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Him Again	By : Apocalypticat Category: Harry Potter > General > General Views: 1312 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter, nor any of the characters from the books or movies. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

Chapter List
- 9
- 10
- 11
A mere four days into the new school year - and already, there had been trouble.

A bad sign, Minerva thought wearily as she made her way up to the staff room. It certainly did not bode well for the rest of the year when it had taken just two days for three students to be found wandering around the Forbidden Forest by Hagrid - Sixth-Years, no less, who should have known better. Then there had been the recent spat of trouble between Slughorn and Pomona - with the latter claiming that the former had �mutilated her prize Tentacula with the base intention of procuring venom for his wretched potions.� Sybil Trelawney had yet again marched into Minerva�s office to demand Firenze�s immediate ejection from the castle, with the result that the Headmistress had felt very much like ejecting Sybil from the castle. To cap it all, Professor Read, the new Transfiguration teacher, had stubbornly set the First-Years an essay that was quite beyond their capabilities despite multiple objections.

She shook her head; surely it wasn�t all that bad? The Sixth-Years had been unharmed, with the lies simply extending to the idea of �some man in the woods� they�d apparently followed, the prize Tantacula was hardly �mutilated� and Sybil was as a permanent a problem as the drainage; one had to accept it and move on. As for Professor Read - there was no doubt that her own prejudices were interfering there. Perhaps it was because she lived in the past so much, but Professor Read would always be �new� - and what�s more, a usurper of her position. Minerva wondered whether Albus had felt the same when she�d taken over Transfiguration; she hoped not.

The staff room was ominously silent when she entered. Pomona was fuming darkly in an armchair by the fire, a book entitled Repairing Herbological Damage perched conspicuously on her knee, and Slughorn was red in the face and seemed inflated even more than usual by an air of injured self-importance. The room still seemed to echo from the sounds of a heated argument. Trelawney gave an obvious sniff at Minerva�s entry and went back to her marking with a look that said: That woman. She�ll never understand me, the poor abused Seer�

The Headmistress shot her a glare and made her way over the sofa where Rolanda sat. She rarely entered the staff room but when she did, it was usually to see the flying instructor. Rolanda had mumbled something at breakfast about one of the First-Years �being uncommonly good on a broom - and the rule was broken once before��

�Minerva!� said Rolanda, noticing her presence only she sat down next to her. �Glad you�re here - the atmosphere here is terrible-�

�Yes, isn�t it?� said Pomona loudly. �But then, vandalism has never been welcome here at Hogwarts-�

Slughorn mouthed incoherently at the back of the Herbology professor�s head. �These accusations are completely unfounded! My good woman-�

�I am not your good woman, Professor Slughorn,� replied Pomona coldly. �If you needed ingredients, you simply had to ask-�

�I did! Several times! But to suggest that I-�

�And each time, I believe I informed you that it had not yet matured sufficiently-�

�Preposterous! Tentacula venom doesn�t need to mature-�

�Headmistress,� Pomona said sharply. �Professor Slughorn has admitted-�

�Admitted? I have admitted nothing! First you supply me with inaccurate information and then you accuse me-�

Rolanda rolled her eyes and gently put a hand on Minerva�s shoulder to stop her from standing up to interfere. �Oh ignore them, they�ve been at it all evening.� She leaned forward suddenly, with a serious, excited look.

�Rolanda, if this is about the First-Year-� Minerva began, deciding to stem the adulation before it got out of hand.

To her astonishment, Rolanda waved her hand airily as though batting away a fly. �Never mind about Mr Weasley; he can wait. Listen, I was going up to the Owlery and you�d never believe what I saw!�

�What?�

Doubt crept into her friend�s face. �Well - I think that was what I saw - I only glimpsed it, you see, before it flew away-�

�Spit it out, Rolanda.�

The flying instructor was looking more and more anxious with every second. Minerva felt the brown eyes sweep over her, as if a bombshell was about to be dropped and it was arguable as to whether or not the Headmistress could withstand the impact. �Minerva� I�m not sure whether it was his� it looked like his - but I suppose it could have been-�

The sounds of Slughorn and Pomona�s argument cut off, suddenly, as if all the debate had been was a broadcast on a radio that had been turned off. His. Minerva found herself leaning forward. His? As in� His? A pain shafted down the centre of her chest, down the internal scars left by the Stunners of over a decade before. She took a deep breath-

CRASH.

The door rebounded back off the wall, almost smacking back in the freckled face of Professor Read, who shouted something nobody understood, waving a length of parchment in the air. Minerva found herself in her Animagus form, the shock of the Transfiguration teacher�s entry having forced her transformation and set her fur on end.

Embarassed, the Headmistress shifted back, and sent a disapproving glare in Professor Read�s direction. She turned her head back to Rolanda - but the disturber of the peace was now shrieking something, continuing to wave the parchment.

�A genius! A genius! Oh, Headmistress!�

Minerva could feel a headache beginning. Martha Read reminded her something of Sybil, in that she was rather highly-strung and prone to screeching at loud volume.

�Yes, Martha?!� she snapped. Patience is a virtue, chanted her brain piously.

Martha swooped down on her and shoved the parchment in her face. She glimpsed lined of narrow, loopy writing before the text was ripped away, to be held delicately on up-turned palms as though the professor was making some sort of offering to the sky.

�Headmistress! In my hands I now hold� an academic peak!�

There was a pause - Slughorn and Pomona having been stunned into silence, and the rest of the room speechless at the bizarre statement. Minerva gazed from the parchment to Professor Read�s excited face and back again, at a loss.

�An academic peak?� she repeated, carefully.

�Yes!�

�Really?� asked Professor Vector. �I never thought that that was something that one could actually hold, so to speak.�

Hagrid set down his book, scratching his head in obvious confusion. �Beggin� yer pardon, Professor Read, but I�m afraid I�m not understandin� yeh.�

�Neither does anyone else,� said Minerva acidly, impatience beginning to break free. �Spit it out, Martha. And please sit down and stop cluttering up the room.�

Martha Read sank down into a chair - but continued to hold the parchment up, gazing skywards with a starstruck expression. �Headmistress,� she whispered. �This academic peak I have here - is none other than the work of a First-Year.�

Pomona snorted. �Then I sincerely doubt that it�s any sort of an academic peak.�

�This essay,� Martha continued reverently, �is a work of genius.�

There was another startled pause. Minerva raised one eyebrow: student�s work had been described as excellent, outstanding and brilliant - and even then, those drooling descriptions were confined to reports and references. Students themselves were sometimes referred to tentatively as bright or talented, on the basis of multiple essays and other pieces of work. To sit in the staff room and declare a student to be a genius was unheard of - especially when said pupil was a First-Year and the evidence was one essay.

��Genius?� That�s a very strong word,� squeaked Filius from the other side of the room.

�Unless you are going to explain further-� began Minerva testily.

Martha snapped to attention and brought the essay down to lap-level. �Headmistress, I�m not sure if you were aware, but I set the First-Years an essay in their third lesson on-�

�I was most certainly aware. I believe I urged you not to set it.�

�Yes, well� The essay was on the simple template of any normal Transfiguration spell - known as the Transmutation Matrix, which concerns the-�

�Once upon a time, around about the time when dinosaurs walked the earth, I was the Transfiguration Professor; I�m quite aware of the Transmutation Matrix,� hissed Minerva. She clamped her jaw shut, knowing that if she continued, she would be completely unable to curb her tongue.

�Oh� Oh yes, of course,� said the other woman, flushing. �Well� I only meant for them to do a very basic discussion of the main principles - but this student-� she waved the essay �-this student - oh, Headmistress, I�ve never read anything like it.�

�Please stop gushing and get to the point.�

�Of course, well, this student�s essay - it reads like something out of the Transfiguration Journal!�

�Are you sure they did not simply copy out of it?� suggested Filius gently.

�They can�t have - they explained it from a very neutral standpoint, when most articles in the Journal are biased to one side or the other and nobody�s recently-�

�Forgive me,� said Professor Vector. �But Transfiguration was never my speciality. This �Matrix is a template, correct? How can there be a debate over it?�

�There are many arguments over the actual fundamentals,� Minerva found herself explaining. �It�s very complicated: there are two views on how particles behave during Transfiguration, and then there are many standpoints on whether or not the particles can be manipulated in certain ways� Also, the Matrix fails to explain the why in why does Transfiguration work that way? There are even debates about it in regards to things like death, birth and ageing.�

�Thank Merlin I never took Transfiguration beyond my OWLs,� muttered Slughorn.

�Anyway,� continued Professor Read, �this student covers most of the main debates and actually talked about particles! It�s far beyond Seventh-Year level! I - I confess I don�t understand a good deal of it-�

Slughorn raised his thick eyebrows. �You don�t understand a First-Year�s essay?�

Minerva took a deep, bracing breath. Martha Read was simply silly and deluded; she did not deserve to be shouted at, especially when she honestly believed what she was saying. It was time to be gentle. �I don�t like to suggest it, but it sounds as though this student either copied out of a book on the subject or got someone more knowledgeable than themselves to write it for them.�

Martha�s face fell. �Yes� I suppose that�s always possible,� she said slowly.

�What�s the student�s name?�

�Brian Potter.�

The Headmistress blinked in disappointed surprise - and then scolded herself inside her head. Just because Harry and Ginny were pinnacles of modesty and honesty didn�t necessarily mean that their son was immune from human failings, she berated herself. Such prejudice!

�Let me read it myself, and perhaps it might ring a bell to me and allow me to pin-point the source or whatever he�s copied from.�

�Oh� oh all right then,� said Martha, seeming to deflate like a popped balloon. �I�ll just be - be getting back to my marking, then.�

The door slammed, Pomona and Slughorn resumed arguing and Sybil continued to sniff. Minerva set the essay aside and turned back to Rolanda - only to find that the flying instructor had exited some time before, thoroughly worn down with impatience.

#

�Lights out!�

Abigail Lupin was stomping around the Gryffindor dormitories, glaring at those who weren�t yet in bed. Albus had had to suppress a knowing chuckle more than once; Abigail seemed to have inherited both her father�s sense and her mother�s forthrightness - when one Second-Year had refused to give up his chair in the Common Room, she had simply grabbed him by one ear and pulled him up to his dormitory whilst using her Metamorphmagi abilities to pull threatening faces.

�You, what are you sniggering at?� she demanded, staring at him as he began to draw the bed-hangings closed.

�Nothing,� he said politely, suppressing a smile.

�Right then. Nox.�

The dormitory dimmed and there was a brief silence in the first few minutes after the Head Girl had exited. Then the First-Years, the excitement of sleeping away from home having not quite worn off, began to whisper and giggle, sitting up and drawing back their bed-hangings. Albus drew back his own too; if he was going to relive life as a student there was no point in being stand-offish.

The other four boys in his dormitory were already chatting and laughing. His eyes moved to their faces one by one, knowing that his observation was unlikely to be interrupted. Stand-offish he tried not to be, but his lack of confidence in accurately portraying an eleven-year-old to actual eleven-year-olds and his awareness of being much older and inevitably cleverer had led to a good deal of silence on his part. That accompanied with awkward smiles and one word replies had soon given his classmates the impression that he wanted to be left alone, just four days into the term.

The first boy Albus�s eyes found was Eric Weasley, the loud and humorous third child of Bill and Fleur. His young face was already very like Bill�s, and Albus was certain that the coming years would leave a mark on the Hogwarts female population. He also happened to be Brian's cousin, and was the subject of an unspoken war between Molly and Fleur; Molly welcomed him into the bosom of the Weasley family, whilst Fleur firmly dragged him away to the Delacours, with the result that alone out of the Weasley clan, Eric and his siblings were perfect strangers to Brian. Unsurprisingly, Eric, out of all the Gryffindor boys, had been the most persistent in trying to make friends with him, chattering away at him in Potions until even a very genial Slughorn had wagged a warning finger at their table. Family connection notwithstanding, Albus suspected that it was something to do with the fact that both Brian and Eric were children of figures of the Second War and, as such, both had to deal with unwanted media attention.

The second boy, Mark Scott, had taken Albus�s reticence as a sign of vanity and now tended to pointedly ignore him whenever he was in the same room. Mark also talked with the air of pretending to know more than he actually did; the Scott family patriarch�s opinions could be heard in every word. The third, Daniel Glover, seemed to fall easily into the role of Eric�s hero-worshipper (�I can�t believe you can fly like that! I can�t believe anyone can fly like that!�) and the fourth, Cal Smith, was painfully shy, adopting an ingratiating manner every time someone spoke to him (�Really? Yes! I thought that too!�).

��And Madam Hooch said she was going to speak to Professor McGonagall about it,� Erin was saying triumphantly.

�Wicked!� said Daniel, beaming. �I bet she lets you, too! You�ll be the second youngest on the team in over a century!�

�Wasn�t the first your dad?� Eric said suddenly, looking over at Brian.

�Yes,� said Albus, injecting some hesitation into Brian�s voice so as to reinforce the impression of shyness.

�What position did he play?� asked Daniel.

�Seeker, of course!� Erin replied, rolling his eyes. �Madam Hooch talked about him for half the lesson!�

�And then she spent the other half of the lesson talking about you,� Mark pointed out.

Eric flushed. �Yeah, well - Brian wasn�t bad either. Had you flown before?� he asked, addressing him again.

�Yes,� said Albus easily. For one thing, it was the truth - Harry had often taken Brian flying on his old Firebolt, allowing for some ability to be displayed in class.

�He wasn�t bad,� said Mark. �But he was nothing like you, Eric. Did you see Madam Hooch�s face? She thought he was going to be like his dad and he wasn�t-!�

�He was still good,� Eric interrupting, shooting Albus an encouraging smile. �And he�s in the best in the class at every lesson.�

�Not really,� protested Albus, knowing that most normal eleven-year-olds would object to that. �I wasn�t really.�

�Yes you were! You got everything right first time in Charms - and in Transfiguration - and in Herbology!�

Albus had to suppress a sigh. Every time he walked into a classroom he resolved to make deliberate mistakes, to be slow at learning, to pretend to get confused. Unfortunately, the resolution was usually forgotten whenever the situation presented itself, and whenever it was remembered, it proved almost impossible to fulfil. Performing spells that were second-nature wrongly was incredibly difficult and took far more concentration than was required to cast the spells in the first place. He�d managed to set his feather on fire in Charms, but only after levitating it almost to the ceiling and he�d contrived to add the wrong ingredients in Potions, leading to a short scolding from Slughorn, but the mistake seemed too obvious to be repeated too many times. The worst crises had been in the first few lessons of Transfiguration - during which he had struggled to simplify his answers to questions and had had to repress the urge to clarify the inept teacher on certain points. All in all, it was exhausting.

�So, what do you all think of the teachers so far?� he asked, trying to make conversation. He winced; the question sounded just the sort of thing the Hogwarts Headmaster would ask if secretly disguised as a student - as he was now.

�Dunno, really.� Erin shrugged. �Slughorn�s funny, even if he does go on about all the famous people he�s ever known. Sprout�s all right, Binns is boring, Hooch is okay, I suppose� Read�s annoying.�

�Yeah - yeah I thought that,� Cal agreed.

�I tried to run away back to the Common Room today, when she gave us that essay,� Mark muttered.

�Really?� said Eric interestedly. �Didn�t you get into trouble?�

�Obviously - that�s why I still turned up, but late. McGonagall caught me in the corridors.�

Albus felt his attention sharpen to a point. Minerva! Why had he not tried to bunk off too so as to meet her, even if only for a scolding? The other boys also sat up - but for a different reason.

�What�s she like?� Daniel asked. �I mean, we only ever see her at breakfast and dinner-�

Mark shrugged. �Strict and stern. She all pursed her lips at me and acted as though I�d tried to throw someone out the window or something.� He put on a high, squeaky voice that Albus didn�t think sounded at all like Minerva�s. ��Mr Scott, is it? Why are you not in your lessons? Run along immediately or I shall inform your Head of House.��

Both Daniel and Eric laughed - and Albus found himself liking the latter less. �She looks ill, doesn�t she?� the former commented.

�Yes. I asked someone about that - one of the Fifth-Years about whether she was suffering from some deadly wasting disease and was about to drop down dead. They got well annoyed and bit my head off - but they said she�s always looked like that! And that, actually, she�s gotten better!�

�My dad said something about her getting hurt in the war,� Erin murmured. �It�s probably to do with that.�

Albus found himself sitting on the edge of his bed, as though nearness could affect the amount of information received. Minerva� getting hurt. But how? What had happened? Or had Bill simply been talking about her encounter with Umbridge and her Stunners?

�What happened?� he asked breathlessly.

Eric gave him a blank look whilst Mark raised one eyebrow. �I dunno. Dad didn�t say.�

Daniel yawned. �I�m turning in now. That Flying lesson really tired me out.�

�Oh all right then.�

The First-Years settled back down in their beds. Albus laid down with his back to the other boys and his face to the cold chill of the window. Through it, he could see the dark spire of the Astronomy Tower rising up against the moon. As though from a long way away, he again saw himself falling, with the ghostly light of the Dark Mark shining up above. How ridiculous it must have looked, he thought distantly. His beard and robes would have been all flapping in the wind - and Merlin knew what his body must have looked like.

�I was the one who found his - his body�� Harry said softly, staring over the baby Brian�s head at a past both dark and horrible.

Poor Harry, he thought. On top of everything else, he shouldn�t have had to find that.

�He�s weird,� he heard Mark whisper.

�Who?� Daniel whispered back.

�Potter. Too high and mighty to talk properly.�

�He was a bit funny about McGonagall.�

�He�s bit funny about everything.�

�Shush,� said Eric.

#

It was late, and Minerva�s body was beginning to protest as she dragged it up the stairs to her office - yet there was still the matter of Professor Read�s �genius� essay to attend to. Seeing it lying on the desk where she�d abandoned it earlier, she eyed it distastefully.

Prejudice again, someone in her head pointed out. You don�t want to read it because Read loved it.

She nodded to herself, accepting the charge. There was something so profoundly irritating about Martha that it coloured everything she touched or approved of - the essay, the embodiment of all things inanimate and harmless, seemed to exude a fussy, melodramatic air that made her want to throw it in the bin. Nevertheless, reading it would only take a few minutes, and Martha was bound to mention it the next day so there was no excuse to put it off.

Easing herself into the chair, Minerva found herself struck by the handwriting - loopy and distinctive, somehow old-fashioned and quaint. For a moment, she gazed at it. There was an aura of familiarity about it; something she couldn�t put her finger on. She shook herself and began to read: she had never read Brian Potter�s handwriting before and there was no logical reason for it to be familiar.

Fifteen minutes passed. Scepticism gave way to astonishment, astonishment to awe, awe to vague annoyance. She set the essay back down on the table and stared out of the window distractedly.

The style was impressive, far beyond the standard of most Seventh-Years. Complicated technical terms littered the text and the subject was analysed in a depth Minerva knew the that even Transfiguration teacher-training board did not expect. Martha had been right - this sort of thing belonged in an international professional journal, not in a First-Year�s first essay. The mind who had written this was brilliant, with their knowledge standing beyond even her own, excelling her in reasoned speculation and theory. In fact, Minerva felt herself desiring to meet with the writer and have a good intellectual discussion about some of the issues they�d raised.

The name at the top of the parchment stood out at her again. Brian Potter.

She sighed and sat back. There was no doubt about it: the boy had either copied and not had the sense to copy something average and mediocre, or he had somehow persuaded a professional to write it. She fancied that there was something familiar about the style; perhaps she had read the work of the same writer in a book somewhere?

A disappointing, Slytherin-ish thing for the son of Harry and Ginny Potter to have done, she thought. Then fury fired her mind. Could she not suppress the prejudice? Would she always be looking for ways to think well of the children of her friends?

Trying to calm herself, Minerva got up and walked into her chambers, straight up to the bookcase. Stimulated by a First-Year essay, she took down a book and began to read, exhaustion forgotten.

#

The other boys had already gone down to breakfast by the time Albus woke up the next morning - with the exception of Eric, who had quite obviously waited for him.

�Good morning,� he said cheerily, as Albus washed and donned Brian�s school-robes. �Are you all right now?�

�Sorry?�

�Last night. When you were asleep. It looked like you were having a really weird nightmare.�

�Really?� asked Albus, a small version of himself beginning to jangle the alarm bells.

�Yeah - you went all rigid at one point, and nearly fell out of your bed. It really freaked me out. And you said something, too.�

Albus stared at Eric, desperately keeping the happy expression pasted on Brian�s face. What had he said? Had it been� Minerva? Why - why would his subconscious self want to call that?

Thank me when you�ve sorted your heart out as well as your head.

He knew the answer really. He just didn�t dare think it; the hopelessness of the situation-

�It sounded like �Serverus.� Or �Siverus.� Or �Severus.� Something like that. And you said please to something. Can�t you remember what it was about at all?�

�No,� he blurted - but he felt the blood leave Brian�s face. Snape stood before him again, ignoring his pleas not to turn his back on truth and justice and Lily, raising his wand, face contorted, sending him to his death. The betrayal was like a knife entering his ribcage, coldly penetrating to his beating heart. Poor, damaged, guilt-wracked Severus, whom he�d cared for in a similar way to Harry, had turned into the malignant Snape, merciless and filled with contempt for the man who�d supported him. What had happened, what had he done wrong?

Eric was eyeing him oddly; Albus struggled to get control over his - and Brian�s - face, but the damage was done. Hopefully Eric would simply think it had been a horrific nightmare that Brian didn�t want to talk about, which wasn�t that far from the truth anyway. Neither spoke on the way down to breakfast.

Potions was first. Albus, too moved by the reported nightmare to try at pretences, brewed a perfect Anti-Boil potion that resulted in Slughorn talking fondly of Harry for half the lesson. Really, Albus thought half-indignantly, it wasn�t as if he had ever known Harry all that well. I had the monopoly there. The thought of Harry calmed him, steadied his shaken nerves.

Transfiguration came next, this time punctuated with inexplicably stony glances from Professor Read and convincing failures at simple Transfiguration spells. The advantage of having once been a teacher who had understood where students could go wrong allowed Albus the satisfaction of successfully answering a question incorrectly.

�Your homework is to practice,� Professor Read said reedily. �That is all.�

�Come on,� Eric said, as Albus packed away his bag.

�Brian Potter,� the teacher squawked just as both boys were about to leave the room. �See me. Run along, Mr Weasley.�

Confused, Albus walked up to Professor Read, head bowed in an accurate impersonation of a nervous pupil. Since Professor Read looked like the sort of person to be easily blown away by a strong gust of wind, such anxiety really did have to be feigned.

�Mr Potter. You are to come and see the Headmistress immediately.�

�Why, Professor?�

He was astonished he had managed to speak, to ask such an innocent question. Minerva�s face filled his brain - as it had been, strong and defiant, and as it was, hollow and pale. His body had frozen in shock; here it was, the ultimate test of his will, of his acting abilities, of his heart-

Professor Read looked outraged. �You may find wasting my time amusing, Mr Potter, but I assure you the Headmistress does not! Follow me!�

The corridors passed by like a dream. It occurred to Albus that, ironically, he felt just as any other First-Year would feel having been summoned to the head teacher�s office. His stomach twisted; his tongue stuck to the roof of his mouth. Minerva had found out somehow, had cooked up some excuse for Professor Read to take him to her office, in a few minutes time he would be pouring out the whole story to her�

Then, perhaps, one day he would be able to tell her what he felt. Perhaps he would be able to do so when Brian was a man and Minerva an ailing old woman on her death-bed-

Of course, she would die before him now. That fact was undeniable. It made him want to hurl himself out of the nearest window.

When Brian was a man and Minerva an ailing old woman - surely that would be better than when he was trapped in the body of a child? He couldn�t imagine the saying the words in a child�s voice whilst in a child�s body. The image was wrong. At least, if he told her at the last, then there would be a finality to it. There would be no need for rejections or pain, because she would be gone to her next great adventure�

�Such interesting thoughts you have,� the Sorting Hat said again, but bitterly.

�Ashes to ashes.�

The odd, macabre password was spoken quickly and the gargoyle leapt aside. They were ascending up stairs he still thought of as his own�

The door was before them. Professor Read rapped smartly on the wood, ignore the Griffin knocker. Albus stared at it vaguely, remembering what a terrific joke it had seemed when he�d installed it upon becoming headmaster. Griffin-door. Gryffindor. Now the door had become a portal to more than a joke.

There was an agonising silence, and then a curt reply.

�Enter.�
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Him Again