Walking inside King’s Cross Station, a firm stab of nostalgia hit me. Instantly, I was a teenager again and waiting excitedly for a new term at Hogwarts to begin, safe in the knowledge that I had friends there. For a moment, I was lost in the sea of memories as I moved through the station, inching through the heavy throng of Muggles towards Platform Nine-and-Three-Quarters. This felt so familiar it was almost frightening.

The first thing I noticed was a young boy standing uncertainly near the barrier between Platforms Nine and Ten. I knew he was for Hogwarts immediately and that he didn’t know how to get onto the platform. Another hint was the light-brown owl hooting impatiently in its cage. Hedwig quickly replied, her sounds causing the boy to look up in alarm.

“Hello,” I said with a smile, as I pushed my own trolley next to his. “Hogwarts, is it?” The boy nodded silently and I was acutely aware of how similar this was to my conversation with Mrs. Weasley when I had been eleven. “Let me guess: you don’t know how to get onto the platform?” His cheeks red, the boy nodded sheepishly, obviously ashamed of his ignorance.

“Don’t worry,” I told him with a grin, “I was the exact same in my first year.” He began to look distinctly relieved at my words and I chuckled. “All right,” I said. “See the barrier there?” He nodded as I indicated it with a hand. “You just have to walk through it and stay calm.” Seeing the apprehensive look on his face, I added, “Best take it at a run if you’re nervous.”

As the boy drew closer to the barrier I could see the nervousness around him, but he did not stop or slow down. I grinned as he passed through the seemingly solid wall in the blink of an eye, before proceeding towards it myself.

He was waiting when I reached the hidden platform, looking embarrassed. “Thank you,” he stammered, his cheeks going even redder when I nodded to him in acknowledgement. He gave me another quick smile, before pushing his trolley away in an attempt to find an empty compartment. I watched him go, remembering how it had been on my first day.

It wasn’t until he had disappeared into the crowd, did I realise I had never asked him his name.

I waded through the sea of excited, chattering kids, passing a pale, nervous-looking First Year every so often. Eventually finding an empty compartment, I loaded my luggage and sat down, quickly changing into green robes and realising how strange it was not to be wearing black. It was also strange not to have Ron with me, commenting on whatever topic would have been our latest subject and Hermione with us, either radiating disapproval or immersed in a book. It struck me that I was behaving in a manner that seemed almost identical to being homesick.

The train journey was quiet and uneventful for the most part (I think it became known that I was a new teacher) and I absently passed the time reading, both my own assigned textbook (I wanted to be prepared, what can I say?) and a recent letter from Hermione, which had arrived earlier that morning. With all the rush I had been unable to read it before then.

I slit the envelope open and unfolded the parchment. Hermione’s writing style and personality hadn’t changed through the years and her familiar words made me smile, glad that some things hadn’t changed at least. The last time I had heard from her, she had been making her way determinedly up the ranks at the Ministry with Ron. Naturally, it was her intention to become the Minister of Magic eventually. In fact, her letter held a few surprises in it for me. Surprises that would unknowingly help me later on.

Harry,
Congratulations on getting the teaching position at Hogwarts! Are you looking forward to going back? You really were a good choice for the position anyway, considering your experience against the Dark Arts. You’d make a really good teacher, you know.

I meant to mention this to you before, but work has been absolutely mad and it slipped my mind until now; I have a nephew starting Hogwarts this year -- you’ll be teaching him most likely. I told him to seek you out on the train and just introduce himself to you, to be polite of course. I gave him a few lessons this summer and just taught him a few simple spells, (Harry grinned, remembering the ‘simple spells’ Hermione had learned before she had even come to Hogwarts herself) so he’ll know something at least. Keep an eye out for him, will you?

I wonder how much Hogwarts will have changed. You are so lucky to be going back again Harry; not many people have the opportunity to go back to their school a second time. No doubt it’ll be extremely odd to be a teacher there, instead of a student. I presume you’re not going to be like Snape and wear black robes!

Ron and I are planning to come to Hogwarts at the Parent-Teacher Meetings -- I told my brother that I’d come instead of him for his son and Ron just wants all of us to meet up again. We’re looking forward to seeing you again!

I better stop now... the paperwork is starting to pile up... it never ends!

Don’t give out too many detentions!
Hermione

In contrast to Ron’s scribbled letter, Hermione’s was neat and precise, like everything else about her. I smiled -- it would be good to meet up with them again. They truly were great friends. Unfortunately, I was already imagining Hermione’s nephew to be a younger, male version of her, if Hermione’s hints of how much she was able to include herself in his general upbringing were true. I chuckled. It would certainly bring back some interesting memories, teaching him.

At the same time, I was also trying desperately to ignore the pangs in my chest from Hermione’s brief mention of Snape. Drat it.

After rereading Hermione’s letter once more to make sure I hadn’t missed anything, I then picked up the textbook I had eventually chosen to teach from. I had pored through hundreds of them, it seemed, as it had been near impossible to find a textbook that hadn’t put werewolves in a bad light. I had been a lot more picky on the subject because of Lupin. Eventually (and it had taken about a week’s worth of going through different textbooks) I had decided on one that had placed the subject of werewolves in a good balance, stating which was fact and rumour. After making sure the other chapters in the book were done as well as the werewolf chapter, I had decided on that and sent my decision to Dumbledore through Hedwig, who had seemed pleased to be travelling to Hogwarts again. Perhaps she missed it as much as I did.

I had never really had a home like Hogwarts. Perhaps my home with my parents had been as good, but considering I could hardly remember any of it, it didn’t really count. Living with the Dursleys had been nothing short of a nightmare, and so Hogworts was really my true home and in my own mind, always would be. Sirius hadn’t been cleared until after my graduation from Hogwarts, when the war had exploded to its highest point, so I had never really lived with him.

The house I had bought as my own had been comfortable and a radical change from the tyrannical standard of living at Privet Drive, but I had never truly settled in. Something had always been missing and it had taken me two weeks to realise what it was; I wasn't used to living completely on my own. There had always been people near me, from the Dursleys to my friends and classmates at school, and being on my own had made me uneasy.

Living at Hogwarts would be more of a relief than anyone would ever know.

It would also be a nightmare in a way no one would know, but for a completely different matter.

The Defence Against the Dark Arts books had all been entirely rewritten after the war, now putting the Dark Arts and their similar forms in a much clearer light. The Ministry had now decreed that the Unforgivable Curses were now to be studied in depth, due to their frequent use during the war. As I read, I ate my way through the pile of Chocolate Frogs I had been unable to resist buying. Some things just never changed, after all.

Fifteen minutes later, the whispers finally reached my ears. Looking up, I saw the large group of students outside the door, whispering fiercely and quickly peering inside when they thought I wasn’t looking. More confused than anything else (for some reason it had never occurred to me that this would happen), I listened to their frantic conversations.

“Are you sure it’s him?”

“Of course it’s him! I saw his scar!” (My hand went up to brush against my fringe when I heard that.)

“Professor H. Potter is printed on his briefcase.”

“See?! Told you!”

“Is he really going to be teaching Defence Against the Dark Arts?”

“It’s going to be an interesting year, then.”

The whispers and rumours continued, as I crept towards the door, a smile tugging my lips. The students were so intent on talking that they didn’t notice me... until I quietly murmured, “Is something wrong?” Instantly they all froze and looked at me with horror etched on their faces. I fought the urge not to grin at them and instead smiled faintly. A few of them immediately relaxed when they saw the smile on my face.

Finally, one girl with long dark-blonde hair stuttered, “P-professor!”

“Yes?” I replied politely, feigning a mildly interested look. “Is something wrong?” You’d think by twenty-two I’d have learned to treat all the whisperings about me as normal. But it had honestly never occurred to me that people would have reacted this way. I kept forgetting that even after the war, I was still famous. Honestly. And I was supposed to be a teacher here.

Immediately, they all shook their heads frantically and wild cries of “No!” filled the air, followed by them scampering away. I turned back inside with an open grin on my face, shaking my head in amusement, when I realised that one student had stayed where he was.

“Yes?” I asked him, turning and looking at him. For a moment I had no idea who he might be... and then I saw that his hair faintly resembled Hermione’s in that same bushy way... “You’re Hermione Granger’s nephew, aren’t you?” I guessed, watching him intently this time.

Surprised, he nodded, impressed and then caught on. “It was the hair, wasn’t it?” I nodded, grinning crookedly at him. He sighed. “That always happens!”

I chuckled and then indicated that he sit down opposite me. As he approached the seat, he stopped in front of me and held out his hand. “Jonathan Granger, sir,” he said politely.

Impressed by his manners, I took the offered hand and replied, “Harry Potter. Pleased to meet you.” When he had settled down, I added, “Hermione’s told me that she’s taught you a few simple spells during the summer.” Jonathan nodded, but not before me I noticed the quick glum look that passed over his face. I immediately knew the reason. “She ran you ragged to get them right, didn’t she?” I asked him in sympathy.

Jonathan cringed and nodded. “I know she means well, but... I am very glad she didn’t become a teacher!” he burst out and instantly blushed in embarrassment. “I didn’t mean to be pert --” he began hurriedly, but I cut him off.

“Relax,” I told him in amusement. “I went to school with her -- I know exactly how you feel! In some ways it felt like Hermione was our teacher, she managed to get us through our exams so often!” Jonathan started to laugh in reply to that and I joined him, our laughter filling the compartment.

We talked idly for the rest of the journey until we drew near to Hogwarts, when I sternly ushered him back to his own compartment so he could get ready. Pocketing the few items I had taken out in the journey and checking that Hedwig and the rest of my luggage was secure, I sat and waited to descend from the train, suddenly feeling very nervous. It had been five years since I had last seen Hogwarts -- how much would it have changed?

Then the train stopped completely and there was nothing I could do except step outside and simply take whatever would be flung at me.

 

* * *

 

The heat that greeted me when I stepped inside Hogworts momentarily staggered me after the slight cold outside -- it had been a cold August this year. Of course, it shouldn’t have surprised me -- Hogwarts had never lacked in heat when it had been needed. I walked up the silent Entrance Hall, listening to my footsteps echo faintly around me. I had waited until all of the students had gone in before entering myself and everyone was already in the Great Hall, waiting for the Sorting to be finished, so they could eat.

Speaking of the Sorting...

I paused at the doorway, silent so no one would notice me before they were supposed to and slowly looked around at the Great Hall. Nothing had changed. The immense hall still had its hundreds of floating candles and flickering torches that filled it with a warm glow. The ceiling was still bewitched to look like the sky; a calm blackness, littered with hundreds of twinkling stars. This was all so familiar -- it was like coming home after a long vacation.

In some ways it was.

The four long House tables that held the students were still in the exact same places (I doubted they had ever changed), as was the Teachers’ table facing them at the top of the hall. I could vaguely see Dumbledore sitting in his usual place at the centre of the table, his half-moon glasses reflecting the light. The sight of him made me smile faintly, as the nostalgia I felt inside grew larger, but I stayed where I was. Dumbledore had explained in his letter that new teachers now were introduced and walked up through the hall. It had been that way ever seen Moody had entered like that and I suppose it had stuck even after I had graduated. It would be slightly embarrassing, but I would cope.

I watched the First Years being sorted, clapping softly whenever someone was brought into Gryffindor; the loyalty I felt for my old House still there. Jonathan was thankfully sorted into Gryffindor and I made a mental note to contact Hermione and tell her. She’d be so proud.

I blinked when I recognised the kid I had helped at King’s Cross and then gasped when I heard his name: “Callidus Riddle.” My stomach dropped and I shuddered without meaning to. The Great Hall had gone completely silent and students were standing up to get a closer look at the boy who somehow shared a traitor’s surname. I saw Dumbledore stiffen and peer intently at the boy, who walked unsteadily to the Sorting Hat, clearly humiliated from his step. As the hat fell over his eyes, the hall waited with bated breath.

There were moans and screams when the cry rang out: “Slytherin!”

I gasped and shuddered again, squeezing my eyes shut. After the initial horror faded, I realised I felt immensely sorry for the boy. Like me, he would receive much unwanted attention throughout his school years, but unlike me, it would all be full of hate. Callidus held the same surname of the most hated wizard of our time and he would not be liked. I noticed that even the Slytherins themselves were subdued when Callidus made his way slowly to the table and no one made a move to talk to him when he sat down. It wasn’t hard to see the miserable expression on his face.

It explained many things -- why he had been alone at the station, why he hadn’t known how to get onto Platform Nine-and-Three-Quarters; all of Voldemort’s very distant family (and it had been hell tracking them down, I can tell you) had been executed at the end of the war. But somehow, this boy had escaped. We would have to be careful around him; the war was already in the school history books and Voldemort was not seen in a very good light in them.

And then it occurred to me -- how would Callidus react to me, the very person who had continuously helped Voldemort fall from power and eventually helped in his downfall? I looked over at Callidus as the last of the First Years were sorted and felt a slight shiver crawl up my spine. He could be very, very dangerous if things went against him, as they had gone against Voldemort.

No one wanted a new Voldemort to come and rage terror again. And people were now willing to go to extreme lengths to ensure our new-found peace would remain that way. There were now a lot of people who would have no qualms with killing Callidus if he proved a threat. I grimaced without realising it. It seemed that life wouldn’t be stable for a very long time, even if the war was now finished.

With a sudden jerk, I flung myself out of my thoughts as I realised Dumbledore had moved onto giving his Start-of-Term Notices and that I would soon be mentioned. I listened as he gave out the usual notices (Filch’s usual warnings about magic in the corridors, along with running, laughing, smiling and generally breathing in the corridors and the warning about the Forbidden Forest, which made me smile in remembrance), and then I froze when Dumbledore moved onto me.

“It is now my pleasure to welcome back one of our own past students back here, but not as a student. As you know, our previous Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher decided last year to enter early retirement due to the fact that he has been our longest teacher of the subject here in over twenty years --” I grinned at that. “-- and that one of our past students graciously decided to take up in his wake. Hopefully he will last even longer than the current record.” I admit, I felt a twinge of nerves at that sentence.

Dumbledore glanced at me for a moment, before finishing his introduction. “It is my great pleasure to introduce you to our new Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher, Professor Harry Potter!” Awed silence greeted this revelation as I stepped forward nervously, but then enthusiastic clapping filled the Hall as I walked up between the Hufflepuff and Ravenclaw tables towards the Teachers’ table, feeling completely self-conscious and knowing I had good reason to be.

I did a quick scan of the table as I went up the steps, taking note of who had changed since I had been there. Most of the same teachers were there as had been at my time -- Dumbledore, McGonagall, Snape (whom I avoided eye-contact with), Flitwick, Vector, Hooch and Sprout, among others. Hagrid was also there in his usual place and I grinned when I saw he was one of those clapping the hardest, positively beaming in the process.

But there was one new face there that I recognised immediately -- Lavender Brown, my old classmate, who was the new Divination teacher. Professor Trelawney, bless her, hadn’t survived the war, and her memory still haunted me. No one had expected a teacher to die in the war, but one had and it had considerably shaken us up. But everyone had admitted that Trelawney had been extremely unsuited to war.

Thankfully, my seat wasn’t anywhere near Snape’s (as the Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher’s seat usually was) and I knew it had been done deliberately. Instead, my seat was beside McGonagall’s, which surprised even me, but I was thankful it wasn’t beside Dumbledore’s. Making conversation with my former teachers was one thing; making conversation with my former Headmaster was an entirely different matter.

I sank into my seat with a large sigh that I hoped many hadn’t heard and grinned shakily at McGonagall, who gave me a small, encouraging smile. I hardly heard Dumbledore begin the feast and instead concentrated on not making an absolute fool of myself by gulping down my food and let myself make polite conversation with McGonagall and Professor Flitwick, who was sitting on my other side. Food had never tasted so nice, I was sure of it.

I made a casual point to watch Callidus throughout the feast and was dismayed to find that he didn’t even try and make conversation with any of the other First Years around him. But it was also hard to ignore the fact that none of the other First Years even allowed their eyes to flicker on him. It was extremely worrying.

McGonagall noticed my slight frown and followed my gaze to Callidus, who was silently eating his chicken. She pointedly caught my eyes and I quickly looked down to hide my embarrassment. “Do not worry yet, Harry,” she said quietly, her voice low. “He may yet prove us all wrong.” But my fears were not appeased, despite her reassuring words.

The feast passed relatively quickly and soon I was wandering through the halls, following McGonagall’s vague directions to my room, when I heard footsteps coming towards me from behind. I froze, afraid for a moment that it was Snape, my chest tightening as I realised that I really didn’t want to meet him right now. But it wasn’t Snape’s walk upon careful hearing. The steps were lighter, more hesitant. The day Snape walked like that, something was very wrong with him. I turned, just in time to see Lavender Brown coming towards me, her robes rustling around her as she walked. I calmed myself immediately.

“Lavender,” I greeted her politely, taking a step towards her. “It’s good to see you again.” I carefully kept my polite mask in place, hiding my inward shock from her. The girl I had known as a schoolboy was nothing like the woman I now encountered. A weariness was now held in her eyes, where laughter and happiness once dwelt. Faint lines graced her face where there had been none. Her entire posture held the essence of once extremely weary and tired.

“Harry,” she replied, a gentle smile spreading across her pale face. “It’s great to have someone my own age here. Making small talk with old teachers is harder than it seems, as you’ve probably found out,” she told me dryly, noticing the pained expression on my face.

“You’re telling me,” I muttered and she laughed. “How are the students to teach?” I asked, genuinely wanting to know what horrors were awaiting me tomorrow.

Lavender smiled. “They’re not as bad as we were. The war has changed them.” I made a point of ignoring the shadow that passed over her face. Lavender’s favourite teacher had been Trelawney and she had taken the death of her hard. “Even the Slytherins are bearable now.” She grinned at the incredulous expression on my face. “I know, it seems too good to be true, doesn’t it?”

“That’s one way to put it,” I muttered under my breath, remembering all the grief I’d had to put up with from the Slytherins and their Head of House, in particular.

She smiled again, but the shadows in her eyes remained. “You’ll find things much changed, Harry,” she told me softly. “Much changed.” She gave me one last smile, before hurrying in the direction of her own room. I nodded to her, before turning to continue, now acutely aware I was exhausted.

I was on my third staircase, almost completely convinced I was lost, when I heard footsteps behind me yet again. Thinking it was Lavender once more, I turned to greet her, completely relaxed this time. “I meant to --” I began, as I turned and then stopped when I came face-to-face with cold, dark eyes. I stood rooted to the spot with shock, unable to say a word, losing myself in cool blackness. It took me several moments to pull myself together and murmur quietly, “Hello Snape.”

Severus Snape, resident Potions Master in Hogwarts, raised an eyebrow in mock-surprise. “Only Snape? Don’t you know it’s common courtesy for teachers to address each other by first name?”

I looked at him, eyes locked and my face set. “You’re lucky you heard anything,” I said sharply and added, “I hardly think that is appropriate for us in any matter.” I ground out the words, desperately hiding my feelings behind a well-trained mask, suddenly grateful for years of tightly controlling my feelings. As I stared at him, I found myself thinking, I won’t let you see how confused you make me. I won’t let you get to me like this. I can’t let you see how much... I want you. I think he knew anyway. I swallowed hard, but kept my gaze on him.

How on earth was I supposed to have a normal conversation with the man I had fallen for at fifteen and had a more... intimate relationship with two years later?

I had no idea.

 

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