Healing the Darkness

Chapter 1: First Lesson

"Five minutes to go," Harry ran a hand nervously through his wild black hair as he looked over his lesson plan once more. His green eyes strayed to the picture frame on his desk. "Wish me luck, Ginny," he whispered. Today he was teaching his very first Defence against the Dark Arts lesson, and he was very anxious.

He sighed and leaned against the wall. "How am I supposed to do this, Gin?" he asked to the ceiling, "I can't teach these kids. How can I show them what I've gone through? How can I ever make them understand?" He wouldn't be doing this, but Professor McGonagall had asked, and he felt compelled to agree. He brought his hand up and stared at the scars tracing it, the only remains of the many curses, both Dark and Light, which he had received. He felt tired and old. After all, it had only been about three months since Voldemort's defeat and the end of the major battles.

Three months.

Three months had not been enough time to forget what had happened, to heal the wounds and fade the scars. It hadn't been enough time to return to normal life or make the nightmares go away. It certainly hadn't been near long enough to mourn the dead and wounded: Dumbledore, Hagrid, Seamus, Ginny. Oh, how deep and painful was the mourning!

Harry shook himself and picked up his text. Now was not the time for mourning, however. It was time to put his personal feelings behind him and teach these children. Since the death of their leader, the Death Eaters had rallied around Lucius and Draco Malfoy and went around terrorising the half-bloods and Muggle-borns, attempting to rekindle Voldemort's mission. The Aurors and other Resistance fighters had been successful in picking off many, but the Malfoys and their inner circle were still at large. It was still imperative for all students of magic to learn how to defend themselves against these evil conspirers.

Taking a deep breath, Harry left his office for his classroom. Most of the students were already there and eagerly waiting his arrival. These were the sixth-year Slytherins and Ravenclaws, sharp and intelligent. They quieted as the rest of the class came in and sat down. Here goes nothing, Harry thought.

"Er--welcome to another year of Defence against the Dark Arts," he began. "I am Harry Potter and I shall be teaching you some advanced defence spells that will be useful to you in your lifetime." The class remained silent. "Right. Well, open your books to page 482. Who knows what a Patronus is?"

A few hands went up. "Excuse me, Professor," a blonde Ravenclaw girl said. "We studied the Patronus charm last year."

Harry gaped speechlessly at her, his face beginning to burn. "Er-erm, r-right." he stammered. Oh, Merlin, he thought. What am I going to do now? He looked around the room in mortification. His eyes fell on a black-haired girl who was watching him steadily. She looked a bit amused. "Well, what should we study, then?" he asked humbly. A weight seemed to be pushing on his shoulders. He looked around again.

The boy behind the black-haired girl raised his hand. "Tell us about the war and the defeat of You-Know-Who," he said eagerly. The rest of the class leaned forward in anticipation.

Oh no, please don't make me do that, his mind pleaded. "N-not today," he said aloud. He felt like old Professor Quirrell. "Then go to page 497. The Hiding Charm." Pages rustled and the students looked with interest at the page. The black-haired girl looked up and gave him an approving grin. Something in that grin was so familiar, but Harry couldn't place it. "It's very easy; all you say is Abscondus."

Harry relaxed as his students set to work on casting the charm on themselves. One girl took out a roll of parchment to take careful notes, reminding Harry of Hermione. He smiled. It was at the moment that it struck him that he hadn't called the roll. Hoping no one would notice, he searched around frantically for the scrap of parchment, but couldn't find it. This was not good. He decided to improvise. Under the black-haired girl's bemused watch, he dug out a quill.

"Right," he said. "Before we really begin, I'm going to go through and have each of you tell me your name so I can know who you are and others can know you as well."

Of course, the class caught on to his act, but complied without insult. As Harry scribbled each name, he felt her still watching. A sneaked glance confirmed his suspicion. She was very attractive, but she was four years younger than he and his student. His childish, schoolboy self also was repulsed by the fact that she was a Slytherin. And now she was speaking. And he had missed it.

"Sorry, what was your name again?" he asked her.

"Serena Snape."