Chapter 5 The New Flying Instructor
When Harry strode into the Great Hall that morning for breakfast, only Professor McGonagall and Hermione were not surprised to see him. There was a flurry of activity and chatter not unlike the previous evening at the Three Broomsticks as Harry greeted his former professors and the new professors he had not met. As he sat down in one of two vacant seats to the right of Hermione, Professor McGonagall tapped her glass with her fork to get everyone's attention.
"Hem-hem," she started with a smile and many laughed, remembering the vile former Defense Against the Dark Arts Teacher, Dolores Umbridge, who had the irritating habit of clearing her throat before speaking. "As you all may have guessed by his arrival, Harry Potter has accepted the position as Hogwarts' newest Flying Instructor and Quidditch Coach." This statement was met with enthusiastic applause and a cheer, causing a slight blush to creep onto Harry's cheeks. Raising her hands for quiet, McGonagall continued. "We are so fortunate that Harry has decided to return to Hogwarts from his travels to teach the next generation of witches and wizards the finer points of our beloved game. Now I'm sure…"
The door to the Great Hall flew open with a bang, interrupting McGonagall's speech as Professor Severus Snape walked into the room, apologizing along the way. "Excuse my tardiness, Headmistress."
"Quite alright, Severus. I was just introducing our new Flying Instructor to the staff," she said, gesturing towards Harry with a sweep of her hand.
Snape paused at the sight of Harry, but continued walking around the table, forced to take the only vacant chair, the one immediately to Harry's right.
"Welcome back to Hogwarts, Mr. Potter."
Judging by Snape's reaction or lack thereof, it was obvious that McGonagall had already told Snape about Harry's new position. Even still, Harry was shocked into silence by Snape's civility.
"What's the matter, Mr. Potter? Cat got your tongue?" Snape asked with a smirk.
Realizing that everyone was waiting for him to reply so McGonagall could finish her speech, he quickly said, "Hello, Professor Snape."
A collective sigh was heard in the Hall, as everyone familiar with Harry and Snape's history were relieved that a more colorful exchange hadn't taken place. Professor McGonagall completed her announcements in short order and breakfast resumed. Harry was helping himself to some eggs when Snape leaned over to him and whispered, "Don't worry, Potter, I still despise you, but I promised Minerva that I wouldn't show open hostility towards you in front of the staff or students."
"What a relief, Snape. I thought that hell had frozen over and you had finally realized that I'm not my father," Harry replied without looking at him. "I see you have discovered shampoo. Although the ponytail is a look you might want to reconsider." Hermione kicked Harry in the shins under the table.
"What did you do that for?" Harry whispered angrily to Hermione, bending down and rubbing his leg under the table.
"Could you at least pretend to be an adult where Snape is concerned? You are both teachers after all," she snapped.
Harry made no comment and continued to spoon eggs onto his plate with a little more force than was necessary. Maybe Hermione hasn't changed that much after all, he thought. No matter how much time passed or what happened, he and Snape would never like each other. In actuality, Harry enjoyed the mutual animosity between the two. He suspected that Snape enjoyed hating Harry equally as much as Harry despised Snape. There was something nearly comfortable about their relationship.
Hermione would just never understand that. Maybe, Harry thought, he would have a little fun at Snape's expense this year. After all, he would never expect a fellow teacher of pulling a prank on him, would he? As this thought took root in Harry's mind and began to grow, he turned to Snape and smiled.
"So, Severus," Harry stated, emphasizing his given name sarcastically, subtly acknowledging to Snape their equality now that they were both professors, something he was sure would perturb Snape to no end. "You finally got the Defense Against the Dark Arts job, eh?"
Snape paused in his eating and placed his fork on the table beside his plate deliberately. "Oh, that's right," Harry said snapping his fingers. "That class is called 'Rise and Fall of the Dark Arts' now. I forgot." Harry put a large forkful of eggs in his mouth and chewed thoughtfully before adding, "So, do you call Voldemort by his name or still refer to him as the Dark Lord?"
Hermione's fork clattered onto her plate. Harry glanced at her, giving a slight wink while under the table, his foot was restraining hers from repeating her earlier well-placed kick. Harry returned his attention to Snape, attempting to appear as guileless as possible. Snape looked at Harry with a tight smile and said, "Yes, I did finally get the Dark Arts job, Harry."
"Well, congratulations!" Harry said heartily, slapping Snape on the back, causing him to lurch forward slightly.
"Harry," Professor McGonagall intentionally interrupted. "You mentioned something in our correspondence about letting a house in Hogsmeade. Have you found one?"
Apparently, Hermione wasn't the only one eavesdropping.
"Yes, Professor, I have."
Surprised, Hermione looked at him and asked, "You aren't going to live at the castle like the other professors?"
"No. Professor McGonagall agreed to allow me to find my own housing. I have wanted to try my hand at home renovation. I've watched these do-it-yourself shows on American television for years and thought it looked like fun." Harry glanced up from his breakfast when it was obvious that no one was talking or eating.
Everyone was staring at him.
He saw the shocked expressions on their faces and said, "I'm sure I'll use magic; it didn't look like that much fun." That apparently made everyone feel much better and they returned to their breakfast.
"Home renovation? Did you learn that in the States?" Hermione asked with an edge to her voice.
"Nope, just watched it on American television. I didn't look too hard. I picked up a book about magical renovations that should help me along, too, " he said. "But," Harry whispered to Hermione, looking around, "I want to do some of it without magic." He quickly put his finger up to his mouth and said teasingly, "Shhh. We don't want to alarm anyone."
"Good luck," Hermione said sarcastically with a smirk on her face.
"I could use some help if you are interested in broadening your magical skills," Harry said. "It looked like a very interesting book," he added, looking at Hermione out of the corner of his eye.
"Really? Maybe I'll come check it out," she said with some interest.
Harry shook his head and grinned into his rapidly diminishing plate of eggs, warmed that Hermione's nearly obsessive love of learning hadn't changed.
"Still getting special treatment, I see," Snape said under his breath so that only Harry could hear. "Some things never change, do they Potter?"
"It is not my fault that people like me more than they do you, Severus," Harry said under his breath.
Harry wiped his mouth preparing to leave. He leaned over to Snape and whispered, "If you ever need to have a speaker in class that was there and helped defeat Voldemort, just let me know. I'll be glad to fill in the holes of your second hand account."
"Excuse me, Professor McGonagall," Harry said rising. "I need to get down to the pitch and check on the Quidditch supplies and inventory. Lots to do before the students get here," he grinned as he walked out of the hall.
September 23, 2003
Harry -
I wanted to drop you a line to welcome you back to England. Is it true you have been in the States for the last few years? Did you happen to catch a Quidditch game over there?
I am still the Keeper for Puddlemere United. Three years ago we won the Championship - what a rush! The last few years have been disappointing as we have gone through some tough times, mostly due to a new owner with more money than Quidditch knowledge and the loss of some key players to other teams. We have a new coach now and seem to be righting the ship.
I have tickets for you whenever you want them. Just say the word. Keep in touch.
Oliver Wood
Dear Harry,
I was so happy to hear that you are back in the country! Where have you been for the last few years? I have thought of you often and have hoped that you were all right. It seemed very out of character for you to suddenly leave without telling anyone and to stay out of touch for so long.
Things are going well for me. I am married and have a beautiful baby girl named Elizabeth. She is 6 months old and just the sweetest baby you could ever imagine. I would love for you to meet my family. The next time you are going to be in London, send me an owl and we can arrange to meet in Diagon Alley.
Welcome home, Harry.
Cho
As expected, the first week of school was exhausting for everyone. The First Years were so nervous and excited about starting lessons at the most renowned Wizarding school in the world that they could barely sleep. The Second through Seventh Years forsook sleep for friendship and stayed up entirely too late catching up with old friends. Soon enough, the excitement and energy gave way to the routine of lessons and everyone settled into the new school year as if the summer holiday had not happened.
The addition of Harry as the Flying Instructor caused quite a stir. Harry Potter was a name that all children in the magical world grew up hearing, not only because of his defeat of Voldemort, but also due to his Quidditch skills. To have him as the Flying Instructor and Quidditch Coach was a dream come true for nearly everyone. For the sports fans he was one of the best seekers in Hogwarts' history. To others, he was a brave and courageous man that had defeated Voldemort. Most obviously, to the girls and the newly re-formed Harry Potter Fan Club, he was a hottie.
Much to her chagrin, Hermione always knew who had flying lessons after Transfiguration due to the excessive primping that went on during the last few minutes of class.
It didn't take long for word of Harry's return to England to spread throughout the wizarding world. So many students sent owls to their parents with the news the first day of school that the Owlery was completely deserted for the first time in recent memory. Soon, however, these same owls returned to Hogwarts with letters to Harry from witches and wizards across the land welcoming him home.
Instead of opening each letter, Harry had taken to putting them in a trunk the house elves had positioned behind the staff table in the Great Hall. After the owl post had arrived and breakfast was finished, the trunk was emptied and readied for the next day. When Winky, the house elf in charge of Harry's post, asked him what should be done with the letters, he suggested using them to stoke the kitchen fires. Winky, alarmed at the suggestion but bound by her own desire to do what was told of her by a Hogwarts Professor, obediently followed Harry's request.
"You had to guess that this would happen when you came back," Neville said one day as Harry was tossing a handful of letters into an overflowing trunk.
"I had hoped that after five years people might have moved on," Harry said, as another owl came swooping in with a quite large package in his clutches. "I guess not." Harry took the package from the owl, looked at the return address and tossed it in with the others.
Neville looked at the package in the trunk and asked, "Aren't you even going to open it?"
"No."
"Why not?"
"Because, I don't want whatever it is."
"It could be something valuable," Neville pleaded.
"How valuable can it be if they are willing to give it away to a total stranger? If it meant something to them they should have kept it."
Neville continued to stare at Harry and back at the trunk in amazement.
Hermione arrived at breakfast and sat down next to Neville taking a quick glance at the trunk. "Fan mail still flying in, Harry?"
Harry grunted his response and continued to eat his sausage. He knew, on some level, even though he had denied it to himself, this would happen. He had hoped his extended absence would temper the outpouring of affection people seemed determined to heap upon him. He didn't want it five years ago and he didn't want it now - especially now, when anything he might have done to warrant it was so far in the past. He knew the solution, although to carry through with it would seem to contradict his desire for anonymity. He groaned inwardly.
It worked once; maybe it will work again.
"Hermione," Neville said. "You agree with me that he should at least open the packages he receives, don't you? Someone spent the time and effort to post something to him; he should at least do them the courtesy of opening it."
"It's Harry's post, he should do whatever he likes," she said simply, taking a piece of toast from the plate on the table.
"Yeah, but…"
"Look, Neville," Harry interrupted. "There is no reason for these people to be sending me stuff. I haven't done anything. I have been gone for five years and this is why I left," he said gesturing to the letters in the trunk. "I have done nothing to deserve this attention and I don't want it. I am certainly not going to encourage this blind adoration that complete strangers feel for me because of something that happened in the past. If you want to open the letters, fine, do it. But I don't want to open them, read them or reply to them. End of discussion."
Neville, feeling properly put in his place, rose from his chair. "Whatever you say, Harry." Hermione watched as Neville walked from the Great Hall then turned to Harry.
"That was a little harsh, Harry."
Harry shook his head, wiped his mouth with a napkin and tossed it on his plate. "Maybe so, but he has been on me for a week about opening this junk. I'm sick of listening to it."
"Are you throwing everything away?"
"I've read letters from Dumbledore, Lupin, Molly, Cho, Oliver Wood, Ernie MacMillan, people I actually know. Everything else goes in the bin."
"What did Cho have to say?" she asked, looking sideways at Harry. "'Oh, Harry, I'm so glad you are back! Please send me an owl so we can get together at Madam Puddifoot's as soon as possible,'" Hermione said, clasping her hands in front of her chest, in a spot-on imitation of Cho Chang, Harry's first girlfriend.
Harry chuckled. "No, she told me all about her husband and their new baby girl. She did say she was glad I was back and wanted me to meet her family, though."
"I didn't know she got married. Too bad. You guys made such a cute couple."
"Maybe. But she never stopped crying long enough to have any fun."
Hermione laughed. "Maybe it was your kissing ability after all that made her cry."
Harry picked up a leftover piece of sausage from his plate and threw it at Hermione. "I have asked many girls since and trust me, they have all raved about my kissing ability. She was just mental."
Hermione made a face and threw the sausage back at Harry. "Whatever you say, Harry."
Harry continued eating, attempting to ignore the stares of a large group of Hufflepuff girls. He looked up quickly at them and pointed his finger, saying "Gotcha!" It had the desired effect of startling them out of their ogling, but the unexpected result of causing them to knock over a pitcher of pumpkin juice, flip a plate of bacon and eggs so that it went flying over to the Gryffindor table and, in the case of one small Second Year, fall backwards out of her chair.
"Oops," Harry said, grinning. He pulled out his wand and in an instant the table was clean again. The girls looked up at him with a combination of embarrassment at being caught staring at him and ecstasy at Harry having noticed them. He smiled and shook his head, returning to his plate before him.
"Way to go, ace. Now they are even more in love with you." Hermione said sarcastically. "Or was that your goal?"
"Hardly." He looked at Hermione as she ate. "You sure are cheeky this morning."
Hermione shrugged her shoulders. "No more than usual, or don't you remember?"
"I seem to remember it being directed more at Ron than me." Harry stopped before saying what was on the tip of his tongue, what he didn't want to say. Hermione looked at him with a strained expression and returned to buttering her toast.
Never realized how much of a buffer I was, did you? Ron said snarkily. Isn't that just typical of my life? I'm not fully appreciated until I'm dead, and even then it has taken you five years.
Harry cleared his throat. "So, I've started some of my renovations and could use some help. You up for it?" Harry asked in a spirited attempt to change the subject as he moved into Neville's vacant chair beside Hermione.
"What are you recruiting me for?" she asked warily.
"Just a little painting but mostly for company. It's pretty boring painting by yourself."
"Why don't you use magic? It would go faster."
"I'm a glutton for punishment."
Hermione took a bite of her toast and considered his request. Harry had the impression she was reviewing a list of things to do in her head. "Saturday is full, how about Sunday?"
Despite the fact that Harry was not anticipating his doom as he had so many times before while walking this route, his legs seemed to automatically slow his pace in anticipation of returning to the Potions Dungeon. One thing that had not changed was the feeling of dread that he felt.
Hermione was right; he had been harsh on Neville. He had taken his frustration out on his friend - on someone that had once been his friend, he corrected inwardly - and he felt horrible about it. Besides the fact that he had been wrong and needed to apologize, Harry knew that if he wanted to rebuild his life and the friendships that he had once cherished, he shouldn't try to alienate those friends his first week back.
Harry thought back on the conversation he had earlier with Hermione. It was blatantly apparent, although she was trying to disguise it, that she was still uneasy with their reconciliation.
The part of him that had been avoiding thinking about the consequences of his actions was surprised at this. Before he went away, he and Hermione had shared such an easy rapport. However, his ability to repress the guilt and uneasiness he felt owing to his less than admirable behavior was diminishing. And it didn't help matters that he was being somewhat duplicitous with regard to the reasons for his return. He wasn't quite sure if Hermione's continued agitation with him was a result of his attempt to insinuate himself back into her life or her knowledge that he was still withholding the reason why he hadn't written. He hoped it was the former; for that he had a plan.
The Plan, he thought wryly and chuckled to himself. Giving it a definitive name was giving it entirely too much legitimacy. There really wasn't a plan, per se, only a few ideas resulting from a brainstorm session that took place over a case of beer the night before he returned to England. His two closest friends in America had tried to help him come up with a scheme to regain Hermione's friendship. Wyatt, the self-proclaimed cowboy who had never even ridden a horse, and Darby, the party girl from New Orleans that never met a stranger, were the only two people in America that knew who he really was.
How they became such good friends is a mystery. Of the eight housemates he had in San Diego, the three of them seemed drawn together by some invisible force. Harry saw in Wyatt shadows of his best friend, Ron. In Darby he saw a beautiful girl that might help him forget his past. For three years they were inseparable, reminding Harry on more than one occasion of his friendship with Ron and Hermione. With one exception: this time, Harry got the girl.
And lost the girl with, surprisingly, no damage to the friendship of the three. Their romantic attachment was more the result of opportunity meeting excesses of alcohol and a shared affection. Each saw it for what it was, an attempt to elevate the relationship to the next level, the level that logically they should achieve. But in reality, they were not in love with each other and were honest enough with one another to admit it and move back to the comfortable parameters of their previous relationship.
Much as he had dreaded the necessary confrontation with Hermione, Harry had dreaded telling Wyatt and Darby about his true identity. Luckily fate, in the form of an owl from Dumbledore with the news of Madam Hooch's retirement, had intervened. Dumbledore's implied suggestion that the position was his if he so desired was the catalyst for his revelation.
After the initial shock wore off, they had reacted just as he expected them to, both grilling him about defeating Voldemort. To Harry's surprise, he wasn't bothered by their questions or recounting the details of his seven years at Hogwarts. When told to an objective third party, the stories did sound quite unbelievable and Harry enjoyed the shocked and awed reactions of his friends. When the questions turned to Ron, Hermione and his friends left behind, his unease became apparent. Their disapproval of how he left things, especially with Hermione, was not far behind.
Having heard him recount the story of his last week in England and his flight across the Atlantic, his friends were not afraid to make their opinions known. Seeing it through their eyes was a revelation to Harry. He had been consumed with himself and trying to understand who he was. He had pushed forcibly from his mind concerns for anyone else. Selfish son-of-a-bitch, was what Darby had called him, feeling self-righteous indignation on behalf of Hermione. Inexplicably, a female bond was formed with a woman she had never met and would quite possibly, upon meeting, not care for. Wyatt, ever the peacemaker between Darby and Harry, decided that the best thing they could do for their friend, instead of making him feel miserable about something he couldn't change, was to help him find a way to make things right. So began Harry's short course on his faults and how to change them.
Harry sighed as he stood in front of the door to the Potions Dungeon. And so here I am. Step one: admit when you are wrong. He took a deep breath and knocked lightly on the door.
Looking up from the papers he was grading, Neville said, "Hey! What are you doing down here?"
Harry shuffled to the front of the room. "I came to apologize for being so rude earlier. You didn't deserve that."
Neville was too stunned to conceal his amazement that Harry had apologized. He sat there, staring at Harry with his mouth open.
"I have this bad habit of acting or speaking without thinking. It's something I'm working on."
Neville waved his hand in dismissal. "No need to apologize, Harry. Hermione is right. It is your post. Do what you want with it."
Harry looked around the dungeon, which had changed quite significantly from the days when Snape had been the Potions Master. Along one wall were three large floor-to-ceiling windows that were enchanted to mimic the landscape and weather outside since they were underground.
"I love what you've done with the place," Harry said.
Neville smiled. "Thanks. This place was so depressing and dreary when I started. Not to mention the fact that it held horrific memories for me. Dumbledore loved the idea for the windows and did the magic himself. "
"I bet Snape hates it."
"That is putting it mildly."
"That makes me like it even more."
"Yep," Neville said, beaming.
Harry shook his head in amazement. "Potions. I still can't believe you are teaching it!"
Neville smiled. "Me either."
"Do you like it?"
"I don't know if it is my life's ambition, but I have enjoyed it more than I thought I would. It does have one fringe benefit that no other job would have."
"Being close to Ginny?" Harry asked.
"Besides that." Neville grinned wickedly. "It drives Snape crazy."
"That's a short trip."
Harry looked around the dungeon that had been like a torture chamber to him for seven years. "Remember how Snape used to threaten to test our potions on us?"
"How could I forget? Why do you think I got so good? I knew if I messed up, he would do it."
Harry grinned mischievously and wiggled his eyebrows up and down. "Why don't we test a little potion on him?"
Neville grinned broadly in return. "What do you have in mind?"