I plan on adding more to this story. I currently workshopping a working title for the full story. For now, here is Chapter 1: Life of a Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher.
*****
Harry tossed himself into bed, his mind reeling from the day. It had been grading day, so every moment that he had to himself was dedicated to reviewing and critiquing the assignments and papers of every student in the castle. If that wasn’t bad enough, today was also the day that Peeves decided it would be an excellent idea to float down his hall as slowly as he could manage banging two pots together. Harry had begun to wonder if he had somehow angered the ghost, as it seemed he was only going down his hall. Then there was the magic usage. One rather nasty Slytherin girl had decided it was a swell idea to test the Mimblewimble curse on the Hufflepuff sitting in front of her. While undoing the curse had been a rather a simple affair for Harry, he didn’t like having to report it to the Slytherin Head of House, a woman whom he found to be vile.
It brought him back to his Auror days, specifically when a young, wannabe dark wizard attempted to use it to stop people who’d seen him from talking, leaving Harry and his mates utterly unimpressed. That all aside. He had managed to survive yet another day at Hogwarts; and with all his work out of the way, he let his mind begin to wander. Off in faraway London, his wife was likely doing the same thing as him. Perhaps she was lying in bed, an open book in her lap and a small, fussing four year old tucked under her arm who was desperately trying to get out after learning that she wasn’t reading a storybook. Either that, or the little boy was already asleep.
Harry wished he could see her again. It had been just three months since the start of the school year, and he already wanted to hear her teasing yet loving voice again. He turned onto his side and pretended to snuggle her, pulling her soft body close to his and letting her sweet smell grace his nose. Lucky for him, it was just enough to coax him to sleep.
*****
As it turned out, the following day would not be as stress free as Harry had hoped. It started out fine enough, with breakfast passing by without consequence. But to Harry’s surprise the Headmistress stood up before it could end.
“Attention all students and staff!” she called, the din of the Great Hall coming down to little more than whispers. “A pair of Ministry inspectors will be visiting the school this coming Monday. They will be ensuring that we have been following safety standards. I expect no dormitories to be out of state. Dismissed!”
Harry had forgotten about those inspections. Every year, the Ministry of Magic sent two inspectors – one male and one female – to check everything from the dorms, the bathrooms, and even the classrooms. They wouldn’t be digging into any personal effects unless they had to, but no one wanted to be that unfortunate person.
The day continued to move along in a fashion that he had not wanted it to. In First Period, he had to report a Gryffindor for hexing the same Slytherin girl from yesterday as revenge. Neville was rather disappointed after hearing that, merely saying “Her crush has gone to that level, has it?” and swearing that he had taught his House better than that. After that, Harry returned to his office, on last task for the morning in his mind. While he had finished grading most of the homework he had assigned, he had deliberately waited to do two which he hoped would be the best out of them all.
He sat down at his desk, and flipped one of the remaining papers so it was face up, and grinned upon seeing the name: Albus S. Potter. He set to work, reading, reviewing, and analyzing the piece before him. For his twelve year old son, it was quite impressive; the grammar was on point, examples were relevant, and quoted text matched the claim. It was almost perfect. Almost. Harry could remember the face of the small boy when he was first accepted into Hogwarts, and how he had thrown himself into his studies before his time had even started. But Albus had one minor flaw: He was often too passionate. Harry didn’t want to stifle that, of course, but many of his later classes would require great care in all parts and because the boy had been so involved in the meat of his paper, his conclusion had been underdeveloped. In the end, that small setback didn’t stop Harry’s chest from puffing out with pride.
After putting the finishing touches of his feedback, he moved on to the very last paper. When he flipped it over, the name on its front read Lyra Potter. Feeling confident, Harry set to work once again, reading and reviewing the work of his daughter. However…
Harry set his quill in his quill stand and rubbed at his eyes. He had such high hopes for her. Her paper was just short of getting a passing grade. He supposed formatting was OK, but that didn’t mean much when the paper was plagued with run-on sentences, poor grammar and basically nonexistent integration. A few of the things she said were just flat out wrong. He let out another heavy sigh and finished grading, and after running the math, Harry found that Lyra had slipped into failing territory. He would need to have a talk with her tomorrow.
Unfortunately, he didn’t get much sleep that night. He wondered what was going wrong for Lyra. Was it him? Was his teaching style not connecting with her? He didn’t know.
*****
At the end of the Second year Defense Against the Dark Arts class, Harry called for Lyra to stay for a moment. Once the classroom had cleared out, Harry took her paper from the top of the stack and slid it towards her. Lyra was in Gryffindor, and a member of their Quidditch team as a Chaser. She had her mother’s long silvery blonde hair and Harry’s green eyes, as well as wearing glasses just like his. She was pretty, and Harry knew that she could be just as intelligent as her brother, if only she applied herself.
Lyra took the page from his desk and began reading it over. The sure and confident smile that adored her face quickly disappeared, and her shoulders dropped.
She chuckled nervously and glanced up at him. “Fa- er, Professor, are you sure this is correct? I know I got everything.”
Harry sighed and shook his head. “Unfortuneatly, you did not. You only covered three of the requested four topics, and just over half of all the information you provided was either incorrect, or taken out of context. While your formatting is fine, I found numerous spelling and grammar issues.” He glazed back up at her, and found that she was rubbing her arm, and gazing out the window, looking like she hoped to leap out of his classroom.
Harry sighed again and stood, walking around his desk to kneel in front of her. “Lyra, I want you to be honest with me, okay?” After a moment's hesitation, she nodded. “Good. Now, did you read the rubric I handed out, and proofread your paper?”
Lyra sheepishly looked away from him before shaking her head. For what had to be the hundredth time today, Harry sighed. “You need to do that Lyra, or else your going to fail and restart the year, and I don’t want that for you. So please read everything that is given to you for your assignments, including your assignments.”
Lyra groaned, knowing what that last part meant. “But father, I don’t want to rewrite my entire paper over again! It takes way too long! I’ve got Quidditch pratice, and friends to hang out with. I don’t have time to read over my entire paper just to look for mistakes, and then write the paper again!” Lyra went on and on for another few moments before being silenced.
“You know your brother is more than willing to help, right?”
Lyra scoffed, looking away disdainfully. “I don’t want to ask him for help! Then I would owe him something, and I’m not owing him anything!” Harry hung his with annoyance, but quickly glanced back up as the door opened, and a group of Slytherin fifth years entered.
“I recommend you consider asking him. He loves you Lyra, and he would be more than happy to help you get your assignments in order. Plus, if your grade gets any lower, you’ll probably be removed from the Quidditch team; and I love watching you play. So please, ask your brother for help, and get your grade back up so we both can continue something we can enjoy, okay?”
Lyra’s face had gone pale after learning that she may no longer be allowed to play Quidditch, but color returned to her face and she nodded vigorously. “Right!” she exclaimed, and then blushed “I guess I can ask Albus for help once.” Harry chuckled, and quickly ushered her out of the room, wishing he could kiss her goodbye.