The Astronomy professor cast a glance at it and then took a seat decisively, giving the other two an expectant look. Vector followed suit and Harry followed shortly thereafter with an internal shrug.
"Tell me professor, how did you convince the headmaster to open up an Enchanting position?" Septima asked, pouring her brandy into a crystal tumbler. Harry laughed as he copied her with his own drink.
"Really, I didn't," he assured her. "To be honest, I applied for the Defense position, but as I understand it Albus had someone in mind already. He approached me about the new role and my experience was a good enough fit, it would seem."
That sobered the mood a bit, the two women likely recalling the fabricated events of his involvement in the bloody conflicts on the other side of the world.
"A fascinating field," Sinestra said, sipping her wine and pulling them out of the brief introspective silence. "Are you prepared for the students' arrival? It must be hard to craft coursework without a predecessor's guidance."
She smiled as she said it, her teeth shining bright in contrast against her dark skin. She was quite beautiful, with her high cheekbones and sharp features; more than one Hogwarts student in his day had harbored a not-so-secret flame for the young Astronomy professor.
"Daunting, to be sure," he conceded, "but I think I'm prepared."
He was confident in his ability to string along a cohesive lesson throughout the first term at least, he had until the winter holidays to finish off the year. He turned to the older of the two, one of the professors he had the least interaction with in his own time at the school.
"I'd love to pick your brain professor," he said. The Arithmancy instructor blinked and sat straighter in her chair at the notion. "I'll be the first to admit, my knowledge is lacking in theory, favoring application and execution. I still have much to learn in the nuance of Arithmancy."
She seemed gratified by his humility, as he recalled she was sponsor to at least one of the clubs that his new post was replacing, though he couldn't recall whether it be enchantment or warding.
"Of course Mr. Potter," she said, raising her glass in salute.
"Call me Harry," he insisted, tilting his own in her direction.
"Then please, call me Septima," she replied.
Aurora joined in, a teasing gleam in her eye, and the three of them drank.
"Enough talk of subjects," she cut in, the odd one out in this particular conversation. "Have you had a chance to explore the grounds or village?"
He accepted the change of subject, secure in the knowledge that Vector was an untapped well of insight into his personal research. "I have been on campus for a few weeks, though I've only explored the village as far as The Three Broomsticks."
He laughed as the younger professor waved a hand at his statement.
"That's all you need to be perfectly honest," she assured him, "we like to slip out for a drink as often as possible, sure the House Elves can provide it, but it's fun to get away from work when you can. You must join us, professor."
He smiled, finding her laid back nature refreshing. Sinestra was known for being a strict and demanding professor among the students. Though, now he supposed that was likely more to do with her student's penchant for napping through her late-night lectures than her own personal disposition.
"Say the word, I imagine this time next month I'll be dying to get out of the halls for an evening," he promised, knowing the statement was more true than either of his coworkers could predict.
"It's a date," she vowed, nodding decisively and they all drank once more to the agreement.
He had a full scholastic year to pick his peer's brains on the intricacies of formula and theory, he relaxed in the comfortable chair and resolved to enjoy an evening of peace with the two women before his real work began.
Merlin knew his peaceful days were numbered.