Chapter Text
“Mr. Potter, it’s simply not possible.”
Harry was sitting in Dumbledore’s office. Even though it hadn't belonged to the professor for over a year, Harry could never see it as anyone else's. The decor was much of the same. Similar to Harry's first encounter with the circular room, the space was shrouded in warmth from the fireplace and exceedingly strange mechanisms littered the floors. But they no longer bobbed up and down, or squeaked, or released puffs of white smoke. Perhaps, Harry thought, they had lost the will to function without the presence of their inventor. McGonagall obviously wasn't able to give them away.
“Professor, with all due respect, do you really think you’ll find someone better fit for the position?”
“I can’t make special expectations for you, Potter. To apply, you must finish your N.E.W.T.S.” Harry sighed. Was hunting down Horcruxes not enough evidence that he could teach a couple of hormonal teenagers defence spells? “And I must say, I can't figure out why you want this job so much. Of all people, I would think you need a couple of years of rest.
Why did he want it? Because this was all he knew. This was the only thing he was really good at. Because he loved teaching the DA. Because it was a distraction. Harry shrugged.
“Here’s my offer Potter: you know about the eighth-year program, yes?” Harry nodded. Hermione signed up before McGonagall even knew she was offering it. Ron had because of Hermione. Harry hadn’t because, well he knew it was childish but among other reasons, he didn’t want to share a dorm with the Slytherins. The entire idea of an eighth year at Hogwarts, McGonagall had said, was to unite the four houses and break down differences. This meant a new set of shared dorms and common rooms, the abolishment of house points, and no quidditch. Perhaps, McGonagall fancied another war. Malfoy had signed up, almost as quickly as Hermione. It was part of his sentence, for crimes against the wizarding world. “Well,” McGonagall continued, “finish your schooling and next year we'll talk.”
“I don’t need more schooling. I have experience in the real world.”
“I know.” She paused. “And if I may ask Mr. Potter, I do recall that you wanted to be an Auror. From what I've heard, they are willing to make an exception. Was it not your preferred occupation?”
“It was.” Harry could tell that McGonagall wanted to press further, but she thankfully stopped herself.
“Well, what do you say then Potter?” Harry thought for a moment. Spend a year alone with barely enough energy to do much of anything, or go to Hogwarts with barely enough energy to do much of anything.
“Okay, I'll come back.” McGonagall smiled.
“I’m glad to hear it. Since you’re here already, would you like to stay for tea? I do believe something here can boil water.”
“I - I think I must be going. Someone's expecting me.” A lie with no subtly. Harry was living in a slightly cleaner and brighter Grimmauld place, with only the company of Kreacher and weekly visits from the Weasleys (Hermione was restoring the memories of her parents all summer). Harry made his way to the fire.
“Are you alright Harry?” McGonagall asked before he could pick up any floo powder. It was weird hearing his first name in her stiff voice.
“Of course.” He responded, slightly too quickly.
“It’s only that, you look a bit sick and thin-”
“I’m fine. Thank you for meeting with me.” And he disappeared in the flames, barely catching a wink from Dumbledore who was looking oddly smug in his gold picture frame.