Chapter Text
All of Harry’s problems could be traced back to the curse on Hogwarts’ Defense Against the Dark Arts position - namely, the fact that it was once again vacant and in need of filling. Without that catalyst, Minerva never would have contacted him in his “gap year” of sorts and practically begged him to apply, which left him in the uniquely terrible situation of having no real reason to refuse.
Harry had been content these past two years. Rather, he told himself that he was content with the jobless, pastoral life he had chosen at the Weasley’s in order to “take time for himself.” He had needed to figure out what being “normal” meant after conquering Voldemort, and that wasn’t something he believed could happen by throwing himself back into crime-fighting with the Aurors. Though, despite this reasoning, it had still hurt to turn Kingsley down.
Normal. He repeated it to himself like practicing a spell, day after day. He would wake up early and come down to sit on the Weasleys’ overstuffed couch with a cup of tea, smiling fondly at Molly who was already knitting in the chair. Normal. He would skip mock-Quidditch games with Ginny and George, opting instead to fly peacefully over the fields. Normal. Sometimes, he even tried to read the books that had accumulated from Hermione’s Christmas presents to him over the years. Normal, normal, normal.
He was starting to worry that he may never settle comfortably into “normal.” Two bloody years, and he was bored out of his mind. Had the war broken him in a way that was irreparable? Why couldn’t he enjoy this peaceful life that he finally had a chance to experience?
Ron and Hermione seemed to have settled into a normal lifestyle just fine. Sure, they had grieved after the war and taken time to heal both physically and emotionally, but now they seemed content. Hermione had just signed the final papers on a cottage for them to move into - citing that the apartment was feeling a bit juvenile and cramped these days - and they both found their jobs at the Ministry fulfilling.
He was really, truly happy for them. But sometimes, he just felt like they were changing too quickly, moving on into some version of adulthood he would never understand. It scared him more than he would like to admit.
When he had received the owl from Minerva, he had been almost relieved to find an excuse to end his self-imposed exile from society. Amidst his terror at the prospect of teaching, naturally.
Ginny had been hesitant at first - “Are you sure you’re ready to go back into the world? There’s plenty of time, if you need it; no one would blame you after what you’ve been through” - but she had come around when he feigned enough enthusiasm about joining their old friend Neville as a professor at Hogwarts. The fond nostalgia for the school that he considered “home” had been real enough, but his eagerness at teaching specifically had been a little forced.
“Well, alright,” Ginny had said, pulling on her Quidditch gear. “I do think you’d make a brilliant professor. I mean, look at everyone you taught in Dumbledore’s Army!”
“That wasn’t just me,” Harry had said, looking away in embarrassment. “We all helped each other.”
Ginny had just smirked and given him a kiss on the cheek as she headed to the Floo.
“Who are you playing tonight?”
“The Falmouth Falcons. Should be able to crush them easily, but wish me luck!”
She stepped into the Floo and vanished with a flick of red hair before Harry could repeat “good luck” back to her. He had deflated a bit after she left the room, alone once more with all his insecurities and uncertainties.
Now, Harry stood in Dumbledore’s office - Minerva’s office, he corrected himself - and brushed the ashes from his robes. It had been almost two years since he had last stepped foot into Hogwarts, and he was hit immediately with a bittersweet mix of childhood memories and loss.
“Harry,” Minerva said softly, rising from her chair. “Harry, it’s so good to see you again.” In repeating his name, she seemed to be verifying that he was indeed here before her. She stepped around the desk and pulled him into a quick hug before pulling away and clearing her throat. He thought he saw a glisten in her eyes, but it could have been a trick of the candlelight.
She retreated a step back and folded her hands. “Now that that’s out of the way, I want to thank you again for accepting this position on such short notice. As you know very well, we have a hard time keeping Defense Against the Dark Arts professors for more than a short period, and it seems we’ve run through all our willing candidates this time around.”
She gave him a quick smile, but there was an underlying bitterness to it that Harry could definitely relate to. Harry couldn’t help but think of Lupin, the best professor in Defense Against the Dark Arts he had ever had. He would have given anything to have Lupin here teaching instead of him, though he knew that after third year, Lupin hadn’t intended on returning as a professor.
“Of course, Minerva. I’m flattered you thought of me for the position, especially since I never came back and sat for my N.E.W.T.s.”
She quirked a brow. “Oh, I hardly think that’s necessary. You only defeated the greatest dark wizard of our time - I would be hard-pressed to find anyone who thinks you’re underqualified for teaching schoolchildren.”
Harry chuckled, though he honestly did feel a tad underqualified.
“I think, as it is, we’ll have more issues with parents writing in for autographs than complaints about you, Harry,” she continued.
He blanched. “Just don’t let me end up like Lockhart. I don’t want to make my students spend their detentions addressing my fanmail for hours on end.” He would rather miss living at the Weasley’s, where Molly would sort the important mail from the gushing fan letters in the morning and discard the majority before they ever reached him.
“I should hope it never comes to that.” Minerva paused for a moment. “Oh yes, well I imagine you want to spend some time getting your classroom and office in order, so I shan’t keep you. However, there are several things I’d like to discuss once you’ve settled in...one being introductions to several new staff members-”
“Oh, I’m sure I’ll meet everyone in the Great Hall for supper later. I can’t imagine it’s changed too much.”
“Well,” Minerva began, then stopped herself. “Right. I’ll leave you to your organizing then. I trust you remember your way to the classroom on your own?”
Harry just smiled and headed to the classroom that had been at once a place of fun, a place of dread, and now, a place of existential anguish.
After several hours of sorting old textbooks and cages full of bizarre beings (most of which he took straight to Hagrid, knowing next to nothing about magical creatures), Harry felt fairly confident that the classroom looked marginally better than it had before. He opened a window to air it out, so the sunlight was a definite improvement if nothing else. The office had been less of a priority, as less people would see it the first few days, but he knew that he was bound to embarrass himself if students found his classroom unkempt and poorly organized. Unfortunately, organization had never been one of his talents - he had relied entirely on Hermione for that.
He heard the clock tower chiming in the background and realized it was about time he headed down to dinner. Good - that had been plenty of cleaning for one day (or rather, a lifetime, he thought). Harry scrubbed a hand through his messy bangs and headed down to the Great Hall, feeling rather strange about the prospect of sitting at the front table instead of his usual place with Gryffindor.
In entering the ornate double-doors, Harry realized with a jolt that Minerva had already begun addressing the students. He rushed up the side, not quite able to ignore the gaping admiration of most of the students he passed. He met several of their gazes, then looked away sharply, a bit uncomfortable. Almost there - up the stairs, onto the stage. He had nearly made it to the empty seat along the professor’s table, when he glanced up to scan the faces next to him and stopped dead in his tracks.
Seated in front of him was an equally shocked-looking Draco Malfoy.
“Malfoy? What the hell?!” Harry couldn’t help but burst out.
Minerva turned with a tut and a sharp glare, and Harry closed his slack jaw with a snap and took his seat quickly. He could see more students turning their attention towards him rather than their Headmaster. But that still didn’t stop him from turning to glare at his former nemesis with barely-contained anger and confusion.
“Potter,” Malfoy spat, though at a low enough whisper that Minerva wouldn’t turn around and curse them for interrupting. “Come back to sign a few autographs?”
“No! Of all the stupid-” Harry took a deep breath, remembering that he was now a professor and expected to behave as such. He restarted: “Why are you here, Malfoy?”
He chanced a glance away from the Sorting Ceremony, which he was watching rather performatively, and gave Malfoy a once-over. The prat was still as pristinely-dressed as ever, robes pressed into clean, straight lines. His posture was stiffer than it had been in school, though there was still a cool confidence in the way he leaned back in his chair. Harry’s eyes darted back up to his face and was surprised to meet Malfoy’s ice-grey gaze. It seemed to be more analyzing than angry.
“Why do you think, Potter? It shouldn’t take a genius to figure it out.” Malfoy gestured at the table and the line of professors sitting alongside them. “Can ‘The Boy Who Lived’ make a simple deduction?”
“Shut up,” Harry growled, startlingly Professor Flitwick - who was next to Malfoy - into eyeing him disapprovingly. “And maybe I just don’t want to believe it. You? They hired you as a professor? What subject could you possibly teach?”
Malfoy’s mouth set into a scowl, and Harry could swear he caught a tinge of pink pricking the man’s cheeks. “Guess you’ll just have to wait and see,” he huffed and turned back to face the ceremony.
Harry couldn’t stop his eyes from flitting between Minerva directing the first years to their new Houses and Malfoy’s profile. He hadn’t seen the man in nearly two years after all - not since testifying at his trial - and it was strange to see him here in such a vastly different context and after so long. The more Harry snuck glances at him, the more he focused on irrelevant little details like the fact that he didn’t think he had ever shared a table with Malfoy in all their years at Hogwarts. Would he be able to stand it - sitting near him for all his meals the whole school year?
The thought seemed both daunting and tedious, but Harry couldn’t deny that it stirred up another familiar, yet long-suppressed emotion in Harry: excitement. After all this time “living peacefully” at the Weasleys, he had almost forgotten how much of his life he had spent picking fights with people (the Dursleys, Malfoy, Umbridge, etc.). Moreover, that he relished picking those fights. Arguing with Malfoy again made him suddenly realize that he had missed it - it gave him a kind of thrill that only one born into a tumultuous life could understand.
Harry zoned back into Minerva’s speech just in time to catch the introductions.
“...and as I have officially taken on the position of Headmaster, Professor Abbott will be your new Transfigurations professor, and she will also be serving as Head of Hufflepuff House.”
Harry blinked in surprise, then glanced further down the table at Hannah, who was rising to be recognized. He hadn’t known she would be teaching - though he supposed it made sense, as her husband Neville started last term as the Herbology professor when Sprout and Hooch had retired. Neville was a good friend to Harry, though like everyone else, Harry had pushed him away a bit in the past few years following the battle. He wished now that he had made more time to catch up before the school year started to trade stories and plans.
Harry stopped. If Hannah was taking on the Transfigurations class, and if he himself was taking on Defense Against the Dark Arts, that meant… It couldn’t mean, could it?
“And Professor Malfoy,” Minerva continued, “will be stepping in as our new Flying Instructor.” She gestured towards him, and Malfoy rose, pink definitely dotting his cheeks now, though his face had taken on a mask-like quality in facing the crowd.
Harry couldn’t believe it - Malfoy, Draco bloody Malfoy was going to be the Hogwarts gym teacher? Sure, he could fly, but he doubted the man could run a lap without collapsing and feigning injury. After third year, he certainly didn’t have a good track record. He didn’t have time to get over his shock before Minerva continued though.
“Lastly, is Professor Potter, who will be taking on the Defense Against the Dark Arts position, as I’m sure you all could surmise.”
There was a chorus of ‘oohs’ that startled Harry out of his chair and inspired him to wave awkwardly at the students - an act that earned a distinct, derisive snort to his left.
“Now that the Sorting and introductions are out of the way, let the feast commence!” Minerva waved a hand, and heaping trays of ham and potatoes and various fruit pasties appeared on every table. Oh, he had missed this.
Harry ate rapaciously, though he glanced defensively at Malfoy from time to time to gauge whether the man was going to make a snide comment about his “lack of etiquette” or the like. He didn’t, but every time Harry looked over at him, his smirk grew wider, like he knew exactly what Harry was paranoid about. Harry couldn’t decide which was worse.
At the end of the meal, Malfoy wiped his hands delicately on the silk napkin. Then, with no warning whatsoever, he leaned in close to Harry and whispered in his ear.
“Didn’t anyone ever teach you it’s rude to stare, Potter?”
He pulled back quickly and stood before Harry could even process what he had said. By the time Harry choked out a startled “w-what?!,” Malfoy was halfway to the door, leaving Harry red and inexplicably flustered.
And he would not let himself consider for even a moment what that might mean.