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Time's Usurper Chapter 9 (A Classroom of Ghosts)
🕑 Added 2025-09-21 21:52:15 +0000 UTCRoom 3C on the third floor had been transformed. When Harry arrived an hour before his first class, the space had been a standard Hogwarts classroom—rows of desks facing a blackboard, windows letting in late afternoon light. Now, the desks had been banished to the walls, creating a wide, open practice area in the center. The blackboard remained, but Harry had charmed it to display a constantly shifting series of defensive stances and wand movements.
His pulse quickened as he heard footsteps approaching in the corridor. He flexed his fingers, adjusting the grip on his wand—not nervously, he was never nervous. The classroom door creaked open as the first students arrived, seventh-years from all houses filtering in with curious expressions.
Harry recognized none of them personally, but he could read their allegiances in the way they grouped themselves. Slytherins to one side, eyeing him as if they weren't sure if he was an enemy or an ally. Gryffindors positioning themselves front and center, eager to prove themselves. Ravenclaws already analyzing the room's modifications. Hufflepuffs entering in friendly clusters, finding spaces where they could see clearly.
When the last student had entered, Harry closed the door with a casual flick of his wand. The sound echoed in the suddenly quiet room.
"No desks," he said without preamble. "No books. No quills. This isn't that kind of class."
He moved to the center of the room, every eye following him. These students were just a few years younger than him chronologically, but the gulf in experience stretched wide as the Atlantic.
"I'm not here to prepare you for exams," Harry continued, letting his gaze sweep across their faces. "I'm here to prepare you for what's waiting outside these walls. The real world isn't interested in your theoretical understanding of shield charms or your ability to identify dark creatures in a textbook."
A tall Slytherin boy with aristocratic features and cold eyes smirked, leaning toward his neighbor. "Another alarmist," he muttered, just loud enough to be heard.
"Is something amusing?" Harry asked.
The boy straightened, his smirk fading slightly. "Just wondering what you think is so dangerous out there, Professor. The Ministry says the disappearances are isolated incidents."
"The Ministry," Harry said, twirling his wand idly between his fingers, "also said Fenrir Greyback was merely a 'person of interest' until I dropped his corpse on their doorstep." He let that sink in for a moment, watching several students shift uncomfortably. "What's your name?"
"Avery. Thomas Avery."
Future Death Eater. Harry kept his expression neutral. "Tell me, Mr. Avery, how quickly can you draw your wand?"
Avery blinked, then squared his shoulders. "Fast enough."
"Show me."
The Slytherin hesitated, then reached for the wand in his pocket. Before his fingers could close around it, Harry's wand was already pointed between his eyes, a faint glow emanating from its tip.
"Dead," Harry said quietly. "Before you ever touched your wand."
He lowered his wand and turned to address the wider class, whose expressions ranged from shocked to impressed. "That's the difference between academic defense and practical survival. Speed. Awareness. The willingness to act without hesitation."
A Hufflepuff girl with short, dark hair raised her hand. "But surely there are rules of engagement? The law—"
"Laws," Harry interrupted, "assume both sides are playing by the same rulebook. Dark wizards don't. They'll strike first, strike hard, and disappear before anyone can question their methods." He softened his tone slightly. "I'm not saying abandon ethics. I'm saying survival sometimes requires setting aside formality."
He moved to the blackboard, where the animated diagrams continued their silent demonstrations. "Today we're starting with basics. Speed drawing. Defensive stances. Rapid shield deployment. Things you can do instinctively, without conscious thought, because when you're under attack, your body needs to react before your mind has time to process."
For the next twenty minutes, Harry drilled them on drawing techniques. Some caught on quickly; others fumbled, dropping wands or tangling them in robes. He corrected stances, adjusted grips, demonstrated the economical movements that meant the difference between blocking a curse or taking it full force.
"Wands out," he instructed, moving to the center of the room again. "I'm going to demonstrate a few advanced defensive spells—not for you to try today, but to show what's possible when you master the basics."
Harry raised his wand, focusing on a spot near the ceiling. "Protego Maxima." The shield that bloomed was visible as a shimmering dome, larger and more substantial than the standard charm most students knew.
"This variant can withstand multiple simultaneous attacks," he explained. "Useful when outnumbered."
He canceled the shield and then pointed his wand at the floor before him. "Protego Totalum Circumfero." A cylinder of protective magic rose around him, rotating slowly. "Directional shielding. When you need to defend from all sides but can't spare the magical energy for a complete dome."
Murmurs rippled through the class as students recognized magic beyond their curriculum. Even Avery looked grudgingly interested now.
"For my final demonstration," Harry said, canceling the cylindrical shield, "I'll need a volunteer. Someone confident in their offensive magic."
Hands shot up among the Gryffindors. A few Ravenclaws and Hufflepuffs followed suit, but Harry's attention was drawn to the Slytherin section, where a muscular boy with a prefect badge had raised his hand.
"You," Harry said, pointing to the Slytherin. "Name?"
"Mulciber, sir. Adrian Mulciber."
Another future Death Eater. Harry nodded toward the open space before him. "Mr. Mulciber, I'd like you to cast your strongest stunning spell at me. Don't hold back."
Mulciber stepped forward, he seemed quite eager. The room fell silent as he squared up, wand raisedn.
"Whenever you're ready," Harry said calmly.
Mulciber's wand slashed downward. "Stupefy!"
The red jet of light shot across the room—but instead of raising his wand, Harry simply side-stepped. The spell hit the wall behind him with a shower of harmless sparks.
"Again," Harry instructed.
Mulciber's eyes narrowed. "Stupefy!" This time the spell came faster, with more force behind it.
Again, Harry moved—a minimum shift to the left, the spell passing so close it ruffled his robes.
"Once more," Harry said casually, with a tone almost like he was mocking him.
Frustration evident, Mulciber cast a third time, the spell practically sizzling with power. "STUPEFY!"
This time, Harry didn't dodge. Just as the spell was about to hit, he twisted his wand in a complex pattern none of them recognized. "Speculum Defensio."
The stunning spell struck what appeared to be a mirrored shield and rebounded—not directly back at Mulciber, but at an angle that sent it harmlessly into the ceiling.
"What was that?" demanded a Ravenclaw boy.
"Reflective Defense," Harry explained, lowering his wand. "A variation on the standard shield charm that redirects energy rather than simply absorbing it. Useful against opponents who overpower their spells."
Mulciber returned to his place, looking frustrated with himself.
"The first two demonstrations," Harry continued, "show why movement is your first and best defense. No magic required, no energy expended. The third shows why creativity in spellcasting matters more than raw power."
He glanced at the enchanted hourglass on his desk. "For our remaining time, pair up. Practice drawing and basic shields on my count. I'll observe and correct."
The class divided into pairs—mostly along house lines, though a few cross-house partnerships formed. Harry moved among them, he felt like he was back in the DA meeting...Harry almost expected to see Luna somewhere, but she was not here, none of them were here. He was surrounded by strangers and enemies.
"Lower your elbow, Miss Clark. You're telegraphing your movements."
"Mr. Fawcett, your shield is wobbling because you're focusing too much on size and not enough on density. Smaller but stronger is better than larger but fragile."
"Good adjustment, Mr. Stebbins. That's exactly the economy of motion I was talking about."
As the hour drew to a close, Harry called for their attention once more.
"Next class, we'll work on combining movement with shielding, and introduce offensive counters. For now, I want you to practice drawing your wand from at least three different positions—standing, sitting, and lying down. Your homework is to think about scenarios where you might be caught in each position, and what specific vulnerabilities they create."
Most students nodded. A few still seemed skeptical, Avery among them.
"Class dismissed," Harry said. "Except for you, Mr. Mulciber. A word, please."
As the others filed out—some lingering to ask brief questions, others discussing the lesson in excited whispers—Mulciber remained, looking wary.
When they were alone, Harry regarded the young man thoughtfully. Those same hands would someday torture Muggles for sport. That same wand would cast Unforgivables in Voldemort's name. But today, he was just a student.
"Your stunning spell has impressive power behind it," Harry said neutrally. "But power without precision is wasted energy. You could double its effectiveness by narrowing your focus."
Mulciber's expression remained guarded, but he nodded slightly. "Is that all... sir?"
"For now," Harry replied, watching the future Death Eater's eyes for any sign of the monster he'd become. "Just something to consider."
After Mulciber left, Harry sank into his desk chair, suddenly exhausted. Teaching wasn't the hard part—he'd done that before, with the DA. It was the weight of knowledge that drained him. Knowing which of these students would die in the coming war. Which would kill. Which might still be saved, if he could reach them in time.
One class down, he thought, rubbing his temples. Hundreds more to go. And somewhere in this castle, four Gryffindor sixth-years have a map that could ruin everything.
Later
To this day, Harry never understood why the Slytherins were at the doungeon, he was sure there were other places Salazar Slytherin could have chosen to be the Common Room for his snakes, but no, he had to pick the doungen, the most depressing place in the entire school.
Harry stood at the front, observing as they entered. Unlike the overly confident seventh-years he'd taught earlier, these students were, well they were all over the place, some wary, some excited, some looked at him as if he was a celebrity, something Harry had not missed from his old life—especially the Slytherins. His gaze caught on Bellatrix Black immediately. She didn't cluster with the others but claimed a space slightly apart, her posture perfect, dark eyes fixed on him.
"Welcome," Harry said once they'd settled, his voice carrying easily through the cool air. "I understand you've all volunteered for this class, which suggests you're either genuinely interested in practical defense—" his gaze swept across their faces, "—or you're curious about the man who killed Greyback."
A ripple of reaction passed through the group. Bellatrix's lips curved into a slight smile.
"Either motivation works for me," Harry continued, "as long as you take what I'm teaching seriously. We'll begin with a simple assessment. Show me your best shield charm, one at a time."
He pointed to a Slytherin boy in the front row. "You first. Shield against my stunner."
The boy raised his wand nervously. Harry's stunner 'a weak version' still shattered his shield, sending him stumbling back.
"Too rigid," Harry commented. "Your shield needs flexibility to absorb impact."
One by one, he tested them, offering brief critiques. Most managed passable shields, though few would hold against serious attack. When he reached Bellatrix, she stepped forward with confidence, wand at the ready, challenge in her eyes.
Harry cast a stunner with more force than he'd used on the others. Her shield bloomed instantly—not the standard translucent barrier, but a swirling, smoke-like defense that absorbed his spell with a hiss.
"Interesting variation," Harry acknowledged, noting the satisfied gleam in her eyes. "Modified shield charm?"
"My own creation," Bellatrix replied, with confidence and even sounding a little cocky. "Standard shields waste energy. Mine converts the attacking spell's power into reinforcement."
Harry nodded. In another life, she could have been a spellcraft innovator rather than Voldemort's most fanatical follower.
"Creative thinking," he said. "That's what separates survivors from casualties."
For the next hour, Harry drilled them in basic combat movements—footwork, positioning, drawing techniques. He demonstrated how a simple sidestep could be more effective than a complex shield, how awareness of surroundings created tactical advantages. Throughout, he felt Bellatrix's eyes tracking his every movement, she was looking at him like she was a snake, and he was a very delicious rat.
"Defense isn't just about blocking attacks," Harry explained, pacing before them. "It's about controlling the entire engagement. Making your opponent react to you rather than the reverse."
He gestured to Bellatrix. "Miss Black, attack me however you wish."
She stepped forward eagerly, eyes bright with anticipation. Without warning, she cast in rapid succession—not standard classroom hexes, but darker spells.
Harry didn't block. He flowed between the spells, a dance of minimal movements, before suddenly counterattacking with a spell none of them recognized. The air between them compressed visibly before exploding outward in a controlled shock wave that stopped just inches from Bellatrix, ruffling her dark curls without actually touching her.
The room fell silent, every eye wide with shock, except Bellatrix's, which showed nothing but hunger.
"What was that?" she asked. She sounded quite eager.
"Compression hex," Harry replied casually. "Creates a vacuum that, when released, generates force proportional to the caster's intent." He turned to address the whole class. "I won't be teaching that one. It's beyond NEWT level and potentially lethal if miscast."
He saw the look in Bellatrix's eyes—the understanding that he knew far more dangerous magic than he was sharing. Exactly the impression he'd wanted to create. Bellatrix, in that moment, looked at him the same way he remembered her looking at her precious dark lord.
"For now," Harry continued, "focus on the fundamentals. The ability to avoid being hit is more valuable than knowing a hundred offensive spells."
As the class ended and students filed out, Bellatrix lingered, twirling her wand between slender fingers.
"Professor Harry," she said, stepping closer than one should when alone with a professor. "I'd be very interested in learning more about your... specialized techniques. Perhaps private lessons?"
Her eyes showed the same hunger, but Harry noticed something...strange in her eyes, something that reminded him of... no, I am just imagining things.
"Your shield modification shows remarkable aptitude, Miss Black," he said carefully. "But advanced combat magic requires more than technical skill. It requires the right judgment to know when to use it."
"And you believe I lack judgment?" There was a dangerous edge to her smile.
"I believe," Harry replied, holding her gaze steadily, "that power shapes those who wield it. The question is always what shape you want to become."
Something flickered in Bellatrix's dark eyes, but it went away quickly.
"Think about it," Harry added, gathering his materials. "Your talent deserves direction."
As she finally turned to leave, Harry watched her go with mixed emotions. The girl before him wasn't yet the monster who would torture the Longbottoms to insanity or kill his godfather. She was brilliant, dangerous, and standing at a crossroads—one he might still have the power to influence.
But Harry was no Dumbledore. Where the old man had searched for redemption's flicker in even the darkest souls, Harry saw only the cold truth written in blood and bone. If Bellatrix Black showed no signs of turning from her shadow-bound path, he would ensure her story ended within these castle walls—another casualty of a war history would never record. Some weeds required cutting before they could strangle the garden.
Later
Harry Potter saw himself as a man who is ready for everything, a man who is ready to face anything, he had faced the Dark Lord himself, he had faced ten death eaters by himself, he had faced Greyback and his lot by himself, so surely, with all of that happening to him, he was ready to face a bunch of students who happened to be the most important to him...right?
They entered in clusters, voices overlapping in excited chatter. Harry's eyes automatically sought and found the four boys who entered together. His throat constricted at the sight.
James Potter led the group, one hand absently mussing his already chaotic hair. So like and unlike the man in the photographs Hagrid had given Harry a lifetime ago. The resemblance between them was undeniable, though James wore his confidence like armor where Harry had always carried his like an uncomfortable borrowed cloak.
Beside him strode Sirius Black, handsome in that careless way Harry remembered, his tie loose, his robes slung over one shoulder rather than properly worn. This Sirius lacked the haunted hollows in his cheeks, the shadows behind his eyes that Azkaban had left behind.
Remus followed a half-step behind, his posture slightly hunched as if trying to make himself less noticeable. Even from across the room, Harry could see the fresh pink scar tracing his jawline—new since the last full moon, no doubt.
And then Peter, small, watery-eyed Peter Pettigrew, trailing in their wake with a look of perpetual amazement at his inclusion. Something dark and cold slithered through Harry's chest like a snake. The rat who would betray them all stood there, laughing at something James said, completely unaware that his future professor was imagining how easily his neck would break between Harry's hands.
Not yet. Focus on the mission.
"Welcome," Harry said, forcing his voice to remain steady as he closed the classroom door with a flick of his wand. "Find a space. No desks today."
More students filed in, among them a flash of dark red hair that sent another jolt through Harry's system. Lily Evans entered with two girls Harry vaguely recognized from their library encounter—Mary MacDonald and someone else. She paused briefly, those green eyes—his eyes—flickering with recognition as she caught sight of him, before finding a spot near the front, distant from the Marauders.
The air in the room felt suddenly thin, insufficient for his lungs. Harry took a measured breath, focusing on the sensation of his feet planted firmly on the stone floor. These weren't ghosts. They were living, breathing teenagers who needed to learn how to survive what was coming.
"My name is Harry," he began once everyone had settled. "Most of you know me as 'the werewolf hunter' or 'the new defender' or whatever other ridiculous title the Prophet has bestowed this week."
A ripple of nervous laughter moved through the room.
"I'm here because Professor Dumbledore believes you need more than theoretical knowledge to survive in the current climate. I agree." He stopped pacing, scanning their faces. "The wizarding world is changing. Dark forces are gathering. You need practical skills, not just exam preparation."
"What sort of dark forces?" James Potter asked, his voice sounded like he was trying to challenge Harry's words. "The Ministry says—"
"The Ministry," Harry cut in, "is in the business of preventing panic, not telling uncomfortable truths." His eyes locked with James's, finding it both painful and strangely satisfying to see the flicker of surprise there. "There's a wizard gathering followers who call themselves Death Eaters. They believe in blood purity and aren't particularly concerned about how many people they have to kill to achieve their vision."
The room had gone utterly silent. Even the usual creaks and groans of the castle seemed to have paused.
"How do you know that?" Sirius asked, sounding a little tense.
"Because three of them tried to recruit me last week," Harry replied flatly. "When I declined, they attempted to kill me and a civilian bystander. Two of them are now dead. The third is in Ministry custody."
The silence deepened, broken only by a soft exhalation from someone near the back.
"That's why I'm here," Harry continued. "To teach you how to survive encounters like that. How to fight when you have to. How to escape when you can't win."
Remus leaned forward slightly, his intelligent eyes fixed on Harry's face. "You're talking about real combat, not dueling."
"Precisely, Mr. Lupin." Harry nodded, impressed but not surprised by Remus's quick understanding. "Dueling has rules. Combat has consequences."
"But isn't that what Aurors are for?" Peter piped up, his voice higher than the others. "To protect people from Dark wizards?"
Harry fixed him with a steady gaze that made the smaller boy squirm. "Aurors can't be everywhere. Sometimes you're on your own, and your ability to react quickly and effectively is all that stands between you and death." He deliberately softened his voice, tamping down the anger that threatened to leak through. "Or between someone you love and death."
"Right," Harry said, moving to the center of the room again. "Let's see what you know. Basic shield charms first. Everyone on your feet."
For the next twenty minutes, Harry assessed their fundamental skills. Most could produce adequate shields, though few maintained them for more than a few seconds under pressure. James and Sirius showed off with unnecessarily elaborate wand movements, while Lily executed her spells with precise, economical motions that reminded Harry painfully of Hermione.
"You're all overcomplicating," Harry announced, after watching a Hufflepuff boy nearly dislocate his shoulder with an exaggerated flourish. "In real combat, you won't have time for fancy wand work. The wizard who's trying to kill you doesn't care how elegant you look."
He rolled up his sleeves, revealing forearms corded with lean muscle and marked with faint scars. "Watch carefully. This is a standard Protego, cast with minimal movement."
Harry's wand flicked upward in a tight, controlled motion. The shield that bloomed before him was solid and substantial, despite the economy of his gesture.
"Again, in slow motion." He demonstrated the movement deliberately, breaking it down into its essential components. "What makes this effective isn't power or elaborate technique. It's precision and intent."
The students practiced, gradually refining their movements under his guidance. Harry moved among them, correcting stances, adjusting grips, demonstrating subtle modifications. When he approached Peter, it took every ounce of self-control to treat him like any other student.
"Your wrist is too tense, Mr. Pettigrew," Harry said, his voice neutral despite the acid burning in his throat. "You're fighting against your own magic. Relax the grip. Let the power flow naturally."
Peter nodded eagerly, clearly pleased to be receiving individual attention. "Like this?"
"Better," Harry managed, moving swiftly onward to where Remus was practicing with quiet determination.
"The shield is holding, but you're using more energy than necessary," Harry noted, genuinely impressed by Remus's technique. "You have the power for it, but in a prolonged encounter, you'll exhaust yourself."
Remus nodded thoughtfully. "Conservation of magical energy. I hadn't considered that aspect."
"It's often overlooked," Harry agreed. "Most wizards think only about the immediate effect, not the long-term drain."
Nearby, James and Sirius were engaged in an impromptu competition, each trying to produce the most resilient shield. Harry watched them surreptitiously, noting the natural coordination between them, the way they pushed each other to improve while simultaneously showing off.
"Mr. Potter," Harry called, approaching the pair. "Your shield is strong, but you're watching your own wandwork instead of your surroundings. In a real fight, that blind spot will get you killed."
James grinned, unperturbed by the criticism. "Just making sure I look good while saving the day, Professor."
"Just Harry," he corrected automatically. "And looking good won't matter if you're dead."
Sirius barked a laugh. "He's got you there, Prongs."
Harry's heart stuttered at the familiar nickname, but he maintained his composure. "Mr. Black, your technique is excellent, but you're showing off rather than focusing on efficiency. That might impress your friends, but it won't impress a Dark wizard intent on killing you."
Instead of being offended, Sirius's eyes lit with interest. "You think I'd face Dark wizards, do you? Sounds like you know something about my future."
"I know that talent without discipline is wasted potential," he replied evenly. "And you have plenty of the former."
Something in his tone must have registered with Sirius, whose smile faded slightly, replaced by a more thoughtful expression. "Fair enough."
Harry moved on, making his way toward Lily, who was practicing with Mary MacDonald. Her shield was smaller than most, but it had much more power than the others.
"Excellent control, Miss Evans," Harry said, his voice blank as he spoke. "Your focus on quality over quantity shows good instinct."
Lily's eyes—his eyes—met his with that same disconcerting shock of recognition he'd felt in the library. "Thank you, Harry. I've been reading ahead on magical energy concentration theory."
"It shows," he said truthfully. "Most wizards neglect the theoretical foundation once they can produce the practical effect."
Before she could try to say something else, Harry turned to address the entire class before the conversation could continue in that dangerous direction. "Time for something more challenging. I'm going to demonstrate a variant shield designed to protect against multiple simultaneous attacks."
He moved to the center of the room, conscious of every eye fixed on him. "I'll need four volunteers. Mr. Potter, Mr. Black, Mr. Lupin, and—" he hesitated fractionally, "—Miss Evans. Each of you will cast a minor jinx at me simultaneously, on my mark."
The four moved into position, forming a loose circle around him. Harry stood relaxed, his wand held loosely at his side.
"Nothing lethal," he instructed, his lips quirking slightly. "I'd prefer to finish my first week of teaching without a trip to the hospital wing."
"No promises," James quipped, twirling his wand.
Harry took a breath, centering himself. "On three. One, two, three!"
Four spells shot toward him from different directions—a Jelly-Legs Jinx from James, a Tickling Charm from Sirius, a Impediment Jinx from Remus, and a precisely aimed Disarming Charm from Lily.
"Protego Circumfero!"
A cylindrical shield erupted around him, spinning rapidly. All four spells struck it simultaneously and dissipated harmlessly, absorbed into the rotating barrier.
The classroom erupted in exclamations and scattered applause. Even James and Sirius looked genuinely impressed.
"Directional shielding," Harry explained as he canceled the spell. "Standard shields protect from one direction. This variant creates a complete perimeter defense. Useful when outnumbered or surrounded."
Lily's hand shot up. "Is that an original creation?"
"Modification of an existing spell," Harry replied. "Most advanced magic is built on fundamental principles, just arranged in new configurations."
For the remainder of the class, Harry had them work in pairs, practicing basic shield charms against simple jinxes, gradually increasing the speed and complexity. He moved among them, offering corrections, demonstrations, and occasional praise when warranted.
As the hour drew to a close, Harry called for their attention once more. "Your homework is practical, not written. Practice drawing your wand from at least three different positions until the movement becomes instinctive. Next class, I'll be testing your reaction time."
The students gathered their belongings, murmuring excitedly as they filed toward the door. Harry kept his expression neutral as he watched them go, though his chest ached with contradictory emotions—pride, grief, rage, love—all tangled into a knot he couldn't begin to unravel.
"Professor—sorry, Harry," Remus had lingered behind, his expression thoughtful. "That shield variant you demonstrated... the theory behind it seems similar to some protection spells I've been researching."
"It is," Harry confirmed. "The fundamental principle is boundary reinforcement through continuous magical circulation."
Remus nodded, eyes bright. "I'd be interested in discussing the theoretical aspects further sometime, if you're willing."
"My door is always open for students with genuine interest, Mr. Lupin." Harry hesitated, then added softly, "Especially those who understand what it means to protect others."
Remus looked at him with surprise. "Thank you," he said simply, before following his friends from the room.
Alone finally, Harry sank into the chair behind his desk, his carefully maintained composure crumbling at the edges. He'd just taught his dead parents how to fight. Had spoken to Sirius and Remus—the men who should have raised him, who'd died protecting him—as if they were merely talented strangers.
And Peter... God, Peter had looked at him with that same eager-to-please expression Harry remembered from the Shrieking Shack, moments before the truth about his betrayal had been revealed.
One step at a time, he reminded himself, running a hand through his hair in a gesture unconsciously mirroring his father's. Build trust. Establish your position. Then change the future before it can become the past.
Harry's thoughts turned to the Marauder's Map, hidden somewhere among his father's belongings. He needed to find it before it found him, before "Harry Potter" appeared on its enchanted surface and raised questions he couldn't answer.
Not yet, anyway.
James Potter
The door to the Defense classroom clicked shut behind them as James stepped into the corridor, the hairs on the back of his neck still standing on end from the magical display they'd just witnessed.
"Did you see that shield charm?" Sirius was practically bouncing as they walked. "Four spells at once, and he didn't even break a sweat!"
"Impressive," James agreed as a group of Hufflepuff girls bustled past, their whispered conversation punctuated by giggles and repeated mentions of "the new professor." Their eagerness was almost embarrassing.
The castle corridors felt unusually crowded, students lingering rather than rushing to their next destinations, all buzzing about the mysterious werewolf hunter turned teacher. James glanced sideways at Remus, who was uncharacteristically quiet, his brow furrowed in thought.
"Why didn't you ask him?" James asked in a hushed tone once they'd reached a less populated stretch of hallway, falling into step beside his friend.
Remus's head snapped up. "Ask him what?"
"You know what, About Greyback," James clarified, careful to keep his voice low. "You looked like you were going to, then backed off."
A faint flush crept up Remus's neck. "It would have been rude."
"Rude?" Sirius scoffed, slinging an arm around Remus's shoulders. "What's rude about asking why he went after the most notorious werewolf in Britain?"
"Because," Remus hissed, shrugging off Sirius's arm and glancing anxiously at passing students, "if I start asking too many specific questions about werewolves, he might start wondering why I'm so interested."
James's stomach dropped as understanding dawned. Of course. They were so used to Remus's "furry little problem" being their secret that he sometimes forgot how vigilant his friend had to be.
"Right," James nodded quickly. "Sorry, Moony. Wasn't thinking."
They ducked into an empty classroom, their customary post-lesson debriefing spot. Peter shut the door behind them, then promptly hoisted himself onto a desk, legs swinging nervously.
"So what did you lot think?" Peter asked, looking between them.
James perched on the professor's desk at the front of the room, running a hand through his perpetually messy hair. "He knows his stuff. That shield variant was... well, I've never seen anything like it."
"It was bloody brilliant is what it was," Sirius declared. "And have you noticed how half the Gryffindor girls are already swooning over him?"
Remus groaned. "Please don't start."
"What?" Sirius's grin turned wicked. "Mary MacDonald wouldn't shut up about his 'intense green eyes' all through lunch, and I overheard Alice Fortescue telling Frank that the new professor has, and I quote, 'the kind of hands that could make a girl forget her own name.'"
"He's a professor," Remus said, his tone horrified.
"That won't change a thing, Moony," Sirius laughed. "If anything, for quite a few, it might make it more enticing. Forbidden fruit and all that."
"He didn't seem like the type to take advantage," Remus argued, folding his arms across his chest defensively.
"Moony," Sirius said, placing a hand on Remus's shoulder with mock solemnity, "he's a man. A handsome man, quite like James over here. Unless he's strictly into blokes, it's only a matter of time before he's in bed with a student or two."
"You're disgusting," Remus muttered.
James cleared his throat. "Leaving aside Professor Harry's love life—"
"Or future love life," Sirius interjected with a smirk.
"—what about all that stuff he was saying? About dark forces gathering?" James continued, recalling the professor's words with a slight chill. "You think there's anything to it?"
Sirius's smirk faded, replaced by a grimness that reminded James uncomfortably of the expression his friend wore when discussing his family.
"More than the Ministry's admitting," Sirius said quietly. "My dear cousin Bellatrix has been hinting at 'great changes coming' in her letters to Reg. And my parents..." He trailed off, jaw tightening. "Let's just say they've been attending a lot of 'special gatherings' lately."
A heavy silence settled over the room, broken only by the distant echoes of students moving through the castle.
"Well," Peter said finally, his voice slightly too high, "at least we'll know how to defend ourselves if anything happens, right? That's why Dumbledore brought him in from Hogsmeade."
"Speaking of Hogsmeade," Sirius said abruptly, "I'm thinking of asking Rosalina Jeffries to go with me next weekend."
James seized the opportunity to lighten the mood. "Rosalina? Wasn't she the one who said your hair made you look like, and I quote, 'a shaggy dog in desperate need of a bath'?"
"That was before I demonstrated my considerable charms," Sirius sniffed, tossing his hair dramatically. "She's coming around."
"The way MacDougal's cat 'came around' to you last term? With claws?" James ducked as Sirius launched a wadded-up piece of parchment at his head.
Peter, who had been quieter than usual, suddenly frowned. "Isn't it a bit strange that Professor Harry doesn't have a last name?"
James blinked, caught off guard by the shift in conversation. "What are you talking about, Wormtail?"
"Well," Peter said, his voice taking on that slightly nervous quality it often had when he offered an original thought, "I overheard some of the Gryffindor girls—mainly the girls, really—speculating about what his last name might be. No one seems to know it."
"Huh." James hadn't noticed that detail before, but now that Peter mentioned it...
"He never introduced himself with one," Peter continued, warming to his topic. "And Dumbledore just called him 'Harry' at breakfast. Don't you think it's odd he's not using his last name?"
Remus just shrugged his shoulders. "It's possible he's not sure of it himself. There are wizarding communities where family names aren't used. Or perhaps he has personal reasons for not sharing it."
"Or maybe it's something ridiculous," Sirius suggested. "Like... Higginbottom. Or Wibblewobble."
"Whatever the case," Remus continued, ignoring Sirius's contribution, "his last name is hardly our business."
James caught Sirius's eye across the room, a familiar spark of mischief passing between them. The same thought had clearly occurred to both of them simultaneously.
"What?" Remus asked sharply, instantly alert to the unspoken communication. "No. Whatever you're thinking, no."
"We didn't say anything, Moony," James protested, the very picture of wounded innocence.
"You didn't have to. I know that look." Remus's amber eyes narrowed suspiciously. "It's one thing to mess with Severus and Filch and his stupid cat, and another entirely to use the Map to find out a professor's last name."
"It's just harmless fun," James said, already backing toward the main corridor. "Come on, Padfoot."
"Right behind you, Prongs!" Sirius pushed off from the wall.
"You two are impossible," Remus called after them, but James could hear the resignation in his voice. They'd talk him around eventually. They always did.
.
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Note: It will be explained later what Harry did at the Chamber of Secrets from the End of Chapter 8
