The Penitent

Harry Potter was racing against time.

It was a bright Sunday morning in London, and King's Cross station was flooded with an unusual amount of light. Harry was not interested in gawking at rare rays of sunlight, however.

He was going to miss his train.

He swung his bags into a cart, taking only the slightest care in handling the owlcage (sorry, Hedwig), then took off at a run. He had exactly less than a minute to dodge Muggles, materialize on Platform Nine and Three Quarters, place his trunk in the cargo hold, and board the train.

Well, the least he could do was make an effort.

Fortunately, the cart he had chosen had somewhat rusty wheels. Muggles that heard the loud clanking of his trolley decided it was safest for them to scowl disapprovingly and then quickly get out of the way. Harry found himself on the magical platform in far less time than he'd expected.

Two things done. Now he needed to get his bags on the train.

He found a disgruntled porter easily enough, and all but shoved the trolley into his arms before sprinting into the train. He collapsed in an open compartment, breathing heavily. One second slower and he wouldn't have made it, he thought. He hoped that the porter had found the time to load his bags.

"What the hell do you think you're doing?"

Harry's green eyes widened, and he pulled himself up to a sitting position on the floor. "Sorry," he panted. "I nearly missed the train."

"Well, obviously."

The voice was strangely familiar; cold, smooth, and superior. Harry rubbed at his eyes (I should have eaten breakfast) and shoved his glasses up his nose. They had been hanging off.

"Sorry," he said again. He was having trouble focusing his eyes. Was it always like this when one raced on an empty stomach?

The voice laughed. "You know, Potter, I never expected I'd hear you apologizing to me."

Harry froze.

He knew that voice. Well. He nearly groaned aloud, and then wondered why he hadn't. Of all the people to have ended up together with, he had just had to land with the worst.

"Malfoy?" he asked tentatively, pinching the bridge of his nose. A blur of green snaked past his eyes.

His robes, he supposed.

"Yes," came the sour reply. "Are you blind or something, Potter?"

"No," Harry winced. "I just don't feel too well."

Malfoy's robes swished as he sat down. "Oh, this is alarming. Precious Harry Potter has a stomachache."

Something in that cold voice struck a raw cord in Harry, and he got to his feet. "Shut it, Malfoy. If you'd like, I'll leave."

There was an unexpected pause. Harry suddenly wished his vision wasn't so blurry. Weren't his glasses supposed to be working?

"You don't have to leave," Malfoy said. "There's no one else on the train."

Harry raised an eyebrow. "Oh, so now you're lonely, are you?" He sat down despite himself, and made another futile attempt to rub at his eyes.

"I'm not lonely," Malfoy scoffed. "I'm just wondering why you're on this train."

"I could ask the same of you," said Harry.

"I asked first."

"Very well," Harry said, marking off in some mental part of his brain that he was having the first real conversation with Draco Malfoy of his life. "I'm going to be a Hogwarts teacher." He waited in the expectant pause. "You?"

"The same," said Draco.

Harry choked.

"What?"

"I'm teaching," Draco said irritably. "What part of that did you not understand?"

"You're teaching."

"Yes!"

"What are you teaching?"

The green robes shifted ever so slightly, and for the first time, Harry caught a glimpse of Malfoy's silver blond hair. "What does it matter to you?" he asked.

He sounded almost defensive. Harry's mouth thinned.

"It's not like I won't know once we get there, Malfoy." Draco had begun muttering something unintelligible under his breath. "What's wrong with telling me?"

"Fine!" Draco snapped suddenly. "I'm teaching Herbology."

Harry blinked his useless eyes. "What?"

"Herbology."

Harry blinked again. "You're teaching Herbology?"

"That's what I said, Potter. Have you gone deaf as well as blind?"

"But..." Harry struggled for words, "why?"

"Because it was the only position available, you idiot. Why else do you think?"

Harry's face hardened. "Sorry, Malfoy, but I can't help but wonder why you, of all people, would be desperate for just any job."

Draco stiffened.

"I wasn't desperate," he said. "Dumbledore asked me himself."

"Dumbledore asked you?" Harry said incredulously. "Why?"

Draco regarded him for a moment. "It's not that simple," he said at last. "You wouldn't understand."

"No, actually, I don't," said Harry brusquely. "Not at all. Though you'll have to admit that to an outsider like me, the circumstances look rather suspicious."

"I told you, Dumbledore asked me himself!" Draco yelled, looking ready to pummel Harry to the ground. "Must you always be such a busybody?"

Harry arched an eyebrow.

Draco began to pace along his side of the cabin. "You're so meddlesome!" he ranted. "And you've always hated me. You never believe anything I say."

Harry looked confused. "What?" he asked. "If I remember correctly, it was you that hated me from the beginning, Malfoy, not the other way around."

Draco ignored him and started rummaging through his robes. Harry's vision had improved enough that he could comprehend Draco's larger movements, and he tensed in his seat, thinking that the other would pull out his wand -- but then he saw that all Draco was trying to do was extract a small red feather from his sleeve.

The feather fell out of his grasp, and Draco nearly dove to the floor in an effort to catch it.

"See this, Potter?" he asked, once he'd settled down again. He was clutching the feather to him as if it were the most precious thing in the world. "I'm just as trusted as you are."

Harry stared at the feather, then at Draco. "You're part of the Order?" he asked, with some disbelief.

"That's right," Draco said.

Harry licked his lips. "I'm surprised. Ron isn't."

Draco wrinkled his nose, and as if not knowing what else to do, scowled viciously. "Why would I care if Weasel is or not?" he asked petulantly. "Did you think" -- he allowed his voice to drop -- "that just because he's Harry Potter's best friend that he'd get an automatic acceptance?"

"That's not what I thought at all," Harry said. "I'm just a bit surprised at the way things have turned out, that's all."

Draco eyed him suspiciously, as if believing this calm version of Harry Potter to be some sort of sham. Then he shrugged.

"Well, this is how it is, so get used to it."

"I'm trying to," said Harry.

Draco snarled uncertainly and looked out of the window.

"So..." he said later in feigned boredom, "you know what I'm doing. What about you? You're not giving flying lessons, I wager."

"No, not flying," Harry answered. "Defense."

Draco sat bolt upright in his chair. "What!" he asked. "How?"

Harry shrugged nonchalantly. "It was the only position available," he said, perversely pleased by the way Draco had begun to gawk. "There's also the small detail that I happen to be trained as an Auror..."

"That's the best position in the school!" Draco shrieked. "How could they give it to you?"

Harry's brow creased. "It isn't how you think," he said. "Snape" -- he fumbled over the word -- "will be giving me some extra training in the Dark Arts. I'm not the best out there, but I am qualified, and I...well..." He trailed off uncertainly, then, at a loss for words, rubbed at his eyes.

Draco's voice was full of anger. "It figures," he spat. "You are Harry Potter, after all. Dumbledore has to take the extra effort to keep you safe and protected."

"Oh, shove it, Malfoy," Harry replied. "If that were the case, I would have remained with the Unspeakables. It's not as if they are doing anything particularly strenuous, what with this nonexistent war and all." He was bitter.

"Fudge still doesn't think You-Know-Who is back?" Draco asked, ending his tantrum immediately.

"No, he doesn't. Or maybe he does, but he's too scared to turn around and lose face now." Harry sighed. "He's absolutely incompetent, Malfoy. He belittles everyone -- and I mean everyone -- at the Ministry. We lose people all the time, and he can never explain it. Actually," -- he smiled sheepishly -- "If you have to know, Fudge threw me out."

Draco gaped. "Are you serious?"

"Yes," said Harry, looking at the floor.

"But why?"

Harry shrugged. "Because I disagreed with him too many times," he said shortly. "He was getting bad press."

"Please," Draco said, rolling his eyes. "Why did you disagree with him?"

"Well, there's the obvious Voldemort Has Returned argument. And then I was trying to get the Auror's patterns to change, so that we could apprehend Death Eaters and anticipate them, rather than just catch their aftertrail. Fudge thought I was planning some sort of coup, or something." Harry caught the look of disbelief on Draco's face. "Yeah, exactly. It was stupid. When Fudge finally came to tell me off, I ended up blowing up at him. He decided to risk more bad press and just get rid of me."

"Bloody hell," Draco said.

Harry smiled wryly. "I'm actually surprised this didn't happen earlier," he said. "I've been expecting it for months."

"But there's plenty of Aurors working behind Fudge's back," Draco said with a frown. "Why didn't he go for, I don't know, Moody, or something?"

"Moody is too jittery to cast a spell, much less block one," Harry replied. "Fletcher and Grealde are dead. My godfather and Remus Lupin are working undercover in the countryside for Dumbledore, not Fudge. No one else is alive or really cares."

"Christ," Draco swore. "I know we've killed a lot of people, but I never thought it was that bad." His face paled abruptly. "I mean..."

Harry's jaw was unusually tight. "It's alright," he said, with obvious effort. "I already knew. I mean" -- he let out a short bark of laughter -- "with your father being who he is, it was to be expected."

Draco's pale eyes had gone wide with fright. "Please believe me when I say this," he said, his voice raw. "I never have condoned any of those things. I thought once that I used to believe in it, but the more that I saw, the more I realized how wrong it was. I mean, I don't like Dumbledore still, and a lot of the people in the Order. But I couldn't" -- he was speaking very fast now -- "I couldn't really stand it ever..."

Harry nodded slowly.

"I know," he said. Draco was tempted to yell at him then, to tell him, No, you don't know!, but then he caught the grave look in Harry's green eyes, and just right above it, the dark blemish of his lightning-shaped scar.

And then he understood.

They may have made a tentative peace on the train, Harry thought, but that didn't mean they had to like one another. Draco, to both his and Harry's great relief, had met up with a sour faced Professor Snape and left the station for Hogwarts almost immediately. Harry was now alone with (a still bushy haired and talkative) Hermione.

It would have been nice except for the fact that she couldn't stop talking.

"...and oh, Harry, you wouldn't believe how strange it is to be sitting up with the other teachers. The Great Hall seems so much smaller nowadays..."

"...Professor McGonagall will be so happy to see you, Harry, she's been talking about you for days..."

"...I assume you've already planned out your lessons. If you haven't, we can go to the library and finish them, mine still need some touching up..."

"Thanks, Hermione," he heard himself say. "I could use the advice."

She beamed at him. "Yes, well, Charms is very different from Defense, but I'm sure all you need help with is organization. Our own Defense classes were never that good, but with all the training you've had, I'm sure you'll do wonderfully..."

The castle hadn't changed much in the six years since he'd left it behind, he noted. The Quidditch pitch was in the exact same place, and the lake seemed just as shimmering and large. Harry felt the comforting childhood sense of coming home stirring somewhere deep inside of him again, bringing old memories back with it. He couldn't help but smile.

"Harry, are you even listening to me?"

Harry shook himself out of his thoughts. "Yes, Hermione," he said. "I was just remembering how it felt to come up to the castle like this as a first year. It's been such a long time."

"I know," she whispered. "I felt like that too when I came back."

Harry offered her his first real smile since seeing her at the train station. "It's amazing, isn't it?" he asked, eyes tracing the castle turrets up and down, picking out Hagrid's hut at the edge of the Forbidden Forest. "It makes one feel so small."

"Small is hardly the word for it," Hermione said. "It's more like insignificant."

They entered through a side door Harry had never seen before (It's a teacher's shortcut, Hermione explained), stopping periodically so that Harry could get his bearings. The unfamiliar teachers wing was built somewhat differently from the rest of the castle -- hallways were wider, and doors further apart -- but even though the sights were new, Harry felt right at home. Content, almost.

He was suddenly very glad Minister Fudge had fired him.

The last room they visited together was the staff room. Surprisingly, all of the teachers were there, along with Draco and Professor Dumbledore. It was almost as if...

"HARRY!" He was instantly surrounded.

Harry tried to shake every hand extended in his direction and failed. Professor McGonagall seemed particularly wanting to speak to him, but she was rudely knocked out of the way by Hagrid as he came forward to pull Harry into a crushing hug. Harry noticed that Snape made no move to greet him, but was unsurprised and, truthfully, somewhat relieved. Draco nodded in his direction from a faraway corner, his lips pulled in between a smile and a grimace.

Professor Dumbledore came forward last, smiling. "Welcome, Harry. I trust the train ride went smoothly?"

Harry grinned, shifting his weight beside Hermione. "Oh, it was perfect, sir."

Had he just caught Snape rolling his eyes?

"Please, Harry, you may call me Albus. We are equals now, you know." Dumbledore's blue eyes were sparkling. "Now, I am sure you and Draco are tired from the journey" -- he raised a hand as Harry began to protest -- "and wish to become more acquainted with your rooms." He smiled. "Hermione, if I could ask you again, my dear..."

"Of course," Hermione said. Harry noted that she hadn't tacked on an Albus or Headmaster or Professor Dumbledore, which made him uncomfortable. He didn't think he could get used to calling his former teachers by their first names. "What is the password?"

"Cottonball," Dumbledore told her. He looked at Harry, sensing chagrin. "It can be easily changed, Harry."

"Thank you," he said. "I...ah...I guess I'll see you all later."

There were more cries of "Welcome back!", then as he turned around, It's so good to see him again and I still remember when he was a baby -- then finally, after what seemed like a good stretch of several years, he and Hermione were back in the secluded silence of the hallway.

"Wow," said Harry shakily, running a hand through his hair. "That was...interesting."

Hermione smiled at him. "They were like that with me, too. It probably feels a bit strange right now, but I promise that they're all very nice."

Harry hesitated. "Did you find it strange to call them by their first names?"

"Oh yes," Hermione said. "I still mess up, even now. But you'll get used to it." She smiled encouragingly. "Really, of the two of us, you should end up having the lesser difficulty."

Harry laughed. "I guess so."

They walked on in companionable silence, eventually reaching a part of the castle that Harry was familiar with.

"Are my rooms up in Gryffindor tower?" he asked. "I'm afraid that I'm a bit disoriented. I'd never known about that teacher's wing before."

"Oh, that," Hermione said. "I must have forgotten to tell you. The teacher's wing is a specially spelled part of the castle. Students can't reach it."

"Oh," Harry said, not really understanding. "But then where is it relative to everything else?"

Hermione took in a deep breath. "Well, see Harry," she explained, "your room is in Gryffindor tower. But there's also teachers in Ravenclaw and Hufflepuff and Slytherin, and the distance between our rooms can be huge. The teachers wing puts our rooms and offices into one enchanted hall, so we can easily reach one another."

"So, that's how the teachers always reacted so quickly during emergencies?" he asked.

Hermione nodded. "Partially."

"I should of guessed they had something like that."

"Don't feel bad," said Hermione. "I didn't know either."

They rounded a small stairwell and passed through a set of arched doorways. Hermione stopped in front of a faded tapestry of a wild meadow. The woven flowers were waving in an unfelt wind, and Harry thought he could hear the rhythmic sound of hoofbeats coming from somewhere deep within the cloth.

"My rooms," Hermione said, gesturing at the tapestry. "I'll spell the door so that the horses will recognize you." Harry frowned at this, but suddenly and as if on cue, a great herd of horses materialized on the tapestry edge, galloping at full speed. They raced all the way across the length of the cloth, then disappeared once when they reached its end.

Hermione shrugged.

"They're mad at me right now," she explained vaguely. "It's quite silly, really."

Harry's room was one flight of steps above Hermione's, set in a gloomy hallway. There were no pictures on the walls; rather, the hall was filled with several old suits of armor.

Hermione counted her way down the rows of armor, stopping front of a particularly rusted suit. Harry frowned at it for a moment.

"I know it's not pretty," said Hermione nervously. "I had a feeling you wouldn't like it."

Harry sighed. Somewhere within the back of his mind, he had been expecting to see the Fat Lady again, and this same part of him was now experiencing disappointment. He would need to rein in his fantasies and set them aside, if he wanted to get anything done. "It's alright, 'Mione, it'll do. Cottonball."

The armor saluted rustily and clanked aside, revealing a deeply cut hollow in the wall. Harry frowned but stepped into it, as did Hermione. For a moment, nothing happened, and all they saw was the hall. Then a thin film spread in front of them, and the world began to spin.

They were going in circles -- flying -- it felt wonderful

-- and were suddenly being thrown to the floor of what had to be Harry's new chambers.

"Ugh," said Hermione from the floor.

Harry coughed up a ball of dust and made an attempt to find his glasses.

"You've got interesting rooms," Hermione said lightly, sitting up and dusting her sleeves. She handed Harry his glasses, which were covered with a thick layer of grime. "I've certainly never had that experience before."

"That door tried to kill us!" Harry said, glaring at it. "What was Dumbledore thinking?"

"He wasn't," replied Hermione. She looked around appraisingly. "You know, Harry, I don't think these rooms have been used for ages."

"It figures," Harry muttered.

"Be glad of that, Harry," Hermione warned. "Once a room gets used to an occupant, it tends to be rather unpleasant with the new tenant. I'm telling you, my horse problem is only the beginning of several grudges my room has set against me --"

"Hermione," Harry cut in, "Why don't we take a look around?"

Hermione looked slightly miffed at having been interrupted, but took one glance at Harry's irritated face and nodded. "Good idea. You know, Harry, I think they forgot to send the house elves here. Everything looks awfully dusty."

"Maybe I got the wrong room," Harry said hopefully.

"I don't think so," Hermione said, pointing at a small pile of luggage by the door. "This seems to be right."

"Then maybe it's that door," Harry said. "Look -- there isn't dust anywhere except for in this large radius around it."

Hermione took a closer look at the entranceway, and gasped. "Why, Harry, I think you're right! The door must be spilling out bits of dust every time it moves!"

"Brilliant," Harry said dully. "Just what I need."

"Don't worry," Hermione assured him. "We'll just spell it so that it remains clean." She brandished her wand. "Laver Totalis!" Dust motes and bunnies that had once been covering Harry's floor and furniture suddenly lifted into the air, then exploded.

Harry noticed that his once grime covered door had begun to shiver uncontrollably, as if it was cold without its layer of dust. He scowled at it. It stilled.

Well, that's new. "Thanks, Hermione," he said. "I...guess we should move on, then?"

She nodded, and they trudged into the next room.