Friendly Competition

[3] A Day In A Teacher's Shoes

Harry fell asleep after the Welcome Feast without getting properly undressed, and awoke (far from the first time in his life) to the rude realisation that sleeping in his robes was not a good idea.

He quickly showered, rubbing at the lines his robes and pillow had left on his face. He couldn't be late on his first day, and he definitely couldn't make it through without breakfast.

He managed to successfully make it down in time for breakfast in clean, non-wrinkled robes, and was irrationally proud of that fact.

He sat hesitantly at the staff table. It felt just as odd as it had the night before, like he wasn't supposed to be up there, and it was so different from sitting down at the student tables. From his seat, he could see everything at all four tables below him. Before, when he used to sit at the Gryffindor table, he had just been one drop in the middle of a sea of students.

This also meant they could all easily stare at him, however. There were still many people pointing and whispering this morning, just as there had been the night before (especially after Flitwick — or Filius, Harry supposed he should be calling him now — had helped the first years get sorted and Minerva had given her speech, and then there was nothing left to distract the students).

The stares were not only directed at him, but at the infamous ex-Death Eater who was set to be their new Potions Master, and Harry had done his best to avoid all their staring eyes, but it was a bit difficult, especially when McGonagall had introduced them as the new teachers for the year. 

After that, he had noticed Mal— Draco further down the table looking equally uncomfortable and anxiously rubbing his left arm, and Harry had to reluctantly admit some sympathy. Surely some of the parents weren't saying the nicest things about the prospect of him teaching their children, if the Daily Prophet was any indicator. They had certainly made a big hoopla about it already, making almost as much of a fuss as they had about Harry, if for an entirely opposite reason. Harry hoped nobody pitched too big a fit over it, though, trying to pull their children or get Draco fired. He didn't like the git, and thought he had a rubbish personality to put it lightly, but he also didn't lump him in with the more infamous Death Eaters or consider him dangerous.

He had been acquitted, and Harry thought that was fair, and had spoken at his trial himself in Draco's support. And he thought that if he could do that — he who had every right to despise him — then other people could stop their ridiculous pearl clutching.

Draco was an arsehole, but he wasn't murderous, and Harry was certain he had wanted to go into it all, even taken pride in being the youngest to become a Death Eater, but he was pretty sure Draco had also wanted out. And he'd not been able to leave — of course Voldemort did not let his followers simply walk away — but it had led to Draco being made to do a lot of things he wished he hadn't had to.

As Harry looked around now, he saw that Draco was missing, and checked his watch. Fuck.

Harry quickly shoveled down a few more bites of his food and then got up — he needed to get going if he wanted to have time to prepare a bit before his first students. But his first class was going to be second year Hufflepuffs, so at least he was starting off easy.

~*~

It had been easy, he supposed, compared to the other classes, but all of the classes were draining. It was all so new, and he really had no idea what he was doing. Keeping the students' attention could sometimes seem nearly impossible. The sixth year class, in particular, had been relentless.

They kept asking about Harry's personal life and the war, and the Gryffindors and Slytherins wouldn't stop making digs at each other; it was an absolute nightmare. He'd had to resort to taking ten points for every time someone talked out of turn just to get them to shut up. It was enough to make him feel a sudden intense need to go apologise to all of his old teachers (and he wished it wasn't utterly impossible to apologise to the ones he wanted to the most. Maybe he would still find McGonagall and Hagrid, though — after all, if he'd learnt one thing, it was that it was best to focus on the living or else be mired down and unable to keep moving forward).