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SIYE Time:8:14 on 28th March 2024
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back to school
By lazyweekendmornings

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Category: Post-DH/PM
Characters:None
Genres: Action/Adventure, Comedy
Warnings: None
Story is Complete
Rating: PG-13
Reviews: 99
Summary: Twenty one years after the war, Harry and Ginny return to Hogwarts as the new Defence Against the Dark Arts Professor and the new Flying Instructor. Much to their children's embarrassment. Shenanigans ensue.
Hitcount: Story Total: 25995; Chapter Total: 1844





Author's Notes:
as always, reviews make me v happy




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“God. The train’s only just left, but I’m already exhausted. How do you handle teaching so many of my family members, Nev?” Ginny asks later, once they’re on the train.

It’s only the three of them in a compartment, close enough to the front that they can speak to the driver if necessary. Harry wouldn’t ever admit it, but he’s kept a mental note of where his children and everyone else are sitting, has a mental map of their seating arrangements ready to go, just in case. Constant vigilance. Jamie’s with Freddie and Leah Wood and Danielle Jordan, the way he always is, although Freddie and Leah have probably left to join the other Prefects by now. Albus and Scorpius are towards the back, in a compartment of their own with Rosie and a few other girls in their year, and Lily’s with Lorcan, Lysander, Hugo, and Roxanne. None of them are too far from him, which makes him feel better.

“To be fair, there are about fifty more joining this year,” Neville says, opening up a Chocolate Frog. “What with Lily, and Hugo, and Roxanne, and Luna’s twins… should be a fun year. Oh, look, you’re on this one,” he says, and passes Ginny the card.

Ginny looks down, wrinkling her nose. “They really didn’t choose a very flattering picture, did they?” she says, handing it to Harry.

“I don’t know, I think you look great,” Harry says, studying the card. It’s all things he knows about her, of course. Ginny Potter, formerly Weasley, professional Quidditch player, was instrumental in the defeat of Lord Voldemort in the Second Wizarding War, married to Harry Potter, the Chosen One… From the picture on the card, Ginny winks at him. She’s wearing her Holyhead Harpies robes, unbuttoned enough to show off the Galleon on the chain around her neck.

“You have to think that. You’re my husband, it’s a condition of our marriage,” Ginny says. “You have to love me forever and think I look fit no matter what.”

“It’s easy to promise, because you are fit no matter what,” Harry says.

Ginny winks at him, and then turns to Neville. “So how’s it going with Hannah, Nev?” she asks.

“Really well,” Neville says. “Actually, we think we’re going to sell the flat above the Leaky Cauldron this year. And live at Hogwarts full time. Since Madam Pomphrey’s finally retired, and it’s only her that’s the Healer there, so it makes sense for us to be there all year now.” He’s beaming widely; just the sight of it makes Harry smile, too.

“That’s great. So you’re the Head of Gryffindor House now, aren’t you?” Ginny says.

“I am, yeah,” Neville says.

“They couldn’t have found anyone better,” Harry says, and he means it.

“Thanks, Harry,” Neville says. “It’ll be nice to have you two there, too.”

That reminds Harry of why he’s there at all, and he straightens up in his seat. “What do you think of the Dementor attack, Neville?” he asks.

“I mean… it’s happened before, hasn’t it?” Neville says.

“Yeah. Before. When the Ministry sent them,” Harry says. “But the Ministry doesn’t work with them anymore.”

“Thank fuck for that,” Ginny mutters.

“So do you think… do you think it’s a Death Eater?” Neville asks.

“I think it’s either that the Dementors work for someone who isn’t us, or that they’re working on their own now,” Harry says. Both of those options are terrifying; he has no idea what he’d prefer.

“That’s not good, is it?” Neville says.

“No,” Harry says. “Not good at all.”

“But… it could just be a one-off thing,” Neville says. “Might not happen again.”

“It’s possible,” Harry says, and exchanges a glance with Ginny.

“There’s no point thinking about it now, anyway,” Ginny says. “We’ll deal with it if it happens. I think I want more Chocolate Frogs.”

“I’ll go find the trolley, get us some,” Neville offers.

“If you happened to see our children and make sure they’re alright,” Ginny says, faux-casually, “it wouldn’t be the worst thing in the world.

“I’ll keep that in mind,” Neville says, grinning as he walks out.

*

Harry doesn’t know when he drifts to sleep, but he wakes up to the sound of Neville and Ginny talking quietly.

“And so she says she’ll tell me later this week,” Neville’s saying, as Harry blinks his eyes open. He’d fallen asleep in in the corner seat with his head resting on the window, and he can feel his glasses dig into the side of his head.

Harry yawns, slowly straightening up. He still feels disoriented from the sleepiness, and his head hurts, throbs with a dull sort of pain. He feels a bit fogged up all over, bleary in a way that’s different from how he usually feels when he wakes up.

“Hi, sleepyhead,” Ginny says from opposite him. She leans across and gently adjusts his glasses for him.

“Hi,” Harry says. “How long have I been asleep for?”

“Not long,” Ginny says. “Lils and Lorcan popped by to say hi a while back, but you didn’t miss anything else.”

“Oh,” Harry says, and then frowns. His first thought when he woke up was that he must’ve been asleep for a while, because it seems to have gone completely dark outside. “When did it get this dark?” he asks.

“It was sunny up until just now, when—” Ginny pauses, mid-word, and turns to look out of the window. The sun’s been out all day, but not anymore. It’s dark, unnaturally dark.

Harry right, then: It’s gone dark all at once.

Like magic, Harry thinks, and then suddenly remembers Vernon saying there’s no such thing as magic, boy! He hears Voldemort say Harry Potter… the boy who lived. And then there’s a familiar sound in his mind, a sound he’s gotten used to. The sound of his parents screaming. His father, saying Lily, take him and go! He thinks about Sirius, and Fred, and Lupin… and Dumbledore, at the base of the lightning-struck tower… All the people he couldn’t save…

There’s a groan, and then the train stops, right there, on its tracks. Through the train, Harry can hear gasps of shock.

Oh no, he thinks. Not again. Goddammit.

“Neville,& rdquo; he says, and his voice sounds a bit off even to his own ears. “Go to the back of the train, would you? Cast a Patronus. Make sure the students are okay. Let me know if you see anything. And if you don’t find anything, go find the driver and check in with him.”

Neville, looking pale himself, gets up immediately.

Harry takes a deep breath once Neville has left, once it’s just them both in the compartment. “Gin,” he says quietly.

“I know,” Ginny says.

Harry squeezes his eyes shut. He thinks about holding Jamie when he was first born and then says, “Expecto Patronum.” When he opens his eyes, Ginny’s Patronus is there too, bright and clear the way she is. “I’m going to go investigate,” he tells her, already buoyed by the presence of his stag and her horse. It’s gotten earlier to produce a Patronus over the years, but there’s a reason that his Boggart is still a Dementor, and it’s the same reason that he’d been so grateful when the Ministry stopped working with those creatures.

“Okay,” Ginny says. She looks a bit shaken up, and Harry can’t blame her. If the adrenaline wasn’t coursing through his veins right now, he wouldn’t be doing much better. “And—the kids—”

Harry takes Ginny’s hand, leads her out of the compartment. “Do you know where they are?”

“I’m assuming you do,” she says. Harry nods She takes a second, pulls herself together completely and tightens her grip on her wand. “Okay. Tell me where they are.”

Harry tells Ginny which compartments they’re all in, as quickly as they can. He’s suddenly glad beyond relief of his paranoia earlier. “I’ll go chase the bastard away,” he says.

“You do that. I’ll go check on the kids,” Ginny says, and then leans in and kisses Harry, very quickly.

*

Harry knows exactly how to find the Dementor. All he has to do is go against his instinct, to go towards the cold instead of away from it. His Patronus keeps him company as he walks through the hallway of the train, and he sees several students run to the doors of the compartments to look at him. They seem a bit reassured by his presence, but Harry doesn’t stop to talk to any of them. Time is of the essence here; he can’t risk their safety.

He finds the Dementor within a minute, near one of the sets of doors to board the train. The doors of the train usually stay closed through the journey until they reach, but Harry watches through the glass as the Dementor extends a skeletal claw and slides the doors open.

It isn’t possible.

It shouldn’t be possible.

And yet, Harry watches it happen.

Harry seems to have forgotten, or maybe never really thought about, just how terrible Dementors are. He can see it up close and personal, with its big, hooded, cloaked figure hovering off the ground. Its breath rattles as he faces it, and Harry summons up every last bit of courage he has.

“Go. You’re not welcome on this train,” he says.

The Dementor ignores him – which doesn’t surprise Harry – and drifts closer to him. This close, it’s hard to maintain his Patronus. He doesn’t think he’s ever been this cold in his life, not ever. His Patronus flickers but doesn’t disappear, but he still feels completely defenceless. His Patronus works to ward away Dementors, Harry knows it does, and the only reason it could fail now… is if there’s more. More Dementors, lurking out of sight. Hiding in the dark. Harry realises it immediately, and then curses himself for not realising it sooner.

Slowly, slowly, the Dementor in front of him pulls back its hood, revealing its empty scabbed-over eye sockets where an eye should be, a hole for a month. The most repulsive sight Harry’s ever seen in his life.

“Go!” he repeats, but his voice is weaker now.

This is it, Harry thinks. He’s going to die, he’s going to die here, surrounded by the foulest creatures on the planet, and he’s going to leave Ginny, and his family—

His family.

And then, as if thinking about it has summoned him, he hears a voice. A familiar voice, calling out to him desperately.

“Dad!”< /p>

He turns around, acts completely on instinct. He’s standing away from the compartments, in between coaches of the train. No students are here, except…

Except James.

Jamie’s standing there, looking more scared than Harry’s ever seen him. He must have run down the train, away from—no, Harry realises, with a sinking feeling in his heart. Not away from danger. That’s not like James. He would’ve heard the sound of Harry’s voice and run towards that, run to help his father.  

“Jamie ,” Harry says, and then leans over, tugging Jamie close. “Say it with me, okay? Close your eyes, think of your happiest memory, and say it. I know you know the incantation,” he tells Jamie.

Jamie, ever the Gryffindor, nods bravely and extends his wand. His hands are shaking, Harry notices, but Harry’s Patronus shields them, keeps the Dementor at bay even if it hasn’t succeeding in chasing it away, not entirely. “Okay. Okay,” Jamie says, steeling himself, and then says. “Expecto Patronum.” Weak silver mist emerges from his wand, and he huffs.

“You can do it, Jamie,” Harry says, and wraps his arm around his son tightly. “Focus. Think about something happy, I know you can…”

Ex pecto Patronum!” Jamie repeats, louder this time. There’s a second, a second where Harry thinks its failed, and then a silver stag erupts from Jamie’s wand and joins Harry’s.

The sight of it, the glorious sight of Jamie’s Patronus, makes Harry feels a thousand times better about everything; his own Patronus grows brighter, stronger, and Harry feels it the second it works. The Dementor retreats – no doubt, Harry thinks, followed by the others – and the unnatural cold, the unnatural dark subsides somewhat, leaving behind nothing but exhaustion and fatigue.

“It’s like yours, Dad,” Jamie whispers, and leans into Harry’s side, allowing himself comfort in a way that he doesn’t. Jamie’s Patronus fades with a flicker, and Harry wraps both his arms tightly around Jamie, holding onto him even as the train slowly starts moving again. He doesn’t know if he’ll ever be able to let go of his son, not ever. “My Patronus,” Jamie says, sounding about a second away from passing out, “it’s like yours,” he repeats.

“Well,” Harry says, his voice thick with so many emotions that he can’t begin to articulate. He thinks about his father, about Jamie’s namesake. “Not just like mine, Jamie.”

*

 



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