Chapter Text
“I have to admit, when I said you were always welcome to visit, I did not expect it to be so soon,” McGonagall said, her eyes twinkling over her goblet.
A small crowd was gathered at a cosy little table in the lounge, hardly more than a handful of teachers, celebrating the end of the school year. McGonagall had informed the other professors of Harry’s return to the castle before he and Severus had joined them for dinner, or so he assumed from the lack of comment at their joint arrival. No amount of preparation could have saved them from the curious looks they had still received, though.
“Sorry, Professor,” Harry said, with a sheepish smile.
“Minerva, if you please,” she answered. “And not at all, I meant it; you are always welcome.”
Across from him, Severus gave him an unreadable look while lifting a fork to his mouth.
“He is indeed hard to get rid of,” Severus said, with a slight edge of irony. “Not to be parted from his beloved cauldrons.”
Aware that his ears were burning, Harry busied himself with the serving platter, shovelling peas onto his plate until he was sure that the teachers’ attention was elsewhere and that it was safe to look up.
It wasn’t.
“And I suppose you encouraged him to part with them, eh?” Sprout asked Severus, grinning, while reaching for the mashed potatoes. “Oh well, I understand perfectly. Now that Longbottom’s gone, the greenhouses have become rather quiet—I don’t suppose you take bookings to help out there as well?”
When instead of answering, Harry let his gaze sweep around the table for help, she winked at him. “No hard feelings. It’s a question of interest, eh?”
At a loss for words, Harry decided he would focus on eating. He caught a fleeting glance of Severus looking equally annoyed and amused.
“You are making Harry uncomfortable, Pomona,” Minerva reprimanded.
“So I am,” Sprout said remorselessly. “Glass of wine?”
Glad for the distraction, Harry nodded and held up his glass. Seven years of Herbology had not prepared him for her candour. Declining her offer, Severus took the wine bottle and passed it to Flitwick.
“Poppy, did you book that holiday in Provence in the end?” Minerva asked loudly.
It turned out Madam Pomfrey had and was looking forward to spending time on the beach as well as visiting the wizarding plant market in Grasse. Despite Severus’s caustic comment to cut down on the lavender (apparently half the Hogwarts grounds were planted with French lavender following her last holiday), he listened intently to her descriptions of the market. Judging by her report, the place was quite a sight.
As she kept talking and Harry’s thoughts wandered, he couldn’t stop himself from glancing at Severus. When Severus smirked at Pomfrey’s experience with the pitfalls of translation spells, their gazes met and held long enough for Harry’s stomach to jump.
He tried not to stare at Severus all the time, but it thrilled Harry to see him in a group of colleagues. Severus seemed completely at ease among them—as was to be expected after decades of teaching and fighting a war together—giving free rein to his sarcasm and taking it as well. The banter he had going with Minerva was a different kind than with Harry—drier and more aggressive on both sides—but they matched each other well and seemed to know when enough was enough.
After the main course, conversations sprang up around the table in smaller, changing groups. One after the other, Rolanda, Filius, Pomona and Poppy offered Harry their first names and peppered him with questions about his plans for the future. Glad that they didn’t question his return to Hogwarts, he answered them and asked about their summers. It turned out most of the teachers were going to summer cottages or abroad for at least a few weeks. Minerva and Pomona were staying until the end of July but, after Harry’s birthday, only Severus would remain at the castle.
“Have you ever given thought to the idea of returning to teach at Hogwarts?” Pomona asked Harry, to benign smiles and nods from the other teachers, save Severus who seemed genuinely appalled at the question.
“And I suppose this is the encouragement to leave you were talking about?” Severus asked, provoking a deep chuckle from her.
Harry grinned. He had given it thought, only to find he had no desire to teach at the moment, especially the younger years, but the idea of baiting Severus was nice.
“I have,” Harry said. “Don’t know whether I’d be any good at it, though.”
“You have taught practical Defence before,” Minerva said. “I daresay it would be easier with qualifications and the luxury of meeting your students in a proper classroom instead of clandestine hiding places.”
“I might keep that in mind for future career decisions,” Harry said. He smiled innocently at Severus, who was wearing a look of boredom so expressive, Harry didn’t buy it for one second.
“Well,” Severus said, “if you complete your studies in time for Slinkhard’s retirement, please do tell me how you like teaching Miss McCrae at the height of puberty.”
Oh God. He didn’t want to imagine a single lesson like that, let alone experience it twice a week. Teaching teenagers had been hard when Harry had been one himself, and he knew it would be even harder when he wasn’t.
His last school year had cured him of the illusion that people were getting used to seeing the Chosen One every day. With every batch of first years, a fresh supply of adoring fans like McCrae would come for at least the next few years. The irony of not wanting a student to moon over him was not lost on him.
“I’ve just remembered that all my talents lie elsewhere,” he said, scratching the back of his neck. “Just imagine: If I only taught to my strengths, every day would be Expelliarmus day.”
This evoked a wave of protests and assurances of his competence, which was nice, but better yet was Severus’s full-on grin from across the table.
Well after midnight, Filius was the first to take his leave and Poppy followed him. Harry had enjoyed himself so thoroughly, he had given no thought to returning home.
The rest of the teachers got up, and Minerva turned to him.
“Shall I have the elves prepare a room for you?” she asked crisply. “The dormitories will already be cleared, but we do have guest chambers.”
From the tone of her voice, Harry gathered other sleeping arrangements would be out of the question—not that he had expected them to happen. His cheeks warmed.
“No! No, thanks, I should be Apparating home now.”
Since he had expected to return home by train, he hadn’t thought of asking Kreacher to light the fire. Apparition it was, then.
Severus rose. “I’ll see whether I can succeed where Minerva failed and make sure you are indeed gone this time.”
They walked through the dark, silent hallways together, mindful of the sleeping portraits. Severus didn’t stop at the oaken front doors, but swept on through the grounds, leading the way to the station at a brisk pace. When they arrived at the wrought-iron gates, he opened them with a wave of his hand.
“You are sober enough to Apparate?” he asked curtly.
Harry nodded, appreciating the concern for his well-being as well as the fact that Severus didn’t sound patronising. He had a feeling that an insolent ‘Yes, Dad,’ would be detrimental to the relationship he was aspiring to have with him.
“Yeah, thanks.”
He buried his hands in his—thankfully Audipuff-free—pockets.
Again, they were standing in silence. Although Harry had a better feeling this time, he was still reluctant to leave Hogwarts without knowing when he’d see Severus again.
“If you want help for lowly potions preparation, I’m just an owl away,” Harry said. “I’d rather avoid the greenhouses, though.”
Severus’s mouth twitched.
“Would you now? I’d say Pomona was joking and only had your best interests at heart, but I wouldn’t want to lie to you.” He raised an eyebrow. “I expect you won’t have time for recreational activities, seeing as you will be working diligently on your application, am I correct?”
“As you always are.” Harry grinned and ducked from Severus’s playful swat. “Can I pick your brains if I hit a dead end?”
“If you must,” Severus answered agreeably. “Off with you now.”
“Okay, thanks. See you,” Harry said and Disapparated with a small pop.
He arrived perfectly positioned on the step of number twelve, Grimmauld Place, went in and leaned back against the door.
He was the world’s biggest idiot. Who would pass up an offer of being Apparated home by their crush?
Only a Gryffindor too thick to seize the opportunity.
*
After a cold, lonely night in the room Harry still didn’t quite feel was his, he sat in the kitchen while Kreacher slowly prepared eggs and bacon, muttering to himself. Harry hadn’t had the heart to address the fennel vases that were still littering the house, nor the frilly dresses draped over random furniture. While Kreacher had mellowed due to their common appreciation of Regulus and wasn’t as unpleasant as he had been before, he was downright loopy now. Harry wondered whether he had been alone for too long or was getting senile.
A steady knocking roused Harry from his morning melancholia. It took him a while to locate and identify it as an unfamiliar owl bearing a piece of parchment that looked like a shopping list. On the back, the words ‘Open your Floo, wanker,’ were written in a familiar scrawl.
Harry fed the owl a few pieces of his omelette, then showered before opening the Floo and sticking his head through to the Burrow.
Hermione looked up from her book and nearly fell off the sofa, squeaking, when she spotted him.
“Harry! How was it? Did you come home just now? What—”
“Good morning to you, too,” Harry interrupted, smiling.
Ron, sitting beside her with a magazine, waved his half-eaten apple in greeting.
“Want to come through?”
Ron yelled towards the kitchen that they were visiting Harry, then they came through the Floo.
Hermione ignored Ron’s attempt to take a seat next to Harry and sat between them, half on Ron’s lap. She squeezed Harry’s hands between hers while he gave a report of the previous evening. They were appropriately astonished and awed by Pomona’s antics and suitably supportive at the parts relating to Severus.
“For a moment, I thought you’d spent the night at Hogwarts!” Hermione said when he was done.
“McGonagall did offer a guest room,” Harry said.
Hermione grinned. “Now, if only Professor Snape had offered you a room…”
“Severus didn’t...”
Harry watched with a mixture of triumph and joy as his friends’ eyebrows lifted. After the reception, he had forgotten to tell them.
“Blimey,” Ron said, setting the apple core on the coffee table. “You must be the first student in… forever, probably.”
“To be honest, they all offered me their first names,” he admitted. “But he was the first. Anyway, bloody weird, calling Flitwick ‘Filius’.”
“God, yes. I’m not sure I could do it,” Hermione said. “But back to the topic, what else happened?”
“Nothing,” Harry answered. “He reminded me of my application, which I suppose I should start someday now. I’m allowed to ask him for help, though, if I need it.”
“Well, I suppose you’ll need a lot of help then,” Ron said matter-of-factly, then grinned. “Shouldn’t be too hard to pretend.”
“Prat,” Harry said, grinning back.
Hermione rolled her eyes at them. “Do you have any idea on how to start?”
“The application should be something they can open and dismantle, so I suppose I have to find some kind of container to start with, even as practice material.”
“Weren’t there some silver boxes when we cleaned up here?” Ron asked. “I think Fred and George were supposed to put them in the attic.”
“You’re right, I’ll ask Kreacher to look for them,” Harry said. “Oh and Hermione, do you have any books on ward theory I could borrow?”
“Of course!” Hermione looked as though she were mentally going through her book inventory. “The Wines and Ballantyne should be good for a beginner, maybe even the Petrescu… I was planning to sort through my stuff today anyway, see what I’m going to take with me into the flat, so I’ll keep some books to the side for you.”
“Sort through your stuff… Miniaturise your library, more like!” Ron said, “Leaving me back in the Burrow with raging women.”
At Harry’s inquisitive look, he said, “Ginny and Mum are fighting about Zabini again. Ginny’s furious with Mum’s meddling. By the way, you’re invited for lunch next Sunday. Teddy’s coming as well.”
Harry felt a pang from his conscience. It had been too long since he had visited Andromeda or written to her. And now that he no longer had the school owls at his disposal, he couldn’t post the letters even if he did write. He wanted to have a means to communicate, not only with Andromeda but with other people who didn’t have their Floo open, or spent a lot of time outside their private chambers (in their dungeons, brewing) where they didn’t hear it chime. He turned to Ron.
“Want to pop to Diagon Alley for a bit this afternoon?”
“Sorry, mate, I promised Mum I’d help her levitate the rest of the garden furniture from the shed to distract her.”
He looked as if he really did regret it.
*
So Harry took the inevitable trip to Eeylops alone, hurrying along to avoid being recognised on the street. When he ducked into the small, dark shop to an ominous creaking of the door, several pairs of eyes opened to investigate the intrusion, then closed again. Only one pair kept glittering out curiously from an old, ornamented cage and its owner greeted Harry with a vigorous clicking of its beak.
As soon as the assistant opened the cage for Harry, a beautiful tawny owl peeked out. It gave a quiet, wavering hoot and didn’t hesitate to hop on Harry’s arm when he held it out.
The owl—a male, the assistant had informed Harry—seemed happy enough to go home with him. Upon their arrival at Grimmauld Place, Harry instructed him to fly around to get to know the place and make himself at home. He swooped around the house in beautiful, long glides, hardly beating his wings, before settling back in his cage and demonstratively closing his eyes. Nocturnal, Harry remembered, and closed the heavy curtains to let him sleep in peace. He was going to need a name for him.
A long time had passed since he had last named an owl. Hedwig had been a wonderful companion, and he still missed her, even though the deaths of people he loved had put hers into perspective. The new owl was not going to be a replacement, but he already brightened up Grimmauld Place, even when sleeping. His elegant flight made Harry think of Quidditch moves and he summoned Quidditch Through the Ages to leaf through it later in search of a good name.
He left the owl to sleep in peace and wandered around the house in search of a receptacle for his application. In the process, he finally binned the fennel, aired the rooms and banished dust wherever he encountered it.
Now he was going to spend a lot of time in the house, he ought to take his own advice and make himself more at home, starting with choosing and properly furnishing his bedroom and a guest room for Ron and Hermione. Maybe he could tag along on Terry’s furniture shopping trip for his flat.
On the second floor, Harry had to fight Kreacher for the last fennel vase. The elf insisted that vegetables were healthy and brightened up the rooms and that Master was unreasonable to take them away. When Harry stayed firm, he slunk away to sulk in the boiler cupboard.
The bedrooms on the second and third floor were mostly empty and tidy except for the dust gathering for years. Harry wondered what he was going to do with all the space.
After climbing to the fourth floor, he quickly skipped through Sirius’s room. While he reckoned he should go through the contents and separate keepsakes from rubbish at some point, he didn’t want to spend the rest of the day wallowing in memories.
Regulus’s room, however, was more interesting. Since Harry had learned of his quest to destroy the Horcrux, he had realised there was more to him than a pure-blooded wanker who had backed out of the Death Eaters, as Sirius had portrayed him. The pure-blooded wanker was strongly represented in the room, though, Harry thought, as he walked past old-fashioned draperies in Slytherin colours and the Black family motto on the wall.
The last time Harry, Ron and Hermione had searched the room, they hadn’t paid attention to anything besides the locket, so he didn’t recall the small, ornate box hidden at the back of a shelf by a piece of fabric. The material was heavy and dusty and Harry remembered that he had planned to ask Kreacher to clean up here.
He turned to the door, but hesitated, reluctant to leave.
Why was he reluctant to leave?
Turning back to look at the room, he searched the contents, stopping at the fabric. It took him a full minute to realise there had to be a fading Notice-Me-Not Spell.
He whipped out his wand and aimed it at the place he couldn’t seem to focus on.
“Finite Incantatem!”
Finally able to look properly, he lifted the fabric with the tip of his wand. The box was small and wooden, with decorative etchings and runes carved on each side. And it seemed to be a feisty little thing.
Harry grinned.
Here was the first step of his application.