The Half-Blood Princess

Family *or* Harley Meets the Next Gen

Harley was convinced that, by the time she had set up her office and living quarters at Hogwarts, she was clinically insane. What was she doing back here? In what way was she qualified to lead the Gryffindors? She had a wonderful, self-made career. She should quit immediately, let Potions be cancelled. They were probably all hopeless anyway.

She arrived the day before term began to set up her things. She had already spent weeks making lesson plans, taking things from her father's old notes that she had kept, never having the heart to throw them away.

She'd hired another shopgirl, but made sure that once a week she could go to her shop and take care of personal orders throughout the rest of the week. This was her brand, she was not going to see it fail for any reason.

At the moment she was in her office, replacing the ingredients and jars of things that, according to her brother, had scared the living daylights out of most students. Slughorn had made this office far too...plain. For lack of a better word. Her personal chambers she did not do much to, aside from bringing some personal photographs and her parents' journal collection. She didn't plan on being there long, after all. No need to dress it up.

While she was in the middle of redecorating, she heard someone come in. Turning, she regarded the now tall and fairly good-looking Neville Longbottom.

"It's true," he said, eyes wide. "I thought Minerva and my sister were playing a joke on me."

"Hello to you, too, Longbottom," Harley replied, using her wand to send another jar up to the top of the shelving.

"Sorry...I just...at first it was McGonagall, mentioning 'Professor Snape' in the present tense. I thought I was crazy. Then my sister wrote, 'Ready for another Snape in the dungeons?' It took me a minute to realise what they meant," Neville said.

Harley held her arms out, black fabric billowing. "Well, here I am: Professor Snape, at the Gryffindors' service. Good to see you, Longbottom."

He was still hanging around her threshold, hand on the doorframe.

"Is there something else?" Harley asked.

"I just... Are you qualified for this?" Neville asked. "I'm not doubting your potion skills, of course. I meant your teaching skills, being that you traumatised my sister in ninety-five? You're going to be just like your dad--and while he was a hero, he was a terrible teacher. We don't need anyone feeling like I did when I left his class."

Harley stepped forward, purposely keeping her wand out. "Are you finished, Longbottom? Because lest you forget, your sister was inspired by me to do better, she's a partner in The Potion Master now. And you were a hazard in class, injuring yourself from your very first day and nearly injuring others as well. You only got a decent grade by cheating--and yes, having Hermione tell you what to do is cheating, especially when the directions were right in front of your face!

"My father had shortcomings, of that I am well aware. But he was a brilliant professor, teaching everyone potion recipes he improved, when he could have kept his discoveries to himself. He taught here to protect us all, and he continued to do that as headmaster. He did not just give the best years of his life to protect Harry, he did it for every student who walked through these halls. Your ungrateful arse does not get to criticise him! Now get out of my office, because I do not wish to be the first professor fired before term for hexing a colleague!"

She watched as Neville scooted out of her office, nerves flaring. She had not had to defend her father to anyone for nineteen years. Potter's vindication of him was enough to keep the naysayers away. As soon as she was back in this place, there she was, acting like she was sixteen and facing Sirius Black's misguided criticism.