A Thousand Words

A Thousand Words

-Chapter 1-
Back to Hogwarts

Harry Potter examined himself closely in the bathroom mirror, eager to make certain he hadn’t missed anything with his razor. Not that shaving had ever been much of an issue for him, he mused wryly. Time seemed strangely determined to pass him by, only stopping by long enough to drop off a few laugh lines and a dodgy knee. His wife, Ginny, hated the fact that he looked so much younger than his 36 years. He knew her resentment didn’t stem so much from the fact that time had been unkind to her as from the fact that people who did not know them almost always assumed she was the older of the two; something her brothers took great pleasure in teasing her about.

Sighing, Harry looked down at the sink in front of him. It was still covered in the remains of his morning ablutions. Shaving cream clung, insect like, to the side of the sink, sliding almost reluctantly towards the drain. A comb, always a useless weapon against the battle of the sticking-up hair, lay near the edge, holding onto the black hairs that had given up the fight and succumbed to their owner’s impatient tugging. Only the toothbrush and accompanying paste had been returned to their rightful place, a small testament to the fact that tidiness wasn’t entirely out of the realm of possibility for Harry.

Looking back into the mirror, Harry reached up and touched his lightning bolt scar, now a faded peach colour against the pale skin of his forehead. Despite the fact that he had not felt so much as a twinge from it in over 19 years, he still found himself unable to resist the temptation to run his fingertips over it. Finally, he stood up straight and nodded once at his reflection. His appearance wasn’t going to get any better than this, he decided, so he might as well get dressed and get on with it. A new life chapter was about to begin and delaying it out of an irrational case of nerves would serve no purpose.

Walking back into his bedroom, Harry examined the robes Ginny had laid out for him on the bed. They were simple but appropriate and Harry had to acknowledge that his wife had excellent taste when it came to knowing what would look good to the outside world. Much like their marriage really, he thought ruefully. They had been married for nearly fifteen years and had spent the earlier of them happy enough. Babies and overly-involved in-laws had shielded them from certain inevitable truths about their own desires, but as tends to be the case, there simply came a point when they had had to acknowledge that they had married too young and likely for the wrong reasons. Harry knew he had married Ginny out of an intense desperation to be a real member of the Weasley family and he suspected she had committed to their relationship out of a long-standing need to finally fulfill her hero worship of him. Their needs, and the emotions that accompanied them, had been powerful enough in the beginning that they had easily masqueraded themselves as love. True love, however, has a rather unfortunate way of demanding an explanation for being overlooked and to Harry’s intense sorrow, he simply hadn’t one to offer. At the end of the honeymoon phase, neither Harry nor Ginny had possessed the emotion or the will to try and salvage an adult relationship out of childhood desires.

Harry shook his head. Now was not the time to think about things that could not be changed. He and Ginny had three wonderful children and had found, for their sake, a way to exist together in an almost sibling-like relationship. It had been agreed by both of them that his accepting the offer of the Defence Against the Dark Arts position at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry would be best for everyone. He could keep an eye on their sons, both of whom now attended the school, and Ginny could try to salvage some sort of independent life in his absence. She had already decided, in fact, to open a clothing shop with her mother, specializing in knitted sweaters. Harry’s move to the castle would also mean finally not having to make anymore excuses to the kids about why he was sleeping in the basement. A man could only have so many fictitious cases of Contagious Grothargs on his chest before people became suspicious. Yes, it was indeed best for everyone, Harry knew. Despite this knowledge, however, a sense of intense unhappiness and failure permeated his very essence now and he wished desperately to try and begin his life again.

After slipping on the robes, Harry stood back to examine himself in the room’s full-length mirror. “Lovely,” said the mirror with enthusiasm and Harry couldn’t help a small smile. He brushed out a crease and straightened his glasses. Well, he certainly looked ready to teach, in his humble opinion. Too bad it required more than the correct robes to do so. He shook his head and turned away from the mirror. As he picked up his briefcase and headed toward the door, he hoped fervently that this was not going to be another employment experience like the one at the Ministry of Magic.

Despite being the ‘hero of the wizarding world’, his superiors in the Auror department had seemed consistently determined to regard him as a young man in need of guidance and as someone never ‘quite ready’ to take on a position of true responsibility. Well, until it came time to drag him out of mothballs and parade him in front of the press at some new office building opening or diplomatic welcoming party that is. Then he was ‘the man of the hour’ all over again. The admiration always seemed to get left at the front door of the Ministry building, however, and any real, worthwhile work seemed destined to pass over him to someone else’s desk. Whether this lack of confidence was due to his youthful face alone or because of some other quality his superiors saw as somehow lacking in his character, Harry could not say (and Merlin knew they certainly wouldn’t say), but he had finally had enough.

If nothing else, his experiences at the Ministry had made Harry determined that his work at Hogwarts would not be the same. He would not allow himself to be used as a token and dismissed as less than a useful contributor. He would prove himself valuable not because he was Harry Potter, Saviour of the Wizarding World, but because he was Harry Potter, All Round Competent and Useful Adult. And once Harry was determined, few powers could push him from his set course, as some in his past had found out the hard way. Yes, Harry thought, as he headed upstairs for breakfast, he was going to make this an experience to remember.

+++

Harry watched with interest as the magically painted version of Albus Dumbledore rolled a time-turner around in the palm of his hand before bringing it up close to his eye. He squinted at it, his face pinched in concentration, before holding it up to the light of the open window behind him.

Harry sighed deeply, something about the sight of his old Headmaster making him decidedly sad. He turned at the sound of a derisive snort from the other side of the room. “Is that pity I see on your face, Potter?” a familiar voice sneered.

Harry smiled at the black-clad figure in the large, ornately framed picture across the room. “Does pity still make you uncomfortable, Severus?” he asked lightly.

Severus Snape, the last Headmaster to occupy the office before the defeat of the Dark Lord, shook his head and put down the book he had been reading. He crossed his long legs and placed both hands on the arm rests of the leather chair he occupied. “Stupidity makes me uncomfortable,” he sniped. “Needless to say, I was always uncomfortable in your presence.”

Harry laughed. “I’ll take it as a good sign then that that statement was in the past tense,” he said. He wandered over to the pensieve still sitting in the same spot that it had been when he’d used it on that fateful night nineteen years before. This, like so many other items related to that horrific time, remained untouched, like a shrine to a victory hard-won. At least this one did not bear an engraved sign explaining to the curious what function it had served in helping Harry defeat the ultimate enemy of the wizarding world. Harry peered inside at the swirling memories and glanced back up at Snape, knowing they too had not been disturbed over the years. “Besides, I think we both know you didn’t really hate me as much as you pretended.”

The former Potions Professor shifted almost imperceptibly in his seat, but it was enough for Harry to know his point had been made. Snape sneered again. “It was your mother I loved, Potter, not you. Possessing her eyes does not make you any less the stupid, annoying boy that I sacrificed my life for.” He picked up his book again and flipped it open with a flourish. “My loyalty was always to her, not to you.”

The fact that the book was upside down was not lost on Harry and he smiled again. “I suppose my thanking you for your sacrifice won’t do any more good this time than it has before,” he said, still smiling patiently.

Snape responded by raising the book to cover his face. As Harry turned away, he was aware, out of his peripheral vision, of the book being slowly turned right way round.

At the sound of the Headmaster’s door opening, Harry looked up and smiled when he saw Neville Longbottom, his old school friend, enter the room. Harry turned back to the portrait of Dumbledore and tilted his head slightly to one side. “He’s still at it I see,” he said, pointing to the time-turner in the old wizard’s hands.

As Neville made his way across the room, he glanced up at the gilded frame hanging behind the room’s large desk and nodded absently. “Oh, yeah. He’s been doing that since the day after you defeated Voldemort.” The various pictures of the past Headmasters of the school all nodded in sympathy, several of them shaking their heads sadly. Dumbledore, still examining the time turner, seemed oblivious to anyone in the room.

“Still hasn’t spoken to anyone?” Harry asked with a raised eyebrow.

Shaking his head, Neville sat down and indicated that Harry should do the same across from him. “Not a word. Batty in life, barmy in death, I suppose.” He smiled sadly. “Or something went wrong with the magic that creates the picture in the first place. Some people think he’s not even aware he’s dead and in a frame.”

Harry nodded. “Yeah, I’ve heard that one. I don’t believe it, though. He was aware enough the night I killed Voldemort. Not to mention in Severus’ memories. Albus talked to him for almost an entire year from that frame and he was very well aware of the fact he was dead.” The sound of a slamming book was enough to tell both Harry and Neville that Snape had left the gilded frame to visit some other part of the school. Harry knew that Snape had spent the last nineteen years stewing with resentment over the fact that he had seen his most personal memories and the man still tended to react rather badly when reminded.

Shrugging, Neville spared one more glance over his shoulder at Dumbledore. “Either way, he hasn’t been much help. I think that was supposed to be the point of these things, wasn’t it?” he said, waving vaguely at the paintings. The previous Headmasters all nodded once again, many of them offering solemn agreements and vows of eternal service. “Can’t say Snape has been much help either, for that matter.” He tilted his head and regarded the frame Snape had just vacated. “Mind you, that isn’t his actual frame. He just uses Headmaster Bobbit’s whenever he feels like being up here for a while. They had the same taste in books apparently.”

Harry raised an eyebrow and also looked back at the empty frame. “What do you mean?” he asked. “You mean, that’s not Snape’s frame there?”

Neville shook his head. “Nope.” He shrugged. “Kind of strange, really. I didn’t find out myself until I took over the Headmaster position while Minerva was gone. One of the portraits told me. His frame is in his old quarters.”

Harry laughed. “Leave it to Snape to want his frame in the dungeons. Probably couldn’t stand the idea of socializing all day up here.” Harry suddenly pressed his lips together thoughtfully and watched the empty frame for a moment. “Does give me an idea, though,” he said softly.

Neville watched his old friend for a moment and finally sat forward. “Can’t quite believe we finally managed to convince you to make this teaching thing permanent,” he said, changing the subject abruptly. “I thought we were going to have to be satisfied with the occasional lecture a few times a year.”

Harry looked back at Neville and smiled. As he watched him, Neville leaned back in the Headmaster’s chair, completely at ease. He could hardly be compared with the shy, insecure boy Harry had known in school and it was clear why Headmistress McGonagall felt comfortable leaving him in charge during her frequent absences. “I thought it was time for a change,” Harry responded noncommittally.

Neville nodded thoughtfully. “Well, that’s good for us. As usual, Defence Against the Dark Arts has been a bit of a hodge podge and we could really use some leadership there.” He smiled and picked up a quill from the desk. He ran it through his fingers as he watched his friend. “Also,” he said with a grin, “the position of Temporary Head of Gryffindor House is available while Minerva is away this semester. If you want it, that is.”

Harry put his head back and laughed. “Of course I want it!” he said, happy memories of life within the tower flooding back. “But I’m surprised you don’t want to do it yourself, Nev.”

With a derisive snort, Neville shook his head. “Are you joking?” he said, a slow grin forming on his lips. “I’m barely keeping my head above water as it is here. This Headmaster gig is pretty tough, Harry. I still haven’t managed to find a new Potions Master and school starts in two weeks!” The two friends dissolved into laughter as their professional veneer finally gave way to nearly thirty years of friendship and memory.

“You’re doing great, Nev,” Harry assured him. “Everyone is saying so.”

“Draco Malfoy isn’t saying so.”

Harry snorted. “What a shock.” He pressed his lips together and leaned back in his chair. “How is little Scorpius doing anyway?” he said, recalling the arrogant young son of his oldest nemesis.

Neville shook his head. “Already the little prince of Slytherin.”

“Like father like son then I suppose,” Harry said and shook his head again.

“You just couldn’t let Draco burn that day, could you?” Neville said and immediately clamped a hand over his mouth. “I did not just say that!”

Harry laughed. “My lips are sealed.” He glanced up at the portraits hanging all around them. “I can’t vouch for them, however.” The two friends continued to laugh as the portraits around them snorted indignantly.


A/N: Reviews are sooooooooo welcome, it's not even funny! Well, I suppose it could be funny if I worked a rubber chicken into it, but... yes, reviews are gold around here!