1:00 PM
"For goodness sake, Harry, are you going to make your tardiness a tradition?"
Professor Harry Potter grinned at Deputy Headmistress McGonagall. He adjusted his teacher's robes, straightening his red leather gloves. "But I'm always late, Minerva. Eleven years late and it never stopped me."
McGonagall sniffed, though her eyes narrowed with amusement. She looked as though she were resisting the urge to tidy his untamable hair. "I've the First Years to attend to. Run along, you'll miss your sweet."
Harry waved, and took off for the staff room. He was glad McGonagall had knocked on his door. Hermione had given him a gold watch with a roaring lion for an alarm, and still he lost track of time.
The other teachers looked up as he burst in. "Oh good. Potter's here, we can begin," murmured Snape. Harry ignored him; Snape was still a git, but with Harry assisting him in Defense Against the Dark Arts practicals, they could hardly have a row in public.
"Ah, Harry. Toffee, or mint?" Dumbledore's eyes twinkled as Harry chose the toffee. "All ready for another year?"
"Oh, yes." Harry taught and officiated Quidditch, and was Professor of Muggle Studies. In addition he helped out wherever he could, from Charms to Magical Creatures to hall monitoring. Ron had joked that his position ought to be renamed 'Professor of Odd Jobs.' Harry didn't mind; quite the contrary, he was far too used to an active life to be hemmed in. As youngest on staff he was willing and eager to take on even mundane tasks.
"Excellent! So, let us sally forth to the feast! And gerald forth as well," said Dumbledore. The teachers filed into the Great Hall, robes billowing beneath the Hogwarts banners.
The doors burst open and McGonagall led the pattering First Years to the Sorting Hat. Harry sat up and surveyed the new crop. He always noticed the hair first: pleated brown, kinky black, curly auburn, long silvery-blond. No Weasley reds, not yet-- the first of the grandchildren would be arriving the following fall. The eleven-year-olds craned their necks at the starlit sky and charmed candles. Every year Harry wondered how he had ever been that small. The War had shaped and scarred his body into robust solidity, if not height. His subsequent employment as a professional Quidditch player had further toned his muscles.
What was more, if he tried to ignore his handsome looks, the excitable students brought it to his attention. His first holiday as a teacher, he'd gone to Sirius for some much needed counsel on the art of 'crush-breaking.' (Sirius had ruined a tablecloth with a noseful of butterbeer.) Harry had taken to imitating Snape's fashions, wearing full cloaks and covering all but his already famous face. His classes had grown stricter by the year. Harry had no intention of becoming another Lockhart.
Flitwick sighed, charming the toffee wrapper into an origami swan. "A great many more, this year."
"Mm," said Harry. "I suppose everyone wanted to have children after the Defeat."
"Ever thought of it yourself," asked Flitwick, as McGonagall read off 'Leachman, Philip!'
"Well, yes," admitted Harry. "But right out of graduation, there was the publicity. And to be honest, I wanted to live past twenty-one."
Flitwick coughed, turning pink. James and Lily Potter had died at that age.
"Sorry," said Harry quickly.
"Oh, no, quite all right," Flitwick blustered. "Though I must say, you're well past twenty-one now. And you're out of the Quidditch circuit. The publicity has died down."
Harry nodded, aware of Snape's eyes on him. Nosy git. He locked his gloved hands on the tablecloth. "I rather think," he said, "it takes two to raise a child."
"Llewellyn, Eleanor!"
"RAVENCLAW!" announced the Sorting Hat.
McGonagall looked down at the next name. And that was when Harry felt it.
It was as though a twig had snapped. Flitwick sat up, recognizing, as Harry did, a powerful charm undoing itself. An eerie lull settled over the Great Hall as the students realized that McGonagall had stopped reading.
What's wrong? Harry thought. I've not seen Minerva's lips that white since Sirius broke into Gryffindor Tower. She glanced at Dumbledore. The Headmaster nodded.
McGonagall raised the scroll. "Malfoy, Ophelia!"
The Hall erupted into whispers. "Malfoy!" "Like that Death Eater family?" "Who is she?" "I thought they all died!" Harry slipped his hands under the table, clenching them into fists, and schooled his expression to blankness. He most certainly did not look over at Severus, who was probably scowling at the students.
A petite girl approached the stool. With a start Harry recognized the head of long white-blond hair. Not only was she the very image of Draco, but he could see Lucius in her cheekbones, and in her calm, cold eyes. Unlike any of the Malfoys, however, her robes were hand-me-downs and her shoes scuffed and ill-fitting. Scrambling onto the high stool, she was gawky where Draco was graceful. If she was perturbed by the whispers, she didn't show it as she tugged the Hat over her head.
Who is she? thought Harry wildly. She can't be... no. No, Draco would have mentioned it. On the other hand, Harry knew there was a Finnigan in this year's class, and he thought he'd seen Susan Bones' son as well. Wouldn't it be funny if she were Sorted into--
"SLYTHERIN!"
No such luck.
The girl made her way to the Slytherin table amidst scattered clapping. Harry dared to glance at Snape. With a twitch of his lip, the Slytherins glared at the other tables, protecting the girl from any further gossip.
McGonagall was still in a state when she returned to the high table. As she made her way to Dumbledore, Harry murmured, "Don't look at her, Minerva." He remembered being on the other side of the High Table. Many so-called covert conferences had not gone unnoticed by the students.
She nodded. The nervous tic on her temple reminded Harry of a cat's ear twitching. When Dumbledore had finished his annual injunctions, she hissed, "Albus! Do you have any idea why this happened?"
"My dear Minerva, the House Elves must have marinated the pork," said the Headmaster. "That would account for the tenderness."
"No, no! The scroll! I sent out the letters, Albus. There was no Malfoy."
"Quite clearly there is a Malfoy now." The Headmaster peered over his spectacles at the Slytherin table.
"She was listed as Ophelia Nichols," hissed McGonagall. "Ask Flitwick, the charms protecting the student rolls are some of the most powerful on the premises!"
Dumbledore sampled the gravy. "Even the most powerful charms can be superceded."
But how? thought Harry. Better ask Hermione.
Snape, on the other side of Professor Sinistra, raised his eyebrow. "And the name of Malfoy is not exactly a password to safety, these days."
McGonagall accepted this with a sigh, settling down next to Harry. "We wouldn't have refused her admission! And I want to know how that charm was cast."
"If you would, Minerva," said Flitwick. He took the parchment and tucked it in his robes. "I'll look into it."
Though Harry was dying of curiosity, he waited a few minutes before asking. "Where did she come from?"
"A foster home," said McGonagall thoughtfully. Across the table, Snape inclined his head. "The Nichols are a mixed family, a witch and a Muggle. I've no idea how long Ophelia has been in their care."
"And Muggle adoption records are sealed..." Harry bit his lip. It just couldn't be. Not even Draco was that irresponsible. He finished his meal early and made his way to Snape.
"Potter."
"Snape. I guess I'll owl him and you'll--" Harry trailed off.
"I'll single out that First Year and ask her who her real father is?" Snape's lips thinned. "Unless she approaches her Head of House with questions, it is none of our business. And you are not her Head of House."
Harry flushed. "Severus..."
Snape grabbed his cuffs suddenly. For a moment Harry thought he was going to rip his gloves off. "She does not deserve the same kind of attention your name gave you. And in your case, it was positive."
"I'm owling him," Harry said stubbornly.
"Fine. But do not disturb my students." Snape shot him a venomous glare.
Harry met his eyes coolly. "Severus," he said. "They're my students too." He turned to go.
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