Chapter Text
Harry couldn’t shake the thought that the house that he and Dumbledore were walking into was cursed. There was nothing peculiar about it, which was part of his reason for believing it was cursed. It was in a painfully ordinary muggle neighborhood, surrounded by painfully ordinary muggle houses, yet there was something very off about this place, and Harry sensed it.
When Dumbledore reached the front door, he simply looked up at the ornament poised above it. The look on his face was peculiar, but it was unlike anything Harry had ever seen on his face before. The house was completely dark inside, but it didn’t look abandoned, and he was beginning to think that Dumbledore had apparated into the wrong neighborhood before he spoke in his soft, calm voice.
“He’s not here,” he observes, and Harry furrows his eyebrows in confusion. Dumbledore then takes his wand out and points it at the door handle, and the lock clicks.
“I feel like… that defeats the purpose of apparating outside of his house,” Harry observes, and Dumbledore chuckles.
“I didn’t expect him to be here, but you can never be too polite,” he says, pushing the door open and walking into the house. Harry follows him into the hallway and turns right into the darkened living room. The house still appears to be painfully ordinary, although when Dumbledore lights up the room with his wand, it’s clear that nobody seems to live here. It’s clean and tidy, but there’s also a thin layer of dust coating the furniture.
Dumbledore’s eyes are scanning the room, seemingly looking for something or someone. They narrow after a moment.
“Professor?”
“It seems I misjudged. He is here,” Dumbledore says, turning around in the living room. He begins to squint at a hard-backed chair in the corner of the room, and takes a step forward before another voice comes, seemingly from nowhere, within the room.
“Wrong chair.”
Harry’s head jerks towards the voice, towards a wooden chair near the fireplace. The air near the chair seems to ripple for a moment, until a man sitting in the chair reveals himself from under an invisibility cloak. “You could have just knocked.”
The man sitting in the chair is tall and relatively thin, with chin length dark brown hair that falls into his face, parted in the middle. He’s decked in a violet vest and dress pants with a lilac shirt and yellow bowtie, making him look like some kind of extravagant performer rather than any kind of teacher. He’s pale, and appears to be in his late fifties, but he’s aged well. There’s something very mischievous about his posture and his smile.
“Would you have let me in, William?”
“Not sure. Didn’t give me time to decide,” he replies, shrugging. His voice is low and drawling, and it reminds Harry painfully of Malfoy’s voice, albeit much deeper and more composed. His eyes bore into Harry after a moment, and Harry’s breath almost hitches in his throat. His eyes are silver, and they pry into Harry’s soul similarly to Dumbledore’s, but it’s a lot more unsettling.
“Mm.” His eyes briefly flit up to Harry’s scar. “This is unexpected.”
“I thought I might bring him by, if you didn’t mind,” Dumbledore says, moving forward to stand between Harry and this man clad in purple. “William, this is Harry Potter. Harry, this is William Afton, a former ally of mine in the previous Wizarding War.”
Afton gets to his feet in a swift, smooth motion, turning to his right and taking a step towards Harry before extending a hand for him to shake. Harry takes it cautiously and despite this, he keeps the handshake firm and confident.
“Pleasure to make your acquaintance, Mr. Potter,” he says silkily, letting go of his hand and examining Harry again. “You look an awful lot like your father.”
“I know,” he says, knowing what he’s going to say next, but instead he just smiles, clearly catching on that Harry’s heard those words one too many times. He turns to Dumbledore.
“I’m quite sure I know what you’re here for,” he addresses, his voice getting noticeably rougher. “And I’m not interested in that horrid job position of yours. I’d rather like to keep my head.”
“I trust that you’re smarter than my previous hiree. She ran afoul in the centaur horde,” Dumbledore assures, and Afton grimaces, although there’s a hidden bit of satisfaction in his expression.
“I’m forced to wonder how she got such a high-ranking job in the ministry, but with Cornelius as minister…I’m surprised it wasn’t someone even more incompetent,” he comments, his eyes glazing over. Harry smiles to himself.
“Well, sit down then,” Afton offers suddenly, extending his hands. “Even though this visit is fruitless, it would be a waste not to drink something.”
“I rather agree,” Dumbledore nods. “Although I’d first like to use the bathroom, if you could point me in the right direction.”
He jerks his thumb towards the hallway they came from. “First door on your right. And hurry, the wine won’t drink itself.”
Dumbledore nods and strides away in the direction of the hallway. Afton watches as he walks away before sitting on the dusty couch and looking up at Harry.
“Do you want anything?” He asks, starting to rummage in his vest pockets. He pulls out a lighter and a pack of cigarettes. “To drink, I mean.”
“I don’t need anything,” Harry comments, still standing before he slowly shifts over to a chair across from Afton and his eyes start to wander. Afton is staring at the lighter, and Harry notices this. He raises an eyebrow as if to ask if Harry minds, and a quick look at his face tells him that Harry does mind, but can’t find it within his grasp to say so.
“Hm,” he muses, stowing the cigarettes and lighter. “I was in the same class as your dad, you know.”
“You were?” Harry asks, and it dawns on him that Afton appears older than he actually is. Perhaps it's the smoking.
“Mhm,” he confirms. “Same class as your mother too, naturally. They were popular, those two. I learned a whole lot about them through a few friends.”
“What house were you in?” Harry asks, already having a shrewd guess. Afton sits back on the couch and eyes Harry through his silver eyes.
“Slytherin,” he answers, the edges of his mouth curling. “Heard you’re a Gryffindor, right? Figures.”
Harry narrows his eyes at this response. “What do you mean?”
“No, it’s just a very… Well, righteous house, you know,” he shakes his head. “When I went there they had a bit of a superiority complex over the Slytherins, so I grew to form an opinion of them. Of course, they were justified, seeing as He Who Must Not Be Named came from my lowly house.” He emphasizes the syllables in ‘He Who Must Not Be Named’ in a way that implies he’s tired of saying it. “I doubt you hold the highest opinion of us either, do you?”
Harry shrugs, which is the nicest way of saying that he hates Slytherin, and Afton seems to understand. “Again, justifiable. I don’t blame you. I grew to hate the Slytherin reputation as well.” He leans forward a bit on the couch. “That pureblood supremacy bullshit makes me sick.”
Harry wonders if Afton is trying to convince him to like him, or to convince him that not all Slytherins are the same, but Harry is far from convinced. His voice is silky and his demeanor is composed, but it’s a bit too much so. It’s unsettling at best, wildly suspicious at worst.
“Um,” Harry begins, feeling pressured to respond, “Yeah. I mean, I don’t have the best track record with the Slytherins. I’ve sort of been getting harassed all my years there by this Malf—”
“Oh, him!” Afton laughs. “Yeah, his father was four years above me. What a joy he was. Prefect, too. I think he hated my guts, but he always strutted around above everyone that I couldn’t tell if he hated me specifically or just everyone in general.”
And Harry chuckles at this, because his son is exactly the same. Afton shakes his head, clearly reminiscing.
“It’s a shame, though, the animosity between the houses. And it sucks that we’re always apart. My best friend was in Gryffindor, you know?” He mentions, and Harry’s surprised, just a bit. “Yeah. He didn’t spend much time with your father even though they were in the same house in the same year. He thought his ego was too big for his own good.”
Harry nods. He understands where his friend might have been coming from.
“He became a prefect in our fifth year, and he had to keep up the stupid rival spiel with the Slytherins then. His reputation would have been ruined if people knew he had been fraternizing with me.”
His tone is tinged with a bit of disappointment, and Harry almost feels bad for him for a moment.
“Course, there was always sneaking out in the middle of the night to screw around. He wasn’t the hugest fan of it anymore after he became a prefect, but I guess my pretty face was too hard to say no to.”
“You weren’t a prefect?”
Afton shakes his head. “I was too much of a miscreant. I had good grades, but you need more than that to be a prefect. You have to be a good role model too, and I guess I didn’t fit the bill.” He leans back on the sofa. “Did you?”
“Apparently not,” Harry says. He had gotten over not becoming a prefect last year when Dumbledore told him why he hadn’t appointed him, but it still mildly irked him. “My best friends got the positions.”
“Mm,” he hums, throwing his head back. He stays silent for a moment before returning to the previous subject.
“I mean, when I think about the people in my house, I guess I always kind of liked Severus,” he says, and looks at Harry. “You must know him, he teaches at Hogwarts.”
Afton seems to have misinterpreted the look on Harry’s face. “Oh, I know him,” he responds, and he can’t keep the coldness out of his voice. Afton raises an eyebrow. “He hates my guts.”
“Oh?” He says, his tone surprised. He seems to think about it for a moment. “Well, I guess that makes sense. You do look a lot like your father, after all.”
And Harry’s rudely reminded of Snape’s memory that he regretfully pried into last year, of his father tormenting Snape under a tree following the O.W.L. exams. It then comes to his mind that he could learn a lot from Afton if he were to make a good impression on him. A lot about Snape, mainly, and he of course hates to think about what he might learn, but the opportunity is very enticing.
“Why would you be surprised he hates me?” Harry presses on. Afton raises an eyebrow.
“Because he was friends with your mother,” he answers, and Harry’s heart seems to close up. He wasn’t expecting this answer, not in the slightest, and he had a horrible feeling that this was something he shouldn’t know.
“But…” and Harry wants to ask a question, without revealing the fact that he pried into Snape’s memories, but can’t seem to find the words. Afton stares at him for a bit, until his eyes dart up and he gets to his feet.
“I wondered how long you’d take,” he comments, and Harry looks around to see that Dumbledore has reentered the room. “So I didn’t get anything out. If you want, I could—”
“No, I think that’s fine. I simply wanted to stop by to offer you something,” Dumbledore nods. “Unfortunately, it doesn’t seem like you’d want to take it up.”
“What gave you that idea?” He asks, crossing his arms. “There’s really only one thing keeping me from doing it. You might even know what it is.”
Dumbledore appears to consider something. “There’s only so much I can do.”
“I’ll tell you what,” Afton says, taking a step forward. “I have time tomorrow. We can work out the finer details of what I’m asking for then.”
He smiles at Dumbledore, and then at Harry. “It was good meeting you. It’s Dumbledore’s decision whether or not we’ll see each other again.”
Dumbledore’s expression is unreadable as he beckons Harry to stand. They exchange polite goodbyes before he quietly leaves the house with Harry by his side.
“What did you think?” He asks after a moment when they reach the sidewalk.
“He doesn’t seem like a teacher,” Harry comments.
“Oh, he’s not. He’s a kind of scientist, as muggles would say, but he’s shockingly good at explaining things, and he’s good with children.” He seems to add the last bit almost reluctantly, as if it’s not a great thing. “But he was indispensable in the previous war against Voldemort, and seeing as something appears to be brewing once again, it would be nice to have him around.
Harry frowns. “Did you want me to convince him to teach? I don’t think I did anything.”
“I don’t blame you. He’s very difficult to persuade.”
“What did he want? You know, for him to teach?”
“He was being very intentionally vague. I doubt he would want me to tell you, but in truth, I have no idea what he was suggesting.”
Harry’s rather surprised by this response. Normally Dumbledore would have outright told him, or said something along the lines of “that’s something that we’ll talk about later,” but he rarely ever said that he didn’t know something entirely.
“I wanted to tell you to be weary of William, although it seems you might have already caught on to that. Voldemort knows that not having him on his side is an objective disadvantage, and I won’t pretend that with him at Hogwarts, there may be certain people who will attempt to sway him,” he says, and Harry’s mind immediately turns to Snape.
“He told me that he doesn’t believe in all that pureblood… stuff,” Harry says, avoiding his actual wording.
“He certainly doesn’t, by any means, but he’s interested in discovery, no matter the cost. Voldemort’s…” Dumbledore appears to reevaluate what he was about to say, and changes his mind. “If he starts to believe that Voldemort’s success could lead to more advancements in society, it could be dangerous.”
Harry narrows his eyes. “Why would he ever think that Voldemort winning would be a benefit for discovery? He’s not… he’s trying to wipe out all muggle-borns.”
“That’s why Mr. Afton is currently on our side,” Dumbledore says, a bit of finality in his voice. He slows to a stop at the end of the sidewalk. He holds out his hand for Harry to take, and he looks up at him, confirming what he knew Dumbledore was going to do.
Reluctantly, he grabs Dumbledore’s hand and they disappear into the darkness.
…
Ron and Hermione were bombarding Harry with questions. He answered most of them pretty simply, and avoided mentioning the visit he made to the peculiar Mr. Afton, but eventually he let it slip that he had done more with Dumbledore than speak to him in the Weasley’s shed following his visit to Harry’s house. It had happened after they received their O.W.L. results, and Ron had mused to himself who the next Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher would be. Forgetting that he never told them, he muttered “probably Mr. Afton,” and Hermione raised an eyebrow at him.
“Who?”
Harry realizes he’s never told them. “Oh. Yeah, I’ve been meaning to tell you… Dumbledore and I visited this guy’s house before I got here. He was asking him to teach at Hogwarts.”
“Why didn’t you tell us earlier?” Ron butt in.
“He probably just forgot.”
“Forgot? It’s kind of a hard thing to forget—”
“It really wasn’t that interesting,” Harry says. “Dumbledore said he was an old ally of his. If he teaches us I guess I’ll tell you more.”
“What was his name again?” Hermione asks.
“William Afton,” Harry answers.
“Did he seem, uh, competent?” Ron adds.
“I mean, yeah, but he didn’t seem like someone who would be good at teaching.” Harry thinks about this for a moment. “He kind of reminded me a bit of Moody.”
“Well, let’s hope he’s not the same,” Ron jokes nervously. “You know, being a death eater in disguise.”
Harry takes a deep breath. “I wouldn’t put it past him.”
…
Afton didn’t come up as a topic of conversation until the feast. As a matter of fact, Harry had forgotten about him, and expected someone mundane and ordinary to be their new Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher. He only noticed him when Ron pointed him out after the sorting.
“Is that him?” He had asked suddenly, pointing up subtly at the staff table. Sure enough, sitting next to professor Snape, was a man clad in deep violet robes, drumming his fingers on the table absentmindedly. He kept glancing around the table like he was waiting for someone else to turn up.
“Yeah,” Harry affirmed, tilting his head at him. His appearance was bland compared to the other Dark Arts teachers, and he wondered how many people had actually realized he was there. Still, the purple robes might have attracted people’s attention.
“He looks different than I imagined him,” Ron frowns.
“I thought that might have been him,” Hermione says, furrowing her eyebrows. Harry notices that she’s looking at the other side of the staff table, where another new man sits. This one had curly red hair, a well trimmed beard, and glasses, and he looked a lot more approachable than Afton. Harry’s eyes narrow.
“Who is that?” Ron asks.
“No idea,” Harry replies. He’s listening avidly to professor Mcgonagall, nodding every so often in response.
“He looks nice,” Hermione comments.
“He looks like Ron’s long-lost uncle or something,” Harry responds, and Ron laughs.
“Kinda does, doesn’t he?”
The conversation changes for the rest of the feast, until Dumbledore gets to his feet and begins his speech. He starts by saying that Filch has banned all items bought from the Weasley Twins’ shop, before getting to the two new staff members.
“I am pleased to welcome two new members of our staff this year. As you might know, Professor Flitwick entered an early retirement following last year, and as a result, Professor Sinstra has become the new head of Ravenclaw house. We welcome Professor Emily as our new charms master.”
The redheaded teacher gets to his feet and smiles out at the students. There’s a polite round of applause for him, since he looks pleasant and a decent replacement for Flitwick overall. When he sits down, Dumbledore addresses the other.
“We also welcome Professor Afton—” Afton stands up, casting a keen and interested eye over the students, “—who has agreed to work as our new potions master.”
Harry does a double take, and it’s clear that he’s not the only one. Murmurs fill the room. Ron looks at Harry and opens his mouth to ask something before Dumbledore speaks again.
“Professor Snape, meanwhile, will be taking over the position of Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher.”
There’s protests at the Gryffindor’s table, Harry being the loudest of them all. Ron looks at him, shocked. Over the protests, he asks “I thought you said Afton would be teaching Defense Against the Dark Arts?”
“I— I mean, I assumed, right?” Harry stammers. “It doesn’t make sense.”
The murmurs die down when Dumbledore begins to speak again. He addresses Voldemort, and the chatter dies down even further when he does so, before sending the students to bed. When Harry and Ron get back to the dormitory, and they’re both done ranting about the absurdity of Snape getting the Defense Against the Dark Arts position, Ron turns to the other burning question he wants to ask Harry.
“Well, now that we know Afton's teaching, can you tell me more about him?” He asks while changing into pajamas.
“Later. When Hermione can listen,” he elaborates.
“You acted like he was really weird when you visited him with Dumbledore. He didn’t seem like he was,” Ron muses.
“I guess not,” Harry frowns. He might be looking into it too much, but anyone who admitted that they liked Snape was someone to be cautious of, in his opinion. “He just said some odd things when we visited, that’s all. I can tell you later.”
And Ron nods, knowing that Harry will follow up on this promise because he loves speculating about the teachers and their past connections. Besides, he’s tired, and his bed waits two feet away from him, beckoning him to sleep.
…
Several weeks earlier
Dumbledore sits in a muggle coffee shop, opposite of two men in front of him. Both are smiling at him, though one of them, the dark-haired, paler one, clad in purple, is wearing more of a satisfied smirk than a smile. The other, with curly red hair, is looking at Dumbledore with a kind smile that mirrors the one Dumbledore usually gives to students.
“So, I trust you remember Henry Emily, right?” Afton says, cocking his head towards the other, who holds out a hand for Dumbledore to shake. “He was in my year.”
“Oh, I remember him, just as well as I do you,” Dumbledore says, and he’s mildly pleased to see Henry again. He was a good student and a responsible friend. He kept William grounded and out of a lot more trouble than he probably would have gotten into while they were at school together, and it appears that he still does.
“Yes, well, I spoke to him and he says he’d be willing to take up the position of Charms Master, if you would allow it,” he explains. Dumbledore narrows his eyes.
“I was only seeking your assistance, Mr. Afton, although I appreciate your enthusiasm,” Dumbledore clarifies, wondering where William might go with this, but he doesn’t beat around the bush. Instead, he just gives an amused little chuckle.
“That’s the catch.” William’s eyes narrow just a bit. “I told you there was only one thing keeping me from teaching at your school, and that’s Henry. So, you either get both of us, or neither of us, and that’s the deal.”
“If— if I might add,” Henry finally speaks, and Dumbledore’s taken aback a little by his accent, even though it’s the same as he remembers. He sounds American. “William didn’t inform me of this. I’d be willing to return to Hogwarts to teach even if he doesn’t.”
And William knows that if Albus could choose to just take one of them and not the other, he would choose William in a heartbeat, so he doesn’t say anything to Henry at this comment. Dumbledore doesn’t say anything for a moment. He had already had someone in mind for Flitwick’s replacement, and he’d really rather place his faith in them than in Mr. Emily, seeing that Henry doesn’t seem to have any teaching experience, as far as Dumbledore is aware. Still, Afton’s presence would make some things trivially easy for him, especially during this year, and passing up this offer would seem like a huge mistake. Dumbledore concedes.
“Alright,” he says, and William’s smile gets wider. “I’ll take both of you, but you better not give me any trouble, William. I expect you to behave.”
“I’m not five,” he cuts in, a bit irritated. Henry makes a little shrugging gesture, and William not-so-subtly elbows him. “But fine, of course. Wouldn’t dream of it.”
“And I might require your assistance for matters other than teaching from you as well, Mr. Emily,” Dumbledore continues. “I trust you’re aware of the current situation?”
“Who isn’t,” Henry replies gravely. “And yes, I completely understand. I’ll lend my hand in any way possible.”
Dumbledore wasn’t expecting any protests from Henry. He was a muggle-born, a Gryffindor, a righteous man, and the last person he thought would associate himself with William Afton. Yet they were best friends. There was something beautiful about that.
“Good. I suppose I’ll see you both in a month, then?” He guesses, getting to his feet. William follows. He has a smart little smirk playing around on his mouth.
“Indeed you shall.”