Chapter Text
The castle always knew him.
Harry felt it the moment his feet touched the flagstones just inside the Entrance Hall — the faint hum of magic in the walls, the way the air shifted as though Hogwarts itself had drawn a careful breath. Two days before term, the place was quiet in a way it never was once students arrived: no rushing footsteps, no laughter echoing up the staircases, only the soft rustle of enchanted banners and the distant clink of house-elves preparing meals no one would eat yet.
“Harry, dear.”
He turned, smiling before he even saw her.
Minerva McGonagall stood at the foot of the marble staircase, tartan robes immaculate as ever, silver hair pulled back severely — and eyes warm enough to undo him completely. She didn’t hesitate. She crossed the space between them and pulled him into a firm, bracing hug.
“You’re early,” she said, voice muffled against his shoulder. “Unusual of you.”
“I didn’t want to be late,” Harry replied softly, returning the embrace. It still surprised him how natural it felt — being held like this, like he was expected, wanted.
She drew back, hands settling on his shoulders, assessing him with the same sharp gaze she’d once used to judge posture and discipline, now softened by something unmistakably fond. “You look well,” she said. “Tired. But well.”
“Draco says I never sleep properly when I’m nervous,” Harry admitted.
Her lips twitched. “Mr Malfoy says many sensible things these days.”
Harry grinned, then sobered as the weight of the moment settled in. Hogwarts. Again. Not as a student. Not as a soldier. But as—
“Well,” Minerva said briskly, clearly sensing the spiral before it began, “shall we walk? You’ve had a long journey, and I imagine you’d like to see your quarters before dinner.”
“My quarters,” Harry repeated faintly.
“Yes,” she said, arching an eyebrow. “You are a professor now, Mr Potter. Try to keep up.”
They moved together through the hall, their footsteps echoing companionably. Harry’s fingers brushed the stone walls as they passed, grounding himself. He’d been back since the war, of course — memorials, trials, funerals — but this felt different. Quieter. Intentional.
“I still can’t believe you convinced me,” he said after a moment.
Minerva huffed. “Nonsense. You convinced yourself. I merely applied… encouragement.”
“Monthly letters,” Harry corrected. “Weekly Floo calls. That one time you showed up at Grimmauld Place unannounced with biscuits.”
“They were excellent biscuits.”
“They were a trap.”
“And yet here you are.”
Harry laughed under his breath. She’d been there through everything, after the war — when the silence was too loud, when the world expected him to be something he didn’t know how to be yet. She hadn’t pushed, not really. Just stayed. Asked questions. Listened. Reminded him, gently and relentlessly, that Hogwarts had never been only a battlefield.
“Hm,” he said quietly, “this place still feels like… the closest thing I ever had to home.”
Minerva stopped walking. She turned to him fully then, her expression softening into something so achingly tender that Harry had to look away for a second. When she spoke, her voice was steady but kind. "You are always welcome here, Harry. As a student, as a professor… or simply as yourself.”
He swallowed. “Thank you.”
They resumed walking, and after a few steps Minerva added, with deliberate casualness, “Now. Before you ask — no, your boyfriend may not take up residence in the castle.”
Harry groaned. “I didn't say anything.”
“You did not,” she said primly. “You were thinking it very loudly.”
“He’s been with me three years,” Harry protested. “He won’t even touch anything cursed, I promise.”
“Be that as it may,” Minerva replied, “Hogwarts is not a honeymoon destination.”
“I wasn’t—”
“However,” she continued smoothly, “weekends in Hogsmeade are perfectly acceptable. Provided you do not attempt to smuggle him in under an Invisibility Cloak.”
Harry blinked. “You knew about that?”
She smiled thinly. “I was Head of Gryffindor for many years, Mr Potter. There are very few secrets left to me.”
They reached a corridor leading toward the staff wing, the stone warmed by late afternoon light.
“Two days,” he murmured. “Then the students arrive.”
“And you will be excellent,” Minerva said without hesitation. “You always were.”
Harry glanced at her, surprised.
She met his gaze, firm and sure. “This time,” she added gently, “you won’t be facing it alone.”
Minerva paused mid-step.
Harry knew that pause. He’d learned it over the years — the precise, dangerous stillness that meant she was deciding whether to scold him, praise him, or pretend she hadn’t heard him at all.
“You haven’t told Severus?" she asked calmly.
Harry kept his expression innocent. “No.”
The pause lengthened.
“For my own humour,” he added helpfully.
She turned slowly to face him, lips pressed into a thin line that very clearly wanted to become a smile and absolutely would not allow itself the indulgence.
“You are a fully qualified professor now,” Minerva said. “Not a student plotting mischief.”
“I know,” Harry said earnestly. “This is… professional mischief.”
Her nostrils flared. “You are taking up a permanent teaching post at Hogwarts, not testing the structural limits of Severus's temper.”
“I think it’s important,” Harry replied solemnly, “that my colleagues and I bond naturally.”
Minerva stared at him. Then, to Harry’s immense shock, she snorted. It was quick — gone almost instantly — but it happened. Harry’s eyes widened.
“Oh, you’re enjoying this,” he accused.
“I am doing no such thing,” she said stiffly, straightening her robes. “However… I will concede that Severus does have a tendency toward dramatic reactions when confronted with the unexpected.”
“He’s going to hate it,” Harry said, unable to keep the grin from his face.
“Almost certainly.”
“And you’re not going to warn him.”
Minerva considered this for a long moment, gaze drifting thoughtfully toward the dungeons. "No,” she said. “I am not.”
Harry beamed.
“However,” she added, lifting a finger, “when he storms into my office demanding explanations, I will remind him that you are an adult, a war hero, and his equal on the staff.”
Harry hesitated. “That won’t make it better.”
“No,” Minerva agreed serenely. “But it will be accurate.” They resumed walking, the corners of her mouth still betraying her despite her best efforts. “And Harry,” she said after a moment.
“Yes?”
“If you intend to attempt friendship with Severus…”
He braced himself.
“…do try not to enjoy it too much.”
Harry failed spectacularly at suppressing his laugh.