Magic Meets Might

Chapter 7

Written by Moh (jasongrace567)

Harry Potter

            Harry had been in strange situations before. He’d flown a skeletal horse to London, flown a flying car to Hogwarts, attempted to teach a baby giant English, and had witnessed a large pudding fall atop of a very important client of Uncle Dursley’s, by means of Dobby the house-elf.

            But nothing – nothing – Harry had done in the past could’ve prepared him for what he faced now. Nearly thirty pairs of eyes were upon him, each one as wide as his own. Maybe wider, he didn’t know or care. McGonagall had left him in charge of a Defense Against the Dark Arts class for seventh-years and eighth-years (as Harry and the others who took part in the Battle of Hogwarts were now dubbed.) and he didn’t have the faintest idea what to do, say, or feel.

            “She can't be serious,” Ron said in a hollow voice, breaking the silence at last. “You're barely of age! You can't teach Defense!”

            Harry didn’t say anything; he was waiting for the rest of the class to follow Ron’s example and break out into shocked outbursts, much like the Great Hall had the night the Goblet of Fire chose Harry as the second Hogwarts champion. Looking around the room, he realized he saw many familiar faces from those who had been in the DA in Harry's fifth-year. Neville, Dean, Lavender, Parvati, Seamus, and many others.

            This wasn’t so different from the DA, Harry thought to himself. It was simple; just as simple as leading Dumbledore’s Army three years ago had been. All he had to do was take a few deeps breaths and do what felt natural.

            And that was just what he did.

            Harry took two deep breaths and said, “The Dark Arts.”

            Silence followed his three simple words. Hermione’s expression was rapt, something she only ever showed before teachers. The fact that she considered Harry worthy of that expression gave him both a little dry amusement and some more confidence.

            “When someone says ‘the Dark Arts’,” Harry continued. “They think of Voldemort. The Death Eaters. Avada Kedavra. Dumbledore. Snape. Dark magic. They think people who practice the Dark Arts are either forced or sick in their minds.

            “This is false. Of course, people who have been forced or know anyone who was forced to serve under Voldemort has my greatest sympathies, but sympathy won’t get you anywhere in this world. It didn’t get me anywhere and you're no different, scar on your forehead or not.”

            This really wasn’t so hard, Harry realized as he continued to speak and then had his new students (he felt a thrill of both satisfaction and awkwardness as he thought those words.) copy down a few notes before the bell rang and he dismissed them. The classroom emptied slower than it ever had in Harry's seven years at Hogwarts; each person stopped to say something like “Great lesson, Harry!” or “Can't wait for tomorrow, Harry!” until at last, Ron and Hermione were the only ones left.

            “Am I supposed to call you Professor now?” Ron asked with a grin and an amused expression. “Or will you take points from Gryffindor if I call you Harry?”

            “Bugger off,” Harry said with a laugh, slinging his bag over his shoulder and leading the way out of the classroom. “Come on, if we don’t get to Transfiguration on time, McGonagall will have all our heads.”

Harry quickly realized that he had forgotten how each day at Hogwarts always left him exhausted beyond exhausted. It was only their first day and they had a foot-long essay for McGonagall due in two days (‘Describe the difference between Transfiguring an animal and a plant’), an essay from Professor Binns, the History of Magic teacher (‘Why were the goblin wars such turning points for both wizards and goblins alike?’), and a list of questions to answer from Professor Slughorn (‘Describe the properties of moonstone and its beneficial uses in wizarding society’).