A Thousand Fibres

Chapter Eight

It had been four weeks since Harry had met Sarah. Her attacker had been caught by the police, Harry and Sarah had both been called to identify him, and the trial was scheduled to take place in two weeks. According to the DA, Harry probably wouldn't have to testify. However, she still asked him to stay nearby, just in case.

It was obvious that Sarah was terrified at the idea of testifying. She never talked about it, but Harry could tell how shy she was. The idea of telling a room full of people what had happened was truly upsetting her. However, as Regan pointed out, the idea of letting the guy go without a fight was even more upsetting.

In an attempt to distract Sarah, Margaret decided to take her and Harry to visit the school where she taught.

"It's North of San Francisco," Margaret explained. "Really, there's the town, and just as soon as you're clear of it, there's us. Just a two hour drive, but we'll take a Portkey." Sarah paled, and Margaret smiled. "Not her favourite method of travel," she told Harry.

Harry could sympathize. It had never been his favourite method either - give him a broom, any time of the day. Something he could control.

"I hate driving. And cars. And everything related," Margaret explained.

"Oh."

"Sarah already visited the school, with Lizzie."

Lizzie being the dead sister. Harry had noticed early on that, even though the group didn't avoid talking about her, they seldom did. Each time her name was mentioned, there seemed to be a sadness in their eyes that made Harry loath to ask questions. This time was no exception. He nodded his assent to the Portkey idea, pushing all thoughts of the Third Task strongly away from his mind. He had never developed a phobia of Porkeys, thankfully, but he thought of that night every time he used one. And he certainly didn't like to think about it.

The jerking sensation behind his navel wasn't any less unnerving than Harry remembered. He stumbled to stay on his feet when he arrived. He had landed in a vast park, with trees planted to delimitate the borders of the... He didn't know just how vast the space was, but estimated it to be about the size of the Quidditch pitch. There were a few fountains, and benches, dispersed on the grass. It was all very neat, Harry thought. Neat, green, fresh. Sunny, too. He liked it. It was relaxing.

He could see buildings behind the tree line - not high ones, not as high as Hogwarts.

Margaret appeared next to him, Sarah squeezing her hand. The two women took a moment to orient themselves, then Margaret motioned for Harry to follow her as she commented and explained what he saw.

Up close, the buildings were not as modern as Harry had thought - nor as small. It was an old school. The walls were made of stone and wood, but not as dark or cold as Hogwarts had been - perhaps due to the Californian sun. Harry was strongly reminded of Italy - perhaps it was the sense of history that seemed to permeate the place, or the general appearance of the school, with its pale stones, green trees and the sunny and blue sky above.

The main building was four stories high, and formed a huge square. "There are parks outside," Margaret said. "Surrounding the main building. With a few annexes - greenhouses, an area where the students can study outside, weather permitting. Then, there's, well, the building itself. And inside, the inner park, where we 'landed.' It's the playground for the younger students."

"And the older ones?"

"Go in the outside parks, or sometimes, come here too."

"Even during winter?"

Margaret smiled. "Magic," she said mischievously. "The inner playground is charmed to remain warm, even during winter. The tree leaves fall, and the sky looks the same as outside, but the temperature never goes below sixty-eight degrees. And, of course, sometimes, the younger students go in the park, assuming they're supervised by older students, or teachers. It all depends on the workload and the availability of everyone."

Harry nodded. "How old are the students?"

Margaret smiled. "We teach some kids who are about six."

"Six?"

She smiled. "Yeah, the school accepts kids from eleven to eighteen to train purely in magic - although, of course, spelling, grammar and sometimes math are evaluated via the assignments."

Harry nodded. "It was that way at Hogwarts too." He thought back about some of the scathing comments Snape sometimes wrote on his essays, disparaging his handling of English and his knowledge of potions in one fell swoop.

"And the younger students learn the basics; reading, writing, mathematics, geography, history - Muggle, and some wizarding as well. We also give some very basic facts about potions, the magical theory, and so on, when they're almost eleven."

"Wow," he said.

Margaret smiled. "I teach English to the six to eleven ones. Roland teaches Potions, to all the eleven to seventeen. Alex is the Muggle studies professor. There's also an optional class, for the Muggle born students who want to learn more about the wizarding world."

Harry sighed. "That would have been quite useful at Hogwarts," he said.

"We have fewer students too - there are more schools in the US than in England, really. Some better than others. We're not a prestigious school, exactly, but nothing to joke about either." She looked at him curiously. "Hogwarts accepts only the best and the brightest, from what I've heard."

Harry shrugged. "It is a slightly elitist school, yes. But not as much as you might imagine. Not everyone there was gifted for all kinds of magic. Even I was, at best, a mediocre student."

She raised her eyebrow in surprise. "Really?"

"Academic work was never my cup of tea. I learn better by doing than by reading. I'm not the kind of guy who goes research something. I find someone more knowledgeable than I am, and ask him."

She hooked her arm in his elbow. "Roland is that way, too," she said. "There's nothing wrong with that."

"I know. I'm just saying, yeah, the kids who go to Hogwarts are pretty gifted, but I'm sure there are others who are as much so, and couldn't enter, for lack of money, or because they didn't want to go to a boarding school, or whatever reason. It actually took me a while to realise just how many wizards never even receive a normalised education, yet still manage."

"It's an on-going debate, around here. Is one way better than the other?"

A man's voice from behind startled them. "Not that again, Marge, please."

Margaret made a face, and turned, Harry following her lead. "Harry, meet Julius Sanderson, our headmaster. Jules, this is Harry Potter."

Harry had a slight feeling of forbearing. He shook the man's hand, smiling politely. Julius was young to be headmaster, but then, Harry supposed that pretty much summed up the whole school. Somehow, his memories from Hogwarts had left him associating academia with maturity, but the energy of this whole school was very different.

Julius smiled and invited the three of them to take a coffee.

He was tall, and imposing. His hair and his short beard were grey, but a distinguished grey - much like Lupin's, who managed to age gracefully, despite the curse that affected him. Harry, who was looking for the best way to describe the man, finally decided on "charismatic." He had the feeling it must be difficult to refuse Julius anything.

Once they were all settled in a room - the teacher's lounge, Margaret said - Julius politely asked a few questions about what Harry had learned in his travels. The story about the way an old man in a village in China had insisted on selling Harry a hair-flattening lotion amused him greatly. "Obviously," said Harry, passing a hand in his untamed hair, "I didn't use it."

"But you bought it?"

"Er, yeah, well, the man was insistent."

Julius smiled. "Well, that's not so bad," he said.

"Certainly."

"No dark wizard jumping on you, in back alleys?" Julius asked. "You are, after all, known everywhere."

Harry shrugged. "I tend to avoid back alleys. And, thankfully, my notoriety, such as it is, is fairly limited outside England. Most people had heard of me, and knew about Voldemort. But mostly, they seemed to wonder how the scrawny kid with glasses had managed to off Voldemort."

Sarah laughed. "That must have been frustrating."

"Well, I did leave England partly to escape fame, so it was a break, actually. In England, yes, people still remember."

"As it should be, don't you think?" Julius asked. "As long as they remember, they know not to let a disaster like Voldemort happen a third time."

"I suppose," Harry replied. He wasn't convinced. Did anyone ever truly learn lessons from history? After all, a first war against Voldemort hadn't stopped a second one, and the very people who had worked at the reconstruction the first time had made things easier for Voldemort the second time around.

"You travelled around the world for five years, and you didn't have one rough patch?" Margaret asked, not for the first time since Harry had met her.

"I had read a little before going, about what to do and what not to do. I tend to blend in, a lot," Harry said. He blamed the Dursleys for that, but the gift of becoming almost invisible had come in handy a few times. "And I was in contact with the Ministries, and with the Muggle embassy - thankfully, growing up with Muggles, I had records of my existence, and didn't have to create them from scratch. But, yes, I had a few bad moments. I fell ill in India. Hepatitis. By the time I made it to an acceptable hospital, I was really sick. And in Egypt, I ate something I shouldn't have and ended up with blood poisoning."

"What did you do?"

Harry smiled ruefully. "I owled a teacher of mine, the Potions Master of Hogwarts, and asked him if he wouldn't happen to have a remedy somewhere. He came deliver it." And Harry had had to endure a lesson on his stupidity, and about taking care of himself. But when he had fallen back asleep, exhausted by the four day fever, he had caught a glimpse of concern on the other man's face.

Sarah had been enjoying the discussion in silence, and when she spoke up, Harry realised she, too, knew how to make people forget she was there.

"I'm sorry, but... All the others have said you're well known in England, and I've read some books too."

Harry couldn't hide his dismayed reaction at that. He still felt self conscious when people told him they had read about him - especially in books. He was always tempted to point out that books should concern important people, not, well, him.

Sarah bit her lip. "If you don't want to answer, that's okay, but... You know, I grew up in Los Angeles, and I saw the way people are with stars. Chasing them for signings, for pictures, for a word. And I can't imagine you as the star."

Margaret looked amused, Harry noted. Perhaps she had wondered the same thing. That, or she was amused at Sarah's way of putting it.

"They didn't chase me for signings," Harry said. "Except for one annoying exception, but that was just one kid."

Julius threw in, "You mean a kid at your school actually asked you-"

Harry sniggered. "I was in second year, he was a year behind. And yes, as soon as he arrived, he ran after me, taking pictures." He blushed. "Including, once, in my sixth year, as I was going out of the shower after a Quiddictch match, and I made him regret *that* dearly."

Julius laughed, a rich sound that made Harry want to laugh too, and Sarah covered her mouth with her hand.

"And a few times, he asked me to sign a picture he had taken."

Julius filled the cups again, and Harry went on, "He was, really, the only one to do that. Although his brother was annoying too."

"But it must have been more than that, if you hated it so much?"

Harry nodded. "It was the newspapers. Well, the Daily Prophet, really. It was the one the most people read, and believed blindly. Each time an unfavourable article was published, people treated me like a pariah. And each time the Daily Prophet said I was a good guy after all, they treated me like I was made of glass, like I was their saviour."

The Prophet, Harry thought, had made more for his reputation than Dumbledore ever had. People followed its lead. If the Prophet was interested in Harry Potter, then Harry Potter must be interesting.

"I'd like to say that people are stupid for following newspapers that way, but I suppose we're all guilty of doing that, from time to time," Margaret said.

"Yeah, well, each time I go home, I still get reporters following me, asking me what I think of the latest match England played, or of the new Minister, or whatever the latest headline is."

Julius finished. "And you're just a normal guy, who happens to have been thrust in a position where you had to deal with all the hype."

"Pretty much."

Sarah giggled. "Out of the shower?"

Harry blushed. "We won't mention this again," he said. "Ever."

"Sure," Margaret said, and Harry had the feeling that all the others would know by the next morning.

He sighed, but he had to admit that he had handed that one to her.

* * *

Hedwig was perched on a chair, the next morning, when Harry woke up. She had been out for a week, which meant she had gone to England. She never seemed tired, even after such long distances, and he wondered if magical owls truly *flew* all the way to their destinations, or if they took shortcuts. Granted, they often seemed tired after a long trip, but what bird would be capable of a transatlantic flight without dying of exhaustion? Or were magical birds merely more robust than Muggle ones?

There was a letter tied to her foot, and he took it, before setting a few owl treats and a bowl of water on the table, so she could rest.

The letter was from Lupin. Harry groaned. He hadn't written in a while, caught up with his new friends, and felt vaguely like a bad son.

He ordered breakfast in, and settled on the bed to read it.

"Dear Harry,

I haven't heard from you in a while. I hope you're all right. I know you tell the embassy where you are, and they would have alerted us, but we all worry, especially after the few times you fell ill.

Everything is going just fine in England. I have found a job, as a teacher, in a school near Edinburgh. Not as upper level as Hogwarts, obviously, but then, few schools are. I find myself enjoying this a lot. You know I've done a little of everything, along the years, but teaching has always stayed a favourite of mine.

Some kids here remind me a lot of three famous Hogwarts students - always sticking their heads in the Lion's mouth. They would have been Gryffindors, I think. It's strange how I keep drawing parallels between what I see now, and what happened then.

Believe it or not, but we just spent a week without one single word about you in the newspapers. I hope you don't feel too rejected upon hearing that."

Harry chuckled, imagining Lupin's smile as he wrote this.

"Of course, that may be because Minister Bones said she would build that new prison, Dementors free, for the wizards who commit light infractions. About damn time, you're probably thinking, and I agree with you. The Daily Prophet's redactors are scandalized - here are people who should have been replaced after they refused to acknowledge Voldemort's return until it came to bite them in the ass."

Harry's eyebrows shot up. It wasn't often that Lupin criticized anything so overtly. The man was rather subdued - probably a consequence of having spent all his life mastering his instincts, and trying to appear as non threatening as possible, to increase his chances of being accepted.

"Whatever the reason, I thought you would like to know that, for the first time in, how many years has it been? Well, we spent a week without an article on you.

Congratulations!

Severus came by the other day - he is still furnishing me with Wolfsbane potion. He is still as sour as ever, but Minerva says he's mellowing. I mentioned in passing that you seemed fine last time I had seen you, and that you had been heading to the USA then. He snarled that he didn't see how that was supposed to matter to him, but I think I saw a flicker of interest on his face.

I may have imagined it, but perhaps Minerva is right. I hear he is less vindictive with the Gryffindors than he used to be - perhaps he realised, with you and your friends gone, that he was bored?"

Harry tried to picture Snape patiently explaining something to a Gryffindor first year, and just about laughed out loud. The man would be even more frightening if he tried to be kind and understanding.

"Yes, I know, unlikely.

Well, I think that is enough for now. I'm sure Molly will write to you soon. In the meantime, she and all the Weasleys give you their regards, and ask when you're coming to visit.

Take good care of yourself, Harry.

Love,

Remus L."

Harry smiled and tucked the letter into a backpack. The floor waiter brought him his breakfast and Harry sat down to eat, already writing a reply in his head.

* * *

Another month passed, without Harry deciding to go back on the road. The trial of Sarah's aggressor came and went, Sarah testifying, and the DA obtaining a conviction.

"Not nearly as much as it should have been," Regan seethed after the verdict.

Harry cynically thought that, had the guy actually managed to rape Sarah, he would have been more heavily punished. "Yes," he said. "Not nearly." Especially since, according to Margaret, Sarah still had nightmares about him.

School session began, and Roland, Alex and Margaret became less present. The school they worked at allowed students to either board or go home every day, so only about half the students stayed between holidays - and sometimes on holidays too. The student body being less important than at Hogwarts, the teachers weren't all required to stay at all times. Usually, Margaret stayed the first two weeks of the months, Roland the last two weeks, and Alex came back every weekend, and sometimes during the week, to see John. None of them seemed too set on their schedule, though. When John was hitting a rough patch in the writing of his book, he isolated himself and Alex spent three weeks without leaving the school grounds. Margaret had already warned Harry that, with the end of term exams, she wouldn't leave the school the whole month, as she tended to be short tempered then.

Then, one day, an owl arrived at the hotel for Harry. Julius was asking him if he could interest Harry in a job in the school.

Harry couldn't say he hadn't seen it coming - he would have had to have been blind, deaf and stupid to miss the hints Alex had dropped at his last visit, saying that the current Defence teacher was a goon, an idiot, and an incompetent, and that he was soon going to get fired.

He didn't know whether to smile or sigh, as he accepted Julius's invitation, for the next day.

He had had a feeling on their first meeting that it would be difficult to refuse the man anything.

He was going to find out very soon whether he had been right.

Chapter Nine

"So, Julius offered you a job?" were the first words out of Margaret's mouth when Harry sat down. He had come to visit Sarah, and hadn't been surprised to see that Margaret was there tonight.

"Yes."

"Are you going to accept?"

He hesitated a little before shaking his head. "I don't think so."

Margaret frowned at him. Sarah looked at her, then at Harry, and got up hurriedly. "I need to go running."

Margaret and Harry waited in silence as Sarah went upstairs, then came back down a few minutes later. "Bye!" she yelled.

"She said she'd never be able to convince you to do anything," Margaret offered, once the door had closed on Sarah. "She said she considers you a hero, and she's a little intimidated."

"Is that why she's always so shy around me?"

"Yes."

Harry nodded, thinking about Ginny, who had been much the same way.

"I'm not intimidated," Margaret said bluntly.

Harry smiled. "I noticed."

"So? Why aren't you going to accept?"

"I don't know," he said. "I guess it would be accepting to stay here for a year and-"

"What, you don't like it here?"

At her hurt tone, Harry hastened to say, "No, I love it here! I just..."

He had no idea how to express what was only a vague feeling. She waited patiently for him to put his thoughts in order. "For five years now," he said at last, "I haven't stayed in the same place for more than a few months, at most."

"I gathered that."

"When I left England, there wasn't any doubt in my mind that I would go back one day. I kept thinking, every time I arrived in a new country, 'After this one, perhaps.' And it never came up, but..."

"But it would be a commitment to stay here?"

"Yes." He added wryly, "And I miss English rain like you wouldn't believe."

She thought for a moment, ignoring his last comment, then looked at him seriously. "Okay. I get that, I do. You're not the first person to like travelling. I just wonder, don't you ever get lonely?"

"Yes, of course I do. But I met people, I have friends in, well, quite a few countries now."

She nodded.

"Especially you and the others," he added with a smile.

She brightened a little. "Good."

"And then, I know I can always go back. I have friends in England, who I'm sure would be glad to see me."

She looked lost, and he sighed. "I think I'm scared."

The proverbial penny seemed to drop. "You think, if you mention you're thinking of settling elsewhere-"

"They'll be hurt, because they'll think I won't come back," Harry finished. "Or they'll..."

She finished for him when he trailed off. "Forget you?"

He shrugged. "I guess."

She snorted. "You're not an easily forgettable guy, Harry," she said. "If they're really your friends, it won't matter if you decide to spend some time away."

"No, I know." He shook his head. "I'm not sure what I'm trying to say."

She looked at him for a long moment, before saying, "Why don't you give it a try for a few months? If, when Christmas arrives, you still feel like leaving the country, you can still tell Julius to find someone else to do the job."

"I'd feel bad leaving him like that."

"He wouldn't mind. Believe me. He wants to work with you, and something tells me he'd accept to do a lot of concessions for that."

Harry felt his eyebrows rise of their own accord.

"He says you're an 'intriguing fellow', I think, were his words."

Harry smiled at that. "I'll think about it, okay?"

"That's all I'm asking you to do."

* * *

The next Saturday, the whole gang decided to go to Los Angeles to celebrate Roland's birthday. Harry announced that he would join them later, without giving details, and they gave him directions so he could find them on the beach.

When Harry arrived, his mood was lighter than it had been in weeks, and he was hiding a parchment behind his back.

As he approached, he overheard Sarah asking, "And is he going to accept the job?" and Margaret answering, "What do you want me to say? I have no idea, okay!"

Then Roland spotted Harry and elbowed Margaret sharply, smiling apologetically at her glare.

"Hey," Harry said.

"Hey," they chorused back.

Harry stood there awkwardly, and Margaret huffed. "Oh, really! Tell us, please!"

He smiled nervously. "Remember when I told you I missed the rain?"

She nodded.

"I may have been exaggerating. A little."

He handed her the parchment. She read the first two lines, squealed, jumped to her feet and threw herself at his neck. Harry, who hadn't expected such a reaction, fell, with Margaret still clinging to him. They landed on the sand, while the others either laughed or whistled.

When she let go of him, Harry grimaced slightly, as sand was not exactly a soft material to land on. Margaret stood up and took Harry's hand to help him up. "Ow," he said, resisting the urge to rub his bum, which had taken the worst of the shock.

All the others either shook his hand or hugged him, saying that they were glad he was staying and that they hoped he'd stay for a long time. Harry smiled and thanked them, feeling a little overwhelmed by all the attention. He was relieved when they began to eat from the basket they had prepared and the conversation went from his future job to Roland's birthday.

The evening was loud and boisterous, full of laughter, bad jokes, and camaraderie. When Harry awoke the next day, he had the worst hangover of his life. He was also as happy as he had been in the last five years - more relaxed, somehow, as if making a decision, any decision, had lifted a weight off his shoulders he hadn't even known was there.

When he had begun travelling, he had found some jobs, here and there, but nothing that really caught his interest. So, eventually, he had stopped looking, and decided that when what he was meant to do with his life would cross his path, he would know it. It only now occurred to him that by moving all the time, he may have missed opportunities.

Of course, perhaps he would hate the work, and not want to pursue it. But, at least, he would have given it a try.

Time would tell, and he had all the time in the world.

* * *

Harry had expected the teacher's position to be challenging and it was, although not necessarily as he had envisioned.

He had been prepared to deal with students who worried about being ready for their exams, who worried about knowing whether the new teacher would be nice or an ass, who worried about the workload he would dump on them.

He had worried he would be too nice, or too harsh. He had worried about his students being ready for their exams. He had worried that he would look stupid, that he would re-explain things they already knew and not explain things they didn't know. He had worried about them laughing him off. He had worried about doing a decent job.

He hadn't expected their first question to be, "Are you really Harry Potter? *The* Harry Potter?"

He had spent more time around the magical community in California than he usually did while travelling, but apart from a few he-looks-familiar-where-have-I-seen-that-guy-before looks, he had been pretty unnoticed. He hadn't expected children and teenagers to know who he was.

"Yes, that's me," he said, a little unsure.

"Wow. We learned all about you in our Contemporary History of Magic class," a girl said, in a tone that made Harry wonder if she was Hermione's long lost sister.

He felt vaguely stung. He knew there were books that talked about him, but the events of his years in Hogwarts were still very fresh in his mind. It seemed odd that to these kids, it was *history,* no matter how contemporary.

"Er, yes," he said, for lack of anything better to say.

"Was that Voldemort really a bad guy?"

Harry thought of his schoolmates, who had shivered each time he used the name, and smiled a little. Even if these kids hadn't been raised knowing Voldemort's name was a big taboo, it was still refreshing to hear someone ask the question without dropping his tone, without looking over his shoulder, and without goggling at him. They were curious, but not aggressively so.

"Yes, he was," he said plainly.

"Wow," said another.

And so, Harry spent his first day of classes answering this kind of question, while trying to determine what parts of the curriculum his predecessor had already covered.

* * *

"You've never read the books or the papers about you?" Alex asked that evening, as he and Harry sat down in the teacher's lounge with coffee and copies to grade .

"No."

"I'd be too curious to resist, if it was me they talked about."

Something in his tone caught Harry's attention. "Let me guess. You read those books?"

Alex blushed. "Yes, after Margaret introduced us."

Harry waved his hand in dismissal. "That's okay."

"Really? Because you seem pretty unwilling to talk about it."

Harry snorted. "Yeah, well, people back in England tend to be very curious about it. It grew old really fast."

Alex looked curious. "I can't really imagine what it's like in the other countries you visited. Were people unaware of who you were?"

"Most people outside Europe, yes. They knew the story, but they didn't see my face in every newspaper for years, so they didn't associate the story with a tourist." He had to add, "Those who did know, because they study these sort of things, or because they're in the fight-against-the-dark-arts business, were curious, yes. As if they hadn't realised that the stories were really true. They had all sorts of questions about what it means to live in wartime."

Alex started. "Wartime seems so bleak," he said. "I don't think of it in those terms."

Harry laughed. "Me neither. It was just the way my life was. And it didn't mean much to me, except my friends were in danger, and I couldn't go anywhere without bodyguards."

Alex grimaced. "All this at, what? Fifteen?"

Harry nodded. "Yeah."

"I can understand why you don't read about it."

"Well, I don't, but I can understand why people who meet me do. I guess, if one of my friends was talked about in history books, I'd like to read them too. And, after all, I read John's novels. It's not exactly the same thing, but I was curious too."

Julius entered the room then, and came to sit with the two teachers. "It's late," he said by way of greeting.

Harry smiled. "Trying to impress the boss by staying late at the office," he explained, not entirely joking. He didn't know what the rules here were, precisely. He had opted to live on the school grounds, at least until the holidays, when he would decide whether the job agreed with him or not. He didn't mind hotel rooms but several months in one was a stretch, even for him.

"There's no need, really," Julius answered. "A good bottle of aged firewhiskey will do the trick just fine."

"Don't listen to him," Alex said. "I did, and ended up supervising all the school's outings for three years. 'That'll teach you to try to corrupt me,' he said." Alex put on a sad face. "And there I was, just trying to thank him for all his attentions. Cause, really, he is a man full of consideration, Harry." He looked Julius in the eyes. "You're great, boss."

Julius had put his hands on his hips mid-rant, and was frowning at Alex. "Hum, I see three years was too good for you," he said.

Alex made a show of recoiling, but spoke in an even tone. "Oh, no, not the school outings again, please, please, have mercy," he said, without dropping his papers - or his cup of coffee.

Julius considered him before reluctantly saying, "Very well. As long as the offence is not repeated."

"Oh, thanks boss," Alex said, smiling. He dropped his eyes to the assignments again and Julius turned to Harry.

"Do not be frightened, young teacher," he said soothingly. "I'm only hard on people like Alex, there." He sat down, and Harry half expected the man to start patting his knee, but Julius merely asked, "So, how did you find your first day?"

Harry met his eyes. "Okay, mostly."

Alex chuckled. "He's peeved because he learned that he's a history subject."

Harry pouted. "Oh, you laugh." He sighed. "This twelve year kid was looking at me like I was an exhibit in a museum, and I felt positively ancient."

"Poor thing," Alex commiserated.

Harry resisted a strong urge to stick out his tongue at him. "Damn," he thought, "if this is the maturity level I've reached after one day, what is it going to be in three months?"

* * *

One month after Harry had begun the job, an owl arrived at the school. Harry was watching over the youngest students, who were playing in the outside park.

The owl circled above them, seeming pitch black against the blue sky. She slowly descended toward Harry, who extended an arm. The owl perched on it, and he took a moment to admire her dark brown feathers.

Then, his eyes fell on the letter she carried. A letter sporting the Hogwarts crest.

* * *

Margaret came to see Harry at the end of her morning classes. He was lying on a bench, staring at the sky. He had come here as soon as his last class was over, an hour ago, and had not moved since.

"Hey," she said.

"Hey."

She sat on the grass. "What's up?"

Without a word, he took the letter that rested on his chest and held it to her. She sat on the grass to read.

The letter was from Professor McGonagall. It was short and to the point.

"Dear Harry,

I'm sorry to bother you, I'm sure you must be very busy (Remus told us you had just begun a teaching job) but I'm afraid Albus doesn't have much time left.

I think, Harry, that he would like to see for himself how well you are doing, before he dies.

Understand that no one will think any less of you if it is impossible for you to come - Remus was opposed to this letter, saying you had enough on your plate already. I felt you should have a chance to come and say goodbye, should you wish to.

Sincerely,

Minerva McGonagall."

After a long silence, Margaret spoke up. "You never talk about it, you know."

Harry didn't answer.

"You talk about Hogwarts, what kind of classes you had, your friends and the twins, and what kind of innocent mischief you lot got into."

"Yeah."

"But we're not stupid, and we know it can't have been as innocent. Not if we believe what the books say."

Harry sighed and closed his eyes. He had thought he had moved past all that a long while ago, but the past, Harry was beginning to learn, had a strange way of coming to bite you in the ass when you least expected it. "When my parents died, it fell on Dumbledore to decide what to do with me. As my Mum had died to protect me, he thought my best chance was to create wards around the last blood relative I had." He paused a moment to gather his thoughts. "My last remaining blood relative happened to be my Mum's sister, who hated my parents, magic, and everything related. She resented my presence. I think she had finally made a life for herself that she liked, with a husband, a son, and a nice house. And then I arrived."

Margaret got to her feet and patted his leg. He raised his knees so she could sit on the bench. "Your relatives? Did they abuse you?" she asked.

That was Margaret, he thought. Never one to beat around the bush. "Define abuse." He sighed. "They didn't feed me enough, they made me sleep in a cupboard until I was eleven, they never really let me have friends before I went to Hogwarts."

Those were facts. But facts didn't say anything about the loneliness he had felt then, as he sat in the dark, hearing his relatives celebrating holidays, birthdays, while he wondered why he didn't deserve to be with them. Facts didn't say anything about his fear of being rejected, or about his longing for a family.

"They never really crossed the line," he added. "Never beat me up - although it was sometimes borderline. I think they were scared I'd involuntarily turn them into frogs, or something."

"I'd say they crossed the line, but whatever," Margaret said. She rested a hand on his upraised knee. "Did Dumbledore know?"

Harry smiled. Back in England, no one would have dared to ask that question. Dumbledore was the epitome of the Good Guy, impervious to mistakes. Here, he was just a great figure of history. A far away one.

"Yes. Perhaps not everything, but most of it."

The hand on his knee twitched. "Then why-?"

"He was trying to keep me safe," Harry said. "From dark wizards."

"And didn't he care about what your family would do to you in the process?"

"I was important to the war," Harry said. "And I didn't have a legal guardian who gave a damn, no one who'd take me out of school when things heated up."

"But there must have been someone who cared?"

"There were lots of people," he said. "Lupin, a friend of my parents. Sirius, for a while - my godfather. The Weasleys."

"They're the ones you talk about all the time?"

"Yes. The only family I had back then. And there were others, in the Order, who cared about me, personally, not just as the Boy-Who-Lived."

"Then why-?"

"Because Dumbledore was the leader, and everyone just assumed he knew best. Myself included, really."

"Even though he had left you there?"

"I didn't learn about that until the end of my fifth year." As always when he thought about that moment, Harry sent a brief hello to Sirius - wherever he was. "And Dumbledore did try to make it up to me."

"What can make up for that?"

"Nothing," Harry answered. "He just made sure I could stay alive long enough to get past it. Which I've done mostly."

"Is that why you left?"

Harry laughed soundlessly.

"Sorry," she said. "Everyone keeps asking you that, I know."

"Yeah. I left for a lot of reasons, some of which I didn't realise back then. I didn't go back for as many reasons."

"Such as?"

"Such as the shadow of Voldemort that seemed to follow me everywhere. People over there still want to know what it was like for me, and most time, it's not out of any interest for my well-being. Such as the fact that I needed some time alone with myself, so I could process what had happened."

"Five years? That's a long time to process."

"I wanted to be alone with myself, so I wasn't influenced, by anyone."

Margaret laughed a little and he raised his head to watch her. "What?"

"Sorry, but Harry, no man or woman is an island. That's a cliché, but we're always influenced. By the events happening around us, by the people we meet, or live with. You don't make decisions in a vacuum - the decisions are influenced by who you know, by past experiences, by what you want out of life. How can you be 'not influenced' by travelling around the world?"

Harry shrugged. "Anyone I know, I meant."

She shook her head, as if exasperated. "They're with you, you know. Even if you don't know it. They don't watch you struggle, but you know what they would think of this, or that. No, Harry, I'm sorry, but if all you wanted was to deal with what had happened, I think you would have gone back long ago."

Harry smiled a little and sat up, his shoulder almost touching hers. "I did feel like I was still looking for something," he said. "I'm not sure I know what."

"Closure?" she asked, handing him the letter.

"I doubt it will be that easy."

"It's not meant to be easy. But wouldn't you regret not seeing him again?"

Harry had to admit, until Margaret showed up, he had sincerely been wondering if it was worth the trip. His last conversations with Dumbledore had been civil enough, and, in the end, they had never had time to become that close.

But...

Harry had learned that Vernon Dursley had passed away while he was travelling in South Africa, six months into his trip, and somehow, Harry had felt cheated to learn that the man had died from a heart attack. Harry had always planned to go see him, once, when he'd feel more balanced, more ready, and to vent, yell at the man for the way he had treated a kid placed in his care. He should have done it sooner. He doubted Vernon would have understood Harry; he doubted Vernon would have thought he had deserved his nephew's resentment, but all that was moot now that he was dead.

It didn't matter that much. The Dursleys may have shaped who he had become, but they were ignorant, bigoted people, who had such a limited view of the world that Harry had often pitied them in the last years.

Dumbledore was another matter.

Harry had genuinely liked the man. He had admired him when he was a kid. And Dumbledore had tried to make it up to him - Harry had known freedom for a few years at Hogwarts.

He didn't want to wonder, three months from now, if he shouldn't have talked to the man one last time.

He shook his head. "No man is an island?" he asked.

Margaret shrugged. "Trite, but true."

He nodded.

"Harry, if you want to move on, I think you should at least hear what he has to say, and try to make peace with him."

"Yeah. I guess I'll go."

"We'll go," she corrected.

She rose. "I'll go see Julius. I'm sure he'll agree. Be ready by the end of the day. If we need to catch a flight on the WizAir, it'll be a close thing."

She went on her quest, and Harry smiled, feeling blessed for having friends.