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Chapter Text

July 2029

Harry Potter double-checked the address on the list he had been given; then, when he was sure he was in the correct place, he rode around the block, parked his motorbike in front of a café, and then secured it with an Anti-Theft Jinx. He stopped in the tiny café for a takeaway coffee and then walked over to the housing complex. The little girl’s flat was on the third floor, facing the courtyard. He didn’t go up right away, preferring to observe for a while.

Harry thought of Hagrid, and then, as if his old friend had been summoned, felt his spirit close by. Hagrid preferred to manifest with a heavy hand on Harry’s right shoulder, as if the half-giant was standing directly behind him.

Ginny and Luna were the only ones who knew about the spirits. Occasional visits, now, had become more common in the past few months, ever since Harry had been inside the Eyrie and its repository of ancient magic. The Resurrection Stone still lay soft and quiet deep in the Dark Forest, thirty years after Harry had dropped it; there was no reason why Harry felt the spirits, the shades -- but they were there, and he was as sure of them as the hat on his head and the trainers on his feet.

Luna had told him all of this was only natural, since he had pierced the veil between the worlds; she was only surprised it hadn’t happened sooner. Ginny had said something similar, that being Master of Death had had to change him in some way, and that maybe this was it. He hadn’t told anyone else, because he wasn’t sure if they would understand.

Harry circled the apartment complex, listening to the chatter of televisions and the conversations amongst humans in multiple languages. Warm meals were cooking, and the scents of spice wafted out of the open doors and windows of various flats. Clothes were hanging from washing lines, and small children were playing in the courtyard. A few bold ones waved to him, and he waved and smiled back, all the while keeping an eye on the third floor.

This generation of Muggles tended to stay inside. The little girl he had come in search of was too old to be playing outside with the smaller children, so she was likely to be in the flat, curled up with a mobile phone or tablet computer. Neville had said it was very difficult now for the Muggle-borns to give them up and for their parents to accept that they couldn’t just call or text their kids when they were at Hogwarts. Even the half-blood students were forever trying to sneak their computers into school, only for them to short out within days or weeks.

Hogwarts, now, was both the same as it had been when Harry was a student there, and vastly different now that he was a teacher.

At their meeting yesterday, when Neville had shown Harry to his office on the first floor and an adjacent classroom that had been set aside for him, he had also given Harry a list of five names. You’re faculty now, he’d said.

Are you sure you want me to do this so soon? Harry had asked, surprisingly apprehensive. This job had a way of making him feel anxious in a way he’d never felt with the Aurors.

You know what to do, Neville had said, clapping his arm. Besides, just wait until this lot tells all their friends that Professor Potter was the one who spoke to them. They’ll be the most popular first-years at Hogwarts for at least a week.

Harry smiled to himself at the memory, then felt Hagrid’s heavy, warm hand again on his shoulder. “Okay, okay,” Harry told him. “I’ll go get her.”

He tossed his empty coffee cup into a rubbish bin, then walked up the concrete stairs to the third floor of the housing development, skipping the rickety lift even though the Healers had told him it would be better for his hips and knees. Then, as Harry reached the flat, he cast Homenum Revelio and saw that the little girl was on her bed, lying on her stomach and playing on a mobile phone. A female was cooking in the kitchen, a male was on the sofa watching the television, and another two youths were in the apartment as well, older and younger than the little girl.

Harry knocked at the front door, then waited. There was noise inside, and the curtain in the side window moved, but the door still didn’t open. Harry stood back, leaned casually against the wall of the open hallway, and waved benignly when the curtain moved again. “Hello,” he said. “I’m one of Oradina’s teachers from school. May I please speak to you?”

The curtain swished again, and then the door opened. A teenage girl was standing there, carrying a young boy in her arms. “You’re from her school?” the girl asked. “I’ve never seen you before.”

Clever, Harry thought. She’d have been one to watch if she were magical. Unfortunately for her, it did not appear that she was, given that she was not already a Hogwarts student.

“From her new school,” Harry replied.

“What do you teach?” the girl asked.

“English,” Harry said smoothly. “I look it, right?” He adjusted his glasses, and the girl smiled a little.

He continued. “I’ve been asked to speak to Oradina’s mum and dad, and you, if you like. Everyone in the family. It would be best done inside, but we can talk out in the courtyard, if that makes you more comfortable.” Hagrid’s shade patted his shoulder approvingly. Harry only hoped Oradina’s dad didn’t threaten him with a shotgun, as Vernon Dursley had done to Hagrid when he’d come around.

There was more movement and noise from inside the flat; a man’s form appeared behind the teenage girl, then spoke to her in a language Harry didn’t recognize. “Hello,” Harry said politely. “I was just telling this young lady that I’m a teacher at Oradina’s new school. I’ve been tasked with speaking to her and to her family. I’d like to come inside, but we can speak out in the courtyard as well.”

“Uh, no,” the man said, in halting, heavily-accented English. “Come in.” The man held open the door, then called Oradina’s name, as well as another female-sounding name that must have belonged to his wife. Both of them came into the sitting room, where the flatscreen television was still playing a football game.

Oradina had black eyes and hair and light brown skin. Harry was reminded acutely of Alba, his former Auror trainee, and felt himself smiling at the young girl. “Hello,” he said to her, and then her mother, who looked a bit world-weary but had similar black hair and eyes. The mother adjusted her headscarf around her face when she saw him, hiding her wavy black hair. The father spoke to them both in a language Harry didn’t recognize.

“How well do your parents speak English?” Harry asked Oradina, and then shifted his gaze to the teenager, who must be an elder sister or relative.

“Only okay,” Oradina said shyly. The older girl shrugged.

“What I have to say is a bit complicated,” Harry told them. “Do you think you’d be up to the task of translating for me?”

The girls both nodded. “What’s your name?” Harry asked the older girl. “Are you Oradina’s sister?”

“Zafira,” the elder girl answered. She looked to be no older than fifteen. “Yes, she’s my sister. And this is Ahmed.” She nodded her head towards the little boy, who was now standing next to her, gazing up at Harry with deep black eyes. “He’s our brother.”

“It’s lovely to meet you all,” Harry said, looking at each of them in turn. “Thank you for inviting me into your home.”

“Café?” the mother asked him.

“Thank you for the offer,” Harry said sincerely. “But I must decline. I’m only allowed two cups a day, and I’ve had both already. Shall we sit?” He nodded towards the sofa.

The family slowly made their way over to the sofa. Harry, bringing up the rear, surreptitiously cast a Preservation Charm toward the meal the mother was working on in the kitchen so that it would not be ruined. Judging by the state of their flat, the last thing this family needed was wasted food. The television remained on, still silently broadcasting the football game; Harry considered asking one of the girls to turn it off, but decided against it. Hopefully, what he had to say would command the father’s attention well enough.

Once they had all settled in on the sofa, various chairs, and the floor, he began to speak again. “My name is Harry Potter,” he said, “and I’m a professor at what I hope will be Oradina’s new school. But before I speak about that, I wanted to tell you a bit about myself.”

The older daughter, Zafira, translated for her parents; when she was done, Harry continued. “I grew up in Surrey, just outside London. My parents died when I was very young, and so I was raised by my aunt and uncle.” He paused, allowing Zafira to translate. “When I was a child, I did strange things, things that I could not explain, especially when I was angry or scared.” He turned his head slightly, facing Oradina, watching for her reaction. “One time I grew all my hair back within a day after my aunt hacked it all off. Another time, I was being chased by some bullies, and I disappeared and then reappeared up on the roof of my school. And another time, my aunt wanted me to wear this horrible sweater, and I knew I’d be teased over it, so I made it shrink to the size a doll would wear.” He looked now at Oradina, who had tears in her eyes. “Have you done things like that? Things you couldn’t explain?”

The little girl nodded. A few tears slipped down her cheeks.

“What you did -- whatever you did -- wasn’t bad or wrong. It’s in your nature, you see. It’s at the very core of who you are.” He smiled at her. “What you can do is very, very rare, to be sure, but there are other people who can do it, too: millions of other people, in countries all over the world.”

Harry reached into the pocket of his blazer and took out Oradina’s Hogwarts letter, then handed it to her. “This is an acceptance letter to the school where I work,” he said, turning his gaze to her mother, her father, and then Zafira. “Your name is in our Book of Admittance, so I was tasked with finding you and speaking to you and your family.” He watched as Oradina opened the letter, then read it, then passed it to her elder sister, who read it, her eyebrows raised. “Where is your family from?” Harry asked Zafira.

“Lebanon,” she answered.

“And Oradina was born here, in England?” he asked. Both girls nodded. He continued. “Zafira, have you ever done anything like what I explained? Things similar to your sister?”

The elder girl shook her head. “It can work that way in families,” Harry said. “My mother had abilities, but my aunt, her elder sister, did not.” He nodded, then, towards Ahmed, the youngest child. “He may begin to do the same as well. If he does have abilities, they should show themselves soon, if they haven’t already.”

“He does things, too,” Oradina said. It was the most she’d spoken so far. “He can make his toys do tricks.”

Harry smiled. “That’s wonderful to hear. When he is eleven, he’ll get his letter, too. Perhaps I will return to deliver that one as well.” He paused, watching their reactions. “Now, you do have a choice to attend Hogwarts,” he continued. “If you do choose to attend, your life will be very different from what it is now, and that can be a difficult adjustment.” He waited while Zafira translated for her parents. “But it will be best for you to learn how to control your abilities. Without the proper education and training, your abilities will be increasingly difficult to handle. They can even become dangerous. I say this not to scare you, but to let you know about the risk.”

“My family,” Oradina said, sounding dismayed. “We don’t have money for a school like this.”

“Hogwarts is free,” Harry said. “And we have scholarship funds for supplies. You will have to go to London, to a special street there, to get your things. We can help you with that. Hogwarts helped me, too, when I first began: they sent a teacher, like me, and he helped me get my supplies. He even bought me my first owl. It was my eleventh birthday and one of the most wonderful days of my life.” He smiled at her again, then at her sister. Their mother was crying; their father, on the other hand, looked gray and shocked.

“We want you to attend our school, Oradina,” Harry continued, looking at her little face. “And Ahmed, when his time comes as well. It is where you both belong. You will be happy there, amongst children like yourselves, who can do the same things you can. There is no reason to be scared or ashamed of who you are there.”

Oradina had begun to cry again, a little. “I want you to talk it over with your family,” Harry said. “This is a big decision, one that will change the course of your life.” He reached into the other breast pocket of his blazer, where he used to keep his badge; now, it held a steel card holder. He opened it and withdrew a calling card that said Professor Harry Potter, Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, along with his phone number. “I do keep a mobile phone,” he said, handing the card to Oradina; he handed a second card to her sister. “But I don’t check it all the time. You can text me there or leave me a message, and I’ll get back to you.”

“You’re really a teacher?” Zafira asked him.

Harry smiled. “Yes,” he answered. “But I don’t teach just English. I teach many things: Charms, Transfiguration, Defense Against the Dark Arts, even a bit of Herbology and Potions.”

“Potions?” Oradina asked, flabbergasted.

Harry nodded. “It’s not my best subject, admittedly. But I try.” He paused for a moment. “I was a police detective for many years. I met my wife at Hogwarts when I was a child, and all my friends, and my three children all attended as well. We live out in the West Country, in Hereford, close to Wales.”

“How did you get all the way over here?” Zafira asked.

“I flew,” Harry said, chuckling a little. “On my motorbike. It’s parked ‘round the corner.”

“I think you are a crazy person,” the father finally said. It was the first time he’d spoken. The girls went quiet.

“I assure you, I am not,” Harry said, looking at him straight in the eye. “I can leave if you want me to. But Oradina and Ahmed will still do what they can do, regardless.” He glanced at Zafira, then turned back towards the father. “You cannot stop them from being who they were born to be. It is impossible, and to try will actually harm them. We want to help your children.” Zafira was translating.

Harry glanced at the mother, who had been silent. She seemed afraid to look him in the eye, but when she did, he saw the depth of her sorrow. “Your daughter will be safe with us,” Harry said to her. “And at Hogwarts, she will learn to live the life she was destined for.”

Harry sat with the family for another half-hour, answering the questions the girls posed to him, such as where Hogwarts was located, whether it was a boarding school, and when classes would begin. He gave the girls the information they asked for, but also understood, instinctively, that he shouldn’t overwhelm their parents, especially their father. This was a delicate situation that would require several visits; Neville had warned him that this sometimes happened with Muggle-borns, and Harry understood that well.

After shaking hands and saying goodbye, Harry walked out of the tiny flat and down the concrete hallway a bit. As he walked, he heard little footsteps running after him. “Mr. Potter?” a voice said; he turned around and saw Oradina. Harry bent down in front of her so that he was closer to her eye level. “Thank you,” the girl said.

“You’re very welcome,” Harry replied. “Please call or text me if you have any questions or need anything. I’ll be coming back in a few days to check on you and see how things are going. I may bring more people like me to come and talk to your parents as well.”

Oradina nodded, and Harry lowered his voice further. “My aunt and uncle were like your dad,” he said. “They were scared of what I could do. At times, they even tried to beat it out of me. But it didn’t work.” There were tears in the little girl’s eyes again, and as he watched, they rolled down her cheeks. “It will never work. And no matter what anyone says, no matter what they do, nothing can change that. You understand?”

She nodded again, solemnly.

“Now come,” he said. “I’ll do something I used to do for my daughter when she was sad. Put your hands together and open them up, make a little bowl for me.” Oradina laughed a little, then extended her hands in front of her.

Harry took out his wand from the breast pocket of his blazer. “This is my wand,” he said, holding the holly wand up so that she could see it. “I bought it when I was eleven years old, on that happy day I told you all about, and it’s still with me. At Hogwarts, you will learn to use one to help refine and control your abilities.”

The girl nodded, her black eyes wide.

“And this is called a conjuration,” Harry continued. “You will learn how to do this there, but when you are much older. It’s advanced magic.” He smiled at her, and Oradina smiled back: with a wave of his wand, a single blue morpho butterfly appeared in her hands. Harry watched her face, which had always been the best part when he’d done this trick with Bit; the little girl’s smile grew wider, and in her eyes was an expression of wonder and joy.

The butterfly in her hands flapped its wings and then started to take off. Oradina’s eyes followed it, and with another, more subtle wave of his wand, nine more butterflies of the same type appeared and flew around her, batting at her face and hair, before lifting themselves off to disappear just as they reached the open sky.

The girl turned back around to face Harry, bolder now. “Zafira can’t come?” she asked.

“I’m afraid not,” Harry said, genuinely sad for both the sisters, at the distance there would now and always be between them. “If she doesn’t have magical abilities, she can’t come to Hogwarts.” He stood up. “But you tell her that I said she must continue to go to her school and study hard. She’s quite clever.”

Harry told Oradina to go back to her flat, reassuring her, again, that he would be returning in a few days. He stood there until the door closed behind her and listened closely for any noise that would require intervention. Hearing none, he turned and walked toward the staircase, feeling Hagrid’s hand again, heavy on his right shoulder. “Are you coming with me?” Harry asked him. “I think we’ve got time to talk to the one in Cardiff before dinner, if he doesn’t give us too hard a time…”

Chapter Text

August 29, 2029

It had taken some time for Harry to realize the Marauder’s Map was missing from the desk in his and Ginny’s study. Truth be told, Harry hadn’t looked at the Map in years -- hadn’t needed to -- but he kept it in the desk due to its sentimental value and because of the possibility it might come in handy someday. He’d seriously considered giving the Map to Teddy when Teddy had started Hogwarts, but Teddy had been an exemplary student who had also been well-behaved, like his father had been. In fact, Harry could not recall ever hearing that Teddy had landed himself in detention.

The Potter boys, however, had been a different story. Harry had given James the Invisibility Cloak when he’d started Hogwarts, as was his birthright as the eldest Potter male. It had been a wrench to let it go, to be sure, but Harry had used it only rarely since he had become Head Auror. Plus, he’d been trained enough in stealth and tracking to no longer require it. But, to Harry, it seemed excessive to give both the Cloak and the Map to the most rambunctious of his children. Little did Harry know at the time, however, that Al would cause him the biggest headaches of all.

Harry and Ginny always gave their children gifts for their new year at Hogwarts, aside from their usual school supplies. It was a small luxury that their successful careers -- and the money those careers had brought -- afforded them. Harry had decided to give Al the Map when Al was set to begin Hogwarts, given the fact that James had the Invisibility Cloak, but Harry was surprised, even a bit shocked, to find the Map was missing from the desk in the study. Upon the discovery, he’d gone and talked to James about it, and James had confessed that he’d removed the Map from his parents’ desk close to a year earlier. Harry couldn’t decide if he was upset the Map had been stolen from right under his nose, proud of James’s ingenuity, or annoyed that he now had to find another gift for Al.

Al had gotten his revenge, though, just a few years later, when he’d stolen the Cloak out of James’s trunk. At least that act had settled things between them and done the work of sorting out which boy would inherit what. Bit, for her part, was another excellent student who saw little appeal in sneaking around Hogwarts after curfew, so she just got normal presents, much to Harry’s relief.

When James had completed his last year at Hogwarts, he’d offered to pass the Map down to his younger brother, but Harry had told him not to. “To be quite honest,” Harry had said to him, “your brother needs to focus on his studies. He and Scorpius get into enough trouble without the Map. Al has told me he wants to be an Auror, and he will need to bring his grades up significantly if he even has a hope of getting in.” On his dad’s suggestion, James had instead passed the Map down to Hugo and Fred, who were the best of friends and bonded over their love of inventive pranks.

Hugo and Fred, now, had also finished their time at Hogwarts, and they had very considerately offered to return the Map to their Uncle Harry. But Harry, now older and wiser, also saw the appeal in using the Map to maintain the security of Hogwarts. The Map also needed major revisions, since a good deal of the castle had been rebuilt after the Battle of Hogwarts, and most of the secret passageways into the castle had been closed off for years.

It was then that the Marauder’s Map entered the possession of Neville Longbottom, the Deputy Headmaster. Harry had used what he’d learned about the Map’s magic, particularly its advanced Homonculous Charms, to create the Board in Auror Headquarters, but there were still many elements of the Map that were mysterious to him. Even Hermione couldn’t work it all out. Harry loaned the Map to Neville to use, with the intention that someday soon, Harry would attempt to try to solve the Map again. But his work with the DMLE always got in the way, and a few years had passed, and now…

And now Harry was back at Hogwarts, as a teacher this time.

He’d been working on getting his office in order when he heard Neville knock on his open door, and was, with a sharp pain of grief, reminded of how Remus had used the Map to watch Harry as he came in for their final visit together as teacher and student. And then, how Remus had given the Map back to him, and what he’d said, and how much it had meant to Harry…

“What’s up?” Neville asked as he came in through the open door. “You’ve just got a look on your face.”

“I was thinking of Remus,” Harry replied. Neville sighed, but there was a small, fond smile on his face, too. “What would he say if he saw us now, you think?” Harry asked.

“He’d be proud, mate. Fit to bursting, you know that.”

“And I was thinking about the Marauder’s Map,” Harry continued. “You still have it?”

“Of course.” Neville paused for a moment, then continued. “And I’ll give it back to you on one condition.”

Harry sighed this time. “Nev, we’ve had this conversation before. If I fail N.E.W.T.s --”

“You’re not going to fail N.E.W.T.s!” Neville scoffed. “You think I brought you on here just for your illustrious name? Harry, you’re a brilliant wizard!” He grinned. “It is true that you were always upstaged by Hermione, who is exceptional, but you were always up there in the top of the pack as well.”

“Only because of her,” Harry said fairly.

“Come on. All I want is two. I still contend you can do Transfiguration --”

“Absolutely not,” Harry said vehemently.

“-- But Charms and DADA, you can definitely do.”

“Bill is excellent at his job,” Harry said dismissively.

Neville shook his head. “I’m not talking about Bill.” Harry felt himself pause, and Neville continued. “That position is going to open up soon. You know that. She’s stayed longer than she wanted to already, and I only got her to stay this year because she knew you were coming on.” Neville sighed. “She wants you to take over for her.”

“I can’t be an HOH, Nev,” Harry replied. “Ginny won’t allow it. She wants me home in the evenings.”

“That’s fine.” Neville chuckled. “You know, she could do Transfiguration.”

“She definitely could,” Harry said. “But good luck getting her to leave the Prophet.”

With that, Neville smiled and waved his wand. “Accio Marauder’s Map!” he said, and within a few seconds, the Map appeared through the open door, and Neville caught it nimbly with one hand. “This wasn’t why I came up here,” Neville said, “but it’s as good a time as any.” He walked up to Harry’s desk and laid the Map down on it. “As Deputy Headmaster and, at least technically, your supervisor,” he said, “I am giving you an assignment.”

Harry nodded. It was more than a bit of a relief to have Neville as his supervisor. For the first time in many years, Harry could just be a regular employee… go where he was told to go, do what he was told to do, and have his decisions matter only to himself and the students he taught.

Neville continued. “Your employment as a full professor at Hogwarts is contingent on your ability to earn Outstanding N.E.W.T.s in Charms and Defense Against the Dark Arts.” He grinned. “And Transfiguration… we really need Transfiguration…”

“I won’t be able to get an O,” Harry insisted. “Hermione had the first O in what, a decade? Since Bill and Tonks? If you can’t get Bill to teach Transfiguration, you’re certainly not going to get me to do it.”

“Be that as it may,” Neville said, cutting across him. “The Hogwarts Board of Governors, in response to a plethora of dead, unqualified, and outright dangerous professors during the nineties, has tightened up the requirements for full-time faculty. The Headmistress and I must prove that even you, the Chosen One, are fully qualified to teach N.E.W.T.-level coursework.”

Harry chuckled.

“So, in order to do that, I am giving you an assignment.” Neville nodded his head towards the Map, which lay on Harry’s desk. “Update the Map and present it to the Headmistress. If you figure it out, the job’s yours without question. Aurora will give you the Outstanding N.E.W.T. herself, to hell with the examiners.”

“Can she do that?”

“Never had a reason to,” Neville replied. “How often were exams cancelled in our time, though?”

Harry laughed. “Ginny always says it’s a miracle any of us can stand a cauldron the right way up.”

“Me, for sure,” Neville said. “And it’s largely thanks to you.” He was smiling again. “I never told you, mate, but it was the D.A. that gave me the confidence in my spellwork to keep going here. I wasn’t sure if I was going to stay on after O.W.L.s. I was already planning to fail them miserably, imagining what my Gran would say and how disappointed Mum and Dad would be if they knew. But then there was you, and Sprout, and Ginny, too.” He grinned wider. “I’m really glad you’re finally here.”

Harry shook his head. He was genuinely touched, really, but also a bit embarrassed. “Why did you come up here, anyway?” he asked Neville.

“I came to check up on you, make sure you have everything you need.”

“I think so,” Harry said. “It’s hard to say until we get in there, isn’t it?”

“The House-elves can bring books to you,” Neville explained. “Just send Abernathy a note with what you need. You don’t have to be specific; he’ll locate items for you if you just tell him what you’re looking for. Same with supplies: there’s a House-elf named Rainbow who can bring you anything you need. She has a cute little den in the staffroom.” Neville grew serious. “Don’t carry things yourself, mate. The House-elves serve the Faculty of Hogwarts. That’s their job, and they want to do it. They consider it an honor to be asked.”

Harry nodded, and then Neville handed him a sheet of paper from the pocket of his robes. “Start-up schedule,” he said.

Harry accepted the paper, then started reading over it. There was to be a staff meeting two days from now, on August 31, and then, on September 1st…

Harry looked at what was written. “You have me doing the boats…Neville?”

But Neville had already left.

A golden evening was falling on the grounds outside Harry’s office window. He’d set his office up mostly to his satisfaction -- it was still kind of sparse -- and he was trying to forget the squashy sofa along the wall existed. The mid-afternoon fatigue he suffered sometimes was threatening to set in.

One of the House-elves, who had introduced himself as Yodel, had brought Harry a cup of fresh tea. Yodel had told Harry that he and another House-elf named Mabel served all the Professors of the First Floor, and that it was his and Mabel’s special honor to serve the Great Harry Potter, the Savior of Hogwarts. Harry had had to talk Yodel out of bringing a selection of biscuits and sandwiches with the tea, as he was supposed to be having dinner with Ginny in just a few hours.

Harry’s tea was perfectly made, the sun streaming in through the windows was pleasantly warm, and the Marauder’s Map was on his desk. It felt like old times, except he’d had few days at Hogwarts this nice when he was a teenager.

Harry knew from long experience that he was not going to solve the mysteries of the Map merely by using it. The Homonculous Charms it used were rare, specialized magic that weren’t even regularly covered on N.E.W.T.s. James, Sirius, and Remus, at least, had been extraordinarily clever students.

But as he stared at the blank parchment, Harry remembered.

He remembered that, when the Twins had given him the Map, they had explained that the Map had interacted with them even before they knew the passphrase to use it: the Map had seemed to sense that they would be sympathetic to its aims.

He also remembered that the Map had recognized Snape and had insulted him personally. There was a personality in the Map, inside its magic, that was the only thing, this side of the veil, left of three people that Harry had loved and lost.

So Harry decided to just talk to them, or whatever was still left of the Marauders inside the magical object they had created. It seemed obvious, but he’d never thought to do it before.

He tapped his wand against the second drawer in his desk, which opened in response. Inside was a small black leather bag that held his kit: items that would come in handy for situations in which a semi-retired Auror might find himself. George and Ron had also sent a large box of Weasleys’ Wizarding Wheezes tools -- the Auror Specials, they called them -- as well as a litany of old but useful items that Harry had permission to give away to worthy students.

But he wasn’t planning on using any of the Wheezes today. Instead, he reached into his bag, opened up Sirius’s cigarette case, and pulled out one of the precious clove cigarettes inside. Harry had been ordered to stop smoking by the Healers, and he’d been doing really well at it for years now anyway, but sometimes, he just craved a fucking smoke. It was especially the case when Sirius was involved.

He lit the cigarette with Sirius’s silver lighter, took a puff off it, then decided to let it burn, finding enough relief from his craving in the smell. He placed the tip of his wand on the center of the Map and began to speak. “My name is Harry Potter. I’m James’s -- Prongs’s -- son. I’ve been using the Map for many years, so you’ll know me, but I don’t think I’ve ever introduced myself this way.”

There was a long pause as the old parchment remained blank, and then handwritten words began to appear. With a pang of longing, Harry thought he recognized Sirius’s handwriting. Prongs has a son? We’re old now? A pause. Is Evans your mum?

Harry chose not to answer that. “I’m a professor at Hogwarts now,” he said instead.

Oh, shit. Congratulations, but also…how dreadful.

“I feel the same some days,” Harry said, chuckling. There were tears in his eyes and a warm feeling in his heart. “I have a specific favor to ask,” he continued. “For quite a while, my friends and I have been trying to figure out the magic that you all employed to make this Map work. I know I’m a professor now, but really, it’s not for any nefarious purpose. You see, Hogwarts Castle was badly damaged in a battle, and in the years since, it’s changed quite a bit.”

A battle? Wow.

“Yes,” Harry said. “About a quarter of the castle was destroyed, and most of the secret passages have been permanently sealed off.” He paused, then continued. “And, while I am always impressed at the magic that you all used to create the Map, there are a few flaws I’d like to remedy, if I can. I wanted to update the Map so that I can continue to use it, and then pass it down to more Marauders when the time comes.”

There was a long silence, then words appeared on the parchment. If you’re Prongs’s son, why can’t you just ask him?

Harry sighed. “Because he died. And then Padfoot, you died…and Moony, you’re gone as well, too. And Wormtail, although I’m not sure how willing he’d have been to answer my questions anyway.” The cigarette was still burning in Harry’s hand; he took a tiny puff off of it, then tasted tears in his throat. “The sad story of my life is that I’ve reached middle age and I’ve got no one to talk to about these things.” He paused and was conscious that no one else was in his office, that no one else could hear him speak. “And it’s surprising to me how often I do want to talk about them now…with precisely the people I can’t talk about them with.”

We’re really sorry, Prongs Junior. Another pause. What should we call you? If you’re a professor now, you’re too old for ‘Prongs Junior.’

“I’m not sure. People have nicknames for me already, but I’ve never chosen any of them myself.”

You’ll have to pick a Marauder name. That’s one of our conditions.

Harry smiled. “That’s fine. I’ll agree to that.” He laughed a little. “I’m not an Animagus, just so you know.”

Why not?

“I don’t want to have to keep a Mandrake leaf in my mouth for a whole month.”

You should consider it. Freshens the breath.

Harry chuckled this time. “Padfoot, that was definitely you speaking.”

Ahh, you got me, Prongs Junior. I am the funniest and most handsome of my friends.

Harry was smiling, but there were also tears in his eyes. It was a familiar feeling, grief. “I miss you,” he said. He took a deep breath, feeling the hunger that often accompanied his grief; the feeling that, if he wasn’t careful, he could sit in front of the Map all day, talking to this small bit of Sirius that continued to endure.

He heard Dumbledore’s voice from long ago. It does not do to dwell on dreams and forget to live.

Harry sighed, then forced himself to go back to business.

That night, as Ginny slept peacefully beside him, Harry lay awake, staring into the familiar darkness of their bedroom, then out the window, which was slightly open. The rolling fields of the Wye Valley lay sleeping under the clear moon and stars, and Harry felt a presence there with him…one that wasn’t Ginny.

His father had always been amongst the rarest of his visitors; however, he’d come around often earlier in the year, when Harry had been in hospital for six weeks. Harry would wake in the middle of those long nights, and there would be a presence around him, a calm voice in his ear that he knew belonged to his father. I’ll stay near you for a while.

“You don’t have to,” Harry had whispered back the first time.

I want to.

“Thank you,” Harry whispered back, an ache in his chest that was oddly common these days. He was always conscious of the lesson of the second brother, what had led to Dumbledore’s death: the longing, the desire to speak to the dead.

“Dad?” Harry whispered, as softly as he could, so he wouldn’t wake Ginny. “Am I doing the right thing?”

There was no voice in his ear this time, but a warm wind that came in through the open window from the valley. It ruffled Harry’s graying hair. Comforted, he lay back down, holding Ginny close, and went back to sleep.

Chapter Text

August 31, 2029

The Charms classroom always had a particular smell: a mixture of wood from the tall benches and desks, the musty smell of books, the heavy smells of candle wax and ink, and the slightly gamey smell of feathers. As Harry entered through the doorway, he breathed in the scent; it reminded him of an old church. The late summer sun streaming through the colored glass windows cheered him, and in his mind’s eye, he saw tiny Flitwick in his high-backed chair, showing the students how to wave their wands in the kind way he’d had about him.

With an acute, aching pain in his chest, Harry missed Ron and Hermione.

“I think this is the most beautiful classroom in Hogwarts,” a soft voice said behind him, and Harry turned to the speaker. “Senior,” the witch said, a warm, fond smile lighting her face.

“Hello, Hestia,” Harry said, returning her smile.

Hestia Jones opened her arms to Harry, and he hugged her.

Harry had barely known Hestia thirty years ago, but she, as a member of the Order of the Phoenix, had made sure the Dursleys survived the war. In fact, she had been good to them -- better than they deserved. Dudley thought very highly of her; she had, apparently, been instrumental in his own decision to become a police officer. She had even attended Aunt Petunia’s funeral.

After the war, Hestia had gone back to her old job at the Auror Office and had been a trusted colleague of Harry’s for more than two decades. Just a year or so after Harry had been promoted to Head of the DMLE, Hestia had come here, to Hogwarts, to become Charms Mistress. She’d taught James, Al, Bit, and most of the Weasley cousins.

“Your hair’s nearly all gray, love,” Hestia said, breaking away from the hug and looking at Harry appraisingly.

“Three teenagers,” Harry replied. “And the Ministry as well.”

Hestia’s pink, round face grew serious. “I know you don’t want to talk about it…but word out of HQ is that you’ve been a bit under the weather. You look good, though.”

“I feel good,” Harry said, shrugging a little. “Hanging in there. You know.”

She nodded. “How’s Albus?”

“Doing well. He’s been a junior Auror for more than two years now.”

“I always knew he’d make it. He takes after you much more than he realizes. He just needed to apply himself. And how’s Ginny?”

Harry felt himself smile. “As lovely as ever. She still throws an excellent Quaffle as well as an excellent hex.”

Hestia laughed. “Aunt Gwenog never quite recovered from Ginny’s decision to leave the game to have children.” Hestia changed her voice, imitating her aunt: “Tell your husband to keep his cock to himself!”

“She never said that to me,” Harry said, laughing now, too.

“Oh, she’d never say that to your face, Senior,” Hestia replied, then gestured to the wooden benches that lined the Charms classroom. “Sit with me on this side for a bit. You want a cup of tea?”

“I’m fine, but thank you,” Harry said. “I came to talk to you before the meeting.”

“Of course you did,” Hestia said, taking a seat at one of the desks and putting her feet up on it. Harry sat next to her and did the same. They both sat for a few moments, listening to the rare quiet of the classroom which, in just a few days, would be filled with the laughter and chatter of students.

“It’s yours if you want it, you know,” Hestia said, looking at Harry. “Neville told you?”

“He did,” Harry said. “Hestia --”

“Please, Harry,” she replied.

“-- I don’t want you to stay on for my sake.” He paused. “And I don’t want you to give it up for my sake, either. I should not be factoring into your decisions at all.” He sighed. “And it’s not just N.E.W.T.s. I don’t know if I can do full-time. The stories coming out of Headquarters…they’re unfortunately true.”

Hestia smiled a little at him. “See how this year goes, love,” she said gently. “Give the students time to work on their own with their friends. They love the practicals. Don’t let anything interfere with your rest periods. If you have ones that are struggling, give them little jobs. They love that, too, especially the young ones. Everyone will want to help you. They’ll consider it a huge honor.”

Harry kept silent, letting her speak.

“I don’t think I even hit my stride here for a few years,” Hestia continued. “It’s daunting work, teaching children. Every set’s a bit different, and you’re always on your toes.” She leaned her head in closer to his. “When this work is bad, it’s bad. And when it’s good, it’s good. It’s like Headquarters that way. And you were great in Headquarters, so you’ll be great here.”

“Everyone sounds so sure about that,” Harry said.

“Oh, please. You’ll have to be better than Binns was.”

Harry laughed. “Or the other assorted Death Eaters, frauds, and criminals that were here in my day.”

“Poor Albus,” Hestia said. “He did try.”

“Voldemort had jinxed the Defense job. You knew that, right?”

She nodded. “Minerva always believed that.” She looked a little far away. “We’re some of the last of a dying breed, you know. Those who remember them, and the Order, and not just from the stories.”

“You always knew more than I did.”

“Barely,” Hestia said. “I was in hiding for so much of that last year. Saved my life, it did, but I missed out on the action.”

“How’s old Dedalus?” Harry asked.

“Battier than ever. He’s over in St. Oswald’s now.”

“I’m sorry to hear it,” Harry said.

“You shouldn’t be,” Hestia insisted. “He’s been relieved of the burden of caring for himself. We should all be so lucky.” She smiled fondly. “You should send him an owl. He’d be delighted. He was always an admirer of yours.” Then she nudged Harry with her shoulder. “No more brooding, love. You won’t have a moment’s peace once the students arrive, so enjoy the quiet.” She chuckled. “Between you, me, and the lamppost, I think you have one of the more difficult jobs here.”

Harry cocked his head to look at her. Hestia went on. “You’re tutoring in all five core subjects, plus a good deal of the electives, probably, once things get started. You have no lessons set up at all. You’ll be flying by the seat of your pants.” She laughed a little. “And I would not be surprised in the slightest if there are students who try to get in with you on purpose, either because they’re starstruck or because they want to see if all the stories are true. And they are true, of course, every single one of them.”

“Including all my tattoos?” Harry asked.

“Especially your tattoos. Nice earrings, by the way. You and Bill match now.”

“They were my son’s idea,” Harry said. “James, not Al. And Lily talked me into it. She said the kids will think it’s cool.”

“They’ll really like them,” Hestia said. “I’m telling you, they’re going to all melt down at the feast when they see you. They have absolutely no idea. Neville’s kept the whole thing very quiet.”

“He has me on boat duty.”

“Of course, so you can make a grand entrance with the first-years. It’s all for the drama.” Hestia patted Harry’s shoulder kindly. “Your first staff meeting will be soon. It’ll be insufferable.”

“Can’t be any worse than some of the ones we used to have at the Ministry,” Harry said.

“You could control those,” Hestia replied. “With these, you’ll just have to sit there. Neville and Aurora are in charge. Aurora likes to make sure everyone feels heard.”

“Any gossip I should know about?” Harry asked. “Before I go in?”

“Just some who like to complain. And the parents are very involved now, especially if they’re Muggles. It used to be the purebloods you’d have to watch out for.”

Harry thought of Draco Malfoy, and how he’d gone on as a child about his father, his broomstick, and his opinions on teachers. Fat lot of good it had done him, now that he was middle-aged.

“And the mobile phones and computers,” Hestia continued. “Bloody everywhere. It’s in the letters now, cautions not to bring them, but every year the students think they’ve worked out how to keep them from shorting out.” She shrugged. “Some even prepare for that to happen and bring extra. I can hardly get them to talk to each other now, since they’re so used to being on the things every time they’re home.”

Harry nodded. “I have one. You can’t do anything Muggle-related without it now. I have to keep it in a tree on the edge of my property, so the magic won’t get to it, and charge it over at the pub.” He smiled. “I got rid of the car once the kids could start to Apparate. The computer in it was always giving me issues. Ginny wouldn’t go near it.”

“You still have the motorbike, then?”

“I’ll always have that,” Harry said. “No computers on it, thankfully, and I can fix it myself with an old manual. It’s all about the simple pleasures now, isn’t it?”

“The Muggles call it ‘unplugging,’ I hear. That’s what the kids say, anyway.” Hestia patted Harry’s shoulder again. “Come on. We have to head down to the staffroom. You’ll remember where it is?”

“Unless it’s moved,” Harry said. “Hogwarts does that sometimes.”

“She does that less since the makeover,” Hestia said. “I think she’s still feeling a bit wounded.”

Harry and Hestia left the Charms classroom, which was on the third floor, and walked together down the grand staircase to the ground floor, where the staffroom was located. There were wizards and witches milling about around the entrance, and Harry was acutely reminded that the last time he’d been in this part of the castle, thirty years ago, had been when an adjoining, little-used side chamber had held Voldemort’s body. Kingsley had asked Harry what should be done with the body, as if his opinion mattered, as if he’d known himself what would be appropriate: truthfully, he’d had no idea. He’d been a seventeen-year-old kid. “Cremate it?” he’d suggested, and then had been astounded when everyone snapped to attention and did exactly what he’d said.

There were still many things that had happened at Hogwarts that Harry didn’t want to think about.

House-elves were serving tea, biscuits, and light sandwiches and snacks as all the Hogwarts faculty and staff settled in on an assortment of chairs. Some conjured their own. Harry was painfully reminded that the conjuration of furniture and other items with heavy, solid mass was N.E.W.T.-level magic. Both Ginny and Hermione were good at it, but they had chosen to complete their seventh year; Harry and Ron had not. And now Harry was at Hogwarts, expected to take N.E.W.T.s in at least two subjects, and it was obvious Neville and Aurora wanted him to take a third, in Transfiguration. And if he failed…

Harry’s musing was cut short by the entrance of the Headmistress, Aurora Sinistra. Professor Sinistra, who actually hailed from Uagadou School of Magic, was a gifted witch who had taught Astronomy in Harry’s time. She had moved to the Transfiguration department once McGonagall had become Headmistress and had been the younger Potters’ teacher there.

“Uncle Harry!” a small voice said excitedly, and Harry felt himself break into a smile. Elizabeth Longbottom, the only child of Neville and Hannah, was running towards where he stood in the back corner. “Dad said I’ll be on the boats with you!”

“You will be,” Harry said, giving her a little hug. “You’ll help me keep everyone in line?”

Elizabeth nodded.

“And if someone falls overboard, you’ll jump in and get them? Because I’m not a good swimmer.”

The little first-year laughed. “I’ll bring you gillyweed!”

“Ugh, still making me do all the work, I see,” Harry said, chuckling.

Elizabeth had had the rare privilege of growing up almost entirely at Hogwarts. Neville and Hannah had tried for many years to have a child, suffering greatly when Hannah failed to conceive, year after year. They had accepted it was increasingly unlikely to ever happen when, like a bolt out of the blue, Hannah finally fell pregnant. There had been tremendous anxiety from both of them until Elizabeth was born healthy. Harry and Ginny Potter were her godparents. The family lived, officially, in a cottage in Hogsmeade, but they were hardly ever there; during the school year, Elizabeth lived with her parents in their small apartment on the first floor of Hogwarts, next to Gryffindor Tower.

Hannah, plumper with age but still blonde and good-natured, came over to where Harry and Elizabeth were talking. “Lizzy, sweetheart, you can talk to Harry later. We have a meeting.”

“Okay,” Elizabeth said, disappointed, but allowed herself to be led away with a small wave goodbye. “Lizzy,” Harry said, trying to get her attention. “You’ll be on my boat? I’ll need a helper. I have no idea what I’m doing.”

Elizabeth broke out into a bright smile that was almost identical to Neville’s. “I know what to do! Of course I’ll help!”

Hestia had definitely been right, Harry thought.

Just a few moments later, Luna conjured herself a squashy yellow armchair next to him. “Can I make you one, too?” she asked him.

“I’m all right,” Harry said, “but thank you.”

“Do you mind if I sit next to you?”

“Of course not,” Harry said. “I’m glad to see you.” He reached out an arm, and Luna hugged him warmly, then studied his face a little. “How are you feeling?” she asked softly.

“I’m quite all right,” Harry said. “Treatment went well.”

“You’ll have to tell me all about America.” Luna sat down in the armchair and faced him. “I love the earrings, by the way. Rolf and the boys did theirs as well, it’s all the rage again.”

“How are the boys?” Harry asked. “I haven’t seen them in ages.”

“You’ll see plenty of them this year,” Luna said. “They’re both fifth-years. They’re going to need you for Defense at the very least.”

“Speaking of Defense,” another voice rang out -- it was Bill Weasley, who grinned at Harry. “Why are you always in the corner?”

“It’s my natural habitat,” Harry joked back, then rose and gave his brother-in-law a hug. Bill patted Harry’s chest approvingly. “You look fit,” he said. “You ready for tomorrow?”

“Oh, I’m terrified,” Harry said, only half-joking.

Just then, there was the sound of bells ringing: Sinistra had a set in her hand and was calling the meeting to order. The faculty members and staff took their seats around the room. Yodel the House-elf served Harry a cup of tea, which he took back to his seat in the corner.

Sinistra was smiling. “Good afternoon, friends!” she said, her manner quite different than when Harry had known her as a teacher. Neville had taken a seat on her other side.

“Good afternoon, Aurora!” the faculty and staff answered back, musically, with much chuckling and laughter.

“Welcome to another year at Hogwarts!” she sang out, and everyone sang back, clearly knowing the ritual.

“I am so very happy to see you all back, looking healthy and well-rested. I know that may not last.” There was chuckling around the room. “Before we get started with our meeting,” Sinistra continued. “I wanted to address the matter of the very heroic and admired elephant in the corner of our room.”

Harry chuckled as heads swiveled back to look at him.

“I am pleased to announce that, at long last, Harry Potter has finally joined the faculty here at Hogwarts.” There was an outburst of applause -- Harry felt his face get hot -- and then, to his mortification, faculty members stood up and applauded him.

“Harry,” Sinistra said, raising her arms and trying to get the noise down and faculty members back in their seats. “So many of us sitting here today still remember what transpired on the evening and morning of May 1st and 2nd, 1998, more than thirty years ago now. We remember your bravery and your steadfastness. And I know you wish to be treated just as every other professor here is treated, so I won’t mention it again, but I did want to speak for everyone here when I say it truly is an honor that you have decided to join us.”

There was more applause, cheers of “Harry!” and smiles all around. Bill patted Harry’s shoulder and Luna grasped his hand, which warmed his heart.

When the applause and cheers had died down again, Sinistra spoke. “Professor Potter will be working with us part-time, for now, running our study halls and review sessions for O.W.L.s and N.E.W.T.s. He has been assigned classroom space on the first floor for this purpose. Please give him any assistance he requires with your classes, and make sure you send students his way when his schedule is established.”

“Now,” Sinistra continued. “On to business.” And with that, the meeting began in earnest. The various Masters and heads of departments made reports, which included Hannah, who was the castle’s Matron Healer; the castle caretaker -- a large, jolly wizard by the name of MacDougal who could not have been any different than Filch -- and the groundskeeper, Miss Mayhew, whom Harry had already met when he’d been by a few months earlier to give Trio the Qilin to Hogwarts.

Then Neville announced that the incoming group of first-year students at Hogwarts contained a record-breaking number of Muggle-borns: eighteen, which was nearly a third of the incoming class. Harry, for his part, had notified all five of the students he had been assigned, but had also helped with two additional students besides little Oradina -- one, a girl named Frankie, was in care in Manchester, and another, a boy named Brian, was being raised by impoverished but loving grandparents near Cork, in Ireland. Harry and Ginny had taken all three of them to get their supplies in London. The children had been full of excitement and questions, and he and Ginny had enjoyed each day with them thoroughly. Oradina’s mother and older sister had warmed to Ginny considerably, which did not come as a surprise to Harry, given that his beloved wife was as funny and kind as she ever was.

Ginny and Hermione, right now, were spending the afternoon traveling on the Knight Bus to pick up all three children: they all would be having dinner with Harry, Ron, Al, Bit, Scorpius, and Rosie at Grimmuald Place, then traveling to King’s Cross in the morning to catch the Hogwarts Express. Harry was moved by and proud of his family’s generosity in giving their time, resources, and kindness to three children in need.

But there was still the meeting to get through first, before what was promising to be a fun and raucous dinner that evening. Harry listened to the goings-on, but also looked around the room from his corner vantage point. Bill Weasley, who had taken the seat in front of him, had been Defense Against the Dark Arts professor for nearly a decade, and was well-liked and admired amongst the students. Hestia Jones was Head of Hufflepuff House. Harry knew Luna, of course, who now taught Magical Arts; her husband Rolf had accepted her old position of Care of Magical Creatures professor once their boys had started at Hogwarts. Terry Boot, another D.A. member, was Potions Master and had brought a much sunnier disposition to the dungeons. He was also Head of Ravenclaw House. There were two more D.A. members who taught electives: Parvati Patil, who taught Divination, and Cho Chang, now Cho Duncan, who had been Teddy’s village schoolteacher and now taught Muggle Studies. Her Muggle husband was a professor himself, at a university in Scotland.

There were also a few professors who were unknown to Harry. The current Astronomy professor was an older Italian witch named Francesca Melitta. The Flying and Quidditch professor was a wizard named Corey Wallingford, who had played for the Tutshill Tornados and whom Ginny knew from the Prophet. The History of Magic professor was a German named Daniel Schubert, whom Hermione knew from the I.C.W. He had been rejected from Durmstrang on account of being Muggle-born and had, instead, come to Hogwarts as a student; Terry Boot was his longtime partner, Harry recalled, and they lived together at Hogwarts most of the year. Record numbers of students were taking N.E.W.T.s in History of Magic under Schubert’s tutelage. The Arithmancy professor was a talented witch from Ginny’s year, Maisy Reynolds, whom she had recruited into the D.A. during the war. Robert Bronson, a curse-breaker from Gringotts and a former co-worker of Bill’s, taught Ancient Runes. Last of all was a very elderly witch who taught Transfiguration and was the Slytherin Head of House: Arabella Runcorn.

As Harry looked at her, he saw, in his mind’s eye, a bouquet of lilies. Then a strong smell entered his nose -- a heavy, heady floral perfume that made him cough. Luna grasped his hand again. “You all right?” she whispered to Harry.

“Just got a whiff of someone’s perfume,” he murmured, trying to clear his throat. The smell was making his eyes water.

“That’s not perfume,” Luna said softly.

“Hmm?” Harry asked her, confused.

“We’ll talk about it later,” she said, smiling calmly.

The meeting continued interminably. Harry’s troublesome fatigue, which always started to set in later in the afternoon, was starting; he did not want to fall asleep during the meeting, so he forced himself to get up for a second cup of tea and a snack he didn’t really want but knew would keep him awake. Harry had always been a keen observer of people, and he tried to focus on who seemed to get along with whom, who disliked each other, and what other resentments he could glean from how the faculty members and staff acted. Some of them wanted to speak a lot, while others just seemed ready for the meeting to end. Harry couldn’t blame them. He checked his watch surreptitiously and noted that, in all likelihood, Ginny and Hermione would be arriving at Grimmauld Place soon with the Muggle-borns, who would be tired and hungry after their long journey, and dinner was still hours away…

Suddenly, there was applause, and the meeting was finally over. It had been nearly three hours long. Some of the faculty and staff members moved out of the staffroom quickly -- Hannah was amongst them, off to go get Elizabeth -- while others lingered, chatting away. Despite his fatigue and eagerness to get to London, Harry stayed and greeted his new colleagues.

Neville was the last to stay, besides Luna. “Listen,” he said to Harry. “I can’t thank you enough, you and Ginny, for taking care of the Muggle-borns. And Hermione --”

“Hermione is happy to do it,” Harry said, smiling. “She volunteered herself! She couldn’t wait to get on the Knight Bus with Ginny this morning to go get them. I’m sure she’s been telling them all about Hogwarts all day.” Harry patted Neville’s arm. “I kept that enormous money pit of a townhouse for precisely this purpose. It’s our pleasure to have them stay. You want to come over tonight?”

Neville shook his head. “We’re going to have dinner with Lizzy tonight. It’ll be her last night in our apartment for a while. Tomorrow, she’ll be sleeping in her new House dormitory.”

Harry smiled at the thought, then turned to Luna. “You, Rolf, and the boys? You’re always welcome.”

But Luna shook her head as well. “I still need to get everyone packed. The house is a wreck. But Harry, meet me tomorrow morning at Hagrid’s, all right? After the train leaves. I’ll Apparate straight here.”

Harry nodded. “I’ll be there.” He sighed. “I wish Ginny were here with us. And Ron, and Hermione. Like the old days.”

“I always loved Hogwarts, mate,” Neville said. “That’s why I came back.” Luna smiled a little, too.

Harry said his goodbyes to his old friends, and then, after walking through the Entrance Hall and out the heavy oak double doors, he stopped to conjure a wreath of blue forget-me-nots and lay it at the base of the marble fountain that now sat in front of the school. There were other bouquets and wreaths already there from teachers and staff members. The fountain was inscribed with the names of the Fallen Fifty, more than half of them students, who had been killed in the Battle of Hogwarts.

Harry reminded himself to make sure he had fresh flowers on hand from the garden at his home and the meadows in the Wye Valley. Conjured flowers disappeared quickly; the defenders of Hogwarts deserved real ones.

After laying the wreath and paying his respects, Harry turned away, continued down the long path that led to the iron gates topped with winged boars, and Disapparated to London, where his family was waiting for him at Grimmauld Place.

Chapter Text

September 1, 2029

The next morning, as he had promised, Harry walked over to Hagrid’s hut to meet with Luna. The train carrying the students from London to Hogsmeade was already on its way, but there were still many preparations to be made before it arrived. Before Harry went to work, though, he took some time to look at Hagrid’s old house and remember his friend.

Hagrid had lived almost his entire life at Hogwarts, from the age of thirteen until the age of ninety-eight. He had spent more time at the school than any other witch or wizard, and had passed warm and comfortable in his bed, in the little house he had loved. Harry had been by his side, and Hagrid, in turn, had left Harry everything he owned.

It was a substantial amount of money -- Hagrid had been a simple man and had saved the vast majority of his gold. Harry, for his part, didn’t need it: even after the expenses of a family and the purchase of their beautiful, spacious property and home, Harry and Ginny still had plenty of money. They had both worked hard their entire adult lives and had always been frugal. But Ginny had told Harry that Hagrid had known all that, and that, like Sirius, he had left Harry his money and property out of love. It was Harry’s to do with as he wished.

Harry had decided to donate half the gold to Hogwarts in Hagrid’s name, to build up the Scholarship Fund for needy students. The fund would now be able to cover transportation to and from London, which was a concern for an increasing number of families, as well as supplies for many students. Harry and Ginny intended to use the rest of the money to fund Harry’s medical treatments in the United States, which would be costly, but Harry had been shocked, too, to discover that James had quietly paid off all his hospital bills. “Because you’re my dad,” James had said when Harry had asked him why.

Harry had always remained unaccustomed to kindness.

He, Ginny, Ron, Hermione, Luna, and Neville had wanted to bury Hagrid at Hogwarts, next to his beloved Dumbledore. Sinistra had even given them her approval, but the Board of Governors had refused. They had been willing to make a concession for Dumbledore, but they did not wish for any other person to be buried on school property. So, after much discussion and another favor from Sinistra, Harry and his friends had Hagrid’s body cremated -- an unusual practice for wizards -- and spread his ashes in and around his hut. The current gamekeeper, Miss Mayhew, did not occupy the hut; it was used, now, as a classroom and workroom for Rolf and Luna. Harry thought this would have pleased his old friend very much.

Harry was staring at the little house, imagining smoke still spiraling out of the chimney, when Luna came up behind him. Trio was walking next to her; when the Qilin saw Harry, she bounded over happily. “She’s gotten so big!” Harry exclaimed.

And with a contented trill, Trio’s scales glowed golden, and she bowed before Harry.

Luna, who never looked shocked, did not look shocked now, either. “Has she done that before?” she asked Harry.

Harry nodded. “At the Election. After she bowed to Hermione.” Trio had risen from her bow and was accepting pats on her head and back from Harry. “We were at the evening celebration,” he continued. “Everyone had been carrying her, playing with her. Ron and Hermione brought her over to me, since I hadn’t had a chance to meet her yet.” Trio cooed happily and started inspecting Harry’s leather boots with her nose. “I was sitting down, because my knee was injured and I could hardly stand up anymore. Hermione put Trio down in front of me, and she started to glow, just like you saw, and then she bowed to me.” He sighed. “We haven’t spoken of it. She chose Hermione.”

Luna smiled gently, looking at Trio. “The belief that the Qilin only bows to the Supreme Mugwump is very simplistic.” When Harry looked up at her, she continued. “Magizoologists believe the Qilin bows to those who will be an important force for the good of our people, of wizardkind. They don’t have to be politicians.” She laughed a little. “It’s probably better if they aren’t.”

Luna smiled at Trio again, who was trilling and bounding between them. “Let’s go for a walk,” she said. “Miss Mayhew will need help with the thestrals, which we can do because we can both see them.”

Harry nodded, then offered Luna his arm, and she took it with her usual serene smile. With a wave of his wand, his cane appeared as if it came out of the ground, and he grasped it. “Just in case,” he said.

“Teleportation Spell?” Luna said. “That’s N.E.W.T.-level.”

“Don’t you start, too,” Harry teased. “Neville’s on me to do Charms, Defense Against the Dark Arts, and Transfiguration.”

“You could definitely do all three,” Luna assured him as they began to walk up the steep hill, away from Hagrid’s hut. Trio trotted ahead of them along the narrow path.

“So my guess is that you wanted to talk about Professor Runcorn,” Harry said.

Luna nodded. “And the perfume, which was not actually perfume.” She looked up at him closely. “When you saw her yesterday, did an image come into your mind?”

Harry nodded also. “Lilies,” he said. “And the smell as well. There was an overwhelming scent of fresh flowers. Reminded me of my aunt’s funeral.”

“Those are your clairs,” Luna said. “She’s going to die very soon. Parvati and I have known for months. That’s why you’re here.”

“Umm…really?” Harry asked.

“You shouldn’t act so surprised,” she said gently. “There are spirits all over the place here, yet you act shocked when you sense them.” Harry must have looked confused, because she went on. “In less than a year, you’ve visited both the Eyrie and Hogwarts, two sites that are filled with ancient magic. Hogwarts was built on a source of ancient magic. Did you know that? The story has to do with the Pensieve in the Head’s office.”

“I should have spent more time in the Eyrie,” Harry said, ashamed of himself. “But I still don’t understand. I’ve never been this way before…having visions, sensing spirits.”

“Haven’t you?” Luna asked keenly.

“I mean, that was different,” Harry said. “That was Voldemort, and everything went quiet for many years after he was killed, thankfully.” He scoffed. “Am I going to just start seizing in the middle of class and spout off prophecies, like Trelawney?”

“Trelawney was an actual Seer,” Luna said. “So was Gellert Grindelwald. But true Seers are extremely rare; there might be only a handful in a generation of wizards. If you were a true Seer, your ability would have already manifested itself.”

“So what am I then?”

“Clairvoyant,” Luna replied. “Some people believe that we all are, a little; it’s just a question of accessing it. It’s not anything to be ashamed of, Harry. You’re not going mad.”

He sighed. “You and Ginny are the only ones who know.”

“Lily would be safe to tell, I think, if you wanted to tell her. She’s got the artist’s perception.” She paused, then went on. “But anyway, Professor Runcorn will die soon. I can’t say exactly when it will be, as there are always factors in play, but you’ve gotten the same thing through your clairs that Parvati and I have been getting.”

Harry consciously tapped down the skeptical voice in his head that sounded like Hermione. What he was seeing and experiencing was real; Luna believed him, and more importantly, Ginny did too.

Luna continued to speak. “What I think all of this means is that you’re here at Hogwarts at this time for a reason. The Qilin bowed to you again this morning. She sees something, too.” She smiled up at him gently, in the way she had. “It doesn’t have to be anything bad. But clearly there’s something else meant for you to do besides be Minister for Magic.”

Harry chuckled. “There was a total uproar when it came out that I was resigning. And I remember Ministry officials rushing to my office, trying to stop me.”

“Most people don’t understand why you would choose not to be Minister for Magic,” Luna said. “You would have won an election, you know; quite easily. And some would argue that it was your duty and your destiny to become our leader, that your rightful place was as Minister. But I don’t see it that way.”

Harry looked at Luna and the calm, serene expression that was on her face. “You are a free person, with the right to choose,” she said. “You’ve been doing your duty since you were a teenager. Maybe it’s time you followed your own heart.”

He grinned at her. “What if my heart tells me to go off to a desert island?”

“You wouldn’t do that,” she said. “Your heart’s always been with your family. And your friends.” She pointed at a path, just off to the right of them. “Let’s go visit Dumbledore. He’s over this way.”

Harry nodded, and they walked together, taking a path towards the White Tomb, which lay close to the banks of the Black Lake. Harry had not been out this way in many years, not since he’d been injured out here fighting off a young Manticore which had escaped from the Dark Forest. Since that incident, Hogwarts students were always told to take care when coming out here alone.

Harry barely remembered the incident, truthfully; Madam Pomfrey and Professor McGonagall had said he’d had a head injury and had been in and out of consciousness for close to a week. But as they approached Dumbledore’s grave, Harry felt a heavy feeling of anxiety in his chest.

Next to him, Luna stopped walking. “Are you okay?” she asked. Trio, who had been walking beside Harry, stopped and trilled at him affectionately.

“I’m all right,” Harry replied, smiling back at her. “Just…felt a little off.”

“You were hurt out here, right? Ginny told me.”

Harry nodded. “A Manticore, apparently. I don’t remember much of it.”

“We can turn back if you want,” Luna said gently.

“No,” Harry said, shaking his head and patting her hand, which was still on his arm. “I’m fine, really. I want to see Dumbledore.”

They continued to walk, arm-in-arm, towards the White Tomb. Harry felt his anxiety increase oddly, but breathed through it, and then felt suddenly better the closer they came to the grave, as if he had passed through an invisible wall. Then they were in front of the grave, looking at it together. A few small stones had been laid on it, and Luna drew one from the pocket of her robes and gave it to him. “For you,” she said softly.

Harry took the stone and laid it on the right side of the grave, close to where he knew Dumbledore’s head would be, then placed his hand flat on the white marble, which felt cool under his hand. He remembered closing this grave with Bill thirty years ago, after they had placed the Elder Wand back inside. It looked untouched again; Bill’s spellwork had been perfect. Next to them, Trio cooed and nuzzled Harry’s hand.

“I come here every year,” Luna said. “At the beginning of term, on my way to the thestrals. You can come with me, if you like.”

Harry felt tears prick his eyes. Luna had such a clear understanding of things; it reminded him of Ginny. “I’d like that very much,” Harry said, swallowing hard. “I’m glad to be here, Luna. I really am. I didn’t know how happy it would make me, returning to Hogwarts.”

“There are many people who choose to spend their lives here,” Luna replied.

“Like Hagrid,” Harry said. “And Dumbledore. Hogwarts was his home, too. He could have gone anywhere, but he stayed here.” He sniffled and wiped his nose a bit with the back of his hand. “And McGonagall as well. I miss her, too.”

“She’s buried with her husband in Hogsmeade,” Luna said. “She wanted it to be quiet. But we can go if you want.”

“Yes,” Harry said. “We’ll have a toast to her in the Three Broomsticks, and then we’ll go. You, me, Neville, Ginny, Rolf, Hannah. Ron and Hermione, too. They’ll want to come, Hermione especially. She adored McGonagall.” Harry laughed a bit, remembering. “McGonagall was Hermione’s special messenger when she began Hogwarts. Did you know that?”

“No,” Luna said. She gently turned Harry away from Dumbledore’s grave, and he followed her. They started walking together along the lake, on a path towards the edge of the forest where the thestrals lived. Trio bounded in front of them, leading the way.

Harry nodded and continued. “Hermione said McGonagall was very kind, and sat there with her and her parents for more than two hours answering their questions.” He chuckled again. “I doubt McGonagall knew what she was really in for once Hermione became my friend. I got her in so much trouble, hanging around with me.” He paused, then went on. “I got all of you in so much trouble.”

“We wouldn’t change anything,” Luna said reassuringly. “You were one of the first friends I ever had, Harry. You were always kind to me and never mistreated me. And you listened to me.” She smiled up at him fondly. “You’ve never been the Chosen One to me. You’ve always just been my friend.”

Harry grinned and chuckled, genuinely touched. He nudged Luna with his shoulder, and they continued to walk together on the path that bordered the lake, until they reached the deep, dark part of the forest where Miss Mayhew was wrangling the thestrals.

Bill and Harry stood at the end of the train platform in Hogsmeade with their lanterns, watching the Hogwarts Express roll in with a great bellow of steam and then stop. Harry pulled his dark tweed cap over his head, making sure to cover his messy hair and scar. “Ready?” Bill asked him.

“Ready,” Harry replied.

As the doors opened and students started pouring out, the younger already dressed in their Hogwarts robes while the older still in their street clothes, Harry thought of Hagrid and shouted, “First-years, over here! First-years, this way!” Further down the platform, he heard Bill shouting the same.

Elizabeth was the first to come over; she raced up to Harry, grinning madly. “Hello, Unc --” she said, then corrected herself. “I mean, Professor.”

“Lizzy! You’ll still be my helper?”

“Of course!”

“Then come stand by me,” Harry said. “Did you make friends on the train?”

Elizabeth nodded. “I did!” She indicated a boy next to her, who grinned up at Harry. “This is Brian!”

Harry nodded his head to the boy who had stayed at his home the evening before, whom Ginny and Bit had brought to King’s Cross that morning. “Hello, Brian,” Harry said, pretending not to know him, but giving him a surreptitious wink. “First-years, over here!” Harry shouted again. “First-years, this way!”

Within fifteen minutes, Harry and Bill had wrangled the group of wide-eyed first-years over to the edge of the platform. Harry spied Oradina, whose small, heart-shaped face was pale with nerves, and beautiful Frankie, whose thick, dark hair had been braided by Bit this morning at breakfast. Both girls were holding each other’s hands. Harry hoped the Sorting did not separate them. The other four Muggle-borns Harry had visited were there, too; some appeared to have made friends already, while others still looked nervous.

“Good evening,” Bill said to the assembled group, “and welcome to Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry!” Some of the students began to applaud, and others joined them; a few scoffed, clearly not wanting to appear too eager. “I am Professor Weasley, and this is Professor Potter --”

Of course, there was a burst of eager noise and rustling. Potter? Harry Potter? Is it really him? No way! Elizabeth, next to Harry, was grinning madly, and Harry’s Muggle-borns looked a bit confused.

“Professor Potter,” Bill cut across them, raising his voice a bit more. “And we will be taking you over to the school.”

“But first, a few ground rules,” Harry said, and then had to wait as the noise rose again. It’s totally him! It’s Harry Potter! He’s a professor now! Harry sighed a bit, then went on. “We will be traveling to the school on boats. If you are unable to swim, please let me or Professor Weasley know. You are to remain seated when you are in the boats and keep all your limbs inside. No magic is to be performed. If you are horsing around, you will be sent back to London on the train, alone.”

“Any questions?” Bill asked.

A hand shot up. “Are you Harry Potter?” a boy asked.

“He is Professor Potter,” Bill said, “and I am Professor Weasley. Professor is the only first name you all need to know. Any other questions?”

The students went quiet. “Good,” Bill said. “Now, come along, and stay together on the path.”

Bill led the group of first-years, and Harry, with his lantern in hand, brought up the rear. Elizabeth stayed next to Harry, and Brian stayed with her. The walk was just under a mile from Hogsmeade Station to the edge of the Black Lake; the boats were waiting for them at the banks, where Bill and Harry had charmed them to land.

According to Bill’s instructions, Harry separated the students into small groups of no more than four. Seven students reported they did not know how to swim, including Frankie and Oradina; Bill took five and divided them between his own boat and one that would stay next to his, and Harry took the two girls so that Elizabeth could remain in his boat, as he had promised. “You’re good at this,” Bill joked with him.

“I try,” Harry said, chuckling back.

Once the students were settled and lanterns were placed and lit on each boat, they set off, Bill and Harry’s boats bringing up the rear so that they could magic all the boats in the right direction if they drifted. The students gasped as Hogwarts Castle, alight with golden lights in the many windows, appeared like a mirage, its image shimmering in the water of the Black Lake.

“It’s a real castle!” Frankie exclaimed. “Just like a fairy tale!” Next to her, Oradina was crying uncontrollably.

“It is,” Harry agreed, a warm feeling in his heart. He conjured a white handkerchief from his wand, then patted Oradina’s shoulder and handed it to her. “Isn’t it beautiful?” Elizabeth reached out for his hand, and Harry kissed the top of her head affectionately.

He thought of his own first time arriving at Hogwarts, on the boat with Ron, and Hagrid as the guide: the first glimpse of the castle in the evening, the flutter of nerves in his heart, yes, but also excitement…the child he had been, unloved and unwanted, but accepted, here, at Hogwarts.

And now he was a man grown, nearly fifty years old, with rapidly graying hair and arthritic hips and knees. He’d done something insane -- he’d given up being Minister for Magic, renounced power at its zenith, to become an assistant professor at Hogwarts, lowest on the totem pole, with a shit salary to match.

But what had he gained instead? Neville and the Map, Luna and the Qilin, the cool marble of Dumbledore’s tomb, the quiet groundskeeper’s hut, Bill and the boats, Lizzy’s small hand in his, and the selfless acts of kindness his family had performed for the impoverished Muggle-borns, whose lives were about to change forever, like his had changed.

This was what Hogwarts made: its magic lay deeper than within its walls or in the stone it sat on.

The boats landed smoothly on the bank next to the Boathouse. Harry and Bill helped the first-years out and then accompanied them up the long staircase to where Neville stood waiting, in his finest brown robes and hat. “Here are the first-years, Professor Longbottom,” Harry said, and Neville nodded.

“Thank you, Professor Potter,” he said, doffing his cap to his colleagues. “Professor Weasley.” He faced the students and smiled. “In just a few moments, the Sorting Ceremony will begin. Each of you will be Sorted into one of four houses: Gryffindor, Ravenclaw, Hufflepuff, and Slytherin…”

At the head table, Harry was getting more than a bit tipsy. The wine was flowing and Hestia, next to him, was making sure he always had a full cup. He’d had seven students to toast.

Oradina had been first. The Hat had barely touched her head when it yelled “Gryffindor!” and Harry heard himself cheer. The little girl beamed and ran towards her new House table, whose students were applauding and whooping. Harry toasted her, and she grinned at him, her little face almost cracking in happiness.

Two of his other Muggle-borns were next, two boys, Sorted into Ravenclaw and Hufflepuff. Two more grins and waves, two more toasts. Then Frankie…and a full minute passed, then two. Harry crossed his fingers behind his back. She had to be chatting with the Hat; he hoped she was asking to stay with her new friend…

“Gryffindor!” the Hat shouted, and Harry cheered as Frankie ran to the table, and Oradina hugged her. They were family now. Frankie was so excited that she didn’t look at Harry, but that was fine. He toasted her anyway.

Elizabeth Longbottom swiftly became a Hufflepuff, like her mother had been. Further down the staff table, Neville looked like he would burst with pride, and Hannah sobbed openly next to him.

Another one of Harry’s Muggle-borns, a girl, became another Ravenclaw. Her eyes were shining with tears behind her eyeglasses. She gave Harry a double thumbs-up, and he laughed and toasted her. Another boy became a Gryffindor -- a surprising choice, given that he seemed a bit timid and had reminded Harry quite a bit of Neville as a child. He’d definitely be one to keep an eye on. Harry toasted him, too.

The Muggle-born from Ireland, Brian, was Sorted into Hufflepuff. At the House table, Elizabeth beamed, and he came and sat next to her. Harry was hopeful that they, too, would become fast friends. His goddaughter was a generous, good-natured child who took after her parents and adored Hogwarts. Harry toasted Brian, and then Elizabeth again for good measure.

Before Harry realized it, he’d gone through two full goblets of wine, and dinner hadn’t even started yet.

None of the Muggle-borns had been Sorted into Slytherin. Harry had recognized many of the surnames of the students who had been Sorted there: their parents and grandparents had come across his desk at the Auror Office or the DMLE at some point. Harry thought of Scorpius, still struggling with what his grandfather and father had done, and Draco himself, wanting to remake his life at middle age…

With a ringing of bells, Sinistra rose from the ornate Head’s chair and walked over to the podium topped by a winged owl, where Harry remembered Dumbledore speaking at the beginning of term. Sinistra wore bright yellow and gold robes and looked every inch an accomplished witch. Harry looked down the long table at his new colleagues: not all of them were there, as the only reason why Harry, an assistant professor, had been invited was that he had been assigned to help with the Sorting. But truthfully, he had been glad to help; he’d had a lovely time with Luna, Bill, and Lizzy, and was happy to see the Muggle-borns Sorted.

Sinistra led the students in an opening chant and song, then began her speech. Quite quickly -- in fact, Harry had been trying to eat in order to sop up the wine he’d been drinking -- he’d been forced to pay better attention, since Sinistra was introducing him. “…our newest professor, Harry Potter --”

There was the expected outburst of noise: What? Where is he? He’s at the end, wearing the hat! Is it really him? Can you see his scar?

Harry put down his fork and knife and tried to keep his face impassive. He had to let them do this; they always did, and then in a few moments it would cool down. Further down the table, Harry spotted Bill trying to hide his snickering behind his hand.

However, some students actually stood up to get a better look at Harry, and that was when Sinistra stepped in. “Excuse me,” she said sternly, and that seemed to be enough to get them to sit back down. “Professor Potter has very generously taken a new position here, as a special lecturer for our fifth- and seventh-year students. He will be treated the same as any other professor here at Hogwarts, meaning, with respect for his significant knowledge and skills. I expect all of you to maintain decorum around him and conduct yourselves according to the high standards we hold here at Hogwarts School.” She then turned her head to look directly at Harry, who felt, more than he'd expected, like he wanted to melt into the floor. “Welcome, Professor Potter, and the best of luck to you!”

Harry considered how he could escape the Great Hall through the back and take a boat out of the castle, rather than having to go out the front doors. Al still had the Invisibility Cloak, though…

But, as Sinistra finished her announcement, there was an outbreak of applause and cheering. Harry wasn’t sure who had started it, but he was touched to see the Muggle-borns joining in, grinning and chanting, “Potter! Potter! Potter!” with an enormous thumping and rattling on the House tables.

Hestia nudged Harry’s shoulder with hers. “See?” she said. “Total meltdown.”

“Can’t avoid it, can I?” he asked.

“It’s a side effect of being you,” she said fondly.

Harry sat and, for the rest of the Welcoming Feast, tried to finish his meal as inconspicuously as possible. There was still a great deal of pointing in his direction, but, fortunately, the noise in the Great Hall drowned out the students’ conversations. Harry cut off Hestia from filling his goblet a third time and hoped that, when he inevitably stood up, he’d keep his feet. The medicine he took for his arthritis had lowered his alcohol tolerance considerably.

When the Feast had concluded and the students were being led out, table by table, to their House dormitories by the Prefects and the Head Boy and Girl, Harry stood up, too, wanting to make sure he didn’t stumble. He was relieved that the food had worked. But now that he was standing, he could hear the students’ conversations much more clearly, especially those coming from the Gryffindor and Ravenclaw tables. My dad said he should have been Minister for Magic, it was all already lined up. Did he get sacked? Of course not, he’s Harry Potter. Maybe he went mental. There were some rude comments; that was unsurprising, but more of the students seemed happy. I can’t believe he’s really here! I hear he’s brilliant in Defense! He was an Auror! He’s really here to help us with exams? That’s mad, he’s famous!

Harry supposed it was mad that he was here at Hogwarts, and not in the grand offices of the Minister for Magic, with his assistants, deputies, and undersecretaries to undersecretaries. But the other faculty members didn’t seem to think so. He thought of Luna’s arm in his as they walked together over the grounds, and Neville’s cheerful smile as they talked in Harry’s new office on the first floor. And Bill’s warmth and relief: You’re good at this.

Maybe he was in the right place after all.

Chapter Text

Tuesday, September 18, 2029

“I told you I wasn’t crazy about the idea of you starting at Hogwarts so soon after your treatment,” Teddy said. “The place is a germ factory.”

“I have to do something, or I’ll drive Ginny up a wall,” Harry replied. “You don’t want us to get divorced, do you?”

Teddy sighed. “You sound like shit.” He sighed again. “You look like shit, too.”

Harry chuckled. “Thanks, Ted.”

Teddy ordered Harry to open his mouth and stick out his tongue, and then peered inside with the light from his wand. “You have strep,” Teddy pronounced almost immediately. “It’s a mess in there.” He put down his wand and folded his arms in front of his chest as he looked at his godfather. “It’s a good thing Ginny pushed you to come here,” Teddy said. “You really should come to the clinic so I can do a full workup --”

Harry shook his head. “Please. No more of that, I’m weary from being poked and prodded. It’s just a bad cold.”

Teddy tapped his wand impatiently on one of his folded arms. “You’re working at Hogwarts part-time for a reason,” he said. “You had immunotherapy and four joint repairs just a few months ago. You’re still recovering from that.”

“I don’t even think I caught this at work,” Harry insisted from his seat at the kitchen table. “Hermione came to dinner last week. She’d been out traveling, and then she and Ron both ended up with colds, and Ginny was sick as well --”

“My point still stands,” Teddy replied. “A simple cold for Ginny, or for Uncle Ron and Aunt Hermione, can put you in St. Mungo’s. The cold causes an infection, and if that infection lingers, it can travel to your heart or your kidneys. You need to stay away from crowded areas, and above all, stick to your schedule and make sure you rest. Can you at least open the windows in your office and classroom?”

Harry nodded. “Some of them, yes.”

“Get fresh air in there, as much as possible. Having the students work outdoors would be even better. Winter’s going to be worse for you. And no meals in the Great Hall! Have the House-elves serve your lunch and tea in your office. Please, Harry.” Teddy reached into a large green cabinet next to the kitchen table and pulled out two potion bottles and something in a paper sack. “This is for the infection,” Teddy said, handing Harry the larger of the potion bottles. “Take a mouthful tonight at dinner, and then twice a day at meals after that until it’s gone. This other one is for the swelling. Take one mouthful while you’re here and then one more once a day after that.” He handed Harry the other potion bottle and the paper sack. “And one of these lozenges every two hours to help with the pain, because the way things look in there, I know it hurts. They’re Fleur’s recipe.”

Harry took a mouthful of the potion as instructed, then nodded. “Thank you, Ted. Please come by on Sunday.”

“If you’re better. If you’re not, there’s always next Sunday.” Teddy then opened the kitchen door, which had been closed to give Harry some privacy; however, Harry was unsurprised to see Vick and Adora standing behind it. The baby was jumping up and down excitedly and cooing.

Harry felt himself grinning. “Adora! How is my darling?”

Vick, who was helping the baby stand and walk, led her inside the kitchen. “And my other darling,” Harry said to her. “How are you?”

“You’ve gotten skinny again, Uncle,” Vick said, a hint of disapproval in her voice.

“You know your aunt,” Harry said. “She’s been on a kick since we got back from America. No sugar in the house, and we’re eating egg whites and salads.”

“I’m going to ask Maman to owl you some pastries,” Vick replied. “She makes them for Dad already. He needs less, you need more.”

“That’s very kind of you, and your mother,” Harry said, watching as Vick guided Adora over to Teddy, who picked her up. “Adora, my love, I can’t kiss you,” Harry said to the baby. “Papa is sick.” He looked at Vick, then Teddy. “She’s okay with me in here?”

“Just don’t cough on her,” Vick said, smiling now. “But we’ll keep an eye on her. She wants to see her Papa.” Vick nodded reassuringly. “Stay here while I make you some soup. You sound horrendous.”

Harry protested. “Really, it’s fine --”

“Uncle,” Vick said. “Please. I want to. Have some tonight, and then have the House-elves keep the rest for you and deliver it with your lunch. It will help knock out that cold.”

“You two are basically the same person now,” Harry said, looking between his niece and his godson, who had taken a seat opposite him at the table. Both of them laughed, and their little daughter Adora, on Teddy’s lap, smiled and pointed at Harry, saying, “Papa! Papa!”

Teddy and Vick had been practically fused at the hip since they were children. Always drawn to each other, they had become the best of friends at Hogwarts, despite being in different Houses and in different years, and then became romantically involved as young teenagers. They had become Healers together -- Teddy had put off his schooling so that he and Vick could study at the same time -- and now they were married with a child of their own. Adora acknowledged Harry and Ginny as her paternal grandparents.

The family lived in Remus’s cottage in Yorkshire. When Remus had been alive, he had scrimped and saved his already meager resources to buy it so that he would have a permanent home of his own; housing had always been as difficult for him to find as everything else, due to his condition. Though the cottage had been a total ramshackle, Tonks had moved into it with Remus once they had made their commitment to each other. During the war, Andromeda had come to stay with them after her and Ted’s home had been attacked by Death Eaters, looking for Harry after Bill and Fleur’s wedding. They had all lived at the cottage together for close to a year, and Teddy had been born there.

After Remus and Tonks had been killed, Andromeda had buried her only daughter, together with her beloved Remus, in the village cemetery just a few miles down the road. After the funeral, Andromeda had left the cottage and returned to the home she had shared with Ted, leaving most of Tonks’s clothes and personal belongings alongside Remus’s, as if both of them would be returning at any moment to pick up their lives where they’d left off.

One weekend, several months after the war had ended, a few of the surviving members of the Order of the Phoenix and Dumbledore’s Army had come to this cottage. There were rumors that, in light of Remus being awarded the Order of Merlin, some officials in the Ministry of Magic wanted to seize the property and turn it into a war memorial, as had been done to Harry’s parents’ cottage in Godric’s Hollow. When he’d heard, Harry had said, in no uncertain terms, that he would not allow it. He wanted Teddy to have the choice on what to do with his parents’ property; for Teddy to be given the choice that Harry himself had been denied.

So they had all come here: Harry and Ginny, Ron and Hermione, Bill and Fleur, Arthur and Molly, Neville, George, and Lee Jordan, who had known Remus well from Potterwatch. They had toasted the memory of their friends, cleared out anything that needed to be thrown away, cleaned up a bit, and then cast Preservation Charms all over the cottage and hidden it away under protective enchantments. That way, Teddy inherited all his parents’ worldly possessions: their clothes, jewelry, records, books, pictures, and housewares. Harry had known how important it would be to Teddy, how much it would mean to him, to have so many of his parents’ things. The Ministry of Magic had left the Potters’ things to rot.

And Harry was pleased when Teddy and Vick had chosen to move out here to Yorkshire once they had completed their training at St. Mungo’s. With the Black family money that Harry had bequeathed to Teddy, they had opened their clinic in York and renovated the cottage. It was now a lovely family home on a picturesque property: colorful, warm, and welcoming. It rained often on the moors, but Vick, despite her great beauty, was a hardy woman who was unafraid of work. She was the Weasley cousin who took the most after her grandmother, Molly.

Half an hour later, Vick had placed an aluminum soup canteen and a crusty loaf of French bread in Harry’s hands and was firmly shoving him out the front door. “Go, Uncle,” she ordered. “You need rest.”

“Dinner on Sunday!” Harry shouted hoarsely as she closed the door in his face. “I’ll be cooking!”

“Good!” Vick’s voice rang out from behind the front window. “No rabbit food then!”

“Goodbye, Adora!” Harry yelled again, still hoarse. “Papa loves you!”

“Bye-bye, Papa!” he heard Adora say, then saw her little figure in her father’s arms, waving at Harry from behind the front window of the cottage.

Chuckling, Harry turned away and walked toward the front gate, tapping it where Tonks had carved a love knot with R+D inscribed below. Harry opened the gate and walked out a bit into the dirt and stone path that led down towards the roadway and the village.

The civil seizure of Harry’s parents’ cottage in Godric’s Hollow had been orchestrated by some familiar names in the senior leadership of the Ministry of Magic. When he’d become a Lead Auror, Harry had been granted access to all the records the Ministry held in the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, and he had decided to look up everything he didn’t know about his past, including exactly how his family home had ended up as a war memorial. The former head of the DMLE, Barty Crouch Senior, had led the committee that seized it. Harry, who was just starting a family of his own, had gone to Kingsley to inquire about getting the property back; Kingsley, in turn, had told him that it was possible, but after nearly thirty years, it would be subjected to a protracted legal battle. After that, Harry and Ginny had talked, and Ginny thought it would be best if they had a fresh start at their own home, in a place where their children could play Quidditch in the back garden.

Harry had thought he’d put the issue to rest. But Teddy and Vick’s act of moving into Remus and Tonks’s cottage, of making it a home…whenever he thought about it, Harry found that he wanted to reclaim his parents’ home even more, not less.

Had you been Minister for Magic, you could have just taken it, a little nagging voice said in the back of his mind. It was a dark voice that spoke sometimes, the side of Harry that was cunning. The voice was indeed correct -- but would the reclamation of his family’s original home be worth the other heartaches being Minister would cause him?

Harry walked about half a mile down the path, tamping down his feelings and trying to enjoy the evening weather, before he stopped, turned on the spot, and Disapparated home.

Monday, September 3, 2029 -- Two Weeks Earlier

Harry had started his first day as a Hogwarts professor by stating the obvious. “Right,” he’d said to a standing-room-only classroom packed with what must have been most of the fifth- and seventh-year students, a good number of the sixth-years, plus many students who’d looked significantly younger. “Let’s get some things out of the way. Yes, I’m teaching at Hogwarts now. Yes, it was by my choice. No, I didn’t get sacked from the Ministry of Magic.”

There had been an echo of nervous laughter. Good. Snark always worked.

Harry continued. “I’ve decided that the approach I will take to questions about my past, the war, the Battle of Hogwarts, the D.A., and any associated entities or events is just to say that everything is true.” More nervous chuckling. “Even the most outlandish stories. Those are definitely true.”

The laughter was louder this time, which was another good sign. Over the years, Harry had needed to become skilled in putting people at ease. “Now that all of that is out of the way,” he went on, “my actual role as a professor here is to work specifically with the fifth- and seventh-year students in preparation for their O.W.L. and N.E.W.T. exams. I have wide latitude to tutor in a variety of subjects as long as it fulfills those goals.” There were some suppressed groans of disappointment from the sixth-years and the younger students. “However, that does not mean I can’t do other things. I have been chatting with some of your other professors, and we do have some plans in the works for other duties I will have that will, hopefully, be helpful for all Hogwarts students.

“Now,” Harry continued. “So that we may all start off on the right foot, I’ll lay out my rules. Firstly, if you come to my classroom, you are expected to work. It is not a place for you to gawk, either at me or at anyone else. If you are not working or doing anything that I, in my expert opinion, consider constructive, you will be turned out and not allowed back in.”

Harry watched the students closely, maintaining eye contact with them so that they knew he was serious. “Secondly, my classroom will be open, for now, on Mondays, Wednesdays, and Fridays, from eight in the morning until three in the afternoon. There is no set schedule as of yet, so you may come and go as you please, but that will change as exams get closer.” He paused for a moment, then went on. “If I’m not in the classroom, don’t mess around. I will know. You are to act as the mature, disciplined students you should be, now that most of you are either fifth-year or above.

“Lastly, I will not tolerate whinging, arguing, unauthorized dueling, fistfighting, bullying, or other annoying behaviors whose names end in -ing. Because my study room and sessions are optional, I have the choice to permit or prohibit students from entering my classroom at will. Don’t go moaning to Professor Longbottom or Professor Sinistra, either; they will both tell you the same.”

The vast majority of the students seemed to have straightened up and were, clearly, keen on being on their best behavior so that they would not be denied access to Professor Potter. Harry continued to look at them as he spoke. “Now, with that being said and the rules established, I will be opening the floor to you. Please tell me what you wish to accomplish in your study sessions and what you want to work on. I can’t promise I can do everything, but I am here to try my best.”

There was a stunned silence, which Harry expected; he waited patiently for hands to be raised. “Sir?” a Ravenclaw said; he was quite mature, so he must have been at least a sixth-year. “You want to know what we want to do?”

“Yes,” Harry said simply. “You have tough exams coming at the end of the year. What do you want to work on in preparation for them?”

A Gryffindor raised her hand and began to speak when Harry nodded toward her. “I think we need to practice our spellwork. A lot of us are worried about practicals.” Around her, some students started nodding.

“Excellent,” Harry said, and with a wave of his wand, his own writing began to appear on the chalkboard. “Tell me more.”

As more students began to speak, the lot of them seemed to feel much more at ease. Hestia’s advice had been sound. The theoretical part of the exams did not seem to worry them as much as the practicals; if they were anything like how the students had been when Harry had been at Hogwarts, that did not surprise him. Most of his classmates had struggled with their spellwork well into their fifth year. Neville had not even continued Transfiguration into N.E.W.T.-level.

But, as the students filed out of the classroom, chattering excitedly and waving goodbye, some a bit shyly, it became apparent to Harry that there would also be great challenges ahead. He did not want to merely lecture -- the students already had professors for that. Transfiguration seemed to be a major source of anxiety for them, which also did not surprise Harry, given Professor Runcorn’s advanced age. Harry suspected she was deeply traditional in her teaching and attitudes. He’d have to figure out ways to make the subject more engaging for them.

While most of the students filed out, a few decided to stay behind to talk to Harry. Some of them he did not know at all, some of them he knew of, and some of them he knew. Dean Thomas’s two children, Nathaniel and Susannah, were now tall sixth- and seventh-years. Luna’s twins, Lorcan and Lysander, were sandy-haired fifth-years with fanged earrings. And Ernie Macmillan and Susie Bones’s son Edward was a seventh-year Hufflepuff; his elder sister Abigail, Harry recalled, was already a trainee in the Auror Office. Harry also met all three of Seamus’s sons, known collectively as the Finnegan Boys; all three were Gryffindors and were consistently in detention, much to Neville’s chagrin. He also met Cho’s two sons, who had the last name of Duncan, and two Ravenclaw girls who were the daughters of Padma Patil and the nieces of her twin sister Parvati, the Divination professor. More students had familiar last names of students who had been in the D.A. over the years, either under Harry’s leadership or that of Neville, Ginny, and Luna. If Harry knew of them, he had only ever seen them in photos or when they had all been quite young; now, they were all teenagers, grown into nice mixes of their parents -- identifiable eyes and features, or smiles, or general mannerisms.

It made Harry feel good to meet them all, finally. His own crop of kids, plus Teddy, plus the Weasley nieces and nephews, had been born soon after the war, so all of them had now completed their Hogwarts education and were moving on to their careers and grown-up lives. But this group was still young, and their enthusiasm was infectious. He kept having to reassure them that no, it was his pleasure to be teaching them at Hogwarts, his honor to be their teacher, and he was here because he wanted them to do well, nothing more and nothing less.

After more than an hour, the last of his new students exited his classroom, with many reassurances that they would be returning, along with Harry’s reassurances that he would be there to see them. The silence in the classroom did not lie heavily. On the contrary, it seemed electric with anticipation, with possibility.

Wednesday, September 19, 2029

Harry was exhausted. His cold and the subsequent infection he’d developed from it had wiped him out. Before his health had taken a marked decline, he’d rarely been ill. And he’d always been dedicated to his work: sick days were rare, holidays even rarer, and personal leave, almost never since Lily was born. The Ministry had to give him an enormous back benefits payment when he’d resigned.

It was now three in the afternoon, and Harry checked in on the few students who remained in his study hall, letting them know it was time for him to close up the room and for them to begin to head to their dormitories and dinner. Mornings tended to be much busier for him; after lunch, the students tended to be a bit languid, and during this time of the year, they wanted to enjoy the last remnants of the warm weather, not study indoors. Harry was planning on setting up an outdoor Charms practical session…as soon as he could shake this damned infection.

A few minutes after three, Harry closed up his classroom and headed to his office next door. Though it was the end of his instructional day, he wasn’t planning on leaving just yet. Ginny would still be at work for a few hours, and she’d always preferred a later dinner, so there was no rush to get home.

Harry and Ginny had spent the spring in the United States -- mostly in western North Carolina, close to Appalachia, where there was a small specialty hospital dedicated to magical medical research. It was called the Lamplighter Hospital, a name which Harry found both fated and a little ironic. Teddy and Vick had known about it through their work as Healers. Though Harry would be expected to pay a great deal of money for his treatment there, being a foreign citizen, he would be guaranteed not only good care but also discretion. The hospital was in an isolated area, difficult to travel to, and it would be off-season for tourists.

Teddy had wanted to accompany his godparents to the hospital. Harry understood why: Teddy wanted to know more for his own practice, and he was optimistic that his and Vick’s little clinic in York could someday be a similar type of institution in Britain. But Teddy also had an infant at home, and Harry, with much difficulty, told him that his priority should be his own family, his home, and his patients and medical practice. Harry had said that he’d told Teddy’s father, Remus, the same during the war.

After letting down Teddy as gently as he could, Harry and Ginny had planned to spend their time in North Carolina alone. Ginny had found a room in town, and she was planning on working on writing her romance novels during the time she wasn’t spending with Harry, who would be expected to stay in the hospital most of the time. They had both been looking forward to it, truthfully: Harry, for the first time ever in their marriage, would not be beholden to anything occurring at the Ministry of Magic, and Ginny, also, had taken time off from her work at the Prophet.

But within a week of their arrival in North Carolina, Bit had sent them a letter through the international post. She couldn’t bear to be apart from her parents; she was desperately worried about her father, and she was arranging to take a leave of absence from school to visit them.

She had not taken the news of Harry’s illness well at all. Bit had always been extremely close to both her parents, and had been devastated when she’d heard that her father was ill and was going to go to America for treatment. Harry, too, had been loath for her to see him in such a vulnerable condition. It was bad enough that Teddy and Vick knew, that Ron and Hermione knew, that Ginny knew, let alone his other children.

But Bit had come, making the longest journey she’d ever taken without her parents in her young life, and James had accompanied her to help her manage and make sure she arrived safely. Harry’s emotions, upon seeing both Bit and James come into his room after such a long and complicated trip, surprised even himself. He had been happy and grateful to see them, but also moved and proud.

The benefit of the time Harry had spent at the Eyrie with Al was that he and his middle son, whose relationship in the past had been the most difficult, were closer than ever. James, though, had drifted apart a bit from his parents in the past few years. He had taken a flat in Dorset during the Quidditch season, even though the family home in Hereford was relatively close by. Because of his sexuality, James was and had always been the young Potter most burdened by the price of his parents’ fame. Deeply private and discreet when it came to his relationships, he did not wish to live at the family townhouse in Grimmauld Place, but instead kept a flat of his own in London for use during the off-season, despite the great expense. James, above all, did not want his personal life to be the subject of gossip: his extreme good looks, charm, and superior athletic abilities also generated publicity and revenue for Puddlemere United. He’d been given a staggering amount of gold in his contract, enough to set him up for the majority of his life, and, like his mother had been when she’d played professional Quidditch, he was driven to perform at his very best.

Harry had fully expected James to remain in North Carolina for a short while and then return to England; he’d always been restless that way. But James had stayed and, even better, had spent a lot of time at his father’s side. He’d learned a lot from the Healers who specialized in physio, to be sure, but he and Harry had also spent a lot of time talking. Like Al, James had opened up to Harry in a way he hadn’t before, and he had been so wonderful with his mother and sister as well.

Harry would never have wanted to become ill, but the way all his children had handled it, including Teddy -- with their love and care and genuine concern -- made him immensely proud of them.

Shortly after Harry entered his office, the House-elf Mabel appeared. She already knew his habits. Mabel had brought Harry a hot cup of tea with milk and sugar and a beautiful fruit tart topped with blueberries and strawberries. The tart had to be Fleur’s work; she was a talented cook and baker in her own right, and she had always been a kind and generous sister-in-law to him. Harry thanked Mabel and then, after the House-elf disappeared, he finished his tea and pastry. It was a lovely end to the day.

Then Harry tapped the locked drawer in his desk with his wand: it opened, and, above his kit, sat the carefully folded Invisibility Cloak. Al had generously let him borrow it back on a temporary basis after Harry had told him he needed it for sensitive research on school grounds. Harry unfurled it and, with the familiarity of long practice, pulled it over his head. It felt like putting on a comfortable pair of pajamas. He then pulled out the Marauder’s Map from a pocket of his robes, along with one of his trusted black notebooks and a biro.

The Map had informed him that it had taken Prongs, under the same Invisibility Cloak, nearly a year to map the entire castle. Fortunately, Harry had his work to build on, rather than needing to start from scratch. Harry had decided to start his own mapping in the dungeons because they had been the least damaged in the Battle of Hogwarts and were likely to be largely unchanged since the Marauders’ days. But the dungeons were vast, and Harry’s cold had sapped his energy; he wasn’t nearly as far along as he’d have liked to be. So he’d decided to stay late today, even though he was still feeling achy and tired, in order to try to catch up.

Harry could not be entirely sure, but he believed that he, himself, was the one living person who knew the most about the topography of Hogwarts Castle and the grounds. Neville came very close through his time as leader of the D.A.; so did Ginny, for the same reason. There were also, of course, George, Ron, and Hermione, who had used the Map extensively at various points. Harry had all of them beat, though, with the ultimate prize: the Chamber of Secrets, which could only be opened by a Parselmouth. Or someone who slept next to one, in the case of Ron.

Map in hand, Harry headed down two floors to the dungeons. Though the dungeons were indeed vast, they had been easy to map. All Harry had to do, really, was verify that all the rooms were in the same place that they had been nearly sixty years earlier and add in any missing information.

Prongs had been very crafty. When Harry’s father was first mapping the castle, he’d managed to sneak into the Slytherin dungeon and dormitories under the Cloak -- so much for that House’s pride that no outsider had infiltrated their dorms in seven hundred years. Prongs had done it decades before Harry and Ron. However, as unappealing as a trip into the Slytherin dungeons was to Harry personally, he did want to verify that everything was still the same, so he decided to work on that today.

Measuring his breathing, Harry waited by the blank space of the wall patiently for a Slytherin to enter their common room, curious about their password -- today, it was Wolfsbane -- and then walked slowly and stealthily downstairs behind the student, surreptitiously casting a Silencing Charm on his footsteps. The student did not notice. Harry was a professional.

Above the fireplace mantles in the Common Room were two new portraits: one of Horace Slughorn, Harry’s former Potions professor, and the other of Severus Snape. Neville had informed Harry that Sinistra had moved Snape’s portrait down here when she had become Headmistress. The portrait did belong in her office, since Snape had been a Headmaster, but Sinistra was still entirely unable to forgive him for allowing the Carrows to beat and torture students, and for abandoning the school when Voldemort attacked it. Though Harry, intellectually, understood the predicament Snape had been placed in, part of him couldn’t help but agree with her reasoning, just a little. Snape had indeed been a brave man who had protected Harry and had ultimately been loyal to Dumbledore, but he had made plenty of mistakes and had harbored a cruel, vindictive streak of his own. McGonagall had been able to look past that when she was Headmistress, but Sinistra had not.

The Slytherin dungeons were the same now as they had been in the 1970s, when Prongs had mapped them: staircases, dormitory entrances, common areas. Slughorn and Snape’s portraits could not see Harry under the Cloak, and he was glad to have it -- though Harry was a professor now, he did not want to have to make an excuse about why his presence was necessary in the dungeons. Harry waited patiently again, for longer this time, for another student to leave the dormitory to head off to an afternoon activity like Quidditch practice or a club meeting. There had not been many Slytherin students in his study halls yet, past the first day, where most of the fifth- and seventh-years had come to gawk at him. Finally, two younger students were leaving together, dressed in what Harry recognized as workout clothes, likely headed off to one of the popular student exercise groups. Harry followed the students out, undetected again.

He really was tired and was feeling worse as the afternoon progressed. The excursion into the dormitory had taken around half an hour, and the thought of mapping through the endless twisting staircases down in the dungeons was making him dizzy. He really should do more…but the Slytherin dungeons were a big enough prize for today. Harry supposed putting off his homework was one of the advantages of being a teacher, rather than a student.

On his way out of the dungeons, Harry stopped by the Potions classroom, where Terry Boot was still running his afternoon session. He was charming and energetic and entirely unlike Snape, whose batlike presence Harry still half-expected to see down here. Terry laughed with the students and gave them praise, but also gave useful feedback on improvements they could make. He was also quite talented at explaining chemical reactions and harbored a genuine love of the subject. Harry was learning a great deal from him, as Snape had been a passive teacher who expected his students to learn from the textbook and only ever criticized them.

Once the class was dismissed, Harry decided to head home. He’d told Ginny about his project, primarily so that she wouldn’t expect him to come home right away after work. But, to both his pleasure and surprise, she had been very interested and had wanted to come with him to work on the Map, especially on the weekends. However, two adults wouldn’t fit under the Cloak, and, if they were indeed caught, there would be no good explanation as to why Ginny was there, as she was not employed at Hogwarts. Ultimately, for now, Harry had to decline her help with mapping, but her offer to work on it with him was enough. Harry brought the Map and his notes home with him in the evenings so they could exchange ideas. And while they were working together, Ginny seemed… mischievous, and impish, and fierce, and clever. In all the years they had been married, they had never pursued a project like this together, and Harry felt it brought out the best sides of her.

Ginny had not been at all upset when Harry had decided to leave the Ministry of Magic. Though he had taken a serious and severe pay cut to work at Hogwarts, especially part-time, they were quite comfortable financially, with a paid-off home and property and relatively few expenses. Bit’s tuition at the Conservatory was the main drain on their resources. Ginny had been terribly worried for Harry’s health, but as he improved in hospital and as she was able to spend quality time with her husband, her mood had improved as well. For her, the trade-off of losing a sizable portion of Harry’s income was that he would be home more often, he would be feeling better, and he would be much less stressed.

To cover himself and his movements, Harry returned to his office on the first floor, folded the Cloak and left it in his secured desk drawer. Afterwards, he grabbed his leather bag -- more so that it looked like he had work to take home than the actual reality -- and then went back downstairs to the Entrance Hall, where students would see him depart for the evening and say goodbye. He passed through the heavy oak doors, which were open, letting the evening light inside, and then walked up to the marble fountain in front of them. Harry wasn’t entirely sure, but he believed the fountain was in a similar spot to where Hagrid had laid him as he pretended to be dead, and as Voldemort had stepped around and over his body, attempting to humiliate him and all the rest of the surviving students and teachers.

This generation of students knew nothing of that: they only knew the stories, and Harry had told them they were all true. They didn’t know the ugliness that went unsaid, underneath the stories.

After pausing to pay his respects, he walked out of the castle gates and then, after reaching the end of the protective enchantments around the castle grounds, Disapparated home to Hereford.

As Harry entered the back door to the kitchen, he smelled the delicious odor of roasted meat and felt genuinely hungry for the first time in weeks. “Gin?” he called out. “Where are you? It smells good in here.” Ezekiel, Ginny’s Kneazle, trotted over to Harry and rubbed up against his legs, purring loudly. Harry bent down a little and gave him a stroke along his back and tail. “Oh, hello, Easy,” Harry said, greeting him.

Ginny entered the sunny kitchen after her Kneazle. She was in her house clothes. “I’ve made a roast chicken,” she said. “Lily is coming for dinner tonight. I told her you were still sick, but she said she’ll risk it. I took the afternoon off.”

“You never sent a Patronus,” Harry replied. “I was working on the Map. I would have come home earlier if I’d known.”

She smiled, a little sadly. “Teddy sent me an owl. He and Vick reckon you’ve lost weight again.”

Harry sighed exasperatedly. “I’ve been sick with this damned cold for almost two weeks. It’s killed my appetite.”

“And now you have an infection, and you’re still dragging yourself about.” She leaned on the counter. “It’s not just the cold. Teddy and Vick are right, of course. We’re going to have a nice dinner tonight with Lily, and then tomorrow, you’re going to stay home and rest. Get some work on the Map done, if you insist, but you’re not going in on your day off.”

Harry nodded. The thought of rest did actually sound appealing, alien as it still seemed as a concept.

“And you and I both need to eat,” Ginny continued. “You know me…my jeans get tight and I hear Gwenog’s voice, all these years later, calling me a fat layabout.”

“I never liked her,” Harry said fiercely. “I wish you’d never gone to play with the Harpies, the way she treated you.”

“I would have been treated the same anywhere else,” Ginny said reasonably. She smiled fondly. “You spoiled me, you know, at Hogwarts. When you were captain, you never got on any of the girls about their weight…nor the boys, for that matter. You were in the minority there, unfortunately.”

“I just pretended to slip an illegal potion to Ron,” Harry replied, chuckling.

“Eh, it worked,” Ginny said. “Once.” She laughed a little. “But anyway, Mum sent a dozen eggs as well, in beautiful colors, and a basket of cheese. And I picked up some sugar and juice for you, and those ice cream bars you like for your sore throat.”

Harry walked closer to Ginny, hugged her to himself, and kissed the top of her head. “I’ll put in a fresh loaf of bread while we eat,” he said, laying his chin on the top of her head. “You can come home for lunch tomorrow and have a nice sandwich with those eggs and the tomatoes.”

“Sounds delicious,” Ginny said. “You’ll have one with me, of course?”

“Of course,” Harry said, stroking her silky, fragrant hair. Its fiery red was fading, replaced by a softer gold, but none of that mattered to Harry: not the spectacles she wore more often now in front of her warm chocolate eyes, or the lines around her face, or the way her body looked different now than it had been thirty years ago. What mattered to him was that she was still Ginny, his dearest companion and friend, his beloved wife, and she had her own ways of trying to make things right, even when she didn’t have to.

Chapter Text

October 2029

“We’ll start from the beginning,” Harry said to the assembled group of fifth-years. “Muggle science, namely physics, has a law called conservation of mass. The law states that mass, meaning the atomic makeup of all things, the very essence of which all is made, can neither be created on its own nor entirely destroyed. It can only be rearranged into other forms of matter.” He gestured to the two glasses he had placed on his desk. “For instance, I placed six ice cubes into each of these two glasses. One set of ice cubes has melted, the other has not. You with me?”

The students nodded. Harry paused, watching them all, then continued. “The amount of water in the glasses is actually the same: six ice cubes’ worth. However, the water in the glass on the left here looks larger, because the atoms in the frozen form of the water -- the ice -- take up more space than the plain water, even though the mass of both is the same. Water molecules expand as they freeze. Still with me?”

More nods. Harry really hoped no one had more complicated questions, because his knowledge of physics was quite limited. Muggle science was not taught at Hogwarts, and it had been a long time since Harry had been in McGonagall’s Transfiguration classes.

After seeing there were no questions, Harry went on. “Now, what Transfiguration does, on its most fundamental level, is magically rearrange the atoms of an object -- a physical thing, something with mass that has volume and takes up space -- into something else. Even Conjuration does this, because in order to seemingly create a thing out of thin air, the atoms needed to give it mass need to come from somewhere.”

“So where do the atoms come from?” a Ravenclaw girl named Marina asked.

“Great question,” Harry said, “and one in which, for us magical people at least, we don’t have to worry about.” There was some chuckling from the students. “What we can do magically that Muggles cannot is use our magic to summon the atoms we need in order to, at least in the case of Conjuration, create the thing we want to create.” He paused, then went on. “Now, of course, there are limits to what we can create based on that: the Principal Exceptions. Five, sometimes six, depending on who you ask. Nutritionally dense food, complex creatures…the others, you’ll learn in sixth year, if you choose to go into N.E.W.T-level coursework. And for things that can be altered through Transfiguration, like money, for instance, there are laws to control how much can be created at any one time. We can’t have a wizard in Nottinghamshire crash the economy because he decided to Transfigure himself up a swimming pool full of Galleons.” There were more smiles and chuckles.

Harry continued with his lecture. “For our purposes, though, we’re going to focus on Vanishment, since that will be on your exam.” He picked up a piece of scrap parchment, rolled it up into a ball, placed it on his desk, and then Vanished it with Evanesco. “Now, can anyone tell me how I was able to Vanish this, based on the principles of what we have been talking about?”

One of Cho’s sons, Joe Duncan, another Ravenclaw, slowly raised his hand, and Harry acknowledged him. “Through the use of the spell,” Joe said, “you rearranged its atoms into something else.”

“Excellent,” Harry said. “Ten points to Ravenclaw. And if, according to the law of conservation of mass, the mass of the parchment I just Vanished cannot be destroyed, where did it go?”

“It went ‘into nonbeing, which is to say, everything,’” Joe quoted.

“That’s the slogan. Tell me the theory,” Harry responded.

“The mass went elsewhere, sir,” Marina said. “It still exists, just not in the same form.”

Harry nodded, then, with an “Orchideous!” and a wave of his wand, he Conjured a bouquet of violets and tossed it to her. “And how much of the mass of that ball of parchment I Vanished did I use to Conjure these?”

“All of it,” Marina said, “or none. Doesn’t matter. It’s all mass in the end.”

“Excellent job to you, too,” Harry said, nodding. “Another ten points to Ravenclaw. When a witch or wizard uses Transfiguration, we’re not creating anything new. That would be impossible, according to physics. We are rearranging already existing mass into what we want or need it to be.”

As he finished, Harry looked at the faces of the students. They all had little smiles of relief. He knew he’d have to go over all of this again with them, more than once, and he’d have to definitely clean things up and make sure he could explain more complicated concepts, but they seemed to be more comfortable with the theory than they had when they’d come in earlier, questions from Professor Runcorn in hand.

“Now for the good part,” Harry said. “Grab a partner, take a bit of spare parchment, roll it into a ball, Vanish it, and then explain how it worked to your partner.” He smiled. “And don’t Vanish your homework questions. You might not be able to get those back.”

“Sounds appealing, sir,” Joe Duncan replied, to more laughter.

Harry walked around the room, watching the students work in their pairs. “Just watching,” he said, when a Gryffindor girl seemed to grow visibly nervous as he walked by. “Focus, Heather. Take a deep breath and pretend I’m not here. You can do it.” To brighten her mood, Harry stepped away from her and, leaning against the wall, pretended that he was falling into it.

“Are you rearranging your mass to become part of the castle, sir?” Lorcan Scamander asked, his earrings flashing brightly against his long sandy hair.

“Eh, you got me,” Harry responded, chuckling.

Harry let the students practice for a while, then, as the lunch hour grew nearer, he asked them to Vanish any parchment they’d left behind. “Great job, everyone,” he said genuinely. “We’ll continue with this next week. Monday, same time, same place?”

There were nods and noises of approval. “Do well on your homework,” Harry said. “And have a good time at Quidditch.”

“Are you coming, sir? Gryffindor is playing,” a Gryffindor boy named Michael asked, talking over the noise of students cleaning up their supplies and grabbing their bags.

“As a teacher, I cannot play favorites,” Harry said. “But yes, my wife and I are coming to the game.”

“Ginny Potter is coming?” one of the Gryffindor girls asked excitedly.

Harry nodded. “Our son has a game this Saturday as well, though, so we’ll probably both have to leave early. But she wanted to see Gryffindor play.”

“I thought you said you couldn’t play favorites?” another student asked.

“I can’t,” Harry said, “but she can.” He laughed. “Go on, be off with you. Get that homework done before the game.”

Harry checked his watch, then straightened up his classroom, returning any stray desks or chairs to their rightful spots and Vanishing any spare bits of parchment or trash the students had left behind. In a few minutes, the room was neat, orderly, and silent. Harry then picked up the books he was using to research his lectures and lesson plans so he could continue to work during his lunch hour.

This fifth-year Transfiguration tutoring group was filling up quickly; Harry was planning for an additional afternoon session for the Slytherins and Hufflepuffs, as well as anyone else who wanted to attend. The early-morning Defense sessions were already technically full, though Harry hated turning students away. Though the mornings were growing quite cold, he was considering moving the Defense practical sessions outdoors, both to accommodate more students and give everyone a chance and space to work on spells.

Over the past month, as Harry had continued to map the school under the Invisibility Cloak, he’d also made sure to stop and observe the other teachers as he could. Bill’s and Hestia’s classes were wonderful, he thought: filled with engaged students who were having fun. He’d already enjoyed Terry Boot’s Potions courses, and Cho’s Muggle Studies classes had amused him greatly. His mapping had taken him up only to the third floor, so there were still quite a number of teachers he hadn’t had the chance to observe yet, and he hadn’t even started on the grounds, which would be a wholly new addition to the Map.

Professor Runcorn’s Transfiguration classes were on the ground floor, in the same room McGonagall had taught in when Harry had been a student. Runcorn was not a bad professor, exactly, but she was quite elderly, and it was apparent that she was having immense difficulty keeping up with the needs of her students and the demands of being Head of Slytherin House. She relied heavily on a House-elf named Jewel, who, according to Neville, was the Runcorn family’s personal servant. Jewel, too, was elderly; the laws that Hermione had helped pass when she was just beginning her career in the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures had made it much more difficult to get a House-elf for personal use. They largely served only institutions these days.

As Harry worked on his Transfiguration study sessions for the fifth-years, he’d gone to Professor Runcorn’s classroom while the classes were meeting, under the Cloak, to observe. Like Snape and Umbridge, Runcorn expected her students to learn most of what they needed to know from the textbook and referred any questions they had back there. Practicals, too, had been rough: not a single student seemed to be able to make any significant progress in Vanishing their snails for nearly two weeks. The students were frustrated and worried, which was why Harry’s study sessions had filled up rapidly.

Harry had a talk with Ginny, and together, they’d come up with an interesting idea. Both of them had noted that, when they took Transfiguration themselves, the Vanishment of animals, particularly larger vertebrates like kittens and rabbits, was always emotionally fraught. “Here it is, a living thing,” Harry had said, “and you’re just expected to Vanish it, without caring?”

“There’s some people, obviously, who can do it without much emotional attachment,” Ginny said. “But for the rest of us, I think, it’s something we have to learn to block off. I think that’s what’s expected of us.”

“But why?” Harry had said. “I mean, if I think about how I’ve used Evanesco as an adult, it’s never been to Vanish a poor kitten. Why would I want to do that?”

“It definitely is more theoretical than practical,” Ginny agreed. “And you’re right -- I did it for the O.W.L., but I don’t use it like that, either. I never have. I’ve always just used it to Vanish pests.”

Pests. After he’d spoken to Ginny, Harry had gone and met with Bill, who was as excellent with Transfiguration as he was at everything else. “So I need some Cornish Pixies,” Harry had told him. “And a lot of them. Enough to wreak havoc on my classroom.”

“What on earth for?” Bill had asked.

“For my fifth-years,” Harry replied. “I want the students to Vanish them.” He paused, considering. “Doxies as well.”

“You’re going to hate your life, mate.”

“Cockroaches, dung beetles. Everything that no sane person would find cute or cuddly and would be relieved to Vanish. That’s what I need.”

Bill paused, his head cocked to the side. Harry’s brother-in-law was now nearly sixty and his hair was turning white, but he still had a head full of it, worn long, and his famous fanged earrings. “You do know that magical creatures will be more resistant to Vanishing Spells?” Bill asked.

“That’s fine,” Harry said. “That’s probably even better, actually.” Harry had a brainwave, then gasped. “Are there any of Hagrid’s Blast-Ended Skrewts still around? We longed to Vanish those.”

Bill chuckled wolfishly. “That would be a really impressive feat,” he said. “I’ll check with Rolf.”

Harry debuted his new lesson during the morning session, which was usually attended by Gryffindors and Ravenclaws. “In your Transfiguration class this year,” he said, “you will be expected to Vanish whole vertebrates. This is considered an O.W.L.-level skill. Being able to perform it consistently will grant you at least an Acceptable, depending on how well you do on the rest of the test.

“But,” Harry continued, watching the students’ responses. “Here’s the hard part. Vertebrates tend to be really cute. Little wee bunnies and kittens, lizards…iguanas, I know some of you like those, too, you weirdos.” There was more laughter, and Harry saw Lysander Scamander use his hands to mime having flaps on the side of his face.

“Cute, Lysander,” Harry said. “The resemblance is uncanny.” The students laughed, and Luna and Rolf’s son also laughed at himself. Harry continued. “Before we begin today’s lesson, though, let’s go back to the theory. When you Vanish something, whether it be a piece of parchment or a living thing, you are magically rearranging its atoms, its mass, into something else.” He looked at the students, watched them nod. “Now, here’s the question that I struggled with, and that many of you will struggle with too, this year: if I Vanish a living thing, am I killing it?”

Joe Duncan raised his hand. “No,” he said, a bit hesitantly, “but it’s not alive anymore, either. At least, not in the same way it was before.”

Harry nodded. “Good, Joe. Ten points to Ravenclaw. The mass -- the atomic structure, what makes the living thing a thing -- of what I have Vanished is distributed elsewhere, to be used to create other things.”

“Reminds me of Buddhism,” a Gryffindor girl named Aspen said.

“Go to the Eyrie in Bhutan sometime,” Harry said. “You’ll learn more about that. There are many sites for ancient magic in the East, and their understanding of magic has infused their religions.” He smiled. “So, that’s what that slogan you all know means. When something is Vanished into nonbeing, it does go everywhere. The thing that it was is no longer, but the essence of what it is still exists in some form.”

“What about ghosts?” Aspen asked.

Harry considered her question for a few moments. “We magical people recognize the tangible existence of souls and ghosts because our magical abilities, and often, the places where we live, allow us to become attuned to them. Many Muggles struggle with that on many levels, because they don’t have our abilities.” He paused, then went on. “But, to answer your question…well, better yet, I’ll let you answer it.”

Aspen nodded, thinking. “A ghost no longer has a physical body to be rearranged. It’s not made of matter.”

“Good,” Harry said. “Continue.”

“So…can they be Transfigured at all?”

“Ghosts are energy,” Lorcan chimed in. “So Transfiguration would not apply.”

“Now you’re getting into Charms,” Harry said, nodding as well. “Transfiguration is the branch of magic we use to alter or create matter, using other matter. In Charms, on the other hand, we add properties to already existing matter.”

“Energy can neither be created nor destroyed, either,” Joe said. “Only converted.”

“And magic allows for us to do that in a way that Muggles cannot,” Harry replied. He paused for another long moment, then continued. “We are bound, in many ways, to the same scientific laws that Muggles recognize. Magic makes us powerful, but it doesn’t allow us to do whatever we want. For instance, we can Vanish a creature -- relatively simple ones, not more complicated ones like dragons or Occamies. And we can Conjure creatures -- again, relatively simple ones, not Phoenixes or Mooncalves. But what we Conjure is only ever temporary, because Conjuration isn’t the same as creating actual life. There’s no spiritual involvement, no energy, as Lorcan pointed out.” Harry smiled at his students, pleased that they still seemed to be following along. “But this is all getting philosophical. Let’s focus on the practical, for now.”

Harry reached down and produced a large box, which had been sitting, closed, under the desk at his feet. “Remember what I was saying earlier about vertebrates being cute? Well, I decided to find something…not cute.”

There were some groans and winces of anticipation from the students.

“So here’s today’s practice. Everyone here will get one of whatever is in this box, and you will Vanish it. Let’s see how it goes.” He paused, smiling a little. “And if you don’t want to touch one, which would be understandable, you can practice your Summoning Charm.”

Harry opened the box, which was full of roaches, grinning and laughing as the students made disgusted noises. “Come on, you’re all talented young witches and wizards…they’re just roaches…” He watched as Lorcan and Lysander were first to Summon two roaches out of the box. “Good work!” Harry said. “The rest of you, hurry up. Go on, Summon them!”

Soon, there were just a few lone roaches scurrying around the box. “Anyone not have one yet?” Harry asked, checking.

“It’s disgusting,” one of the Gryffindor girls said.

“Then you should have no trouble Vanishing yours, Athena,” Harry told her, “and quite a few others as well.” He felt himself still grinning, enjoying the reactions of his students. “Now, if you’ve ever been unlucky enough to have to deal with a roach infestation -- and I hope you never do -- you’ll learn that their dung gets everywhere and will attract more of them. Even if you think they’re innocent, you’ll definitely want to Vanish them before they go off and have babies, or let their friends in.”

Harry looked at the students, who were wincing and scrunching up their faces at the roaches on their desks. “Now, focus,” he ordered. “We’ve been working on the theory, and now it’s time for the application. Using the Vanishing Spell, rearrange your roaches into something…no longer a roach.”

He watched as the students started waving their wands and chanting Evanesco. “Lovely work, Marina,” Harry said, as she became the first to successfully Vanish her roach. “Ten points to Ravenclaw.” Harry leaned in closer to the two Gryffindor girls closest to him. “Come, Heather, Aspen…focus…”

Joe Duncan was next to Vanish his roach and Harry awarded him another ten points to Ravenclaw. “Good, good -- next three get points for their House, too,” Harry said. “Gryffindors, you want to let Ravenclaw get them all?”

Harry felt himself smiling as the noise in the room shifted in a way that was always pleasurable to him, all the way back from the days of the D.A. -- the shout of spells and the noises of triumph when they finally went right. As Harry listened, he thought inextricably of Al, and the shout of joy he’d made when his deerhound Patronus had leapt from his wand, after more than a year of failure. Of course Al, the Auror, had a hunting dog… And Teddy, the weeping he’d dissolved into when the wolf Patronus emerged, a greeting from beyond the veil from both his parents…

Harry had loved being an Auror, to be sure. But he was also really, really loving being a teacher, too…

When the tutoring session had ended, every single student had successfully managed to Vanish their roaches. Harry exchanged high-fives with many of them, especially those who had been struggling with the spell in Professor Runcorn’s class. While the lesson had, indeed, been disgusting, Harry hoped that the students, newly empowered with their success, would all finally make consistent progress with their Vanishing Spells.

And they did. But other things came up, as they inevitably did.

Only a few days later, most of the students in the late-morning Transfiguration study session reported to Harry that they had received Poor grades on an essay assignment from the previous week. When he asked why, the students told him that Professor Runcorn had said that Muggle nonsense was not taught at Hogwarts, and that the information in their essays did not match what was in their textbook.

When he heard this, Harry nodded, then contemplated how to approach the issue. He sighed. “Professor Runcorn is not incorrect,” he began carefully, having to raise his hand a little to silence them when there was an explosion of protests. “Muggle science, largely, is not taught at Hogwarts. I would definitely not call it nonsense, but that’s what she means.”

He continued. “My godson and his wife are both Healers, and very talented ones. They know a great deal about magical medicine, of course -- Potions, Herbology, Transfiguration, Charms, even principles of how the Dark Arts work -- but they also know a great deal about biology, anatomy, and chemistry. All Muggle sciences. We teach many of the same things here; we just use different terminology. Astronomy is a Muggle science as well as a Wizarding one. When I was an Auror, we had to learn a great deal about what the Muggles call criminology and forensics. We have our own versions, to be sure, but that doesn’t mean that Muggles have nothing useful for us to learn.”

Harry paused, weighing his words carefully. “After my experience with my godson and his wife, and my own experiences as an Auror, I think combining our understanding of both magic and science is a good idea. But not everyone will agree with me.” He sighed, feeling oddly unsure of himself. “Unfortunately, I have no control over how Professor Runcorn chooses to grade you. Remember, I’m not grading you -- she is, and your examiners are, later in the year. If you believe Professor Runcorn is grading you unfairly, my recommendation is just to use the terminology in your textbooks. It’s largely the same thing. Use ‘object’ for mass or matter. Let’s try that, and then we can correct more, if necessary, after you receive your next batch of grades.” Harry smiled, trying to lift the mood. “Let’s continue with the practical. Don’t worry, we’ve moved on from roaches. I have something else in mind for today…”

Harry tried to keep his energy up as he worked with the students on Vanishing their dung beetles, but there was a strange, unfamiliar feeling of anxiety in the back of his mind. He didn’t believe the information he was giving the students about Transfiguration was wrong, based on his own reading, research, and knowledge, but he did feel bad about their grades. Was he, indeed, going about this the wrong way? His job was to prepare them for exams…

“Sir?” It was Aspen, one of his Gryffindors; her voice brought him out of his reverie. “I think you’re doing a great job,” she continued. “I don’t feel like I understood much of this stuff before…like, I mean, really understood it.”

“I’ve never been able to Vanish anything before!” a Gryffindor boy said. “And I’ve done it twice this week!” There was pride in his voice.

Harry felt himself smiling in return. “I’m really proud of how you all are doing,” he said. “You know that, right?” He watched them nod and smile, and then he chuckled to himself. “Listen, I got many, many terrible grades on assignments, including a number of Ds.”

Harry laughed at the looks of surprise and protest the students gave each other, then continued. “Yes, yes,” he said. “The Great Harry Potter, the Chosen Boy, best friend of Hermione Granger, got Ds on his homework. Don’t let a few bad grades shatter your confidence, okay?” The students nodded. “Go on then, run along and get your homework done. Remember what I told you about the terminology!”

When Harry arrived in his classroom on his next day in, he was surprised to see a large gilt frame on the back wall, facing the back of the student desks. The backdrop was a red curtain and a rather ornate chair…

As Harry watched, Professor Dumbledore walked into the frame and, with a sweep of his robes, sat down in the chair. “Good morning, Harry,” he said kindly, and with much affection. “Can I trouble you to lock the door, so that we can speak to one another in private?”

Harry nodded, then locked the door with a wave of his wand, casting an additional Anti-Alohomora Charm for good measure. Harry then pulled out a wooden chair from one of the desks and, after setting it down close to the portrait, sat down in front of Dumbledore. Harry’s old friend and mentor did not seem upset.

Dumbledore smiled gently, his eyes twinkling in the portrait in a similar way, though lessened, than they had done in life. “On my request,” he began, “Professor Sinistra asked Mr. MacDougal to move this frame from the History of Magic classroom to your classroom. Don’t worry: the students will never know I’m here.”

“Well, now you’re making me nervous,” Harry replied. “Am I doing something wrong? I’m flying by the seat of my pants here, to be quite honest. I’ve never had a tutor like me before, so I have nothing to draw on.”

Dumbledore was still smiling. “Before I answer your question, I wish to pose a question to you. When you think of a good teacher, who comes to your mind?”

“You, of course,” Harry answered. “And McGonagall…Flitwick. And Remus, he was one of the best I ever had.” And with that, Harry felt tears prick his eyes again; they were always so close these days when he spoke of the Marauders. “Sirius taught me a great deal, too, about the wizarding world, how we view good and evil. Hagrid, for the same reasons. Arthur Weasley is brilliant as well. And Hermione.”

Dumbledore continued. “And in the case of all of those people -- including myself, of course -- if you had a question, did they ever tell you to look it up in a textbook?”

“No,” Harry replied, then chuckled ironically. “Well, maybe Hermione would explain something she found in a textbook to me.” He paused, thinking, then went on. “But I could always just talk and ask freely, whatever I wanted to know. And they -- you -- were all honest with me.”

Dumbledore nodded. “A wizard could have access to every book in the Hogwarts library and yet still learn nothing, if he doesn’t know how to read.” He paused, still smiling contentedly, then went on. “But you, as an adult now, an accomplished professional, as a wizard who could have, if you had chosen to do so, become Minister for Magic and Supreme Mugwump yourself…you know, too, that there’s much more to the world than can be found in the books in the Hogwarts library.” Dumbledore’s smile grew wider and prouder. “And I daresay, after all the time we spent together, and after all the extraordinary things you’ve done, you know more about the nature of magic than most of our population, including many of the professors here.

“To finally answer your question, Harry: no, I don’t think you are doing anything wrong. In fact, I think what makes a good teacher is exactly what you are trying to do. It’s not easy work. I’d say it’s one of the hardest jobs there is, but you were an Auror, and then a politician.”

Harry laughed. “Most days lately, I think going back to the DMLE would be easier.”

Dumbledore chuckled, too. “I think you’re doing quite well under extremely challenging circumstances. And it’s a great testament to your resilience and dedication that you’re still here and that you haven’t fallen apart by now.”

“The day’s young, sir.”

Dumbledore laughed heartily, and it warmed Harry’s heart to be able to speak to him again. “Cheeky as ever, I see,” he said fondly. “You know, you’re as much of a natural teacher as I’ve ever seen, and I’ve always said you should trust your instincts. But I also wanted to offer my help, if you should desire to accept it. That’s why we Headmasters and Headmistresses invest so much time in these portraits: our service to Hogwarts does not end after we die. We’re unique in that sense.”

“Of course, sir,” Harry replied. “I’d love your advice, you know that.”

“Well, then,” Dumbledore said. “The gossip around the castle is that your teaching methods have run afoul of Professor Runcorn.”

Harry nodded. “Yes. She’s grading my students significantly lower than they deserve, I think.” He paused, gathering his thoughts, then went on. “I don’t think I’m giving the students the wrong information -- but, by all means, sir, please correct me if I am. I think it’s a difference of opinion.”

Dumbledore bowed his head serenely, his hands steepled together in the familiar way he’d done in life. “I think you were very diplomatic when you acknowledged your place in the hierarchy here at Hogwarts,” he said. “Professor Runcorn is the head of the Transfiguration department, and you are not. But, with that in mind, I ask you to remember that not being in that position of authority is actually a good thing for you.”

“It’s political,” Harry replied. “It’s not just about using one word over another.”

Dumbledore nodded again. “And this is where we portraits come in. And your Headmistress.” He smiled a little again. “There is a greater project at work here at Hogwarts, Harry, than merely teaching young wizards and witches. This project did not start with me, and it certainly hasn’t ended with me. It is the work of millennia. Sometimes it becomes…less important, as other concerns take precedence, but it always comes back eventually. It’s why you’re here at this time, I think.”

Harry thought of what Luna had told him. “People keep saying that, sir, but I don’t understand what they mean.”

Dumbledore’s fond smile grew wider. “After all these years, your curiosity is also still the same. But now, I know it is tempered much more with the wisdom and maturity of age and experience.”

Harry shifted, thinking of the years he’d spent in the Ministry of Magic, and the things he’d learned about the wizarding world when he’d been head of the DMLE…

Dumbledore continued. “Suffice it to say, you will know only when it is appropriate that you do know. That is not entirely my place to judge -- I am but one portrait of many, and there are other opinions to consider. But for now, for today…these little disagreements and rivalries between you and some of the other professors. They are the worries of small people. You are not a small person. Let us deal with them.”

Harry nodded. As a young man, he would have demanded to know, but age had granted him patience.

Dumbledore paused for a moment, watching Harry’s reaction, then continued. “The Headmasters and Headmistresses of Hogwarts, including Professor Sinistra, wish you to continue with your work in the same way you have been doing. This portrait frame will remain in your classroom, and we can speak at liberty whenever you wish. All you have to do is ask for me, and I will come.”

“Thank you, sir,” Harry said. “Sincerely.”

“It is my pleasure. Now, let’s work on your Transfiguration lecture…”

On Friday of that week, as Harry entered his classroom after the rowdy Defense Against the Dark Arts practical session -- which had grown so large that he now had enlisted student assistants -- Dumbledore’s portrait tipped him off that a conversation between Professors Sinistra and Runcorn would be occurring that afternoon. “Take the Cloak,” Dumbledore ordered.

“Your portrait’s quite accurate, you know,” Harry said. “Dumbledore always loved a good reconnoiter.”

“And good to know the Aurors taught you something,” Dumbledore countered, and Harry laughed.

After lunch, Harry excused himself from the handful of students who were studying -- Friday afternoons were always his slowest times, especially when there was a Quidditch game that weekend -- and, after stopping by his office to grab the Cloak, he went down to the ground floor, past the Transfiguration courtyard, and to Professor Runcorn’s classroom. He waited outside the door, listening to the end of her class, and saw Professor Sinistra heading over as it was wrapping up.

As he’d learned through his Auror training, he regulated his breathing and waited patiently as the students filed out, then followed Sinistra inside the classroom, darting in just as the heavy oak door closed. The Headmistress locked the door, then cast an Anti-Alohomora Charm. Harry took a place in the corner of the room, close enough so that he could hear their conversation clearly, but far enough for him not to be detected.

However, his care was unnecessary. Professor Runcorn was somewhat hard of hearing anyway, and the conversation between her and Sinistra became heated right away. Under the Cloak, Harry batted away the overwhelming smell of fresh flowers that filled his nose whenever he entered Runcorn’s presence. “I don’t like what he’s teaching them!” Runcorn shouted. “I don’t agree with it! It’s not what the book says --”

Sinistra, in her response, was much more tempered. “He’s getting results, Arabella,” she said. “It would behoove you to work with him rather than against him.” She paused, carefully considering her thoughts. “I know Potter,” she continued. “He was one of my students for five years. He’s charismatic and quite clever, but he’s also not dominated by his ego. It’s a rare combination in a person. When he says he wants the students to do well, he means it.”

“He’s after my job!” Runcorn insisted. Harry had to silence his scoff; he could hardly think of a job he wanted less than Transfiguration professor. “He wants to toss me out! It won’t happen, Aurora!”

“I have heard nothing about him ever disparaging your teaching,” Sinistra said fairly. “He’s doing exactly what I hired him to do, which is to tutor students and run his study groups. He’s here to make Hogwarts better. Before You-Know-Who came to power, Hogwarts School used to be one of the finest wizarding educational institutions in the world. I hope that’s where we all want it to be again.”

Sinistra paused, then straightened herself up even more. “And for your part, you need to grade students fairly. I taught Transfiguration, remember? What Potter is teaching them is not incorrect. The essays I saw that were awarded Poor grades should have been Acceptable at the very least; you also should have offered more substantial corrections. You know better. I don’t wish to have this conversation with you again.”

Sinistra, seeing Runcorn’s reaction, softened. “Now, come,” she said patiently, reaching out and placing an arm on the elderly woman’s shoulder. “Let me walk you downstairs. Where is Jewel?” And with that, the two witches exited the classroom, leaving Harry alone in the corner, still under the Cloak.

Harry was both pleased and touched by Sinistra’s praise, but he also couldn’t help but feel a bit sorry for Runcorn. If Luna and Parvati were right -- and Harry’s own intuition was right, as well -- Runcorn didn’t have much longer left to live. And here she was being reminded, at the end of her life, that, in some ways, she had overstayed her welcome. Like many of the purebloods, Arabella Runcorn was a relic from an older time, another life in which name and heritage and tradition mattered: it had been about the way things had always been, rather than how they were now.

Harry, thinking both of his mother and Hermione, certainly wouldn’t miss the old ways of thinking. But he could also understand why some magical people like Runcorn clung to those same old ways.

Harry didn’t owe Professor Runcorn anything, he knew, but he did want to find a way to make things right with her, in the limited time he could.

Chapter Text

November 2029

Ginny preferred to read before bed. Now that Harry didn’t have to work in the study late into the evening, he tended to go to bed early, so he was enjoying the unfamiliar pleasure of climbing into bed beside his wife and drifting off to the soft sounds of her breath and the feeling of one of her hands in his hair.

Winter was coming in now, and the blankets and down coverlet were out on the bed. Harry felt the chill through his flannel pajamas and got into bed swiftly to escape it. Opposite him, Ezekiel was in his usual spot, lying at the end of the bed against the wooden bedframe. His yellow eyes blinked languidly at Harry as he groomed his paws.

Harry lay his head on his pillow and looked up at his wife. “Gin,” he said.

“Hmm?” Ginny said a long moment later; she’d been absorbed in her book. “Did you want to talk?” she asked, then put aside her book and turned to face him, her spectacles still on her face.

Harry took a breath, then told her what he’d been considering for months. “I want to take the money Hagrid’s left me and get back my parents’ cottage. In Godric’s Hollow.”

Ginny didn’t make an obvious reaction, so Harry felt it was safe to go on. “Teddy and Vick have done wonders with Remus’s old place,” he said. “And every time I go see them…I thought I’d given up the idea, truthfully. I thought…I didn’t need it.”

“You don’t need it,” Ginny said fairly. “But you want it.”

Harry nodded solemnly. “I want to renovate it. Turn it into a family home again, just like it should always have been.”

“Do you want to move there?” Ginny asked. “To Godric’s Hollow?” Her face was carefully impassive.

“No,” Harry said truthfully. “Well, not right now. I love it here, you know I do. This is a beautiful house, and a beautiful place, and we’ve been very happy here. But it’s so empty now with all the kids gone.” He smiled a little at her affectionately and grasped her hand. “Hopefully we’ll fill this place with grandkids soon…Adora and the others.”

Ginny smiled and laced her fingers through his.

Harry went on. “I don’t know what I’ll do with the cottage, exactly. Maybe give it to one of the kids as a wedding gift, or save it for our retirement, if this place gets too much for us. But I was born in that cottage, Gin. I likely would have grown up there, had my parents not been murdered.” He paused, feeling tears of sorrow and anger burning behind his eyes. They were always so close these days. “Teddy has all of Remus’s things: pictures of Lyall and Hope, my mum and dad, Sirius. Treasures on earth. Vick and Adora have all of Tonks’s jewelry. You should have had my mother’s jewelry, you and Bit. And now it’s all missing…probably stolen, and I have no idea where it is or even what was there to begin with.”

Ginny repositioned herself so that she was lying down next to him. Harry continued. “Pictures gone, books and records left to rot; all my grandparents’ things, too. The whole legacy of the Potter family, hundreds of years, is missing or destroyed. I didn’t even know about Fleamont and Euphemia. I didn’t even know their names until I was a man grown and looking through DMLE records.” Harry tried to contain his feelings, which, even now, were still so strong. “People must have known them, and no one told me. Sirius died before he had the chance.”

He sighed. “I feel sometimes like I’ve just appeared in the world, as if I had no past. So much of my life is still a blank.”

Ginny smiled at him softly; her hand was still in his, as warm and soft as it had always been. It gave him the strength to keep going. “And I reckon almost fifty years of letting people gawk at my family’s pain is long enough. Kingsley didn’t think a fight was in my best interest, back when I talked to him about it. But I’m not beholden to the Ministry anymore. They can keep the statue in the town square if they want a relic. But the house is rightfully mine, and I want it.”

“I think you’re likely to get exactly what you want, my love,” Ginny said. “You’re Harry Potter. That still means a lot to people. Those of us who haven’t forgotten, who can never forget.” She let her words hang for a moment. “If this is what you want, Harry, you know I’m with you. You know that.”

“It is,” Harry said, sure of himself now that he knew Ginny would be with him. “It is what I want.”

That night, Harry dreamed of the cottage in Godric’s Hollow. The only time he’d ever been inside -- after Hagrid had removed him from the wreckage of his bedroom, after he’d screamed in terror and pain next to his mother’s corpse -- was when he saw the place in Voldemort’s memory.

Harry’s father was there. James Potter opened the front door and guided him inside. Harry’s father’s shade was still so young; he had been younger when he died than Harry’s own sons were now. Harry, next to him, was the old man: more like the father than the son.

“You’ve been following me for months, son,” Prongs said kindly. “Come, follow me again.”

They walked together through the front hall of the cottage and into the ruined sitting room, where fifty years of weather from the blown-open roof had decayed the walls and destroyed the furniture. The floor was covered with leaves and dust.

“Who buried you and my mother?” Harry asked his father.

“Remus did,” James answered. “With help from Dumbledore.”

“He never told me,” Harry said, and he was crying now. “Dumbledore.”

“He couldn’t,” James said. “He thought you’d been through enough horror, without having to hear about the details.”

“I was here with you for hours,” Harry said. “With your bodies.” He swallowed hard and wiped his eyes. “The reports said Sirius came here without being told.”

“He’d had a premonition, just like you have,” James said. “A dream. He never told anyone, either. He was worried people would think he was crazy.”

Harry laughed through his tears.

“He almost didn’t come,” James continued. “He tried to tell himself that everything was fine, but he wanted to check…just in case.”

“And he came here and found the house in ruins,” Harry said. “And he knew.”

“He knew,” James said, nodding. “And the black rage consumed him. He was going to die with me and Lily, because he couldn’t live knowing that we were gone and he was responsible.”

“Will you tell him I understand?” Harry asked his father. “I don’t blame him. I probably would have done the same, I think.”

“Sirius adored you, Harry,” James said. “That final few years of his life, you were everything to him. But like Remus, the guilt and shame took over. They both thought they let us die. And that was painful for them, too.”

Harry nodded. “I forgive them…for what they couldn’t tell me, for what they didn’t get a chance to say.” He paused, looking around the decrepit room, where he and his parents had once been happy. “I thought it would be painful to be here,” he said. “But it’s not. I just…want it. And I’ve never wanted much in my life, to be honest.”

“You are Master of Death,” James said gently, “and nothing here can harm you.”

“Am I wrong to want it so much?” Harry asked his father.

“We all want to know where we came from,” James said, smiling fondly. “Our story. And I can’t promise that you’ll find all the answers here. But you’ll find some.”

With that, Harry awoke peacefully in his own bed. Ginny lay beside him, her head close to his and the red-gold of her hair sprayed out on her pillow, and Ezekiel, curled into a rather large, fluffy ball, snored softly between them, his head next to Harry’s knee.

Harry’s father had given him the permission he’d needed, and now he knew what he had to do.

As winter rolled in aggressively, Harry was mapping the seventh floor of the castle, which included the entrances to Gryffindor Tower and the Room of Requirement. Given that neither Sirius nor Remus had ever told Harry about the Room, he did not believe that the Marauders had ever found it in their time at Hogwarts. To be sure, though, he did ask the Map. The Map answered that the Room of Requirement was unfamiliar, but this answer, in turn, led Harry to another point: was there a way the Map could track movements into places that were Unplottable? There were likely only two locations in Hogwarts that would apply -- the Chamber of Secrets and the Room of Requirement.

In his time as an Auror and in the DMLE, Harry had dealt with many protective enchantments. He’d cast quite a number on his own home and regularly used them when he traveled. In his experience, wizards did not go through the hassle of casting a Masking Spell unless they did not want their property to be found -- usually because they were up to something illegal. But Grimmauld Place was Unplottable, the spell left over from when the Black family had lived in the townhouse. They hadn’t wanted any pesky Muggle Londoners to find their property by accident. And Hogwarts, unusually amongst wizarding schools, was not entirely Unplottable, which was how the Map was able to exist in the first place.

So, to deal with the issue, Harry was searching for a way to indicate an Unplottable location on a map, a feat which was supposed to be impossible. The task Neville had set him was not without its challenges.

During the Battle of Hogwarts, the Room of Hidden Things had been badly damaged by the Fiendfyre cast and then let out of control by Vincent Crabbe, who had been killed in the process. After the battle, Harry had stayed at Hogwarts for a few months, helping with the restoration as he, too, rebuilt his life; his knowledge of the castle, born from years of sneaking around with the Map, had proven very useful. He and some of the surviving members of the D.A. who had stuck around -- namely Neville, Ron, Ginny, and Hermione -- had tried to test the Room of Requirement, but it remained closed against them. And, as far as Harry was aware, none of his own kids, Teddy, or the Weasley cousins had been able to utilize the Room, either.

So today, Harry found himself in the familiar stretch of hallway he’d spent so much time in, opposite the tapestry of Barnabas the Barmy, trying to figure out how to persuade the Room of Requirement to let him inside.

He started by asking directly. Show me the Room of Hidden Things, three times, as he walked back and forth in front of the empty stretch of wall. He’d even taken off the Cloak, just in case.

The wall remained stubbornly blank.

Harry rephrased. Show me a place to hide, another three times, another three laps. Still, nothing.

He groaned. So it appeared that the Room of Hidden Things might be permanently out of commission. But the Room was capable of much more than that…

Harry sighed, thinking, then rephrased again. Show me the room I need right now. Let it decide, like the Sorting Hat. He did another three laps, repeating his query…

And saw that a door had appeared.

“Oh, fuck yes,” he said with relief, and opened the door…

And inside was a very small room, with walls of gray stone. The Mirror of Erised stood in the center.

“Oh, fuck no,” Harry heard himself say.

His immediate urge, of course, was to run up to the Mirror, like he had when he was eleven. Harry knew what he would see: his parents, Sirius and Remus, and his grandparents. And oh, how he longed for them, like a physical pain in his heart…

But he turned away and went straight out of the door, putting a hand on the wall to catch his breath.

“Professor Potter?” It was Athena, one of his Gryffindors from the Transfiguration group. “Are you all right?”

Harry plastered a smile on his face. “Oh, I’m fine,” he said.

“That was so weird!” she exclaimed. “It’s like you came out of nowhere!”

Harry didn’t have to force a chuckle. “I got sucked into some kind of trick door,” he said, not technically lying. “Came out the other side here. The castle is funny like that.”

“Oh,” Athena said. “Well, you’re on the seventh floor, not far from Gryffindor Tower.” Then she beamed. “But you know that, of course, being a Gryffindor yourself!”

“Of course,” Harry said. He took out his watch and checked the time. “Ugh, I’ve got a meeting in fifteen minutes and I’m clear on the other side of the castle now,” he said. “I must be off. Have a lovely weekend, Athena. See you Monday for Defense?”

“Yes, Professor,” Athena answered. Harry hastened away, then, once he was out of her sight, found a familiar corner to sneak into where he could pull the Cloak back over himself.

What had he learned? The Room of Hidden Things would still not show itself, thirty years later; Harry suspected that was likely to be a permanent change. But other rooms would, provided the right request was made.

He’d definitely have to spend more time here, testing the parameters. He’d have to tell Neville, too, and Luna, and all the other faculty who knew about it…

The month of November was nearly over when Harry made an appointment with Sinistra to present the revised version of the Marauder’s Map. Over the course of nearly three months, he’d carefully mapped the entire castle and the grounds, and he and Ginny had spent a lot of time on Harry’s days off and the weekends working together in the study on the Map. Ginny, herself, had achieved excellent grades as a student and held an Outstanding Charms N.E.W.T. of her own, so her knowledge and help had been indispensable. It was she who had convinced Harry that the Map was ready enough and that, barring any unforeseen complications, he should be able to earn an Outstanding.

Sinistra agreed to see Harry on a Tuesday afternoon, so he came in specifically on one of his days off. He took the familiar route to the West Tower, then stopped at the gargoyle statue and gave the password: Galileo. The gargoyle hopped aside to let him pass, and he ascended the moving staircase.

Harry had not been in the Head’s office since Al had gone missing with Scorpius. Harry had been in a bad state then -- frantic, frustrated, and angry -- and had, admittedly, not been quite himself. His middle son had always had the habit of pushing him that way. Harry was very glad that, for the most part, they’d been able to work things out and that the chip that Al wore, perpetually, on his shoulder seemed to be slowly wearing down.

As Harry entered the Head’s office and saw Sinistra seated at the desk, there was an explosion of noise. The portraits of Headmasters and Headmistresses were greeting him: Ah, Harry Potter! It’s been so long! It’s Harry! Good old Harry! Oh, my stars! Look at all that gray hair!

Harry felt himself smile, genuinely touched. He saw that Dumbledore was seated in his portrait on one side of the desk, and on the opposite side, McGonagall was seated in hers. “Harry,” she said, and there was fondness in her voice. “It’s wonderful to see you in here, at long last!”

“Professors,” Harry said, nodding to the portraits that lined the walls. “And Professor McGonagall. I apologize, again, for the last time I was here. I was distraught over Albus, and I wasn’t quite myself. I’m still quite embarrassed over the whole thing.”

“There’s no need,” she said, her square spectacles gleaming in the painted image. “You’ve already apologized, and I’ve already forgiven you. It’s easy to forgive someone with the kind of worries you and Ginny were carrying, especially since they were not unfounded. Miss Granger, on the other hand…” She scowled a bit, then continued. “How is young Albus?”

“He’s a fully qualified Auror,” Harry said, and then he chuckled. “Gave me most of this gray hair, though, getting there.” He smiled at McGonagall’s portrait. “I think he has a girlfriend, an American Auror, but he won’t tell me or his mum.” He paused. “Thank you, too, for being kind enough to return the Marauder’s Map to James.”

“I know how much it meant to him,” McGonagall answered kindly. “And besides, it was not mine to keep.”

“Your son James is quite admired around the castle,” a portrait of a Headmistress said. “He’s in all the Quidditch magazines. And there are rumors he’s headed for the World Cup team!”

Harry smiled fondly. “He’s an outstanding player and incredibly hardworking, too. His mother and I are proud of him.”

“And there are rumors, too, about your daughter Lily,” Dumbledore said. “And a project she’s working on over at the Conservatory.”

“She won’t tell me about that either,” Harry said. “But her ambition is to become a portraitist.” He glanced at Sinistra, who was smiling as if she was having tea with old friends…which, quite frankly, she was. “I apologize, Headmistress, if I’ve kept you waiting, catching up.”

“Nonsense, Harry,” she said. “Or, should I say, Professor Potter.” There was another explosion of noise as the portraits spoke: That sounds wonderful! Oh, how lovely! Well-earned! Should have happened years ago!

“As you can see, Professor,” Sinistra continued. “The Eminent Headmasters and Headmistresses of Hogwarts are delighted to see you in this office again. You enjoy a unique prestige amongst all of us.”

“Thank you, Headmistress,” Harry said, bowing his head politely, which caused yet another explosion of noise and comments: Cheers to Professor Potter! Harry Potter, always welcome at Hogwarts!

“Now, Professor,” Sinistra continued. “You have requested a meeting with me. What is it that you require?”

Harry nodded and, after reaching into his bag, withdrew a large piece of parchment, carefully folded. “The Deputy Headmaster has asked that I present this to you, as my N.E.W.T. theory and practical exam for Charms.”

“Very well, Professor,” Sinistra answered. With a wave of her hand, a table appeared in front of Harry. “Please demonstrate the magical properties of this object.”

He placed the new version of the Marauder’s Map on the table and began to speak. “When my father, James Potter, was a student at Hogwarts in the 1970s, he became best friends with Remus Lupin, a student who was also a werewolf. At the time, young werewolves were not usually admitted into Hogwarts, but Professor Dumbledore --” Here, Harry nodded at Dumbledore’s portrait. “He believed that all young wizards and witches were entitled to a magical education. So, under Dumbledore’s orders, the Whomping Willow was planted on the grounds, and a new passageway leading under the tree, through Hogsmeade, and to the Shrieking Shack was constructed, so that Remus would have a safe place to transform.

“Remus tried to hide his secret for quite a number of years,” Harry continued, “but James and his other best friend, Sirius Black, were extremely clever and gifted students in their own right, so they did eventually figure it out. Remus feared his best friends would abandon him once they knew of his condition, but to his surprise and delight, they did not. In fact, they wanted to help him.”

Harry smiled a little now, thinking of the people he loved. Sinistra, at her desk, was listening intently. “James and Sirius did two immensely difficult feats of magic in the process of helping their friend. The first thing they did was become unregistered Animagi. They had completed this task and assisted another friend of theirs by their fifth year at Hogwarts.

“The other task they managed, after that, was the creation of what they called the Marauder’s Map. What they would do during Remus’s transformations was, as Animagi, go with him to the Shrieking Shack and the Dark Forest around Hogsmeade, keeping him company, as well as under control, during his transformations. And they created the Map as a way to make sure no one outside their group, neither faculty, staff, nor student, was aware of their movements.”

Harry reached into the pocket of his robes and pulled out the original Marauder’s Map, now dirty and worn after three generations of use. “You all may be familiar with this object, since I was just discussing it with Professor McGonagall. It is the original Marauder’s Map, created by my father, James Potter, Sirius Black, Remus Lupin, and Peter Pettigrew in the 1970s. It was confiscated at some point by Argus Filch, the former caretaker of Hogwarts, and kept in his office until the early 1990s, when Fred and George Weasley found it in a drawer.” Harry smiled fondly and then continued. “They passed it down to me in the fall of 1993. At the time, both they and I had no idea who the Marauders were. I found out later that year, when I met my father’s surviving friends for the first time and they told me the story.

“I used this Map for the remainder of my time at Hogwarts, as well as during the second phase of the war. I gave it to my son, James, to use during his time at Hogwarts, and I also loaned it to McGonagall when she was Headmistress, because I was concerned my son Albus was being influenced by Dark wizards. Since then, it has been used by two of my nephews, but I also gave it to Professor Longbottom.”

Harry nodded at Sinistra, who was still listening intently; he was not sure if she had ever heard the entire story before. “Neville and I have long meant to revise the Map as a way to monitor the comings and goings of the residents of Hogwarts, but, honestly, my work at the DMLE always got in the way, and the magic in the Map has been difficult to puzzle out. However, Neville brought the Map to me earlier this year and told me that I should revise it as a qualification for my N.E.W.T.”

Harry replaced the original Map in his robes, and then took out his wand. “Both Maps require an activation phrase. For consistency, and as a tribute to its original makers, I have kept them the same.” He lay the tip of his wand on the clean, new parchment. “I solemnly swear that I am up to no good.”

Red writing began to appear on the Map:

And below it was a simple phrase: With credit to Messrs. Moony, Padfoot, and Prongs, who taught us so much

Sinistra swiftly walked over to the table where Harry had laid out the Map. “Miss Bat and Mister Bolt?” she asked.

“My wife Ginny and I,” Harry said, smiling now. “She’s given me loads of good help and feedback, so I wanted to give her credit.”

“And it is very well deserved,” McGonagall said.

The Map began to form, and Harry unfolded it and laid it out even more on the table. “The primary charm employed in this magical object is the Homonculous Charm, which allows the Map to track the movements of every human being in the castle. In this revised edition, I have added the grounds.” Sinistra was nodding, and above her, Harry saw a good number of the Headmasters and Headmistresses in the portraits adjusting themselves so they could see better.

Harry continued. “The Map will also track some non-human entities, such as ghosts, and some animals with near-human intelligence like Kneazles. I’ve added some Color-Change Charms to denote them. And because the Map has the capability to track the movements of hundreds, possibly thousands of people at once, I have added a search through a modified Revelaspell.”

He pointed his wand at the Map and said, “Show me the location of Harry Potter.” The Map opened further on its own, showing Harry’s dot, which was flashing gold in the Head’s Office. “Professor Sinistra, as you can see, your dot is right next to mine.”

“What issues have you encountered with Unplottability?” Professor Dippet asked from his portrait.

“There are several flaws in the original Marauder’s Map which I have tried to remedy,” Harry replied. “Through my research, I have determined that there are two sites in Hogwarts Castle that are Unplottable: the Chamber of Secrets, whose entrance is in a girls’ lavatory on the second floor, and the Room of Requirement, whose entrance is on the seventh floor. Since I couldn’t include either directly on the Map, I did some experimenting, and I was able to at least indicate their locations.” He pointed Professor Sinistra to Moaning Myrtle’s bathroom on the second floor. “You’ll see Myrtle Warren’s ghost here in her usual location, and then the snake denoting the entrance to the Chamber of Secrets, which can only be opened with a phrase in Parseltongue. I’ve included a phonetic of it here, just in case, although it is increasingly unlikely a natural Parselmouth will ever be on Hogwarts grounds.” Harry then pointed Sinistra to the seventh-floor corridor. “Here is the location of the Room of Requirement,” he said. “I’ve indicated it with a question mark. I did some experimenting here as well, trying to get the Room to show itself. It’s become very temperamental after it was damaged in the Battle of Hogwarts.”

Harry looked away from the Map and directly at Professor Dumbledore’s portrait, hanging on the wall to the side of Sinistra’s desk. “I found the Mirror of Erised, sir,” Harry said. “I am assuming you knew about the Room of Requirement?”

“I did,” Dumbledore said. “I utilized it many times at Hogwarts. But I never found the Room of Hidden Things.”

“Because you never had a need to hide something,” Harry replied.

Dumbledore nodded. “The House-elves were the most frequent utilizers of the Room of Hidden Things. The staff and faculty would ask the House-elves to move or get rid of something, expecting them to magic it away, but some House-elves are driven, magpie-like, to save things, just in case the wizards they serve want them later.”

Harry nodded. “And so that they would avoid punishment as well, by not having to tell the wizards the items were permanently gone. Instead of Vanishing the items, they would stow them in the Room of Hidden Things.” He glanced at Sinistra, who was listening intently.

“I know what your next question is,” Dumbledore said. “Harry, if I knew there was a Horcrux at Hogwarts, I would have found it and killed it myself. I would never have pressed the task onto you alone, or your friends. It was my intention, before I was cursed by Marvolo’s ring, to find as many of the Horcruxes as possible, and to take you with me to destroy them, if I could.

“I should have known,” he continued. “I should have figured Voldemort came to Hogwarts that night for a reason, and not just to ask for a job. It was a shocking failure of imagination on my part. But admittedly, I did not think Voldemort would have been able to hide something at Hogwarts without my knowing it.”

Harry, listening to him, nodded. “Sir,” he said. “I did not mean to imply that I thought you were negligent. Even if you knew about the Room of Hidden Things, and even if you suspected there was a Horcrux hidden there, the Room was filled with hundreds of thousands of items.” Harry paused, then went on. “The only reason I found the diadem at all was chance. I saw it a year earlier, when I was hiding Snape’s old potions book.” He shrugged. “Maybe it was fate, I don’t know. But if I hadn’t seen the diadem before, and hadn’t remembered I’d seen it, finding it in all of those items would have taken years.”

“Dark magic always leaves traces,” Dumbledore replied. “I think you were meant to find it in all of that. I think that you were the only one who could have.”

There was a long moment of silence as Dumbledore’s words hung, and then McGonagall spoke. “Which other flaws in the original Map have you tried to fix in this version?”

Harry nodded, glad that she had put the meeting back on track. “As I found out during my fourth year at Hogwarts, when Barty Crouch, Jr. was disguised as Alastor Moody, the Map can actually discern a person’s true identity underneath magical disguises such as Polyjuice Potion and Animagus transformations. The Homonculous Charm allows that to happen. The issue I have run into and have not yet been able to remedy is how to denote differences in age. For instance, my father and my son have the same name. If they were standing in the same room together, the Charm would denote both as ‘James Potter’ without being clear which dot belongs to the elder and which to the younger. What I have done, for now, is use color to denote status -- for instance, students in the new version of the Map have black dots, while faculty and staff have green dots. Guests are purple.”

McGonagall, in her portrait, nodded. Some of the other portraits were whispering or speaking in undertones to each other. Harry waited a moment, seeing if one of them wished to speak, then went on.

“The final issue my wife and I attempted to work on with the revised version of the Map is its longevity. As you saw with the original version of the Map, more than fifty years of use have damaged the parchment. It’s in remarkable condition, all things considered, but it is still paper.” He paused, a bit hesitant. “I know that certain Charms must exist that can cause an item to become nearly or completely indestructible, because of the Deathly Hallows. All three of those items cannot be destroyed. But if those Charms exist, there is no record of them in the Hogwarts library. So, instead, I have Charmed the Map with a Preservation Charm, which will hopefully slow its degradation, and an Anti-Theft Jinx, which will prevent it being Summoned by anyone but the owner, who, right now, is me.”

Harry let out a low breath. He was done. He looked up at the portraits -- some of them were still whispering or speaking in undertones to each other, and Harry knew what he had to do next. “Please ask me any questions you have about this magical item or the process I used to create it,” he said.

For what felt like ages, but was probably only around fifteen or twenty minutes, Harry remained standing in front of the table while some of the portraits questioned him further. He answered their questions as best he could; he knew they were testing him to see how much theory he knew. He was surprised to find he felt quite confident and comfortable -- the work he’d been doing over the past few months, creating his lessons and refreshing his knowledge on magical theory, had helped him get over the embarrassment he’d always held, just a bit, about his spellwork. He’d left Hogwarts at the age of sixteen. He’d never been ostentatious with his magic. He wasn’t inventive. He wasn’t like Hermione, or Dumbledore, or even his parents, Sirius, or Remus…

After the portraits had asked their questions, Sinistra asked Harry to put the Map away, and with another wave of her hand, the small table he had stood in front of disappeared. “Please, Professor Potter, have a seat,” she said, gesturing to a chair in front of the desk. After putting his bag down on the floor, Harry sat on the chair; above him, the portraits were all still awake and looking at him. Sinistra walked around the desk and sat back down in the Head’s chair behind the desk.

“Harry,” Dumbledore said from his portrait. “You must also pursue Transfiguration.” McGonagall nodded approvingly from her portrait on the wall opposite him.

“A first-year has been singing your praises,” Sinistra said, smiling a little now. “About a conjuration you performed for her. Blue butterflies.”

“Potter,” McGonagall said gently. “You’ve always had talent.”

“I’m not sure if I can earn an O,” Harry said.

“Let us be the judge of that,” Sinistra said. She paused for a moment, then continued. “As you are aware, our current Transfiguration professor is elderly and, while she is dedicated to her work, she is increasingly unable to cope with the demands of a full schedule. Professor Longbottom and I have been searching for a suitable candidate to take over the department for several years. However, wizards and witches who hold Outstanding N.E.W.T.s in Transfiguration are extremely rare, and they also tend to be already employed in high-level positions such as Healers, Aurors, Unspeakables, and senior officials in the Ministry of Magic.”

Harry nodded, listening closely.

“While we do have money and resources at Hogwarts,” Sinistra continued, “wizards and witches with the capability to teach here, particularly in advanced core classes like Charms, Defense, Potions, and Transfiguration, are hard to come by. We have searched abroad as well, but Britain is still rebuilding its magical population after the war, and foreigners are still hesitant to come to this country to live and work. They still fear instability.”

Harry nodded again, unsurprised by what she was saying.

“Since I assumed this office,” Sinistra said, “my ambition, like Professors Dumbledore and McGonagall, has always been to return Hogwarts to the level it has been in the past, before the wars: as one of the finest schools of magic in the world. I am not from Britain, as you know -- I studied at Uagadou School of Magic.” She smiled a little. “But as a longtime fan of the Chudley Cannons, I also love an underdog story. The other wizarding schools around the world have not had to endure two wars, one of which destroyed nearly a quarter of the castle and resulted in the deaths of nearly thirty students. The wizarding population of Britain has been decimated, not only by those murdered by Voldemort and his followers, but also by witches and wizards who fled the country, particularly in the second war, and have never returned. You understand this deeply, Professor Potter.”

Sinistra’s smile grew wider. “Professor Longbottom has been charged with recruiting you to teach here at Hogwarts for a number of years, not only for your magical talent, but because, I think, you are in a unique position to understand the importance of what we wish to accomplish here. So, please, forgive us if we seized on an opportunity to get you here which was almost entirely unexpected.”

She stopped speaking, and Harry sat silently, weighing her words. “I’m not sure if I will be able to keep a full schedule,” he said, finally. “I have some problems with my health. I’ve had treatment, and I’m now in remission from my condition and feeling quite well, but…”

“Harry,” Dumbledore said gently. “You would certainly not be the first faculty member at Hogwarts to have such struggles.”

“We will be willing to accommodate you in any way you need, Professor,” Sinistra said. “As Professor Longbottom explained to you, our desire is that you are certified to teach in three core subjects: Charms, Defense Against the Dark Arts, and Transfiguration. But remember, just because you are certified does not mean you will need to teach them, only that you are able, if necessary.”

“I haven’t done magic like this in a long time,” Harry said. “I created the Board in the Auror Office when I was Head Auror. It’s not unlike the Map -- it tracks the assignments of all Aurors simultaneously and is automatically updated, so that the Head and Deputy Head Aurors can know what case every Auror is working on. It was difficult, sorting it all out so it would work in the way I needed it to. It took me more than a year. That was the last and only time I’ve created anything, before revising the Map.”

“We do more at Hogwarts than teach children,” Sinistra replied. “We have the finest magical library in Europe. Our faculty are also researchers, inventors. We have some of the best in the world, I believe. You included amongst them.” She smiled again. “What you have shown us today is impressive, Professor. I’ve learned a great deal here, and I wanted to thank you for that.”

McGonagall spoke from the other side of the desk. “And a hallmark of an Outstanding N.E.W.T. is the examinee’s ability to move past the demands of rote memorization and perform impressive and creative magic that demonstrates deep, mature knowledge.” Around her, the other Headmasters and Headmistresses nodded.

Sinistra spoke again. “With the permission of my learned colleagues, I would like to grant you an Outstanding N.E.W.T. in Charms.” She raised her head and nodded towards the portraits around the room. “Are we all in agreement?”

There was another explosion of noise: Wholeheartedly! Yes! Agreed!

“What say you, Phineas?” Sinistra asked Professor Black’s portrait. He had been silent for the entire meeting.

“Professor Potter has continued to show he has the best interests of Hogwarts in mind,” Phineas Black replied. “And I am indebted to him for his insistence that Professor Snape’s portrait be included in our ranks, even if he has been temporarily exiled. So, with that…I agree.”

Sinistra turned her head back towards Harry and started to rise from her seat. “I think their approval should be enough for the Examination Committee.” She offered her hand to Harry, who shook it; she grasped his hand in both of hers. “Congratulations, Professor Potter. With your achievement today, you have now earned the rank of full Professor, with an associated raise in pay as well.”

“Thank you,” Harry said, then looked upwards at all the portraits. “Thank you, too, Professors.” He let out a little breath of relief, then made to pick up his bag.

But Sinistra’s voice interrupted him. She was still standing. “Harry, one more thing before you go,” she said.

He looked up at the Headmistress as she continued to speak. “I think you have handled the adjustment from working at the Ministry of Magic to working here at Hogwarts very well,” she said. “But sometimes, you have a bit of a sad look about you.”

Harry felt his cheeks grow a bit red. “I’m sorry, Professor. I didn’t mean to imply that I am ashamed to be teaching here.”

She put up a hand. “I didn’t say you were. But I wanted you to remember, in case you are doubting yourself, that you could have been Minister for Magic. We’re the ones who are fortunate to have you.” Around her, the portraits applauded and spoke: Hear, hear, Aurora! Excellently said!

Harry, hearing her and the other portraits, nodded. “Thank you…Aurora.” Then he looked up at the portraits one more time, too. They were all awake, and most were smiling at him. “Thank you all.”

He made to leave, finally, and just as he was turning his back, he heard McGonagall’s voice. “Harry,” she said. “Come around to see us, as often as you can. We enjoy your company.” Dumbledore, opposite her, nodded, his painted hands steepled together. Aurora, at her desk, was smiling serenely.

“I will,” Harry replied. And with that, he left the Head’s office, both his head and his heart full.

Chapter Text

December 2029

Harry’s early-morning outdoor Defense Against the Dark Arts practical sessions had grown to more than sixty students. The time and the cold didn’t seem to scare the students away; on the contrary, as the term had progressed, more and more showed up, wanting to practice their spells. Harry and Bill had been discussing bringing back the Duelling Club, which had disbanded when Professor Flitwick retired.

Harry had set the students up in random pairs to work on minor jinxes and hexes when he spotted a familiar flash of white coming toward him. The white flash formed into a hedgehog, which Harry knew was Neville’s Patronus. As the blue, ghostly hedgehog dashed in front of him, it began to speak. “Harry,” the hedgehog said. “Professor Runcorn has not arrived for her morning class. Can you check the Map to see where she is in the castle?”

Immediately, Harry waved over Edward Macmillan, the son of Ernie Macmillan and Susan Bones, who was a talented seventh-year and one of Harry’s student assistants. “I’ve just gotten an urgent request from Professor Longbottom,” Harry told him after he’d jogged over. “Can you continue to keep an eye on things? You and Susannah may have to take over the session.”

“Of course, Professor,” Edward answered. They both turned toward Susannah Thomas, Dean Thomas’s tall, pretty, and accomplished daughter, who was also a student assistant of Harry’s. “I’ll let her know as well.”

“Thank you both,” Harry replied, relieved that his student assistants were so reliable. Not wanting to alarm any of the students and needing privacy, Harry walked swiftly back into the courtyard and, after sitting on one of the low stone walls, he took out the Map from a pocket of his robes. After activating it, he pointed at it with his wand. “Show me Arabella Runcorn,” he ordered, but there was no response.

Harry knew his Revelaspell worked; he’d already used it to search the Map successfully multiple times. But he did do a quick visual search around the Transfiguration courtyard and the dungeons, where Professor Runcorn’s small apartment was located close to the entrance to the Slytherin common room.

She was not in those places, either. And Harry knew that there were only two reasons why her dot would not be on the Map: either she was not in the castle or on the grounds, or…

“Show me the House-elf named Jewel,” Harry ordered. House-elves did not appear by default on the Map, as their unique magic resisted the Homonculous Charm and made them akin to Unplottable, but Harry wondered if the Map was able to show them if one asked for them specifically by name…

Jewel was in Professor Runcorn’s apartment.

Harry concentrated for a few moments, then waved his wand and sent Prongs with a message to Neville, telling him to report to Runcorn’s apartment and to bring Hannah and Hestia, if he could. This was Auror business.

Still not wanting to alarm any students he happened to encounter, Harry walked swiftly, but without running, up to his office on the first floor of the castle. He tapped his wand on the desk and found his kit under the Invisibility Cloak. He left the Cloak but took the kit; then, after leaving his office, he hastened downstairs again, this time to the closest entrance to the dungeons. Harry then navigated his way through the hallways and winding staircases to the door he knew led to the apartment that belonged to the Head of Slytherin House.

The door did not open to his Alohomora, but that was not a surprise to him. Jewel had probably secured it. Harry opened his kit and withdrew the door-opening tool he kept in there, a new model of the original one that Sirius had given him. Then he crouched carefully, minding his arthritic hips and knees, and, after steadying himself with a hand on the door jamb, he slipped the tool between the heavy wooden door and the metal lock. It clicked open.

Harry rose and fully opened the door, and then, as he walked into the apartment, he heard sobbing. “Professor Runcorn?” he called out. “Jewel? It’s Harry Potter, here to check on you.” Harry entered the bedroom and saw Professor Runcorn under the down coverlet of her bed, eyes slightly open but unmoving. Her mouth was hanging open. Jewel was sitting beside her, running a hand through her mistress’s gray hair, which was still pleated down her shoulder, and weeping.

Harry knew Arabella Runcorn was dead.

“Jewel,” he acknowledged softly as he bent over Professor Runcorn to check her vitals. There was no breathing, no pulse; the elderly witch was cold and stiff. She had been dead for hours. “Mistress is gone,” Jewel sobbed next to her. “Jewel wasn’t here. Jewel should have been here!”

“I’m sorry,” Harry said sincerely. “But Jewel, no one blames you. You’ve served your Mistress admirably.” He was genuinely touched by the House-elf’s devotion, and found his eyes welling up a little. He choked down his own emotions and turned on his Auror training.

Harry was fairly certain Professor Runcorn had died of natural causes, but he checked around her apartment, just in case. There was an empty teacup on the bedside table and crumbs left from a biscuit. The high windows in the bedroom were a little open to let in fresh air, but there were no signs of intruders. The apartment, overall, was fastidiously clean; there was no sign of illness in the bathroom, no blood, no indications of poisoning.

Harry had moved to investigative spellwork when Neville and Hannah arrived. “She’s passed,” Harry whispered to them. “Looks like natural causes to me, but I’ll leave the determination to you.” Hannah nodded solemnly, then went into the bedroom.

Neville began to sign with his hands, as the Aurors did. Suspicious?

No, Harry signed back. Clean. No intruder, no poisoning. Door locked from inside. Died in sleep.

Neville looked more than a bit relieved and patted Harry’s shoulder. “Thank you for checking on her,” he said quietly.

“Of course,” Harry said. “Her House-elf is devastated. She says she wasn’t here when Runcorn died.”

Just then, Hestia entered the apartment. “She’s passed?” she asked Harry and Neville in a low voice, and they nodded. “I don’t believe it’s suspicious,” Harry said softly to them, “but both of you are welcome to verify.”

“We trust you, Senior,” Hestia answered instantly. Harry glanced into the bedroom and saw Hannah, next to Runcorn’s body, casting diagnostic spells.

“What will happen next?” Harry asked them.

“Once Hannah pronounces her, I’ll inform Aurora,” Neville said, continuing to speak quietly. “Classes will be cancelled for the rest of the morning. The students must remain in their dormitories until the body is removed.”

Harry nodded. “I’ll remain here to meet with the DMLE.”

“Are you sure?” Hestia asked. “I can stay.”

Harry shook his head. “No, you remain with your House. I’ll take care of her.”

Hannah reentered the sitting room of the apartment. “My diagnostic spells are saying it was a stroke,” she said. “Natural causes. She’s been gone around five or six hours.”

“I’ll inform the Headmistress,” Neville said. “Hestia, come with me. Harry will stay here and secure the apartment until the DMLE arrives.”

Harry nodded and waved off Hestia, then watched as she and Neville exited the apartment. Hannah had remained. “I’m going to talk to the House-elf,” Harry told her. “I don’t want her subjected to aggressive questioning. She already blames herself for what happened. Will you be staying here?”

“I can observe,” Hannah said. Harry nodded and beckoned her to follow him into the bedroom, where Jewel was still sitting on the bed beside her mistress’s body. Hannah had covered Professor Runcorn’s face and shoulders with the coverlet. Harry conjured a handkerchief and handed it to Jewel to wipe her eyes and nose.

Harry pulled over a chair from the dressing table, where Professor Runcorn’s perfumes and jewelry still lay, and sat down next to the bed so that he would be at the same level as the House-elf. “Jewel,” he said, keeping his voice gentle. “You’re not in trouble. We don’t believe your mistress came to any harm while you were gone; both Healer Longbottom here and I believe she passed in her sleep. But can you tell me where you were last night and early this morning?”

“Jewel was down in the kitchens with the others,” she answered. The House-elf had wiped her eyes and nose, but her little voice sounded sad and exhausted.

“Okay,” Harry replied. “And they will confirm you were there with them?”

The House-elf nodded. “Jewel has a husband. Bobbin.”

“You do? Well, that’s lovely! Bobbin is down in the kitchens as well?”

Jewel nodded solemnly, still sniffling a little. Harry knew from Hermione, and from his time in the DMLE, that personal House-elves like Jewel were property bound to a specific family; now that Arabella was dead, the remaining Runcorn family could claim Jewel if they wanted and remove her from the castle.

Harry glanced at Hannah, who nodded at him as well; she knew a lot about House-elves from her time as the manager of the Leaky Cauldron. “I need to ask you something important, all right?” Harry said.

Jewel looked up at him, her wide yellow eyes sad.

Harry continued. “You have served your mistress here at Hogwarts, but now that she has passed away, the other Runcorns might decide to take you away from here, and legally, they would be allowed to do so. Healer Longbottom, the other professors, and I will talk to them, but if it comes down to it…if you do not wish to go, if you wish to remain at Hogwarts with your husband, we can free you.”

He raised a hand to halt her from speaking. “I don’t say this to upset you. After a lifetime of service, we think you deserve the choice. And you don’t have to decide right this minute. But at any point, you can come find me or Professor Longbottom and tell us what you decide, all right?”

Jewel burst into tears again, and Harry conjured her a fresh handkerchief. “Do you want me to summon Bobbin here?” he asked her. “Or do you want to go down to the kitchens to him? You can, you know. If we need you again, we can come fetch you.”

Hannah, behind and just to the side of Harry, nodded kindly. “We don’t believe you did anything wrong. Your Mistress passed peacefully, warm in her bed, in the place she wanted to be.”

Jewel nodded, then disappeared with a pop.

Harry rose from the chair purposefully and turned to Hannah. “I need to get a message to Hermione and find out what legal recourse we have,” he said. “But I’ve got no idea where she is; she’s constantly traveling these days.” He paused, concentrating for a moment, then, after casting his Patronus Charm, sent Prongs off with a message to Ron, who presumably was in London at the shop. Both Harry and Hannah watched as Prongs disappeared through the stone wall of the castle, then turned back toward each other. Harry continued speaking. “The thought of forcing this elderly House-elf out of Hogwarts, away from her husband, so she can work until she dies…it makes me nauseated.”

“We went to school with Professor Runcorn’s granddaughter,” Hannah replied. “Leanne.”

Harry remembered, vaguely, a dark-haired girl. “Katie Bell’s friend?”

“Best friend,” Hannah said. “They’re not bad people. I really don’t think they’d force Jewel to leave. She’s elderly. She’s of limited use to them anyway.”

“Your mouth to God’s ears, Hannah,” Harry said, sighing. “You should go back to the Hospital Wing. It could be hours before the DMLE gets here.” When Hannah made to protest, he smiled at her. “I’ll find some way to amuse myself. I’m sure you’ve got reams of paperwork to do to document the death; you know the Ministry loves that rubbish. I’ll send you a Patronus when you’re needed.”

Hannah nodded, but as she was leaving, she turned back toward him. “Harry,” she said. “You know, you don’t talk at all like a Minister for Magic.”

Harry grinned at her. “That’s why I quit while I was ahead,” he said, chuckling.

The apartment was silent after Hannah left. Harry, a seasoned Auror, had no fear of Runcorn’s dead body; he checked her bookshelves for something to read, then settled into the comfortable, worn green velvet settee in front of the fireplace. Snape had probably planted his batlike arse on it when this had been his apartment; thinking of that, Harry intentionally placed his feet, clad in his leather boots, on it, and crossed his legs while he read.

Runcorn had copies of all of Rita Skeeter’s books. Harry had selected the one about Dumbledore’s Army, which he had never read; he and Ginny were on the cover, and as he looked at it, the print versions of himself and Ginny looked at him and snickered behind their hands. Just as he was about to start the chapter about his and Ginny’s marriage, another familiar white light entered the apartment through the castle wall and, as it settled in front of him, assumed the shape of Hermione’s otter. “Harry,” it said as it capered happily in a circle. “I can come to Hogwarts if you need me. Let me know where I can come in.”

Harry sent Prongs in reply, telling her to Apparate to the front gates and let him know when she had arrived. He couldn’t leave the apartment and he wasn’t sure if the fireplace was connected to the Floo network.

He was chuckling his way through a largely wrong description of his own wedding when Hermione’s otter reappeared; he sent Prongs back, again, with instructions to come to the apartment belonging to the Slytherin Head of House. Harry took out the Map from the pocket of his robes and watched Hermione’s purple dot as she walked through the grounds into the castle, then headed down into the dungeons. Around her, the students were on the move, being led back to their Houses by the Prefects and Heads. Harry knew Hermione would not be stopped; like himself and Ron, Hermione had always had free rein through the castle and grounds.

Within a few moments, the door opened, and Hermione entered the apartment. As Harry rose from the settee to meet her, Hermione hugged him warmly and kissed his cheek. “Wow, it’s real, isn’t it?” she said. “You, here at Hogwarts again.” He was surprised to see tears in her eyes. “Oh, Harry, seeing you here…it all has me a bit wobbly.”

Harry smiled at her. “It’s taken some getting used to, being on this side of things. But I’m glad you were in town.”

“Ron and I were having breakfast.”

“You didn’t have to rush over here then,” Harry replied. He’d forgotten it was still fairly early in the morning.

“Oh, please,” Hermione scoffed. “You know we drop everything for you.” She shrugged. “Besides, Ron wanted to come as well. I had to talk him out of it.” Then she turned serious. “Tell me, what’s happened?”

Harry lifted his chin toward the bedroom. “Arabella Runcorn, Transfiguration professor and Head of Slytherin House.”

Hermione glanced into the room and saw the body. “She died?” she whispered.

Harry nodded. “Hannah confirmed it was a stroke. There’s no sign of anything suspicious. But that isn’t why I called you here. Professor Runcorn has a House-elf. Elderly, and married, apparently, to another elf here at Hogwarts.”

Hermione nodded. “House-elves cannot marry or breed without permission of their owners. If her House-elf is married, then Professor Runcorn knew about it and permitted it.”

“Good,” Harry said. “I told the House-elf that there was the possibility the Runcorn family could claim her and take her away from Hogwarts. And I also told her that, if she did not wish to leave, us freeing her was not out of the question.”

Hermione bit her lip a little. “Legally speaking, the House-elf is bound to the family; the elf’s individual marriage status has no effect on that. When Professor Runcorn died, ownership of the elf passed to her heir. Do you know who that is?”

After Harry shook his head, Hermione continued. “I can check. There will be records in the DMCR as well as her will.” Then she paused for a moment. She had started to pace a little. “It’s very possible that, if Professor Runcorn approved her elf’s marriage, she may have also made provisions in her will that freed the elf upon her mistress’s death. I’ve seen that happen too.” She paused again, tapping her finger against her mouth, which was her custom when she was thinking. “But even if that’s not the case, in my experience, families in this situation tend to be…open to compensation.”

Hermione paused in front of Harry and placed both her hands on both of his arms, fondly. “I want you to let me handle this. I’ve done this many times.”

“You’re the expert,” he said.

“And thank you for contacting me. Really. I miss you terribly, you know.”

When Harry had been Head of the DMLE, he had seen Hermione most days, even if briefly. But now she was traveling all the time, and he was here at Hogwarts. Hermione came to Harry’s Sunday roast and dinner during the week when she could, but it was much less often lately than it had been in the past. “You could just quit being Supreme Mugwump, you know,” he said. “We need a Transfiguration professor now.”

She laughed. “Who says I need to quit? Dumbledore did both.” Her face fell a little. “You all right, Harry? Don’t you hide anything from me.”

“I’m a little wobbly myself sometimes,” he admitted. “It’s been an adjustment, being here.” Hermione nodded knowingly, then reached out and cradled his cheeks in her hands. “You should come by when you can,” he said, choking down his emotions. “Come see Trio with me. She’s huge and gorgeous.”

“I will,” Hermione said. “I promise you, I will. It’s been too long.”

Harry gave her the details about Jewel and Bobbin before she left. Though he was relieved Hermione knew what to do -- and was willing to handle things herself, which would be a huge asset -- it did feel more than a little bittersweet to see her. Harry missed her and Ron with a terrible ache, and it seemed like being back at Hogwarts without them only made it worse.

All Transfiguration classes were cancelled for the next two days, both out of respect for Professor Runcorn and to allow the faculty to regroup. Harry stayed late the next evening to attend a mandatory meeting for all the Hogwarts professors.

Aurora and Neville had decided that it would be best for multiple faculty members to share the load of teaching Professor Runcorn’s courses instead of foisting the full load onto one person. Credentials had been pulled, and by the end of the meeting -- which was blessedly short and direct, much to Harry’s relief -- Aurora and Bill would share the teaching duties for the N.E.W.T.-level courses, while all the others would be divided up by a group of faculty members.

Much to his relief, Harry had been assigned the two first-year classes. He’d hardly seen Elizabeth and the Muggle-born students this term, since they were much too young for his tutoring sessions, and he was looking forward to checking in with them and seeing how they had adjusted to life at Hogwarts. But Runcorn’s death had also left a vacancy for the Slytherin Head of House, and that would be a much more difficult role to fill.

At Hogwarts, a Head of House was expected to live in the castle full-time except for school holidays and summers. Because of this requirement, Heads of Houses were normally single, widowed, or, if married, were married to other faculty or staff members, like Neville and Hannah. There were small apartments for each Head of House that were close to their corresponding House dormitory, mostly for emergencies. But most important of all, a Head of House had to be skilled at wrangling the hundred or more students in each House: to know them all by name, to motivate them, to learn their strengths and weaknesses in order to advise them, and to make final decisions on privileges and punishments.

Harry was only partly surprised when, a week after Professor Runcorn’s death, Neville came up to his office at teatime to formally ask him to become Head of Slytherin House. Harry did not want to nix the idea right away, as it was an honor to be asked, especially as a new faculty member, but he really was torn. “I’m running my study groups three times a week,” Harry told Neville. “I’m coming in on Tuesdays and Thursdays, now, to teach Transfiguration, and…if you want me to be Head of House, that means I’ll have to live here. It’s a load of other additional duties.” He paused, sighing, then continued. “I don’t know what Ginny would say,” he said honestly. “She wants me home, and I’ve promised her I would be.” He took a sip of his tea. “What has Robert said? Parvati? Maisie? Rolf and Luna?”

Neville shook his head.

“You want me to do it,” Harry said.

Neville nodded. “Aurora believes you can whip Slytherin into shape. They’re last in place for the House Cup, by a lot, and it’s been that way for quite some time. They need a strong, guiding hand, one that’s not going to allow them to get away with everything they did under Arabella.”

“So no Rolf and Luna, and no Maisie either. She’s much too kind-hearted.”

“Harry, we need a bit of an arsehole, and you’re it,” Neville said, chuckling. “Tough love, brother. Too bad you’re the best.” He drank his own tea. “It’s also a huge benefit, in my opinion, that you were never a Slytherin. No House loyalty.”

“Are there any other former Slytherins on staff?” Harry asked.

“No,” Neville scoffed. “A bunch of the wizards that would have been the right age to work here ended up in Azkaban or fled the country after the war. Not that they were ever a talented bunch to begin with. Draco was the best of them.”

“I’d say we could ask him,” Harry said, “but he and his new wife just had a baby.”

“Same with Robert,” Neville said, referring to the Ancient Runes professor. “He’s on his second wife, and she’s had two or three in the past few years.”

Harry shook his head. “I can’t give you a definitive answer right now, Nev. I need to talk to Ginny. I can’t agree to something this big without talking it over with her.”

“Talk it over with her during Christmas,” Neville replied. “It would only be until the end of the year, unless you fell madly in love with Slytherin House.”

“Unlikely,” Harry replied.

And as Neville left and Harry prepared to go home for the evening, he was aware that part of him was hoping Ginny would tell him no…and part of him was dreading if she told him yes.

Chapter Text

December 2029

Harry broached the subject of becoming Head of Slytherin House the next evening, when Teddy, Vick, and Adora came to dinner. To his surprise, Teddy and Vick did not dismiss the idea right away. “The first and main question I have,” Teddy said, “is, how are you feeling?”

Harry, who was bouncing a giggling Adora on his knee, thought a bit, then nodded. “I feel…okay.” It was, indeed, the truth. “Better than okay. Aside from some fatigue if I haven’t slept well, I feel pretty normal, actually.”

“It’s been nearly a year since your treatment,” Ginny, who was seated next to him on the sofa, pointed out. “Not having the stress of the goings-on at the Ministry has been good for you.” She turned her head to face Teddy and Vick. “He comes home around five, we have a nice dinner here or go down to the pub, he’ll work a bit in the study if no one’s come over, and then he’s in bed between ten and eleven. Early to bed, early to rise. And it’s been ages since he’s needed the cane, even when we go to see James play.”

“It was around this time that I was supposed to move into full-time work anyway,” Harry added.

“But it’s more than full-time, Uncle,” Vick pointed out. “If you’re HOH, you’re always on duty, in a way.”

“Do they have anyone else?” Teddy asked.

Harry shook his head. Adora was still giggling. “No. The other faculty members who would be suitable have young children. And Neville told me that he and Aurora want someone who’s going to be serious about discipline.”

“You’re the best candidate, honestly,” Teddy continued. “You know how to keep an eye on them. There’s no way they can manipulate you.”

“I need to speak to Al and Scorpius as well,” Harry said. “Learn a bit more about the dynamics of the House. They were both bullied a lot when they were in school, and not all of it was from Slytherin.” He stopped bouncing Adora for a moment, testing to see if she was content, but she shouted, “More, Papa!” and Harry started up again.

At the same time, he continued speaking. “Coming from it objectively…they’re not bad kids, or at least, most of them aren’t any worse than any of the troublemakers from the other Houses. There are some that need stricter management, I think; that bunch has taken advantage of some things. But I get the sense that many of them are embarrassed, even ashamed at what their relatives have done, thirty years on.”

“Like Draco and Scorpius,” Ginny said.

“Exactly,” Harry agreed. “And if Al and Scorpius’s friendship has taught me anything, it’s not fair to make assumptions about anyone based on their family name or history.” He paused, then went on. “I’m still not sure,” he said, looking down at Adora, his first granddaughter, whom he loved with an intensity that surprised even him. “If I’m over at Hogwarts all the time, it’s going to be harder for me to see you all. I don’t know if it’s worth that kind of sacrifice. Not after I’ve missed so much already.”

“We’ll talk about it more, sweetheart,” Ginny said, stroking his arm gently. “You still have some time to decide.”

Christmas was still Harry’s favorite holiday, even now that his children were all grown. It was one of the busiest times of the year for the Triple W -- the shortened name the family used for Weasleys’ Wizarding Wheezes -- but, after Christmas, Ron, Hugo, George, Angelina, Roxanne, and Fred always closed the shops and took some time off. They often came over to the Potters’ house, or the Potters came to them, and they could scrimmage close to two Quidditch teams with the talented adults and a good number of the kids. It was more than a bit unfair to have James play with the family, but the break seemed to amuse him.

Harry had not been able to play in quite a few years. Before his joint repairs, the arthritis in his hips and knees made sitting on a broom painful for him; so he, instead, had typically assisted James, refereeing the games from ground level. It was always time he treasured with his eldest son. Harry also loved watching Ginny play: she was still sharp, still strong, and still formidable even at close to fifty years old.

Ginny had chosen to give up her Quidditch career once James was born. Though she could have continued, she’d had a few bad crashes and falls and did not want to run the risk of seriously injuring herself or, worse, leaving Harry a single parent to both Teddy and James. After she left the Harpies, Ginny had found fulfillment in her novel writing, which had made her quite wealthy, and her work at the Daily Prophet. Over the years, she had worked her way up to associate editor and was influential in what the paper was able to publish, much to the benefit of her family. She was vehemently against propaganda and gossip; she always wished for the Prophet to be a serious, reliable newspaper, as it had once been before Cornelius Fudge.

The Potters’ house was still full the morning after Christmas. Al and Bit had both come in from London, James was staying in his old bedroom, and Scorpius, Teddy, Vick, and Adora had come over for breakfast. At ten in the morning, the rest of the guests arrived -- Hermione and Ron, Rose and Hugo, Charlie, George and Angelina, Roxanne and Fred. Ron asked the question that was on everyone’s mind: “Harry? Are you playing today?”

“Yes,” Harry answered, to much cheering and whooping from the kids.

The scrimmage began around the dining tables: Ginny and George would be leading one team, while Charlie and Ron would be leading the other. They did try to match the teams as evenly as possible. There would be no Seekers; the game would be scored solely on goals.

More guests filled the house in preparation for the game, which would begin at noon. Chairs were either conjured or set up on the lawn -- once word got out that Harry would be playing for the first time in years, most of the family had shown up, eager to see what would happen.

At half past eleven, Harry, carrying his broom, came out to the back garden and met Ginny, who was already warming up with George, Angelina, Hugo, and Fred. “Take it easy on me?” he asked her.

She snickered. “Never in your life, Harry Potter.”

“Eh, that’s why I love you,” he replied, grinning at her.

Harry’s broom had been on the rack in the hall closet, waiting for him. It was a Firebolt Supreme, considered the finest broom ever made in Great Britain, and was, as all Firebolts were, worth a fortune. Ginny had bought the Firebolt Supreme for Harry for his fortieth birthday, along with one for herself for her own birthday. Once the kids were back at Hogwarts in September, she and Harry had gone out for nightly flights around the Wye Valley that neither of them would ever forget…

At the time, Harry had joked that if they had a fourth child as a result, they’d have to name them Firebolt Potter.

Harry put on his gloves and pads -- he would be playing Beater today -- and chanced a look back at the family members who were seated in lawn chairs and on blankets equipped with Warming Charms. “Go on, Dad!” James shouted at him; his broom, a top-of-the-line Thunderbolt, was clenched in his hand, as he would be refereeing from the air.

Harry grinned again at his eldest son and the assembled Weasleys, Potters, and Lupins, then let go of his Firebolt and let it hover next to him. When he had removed it from the broom closet, it seemed joyous at their reunion and eager for the game. Then, as easy and effortless as flying had always been for him, Harry placed a foot on one of the bipods and, standing on it, rose gracefully into the air before mounting the broom fully.

“Oh, shit,” Harry heard Teddy say as he rose into the air. “It’s on.”

“Finally,” James replied. “I was getting sick of seeing Mum wipe the floor with everyone every year.”

“Uncle Charlie has always put up a good fight,” Dominque said from her spot next to her sister. “And Uncle Ron as well.”

Harry started to warm up, too, getting acquainted again with his broom. He’d been out a few times since his Healers had said he was finally well enough to fly again, but he was, in his opinion, still pretty rusty. Within a few minutes, Roxanne and Rose had joined him. Charlie and Ron had decided that the agile, speedy young women would play Chaser while Charlie and Harry, who were both still physically strong, would play as Beaters opposite George and Hugo.

At noon sharp, the game began. The hardest part, at first, was for Harry to intentionally aim Bludgers at Ginny and Angelina, but that was his role, and he did genuinely want his team to win. Ginny, as the most talented player on both sides, was prepared to be fouled and was skilled at evasive maneuvers. Over the years, the family had played in enough games opposite one another that they all knew how to be effective without playing dirty; it was the legacy that James had carried into his own Quidditch career.

Harry and Charlie’s role was, primarily, to protect their Chasers and their Keeper, Ron, with their own bodies if necessary. When intercepting Bludgers, Harry tried, as much as possible, to mind his hips and knees and keep the blows to his arms, shoulders, shins, and back. He’d be bruised and banged up pretty well in the morning, he knew.

After four quarters of half an hour each, with the final quarter played absolutely furiously, the team consisting of Ron, Charlie, Harry, Roxanne, and Rose had won…by one goal.

“Dad, you’re never allowed not to play again!” James said, giddy with joy, as Harry dismounted his broom. “Even if you’re eighty!”

Harry was so exhausted that he lay flat on the slushy ground in all his gear, his Firebolt Supreme still vibrating in his hand. “Don’t move me,” he ordered. “Just bury me here, thank you.”

“I’m too old for this shit,” Ron said, lying down beside him.

“Me, too,” said Charlie, sitting on the ground as well. “I’m almost a bloody senior citizen.”

“Oh, you know you loved it,” Ginny said teasingly after she cleanly and gracefully dismounted her own Firebolt Supreme. She, too, looked tired but exhilarated. “Good game, boys.” She sat down on the ground next to her husband and brothers.

Harry, who was still splayed on the ground like a starfish, heard more comments from the family around him: Uncle Harry and Uncle Charlie together, whoa! Uncle Harry hasn’t played in like six years. It’s been quite a few years for Rosie, too! It’s usually Louis in that position, but he’s off with his girlfriend this year.

“I’ve been telling everyone in Puddlemere,” James said resolutely. “My dad and my Uncle Charlie are the best natural fliers I’ve ever seen. They both could have played for England, too, along with Mum.”

Charlie sat up quickly and tackled Ginny, then kissed her on her face as she squealed. “We beat the Quidditch Queen, finally!”

Harry forced himself to sit up. He felt more than a bit nauseous, but Rose sat down next to him and gave him a side hug. “You were fantastic, Rosie-bean,” Harry said as he put an arm around his niece. “You and Roxanne. Well done.”

“Thank you, Uncle,” Rose replied. “It’s been so long since I played! I thought I’d forgotten!”

“You never forget,” Ron told her proudly. Harry saw Roxanne’s parents, George and Angelina, who had played on the other team, hugging her and kissing her. He was so very proud of the girls, of course, but his nephews Hugo and Fred had played impressively as well.

Ron and Charlie eventually rose up from the slushy ground, and both of them helped Harry up. Once he was standing, Harry was seized by an overwhelming wave of nausea and, before he could stop himself, he bent over and vomited. “Dad!” he heard Bit shout and saw her rush over, Scorpius at her heels.

There was a look of fear in her eyes, and Harry put up a hand to try to keep her calm. “I’m fine,” he reassured her, rising up again while Ron Vanished his vomit. “I just pushed myself too hard.” He chuckled and wiped his mouth with the back of his glove. “I puked like it was my first game.”

James had put an arm around his sister and was smiling. “One could argue it’s not really a Quidditch game unless someone’s bleeding or puking,” he said. “Or both at the same time. Come on, little sissy. Dad’s made of stern stuff, you know that.”

“Go on, Bitty,” Harry said gently. “Go inside. I’ll be along shortly.”

Bit turned away hesitantly, her freckled face a little pale, and behind her, Harry saw Scorpius raise his arm to put his hand on her shoulder. At the last second, though, Scorpius forced his arm down and back to his side, then followed her, unconsciously, towards the house, even though there was no real reason for him to; Al had remained in his lawn chair. But for someone as astute as Harry, from long years of experience reading the most subtle cues of body language, these gestures were significant.

And Harry also knew what this meant because he’d done that kind of thing plenty of times himself as a young man…when he was trying to hide his feelings for Ginny from her family, from his own friends. Thinking back, Scorpius and Lily had been doing this kind of thing for months -- the careful avoidances, the quiet conversations, the significant looks between them.

The kids were both adults now, and Harry wasn’t sure what would happen between them. But he knew, now, that something was going on between Scorpius Malfoy and his daughter.

As the Christmas holidays progressed and as all their children gradually returned to their own homes, Harry and Ginny spent more time alone together and spoke more about recent events at Hogwarts. Harry was still uncertain about whether he wanted to accept the role of Head of Slytherin House, but he had not received any word from Neville about anyone else accepting the position. Harry had to acknowledge the possibility that no one else had been asked.

Truthfully, Harry was waiting for Ginny to make the decision for him. He would do it only if she thought he should. But the month was ending, and Harry was due back at Hogwarts directly after New Year’s.

On Saturday evening, three days before New Year’s Eve, Harry and Ginny had gone out alone for dinner and a pint at the Welsh Green. They took their usual table in the back room, where wizards typically sat, and enjoyed the rainbow blinking fairy lights and fake holly that still lined the windows. Cars drove up and down the street, and there were a few people walking to and fro, visiting the village shops before closing time.

Ginny told Harry that she wanted him to take the position as Slytherin Head of House.

“You don’t have to come with me,” Harry replied, grasping his wife’s warm hand in his on the table. “I’ll have a small apartment in the dungeons, close to the Slytherin Common Room. It’ll be cold, and there’s only a few small windows to let in the light --”

“You really think I would stay here alone?” Ginny asked. “When I’ve just gotten you home more often?”

“I don’t want to interrupt your life with this,” Harry replied. “And I don’t intend for this to be permanent. It’s just for the remainder of the school year at most.”

“Sweetheart,” Ginny said gently. “Destiny calls you, and you follow. Always.” She cradled the side of his face gently in her hand. “But yes, I am accompanying you to that terrible, tiny apartment in the dungeons, because I cannot be without you. We’ll bring Ezekiel and some of our own things, so we’ll be comfortable.” She grinned impishly. “And I’m getting a job at Hogwarts as well, so at least I’ll be paid for my trouble.”

“What do you want to do? We need a Transfiguration professor --”

She scoffed. “I’m not leaving the Prophet. But I can do…a school newspaper.”

“You’re right,” Harry told her. He thought, then, of Ginny’s friend Colin Creevey and his camera. “Hogwarts never had a school paper?”

“Not in our time, nor the kids’ either,” Ginny said. “And if there was one, Hermione definitely would have found copies.”

“I can’t believe that,” Harry said. “Well, that’s brilliant, of course, but you’re brilliant.” He leaned in closer to her, chuckling now. “Have you been considering this, you little minx? You came up with that answer awfully quickly.”

Ginny beamed. “What, finding a legitimate way to spend time at Hogwarts with my sweet husband, whose company never makes me weary?” Harry still adored the way her brown eyes crinkled. “I’ll do a school paper and a writing club,” she continued purposefully. “I’d bet there’s a ton of girls like me, writing stories about taking vampires as their lovers.”

Harry laughed. “I’ve only met a few vampires and none of them struck me as the lover type.”

“That’s why it’s romantasy, my love. It’s all the rage these days, you’ll see.”

As always, Ginny was as good as her word. She and Harry spent the last few days before New Year’s packing up some of their clothes and personal belongings. Ezekiel, their Kneazle, was used to having freedom of movement over the house and property, but Ginny did not want to send him to Grimmauld Place unless he was not coping well at Hogwarts; she and Harry would take him out in the evenings with them for walks, so that he had a chance to stretch his legs and hunt.

Harry and Ginny formally moved into the apartment belonging to the Slytherin Head of House on the 2nd of January. When they walked in, the apartment was sparkling clean and their personal items, including Ginny’s writing desk with her typewriter and some of their family photos, had been placed around the main room. The bed was beautifully made and their clothes and toiletries were in the wardrobes and bathroom.

Before they could ask which House-elves were responsible, two appeared: Jewel and her husband Bobbin. Thanks to Hermione’s skills and knowledge, Jewel was now free. Professor Runcorn had, indeed, made a provision in her will that freed her House-elf upon her death. Jewel had chosen to remain at Hogwarts, and both she and Bobbin had insisted on taking care of the Potters personally while they lived in the dungeon apartment. Ginny quickly Flooed back to their home in Hereford -- the house had been connected to the apartment on a temporary basis, so that Harry and Ginny could go back and forth as needed -- and returned with some old garments she had hand-knitted for Bit when she was younger. She presented Jewel with a lovely patchwork cardigan and a flowery knit headband. The House-elf had cried, but wore them proudly.

Harry walked into the Slytherin Common Room that evening, after all the students who had gone away for the holidays had returned on the train and had dinner. He stood within view of the portraits of Slughorn and Snape; both of the deceased professors sat in their portraits, watching the common room.

“Good evening, everyone,” Harry said, when the students had settled a bit. “I’ll get down to the point, since I know you’re all tired after your long journey and full of Christmas pudding. I have been appointed as the new Head of Slytherin House.”

He paused, letting the students react. Some were trying to hide their excitement and relief, while others looked annoyed or even angry.

“I am sure you are all wondering why someone who was in Gryffindor as a student is now Head of your House,” Harry continued. “All I can say about that is that it is not a requirement that a professor who serves as Head of House be an alumnus of that House. It is a courtesy. Currently, the staffing at Hogwarts does not have a suitable candidate for Head of Slytherin House who was also a Slytherin as a student. So you have me. Congratulations, or I’m sorry, whichever you prefer.”

There was some snickering, which pleased Harry. He was dealing with the Slytherins now, and his approach had to be different. “But in case any of you were concerned about my loyalty, I wanted to reassure you all that I’m very comfortable here.” He nodded towards Snape’s portrait. “Professor Snape knew me very well. Didn’t you?”

“I loathed you,” Snape sneered.

“Right,” Harry said smoothly, as more of the students laughed openly. “Well, I’m the reason your portrait wasn’t taken out of the castle and burned, so you’re welcome for that. And Professor Slughorn -- I was a member of your club, wasn’t I?”

Slughorn smiled pompously. “You were the crowning jewel of my club, Harry Potter. You and your mother.”

“Yes, my mother,” Harry said, nodding. “The Muggle-born witch. She was among the most talented of the age. She and my father would have accomplished great things, had Voldemort not murdered them.”

There was silence now. Harry went on. “In case any of you needed a reminder of who I am and why I have a vested interest in the success of this House.”

He paused, letting the moment hang, and then went on. “When I was a student at Hogwarts, I learned that Voldemort scoured Slytherin House for followers. His first and most vehement followers were Slytherins. And they were easy pickings, with the prevailing attitude of pureblood supremacy…and, possibly, their practice of marrying their first cousins.” There was more snickering.

“I do not wish to see any of you become easy pickings for another Dark witch or wizard,” Harry said. “And they are out there, still.” He looked around the room, calm and collected, glancing at their faces. “In case there are any amongst you who romanticize the war, or Voldemort, or the Dark Arts, I want you to remember this fact: there are hundreds of former Slytherins rotting away in Azkaban Prison, if they’re not already six feet under.”

He paused again, watching their reactions. “Professor Runcorn was quite elderly,” Harry continued, “and from my understanding, some of you have long taken delight in hoodwinking her. That will no longer happen under my watch. I expect all of you, at all times, to represent Slytherin House to the best of your abilities. That includes excelling in your classes and maintaining your best behavior.

“I will not permit bullying, intimidation, blackmail, manipulation, or any sort of violence. I will not permit discussion of pureblood supremacy. I will not permit discussion, practice, or instruction in the Dark Arts. If any of these things happen, I will know, and I will not turn a blind eye or deaf ear, as other Heads have done.”

The common room, filled with well over a hundred students, was silent. The cunning part of Harry, the part that still regretted giving up the position of Minister for Magic, which would have been his, easily and effortlessly, relished it.

One of the angry students, whose face was dark with a scowl, finally spoke up. “You put my uncle in Azkaban,” he said.

“I do hope you’re not planning on joining him,” Harry replied fearlessly. And now, a lot of the students were snickering, or even laughing outright…

He had to get the speech back on track. “With all that being said,” he continued, “I have met many of you, and I have a good number of you in my tutoring sessions. So I know there is a lot of talent in this House. There is no reason why Slytherin House should be last in competition for the House Cup, and yet it is.”

Harry waved his wand, and some posters that Bit had helped him design and create appeared on the message boards. “Our goal for next week is to increase the number of House points awarded, compared to the week before Christmas, by twenty-five percent. It’s a modest goal; we’re starting off easy. To work toward that goal, you all will be required to behave yourselves and do well in your classes. I will get a report on students who lose House points, so I will know who you are and why you lost them. I’ll know who is assigned detention. And I’ll also know who was awarded House points. All of those facts will be taken into account when I decide on privileges.”

He continued to look out into the crowd of students. Some looked relieved, actually, while others looked nervous. “Let’s say that the Quidditch team requests extra practice sessions. You’ll need my approval for that. I’ll look at your House points. If those of you on the team are losing them, or if you have detention, the answer is no.” As expected, there were some cries of outrage, but Harry ignored them. “Yes, being able to play Quidditch is a privilege, not a right. And if there is a player on the team, no matter how talented they are, who is mistreating others, not attending classes regularly, or landing themselves in detention, this rule gives the captain -- or, if necessary, me -- a reason to replace them. The same goes for those of you in the Stunt Flyers, or for those of you in Movement.” Harry honed his attention on the ones that looked the most upset. “It’s a simple calculation on my part. It has nothing to do with your name, your abilities, or my personal feelings toward you.”

Then he leveled his attention off, smiling a little at them. “This week, I want you to consider the consequences of your actions, or lack of action. If you do well, you will keep all your privileges. And if you fail to do your part to achieve our new goal, you will lose them.” He widened his smile. “I feel these are very simple concepts, so I’m not taking questions. I’m also not interested in whinging, so you can keep that to yourselves as well.”

There was a little more nervous laughter. He waved his wand again and some new notices appeared on the message boards. “Lastly, I’ll be updating the password personally each week. This week’s is perseverance, so that the quality will be on all of your minds.”

He glanced back up at the portraits of Slughorn and Snape, who had also been listening. Snape’s face looked carefully neutral, but Slughorn’s looked as if he approved, just a bit. “Right,” Harry said. “I do want to wish you all a good week. I will be remaining in my office on the first floor; the sunlight is good for my Vitamin D. However, I will also be occupying Professor Runcorn’s old apartment with my wife, Mrs. Potter. I want to hear as much good about all of you as possible, and the least amount of bad. Nothing bad would be preferred.”

With that, he headed back towards the entrance to the common room. The students made a path for him. He did not stop to listen to what they had to say; he would know for certain soon enough.

Now that it was all done, Harry was determined to become the best Head of House he could be. Ginny had also sacrificed her comfort and routine to move to Hogwarts, so he intended to take his new role seriously.

Over the next week, Harry put his best investigative practices to work. He ordered the House-elves that cleaned and maintained the Slytherin dormitory to check for graffiti on the walls or furniture and report what they found to him. Under the Cloak, he walked around the Slytherin table in the Great Hall at meals, frequented the study areas and club meetings, and went into the common room in the evenings, listening to conversations. He asked Snape and Slughorn’s portraits to keep an eye on the students.

Harry had a thick skin and strong control of his emotions from many years in the leadership of the Ministry of Magic, so, unlike when he was a teenager, there was probably nothing any Slytherin could say about him personally that would make him angry. He had not been asked to be Head of House to make friends with the students there. He was pleased to discover that, although there was some complaining, a majority of the Slytherins seemed to be relieved that their new Head of House would be paying attention to them. “I hope Potter goes after Belby,” Harry heard a girl say at the lunch hour. “He’s such a fat-headed arsehole.”

“He’s total shit at Quidditch, too,” another boy said. “I hope Potter kicks him off the team so we can get a real player in there.”

“Professor Potter knows about Quidditch?” a first-year Slytherin asked.

“Hell yeah, he does,” the same boy answered. He was a bit older. “Mrs. Potter played for England. Professor Potter was one of the best to ever come through here at Quidditch. His name’s all over a bunch of trophies upstairs.”

“If he thinks Belby sucks, he’ll get him out,” yet another boy said. “I think he’s deadly serious about wanting the House Cup.”

“Is it even possible?” the first-year asked. “We’re so far behind.”

“It’s more possible now than before old Runcorn snuffed it,” the same boy said. Harry did feel a little bad at his directness, but that was how kids talked, and he was actually correct. As for Belby, who was indeed one of the sons of the old Slytherin Quidditch captain, Harry was not going to kick him off the team simply because he was a bad player, but if Belby was misbehaving…

Neville seemed pleased when they met in Harry’s office on Friday for their customary late-afternoon tea. “The Slytherins are much better behaved this week,” he said. “Doing their homework, not messing around in class. I’ve heard good reports from everyone.”

“I threatened Quidditch,” Harry said, chuckling. When Neville looked a bit appalled, Harry went on. “They’re going to test me,” he said. “They have to know I’m serious.”

Harry took out the Map and laid it across his desk, watching the Slytherins as they headed toward the dungeons to get ready for dinner and their evening activities. “I will wipe out that Quidditch team before I put up with them acting like the way I knew them to be when I was a student. Or the way they treated Al and Scorpius.” He looked up at Neville, who was also watching the Map; his old friend nodded. “Same thing with the dancers and flyers. No one is immune.”

Harry sighed, then went on. “They’re not bad kids, the vast majority of them. I think they’ll be fine. But they do need structure and accountability. That wasn’t something that Arabella Runcorn was in a position to give them.” Then he stood up straighter and, unconsciously, placed his hands on his hips as he faced Neville. “We had eighteen Muggle-born students this year. We’ll probably have similar numbers in the years to come. And none, not a one, of those eighteen were Sorted into Slytherin. And to my knowledge, that’s not a fluke. What if that continues? Eventually, Slytherin House will be ostracized by numbers alone.”

Neville nodded. “I think you’re absolutely right, Harry,” he said. “That’s why Aurora and I asked you to do this. I think you’re the only one here who can give them exactly what they need at the exact time they need it.”

Chapter Text

January 2030

Ezekiel had gotten in the habit of following Harry to his office in the mornings. Technically, Ginny held the license to keep him, but there were far more dangerous creatures kept on the Hogwarts school grounds -- in fact, Fawkes, Dumbledore’s phoenix, had a higher classification. The golden Kneazle had always had a wonderful disposition and was fond of every member of the family, even the kids, but Harry knew that the beast could also be protective, even aggressive, if he thought someone in his family was threatened. Harry had to keep Ezekiel in his office when he was on the grounds with his Defense and Charms practical groups, so he had placed blankets and beds around until Ezekiel clearly began to favor the sofa.

While Harry was outdoors, he also had frequent visits from Trio. The Qilin had not bowed to him again publicly, fortunately, but she had gotten into the habit of leaving her pen when he was outside and coming to him for praise and affection. Luna and Rolf had made her a warm vest to wear to guard her against the cold, but the weather did not seem to faze her. Trio often followed Harry as he worked with his students outside, and he was now accustomed to the happy sighs and exclamations of awe as she weaved through the student pairs with him fearlessly.

Ginny had always loved animals, but Harry had been resistant to getting too emotionally involved with another beast after Hedwig’s death. The family always kept an owl, as was customary, and both Al and Bit had pets of their own, but once the kids had all gone off to school, Ginny had desperately wanted an animal companion to keep her company while Harry was working long hours at the Ministry. It had taken Harry some time to warm up to the Kneazle, but Ezekiel had won him over, and now Trio seemed to have adopted him as a favorite, too.

Now that Ginny was living at Hogwarts, she and Luna were spending a lot of time together, more than they had in years. Ginny actually seemed very content -- she was hardly ever in the apartment in the evenings, departing soon after dinner to work on the school paper with her writing club, or play the piano for choir practice, or meet with the Art Club, or help Luna and Rolf and Miss Mayhew with the school beasts. “I’m doing research for my new series,” she insisted. “Two beautiful magizoologists in love, and all their adventures around the world together. It’ll be huge, I promise you.”

One night, only a week or so after they had moved into the dungeon apartment, Harry and Ginny were lying together in their warm, comfortable bed, which was covered in their own familiar linens from home. “Are you happy here?” Harry had asked his wife.

“Honestly? Yes,” Ginny replied. “I do miss home at times, but you were right when you said it had been quiet after the kids moved out. There’s so much to do here at Hogwarts that I hardly ever feel homesick.” She smiled. “And I get to see so many of my friends as well. Luna, Rolf, Neville, Hannah, Terry, and Maisie. I’ve missed them.” Then she laughed. “But I’ve gotten the better end of the deal, sweetheart. You get to follow the Slytherins around while I get to do all the fun things.”

Harry laughed, too. “I think they like you better than they do me.”

“Well, that’s obvious,” Ginny said. “Only one of us has the winning personality, and it’s certainly not you.”

Harry laughed harder. He’d grown quite accustomed to Ginny’s teasing. “But seriously,” she continued. “You seem much happier as well. You’ve been a bit bereft since Hermione’s been traveling so much.”

“It was hard at first, being here without her and Ron,” Harry said. “And you, honestly. Neville has Hannah, and Luna has Rolf. It’s been difficult sometimes to compartmentalize what I do here as work, and limiting that, after so many years of the lines blurring. I kept thinking I wasn’t doing enough.”

Ginny was listening to him, a soft smile on her face. She grasped one of his hands and intertwined her fingers in his.

He went on. “And a dark part of me still wonders if I made the right decision, leaving the Ministry. Giving up being Minister for Magic.”

“You know they’re going to ask you again,” Ginny said. “It’s not over, you know that.”

Harry nodded. “And I’m going to have to say no, for years and years on end.”

“I think it will get easier for you,” Ginny continued. “The more time passes, and the further away you are from all of it.”

Harry was silent for a little while, staring at his wife’s face, her hands. The large pink morganite and diamond ring he had bought her in North Carolina last spring for their anniversary glinted on her hand. “I hope you’re right,” he said quietly.

“Oh, I’m always right, sweetheart,” she replied, chuckling a little. Then she leaned in and put her lips on his. “You don’t realize it yet,” she said, between kisses on his cheeks, his mouth, his nose. “But you’re having fun here.”

Close to the end of January, Harry was more than a bit surprised, but pleased, to receive an owl from Hermione. He had invited her to come and see Trio, and she and Ron both were always welcome at Hogwarts, especially now that Harry and Ginny were living in the castle.

In her note, though, Hermione said that she wanted to talk to Harry in private. When he told Ginny what she had written, he also said that he thought it was likely Hermione wanted to talk about Ministry business. Ginny, for her part, did not seem angry, but reminded him that he should no longer be concerned with the goings-on at the Ministry, and neither should Hermione. Both Harry and Hermione had resigned, and both of them were now attempting to move on with their lives. But Harry had also acknowledged, both to himself and to his wife, that letting go of what he had spent nearly thirty years investing in was harder than he thought.

The Quidditch season was still ongoing, and Ginny left Hogwarts to attend games nearly every weekend for her reporting at the Prophet. So, Hermione came to Hogwarts on a Saturday and agreed to stay for dinner at the Three Broomsticks in honor of Professor McGonagall. Ginny and Ron would be joining them as well, along with Neville, Hannah, Luna, and Rolf. The group of them had not seen each other, altogether, since the dinner that had been held at the Potters’ in Hermione’s honor more than a year before.

Harry walked out to the castle gates to meet Hermione and felt genuine joy at the sight of his beloved friend. It was true, he felt, that absence made the heart grow fonder. “I have a present for you,” Harry said after they had hugged and kissed each other, then pulled a knitted Qilin stuffie out of one of the pockets of his robes. “Our Muggle-born girls made it, the ones from Grimmauld. Frankie and Oradina.”

“It’s absolutely precious,” Hermione said, laughing genuinely. “How are the girls doing?”

“They were both Sorted into Gryffindor. I told you, right?”

“You did,” Hermione said, taking Harry’s hand as they walked together down the path into the grounds. “That’s wonderful.”

“They’re still the best of friends. I have them in my Transfiguration classes. Ginny and Luna know them, too, from the Art Club. The girls have been working on their knitting spells, and they insisted on making this for you when I told them about Trio and the Eyrie.” Harry laughed. “The way their little eyes and faces lit up when I told them the story. God, you forget how it sounds to them, you know?”

“I adore it,” Hermione said, still beaming over the Qilin toy. “Are they doing well in class?”

“Oradina is still shy,” Harry replied. “Frankie’s bold enough for the both of them, though, and cheeky. She idolizes Ginny, wants to be a Quidditch player like her. And I have Brian, the boy you met, as well. He and Lizzy Longbottom were fast friends on the train, and both are in Hufflepuff together. Neville and Hannah are glad they put in the effort to bring her to London for her first ride on the Hogwarts Express. They wanted her to have the experience.”

“I’m so happy they’re all settling in well and making friends,” Hermione said. “I remember my first year, how huge an adjustment it was until I became friends with you and Ron.”

“I’m glad you’re here,” Harry said, nudging her affectionately. “Come, let’s go see our girl, and then we’ll have a turn ‘round the lake and chat. Unless you want to go to the library?”

“Not today,” Hermione said, beaming again. She tucked the Qilin toy into the pocket of her robes, so that its little knitted head, complete with dangling yarn tendrils, was peeking out.

They walked together through the grounds down to the edge of the forest, where the beast pens were kept. “I did tell some students you were coming,” Harry said.

“Who?”

Harry beamed, then pointed at a pair of teenage twins who were standing close to the pens. “Lorcan and Lysander have journalism in their blood, you see --”

Hermione laughed in reply.

“And they have joined the staff of Hogwarts’ new student newspaper, the Dragon’s Flame.”

Hermione gasped. “You’re right! Hogwarts has never had a newspaper!”

“Ginny’s idea,” Harry said. “She’s at it two nights a week with the students. She and Luna are setting up the printing press. The inaugural issue is set for Valentine’s Day.”

“Oh, my gosh,” Hermione said. “Harry…” She was speechless for a moment, and her eyes had filled with tears.

“The twins are here to report exclusively on this historic event,” Harry continued. “The Supreme Mugwump of the International Confederation of Wizards is visiting with the Qilin who chose her at the Election. They’ve scooped even the Daily Prophet.”

Harry greeted Lorcan and Lysander, who waved back enthusiastically. “Oi, Pothead!” they said.

“They can only call me that in private,” Harry said, chuckling. “They caught me wearing my Best Buds t-shirt under my sweater.”

Hermione greeted them warmly. “But you’re nearly grown men!” she said. “I haven’t seen either of you in ages. How old are you now?”

“Almost sixteen,” the twins said in unison.

“How’s big Hugo?” Lysander asked.

“Big as ever,” Hermione answered. “And always at the shop with his dad and Freddie.” Then she laughed again. “I am relieved he’s no longer making mischief here, though. And so is Professor Longbottom, I’m sure.”

Lorcan and Lysander spent a few minutes catching up with Hermione, who asked about their parents and how they were faring at Hogwarts. Harry had a lot to add about the popular Ravenclaws, who were doing well preparing for their exams in the spring.

Then the four of them walked over to Trio’s pen, where she stood waiting. She cantered back and forth happily when she saw Hermione and Harry, then kicked her hind legs in the air eagerly when they greeted her. “Oh, it’s been too long!” Hermione exclaimed, wiping away a few tears as she laughed. “I should have come to see her earlier. She’s so beautiful!”

“She follows Professor Potter around,” Lysander said. “And our mum. She seems fond of her, too.”

“I’m so glad she’s doing well here,” Hermione said. “No one’s been cruel to her, have they?”

“I’m keeping an eye on her,” Harry reassured her. “And Luna and Rolf do as well, of course. But no, the students adore her. It’s an enormous honor to have a Qilin at Hogwarts. You know there’s a student group that helps take care of all the beasts? They meet in Hagrid’s hut.”

Lorcan nodded eagerly, his fang earrings flashing. “Yes, we argue over who will get to take her out for a walk!”

“Come,” Harry said, beckoning to Hermione. “Let’s see her, shall we?” Hermione, who had been stroking Trio’s golden-scaled head over the fencing of her pen, walked in after Harry held the gate open for her.

The Qilin trilled as Harry and Hermione walked over to her. Then Trio’s scales glowed golden and she bowed to them. Harry noted a flash behind him and saw that Lorcan was taking pictures. “Oh, we got her bowing!” Lysander said excitedly.

Hermione continued to pet Trio as the Qilin flicked her ears and purred. “Isn’t she extraordinary?” Hermione asked Harry. “I was hardly able to spend any time with her at the Election. I felt awful, but everyone was pulling me in all directions.”

“That’s understandable,” Harry said as Trio walked up to him and nosed his boots, as she was fond of doing. “But you know you can visit her here any time you like.”

They spent a bit of time in Trio’s pen as Lorcan and Lysander took more pictures and interviewed Hermione. The twins insisted on taking photos of both Harry and Hermione, with Trio standing between them. Then, after Lorcan and Lysander thought they had enough pictures, they bid farewell to Harry and Hermione and left.

Harry was accustomed to letting Trio in and out of her pen, so he opened the gate so that Trio could accompany them. “You all right with walking?” he asked Hermione. “I thought it would give us privacy, but it’s still cold. We can go inside if you want.”

Hermione shook her head. Her cheeks were getting pink. “I want to walk,” she said. “Hogwarts in winter is always so beautiful.” She took Harry’s arm again. “You’re outdoors a lot, it seems,” she observed.

“Teddy and Vick’s orders, but especially Teddy’s,” Harry replied. “He says the fresh air is good for me. He’s right, I think. I had an infection that took a while to shake a few months back, but otherwise, I’ve been all right.” He smiled at her. “How are things at the Eyrie?”

“It’s wonderful there,” Hermione said happily. “It’s one of the reasons I don’t mind the cold. You must go again sometime, especially now that you’re teaching here.” She smiled. “And I’ve been all around with Rosie. I think the best part of all of this is seeing how she’s blossomed.”

Harry nodded knowingly. “Same with all of mine. Bit wants to visit more often, now that her mum and I are living here. She and Luna want to do a big student art show in the spring.” Then he nudged Hermione. “And, don’t mention this to anyone else…but Ginny and Luna are talking about reviving the talent show.”

“Oh, no,” Hermione said, chuckling. “There’s a reason why it’s not done anymore.”

Harry also laughed. “There are quite a few retired Aurors on staff now. I think Ginny and Luna are hoping we can stop the kids from trying to murder each other.” He paused, then went on. “You know how many fights I’ve broken up? It’s honestly the highlight of my day when I get one. I get to break out the silliest old hexes.”

“I’m sure some of them consider it an honor to be hexed by you.”

They continued to walk for a while on an old, familiar rutted path towards the lake. Harry and Hermione, usually with Ron in tow, had walked the same path together many times. Trio trotted contentedly a few feet in front of them. Finally, Hermione began to speak about why she’d come to Hogwarts. “I found something interesting in the records of the Eyrie that I wanted to tell you about.”

Harry nodded, letting her speak. She went on. “In ancient times, when the Qilin was used to choose the leaders of the wizarding world, it normally bowed to two people. One female, and one male.”

“Really?” he asked, intrigued.

“Yes,” Hermione said. “And if you think back to what happened in 1932, the last time the Qilin was used in an Election -- the same thing that happened with you and me also happened with Dumbledore and Santos. That Qilin bowed to one female and one male.”

Harry nodded, and Hermione continued. “It goes back to when wizards and witches had more ingrained gender roles: chieftain and priestess, war general and healer. The Qilin uses its foresight to look for two leaders who will have important but different roles.”

“What are we then?” Harry asked.

Hermione chuckled. “I have no idea. But I found these records in the Eyrie, and I was intrigued, so I looked more and talked to some of the loremasters there. As the ancient ceremony of the Walk of the Qilin was adopted as the means to choose the Supreme Mugwump, there was also the issue that female candidates for Supreme Mugwump were exceedingly rare. The Qilin bowed to the male because all the candidates were male, but it never got the chance to choose the female.”

Harry nodded. “Or if it did choose the female, it was never recorded.”

“Exactly!” Hermione exclaimed proudly. “We’re also similar in age…and so were Dumbledore and Santos, when the Qilin bowed to them both.” She squeezed Harry’s arm, seemingly relieved he was following along with her. “Now I don’t know exactly what to make of it, since the histories are so sketchy on details, but I thought it was compelling nonetheless.”

Harry let some silence fall between them before he spoke. “I was worried you were upset when she bowed to me, too,” he said hesitantly. “Maybe I’m sensitive, since Ron and I argued about this kind of thing when we were teenagers. I was worried you felt like I was stealing the honor from you…or that, if people knew Trio had bowed to me, too, it would undermine your position.”

“The latter may be true,” Hermione said fairly, “but that’s not your fault.” When Harry caught her eye again, she smiled gently and went on. “Part of me has always wondered if I ended up Minister for Magic based solely on my friendship with you, and not my own merit. Or, less my own merit and more because of you.”

When Harry opened his mouth to protest, she put up a hand to silence him. “To be honest, Harry, no one really thought I was going to win the Election. A Muggle-born as Supreme Mugwump? I think even Ron and Rosie had their doubts. But you always knew.” She placed a warm hand on his shoulder and squeezed it affectionately. “And the gossip going around…I’d already served two terms, and there was talk about who would succeed me. And the only name I ever heard consistently was yours. I felt sometimes like…I was a placeholder for you. I was good enough, just until you took your rightful place as Minister.”

“I’m sorry, Hermione.”

“Please don’t be,” she said gently. “It’s not your fault. And I had an excellent run -- I’m proud of it, and of us -- and I adore you, and I wouldn’t trade our friendship for anything in the world, you know that.”

“If it’s any consolation,” Harry said, “I have absolutely no intention of either becoming Minister for Magic or Supreme Mugwump.”

She smiled knowingly. “No intention, you say.” She squeezed Harry’s arm again. “Do you miss the Ministry?”

“Do you miss it?” Harry asked, turning the question back on her.

“No,” Hermione said assertively. “I am pleased with what you and I have been able to do at the Ministry, to be sure. But I love the Eyrie, and I love diplomacy.” Then she smiled at Harry again. “My question still stands. Do you miss the Ministry?”

Harry nodded in response. “I do miss Headquarters, but I always did, ever since I left. You and Ginny were the only people who could ever get me to leave, you know that.” There was a short, companionable silence between them, then Harry spoke again. “It’s going to sound strange, but…life here at Hogwarts, even as an HOH, is so simple.”

Hermione looked up at him, asking him to continue. “I work almost entirely on my own,” he said. “I go up to my office, have a coffee and a scone, then go downstairs for the outdoor sessions. I have talented student assistants that I trust -- Dean and Susie and Ernie’s kids, and Luna’s twins. I go back to my office or my classroom, I’m with the kids, I have lunch, I’m with the kids more. Sometimes I have to be stern with them, but other times, we laugh together. And there are times when it’s hard, but there are also times when it’s really fun. You see their little faces light up, or they tell you that you’re a good teacher and you feel like walking on the moon. There’s nothing like it.” Next to him, Hermione smiled again. “And in the afternoons, when I’m done, I’ll go visit some of the other professors under the Cloak, or go see Luna and Rolf and visit with Trio, or see Bill or Neville or Hestia, or have a long talk with Dumbledore.” He paused again for a moment, then continued. “There’s no arbitration, no endless strategy meetings, no hearings, no brown-nosers, no politics.”

Around them, the grounds were silent; he and Hermione and Trio may have been on a deserted island of their own. “I had many true friends and colleagues in the Ministry,” Harry went on. “And there were also many people who tried to use me for their own ends. I’m sure you feel the same.”

“I do,” Hermione said softly, knowingly. After nearly forty years of friendship, they knew each other backwards and forwards.

Another companionable silence passed between them, which Hermione broke. “The talk on the second floor is that the Wizengamot is going to offer you a seat.”

“I don’t even know if I’d take it,” Harry said seriously. “Honestly, if they do offer, I’m going to ask Dumbledore. Well, his portrait anyway, which is nearly as keen as he was.” He shrugged. “I’ve never had political ambition, Hermione. You know that.” He smiled down at her. “But where’s your seat? Why don’t they ask you?”

“They have,” she replied softly.

“And you said yes, of course.”

She nodded.

“You know how talented you are, and you deserve everything you’ve been offered,” Harry replied. “You’ve earned it all, have no doubt about that. But I don’t want you to end up like me, either.”

She looked puzzled for a moment, then caught on. “Harry, don’t say that. You’re doing really well --”

“I’m in remission. And I am happy and relieved about that, and it was money and effort well spent to get me here.” He sighed. “But I don’t know if it’s going to last, or how long. And I can see the demands on me creeping up again, as they always do.”

“You don’t have to say yes,” Hermione insisted. “There will always be an empty seat coming up; most of the Wizengamot is elderly --”

“I don’t think I can say yes,” Harry told her. “Not right now, anyway.”

Hermione looked at him, silent again, waiting for him to continue.

“There’s something I’m considering doing, and if I go through with it…” Harry let out a long sigh. “The Wizengamot may have to get involved. And, despite Ginny’s best efforts, it will be in the papers as well.”

After Harry had told Hermione everything, she helped him draw up the documents he needed, and she organized some people on the first floor of the Ministry whom she felt would be sympathetic to his goals.

On a Friday morning close to the end of January, both Harry and Ginny took the day off work. They walked together out of the castle and past the gates, then Apparated to London and the papered-up shopfront that served, now, as the visitor’s entrance to the Ministry of Magic. Harry wore a hat, a trimmed beard, and different frames for his glasses so he would not be recognized, and Ginny had transfigured her red hair blonde and significantly shorter, which made her look quite different. Inside the storefront was the old red telephone booth that took them down six levels to the Atrium. Hermione had given them a pass so that they would not be required to stop at the security desk; instead, they took one of the lifts all the way up to the quiet first floor, with its thick purple carpeting and mahogany doors.

After exiting the lift, Harry and Ginny walked to a door that, more than thirty years before, had led to the office that had belonged to Dolores Umbridge. Harry knocked at the door and waited. Within a few moments, it opened on its own, and he and Ginny went inside.

There were several people already in the office. An older woman with an eyepatch was the first to stand up; she rushed over to Harry and gave him a warm, tight hug. “Wotcher, Harry,” Maria Montenegro said. “Aren’t you a sight for sore eyes?”

Harry beamed at his old friend and mentor, who had taught him how to be an Auror. “Maria,” he said. “I’m glad you’re here.”

“I wouldn’t miss this for the world,” she said. “But go over and say hello to everyone else, love.” Maria went to kiss Ginny, commenting on her blonde hair, while Harry greeted the other people in the room.

There was Ethel Abrams, who had served as executive secretary to three Ministers of Magic, including Hermione. Harry was also pleased to see Dennis Creevey, who had served as his own secretary when he had been head of the DMLE. They all shook hands and patted each other’s wrists and arms. In a chair in front of the desk sat Arthur Weasley, who grinned widely at his son-in-law and accepted a hug with much slapping of shoulders. “Hermione dug up some of us old gray hairs for this,” he said.

“Who are you calling gray?” Ethel said, chuckling.

“I’m joining you faster than expected,” Harry replied, laughing.

Lastly, a figure rose from behind the desk and gave Harry a quick kiss on the cheek. Audrey Fellowes had been a talented official in the DMLE when, despite all reason, she had fallen in love with Percy Weasley, whom she had met in the Ministry canteen. Audrey had an inherently kind and compassionate personality that she had passed down to her two daughters, Molly and Lucy, Harry’s nieces, who had recently finished Hogwarts themselves. They were the first two Weasleys in more than a century to be Sorted into a House other than Gryffindor; they had both been Hufflepuffs, like their mother. Harry had always thought that meeting Audrey had been the best thing that had ever happened to Percy. He himself was still quite serious and proper -- and pompous at his worst -- but Audrey, when she was with him, made him somewhat likable.

After greeting each other, the group settled in chairs and on the sofa in what was now Audrey’s office. The Minister of Magic did not know what Harry had planned, and everyone currently in the office could be trusted to keep it that way. Ginny, for her part, was enlisted both as Harry’s biggest supporter and as someone in the leadership of the Daily Prophet who could help construct and control a narrative.

The group of old friends, colleagues, and family members spent an hour or so poring over the legal documents Hermione and Audrey had helped prepare for Harry, refining how Harry’s petition would be presented. Then, at ten in the morning, Audrey left her office with Harry and Ginny in tow. They took the lift down one level to the second floor, which contained the offices of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement.

Harry himself had occupied the head office here for a decade. It was a bustling, busy floor, the largest in the entire Ministry of Magic, with thousands of workers. Harry and Ginny had come here in disguise so that both of them, but Harry especially, could slip in and out with a smaller chance of being noticed. The rumor mill would begin anyway, to be sure, but Harry and Ginny hoped to be clear of the Ministry and back at Hogwarts before it did.

The three of them walked a familiar route down a few hallways until they reached a heavy oak door that said WIZENGAMOT ADMINISTRATION. Inside, a few witches and wizards sat at desks behind a wooden partition with a counter in front of it. After Harry, Ginny, and Audrey walked up to the counter, a witch rose from her chair and greeted Audrey. “Mrs. Weasley?” she asked, and Harry had to do a bit of a double-take, because so many women, now, were Mrs. Weasley.

Audrey said nothing, though, but nodded toward Harry, who placed a few pages of parchment on the counter. “My name is Harry Potter,” he said, “and I am formally delivering a petition to the Wizengamot for their consideration.”

The witch went pale with shock. There was a rush of movement; all the other witches and wizards behind the partition had now risen from their desks and rushed over. A fat wizard named Milton, whom Harry was familiar with, pushed his way to the front of them. “Mr. Potter,” he huffed. “Sir, why didn’t you contact us? There was no need --”

“I wish only to deliver my petition,” Harry insisted. “I am a private citizen now, and I wish to do it the usual way.” He nudged the stack of parchment toward the assembled witches and wizards. Milton picked up the stack of paper and began to read. Harry already knew what it said:

1. Harry James Potter, a human being with Magical Ability, heretofore referred to as the Petitioner, wishes to regress to a Property, Number 15 Kirkstone Lane, Godric's Hollow, England, which is currently under the control of the Ministry of Magic.
2. The Petitioner believes that this Property is his by right of birth since it belonged to his parents, James Fleamont and Lily Janice Potter (Evans), who died on 31 October 1981.
3. The Petitioner has no siblings, and his grandparents are deceased.
4. The Petitioner, being underage at the time of his parents’ deaths, was unable to consent to the Property being seized by the Ministry of Magic and asserts that, to his knowledge, his parents’ only other known relative, Petunia Louise Dursley, a Muggle, did not consent to the seizure.
5. Petunia Dursley is deceased and cannot testify about this matter.
6. The Property, Number 15 Kirkstone Lane, is currently being utilized by the Ministry of Magic as a Memorial for James and Lily Potter and for the First Wizarding War.
7. The Petitioner wishes that this Property, which he asserts is his by right of birth, be returned to his private ownership…

Harry watched the faces of the witches and wizards as they read his petition and wished, as he often did, that things for him could be easy and reasonable. A surge of annoyance rose in him. “I would like to speak to the Chief Warlock, please,” he told them, but none of them moved.

“I would like to speak to the Chief Warlock,” Harry repeated, loudly and slowly. “It’s Friday. I know he’s in his office.”

That seemed to snap Milton and the others out of their trance. “Of course, Mr. Potter,” Milton blustered. He snapped his fingers at one of the younger witches, who turned away and hastened down a hallway.

There was an awkward silence. The witches and wizards seemed to understand, now, that their reading of Harry’s petition in front of him had been rude, especially considering what it said was none of their business. But Harry, unfortunately, had grown used to that kind of behavior. Harry stayed still and calm while the witches and wizards returned to their desks; Milton still had Harry’s petition clutched in his hand. “May I please have my petition back?” Harry asked him.

Milton, who had been staring into space absently, turned his head to stare at Harry. “Excuse me, sir?” he asked.

Harry heard Ginny scoff in annoyance. “I would like my petition back so that I may present it to the Chief Warlock,” Harry said patiently. “Who is in his office. The young lady is with him now.”

“Oh, oh, yes,” Milton said, placing the sheets of parchment back on the counter and sliding them toward Harry, who picked them up and held them close to his chest. He didn’t want to give anyone else in the office a chance to read it prematurely.

He was worried it would take the young witch a while to return from the Chief Warlock’s office, but she came back quickly. “Mr. Potter,” she said. “The Chief Warlock has agreed to see you in his office.”

“Excellent,” Harry said, then gestured for Ginny and Audrey to follow him. They went together down a hallway lined with oak doors; the one at the very end was already open, and the three of them entered the Chief Warlock’s office.

Filius Flitwick, Harry’s old Charms professor at Hogwarts, was now quite elderly and in a wheelchair, but he greeted them enthusiastically. “Harry!” he said cheerfully. “Looking different today, I see. And Audrey, of course…and Ginny?” From behind the desk, he zoomed his charmed wheelchair over to them and extended his hand towards Harry.

“Professor,” Harry said, shaking his hand. “I cannot stay long. The rumors are likely already flying.”

“Filius, please, Harry,” Flitwick insisted. “And I understand. Young Grace told me you had a petition to present?”

“Yes, sir,” Harry said, then corrected himself. “Filius.” He handed the stack of parchment to his old professor. Milton’s hands had been sweaty, and they felt a little moist. Flitwick took the sheets of parchment and, after adjusting his spectacles, started to read very quickly, nodding. “Would you like to sit?”

“I didn’t even mean for it to get this far,” Harry said. “I wanted to drop it off at the front counter. I guess I was naïve when I assumed it would be routine.”

“Nothing’s ever routine with you, Harry Potter,” Flitwick said, his old eyes twinkling. “But I suppose Hermione told you about the offer, and that is why you are here at this time?”

Harry nodded. “I’m going to have to decline the seat,” he said. “At least until my petition is decided. I have a conflict of interest.”

Flitwick nodded. “The seat is yours, whenever you decide to take it. You would be a valuable asset to us. But yes, I will discuss it with the other members of the Wizengamot and make a prompt decision for you.” He looked past Harry, at Audrey. “But I assume, since the Senior Undersecretary is here, there are other means at work besides the law?”

“Harry is willing to negotiate with the Minister and the Cabinet,” Audrey answered. “But in order for that to happen, the petition must be filed.”

Flitwick nodded. “Otherwise, there’s no incentive,” he said. “And I also assume you have discussed this matter before, with previous Ministers?”

Harry nodded. “With Kingsley. He believed a legal fight would not be in my best interest.”

Flitwick smiled. “But you are older now, and wiser, and much more capable.” He straightened himself in his wheelchair and laid the stack of parchment on his lap. “As Chief Warlock, I have no official opinion on this matter until I can discuss it with my colleagues,” he said. “And, if negotiations are not agreed to, or if they fail, there is no guarantee the Wizengamot will hear your petition. You understand this, of course.”

Harry nodded again. “Of course.”

“But I will do my best to…negotiate on your behalf as well.” Flitwick, then, smiled a little at Ginny. “And I assume this story will also be in the Prophet?”

“It will be,” Ginny replied.

“Good,” Flitwick said. “A sympathetic narrative will help.” He dismissed them with a forward wave of his arms. “Go,” he ordered. “Get out of here before the press shows up in the Atrium. The front office staff will have started the rumors by now. Some of them cannot help themselves.”

Harry bowed his head respectfully to his old professor, then followed Ginny and Audrey from the office. More doors were open this time, and members of the Wizengamot were peeking out at them from some of them. After exiting the office, Ginny took Harry’s hand firmly in hers and, on instinct, drew her wand from her robes. Her hexes were ready, if required.

On the second floor, there was already more of a bustle of noise and movement. Workers were standing up at their desks, racing down hallways. Harry knew Headquarters would be buzzing -- Al and Scorpius, if they were in there now and not on a case, would be rising from their desks on the main floor and racing toward each other, eager to hear why the Potters had come to the second floor, in disguise, and what paperwork they had brought with them…

Before he knew it, Harry was in a lift with Ginny, heading down to the Atrium, where they would Floo back to the Longbottoms’ cottage in Hogsmeade. Ginny’s hand was still firm in his, and Harry was grateful she was with him. Now and forever, she had always been his most fierce protector.

Chapter Text

February 2030

Despite the fact that Cho Chang, now Professor Duncan, was officially the Muggle Studies professor, Harry got many questions of his own about Muggles from the students in his tutoring groups. If he was not lecturing or giving an organized practical lesson -- those were happening much more frequently now, since exams were drawing closer -- the students who attended his study halls frequently abandoned the pretense of studying fairly quickly and instead asked Harry for his opinions on the news of the day. “Please, sir, none of the other professors know about this stuff,” Heather, one of his Gryffindors, said when Harry had asked her why she was asking him.

“It’s Professor Duncan’s job to know about Muggle culture,” Harry responded. “She’s the Muggle Studies professor.”

“Her husband’s a Muggle, but she hardly sees him during the school year.” She received a dirty look from Joe Duncan, Cho’s son. “You know I’m right,” Heather responded.

Harry sighed. “I’m not talking about politics. Especially Muggle politics. Wizard politics are bad enough.”

One of Harry’s longest-running and most enthusiastic conversations with his students involved AI. “You can post an entire video on TikTok of creatures run amok,” Harry said, “and no one believes it anymore. It’s a bit of a boon for us, to be sure.”

“What if we used it for school?” Joe Duncan asked slyly. After his minor confrontation with Heather, he did not take offense that Harry was answering questions that should, rightfully, have gone to his mum -- he seemed content being able to ask Harry things that he would not ask her.

Harry scoffed. “Go on, ask a computer program to write you an essay discussing the theory on how Switching Spells work, or the nine magical uses of aconite. See what it spits out at you.”

“What if it works?”

Harry paused, thinking for a moment. “If you turn in something to me written by a computer program, I will destroy you,” he finally said, then he gasped. “Or, better yet, I’ll give it to Mrs. Potter to mark, and she’ll destroy you.”

“Why would you even make Professor Potter read something like that?” another Ravenclaw said, nudging Joe. “He’s a bloody hero.”

There were also many conversations about Muggle culture. “Muggles are the majority of human beings,” Harry said. “They have their own music, art, and literature. They have movies! Mrs. Potter loves Muggle movies.” He paused for a moment. “Video games, pornography….the Internet. Drugs.”

“What drugs?”

“In Britain?” Harry replied. “Marijuana, ecstasy, cocaine, heroin. Wizards do them too, but they affect us differently.”

The students all went still. “How do they affect us differently?” a few of them asked at the same time.

Harry heard Hagrid’s voice in his head: I shouldn’t have told you that. “I can’t tell you all about drugs,” he finally said, putting his face in his hands in exasperation. “I’d be sacked.”

“Have you ever done drugs?”

“You all make me want to do drugs,” Harry muttered, to much laughter from the students.

Other conversations, especially with the students from Movement, involved music more specifically. The Slytherins on the team, in particular, harbored an obsession with rap and hip-hop. “My Muggle cousin and his friends used to listen to all of that,” Harry told them. “It was good music in the nineties, although not my favorite. It’s not nearly so good now, in my opinion, with a few exceptions.”

“What did you listen to back when you were a kid?”

“I got into music in my late teens,” Harry told them. “I did a lot of work in Germany and the Aurors there used to take me to the dance clubs after work. They had some of the best in the world, but they’re nearly all closed now. And Mrs. Potter and I used to go out to shows all the time. We still do, in fact, with our kids. They love music.”

“Are there any good wizard bands?”

Harry shrugged. “Some are okay, but we’re all a tiny portion of the human population.” Then he laughed at them. “You all listen to Muggle rap anyway. Maybe there’s some decent wizard rap in America. It’s certainly not here.”

Ginny, who was helping to plan the festivities for the year’s Victory Day -- the annual holiday celebrated in Britain, but centered around Hogwarts in particular, to celebrate the end of the second war -- had, together with Luna, been working with the students who wished to participate. “The British Isles have some of the finest music in the world,” she told Harry one morning as they were both getting ready for work, “and these kids want to dance around to ‘Trap Queen.’”

“What’s ‘Trap Queen’?”

“It’s an American rap song, James told me. It’s horrendous, it’s literally about stripping and drugs.” Ginny started laughing. “Please, Harry, talk them into something more appropriate. And something where we can get a clean version of the song! The Board and the parents will never permit us to have another talent show if we give these kids what they want.”

“The Slytherins have been asking me a lot about Muggle rap,” Harry said. “Ironic that they’re the House that seems to be most obsessed with it.”

“Where on earth are they getting it from?” Ginny asked.

But Harry already had his suspicions.

Since Harry’s research for the updated Marauder’s Map was over, he knew he should return the Invisibility Cloak to Al, but, if Harry was honest with himself, he was enjoying using it. The Cloak made spying on the Slytherins so much easier -- not that he’d actually needed to spy much, though.

A few key interventions had let the Slytherins know that their new Head of House was serious about discipline. Belby had indeed been the first to be eliminated from the Slytherin Quidditch team, ostensibly for arguing with his own housemates, but the team captain seemed to be relieved to be rid of him. (Harry could certainly sympathize, given the situation he’d ended up in with Cormac McClaggen during his own captaincy.) He’d told the team captain to come to him if she wanted to make any more changes, and, as he listened to the conversations in the common room and around the House table, the students seemed grateful that he had intervened.

Harry suspected that what the Slytherins wanted most was just to know someone was paying attention. Teenagers were all the same that way.

He had also instituted a new rule that any student in his House who wished to participate in activities needed to keep up with their assignments, along with staying out of trouble. Some of the dancers in Movement were struggling with their homework, so Harry had managed to finally get more Slytherins into his study halls. Over his years as Head Auror, he’d learned that one gained more through diplomacy than anything else: it was a lesson that Hermione knew as well. Find out what the person wanted most, and find a way, within reason, to give it to them; but also, hold them accountable if they failed to keep up their end of the bargain.

For the Slytherins, seeing the larger amount of emeralds in the House Points hourglass also appeared to make a huge difference, especially after being behind for so very long. Hestia, Terry, and Neville all seemed genuinely pleased that the rivalry between the Slytherins and the other Houses had grown hot again, and they regularly came to Harry with reports of how they had awarded points to his students. Harry was particularly looking for wins associated with good deeds and recognized those students accordingly on the message boards in the Slytherin common room. They all seemed to find it amusing at first, but surprisingly quickly, Harry spotted students who seemed very proud to be called out on the message boards for doing something good rather than something bad, and others who sought to correct their behavior so they, too, could be recognized by Professor Potter.

Truth be told, Harry was proud of the Slytherins. He really had expected more pushback from them, but instead, they were responding well and positively to his attempts to straighten them out, and were actually quite friendly to him in turn. There were only a few that Harry felt really needed close watching.

While Ginny was out in the evenings working on her many activities, Harry spent a lot of time listening to the Slytherins’ conversations in the common room and study areas, either under the Cloak or with his Extendable Ears. At first, he had been searching for intelligence: what did the students think of their new Head of House? Who were the problem students? Was there anything nefarious going on that he had to root out? But the conversations amongst the students had taken some unexpected directions.

Most of the students at Hogwarts -- half-blood, pureblood, and Muggle-born alike -- were obsessed with their mobile phones. Knowing that keeping one was against school policy, the students found secret areas to use their phones where they believed they would not encounter any professors. However, Harry, knowing every nook, cranny, and corner of Hogwarts Castle, was able to track them into their hiding places.

He wasn’t a tattletale, though. As long as the students didn’t try to use their phones in his classroom, he didn’t believe it was a battle worth fighting with them. In fact, he was amazed that the students could even find a signal strong enough to get Internet service, given the isolation of the castle and the immense amount of magic in the area. The nearest Muggle settlement was more than twenty miles away.

While Harry had been Head of the DMLE, the department had been forced to dedicate an enormous amount of resources to magical incidents that ended up on social media. He’d had officers in the department who specialized in going into comment sections on social media sites and making up excuses for what the Muggles had seen. But in the age of AI, it was increasingly easy to lead the Muggles away from the truth, as no one believed their own eyes anymore: most of the time, now, the comments were skeptical, and rumors died out quickly.

The real messes involved the silent surveillance state -- footage from security cameras, secrecy breaches involving creatures, and large-scale gatherings of magical people. Muggle technology was now so advanced that it was, at times, coming very close to magic itself. The specialized Muggle law enforcement and intelligence agencies, particularly the secretive, sensitive ones like SIS and the Five Eyes, had a great deal of evidence on the existence of the magical world. So did some private data companies like Palantir. There were select Aurors from many countries who worked with them, and a dedicated few had even become spies under the International Confederation of Wizards in order to control just how much the Muggles were allowed to know about the wizarding world.

Hermione, now, as Supreme Mugwump, knew about all of that, along with colleagues of Harry’s that he knew from his time as an Auror, including Dean Thomas, Maria Montenegro, and her niece Alba. Truth be told, it was difficult work; many days, it felt impossible. And Harry, for his part, had no passion at all for it.

For nearly a decade, Harry’s job in the DMLE had been, first and foremost, to uphold the International Statute of Secrecy by any legal means necessary. Doing his job, sometimes, was ugly, and there had been points when he was plagued with guilt. But that was not his job anymore, and he was relieved. In fact, he was amazed he’d been able to do it for so many years. He was amazed that he had dedicated his time and energy to it, to the detriment of so many things that, now, were increasingly important to him.

So Harry, now in the isolation and routine of Hogwarts, was content to merely watch the students, occasionally making notes on something to look up on his own mobile phone, and was amused by their little dances or references to pop culture. Why did they need a potion to develop moving pictures when they had high-definition videos? Why did they need magic mirrors or owls or even Patronus messengers when they had text messages that could go directly to little devices on their wrists? How would the entire trajectory of Harry’s life have been different had he been able to go into a toilet cubicle and text Sirius directly, rather than have Kreacher lie to him in the Floo?

Throughout his adult life, Harry had felt like his ability to live in two worlds simultaneously -- the magical and the Muggle -- was an asset. Both he and Hermione, as well as some of their friends like Dean, had forced themselves not to become isolated in just the magical world, but to integrate into both, and it had benefited not only their careers, but wizarding society in Britain at large. In his time at the Ministry, Harry had met with Prime Ministers and high-ranking secretaries and officials in the Muggle government. He’d met with the heads of Scotland Yard and SIS. And he knew that they had all been impressed with him, and Hermione, and the other members of the British Ministry of Magic and the International Confederation of Wizards who participated in this sensitive work: the vast majority of them either Muggle-born, Muggle-raised, or deeply knowledgeable about the Muggle world.

And then, within a matter of days, it had all been over. The Qilin had bowed to Hermione, who had then assumed the mantle of leadership of the Wizarding world. Harry, then, had made the choice to leave the Ministry and nearly all of his work behind. While Harry still hoped that, someday soon, Al would take up what his father had built, Harry remained determined that whatever decision was made would ultimately be Al’s choice.

“Ugh, Harry, don’t drag that thing into bed,” Ginny complained. “You know I hate it.”

Harry, who was dressed in his pajamas, chuckled as he climbed into bed next to her. “I’m doing research, same as you,” he said, powering on his smartphone and then scrolling through apps with his fingers. One of his black notebooks was balanced on his knee, with a list of strange names and references he didn’t understand. “James keeps a phone, too,” Harry continued, looking sideways at his wife, who was still making an effort at reading her book. “He showed me pictures of all these strapping lads he met on Grindr.”

“What on earth is Grinder?” Ginny scoffed.

“It’s an app where men show their…parts…to each other,” Harry replied; then, as he saw Ginny’s expression, he laughed uproariously. “My innocent little wife,” he told her as he patted her shoulder. “You wouldn’t believe the things my eyes have seen -- the things your son found fit to show me. But I guarantee James gives as good as he gets.”

In response, Ginny put her hands underneath her glasses to hide her eyes. “I know he’s an adult, she said. “And I’ve certainly written and read my fair share of naughty passages, and never mind the kind of things you and I have got up to, but…I’m mortified at the thought of my little cheeky showing off his parts.”

“He clearly isn’t.” Harry made some gestures with his face, hands, and fingers that made Ginny turn even redder. Then she smacked him playfully on his arm. “How do you even know this?” she asked. “You don’t use that app, do you?”

“I told you, your son showed me his profile! We had a laugh about it when I was in hospital. He was trying to see if there were any lads nearby he could meet up with, and one of the medical staff came up. James started a chat with him, and then they started to trade pictures. The lad was in his uniform and his whole entire, enormous --”

“Harry, stop it,” Ginny squealed, smacking his arm again. She was laughing, though.

“I could hardly look the lad in the eye next day when he came to take me to physio,” Harry continued. “Not after I’d seen all of his very impressive parts on my son’s phone.” He paused, wiping his eyes, then went on. “I really should ask James if they ever did hook up.”

“I don’t know what’s worse,” Ginny said. “If they didn’t, or if they did.”

Harry laughed again, then shrugged his shoulders. “With the app, it wasn’t just James. Dennis was my secretary for ten years. He taught me a lot.” He grinned slyly at Ginny. “Two-thirds of those Muggle tech bros are secretly gay. We’d have to track them to all sorts of places when they were in London, make sure they didn’t spill anything to someone while they were drunk or high.”

“The trials of defending the Statute of Secrecy,” Ginny replied. After thinking for a moment, she spoke again. “Do you think someone would recognize James on that app?”

Harry shook his head. “Wizards don’t check Muggle things. It’s my Auror Lesson #1.” Then he shrugged again. “Although, based on this,” he said, holding up his notebook, “I need to update that rule. But no, he’s quite careful. We talked about it. That’s how we got into the whole conversation in the first place.”

Harry abandoned his phone; talking to Ginny was much more interesting than attempting to look up memes on social media. “James is considering moving to America someday,” he continued. “There’s a bigger population there, more places where he can live openly. Not only is he a wizard, he’s a gay wizard, and not only is he a gay wizard, he’s a famous gay wizard.”

“There have to be others,” Ginny said. “In my day, a good number of the wizards and witches in Quidditch were gay or lesbian. I can’t imagine things are very different now.” She pouted a little. “I don’t want James to move to America. I can’t believe he couldn’t find a wizard here to settle down with. And Al, too -- what if he decides to go to America as well? Two of our little cheekies, Harry, so far away from us.”

“That’s far in the future, Gin,” Harry replied, trying to reassure her but also having the same wistful feelings. “Besides, we have Teddy, and we’ll always have Bit. She’ll never leave us.” He rubbed her arm a little again. “But to get back to our original subject: I’m investigating something.”

Ginny finally set down her book and turned fully toward him. “A good number of the kids are referencing a chat,” Harry continued. “It’s taken me weeks to suss it out, but I believe I know where this chat is. It’s on a social media app, and to get in requires an in-person interview with one of the students who administers it. The chat contains hundreds of Hogwarts students, including a lot who have already finished school.”

“Do you think --”

“I don’t think it contains any of our children, no,” Harry replied. “But it could be why Hugo and Freddie both have been so interested in mobile phones lately.”

Ginny nodded along. Her drive to investigate had never been so strong as Harry’s, but she did have an interest in it, being a reporter for the Prophet. “I believe there is at least one chat group for parents as well,” Harry said. “That one is likely on Facebook, which is an app used more commonly by people our age.”

“This never came across your desk before?” Ginny asked. “It all must have been going on for years at this point.”

“I’m astonished it didn’t, but…” Harry smiled a little. “Not to toot my own horn, but the students do seem worried that I, in particular, will find out about the chat. More than Neville, even.”

Ginny nodded again, conceding the point. “You were Head Auror, and Head of the DMLE, and, honestly, my love, you are still terribly clever. The students swear you’re spying on them sometimes.” Then she gave a sly smile. “I don’t tell them you actually are.”

“I don’t think anything truly bad is going on in the chat,” Harry said. “But I think it should be monitored nonetheless. At the very least, it’s my duty to make sure they’re not organizing a cheating ring in the upcoming exams, or figuring out ways to poison themselves with badly-brewed potions.”

“You said getting into the chat requires an in-person interview with a student,” Ginny said.

“You see the problem,” Harry replied. “I want in on the chat, but it can’t be obvious that it’s me. I need an invitation, and in order to do that, I need to convince the student administrators that I am a fellow student and not a teacher.”

“Polyjuice?”

“I’ve considered it,” Harry said. “The question is, what student do I pretend to be? How do I know that the student isn’t already on the chat? There are loads of them on there already.”

Ginny was quiet for a few moments. “I could do it,” she finally said. “Pretend to be the student. I can do a bit of Transfiguration to make myself look younger. Plus, I’d be a little girl. Less threatening that way.” Harry’s expression must have betrayed him, because Ginny’s face darkened. “You’d let Hermione do it.”

Harry scoffed. “Hermione is Muggle-born! She actually owns a mobile phone. You’re a pureblood witch, from a family in the Sacred Twenty-Eight!”

“Your family was in the Sacred Twenty-Eight too, until they kicked out your great-granddad,” Ginny shot back.

“Fine point,” Harry conceded. “But Gin, what if the student you’re supposed to meet with asks you what Discord is?”

“It’s when people don’t get along with each other. Disharmony.”

Harry cringed and then hid his face in his hands. “In this case, it’s an app. It’s where the chat is located.”

“Then brief me, Head Auror Potter,” Ginny insisted. “I can do it!” There was an unusually testy silence between them; then, Ginny softened, knowing her husband’s only desire was to protect her. “Sweetheart, they’re teenagers. They’re not Death Eaters. Don’t worry about me, please.”

Harry couldn’t quite explain why he was nervous about Ginny pretending to be a student, but, after a few days’ hesitation, he did have to admit to himself that her plan was the most likely to work. So, finally, he agreed to let her help him -- as long as he would be allowed to monitor the situation.

To prepare for their little caper, Ginny unearthed a set of Bit’s old school robes from her closet at home and freshened them up with charms. Then she practiced the acts of Transfiguration she would need to perform in order to look significantly younger -- Ginny was excellent at Human Transfiguration, given that she’d regularly pretended to be an older witch named Stella Steinbeck at book signings for most of her adult life. “By the way,” Harry asked as she was practicing in front of a mirror. “Do your readers think Stella Steinbeck is still alive?”

“She’s a brand,” Ginny replied. “Like V.C. Andrews.”

“Who?”

“Naughty Muggle writer,” Ginny said. “There are loads of others in the romances. The real writer dies or retires, and others carry on under the same name.”

“Does anyone suspect you are Stella Steinbeck?”

“Absolutely not,” Ginny continued. “Not even my publisher knows. They’re content with all the money I’ve made them, and they don’t ask questions.” She grinned at Harry. “Speaking of it, I’m looking forward to learning more about all this. I need younger readers. Mine are all aging.”

Through his spying, Harry had figured out which students were the current administrators of the Hogwarts chat and how other students could ask them to be included. Harry made an account on Discord, pretending to be a fourth-year Gryffindor, but the administrator he chose to ask was one of his Slytherins. He set up the meeting in the usual way, by sending the Slytherin an Acid Pop with a note, and he responded with a meeting invitation. Then he briefed Ginny. “How did you find out about the chat?” he asked her.

Ginny cracked her chewing gum. “My friend Natalie told me about it,” she said, in a bit of a surly voice.

“Why do you want to get into the chat?”

“I’m a Gryffindor,” Ginny said, batting her eyes at Harry. “We all love a bit of gossip, don’t we?”

“Are you going to shit-talk any teachers?”

“Of course,” she said, tossing her hair. “That Professor Potter, he’s a total prat.”

“But he’s a Gryffindor,” Harry said, chuckling at her acting job.

“Still a prat,” Ginny replied. “And you know about that, given that he’s your Head of House. Must be a right pain in the arse to have to put up with him.”

After the briefing, Harry supposed Ginny was ready enough. The entire meeting should have only lasted a matter of minutes; hundreds of students were in the chat, so clearly security was just a formality.

After dinner one evening, Harry pulled the Invisibility Cloak over himself and, after checking the Map for students in the dungeon hallways, he and Ginny walked together to a room on the fourth floor that was ostensibly used as a study hall, but was in actuality one of the centers of gossip for the entire castle. It was normally busy in the evenings and Harry knew it would be packed with students. When they entered the room -- Harry’s hand, underneath the Cloak, on Ginny’s elbow -- he pointed out the sixth-year Slytherin she was supposed to be meeting, who had settled himself at a table in a far corner.

Harry found a space close by between two bookshelves where he knew he would not be interrupted by students and watched as Ginny sauntered over to the Slytherin boy. Harry, being his Head of House, knew he was a half-blood and a rather clever student in his own right. Harry had an Extendable Ear tucked into the pocket of his robes, but deploying it here, with so many students about, would be too conspicuous. So he watched as Ginny sat down in front of the boy, then, at his prompting, she unlocked Harry’s phone and passed it to him. Anticipating this, Harry had carefully adjusted all the settings so that the phone appeared to belong to a teenage girl, rather than a fifty-year-old man.

Just minutes later, Harry watched as the Slytherin boy smiled widely at Ginny, and then she grasped his arm, tossing her blonde hair in a certain, very familiar way…

Harry and Ginny regrouped in a bathroom just a few doors down, after locking it to the students. “Here you go, Mister Bolt,” she said, handing Harry back his mobile phone. “Easy peasy, lemon squeezy.”

Harry checked to see that his fake profile was now in the chat group, called Acid Pop Fans, and then looked askance at his wife. “Did I just see you flirting with a student?”

“It worked, didn’t it?” Ginny said, twirling her hair around one of her fingers and cracking her chewing gum. Then she finally broke character. “My love, we’ve raised three boys. Plus, you were a boy once yourself. You know how they all think.”

“Be that as it may,” Harry said. “Miss Bat, you are a teacher.”

“Not tonight,” Ginny countered. “Anyway, I’m enjoying being young again for a bit. I think I’ll take a walk around, listen to some hot gossip, and maybe get myself in trouble.”

“If you do, I don’t know you,” Harry said, chuckling, then kissed her forehead. “Thank you for this.” He held up his phone, where the chat was already open.

Ginny smiled and winked flirtatiously at him, and Harry was struck with an odd pang that was both familiar and wistful. He wished he were young again, too -- more like the kind of young he never really had been.

Ginny returned to their dungeon apartment a few hours later, once her spellwork had worn off. Harry had given her the Map before he left her in the bathroom so that she could move around the castle without being discovered. She was still wearing Bit’s old robes, but she now looked like the woman of nearly fifty that she was. “Anything interesting?” she asked Harry as she removed the robes, then the clothes she was wearing underneath.

He was sprawled out on the bed, scrolling through the chat. He hadn’t even changed his own clothes, only removed his trainers. “There’s a lot here,” he told her. “There’s a thread they made about how to get the mobile phones to work at Hogwarts.” He looked up at her. “How to set up VPNs. That must be how they’re getting internet out here.”

“What’s a VPN?” Ginny asked, donning her spectacles.

“It’s a way to set up internet service to pretend to be somewhere else,” Harry said. When Ginny looked confused, he added, “It’s complicated and quite technical.”

“Do you know about that?”

“Only a little. Never had much reason to do it myself.”

“Can you talk to someone in the DMLE?” Ginny asked.

But Harry shook his head. “Honestly, I was one of the better people there. Dean’s the other go-to of high rank in the DMLE who understands this stuff. It’s why he got the promotion above Susie. Nowadays, you have to know your way around social media to be Head Officer.”

He continued to read through the chat while Ginny finished preparing herself for bed. “What will you do if you see the kids are up to something bad?” she asked, after donning her pajamas.

“There are a few officers in the DMLE I can contact, mostly the Muggle-borns in Experimental Charms,” Harry said, glancing up at her again. “But I don’t necessarily see the kids doing anything illegal.” He shook his head. “And even if they were, the intelligence I could get from the chat is worth leaving it alone. You have to weigh that sometimes: risk versus reward.” He smiled up at her. “Did you get up to anything interesting?”

“I visited Gryffindor Tower for a bit. Have you been in?”

Harry shook his head again. “Not since I was updating the Map. It’s Neville’s territory, not mine.” He patted the bed on Ginny’s side. “Come, snuggle up next to me. How did it look?”

Ginny smiled fondly as she lay down next to Harry, placing her head on his shoulder. “Like home,” she said wistfully. “It still smells the same, too. Like Quaffles and cinnamon.”

Harry chuckled and ran a hand through her hair, which was golden red again. “Is that what that smell is?”

“Mmm,” Ginny said, burying the side of her face in Harry’s cardigan. “I could bottle it up. You used to smell like it, especially that last year we had together, when you were Quidditch captain. It was intoxicating.”

“I hope I still smell decent now.”

It was Ginny’s turn to laugh into his sweater. “You’ve managed to resist that Slytherin stench.”

Harry, for his part, laughed harder and nudged her shoulder. “None of that, Mrs. Potter. We’re both teachers now. Come, let’s look at this together and see if anyone is talking trash about me. They certainly won’t trash you, you’re perfect.”

“Thirty years married and our idea of an exciting evening is staring at a mobile phone,” Ginny said.

“You’re the one who wanted to spy, Miss Priss,” Harry replied in fake outrage. “You know most intelligence work is just staring at things for hours, waiting for something to happen. I got very good at it with old Draco.”

As it turned out, Dean Thomas, who was now in Harry’s former position as Head of the DMLE, was in the chat group for Hogwarts parents -- legitimately, as he had two children who were still in school. It’s under my wife’s profile, he wrote in a detailed note, sent through the secret channels the senior Aurors and officials in the DMLE used. Since she kept her maiden name on social media, no one’s figured it out yet. Most of the parents in the group are Muggles.

Dean’s wife agreed to let Harry join the parents’ group under a fake profile, but he trusted Dean to keep an eye on things and intervene if there was a chance that the parents would break the Statute of Secrecy. That was his responsibility now, not Harry’s.

Both chats were a treasure trove of all sorts of information. Both the students and the parents had learned how to speak in code, never referring to Hogwarts or the wizarding world directly in order not to outwardly break the Statute of Secrecy. The large data companies certainly had access to the chat logs, to be sure, but the officers in DMLEs all over the world, including Britain and the United States, certainly knew that already. That, too, was a job for the Aurors and the I.C.W. investigators. For Harry’s part, he contented himself with getting to know both the students and the parents better through the chats. There was a whole world hidden there, an entire side to Hogwarts life that bubbled beneath the surface, that Harry did not want to be ignorant about anymore.

Chapter Text

March 2030

“I simply don’t know what to do with these,” Harry told Ginny as she walked into their bedroom at their home in Hereford. Both of them had Flooed over from Hogwarts to exchange their warmer winter clothes for lighter fare, now that spring was heading in. The wardrobe in the Head of House’s apartment was not large and Harry and Ginny both had to share it, so they had decided to come back home periodically to swap out their personal items.

Harry had his wardrobe open and was staring at his suits. Over the ten years he had served as Head of the DMLE, he’d been expected to look smart, especially for high-profile meetings. It was a habit he’d had to learn back when he was Head Auror. Now that Harry was teaching at Hogwarts, he tended to wear a few pairs of simple wool trousers and vests, but he skipped the jackets, dress shirts, and ties. Most of the time, he wore sweaters and graphic t-shirts under his robes, along with the leather boots he favored. He’d never been into shiny shoes…or, God forbid, loafers.

Meanwhile, though, the fancy suits, robes, vests, ties, and shirts were sitting in his wardrobe collecting dust. Harry hadn’t worn any of them for well over a year.

He sighed, then continued speaking to Ginny. “You can hardly even launder the bloody things, they’re so delicate. If I get rid of them, it’s official that I’m never going back to the Ministry.” He ran a hand impatiently through his shock of graying hair, which made it even messier. “And they cost so much fucking money, Gin.”

Ginny, who was now sitting on their bed, smiled softly. “They’d fit Al with a bit of tailoring,” she suggested. “He’s shorter than you, but not by much. He is bigger in the shoulders and legs, though. Weasley genes.”

“Do you think Al would want them?” Harry asked her. “You know how he gets with hand-me-downs.”

“They’re from Twilfitt’s,” Ginny said. “They’re much nicer than anything he can afford on a junior Auror’s salary. Unless you’re giving him money?”

“Absolutely not,” Harry scoffed. “He doesn’t have to pay rent at Grimmauld. He keeps everything he makes. I hoped he’d use it to take out that cute friend-who-is-a-girl of his.” Harry side-eyed his wife. “Are you giving him money? You’re richer than me now anyway, Mrs. Stella Steinbeck.”

Ginny smiled proudly. “Give the suits to your son,” she said, with an air of finality. “Scorpius is extremely wealthy, and James has done very well for himself also. Al gets jealous, you know that. If he can take pride in his appearance, that will help with his confidence. Maybe get him to actually take out his friend-who-is-a-girl, as you put it.” She nodded towards the open wardrobe. “I’ll take him into Twilfitt’s for tailoring on those and talk him into them. It’ll be all my idea. And take this as another sign that you want to find a better home for them.”

“Al has all my things already,” Harry said, opening another drawer to retrieve more of his t-shirts. He had an impressive collection of band tour tees. “The only thing I’ve kept is my kit. And I need to return the Cloak to him, now that the Slytherins are under control. It’s time.”

“I think you’re ready, Harry,” Dumbledore said from his portrait. “And Minerva agrees.”

“What does Aurora say?” Harry asked him. He was seated in a bottle-green striped armchair he’d Conjured. Dumbledore insisted on it now -- a different chair each time, in a different style.

“She thinks you’ve been ready for months,” Dumbledore replied. “But she has deferred to our judgement.”

Harry, now, could finally understand why a wizard might find using a Pensieve appealing. For many months, Harry had been working with Dumbledore’s portrait on his lectures and activities. Harry had taken to Charms theory very quickly and had needed no help with Defense, of course, but Transfiguration had been slow going at times. Ginny, also, had been assisting him; she had an Exceeds Expectations N.E.W.T. that McGonagall had insisted should have been an Outstanding. Hermione’s, though, taken the same year, had raised the bar for everyone else.

There had been no disputes between Harry and the other Transfiguration professors since Runcorn had died. He was still actively teaching the first-years, but was tutoring the fifth, sixth, and seventh-years much more extensively. Thanks to Dumbledore, Harry knew the N.E.W.T.-level theory as much as any of the other professors, but was, ironically, still struggling with the practicals.

“Why are you so hesitant, my dear friend?” Dumbledore asked him.

“What happens if I don’t get an Outstanding?” Harry asked. His cup of tea was carefully balanced on the arm of his chair.

“Nothing at all,” Dumbledore said kindly. “You’ve earned your rank as a full professor already, with Charms. You’ll have no trouble with Defense either.”

“Let me do that one first.”

“No,” Dumbledore said flatly. “You need to face your fear, Harry. You’re a man with exemplary bravery, and you’ve never turned away from something difficult.”

Harry was silent for a long time. “I don’t wish to be humiliated,” he said, finally.

“The expectations for you are high,” Dumbledore agreed. “And I understand that myself, Minerva, and Aurora have placed a lot of responsibility on your shoulders. But we would not do it unless we felt you were capable of meeting the challenge, as you always have done.”

“Why on earth do you want me as a Transfiguration professor?” Harry finally asked. “I’m rubbish at it. Bill’s much better. Hell, even Ginny is much better. She would get an O blindfolded. You’ve had to slog me through all of this for months.”

“It’s not been a slog for me, as you put it,” Dumbledore replied. “I have enjoyed it immensely, seeing your understanding grow -- seeing you become a wonderful and confident teacher. The students in all four Houses think very highly of you, and it has much more to do with who you are personally to them rather than your name or reputation.” Then he smiled. “And, my friend, between you and I…some of the other portraits are envious about the time you and I have spent together, here during the long afternoons in your little sunny classroom. Especially Minerva; she’s always held you in great esteem. But I told her she had the pleasure of teaching you as a student, and I get the pleasure of teaching you as a professor.”

Harry sighed. He really did appreciate Dumbledore’s words, but there was still a feeling of trepidation in his heart. If Dumbledore and Minerva and Aurora had put so much of their time and effort into getting him ready, and he failed…

“I am going to inform Aurora that you are ready,” Dumbledore said, breaking into Harry’s reverie. “She will organize your Transfiguration practical and theoretical examinations. They will likely occur within the next week or so.” Dumbledore smiled gently at him, his painted hands steepled in front of him. “You have worked very hard these past months, Harry. Now it is time to show everyone else what you are capable of.”

A few days later, Harry received a small scroll from one of his Slytherins that was sealed with Aurora’s personal seal, in the golden yellow color she favored. “The practical exam is at ten o’clock Friday evening,” he told Ginny after she had returned to the castle from work. “In the Room of Requirement.”

Ginny grinned impishly at him. “After curfew,” she observed, but then her face grew serious. “Do you want me to come?”

Harry hesitated. “No,” he said softly.

Ginny was keeping her face carefully impartial, but he could tell she was a little disappointed. But as he watched, she swallowed hard, then leaned down and kissed the crown of his head. “Okay,” she said gently. “But I don’t want you to worry. You’re well-prepared.”

Harry did let Ginny accompany him as far as the Room of Requirement on Friday evening. They were using the Map, but the long climb from the dungeons to the seventh floor was deserted. The entrance to the Room was waiting for them, opposite the tapestry of Barnabas the Barmy, and Ginny and Harry kissed briefly and sweetly before the single wooden door that had appeared. He still hadn’t changed his mind about not wanting her there -- truth be told, he didn’t want her to see it if he blew the exam. “Good luck,” she whispered to him, taking both of his hands in hers and squeezing them.

He took a deep breath, turned away from her, and opened the door to the Room of Requirement.

Harry did expect some of what he saw inside, but not all of it. Sinistra stood under a spotlight in the center of the Room, clad in spectacular golden robes; she seemed to glow in the dark because the rest of the Room was pitch-black. Several easels were set up around her. From them, familiar faces peered out at Harry: Dumbledore and McGonagall, as well as a number of the other Headmasters and Headmistresses of Hogwarts.

“Good evening, Professor Potter,” Sinistra said serenely.

“Good evening, Aurora,” Harry answered. He also nodded to the portraits, who nodded back, but they were silent in their frames, listening acutely.

“Your Transfiguration practical examination will have three phases,” Aurora said. “You will be given an order in each phase, and you are expected to respond to the order using Transfiguration spellwork only, unless otherwise specified. You are free to respond to the orders however you like outside of those parameters. After each phase, I will ask you to step outside while the Eminent Headmasters and Headmistresses judge your performance, and the Room is reset.” She paused briefly. “Do you have any questions?”

Harry shook his head, then corrected himself. “No, ma’am.”

Aurora smiled warmly at him. “One last thing, before we begin,” she said. “Professors Dumbledore and McGonagall inform me that both your father and Sirius Black held Outstanding N.E.W.T.s in Transfiguration. I am sure you will do both of them proud.” With that, she waved both her hands, and the easels carrying the portraits began to levitate and then move around the empty, darkened room.

“You will notice this room is empty,” she continued, as the easels set themselves down gently in various positions. “It is a Room of Possibility. For the first phase of your examination, you must decorate this room using Conjuration as your primary spell basis. However you choose to decorate it is entirely up to you. You may also incorporate some Charm work if you see fit.”

Harry nodded. “Couldn’t have started me off with something easy, now could you?”

Aurora laughed musically, and Harry heard the portraits chuckling and laughing as well. She smiled again and walked around Harry, her golden robes swishing, and went to stand behind him, close to the door. “You may begin,” she said.

Had Harry been given these same instructions as a teenager, he would likely have rushed into it, but, as an adult, he now took the time to contemplate. The pitch-black room was silent except for the sound of his and Aurora’s breathing and an occasional rustle from one of the portraits. It was so calm…

He was in a Room of Possibility, and he could make this room into anything he liked. Where, then, did he want to go?

He thought of Ginny’s gentle kisses on his lips and forehead…of the feeling of his precious babies in his arms, all four of them, Teddy too…and the sweet time he’d missed so much of, taken for granted.

If I could go anywhere, he thought to himself, I would go back there, and be with them when they needed me.

Wiping away a few tears that had fallen quite suddenly from his eyes, Harry began to wave his phoenix wand. And the powerful wand, delighted at the complex spellwork, responded.

Harry did not know how long it had taken, but when he was done, a replica of the first floor of his house in Hereford was laid out before him. The gleaming oak floor stretched out through the front hallway. On the left was the front sitting room, with its squashy, comfortable sofa and chairs, chosen not for their beauty but for how they would withstand the demands of a family. Ginny’s mahogany upright piano sat along a wall, its keys waiting for her agile hands. On the right was the dining room with its two long tables: seating for sixteen at least, with the family coming in for Harry’s Sunday roast. Using his Conjurations, Harry had set the tables appropriately and the dishes lay waiting for food. Then there was the kitchen, warm and colorful, much like the kitchen in the Burrow. Harry had made it that way on purpose, because he associated Molly’s kitchen with love and plenty, a place where she had always made sure that he, the unloved orphan, was fed and included. On the other side of the kitchen, across the hallway, was the study that Harry and Ginny shared, now quiet since they had both moved to Hogwarts, but normally alive with the clacking sounds of Ginny’s typewriter. She had decorated the walls with artifacts from their professional lives, along with numerous awards given to their children that she had kept and treasured.

Harry was conscious that all his Conjurations would not last long, so he was unable to fill in all of the details -- he had to let Sinistra and the other Headmasters and Headmistresses judge it, after all. He lowered his wand and turned toward Sinistra, who stood still by the door. “Is there a charm on this room to prevent the Conjurations from fading?” he asked her.

“There is not,” Aurora answered, and there were approving noises from some of the portraits. That was part of the exam, then. Harry nodded. “If that is the case, I am finished,” he said.

“Please wait out in the hallway until I call you in again,” she replied.

Harry exited the Room of Requirement. The seventh-floor hallway was dark and silent; it was fully night now. He walked over to the gallery filled with windows and observed the moon, nearly full, and the bright white stars that shone in the velvety gray sky. Sirius, the Dogstar, twinkled at him. You should probably go pee, Harry heard Sirius’s voice say in his ear, followed by his barklike laugh, and Harry smiled. Sirius was close tonight -- of course he was, the gifted wizard, the Animagus…

Harry had taken a seat on the floor along the wall, facing the door to the Room of Requirement, when Sinistra opened it again and beckoned him inside. The wait had not been very long.

Harry’s Conjurations had disappeared, and the Room of Requirement was dark again, save for two students who stood next to each other under the spotlight in the center. One was Susannah Thomas, the elder daughter of Dean Thomas, and the other was Honoria Bates, one of Harry’s seventh-year Hufflepuffs. Both girls smiled at Harry, and he felt himself smiling back.

“The second phase of your examination will test your abilities in the difficult branch of magic known as Human Transfiguration,” Sinistra said as she came to stand by the girls. “These two young ladies have volunteered to help -- and, hopefully, to have a bit of fun.” She placed each of her hands on each girl’s shoulder. “You will be asked to perform Transfiguration spells that will alter the form of these girls, and then, you will be asked to reverse them once the Eminent Headmasters and Headmistresses have been given a chance to visually examine them.”

Harry nodded, thinking of all the lessons on stealth and concealment he’d had as an Auror, and all the times he’d helped turn Ginny into Stella Steinbeck…

“Don’t worry,” he told the girls. “I won’t turn either of you into Lord Voldemort.”

“Ha ha, very funny, Professor,” Susannah quipped.

“I wouldn’t want to be him,” Honoria said. “I heard he was horribly ugly.”

Harry chuckled to himself. “Let us begin, then,” Sinistra said. “Professor Potter, please turn the hair of both of these girls pink.”

Harry did not know how long he had been working for, but he responded to each of Sinistra’s commands. He successfully turned the girls’ hair pink, but also altered their hair type, making it both longer and shorter at Sinistra’s command. Honoria received long dreadlocks, while Susannah was given a partially shaved head with a lime-green mohawk. Harry gave them both vibrantly-colored heterochromia, then beaks like a duck’s as he thought of Tonks, showing off for Ginny and Hermione at the long table in the kitchen of Grimmauld Place. Harry then gave the girls long, full beards, complete with little braids, which made both Susannah and Honoria cry with laughter. After each set of Transfigurations, the girls looped the room, showing themselves off to the professors in their portraits.

After the girls had returned to their usual appearances, Sinistra gave her last order. “For your final act of Human Transfiguration,” she said, “please turn each of the girls into any animal you wish.”

Harry paused, thinking and considering each girl while they looked at him with perfect trust. He understood why they both had been chosen -- they looked completely opposite of one another. Susannah was tall and willowy, with skin like dark caramel, while Honoria was short and plump, with light blonde hair and a sweet face.

Once Harry had made his decisions, he waved his wand. Susannah turned into a bright pink flamingo, while Honoria became a stately snowy owl, nearly a twin of Harry’s beloved Hedwig. Harry also Conjured a wooden perch for her. After stretching her wings a bit, Honoria settled on the perch, her yellow eyes languid while Harry petted her to keep her calm.

After both of the Transfigured girls had been displayed for the portraits, Harry was asked to untransfigure them. With a wave of his wand, the pink flamingo became Susannah again, and the snowy owl became Honoria. Both of the girls were delighted and applauded their professor.

Sinistra, too, was smiling a bit, but then again, she was not the kind of professor who ever attempted to hide her feelings. “Professor, please wait outside once more while the Room is reset,” she said.

Harry nodded in thanks to the girls, then went back outside to the darkened, silent hallway. He withdrew his watch from the pocket of his vest and saw that it was nearly one in the morning; the examination was going faster than he had anticipated. He felt very pleased with himself that it had gone so well so far -- he had done his best in the first phase, and Susannah and Honoria had appeared to have a lot of fun in the second. His spellwork had been clean and there had been no accidents…

Within a few minutes, Sinistra had appeared at the door again. “Harry?” she asked, after he had turned towards her. “Would you like anything to eat or drink? I can summon one of the House-elves.”

“I’m fine, thank you,” Harry replied. “But thank you for asking all the same.”

She smiled back. “Then, let us finish.”

When Harry re-entered the pitch-black Room of Requirement, he saw that Bill now stood in the center. Harry had not seen him anywhere in the hallway, so he did not know how Bill had been able to enter the Room. But Bill smiled the crooked smile that lit up his scarred face as Aurora came, again, to stand beside him. “For the final phase of your practical examination,” she began, “you will demonstrate your ability to use Transfiguration in novel and adaptive ways.”

Sinistra waved her hand, and the Room became brightly and elegantly lit by many glass lamps. The Room had manifested itself into a circle, lined with wooden walls, and the floor was made of marble. The portraits of the Headmasters and Headmistresses were much further back along the walls than they had previously been.

Then, as Harry watched, Bill waved his wand and six statues appeared in various places around the room. Two were of magical creatures, two were of Wizard’s Chess pieces, and the final two were of a tall, burly wizard with a long beard and a beautiful witch.

Once the statues had settled into place, Sinistra spoke again. “Your objective for this phase is to vanquish your opponent using Transfiguration spells only. You may not use any curses, hexes, jinxes, or non-Transfigurative Charms. Your opponent is also limited to only Transfiguration spells. You may use any object in this room, or Conjure whatever you wish, but any spell used that is not a Transfiguration spell will count against you.”

Harry nodded, but inside, he was cringing. Oh, fuck, he thought. This was not at all the usual way he used defensive magic…

He took a few deep breaths, fighting to calm his racing heart, and began to think of a battle, many years ago now, between Dumbledore and Voldemort in the Atrium of the Ministry of Magic.

Bill, opposite him, was barely suppressing a grin. Harry choked down his nerves and shook his head when Sinistra asked him if he had any questions. “Then, begin,” she ordered.

Harry had always been an offensive dueller: first to attack, rather than wait for his opponent to act. But now he paused for a moment, sizing up Bill and the statues in the room -- the beasts, the chess pieces…

Bill struck first, though, sending a simple bolt of fire at Harry, and Harry, automatically, cast a Shield Charm. Potter! he heard McGonagall yell from her portrait. Transfiguration only!

Harry cursed audibly and felt like he was a student again, struggling in her class. Off to the side of the room, Sinistra stood next to a scoreboard, which displayed a -1. In Harry’s hand, his wand began to spit golden sparks.

“Don’t pull your punches, brother!” he heard Bill shout. “Show us what you’re made of!” With another wave of Bill’s wand and a shout of "Piertotum Locomotor!" the Wizard’s Chess king leaped off its plinth and rushed toward Harry, its axe raised…

Harry aimed a Shattering Spell at it, striking it in the chest. A second destroyed it. The score on Sinistra’s board now read 1.

The duel began in earnest. Bill sent more bolts of fire at Harry, and Harry Conjured a shield made of water to halt them. Then Harry, with a Piertotum Locomotor of his own, aimed his wand both at the pawn and the Erumpent statues. They both leaped off their plinths at his command, heading quickly toward Bill. The pawn raised both of its swords, and the Erumpent’s horn glowed. Bill went for the pawn first, aiming another Shattering Spell at it, but the Erumpent, which attacked him from the opposite side, nearly gored him. Bill ducked nearly flat and aimed a Freezing Spell at it.

As it always did during a duel, Harry’s world narrowed. Bill struck back, casting Incarcerous, but Harry responded deftly, quickly Transfiguring the ropes into ribbons which then flew towards Bill, ready to wrap around him until he Vanished them. Harry went on the offensive now, waving his wand at the witch statue; she leaped off her plinth, her long hair streaming behind her as she raced towards Bill on her golden bare feet, and Harry was reminded, inexplicably, of Ginny. Harry leveled a second Transfiguration spell at her hair, which then turned into snakes.

Bill had unfrozen the Erumpent, and Harry saw it racing towards him from his right side. It was galloping swiftly -- Harry saw, out of the corner of his eye, Bill had fallen onto his back fighting off the witch -- and Harry jumped out of the way of the raging Erumpent, smashing into the wall and sending a wave of pain through his right arm. But Harry gripped his wand still and, as he rose, leaning on the wall, he saw the Erumpent whirl around and head for him again. Harry leveled a Shattering Spell at it, then another, and then a third, which finally stopped it.

Harry was pretty sure of two things. First, his right arm -- his wand arm -- was badly injured, possibly broken, and second, Bill was kicking his arse.

Well, both of those things were unacceptable.

As Harry regained his footing, he saw that the witch statue had attacked Bill fiercely, the snakes in her hair snapping at him, fangs bared. “Duro!” Bill shouted with a wave of his wand, and the snakes froze, but the witch also froze on top of him. He had to scramble out from under her. But he did not seem too fazed: as he rose and brushed himself off, he looked at Harry, eyes gleaming under his long hair. “There’s that fire, Harry!” he shouted.

Harry felt himself crouch as he exhaled, trying again to calm his thudding heart. Bill was a formidable opponent, and Harry was glad of it. This was a real duel, with real stakes, and Harry, who had been a prat in his expensive suits, sitting behind a desk for most of the past decade, longed to fight again. He ignored the roaring pain in his arm and tightened the phoenix wand in his grip. Then he slashed his wand and reentered the fray, still on the offensive.

Bill wanted fire? He’d get it.

Harry spun his wand in tight circles just above his head, Conjuring his Fire Rope. He hadn’t used it in years, and only then against Inferi. He thought again of the great duel he’d witnessed between Dumbledore and Voldemort. In a duel using Transfiguration, unlike other forms of magic, anything you Conjured could be used against you. The energy from your spells could be transferred into other spells, which you then would have to parry, releasing more energy for your opponent to use…

Bill was watching Harry eagerly, waiting for his next move. He hadn’t made any attempt at defense yet. Time for the unexpected, then.

Instead of whipping the Fire Rope at Bill, Harry instead bent down swiftly and let the Rope unfurl on the floor. It moved swiftly, encircling Bill, and then the flames rose, trapping him in a tight, whirling wall of fire.

What would Bill do? Harry had a suspicion…

Which proved correct. Bill Conjured a great shield of water that quenched the whirling fire, but allowed Harry his move -- with a wave of his wand, Harry Transfigured the water into a wall of thick ice. Bill would be able to shatter it quickly, but it bought Harry time…

Another Piertotum Locomotor, and the statue of a Kneazle came alive. It did not attack Bill, but trotted obediently over to Harry, who was watching, straight-backed now, as Bill was casting Shattering Spells on the ice. Bill’s face and chest emerged from the ice wall, laughing in glee -- oh, he’d longed for a good duel, too, with an opponent he wouldn’t have to hold back with.

“Get him,” Harry ordered the Kneazle.

The Kneazle turned away from Harry, snarling, and began to run toward Bill, who only then had shattered the ice enough to escape. Bill turned his wand on the Kneazle and leveled more Shattering Spells at it as it crouched, ready to leap at him.

Bill had wasted an opportunity before, but he wouldn’t again. Harry hadn’t heard him cast the spell, but he saw, out of the corner of his eye, that the final statue -- the wizard -- had come alive, leapt off his plinth, and was coming for Harry.

The statue was of Godric Gryffindor, and he hoisted the great Sword of Gryffindor in both his hands.

Harry quickly attempted to Conjure a shield, but this was where he was weakest: it was the magic he would have learned in his final year of school and refined over decades, but now, he had been forced to cram it over a few months. His feeble wooden Conjured shield cracked under the weight of the stone sword and Harry felt a rush of pain in his left arm. Now, that arm was well and truly broken; he could no longer lift it. Harry was on his knees, and the statue came in for the final blow…

Harry, shouting in pain and anger, summoned all the power that was left to him and sent a Shattering Spell from his wand, hitting the statue center mass. It cracked, and Harry hit it again; the exploding stone hit him in the face, and he knew he would have cuts and bruises all over.

But that was it. There were no more statues, only Harry and Bill and whatever they could Conjure at one another. Harry, leaning against the wall again and panting in pain, rose to his feet. His left arm was pretty much useless, but there was still power in his right, even if just a little.

Harry was preparing himself to unleash whatever final spells he could when there was the sound of a whistle. “Halt!” Aurora shouted. “Wands down!”

It was over. Bill, across from Harry, also looked worn out, but Harry…had lost. He felt tears of pain and anger and humiliation sting his eyes and turned his back on Bill, on Dumbledore, on McGonagall, on Aurora, on all who’d forced him to do this when he’d told them he couldn’t…

“Harry,” Aurora said gently, her hand on his shoulder. “Professor, let me see your arm.”

“It’s broken on the left,” he told her, his voice shaking. “Right is probably bruised. I can still move it.”

Aurora nodded, then lay both of her warm, powerful hands on his left arm and began to chant. Within half a minute, the throbbing agony had lessened, although there was still some pain and would be for several days. Aurora did the same for his right arm, where he still clutched his wand.

Meanwhile, Bill had come over. “Brother,” he said softly. “Are you all right?”

Harry nodded, choking back his tears and the hot, ominous feeling in his throat. “I’m fine,” he said, trying to reassure Bill. It was not technically a lie. Physically, he was fine…

“I’m going to go now,” Harry said, without looking at either Aurora or Bill. His back was still turned to the portraits. He couldn’t stand to see the expressions he knew they were all wearing, the disappointment they all would be feeling…

“Professor,” Aurora said. “Harry, wait --”

“Have a good night,” Harry said politely as he walked straight out of the door of the Room of Requirement and into the moonlit corridor. He did not stop to look back.