|Fic: 'Nineteen Years Later' 3/? HP/DM NC17||[Jul. 29th, 2007|05:44 am]|
Title - Nineteen Years Later|
Author - softly_sweetly
Beta - She Who Is Too Awesome To Be Named (or potion_lady for the brave)
Rating - NC17
Word Count - 2728
Summary - The war is over, and now things can begin anew
Characters/Pairings - *snickers* who'd you think? All right – Harry/Draco
Warnings - Highlight for warnings *Canon to DH:UK:600 Adult Language, Slash, Sex, Angst, Total Fandom Cliches and slight OOCness, because apparently that's okay*
Disclaimer - I own nothing but the plot lines. I make no money from this, and mean no offence by any scene depicted within this story
Author's Notes - Are any of you truly surprised?
Missed the beginning? Go here to play catch up.
Harry walked slowly toward the bench, wondering what he was going to say. The ghostly surroundings of Platform Nine and Three Quarters were familiar to him, and he sat down heavily on the bench. Its other occupant huffed and straightened his paper, but Harry ignored that. "How come you're here?"
"The shop sells Sherbet Lemons, and our esteemed Headmaster is busy salivating."
Harry sniggered and nodded his thanks when Severus lowered his paper and shot a disgusted glare at him. "So, what trivial little problem can I help our Hero with tonight?"
"You don't need to be so mean."
Slipping into the tone one would use with an incredibly stupid three year old, Severus folded his paper and angled his body to Harry. "What you knew of me was mean. Why would you change that preconception in your dreams? Now, forcing me to act as your conscience is bad enough, but must you and I have the 'but you can't just be my conscience, I wouldn't be mean to myself' conversation every time we meet?"
"Spoilsport. I still don't buy that this is all a dream."
"And yet you've never once spoken to your parents in these dreams. Surely, if we were coming from beyond the grave to infiltrate your dull mind, they would be at the front of the queue? They are not, because you do not know them well enough for your mind to construct a persona for them which can then stop you from doing stupid things."
Momentarily stumped, Harry stared across the platform and spotted Albus tossing sherbet lemons into the air and catching them in his mouth. "Well, I still don't think my mind could form sentences like that."
"The unlocked potential of your mind is apparently greater than that which is on display. Now, what do you want?"
"I'm going to teach at Hogwarts…"
"Merlin help us all…"
"…and I'm just stunned. I've never even thought about wanting to teach, and yet…"
"And yet now you want to, I would assume because Draco Malfoy has caught your attention?"
Falling silent at yet another interruption, Harry sighed and pouted, mainly because he knew it pissed Severus – well, his conscience – off. For long minutes they sat in silence as Harry mulled over his feelings, always so un-obscured in this misty haven. "He's so…intriguing. I don't know…I guess I'm just curious."
"Then satiate your curiosity. Ms. Parkinson asked you to stay until Christmas, and while I envision you burning the school to the ground within six weeks, you have given your word. Now, unless there was anything else?"
His worries soothed, Harry knew that whether he walked out of the station or not, the dream would fade away, and he would wake up exactly twenty-five seconds before his alarm went off…
Pansy looked at the picture on yesterday's prophet, and wondered if Draco was choosing these men for their faint resemblances to anyone. She'd been hoping for years that he would find someone and settle down. But he never had, and Pansy wondered if he'd ever even lost his virginity. Not sexually, the evidence of that loss had been splattered all over the Prophet on numerous occasions. But the little piece of soul that was given up to someone you loved. She suspected not.
Raising her head at the knock on her door, Pansy slipped the paper into a drawer and opened the door with a flick of her hand. "Harry, you came."
Smiling, Harry crossed the room and dropped his trunk on the floor, leaning across the desk to shake Pansy's offered hand. "I said I would. Just until Christmas though, okay?"
"Of course. Unless you enjoy it?"
Tipping his head in acceptance of the point, Harry sat down and prepared for a crash course in teaching children. The closer nine came, the more panicked Harry got, until finally he jumped up and began pacing, his hands twisting through his hair. "This is ridiculous! I can't teach! I haven't had the slightest inclination to in thirty seven years! I can't just...just overnight become a teacher, it's insane!"
Standing up and holding her hands out soothingly, Pansy spoke in the tone of voice she used to coax scared children and animals out from their hiding places. "Harry, you'll do fine. You were raised with muggles, and the students have a lot of respect for you. Please, Harry, just try. I've done you some lesson plans for the first few weeks, until you find your stride. It'll work out, and there's an entire faculty to help you. Speaking of which…"
As if on cue, the door opened and Ted bounded in, banging into the umbrella stand on his way to pull Harry into a gruff, one-armed hug. "Harry!"
"Hey Teddy, I guess you've heard the news."
"Yeah! Professor Zabini announced it at breakfast, and it was pandemonium! You got a standing ovation!" Ted wasn't sure why, but that statement made Harry go grey. He guessed it had something to do with his godfather's hatred of publicity. Growing up with Harry had been an experience – people smiling and waving wherever they went. When he was young he’d enjoyed it, but when he hit his teens and Harry had started telling him more about the war, Ted began viewing the adoration with a bittersweet tint.
These people cheered Harry for winning a war that had claimed both his parents, but Ted could not truly complain. Harry had raised him in full knowledge of his parents; of the things they had done and the lives they'd saved. He had inherited his mother's clumsiness and Metamorphmagus genes, and his father's quiet dedication and calm temperament. He'd known a large, happy family and had always been supported. And when he'd decided that Potions was the route for him, that support had continued, though he'd spent a lot of time fixing Harry's potions. Which, he supposed, was a learning tool in itself.
Shaking his head to dispel his meandering thoughts, Ted shot Harry a smile that he was told came straight off his mother's face, and gestured to the door. "Come on, Professor Potter, it's time to go to class!"
Harry shuffled the papers behind his desk and swallowed around the lump of nerves in his throat. Wizard-Muggle relations were the best they had ever been, but those witches and wizards brought up in Wizarding communities were still woefully ignorant of Muggle ways, and Hogwarts kept up teaching Muggle Studies to ensure there were no pretenders to Voldemort's crown.
Looking up, he was unnerved by the rapt attention in every face as the Gryffindor and Slytherin third years gazed at him. Clearing his throat, Harry sighed internally at the ridiculous situation he'd gotten himself into. It was beyond a joke, and he was already running a private bet on whether or not he'd make it to the end of the week before Pansy fired him.
Standing up and walking around his desk, he leant back against it and spoke to the attentive pupils, "Uhm…morning."
The chorus that came back was unnerving, yet Harry couldn't hide a small smile; he remembered the sing-song quality that began each lesson. "Morning, Professor Potter."
"Now, as I'm sure Bl~Professor Zabini told you, my appointment as the professor of Muggle Studies was a very quick one, so you'll have to bear with me as I learn the ropes. For today, what I'd like to do is find out how much you all know. So, who isn't Muggle-born?"
About two thirds of the class raised their hands, and Harry nodded, hoping he looked calmer than he felt. "All right then. So that I can structure my lessons, I want you all to list three things that you do not understand about Muggle customs or traditions. Those who are Muggle-born, I'd like you to do the same, but for Wizarding customs. In about twenty minutes, we'll work out what needs to be covered first. Off you go."
Heading back to his chair, Harry sunk into it and let out a long breath. Except for a few curious glances, the students were doing exactly as he asked, some talking quietly with their neighbours as they worked. He was about to put their good behaviour down to his reputation, but then understanding struck him. They were kids, and he was the teacher – they were sounding him out, finding out what kind of teacher he was before they decided on their behaviour. In the classroom, his "Hero" status didn't matter, what mattered was his disciplinarian status.
Which led to the difficult question – what kind of teacher was he? He wanted to be a fair teacher, but he didn't want to lose control of his class and have to explain thirty school children running amok. As always in times of stress, Harry thought 'what would Hermione do?', and found his answer without too much difficulty. He'd have to work towards fair, but firm. As the children worked, he began mentally preparing his next little speech.
Glancing at the clock, he saw almost half an hour had passed, and cleared his throat. Silence fell, and Harry moved to resume his position in front of the desk, this time sitting up on it and leaning back a little on his hands. Best to start in an approachable manner. "I hope you've all come up with a list, and we'll discuss those in a moment. But first, a few ground rules. You are young adults now, and don't need to be hand-held every step of the way. If I set work, I expect it done. I'm not going to chase you up, but for every day that your work is late, you will lose one house point. If you are having trouble with homework or topics we cover in class, then come and see me. My office hours are seven to nine, Tuesdays and Thursdays, and I'll give you any extra help you need. Beyond that, as long as you do what I ask and show me the respect I will show you, I'm sure that there will be no problems."
He paused to smile at the class, which morphed into his crooked grin when he got some tentative smiles back, and leant off his hands, clapping them together once to bring out the chalkboard. "All right, I need a volunteer to write on the board. "Yes, Miss…?"
"Flint, Sir. Esmeralda Flint."
"Well, Miss Flint, I'd like you to write up a list of the topics we're going to cover. Everyone else, when I ask for your suggestion, can you tell me your name before you give it. Brilliant, you at the front?"
"Conal Clagg, Sir. How do they get about, if they don't have brooms?"
"And planes, and trains, and…"
Harry hid a grin as he turned to the two identical faces that were yelling out. "Thank you, Mr. Weasley and Mr. Weasley, for your help. However, I expect hands up in my classroom before you speak."
Fred shot him a quick grin before nodding, and Oliver beamed. "Sorry, Professor Potter. But that is how they get about, Granddad Arthur said so!"
"It is indeed, and you can take two points for Gryffindor for knowing that. Okay Esmeralda, add transport to the list please. Who's next?"
Harry was both surprised and secretly pleased when, at twelve thirty, Ted walked into his classroom with Draco in tow. "Harry! It's the most amazing thing in the world, showing those little first years how to set a cauldron up and…"
Harry's stomach interrupted Ted's sentence, and they both grinned. "Tell me over lunch, Ted? You may enjoy it, but I find it hungry work. How about you, Professor Malfoy?"
"I have taught before, Potter, not jumped blindly into a job without rhyme or reason."
Harry's smile froze at the words, but when he looked up Draco didn't appear angry, just mildly interested in Harry's shocking decision. Shrugging, Harry straightened up the classroom with a wave of his wand and fell into step with Ted. "When have I ever waited for rhyme or reason?"
He stepped back to allow Draco to pass through the door, wondering if the slight curve of lips at such manners would become a full-blown smile. It didn't, but Harry couldn't stop his mind drifting back to the soft look as Ted gushed over steak and kidney pie and three helpings of treacle tart.
Harry glanced up at the clock and then down at Fred and Oliver. "All right, hand in your lines and get up to bed, I won't protect you from Filch if you dawdle after curfew. And I don't care that we're family, you do not try to use skiving snackboxes in my classroom. I was there when your Dad was creating them."
The twins looked chastened, and Oliver tried out his luck. "Are you going to tell Mum and Dad?"
"Not this time. Now shoo, and don't do it again!"
When he could no longer hear their footsteps, Harry slouched back into his chair and closed his eyes. One week in, and he'd already given out detentions to two students. Admittedly, he was surprised that George and Luna's twins had lasted a whole week before they got detentions, but it still felt odd to be handing them out instead of walking slowly towards them.
The whole situation felt odd, and Harry wasn't sure if he liked it yet. Admittedly he got to spend a little time with Ted, and with Neville and Charlie too, but it still felt strange. He only hoped that Pansy found a replacement soon, or he got used to having to stop the trouble, not get away with it.
Pulling a pile of marking to him, he had just reached for his quill when there was a knock at the door, and he glanced up just as Pansy walked in. "Headmistress, what can I do for you?"
"Less of that, Potter, it's just Pansy when the brats are in bed."
"Then I'll be just Harry."
Smiling, Pansy tipped her head in recognition and leant on the open door. "Staff meetings are Monday morning at seven, and the Saturday detention list is up. You're supervising with Draco, if that's all right?"
"Yeah, sure. What time, and where?"
"Seven, in the same classroom you spent most of your Saturday evenings in. Night, Harry."
His laughter followed her down the hall, and Pansy felt a plot brewing. It was a long shot – for all she knew they still hated each other. But it was a shot nevertheless, and Pansy began working out the pros and cons of taking it.
Draco knew that he had to be more careful now; he was a teacher at Hogwarts, and sex scandals in the Prophet could lose him his job. That meant no more whores, and Hogwarts wasn't exactly teeming with possible lovers. There was a pretty Ravenclaw seventh year, but Draco wouldn't cross that line. Professor Flitwick had been very nice to him this first week, but that was another line he wouldn’t cross.
Sighing, Draco put down his book and resigned himself to fingers and thumbs for the foreseeable future. He headed into the bathroom and flicked on the shower, stripping quickly before he stepped under the spray. Soaping up his hair and body quickly, Draco just stood and allowed the pounding water to wash away the suds. It was different teaching at Hogwarts than it had been teaching abroad. He could still remember being on the other side of the desks, still remember the things he'd done and the mistakes he'd made while he was a student here.
As always, thinking of his schooldays brought his thoughts to the Final Battle, and Draco played it over in his mind again. The existence of the Deathly Hallows, his own unknowing ownership of one for months, Potter dying and then un-dying…even nearly two decades down the line, Draco still didn't fully understand what had happened. What he did know was that Harry had saved his life twice, and Draco had never even thanked him.
There was something about the brunette, some quality that Draco couldn't pin down but wanted to explore anyway. Something that inexplicably called to Draco and made him wonder if the two of them could be something more than old enemies, maybe even friends…