Inner Demons

Inner Demons

"A home is not a mere transient shelter: its essence lies in the personalities of the people who live in it."

H. L. Mencken

***Chapter Five***

Harry trailed behind Ron and Hermione as they led him to the second floor corridor that housed the staffroom. Their talk that afternoon had offered a glimpse into what he had missed, being away from his friends, for all these years. A lot had changed, that much was certain, both in the Wizarding world and in the personal lives of his friends. Voldemort was gone, as were his Death Eaters, but many of those who were sympathetic to the Dark Lord still remained. Nevertheless, the children of the post-Voldemort era did not have to grow up with the fear that plagued the generations before them. Harry's generation, it seemed to him, was still recovering from the war that had decimated a full third of his year level. The others who had been students at Hogwarts at the time still bore the physical and emotional scars.

Harry's gaze drifted out the window to a monument that stood in the place of Hagrid's hut, which had been destroyed in the war. In front of the backdrop of the Forbidden Forest it painted a quiet, idyllic scene, belying the horrific four days and nights that had claimed the lives of Sirius, Hagrid and several professors, as well as those who should never have been involved like Seamus Finnegan, Dean Thomas, Parvarti Patil, Colin Creevey and a number of others who had been friends and classmates.

A soft touch on his arm drew his gaze to Hermione who gently grasped his hand while Ron stood behind her looking concerned. Realising that he had stopped, he offered his friends a small smile and continued down the corridor. Of the survivors of the war, some had carried on with their lives, like Ron and Hermione, pursing careers and relationships alike. He was glad that his two best friends had found each other and hearing of their courtship and eventual marriage had made him smile. He was glad that they had not pried into his years away from England. There were some wounds that he was unwilling to open just yet.

The Trio finally came to a stop in front of a portrait of an ancient, wizened witch who leant heavily on her cane.

"Good afternoon, Hyacinth," Ron said politely. "Meet Harry Potter, our new DADA professor."

"Oooh, isn't 'e an 'andsome one!" She leaned forward in the picture to stare at him through one rheumy eye. The other, Harry noticed, was made of glass and was threatening to drop out of its socket.

"Now, now, Hyacinth..." began Ron.

"New Defence Professor are 'yer?" she said ignoring Ron completely. "'Yer need good wand skills for that!"

Harry blushed to the portrait's cackling and tried to ignore the sniggers coming from Hermione as she said the password, six more weeks!, and walked in.

The staffroom, like most of the rooms at Hogwarts, was large. A long table, already adorned with steaming pots of tea and plates of muffins, surrounded by high backed chairs, dominated the centre of the room. At the end of the room was a large fire place with comfortable looking armchairs and sofas around it. One wall was comprised of five large panels, each covered by a House banner and the central one with the school crest carved into the wood. Huge windows encompassed the other wall, each of them extending from the floor to the ceiling, offering a spectacular view of the dying sun over the Forbidden Forest.

"Hyacinth's like that to all the male staff." Ron was chuckling as they found their chairs in an otherwise deserted room. "Malfoy's been the focus of her attention for years, now, but she'll be harping on about you for weeks!"

"Great..." Harry rolled his eyes. "By the way, the password...'six more weeks' to what?"

"Until the students come back, of course!" laughed Hermione. "Then it changes to things like 'Wellington's being a brat' or 'the Head Boy and Girl are dating'...it depends on the latest school gossip. Though he might deny it, I think it's Dumbledore's way of keeping us sane."

"Gosh...I don't think I want to know what the passwords were when we were at school," laughed Harry, wondering how many times his name had featured in the passwords.

"That's why I've never asked, dear." Hermione said, patting his hand condescendingly.

"Know-it-all Granger not asking questions? There's a first," drawled Malfoy as he walked in and took his own seat opposite Harry.

Harry opened his mouth to retort in Hermione's defence and stopped when he saw her laughing and Ron nodding vigorously in agreement. Years ago when Malfoy had joined their side, it was always Harry who had to defend Malfoy from accusations and mistrust of his friends. This intimacy between them and Malfoy was mind-boggling to Harry. He was also, he admitted to himself, a little hurt by this change. It was as though Malfoy had taken his place in the years that he had been gone, making him feel a little isolated and excluded. Without saying a word, he sat back in his chair as the door opened and one by one, the other staff members began trickling in.

Dumbledore was the first to arrive and he gave him a warm smile, followed closely by Snape who nodded curtly, at least some things didn't change thought Harry, and Sprout who was unable to control herself and hugged him with bone-crushing force. Sinistra was next smiling enigmatically at him, then Pomfrey who commented that she was pleased to see him return in one piece and Hooch who looked positively delighted to have another flyer in the faculty. The first unfamiliar face was that of the reserved, middle-aged Ancient Runes professor who looked him straight in the eye and nodded, rather than looking firstly at his scar as most people did. Harry took an immediate liking to the man. Next was the young, extremely well built and enthusiastic Simon MacDonnell who taught Care of Magical Creatures and whose tight dragon hide trousers nearly made Harry topple over in shock. The woman, who entered behind Simon in a whirl of colourful scarves with some sickly sweet scent wafting along behind her, was more familiar. Lavender Brown, still blond and girly, all but shrieked as she saw him and announced, mistily, that she was the Divination professor.

"It's so lovely to have you back with us, Harry dear!" she gushed. "Of course, my Inner Eye told me that you'd be coming back to us so I'm not surprised in the very least to see you, but it is lovely nonetheless!"

Hermione rolled her eyes and gave a long-suffering sigh while Draco discretely waved his hand in front of his face in an effort to clear the offending smell.

"I've heard all about you, of course!" grinned Simon, shaking Harry's hand enthusiastically. He spoke in such a thick Irish accent that it took an immense amount of concentration to understand what he was saying. "I'm not a Hogwarts boy myself but word spread around the country, you know. The Boy-Who-Lived and all that! I never thought that I'd actually be teaching with you!"

"Pleasure's all mine," smiled Harry, losing feeling in the hand that was still being shaken.

"You'll have to forgive Simon. He's a little over-enthusiastic," said the older man, leaning towards Harry. "It is very irritating first thing in the morning. I am Jonathan Ekhaust, Ancient Runes professor."

Harry shook his hand, smiling. "Nice to meet you, professor. Harry Potter, call me Harry."

"Then I am Jonathan," he smiled. "Many of my colleagues have been regaling me with stories of your days at Hogwarts. However, I would be willing to reserve judgment until I hear your side of the tales."

"That's very kind of you," was the dry reply.

"We are missing two members of the faculty..." announced Dumbledore from the head of the table. "Ah, here they are."

As the last vestiges of the sun disappeared behind the horizon, the door opened and in walked two people. Harry stood, a lump in his throat, as the achingly familiar man at the door stopped and stared at him for a long moment.

"Harry."

Remus Lupin, who had given him so much comfort especially after Sirius's death, stood in the threshold of the room as though frozen. For long moments they stared at each other. Almost tentatively, he crossed the room until he stood before Harry and placed his hands on the younger man's shoulders. Remus opened his mouth as if to say something but after a moment thought better of it and pulled Harry into a warm hug. Harry shut his eyes. This man, his first mentor, had comforted him for the loss of a godfather he had only known for four years, when he himself had lost his closest friend of almost three decades. It was Remus who taught him to confront his greatest fear and defeat it; Remus who had always been so kind to him; Remus who was the last link to his parents. Stepping back, they studied each other intently. In the eight years that Harry had been away, Remus had barely aged. Certainly he had a few more grey hairs than before but the end of a war that had been waging his entire life had relaxed his face somewhat, making him look younger.

"It's so good to have you back, Harry," said the older man in his quiet voice, amber eyes shining warmly at him. "We've missed you."

"I've missed you too, Remus." Harry gave him another hug. "No more running away for me...I promise."

Clasping Harry's shoulder, Remus sat down in the chair beside Hermione, leaving Harry to face the final staff member. The slender young woman dipped her head apologetically at Dumbledore and when she spoke it was in a voice that reminded Harry of a glacier causing all the warmth of his reunion with Lupin to flee.

"I'm sorry I'm late, Headmaster."

Then, turning her pale face to him, she offered him a brittle smile. She had a refined elegance but the way in which her black eyes seemed to absorb the light chilled him.

"Harry Potter."

He held out his hand but when she did not take it he dropped it uncertainly. "Nice to meet you."

"Likewise, I'm sure. I am Sylvianna Ryvers, Dark Arts professor. Undoubtedly we have much to discuss."

"Dark Arts?" Harry's eyes narrowed.

"Yes."

Without further ado, she brushed past and sat down beside Snape who nodded cordially at her. Suppressing a frown Harry sat, determined not to pass judgment on her despite the bad first impression she made, and turned his attention towards the head of the table.

Dumbledore smiled pleasantly at him. "Well, my boy, it looks like you will have no trouble fitting in at all."

Harry stared at the old man who was smiling at the Dark Arts professor over his half-moon glasses. Had Dumbledore missed the frosty exchange or was there something about her that Harry didn't know. He shook his head; he'd given up trying to decipher Dumbledore years ago.

The headmaster conjured up some tea cups with a flick of his wand and smiled around his staff. "Let us get started, shall we?"

*

After the meeting the staff mingled around as dinner was brought up to the staff room by the House-elves. Apparently, dinners were conducted here during the summer holidays as it did seem a little silly to sit at the head of an otherwise empty Great Hall. Harry swapped seats with Hermione in order to talk to Remus about the upcoming year.

"How can I help you, Harry?" asked the older man smiling warmly at him.

"I've given some thought to what I'm actually going to teach my students but I...well...I haven't had all that much time to prepare for it," he replied, feeling embarrassed. "I was hoping to model the DADA curriculum on yours...if you don't mind, of course."

"Not at all, Harry, I'm quite flattered. I'd be more than happy to go over it with you - I should still have my old notes in my office."

"Thank you," Harry said, relieved. "You're a lifesaver."

"But you may need to speak with Sylvie, seeing as she teaches Dark Arts and you the defence of it."

"I was wondering about that. What sort of things does she teach?"

"Of course I don't have all the details, but essentially the class involves teaching the students about the Dark Arts, the principles..."

"Doctrine," retorted Harry, adamant that the Dark Arts never did anyone any good. It was rumoured that the study of the Dark Art had transformed Tom Riddle from a conscientious student into the monster that Harry had killed eight years ago.

"The spells..." continued Remus as if he hadn't spoken.

"Curses."

"The potions..."

"Poisons."

"The creatures." Remus raised his eyebrows in bemusement

Harry paused, stared at the werewolf for a moment then offered a small smile. "Some of whom are friends."

"Some, but not all, so it is best if students have a general knowledge about them and then make their own decisions about the minority."

"Maybe, but it sounds ominous." Harry frowned and glanced across the table to where Professor Ryvers was engaged in conversation with Snape and Malfoy.

"It's less so than it sounds," Remus reassured. "The idea was initially Severus's. He believed that the key to being able to fight the Dark Arts was to understand the underlying nature of it."

"No doubt from personal experience," muttered Harry.

"I agree with him, Harry, as does Dumbledore and anyone who has experienced the Dark Arts," chided Remus, gently. "Remember your fourth year with the faux Moody and how he taught you about the Unforgivables? If he hadn't taught you the principles of Imperius, could you have overcome its effects?"

"Um...no," he conceded reluctantly. "I suppose I can understand why they want the students to know about the Dark Arts...but what I don't agree with is the fact that there's an entire curriculum devoted to it. Why can't they just integrate it into the DADA course."

"They found that there wasn't enough time in DADA to teach students the things we felt was important for them to know," Remus explained. "But the classes are strongly connected, Harry, and this makes it easier for the students to integrate their knowledge of both the Dark Arts and the defence of it."

"Either way, Potter," interrupted Snape from across the table, "you'll have to come up with your curriculum quickly."

Harry stared at his the Potions Master, trying to find a trace of contempt or disgust in the man's voice, but to his surprise found none. For his part, Harry's hatred of the ex-Death Eater had faded over the course of his seventh year when Snape begun tutoring him in preparation for the final battle. The man's acerbic wit and sharp tongue, Harry realised, disguised the true depth of the suffering that he had endured from both Voldemort and self-recrimination. Not that Snape had become a paragon of virtue in Harry's mind; the man could still be a bastard if he wanted. As the meaning of the Potions Master's voice sunk in, Harry could feel his eyes widening in dismay.

"Quickly? You mean I don't have until the start of term?" he asked, feeling both apprehensive and stupid. He had anticipated having until September to come up with a whole new curriculum. Apparently not.

"The Department of Magical Education and the Board of Governors conduct a review panel three weeks before the start of term in which we each present our respective curricula for the year," explained the Deputy Headmaster with less vitriol in his voice than Harry remembered as a student. "Usually it is bureaucratic nonsense but considering that you are a new addition to staff, you may undergo more scrutiny than the rest of us."

"Fantastic," Harry sighed, his chicken and ham pie suddenly losing its previous appeal. That meant that he had under two months. Suddenly he wondered if it had been a mistake to agree to teach at Hogwarts. What business did a former detective have teaching children? Hell, he hadn't even been that good a student at Hogwarts, as most of the people sitting around this table could probably attest to. Sure, he'd been Head Boy but he half suspected that the position was more due to him being the Boy Who Lived, than having any academic merit. He took of his glasses and rubbed his eyes, feeling a little sick to his stomach. Before he could descend into utter self-pity and doubt, however, Remus placed a comforting hand on his shoulder.

"I'm sure you'll want to unpack tonight...and perhaps get reacquainted with your friends," Lupin winked at him, "but I'd be delighted to see you tomorrow morning to discuss it."

"Thanks, Remus, I'll take you up on that," Harry smiled. "Besides, we have a lot to catch up on."

*

"You're looking a little pale, Sylvie. Are you alright?"

Draco glanced at the Dark Arts professor, questioningly. Simon's suggestion to head down to the Three Broomsticks after dinner to celebrate Harry's return had been met with enthusiasm by the younger members of staff. The older professors had refused but smiled indulgently. Currently the Boy Who Lived was sequestered in one of the private rooms, undoubtedly surrounded by Lavender, Simon and the Weasleys while he and Sylvie stood by the bar.

"I'm feeling a little off," she admitted, putting down her cup of butterbeer. "If I'm not being terribly rude, I think I'll go for a little walk."

"Do that. I'll make your excuses," offered Draco, standing to give her a quick kiss on the cheek. "See you in the morning and remember duelling practice."

"Of course." She gave him a brief nod and gathering up her cloak, drifted out of the pub amidst the sound of raucous laughter carrying through the walls from the room occupied by the Hogwarts group.

Draco drained his mug and smiled winningly at Madam Rosmerta who laughed and reached over the bar to refill it, shaking her head as she did so.

"Had a good night, Rosmerta?"

"It was the same as always until Harry Potter walked in!" she shook her head again, this time in amazement. "I was always sure we'd see him again but to have him suddenly pop up...it'll add more white to my hair!"

"More white? I swear you haven't aged a day since my third year." He smirked, knowing that he could have her eating out of the palm of his hand with just a few compliments. It was fun being a Slytherin sometimes.

"Oh you. You're just trying to get me to give you free drinks, aren't you?" She laughed but blushed nonetheless.

"It's because I was a Slytherin, isn't it?" Draco said with mock distress. "But about Potter, I don't think he needs his ego expanded any more than it already is by getting the media involved...."

"I won't say a thing," promised the barkeeper solemnly. "Though I can't make any promises about the guests."

"Oh good. I don't want Potter to knock me off my spot as Teen Witch Weekly's Most Eligible Bachelor," he preened. "Now you'll have to excuse me; the others are probably beside themselves wondering where I am."

"Of course, Draco," she said, and smiling, she slid a plate of pumpkin pasties over the bar. "They're on the house."

"Rosmerta, you're a gem."

Picking up the plate, he headed towards the group that occupied a corner when he suddenly found himself face-deep in a mass of red hair. He blinked in surprise and pulled back slightly to see Ginny Weasley, the highly glamorous and successful editor of the Witch Way magazine, grinning at him.

"Merlin, Virginia, you nearly made me drop the pasties," he glared at her.

"Nice to see you too, Draco," she laughed. "I got the most surprising letter from Ron this morning! Is it true? Is he really back?"

"Yes and yes. They're all down the hall, just follow the noise," he grinned and kissed her cheek. "Good to see you, Ginny. Couldn't your husband make it?"

"He's just tucking Aliceinto bed and will be here in a moment...oh, here he is."

By the door, a tall young man was fumbling with his cloak while trying to take off his scarf at the same time, succeeding only in tangling himself up. Draco handed Ginny the plate and walked over, deftly divesting him of the troublesome garments. The man hung up his cloak and caught his breath, then turned to smile at Draco.

"Ah, thank you Malfoy...I haven't quite figured out the robe clasp Ginny got me the other day."

"Yes, I'm sure it's very confusing," he nodded, forcing his face into a mask of solemnity, despite his urge to snicker. "Glad you could make it, Longbottom."

Neville Longbottom was now the confident Deputy Head of the Department of Foreign Affairs at the Ministry having almost progressed from the terrified, awkward boy of his youth. Neville, who all but single-handedly ran one of the Ministry's busiest departments, was competent and sure of himself, but occasionally it seemed as though someone had placed a Confundus curse on him. Draco being Draco made a sport out of catching those rare moments, much to Ginny's annoyance. The two men shook hands as the door swung open again, admitting a trio of Weasleys: George, Charlie and Percy, who greeted their sister, brother-in-law and Draco.

"Great Merlin," he muttered. "It's the invasion of the Weasleys."

"I heard that!" grinned Charlie, shaking Malfoy's hand. "And you'll be seeing more tomorrow. Mum and dad are coming to the school in the morning. You should have seen mum when we got the owl from Ginny - she fainted right there on the kitchen floor!"

"Which is why we were late," chuckled George. "Remember how she acted like it was a national disaster when Harry decided to bugger off? Not that I'm not pleased he's back, of course."

"I wonder why it took him so long to come back," mused Neville, taking Ginny's cloak and hanging it up by the door. "It seems like an odd amount of time to be away then decide to come back.

"What I want to know is what he's been doing with himself over the years," said his wife, pushing back an errant strand of hair. "Do you suppose he's gotten married?"

"Or maybe he had a wild affair and decided to cut and run when the girl got pregnant!" exclaimed George, warming to the subject.

"Or maybe he remembered that embarrassing crush you had on him at school, Ginny, and decided to come back and sweep you up amidst violins and falling rose petals," smirked Draco, reclaiming the pasties from her.

"Gosh, I hope not." Neville looked mildly distressed.

"Oh don't worry, Longbottom. If that happens I'm sure I could arrange for something with Moaning Myrtle."

*

Harry woke up the next morning with a pounding headache. He sighed and rubbed his head, hoping that the pain would go away. He had forgotten how strong wizards made their alcohol. He remembered small flashes from the previous night; Ron singing lewd songs at the top of his off-tune voice, Neville turning into a flobberworm after drinking something that George had spiked, and at one stage he was almost positive that he saw Malfoy and Simon snogging in the corner followed by the latter's drunken collapse. Laying there, wishing that he could temporarily qualify for the Headless Hunt, he finally rose and dragged himself to the bathroom. A phial of green liquid sat on the sink along with a note in Hermione's compulsively neat handwriting.

I got the house-elves to bring this up for you. Put four drops onto your tongue (if you can count after last night) and drink a glass of water.

See you when you drag yourself out of bed,

Hermione

"Ha ha," he said sarcastically and picked up the phial.

He followed her instructions and stood in front of the mirror, waiting for it to work, grimacing at the bags under his eyes and at the state of his hair. He didn't have to wait long; almost immediately he felt as though someone had dumped a bucket of water over his head while simultaneously lifting the blanket that was suffocating his brain.

"Whoa..." he breathed, shaking his head in amazement. "Hermione, you're an angel."

Twenty minutes and a shower later, Harry, now feeling fully human again, wandered down to the staffroom for breakfast and found, to his surprise, it was empty save for Malfoy who sat sipping coffee as he read the Daily Prophet. Feigning surprised at his appearance in the staffroom, Draco made a production out of dropping the newspaper in surprise and checking his pocket watch.

"It's only 8:30, Potter! I'm surprised to see you up this early after that spectacular collapse last night," smirked the Slytherin, annoyingly. "Tell me, did you mean to fall face first into the dip or was it pure coincidence that the dip happened to be in front of you at the time? Now be honest!"

Harry spared him a suspicious glance as he sat, not believing that innocent expression for a second. "Coffee first, repartee later," he said finally, reaching for the coffeepot.

"There's something here that might wake you up even more than a gallon of coffee." Malfoy slid the morning paper over to him.

Harry choked on his first mouthful of coffee as his own, albeit younger, face stared up at him from the paper. Above the photograph, in enormous letters were the words: "Uproar Amidst Speculation of Harry Potter's Return!"

"What..." he managed to stammer, even as Remus walked into the room, looking a little shell shocked.

"Harry, I don't want to alarm you, but there are about fifty reporters outside the main entrance and they're all calling for you."