Seven years. Seven years and this never got easier. But Harry knew it was an important part of his Defense Against the Dark Arts curriculum.
Neville had invited him to come to one of the greenhouses afterward for tea though, so that was nice.
Harry walked into his classroom and waved his wand, levitating the newspaper clippings and photos around the room and pinning them with another flick of his wrist.
He pushed his desk to the edge of the room and moved his chair forward to the edge of his little platform, then went up into the smaller office attached to the classroom to wait.
Students began to file in a few minutes before the class was scheduled to start. Harry had left the door to his office open, so he could hear them whispering. He'd made a habit of only doing this with the fourth years, since some of the discussions could get a little bit gruesome, but he had no doubts that older students had either mentioned it in passing or told siblings about it.
Harry checked his watch and got up, walking out to address the class. "Good afternoon, everyone. If you'll pick a seat-" he'd substituted cushioned chairs for the desks that were normally set in straight rows. "I'll explain how our class is going to go today."
There was a bit of shuffling, then everyone was sitting. Harry smiled and took a seat in his chair.
"Alright, for the first ten minutes or so, I'd like each of you to pick a newspaper clipping. There should be enough that everyone can have their own to read. After you read it, I'll have a couple students read theirs out loud to the class. Then we can talk through things and I'll answer questions."
The group nodded and Harry chuckled. "Well? Go on, pick your articles."
The fourteen-year-olds jumped to their feet, darting around the room. Harry smiled and sat back, letting them pick and begin to read. "Return to your seats with your article once you've read through it completely." He called after a few minutes.
The room was quiet after that, except for the occasional gasp or mumble from a child. Slowly they moved back to the armchairs they'd claimed, until everyone was sitting and staring at Harry, many with slightly shell-shocked expressions.
"Alright... Miss Gallagher, would you please read your article out loud?"
Mollie, a blond Hufflepuff, stood and began to read with a quavering voice. The article in her hand was one memorializing Cedric Diggory, published only a few days after the Triwizard Tournament had ended. Written by an actual journalist with decent credentials, the article talked about his bravery in the tournament and the legacy he'd left behind for his housemates.
Harry was glad that a young Hufflepuff was reading it. He had seen the portrait in the Hufflepuff common room, a gorgeous painting of Cedric that gave wonderful advice often. Sometimes he was nowhere to be found in the picture, and Harry had heard that his father Amos had the same portrait in his son's bedroom at the Diggory house.
After Mollie finished reading, Harry asked a few others to recite theirs as well. Then he sat back in his chair and smiled at his students. "Alright. Any questions?"
Hands shot up everywhere, but one student in the back didn't bother with the formality: "you died?"
Harry laughed and nodded. "Would you like to hear the story?"
The fourth years nodded, eyes wide.
For the rest of the hour he answered his students' questions. Some were simple, and only required yes or no answers, but many more needed some explanation, which Harry gave easily. If his class helped these kids to prevent further wars, it was worth all the discomfort that talking about it put him through.
After class had been dismissed, Harry pinned the clippings up again for the next class. Once everything was clean, he closed the classroom door and started down to the greenhouses.
"Neville?"
"Back here!" The Herbology professor called. Harry could see a wall of creeping ivy, and he assumed his friend was behind that.
When he rounded the corner, he was greeted by a very welcome surprise.
"Mimmy!"
Minerva stood slowly, opening her arms to her son. "Harry. How are you?"
"Much better, now that I know you're here. Did Neville send you an owl?"
The retired Transfiguration professor nodded, ruffling Harry's unruly mop of hair. "He did. I suppose he felt you'd need a pick-me-up after discussing the war with your students today."
"I really did." Harry smiled. "Thanks, Neville."
"Of course, Harry. It was the least I could do."