professor? ( ✓ )

chapter three

The weeks seemed to blend together at Hogwarts, and over time, classes got easier to teach for Harry. He was quickly becoming everyone's favorite teacher, especially to the first years, and he felt like the position as the Defense teacher would no longer be considered cursed. He was due to have a meeting with Professor McGonagall to see how he was doing, but he felt pretty confident that she'd approve of his work.

The year felt easy, peaceful even. There was no longer an evil wizard threatening to kill him all the time, and tensions had died down as the students moved on with their lives. Ron got a job as an Auror, and Hermione's civil rights act appeared to be going well, if the Daily Prophet was anything to go by. For once in his life, Harry felt absolutely safe and stress-free, walking the halls of Hogwarts. He didn't have a million expectations thrown upon him - other than making sure his students learned their curriculum.

Once classes had ended for the day, as long as Harry wasn't the professor on detention duty, he was free to do as he pleased. Most days, he made his way down to Hagrid's hut and had tea with him, or talked about the latest creature or plant he'd smuggled onto the grounds. He also quite enjoyed when the students took a Hogsmeade weekend, as he'd signed up to be one of the chaperones to assist the students on their way. It was nice being able to walk around the place freely as well, seeing as he no longer had to hide under the Invisibility Cloak. Really, he hardly ever had to use the cloak anymore. Being an adult meant having a lot of freedom, and being a professor meant he was even less restricted.

In class, after maybe the second or third week into the semester, Harry had insisted on his students calling him by his first name. As much as he loved them calling him 'Professor,' he still felt like it was too professional, and really, he felt like he'd just received this position on pure luck. He wanted the students to trust him, and using labels always seemed a bit too stiff to gain that trust.

The seventh years weren't as keen on Harry teaching them, as they felt McGonagall was showing favoritism towards him, but he couldn't seem to care. Soon enough, they would graduate, and Harry would have a whole new generation of students to teach.

After his last class had ended for the day: a class of Ravenclaw fifth years, Harry made his way down the corridor towards Dumbledore's old office, and then realized he still hadn't learned the password, as it was restricted from the students' knowledge. Thankfully, McGonagall had already thought of this, and was waiting for him beside the statue, her lips pressed in a tight line.

"Mr. Potter, so nice of you to make it." She greeted him, and he blushed, finding that he was a few minutes late.

"Sorry, Professor. My class ran a little bit late. We were dealing with Cornish Pixies, and well, you know how crazy those can be." He apologized, scratching his neck nervously.

"Of course. Now, if you'd please follow me into my office, we could discuss your curriculum." She stated, and then spoke "Wilting Rose," allowing the statue to move and transform into a moving staircase. They stepped inside, and rode the staircase to her office. All along the walls, moving pictures of the past Headmasters watched them enter, and Harry felt his heart clench suddenly when he saw Dumbledore's portrait resting closest to McGonagall's desk.

A feeling of sorrow washed over Harry's mind as the Headmaster's demise crossed his mind. He'd been so angry at Snape when it had happened, only to later realize that Snape's actions had been planned all along, with Dumbledore. He then thought about Malfoy, and how originally, it had looked like the young, blond Death Eater was going to be the one to blast the killing curse towards the old man. He glanced at McGonagall, who was also watching the portrait sadly. He took that they must've been the best of friends, and he couldn't even imagine what she must be feeling. He didn't know how he'd react if Ron or Hermione had died during the battle, but he knew it wouldn't have been pleasant.

Hermione's death - curse Harry for even thinking like this - would've probably been easier than Ron's. Sure, the brilliant witch would've been leaving behind a bunch of friends to miss her greatly, but she had Obliviated her parents, so they wouldn't even remember her in order to be sad. Actually, Harry found that thought to be depressing, and he was thankful to the headmistress for clearing her throat before he could think of Ron, and how Molly would be suffering the pain of not only losing one son, but two.

"Mr. Potter, are you going to sit?" She asked, and he noticed he was still standing, eyes locked with the portrait. Dumbledore's pacing face had stopped, and was looking at him expectantly.

"Uh, yes. Sorry, Professor." He blushed, and sat in the chair quickly, smoothing out his robes.

"Please, call me Minerva. You are a teacher, after all, and we are on first name basis's." She claimed, and his brow furrowed. He couldn't imagine ever being on a first name basis with Malfoy. The boy was an arse, and he was glad that his meetings with the boy had been brief over the past month. You'd think the lad would be grateful for Harry, seeing as he'd testified on his behalf, but of course not. Malfoys were never grateful to anyone.

"Uh, yes Minerva." He said, finding that her name felt weird on his tongue. He didn't feel like he deserved to be on the same level of respect as her.

"Ah, now that that's settled, why don't you tell me a bit about your lessons? Do you find any task challenging to meet? Do you feel as though your students are getting the most they possibly could out of your classes?" She asked, shifting conversations swiftly. He ran a hand through his hair, deep in thought.

"Well, I try to cover everything I can remember learning over the years, and I try to keep the class interesting by throwing in projects and reviews along with the standard essays. I think the students enjoy my classes. Have they told you otherwise?" He claimed, and then furrowed his eyebrow in fear.

"There have been no complaints about your teaching, per se. There is the occasional fifth or sixth year that comes to me, blaming me for showing favoritism and how they don't think you should be a professor, but I'm sure you've already heard all this." Her lips fell into a tight line again.

"Yeah, the upperclassmen aren't particularly fond of me. But I do think the students are learning quite a bit in my class. Nothing's challenging, really. Just the upperclassmen, like we've already discussed, but I'm sure they'll come around."

"Of course. Also, I think I would have to agree with you about the students learning quite a bit. From the scores you're turning in to me, I'd say these are the highest marks I've seen since maybe the year before your year arrived." The headmistress smirked, and Harry blushed.

"I guess a lot of people's grades suffered when I came, didn't they?"

"Considering we had to add an eighth year just so your year could actually graduate, I'd say things weren't the best. Both O.W.Ls and N.E.W.Ts alike were pretty poor for the students. A lot of chaos surely found itself within Hogwarts during your time here as a student. However, those children did pass, and therefore I cannot allow you to place the blame on yourself."

"Of course, ma'am. Was there anything else you needed to discuss with me?" She looked at him.

"In a hurry to get out of here, Mr. Potter?" She smirked.

"Course not, ma'am. I just figured you had more important matters to attend to, and I didn't want to be wasting your time." He claimed, blushing nervously.

She pursed her lips, appearing deep in thought. "Well, I do have a meeting with Mr. Malfoy once we're done here, but I'm sure he doesn't mind some time alone."

Harry perked up at the mention of Malfoy, and a thought crossed his mind.

"He doesn't like teaching here, does he?" He asked.

"That is not for you and I to discuss, Harry." She winked, and he knew his answer. "But, it is cutting close to our meeting time. Tell Flitwick to start dinner without us, would you?"

Harry stood, and nodded. He offered her a quick farewell and made his way from her office, walking down the corridor towards the Great Hall, where students chatted amiably.