Chapter 58: Things are brewing

Harry leaned back against the wall next to the defence against the dark arts classroom and reread the letter he'd received.

It was unfortunate that the werewolf attack occurred on the evening after which your story was coming out. It would have been front-page otherwise. It's still a victory however, and while the department wasn't the most happy that they showed two reporters with different opinions, it's not my fault if they were too stuck up the ministry's asshole the first time they wrote an article about you. I know you liked what I wrote, so I'll be looking forward to the surprise you said you had in store for the summer.

Best regards,

Rita Skeeter

It was funny that Rita assumed he had liked her article, but he didn't feel like pointing it out considering that she was right. He liked it. It was well-written and to the point. It was all that journalism should aspire to be, ignoring of course that he'd essentially manipulated the circumstances into providing a positive tone. In that way, it was all journalism shouldn't be. However, it certainly was all that it was.

Overall the effect of the article had been good. People had looked at him more kindly. Perhaps even with some admiration. All of that without having to personally correct any misconceptions in person, and through that have to interact with a bunch of children.

Considering the success he was even rethinking his previous decision to keep his spell-creation anonymous. However, the arguments against it still stood. It was too impressive, and considering the political landscape most would assume that Dumbledore, or Flitwick, had created the spell and were only pretending that Harry did. All to show the fact that half-bloods could be successful magic users as well and that that attribute wasn't exclusive to pure-bloods. Which was the common belief. For some odd reason.

Another argument about not releasing the spell publicly was also that he'd gotten enough letters already just from this one stunt. He didn't want to even know what would happen after the duelling tournament.

He'd received everything from letters of encouragement and respect to letters of hate. Some had been cursed, probably with something minor like a howler. But he'd just burned them. Overall it seemed that the article had sparked a certain reaction. A polarising one. It was probably better not to feed the flames.

What was important was that there was now a true version of his capabilities and feats out there for all those people interested in the truth. Those who believed the ministry propaganda article when a much more likelier version was already out? Well, those weren't really the people Harry was interested in convincing.

"What did you get there?" A voice asked from Harry's left, and he turned his head to see that Tonks had arrived. He put Skeeter's missive away in his satchel until further notice. He could answer it later.

"Just more letters from my adoring fans," he joked, before shrugging. "You know how it is."

Tonks rolled her eyes at him, still encumbered by deep dark circles and walked past him towards the door, ruffling his hair as she did so. "Are we doing this?" she asked, pointing a thumb at the entrance. She was jittering, vibrating in place.

Harry feared that while Tonks had started taking her application into the auror force more seriously, she was using the endeavour as a coping mechanism for Charlie's death. He wasn't really her closest friend or family member, so he didn't know the specifics of where she was in her grief process. But, as a study buddy and something of a mentor, he wasn't quite sure if any advancement had been made since the news.

He worried about her but didn't know how to broach the topic. "Yeah, let's do this," he said with a sigh, for want of anything better to say. She let him pass as he walked up to the door and opened it without preamble, or knocking.

In one of his better moods, James had once used the short pause between knocking and answering the door to conjure a ball of water above the entrance to the classroom, drenching Harry.

"We don't know what he's after, and nobody I've reached out to has been contacted by him. However, if our hypothesis is right and it's Greyback, then-"

Those were the words Harry and Tonks got to hear as they barged into the classroom, disrupting a conversation that their DADA professor was having with a thin and sickly man. Light brown hair and dressed in slightly ratty robes.

Harry immediately recognized Remus Lupin and seeing him contrasted with James Potter, someone of the same age as him… he felt immense pity for the man. He looked ten years too old in comparison to James, who himself didn't look too great with his messy hair and stressed countenance.

"Am I interrupting something?" Harry asked brusquely, before turning to James. "You know, if you're using Hogwarts as an excuse to have a space to meet your boyfriend, then I'm sorry to say but my opinion of you has dropped. Aren't you married?"

James sputtered, while Lupin let out a weak chuckle. "I'm afraid our rendezvous will have to wait until next time, my heart," he said faux-romantically, fluttering his eyelashes at their professor, before making to leave. "You can tell me about the patrol schedules and your progress with the… thing, later."

Remus walked past Harry and a confused Tonks on his way out, turning to the former for a second with a nod and a sentence of acknowledgement as he did so. "It was a wonderful patronus, Mr. Evans," he said instead of a good-bye, and promptly left the three of them alone in the room.

"I could have just waited if it was important," Harry mused aloud.

"Sorry, professor," Tonks said to James, who groaned.

"Please, Tonks. Just call me James, this little bugger already does anyway, so it'll get messy otherwise," he muttered, gripping his chair and turning towards the two students. "What can I do for you?"

"We had our session planned today," Harry reminded, receiving a surprised blink.

"Ah, yes. That. I'm afraid it will be our last actually. I need all the free time I can get. I've been drafted onto a much more rigorous patrol schedule after the incident," James said.

Harry tilted his head curiously. "I thought that by grading the essays, you would save time by instructing me personally, though. I even brought a friend, who would be willing to grade the essays above my level and below hers for the same deal," he said and pointed to the fidgeting girl.

"Well, it's a bit awkward to say. But, while it did save time in the past, there actually won't be any homework in the future. Exams are in less than two months, and while I would give out stuff for another three weeks usually… Well, according to my experience in dealing with werewolves." The man grimaced. "And my position as one of the more proficient combatants. As well as my responsibility as an auror, I will be the one organising the schedule of the other professors, and taking most of the patrols myself. You'll use it to prepare for the exams, I'm sure."

Harry scratched at his chin. There was something the man wasn't saying. While it would have been a good coincidence to have a competent DADA professor for once, in the one year when a werewolf was stalking the area, James had specifically come in search of the curse on the position. Or did he perhaps know about Horcruxes?

"With all this werewolf fore-shadowing and the curse on the position… I have to say, professor. Please don't get killed. It would be sad attending your funeral," he said earnestly, trying to get a rise out of the man.

While Tonks cringed from where she was standing next to him, James unconsciously bit his fingernails and furrowed his brows.

"Yes, the curse. Problematic," he mumbled distractedly.

From the fact that he didn't confidently crow that the curse wouldn't be able to get someone like him down, Harry deduced that Dumbledore had not in fact been communicating with James. In a way, he understood Dumbledore's decision. If Neville was a Horcrux in this world, then he needed to die for Voldemort to find his end. James, as the adopted father, would never allow that. If he ever learned about the existence of Horcruxes, he might take Neville and flee the country, hiding out for the rest of his life. Making Voldemort, who in his folly had placed his Horcruxes in very obvious places, actually immortal.

Or maybe Harry's assumption that the diadem was connected to the curse on the position was wrong and while Albus and James had disarmed the diadem, it hadn't meant the disarming of the curse. He groaned internally as his mind twisted itself in a pretzel and decided to abandon the train of thought.

"Well, this session still counts. I already graded the homework so you can't back out," he said petulantly as he crossed his arms. James chuckled.

"I won't go back on my word, don't worry. Even if you have been holding out on me. A Patronus, impressive. Unfortunately, I won't be able to offer the deal to Tonks, so I'm afraid you came in vain," James said, seeming genuinely sorry.

Tonks probably felt like an idiot, since the conversation had revealed that up until this point, James would have been willing to swap her help for private instruction. The girl slumped into herself.

"She can have my session," Harry interrupted. "I'll just go work on my wasps somewhere private." He had been neglecting them instead of the disarming jinx. But considering that he'd reached 10.000 casts with it recently, perhaps it was time to do something else.

"You don't have to-" Tonks started, but Harry just slapped her ass on his way out. Which was an effective way of shutting her up in this particular situation, in the context of their non-sexual, but friendly relationship.

AN: This work of fiction does not advise slapping the butts of women with whom you are not currently in a romantic relationship and will not be held responsible for any misdeeds attributed to its non-educational value.

"You need it more than me girl, enjoy the tutoring," he said with a wave over his shoulder.

"Thanks, shithead," Tonks snorted, while James gaped at the interaction that had just occurred before his eyes.

Probably jealous that a twelve-year-old had more game than him.

Harry exited the room and shut the door behind himself, only to stand still and look at the grey ceiling. There was no purpose to be found in the stones, and Harry was adult enough to realise that while his surroundings were experiencing a crisis, from society's point of view, his only job was to pass his exams.

He started making his way to the potion's lab where Penny was probably working. He needed a break from the disarming charm and some ageing potions and wasp swarms would be the perfect distraction.