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batsutousaiTitle: Gelosaþ in Écnesse
Chapter: 17 of 18
Author: Batsutousai
Rating: Teen
Pairings: Harry/Salazar, Harry/OFC
Warnings: OCs, OoC, original character death, minor cliché-age, homophobia, racist actions and slurs (from secondary character), time travel
Summary: Caught in the backlash of Voldemort's Killing Curse, Harry is thrown through time to a world so very different from his own.
A/N: I realised, about halfway through this chapter, that I'd screwed up my calendar, having the first day of classes be a Thursday, when it should have been a Monday.
Eh. It's not like any of you are looking at my class schedule, anyway. (And I can always just pull a Jo and declare the first day of classes to be whenever I damn-well please, no matter what the calendar for 1995 says. XD)
Beating of the Storm
-0-0-
Starting lessons with the mixed Ravenclaw and Hufflepuff first years was as much a kindness as it was a curse, in the end. As a group, they were peaceful, and far more inclined to mingle between Houses, as train-bred friendships were still fresh in their minds. But they were also young, and Harry hadn't had much dealings with young children since he and Salazar had left Hogwarts.
Still, they were curious, and weren't fighting amongst each other. He was their first professor, and he could only assume, by the smiles and excited chatter they left with, that he'd made a good impression.
With the students cleared out, Harry locked up and wandered down to the Hospital Wing, where Pomfrey had enlisted Salazar for start-of-term medical issues. Mostly, Harry knew, they were open for any first years with medical concerns, especially those from non-magical backgrounds suffering from asthma or some such ailment that flummoxed non-magical doctors, but mediwizards and -witches had long since found a cure for.
They were also open, however, for those students returning with a problem. Most commonly, it was a summer cold that hadn't wanted to let go before their return to the school – it hadn't been an uncommon problem in the past, either, and all the Houses had had a store of potions for it – but sometimes, too, a student would return with bruises or cuts that they blamed on something stupid they'd done on the train or that very morning on the way to breakfast.
There was one such student in there when Harry arrived; a thin-lipped Slytherin whose head had shot around when the door had thudded closed behind Harry. He was with Pomfrey, so Harry pointedly strode straight for where Salazar was staring at two potion vials like they were the most interesting things in the universe. "Hello, Sal," Harry murmured as he stopped next to his husband.
Salazar glanced over at him and the furrow between his brows smoothed out. "Good afternoon, Harry," he replied as he leaned forward and pressed a light kiss to Harry's cheek. (They'd agreed, before the train had arrived, to keep most intimacy away from the eyes of their students as much as possible. It was more comfortable for them that way, anyway, having spent years hiding their relationship the last time they'd lived within these walls.) "How was your first class?"
"Peaceful," Harry admitted with a shrug. "But first years usually are."
Salazar inclined his head, giving him that.
"How has the Infirmary been treating you?" He nodded at the vials Salazar was still holding.
Salazar was still for a moment, then he held out the vials. In Pictish, he explained, "The recipe has changed. I hadn't expected it."
Harry eyed the two vials. Written on the one in his right hand, in a spidery print he remembered from returned Potions essays, were the words Blood-Replenishing. The one on the left didn't have anything written on it, but he recognised it as a potion that did the same thing, which Salazar always kept on his person, just in case. "Someone probably found a better ingredient for some part or another," he pointed out in the same language, as he offered the potions back to his husband. "They only knew of three continents when we left, do recall."
Salazar snorted and turned to put the potion with Snape's handwriting on it away. "I'm aware. It just caught me by surprise." He glanced towards the door of the ward, where the Slytherin was just leaving. "So many things do."
Harry looked away. He wanted to say it would work out, that there would come a time when Salazar would be used to all these changes, but if he was determined to follow Harry to the grave–
Salazar's arms wrapped around Harry and he glanced up into knowing green eyes. "Stop."
Pomfrey came over then, a half-used bottle in one hand and a too-wide smile turning her mouth. "Harry. Come to rescue Salazar?"
Harry managed a smile of his own in response. "Oh, you can keep him until three; I'd prefer to have him on hand for fifth years, though I doubt there will be any real trouble."
"Ravenclaws and Hufflepuffs?" Pomfrey guessed, smile easing a bit once she'd put the bottle on the cart Salazar had been standing next to.
"Mm. Like I said, not expecting trouble, but–"
"A second pair of eyes is always preferable," Pomfrey agreed. "Well, I usually get a pack of students during lunch, which I'd like to have Salazar on hand for, but after that, the day tends to die down."
"Lunch, is it?" Harry commented, feeling a bit mischievous. "Well, I suppose that's my cue to escape before one of you two tries talking me into staying to help."
Salazar snorted and tightened his grip around Harry, as though to keep him from pulling away. "You wouldn't leave me to fend for myself."
Harry leaned up and kissed his jaw. "Absolutely would." He pulled back gently and Salazar obediently let him go. "Get some lunch yourself once the storm is over."
Salazar sighed. "Yes, Harry."
"And if I don't see you at three, I'm sending Dobby for you."
Salazar grimaced while Pomfrey laughed. "Noted. Now do leave, before I decide you– What is that turn of phrase? 'Need your head examined'?"
Harry paused long enough to catch and squeeze Salazar's hand, then made for the door. He got there in time to hold it open for three Gryffindor girls – third years, he thought; they looked passingly familiar – who paused to stare at him for a moment, then proceeded to giggle as they scurried past him. He rolled his eyes and left the resident healers to their duties while he turned towards the Great Hall; there wasn't a rule against him settling in early with a cuppa and a Defence book Dobby or Slinky could grab from his room for him.
The first year Slytherin and Gryffindors were immediately following lunch, and Harry was relieved to report that they seemed more interested in his opening speech and discussion about Defence than fanning House rivalries. He didn't doubt that would change by October, but it was a welcome atmosphere at the moment.
Salazar entered once the first years had finished filing out, a tin held tightly against his chest and an expression on his face that Harry knew all too well.
"You're going to rot your teeth out," he complained as his husband stopped on the other side of the desk.
Salazar snorted and smoothly pulled off the lid before holding the tin out, revealing it to be lined with various flavours of fudge, softened by body heat. "Pot, kettle, Harry," he commented as Harry grabbed one with a white streak going diagonal across the top and popped it into his mouth.
Harry took a moment to chew, then smiled widely, knowing his teeth would be darkened by the chocolate.
Salazar's mouth twitched and he pulled the tin away. "What, in the name of the Gods, ever possessed Albus to think you could teach children?"
"Don't you read the Prophet?" Harry returned once he'd swallowed most of the sweet. "He's completely off his rocker." He leaned to the side so he could see around his husband and smiled at the uncertain Hufflepuffs standing huddled just inside the door. "Come in, please. Sit wherever you'd like."
Salazar took his cue and rounded the desk. "I'll be back in a moment," he murmured, tapping the side of the fudge tin with one finger and nodding towards the door of Harry's office.
By the time Salazar returned, the classroom was full. Harry waved the door closed as he stepped around his desk, then hopped up to sit on it with a smile. "Right. I'm Professor Harry Dumbledore, and that's Professor Salazar Dumbledore. As Headmaster Dumbledore said at the Welcoming Feast, you're more than welcome to refer to us by either our first names, our our last, but it might get a little confusing if you use the latter.
"Now, I've been told all sorts of stories about how curious Ravenclaws are, and I know you lot have gone through a number of professors over the years, so you've got ten minutes to ask whatever you want. I can't promise we'll answer everything, but I won't take points for you asking the question." Hands went up all over the room, and Harry pointed to Padma Patil, one of the few faces he recognised. "Name please, then go ahead and ask." To his right, he heard Salazar fussing with the scroll of student names and knew his husband would mark people off as there.
"Padma Patil," she announced, voice clear. "Are you two really married?"
Harry smiled; the question hardly surprised him. "We are." He held up his left hand, showing off a ring he'd found in the Hufflepuff vaults. Salazar wore its mate, and he obediently held up his own hand when everyone turned to look at him. Harry looked back at the students and pointed towards a Hufflepuff boy with curly hair, Justin something. "Go on."
"Justin Finch-Fletchley," he offered, and waited a moment for Salazar to mark his name off, then asked, "Where are you from?"
"Originally? Scotland." Harry chuckled when he got some pointed looks from a couple of Ravenclaws in the front row, and Justin frowned. "I left the UK as soon as I was seventeen, and I've been travelling pretty constantly since. The accent you're most likely hearing, however, is from Egypt and spending over a year speaking more Arabic than anything else." He nodded to a Ravenclaw girl with long, dark hair who was sitting far to his right in the front row.
"Lisa Turpin," she informed them, tone brisk and reminding him of Rowena. "I heard that Professor Salazar was in the Hospital Wing most of the morning, and he wasn't at lunch..." She trailed off, looking uncertain for a moment, as though she couldn't figure out a good way of turning that into a question with Salazar watching her with one raised eyebrow.
Harry resisted the urge to hit his husband, instead explaining, "Professor Salazar is trained as a healer, so he was helping Madam Pomfrey with the start-of-term medical rush. In future, should there be an incident in another class, he may leave to help her again. If something happens in here – which we'll endeavour to avoid – at least no one will have to be rushed to the Hospital Wing." He smiled at the quiet murmurs of understanding, then pointed to a Ravenclaw boy sitting in the back of the room.
"Terry Boot," he announced. "What Houses were you in?"
Harry resisted the urge to laugh; he'd known that question was coming. "Neither of us attended Hogwarts. My father wanted me home-schooled, and Professor Salazar attended a small academy just outside Damanhur, Egypt." He nodded towards a Hufflepuff girl with a no-nonsense air.
"Susan Bones. Why didn't your father send you to Hogwarts?"
Harry grimaced, knowing better than to go about airing the Dumbledore family's dirty laundry, especially since he didn't know all of it. "I'm going to decline to answer that question, if you'll forgive me. Did you have another?" When Susan shook her head, he waved for blond Ravenclaw boy to speak.
"Anthony Goldstein. I was curious, Professor, why the name of the class was changed. From what I read in Hogwarts: A History, the class has always been called Defence Against the Dark Arts."
Salazar scoffed over the scroll of names as he marked Anthony, and Harry had to resist the urge to roll his eyes. "While it is true that Hogwarts: A History is a helpful and often informative text, I would caution you to not consider it the end-all be-all of Hogwarts facts, as many facts about the school's early years have been forgotten or twisted beyond recognition."
"What does that even mean?" a Ravenclaw boy with shoulder-length black hair demanded.
"It means humans are fallible and a human wrote that book, Mr...?" Salazar shot back, eyes narrowed at the student.
"Michael," a Ravenclaw girl hissed, grabbing his shoulder. To Salazar, she offered, "He's Michael Corner, I'm Mandy Brocklehurst. And while I agree that there's plenty missing from Hogwarts: A History, there's not really another source to turn to, especially about the earliest years of Hogwarts."
Harry tilted his head to one side. "None of you have ever thought to ask the Grey Lady? She was Rowena Ravenclaw's only daughter, you know."
There was absolute silence following that, everyone staring at him.
Harry cleared his throat, the sound distinctly nervous. "Right. Not something I'd guess she would share about. Anyway, Hogwarts: A History is not, in fact, correct about this class having always been named Defence Against the Dark Arts. That name came into use during, I believe, the Dark Wizard Wars of the tenth century. Previous to that, it was called Magical Defence, as it is again, and was a companion to the Non-magical Defence class, which taught the art of sword craft."
Eyes turned towards Salazar, who wore his sword openly. He raised an eyebrow at them all. "I suspect Madam Pomfrey would have words, should we think to teach anyone to wield a sword."
Harry coughed against the urge to laugh, while a number of students grinned. "As for the return to the old name, well... It's not hard to hear about the curse on the position–" a couple of students laughed "–and this is the only classroom in the castle large enough to comfortably fit the larger classes, should there be any need to practise spells in pairs, thus putting paid to any thoughts to change the location, so I thought to try changing the name." He nodded to a Hufflepuff girl with her blonde hair in pigtails. "Two more questions, then we really should get into the lesson."
"Hannah Abbott," she offered quietly. "Professor Salazar, I was wondering if you were named after anyone in particular?"
Salazar snorted. "Slytherin, you mean," he replied drily and Hannah nodded. "I am. It was my father's belief that the best way to restore the family honour was to name me after our best-known ancestor."
"You're a Slytherin?" Michael Corner demanded.
"The Slytherin name was lost at one point when a female heir carried the family," Salazar returned drily. "Technically, I am a Gaunt, though I have quite gladly dropped the name in favour of Dumbledore. However, yes, I am related to Salazar Slytherin." :In as much as anyone alive today could actually claim to be related to me,: he added in Parseltongue, making the entire class flinch back.
Harry shook his head, unbothered by what he considered an obvious attempt to rile the class, and called, "One more question." A Hufflepuff boy with a slightly pudgy face raised his hand and Harry nodded for him to speak.
"Ernie Macmillan," he offered before clearing his throat. "I was wondering, Professor, if you buy into what the Headmaster's been saying? About You-Know-Who being back, and all."
"I do," Harry replied evenly, before smiling at the scowls that earned him. "By all means, continue to disbelieve his claims if that is your wish. I have nothing to show you which might prove otherwise, but I do ask you keep this in mind: There are two students who vanished from a maze in June, and they have not been heard from since. I am sure many of you knew Mr Diggory; can you honestly tell me he was the sort to simply up and vanish before completing his education? Was Mr Potter the sort?
"Now," he continued, nodding to Salazar, "if you could call out any names that didn't get crossed off, Professor?"
There were nine students left, and Salazar went through them with easy efficiency. As the whole class had apparently decided to tread carefully around him – Parseltongue had a tendency to cause that reaction, Harry had discovered – they were shortly through the list.
He hopped off his desk. "I've little doubt that you'll be hearing about the importance of the OWLs many, many times over in the coming weeks, but that makes it no less true. Especially in this class, given your spotty education over the past four years. I will attempt to salvage what I can, but that means we will be moving fast. If you're having trouble keeping up, you're welcome to come by my office Tuesdays after lunch, when my door will be open for everyone. If you're having trouble coming by because of your class schedule, or I'm so busy helping other students that I'm unable to assist with your current problem, I'm perfectly willing to schedule a different time.
"My goal this year is for every one of my fifth and seventh year students to pass their Defence OWLs or NEWTs. If you're having trouble, come to me. Some of this material may go over your head, or you'll find yourself lacking in the basics because it was never covered. That's okay. There's no shame in that. I promise you, every one of your classmates is in that same boat."
"Unless their aunt is head of the DMLE," one of the Hufflepuff boys, Zacharias Smith, commented just loud enough to carry through the room. Susan sank in her seat, cheeks burning.
"Ten points from Hufflepuff," Harry said without missing a beat. "While it's true that private tutoring is a possibility for some students, that doesn't mean you can't be left floundering in a subject. We all have classes we do better or worse in, and there's nothing wrong with asking for help when you need it. That's what your professors are here for. Yes, even Professor Snape, as unapproachable as he may so often seem."
:Unapproachable is not quite–: Salazar hissed under his breath.
Harry flicked an absent Silencing Charm towards his husband as he asked the cringing students, "Are there any questions in regards to this class?"
Multiple heads shook around the room while Salazar silently ended the spell on himself.
"Very well. If you'll all take out your writing materials, then, I'm afraid I'm going to have to start you off with an exceedingly boring dive into magical theory."
Most of the class groaned, but all obediently pulled out parchment, quills, and ink, so Harry nodded to Salazar, who set about spelling notes onto the board at the head of the room while Harry verbalised them.
By the end of the class, most of his students looked thoughtful, rather than like they were about to fall asleep, so Harry counted it as a win, even as he turned to his husband and, in Arabic, said, "Let's try and avoid muttering in Parseltongue in future, please."
Salazar scoffed. "It's good for them. Shuts them up."
Harry rolled his eyes and motioned that they should head for the Great Hall and dinner. "Be that as it may, perhaps stick to more human languages during class? If you want to hiss at them to make them leave faster, I am completely on board with that."
Salazar flashed him a smirk. "Keep talking like that and people will begin to think you don't like the wretches."
"Oh, yes. That is absolutely the impression everyone's going to walk away with. That's why it always worked on our House."
Salazar let out a bark of a laugh. "Perhaps. But people weren't actually afraid of Parseltongue back then."
"No, you just pissed them off."
"It's a talent."
Harry laughed and shook his head, settling into the open seat next to Albus. "Hello, Uncle."
"Harry," Albus returned with a pleasant smile. "How was the first day of classes?"
Harry snorted. "Sal decided to try giving my fifth years a group heart attack by–"
:Speaking in the only language they can't magically learn just to secretly listen in?: Salazar asked.
"That," Harry offered into the terrified silence that had come over the Great Hall at the sound of the serpent tongue. He glanced at his husband. "I'm beginning to suspect that the urge to terrify people with Parseltongue is genetic."
Salazar pointed a fork at him. "Take it back. Right now."
"I will not."
"You may not be entirely off," Albus remarked with an amused smile as conversation started up again. "Though I suspect it's more that the ability to talk without anyone knowing what they're saying which is genetic. The ability to torment listeners is simply an added bonus."
:I am going to spend the rest of the meal talking like this, just to piss Snape off,: Salazar decided.
"If you're asking me to pass you something, I can't understand you," Harry reminded his husband, even as he peeked down the table to where Snape was most definitely not dealing well with hearing Parseltongue at the Head Table.
Over the course of the meal, during which Salazar made comments about various students and Harry had to bite his tongue a few times to keep from responding, everyone mostly acclimated to hearing Parseltongue from the Head Table.
"It's not a bad social experiment, when you think about it," Albus murmured at one point.
"It's not one that some of us are particularly interested to be part of," McGonagall muttered, expression pinched.
Harry gave an apologetic shrug. "Sorry. I'd stop him if I knew a way to do so."
McGonagall shot him a disbelieving look.
Harry coughed and looked away. In truth, he knew a couple ways to shut his husband up, but none of them were really for so public a forum, so they'd simply have to deal.
Anyway, Salazar had a good point about inuring people to Parseltongue keeping them from freezing on the battlefield; far be it for him to put a stop to something that could well save lives in future.
First classes with the older years tended to be similar to the fifth year Hufflepuff/Ravenclaw class, while the second years followed the first years in being too uncertain to chance asking any questions when Harry opened the floor – especially with Salazar standing over the class ledger – so Harry simply started class for them.
On the second Monday of classes, Umbridge returned to Hogwarts, having left them for the Ministry. (Albus had, very politely, informed the woman that, given how close to term the announcement had been, there were no rooms open for her use, but he would see about procuring some after the students had settled a bit and the house-elves had the time.) By dinner, word had spread about her visits to the seventh year Muggle Studies class and the fourth year Herbology class. The professors, themselves, were quietly discontent with the interruption, but kept their complaints away from the students.
On Tuesday, Umbridge visited the sixth year Charms class and the fourth year Ancient Runes class. Wednesday saw her in the sixth year Divination class and the fifth year Transfiguration class.
"McGonagall," Ron told Harry that afternoon when he, Hermione, and Neville dropped by Harry's office during their free break before dinner, "was brilliant. She would not let Umbridge interrupt the lesson, even a little."
"All she got to ask was how long Professor McGonagall had been working at Hogwarts," Neville added quietly, fingers petting over the sleek lines of the sand pyramid – enchanted to hold its shape no matter what – that Harry had picked up in Egypt.
"Umbridge is just horrible," Hermione insisted, combing her fingers through a particularly frizzy handful of hair. "You haven't had a class inspected by her yet, have you, Harry?"
Harry shook his head. "Not yet, no. I'm hopeful she comes while I've got first or second years, so Sal isn't there, honestly; that's one collision I'd rather avoid, if at all possible."
"How is he handling it?" Hermione asked, brushing her handful of well-worried hair over her shoulder. "I mean, it can't be fun to see someone lording around your own school, right?"
Harry snorted and leaned forward to pick his quill out of the inkwell so he could make a notation on the paper he'd been in the middle of reading over when his friends came in. "Let's just say, if Umbridge could understand half the things Salazar mutters at meals, she would be looking decidedly more angry than her usual fake-pleasant."
The students laughed.
Harry shook his head. "Right, you lot. I've got papers to grade, so either sit down and work on your homework, or piss off."
Ron fled, as Harry had expected, but Hermione and Neville both pulled guest chairs forward and took over the far corners of Harry's desk with homework.
In fact, Harry's 'inspection' wasn't until the next Tuesday. Umbridge hadn't been at breakfast, but she had been waiting in the classroom when Harry and Salazar got there, her eyes as unforgiving as her smile was friendly.
"This is not going to end well," Harry murmured in Pictish; he'd discovered already that a couple of students knew Arabic, but Pictish had been lost to time, so it was safe to speak in when he didn't want to chance being understood by anyone in the school.
Salazar's eyes practically glowed as he smiled too-wide at Umbridge and hissed, :I wonder if you can swim, toad.:
Umbridge twitched, having become as inured to the serpent's tongue as the rest of the school, then narrowed her bulging eyes. "What was that, Professor Dumbledore?" she asked, voice sickly sweet. "I'm afraid you'll have to speak English if you expect me to understand you. This is, after all, not a multi-lingual school."
"Stop," Harry ordered before his husband could make things worse. "If you could go write today's spells on the board for me, I would appreciate it."
Salazar snorted, but obediently left to do so.
Harry eyed the woman with a bland expression. "I ask, Madam Umbridge, that you avoid antagonising my husband, lest he think it optimal to teach today's lesson by casting spells on yourself."
"Is that a threat, Professor Dumbledore?" Umbridge demanded, her ridiculously girly voice rather ruining the effect he expected she had been aiming for.
"It is a warning, Madam," Harry returned drily. "Once class starts, anyone in this classroom is fair game for a curse. Which is why I suggested, when I acknowledged your note about when you would be sitting in, that you would be better served observing a class of first or second years."
Umbridge sniffed. "I much prefer seeing professors with the elder students, so as to fully view their abilities in managing troublesome children."
Harry sighed. "On your own head be it," he said before heading towards where Salazar was watching them. "If you must curse her," he said in Pictish, "please keep it non-lethal."
"I'll consider it," Salazar decided before switching to English to call, "Come in, then. Last one to their seat is our guinea pig for today."
Harry rolled his eyes at his husband, even as he hopped up to sit on the front of his desk, as he usually did. Once all of the fifth year Gryffindors and Slytherins were seated, glances being thrown towards Umbridge, Harry cleared his throat and offered, "As you all can see, we are currently playing host to Madam Umbridge. I believe everyone here has had experience with a class with her already?"
Most of the students nodded, though the Slytherins looked uncertain, since their class with her had been History of Magic.
"Right. So, best thing is to ignore her unless she approaches you with a question." He clapped his hands together, flashing a smile at the startled looks that earned him. "Professor Salazar is going to collect your homework," he announced as Salazar started forward to do so. "Can I have someone tell me about the first curse on the board? Miss Granger, perhaps we'll give someone else a chance today, hm?" he added when Hermione's hand immediately went up.
The Gryffindors let out fond laughs while Hermione grimaced and settled in her seat.
The class went well enough. Umbridge, clearly taking Harry's warning to heart, stayed in her seat at the back of the classroom for the entire lesson, occasionally making notes on her notepad. The students had trouble ignoring her while they were discussing the day's spells, but once the tables and chairs had been pushed out of the way and they were paired up to cast spells on each other, they quickly learnt to ignore her or get cursed.
Those Slytherins who had Ancient Runes ran for it as soon as class was over, but the rest of them, as well as all the Gryffindors, loitered in the room as Umbridge stood and walked up to where Harry and Salazar were waving the desks and chairs back into place.
"Professors Dumbledore," she said in her girly voice.
"Madam Umbridge," Harry replied politely while Salazar hissed some uncomplimentary things under his breath. "Thank you for not disrupting the class. I expect you had questions to ask?"
She let out a "Hem hem," clearly attempting to sound official, and asked, "Are you sure it's wise to be allowing the students to curse each other? It's hardly something they really need to know, and someone could get hurt."
"My husband is a trained healer," Harry commented evenly, forcing his expression to remain calm at the determined insistence that Voldemort wasn't a threat, "and the curses we're teaching are of a level that, should the worst occur, he is more than capable of keeping any damage from being permanent. The danger, we felt, far outweighed the necessity of knowing how the spells felt to cast, so the students wouldn't be caught off guard during the practical portion of their OWLs or – in regards to the seventh years – their NEWTs."
"But on other students," Umbridge insisted with a sickly-sweet smile.
Harry smiled right back. "I believe that learning how a curse feels when it's cast on you is a benefit for everyone, not just those intending to face combat, Madam Umbridge. Moreover, knowing how to cast a shield at a moment's notice could save your life, should you happen across a children's duel in the hallways, or a couple of heads of family having it out in the middle of Diagon Alley. This class is Magical Defence, Madam, not Magical Theory."
Umbridge's smile wavered, but she gamely pressed on, asking, "And where did you two go to school? You're not on the Hogwarts register."
"I was home-schooled by my father," Harry replied with an easy shrug. "Sal attended a private academy in Egypt."
Umbridge shook her head at that and made a notation in her notebook. "I see. That's unfortunate. You're both British, I assume?"
"I'm English, Harry is technically Scottish," Salazar offered, voice a perfect purr of propriety, "though I believe both your mother and father are originally English?"
Harry nodded, agreeing with the fiction that his life had become.
Umbridge noted that, then glanced back up, her lips pressing into a thin line. "Is it really so wise to go around so openly displaying your...illness?"
Harry blinked, confused. "Illness?" he asked, glancing back towards his husband.
But Salazar had clearly understood, for his green eyes were dark with a level of fury that he usually reserved for Voldemort and Angus. "If you have a problem with my and Harry's sexuality, Madam, I would request you actually say as such, rather than bandying about your ridiculous euphemisms."
Harry closed his eyes, letting slip a near-silent "Oh." Of course the woman would fixate on that. And here Harry was, thinking he'd get to live out the last year of his life without feeling like he needed to hide who he loved.
Umbridge sniffed. "As you please, then: I find it disgusting that you feel the need to air your unnaturalness for these students to see. Why, if we're not careful, these poor, impressionable minds might begin to think it's okay for–"
"Maybe that's because it is!" Ron shouted, ducking Hermione's hand as she grabbed for him to hold him back. "There's nothing wrong with Harry and Sal's relationship!"
Umbridge's smile tightened and she waved one pudgy hand at the separated clusters of Gryffindors and Slytherins grouped just inside the door of the classroom. "See," she said sweetly, "it's already happening."
"Why you–!"
"Ronald!" Hermione hissed as Dean helped her pull Ron back. All of the Gryffindors wore tight expressions, not a single one buying into Umbridge's homophobia, though Harry knew they were plenty divided when it came to the question of whether the Ministry or Albus were right about Voldemort's return.
"Excuse me, Madam Umbridge," Pansy Parkinson said, her voice as falsely sweet as Umbridge's.
Umbridge smiled at her, clearly seeing an ally, given how behind herself and the Ministry Slytherin House had thus far been. "Yes, Miss Parkinson?"
Pansy smiled at her even as her voice sharpened to something intended to cut. "I'll be telling my fathers that you consider them unnatural." Then she turned and sashayed out of the room, chin held high.
Millicent Bulstrode let out a tutting sound. "Ooh, I'd hate to be you when my uncles find out about that," she said before patting Vincent Crabbe and Gregory Goyle's shoulders. "Come on, boys. I've got to get a letter to Mum so she'll be there to keep Uncle Eli from doing something to end him up in Azkaban."
Silence fell over the classroom, the Gryffindors staring after the Slytherins like they weren't sure who they were. Harry wasn't much better, his memories of these students at odds with the unquestioning show of support, and a part of him wondered how much was due to Salazar's open admittance that he was related to their founder.
"It seems to me, Madam Umbridge," Salazar offered, voice silky in a way that meant he was hiding his glee, "that you have some damage control to see to."
Umbridge shot Harry and and Salazar a nasty look – Harry was sure she'd meant it to be threatening, but her general appearance rather ruined the effect – and hurried from the room.
"Well," Harry said into the silence that again fell over them, "that was an experience for the diary."
Salazar snorted. "If you must."
Harry turned and caught his husband's hands. "Hey," he whispered, slipping into Englisc for the reminder of old familiarity, "I love you."
The tenseness eased out of Salazar's shoulders and he twisted his hands until he could thread their fingers together. "What happened to keeping things away from the students?" he asked drily, but there was a glint of amusement in his eyes.
Harry rolled his eyes. "My friends have seen it already, and the girls are probably sticking around just to see if they can spot us kissing."
"You just want to piss on the toad."
"Figuratively," Harry insisted, making a face. "Gods, Sal, that is disgusting. I take it back." He tugged his hands from his husband's grasp. "There will be absolutely no kis–"
Salazar chuckled, caught Harry by his nape, and kissed him to shut him up. Harry, for his part, smiled against his husband's mouth and brushed a hand through his hair.
"Better?" he whispered when they eased apart.
Salazar sighed against his lips. "Better," he agreed.
And then someone – Harry was pretty sure it was Lavender – let out a delighted squeal and said, "You two are so cute!"
"Lavender!" Parvati hissed before shoving the other Gryffindor out of the classroom under the raised eyebrows of Harry and Salazar.
Seamus and Dean followed the girls, Seamus giving them a thumbs up before he vanished past the doorway.
"Well, mate," Ron said as the last three students started towards Harry and Salazar, "I never thought I'd say it, but I'm actually sort of cheering Parkinson on."
Harry snorted. "At least it's Miss Parkinson and not Mr Malfoy, though, eh?"
Ron grimaced. "Yes, excellent point."
"Sal, are you okay?" Hermione asked.
Salazar waved a negligent hand at her. "I have survived far worse than the Ministry's pet toad."
Hermione huffed while Ron and Neville both hid snickers in their hands. "That's not what I asked."
"He'll be fine, Hermione," Harry promised as he turned to collect the pile of homework Salazar had dropped onto his desk near the start of class. "Right, I've got papers to grade. Are you three following us to our office, or–?"
Ron, expectedly, ran for it. Neville offered them an apologetic look before hurrying after the other boy. Hermione rolled her eyes at the pair of them and said, "Is it okay if I work on homework in your office?"
"Of course. But you understand that I can't, in good conscience, help you with the work for my class," Harry replied as he motioned for her to precede him out.
"I know. If I get stuck, I'll ask Sal," Hermione agreed, proving she'd been spending far too much time around Harry and Salazar.
Behind them, Salazar laughed.
When the inspection results were passed out a week and a half later, during the weekly staff meeting, Harry found a reasonable report. There was a mark on there about the practical portion of his classes being unnecessary, but it was also noted that he took the proper precautions.
"Any idea if Binns is going to get the boot?" Harry asked Albus after most of the staff had left, Trelawney letting out what served as dignified sniffles, for her, the entire way.
Albus shrugged and shook his head. "I haven't the faintest, honestly. I didn't know what Dolores' remarks would be until just now." He sighed and rubbed tiredly at his face. "I'm glad she didn't attack you on account of your relation to me, my boy."
Harry shook his head and touched Albus' shoulder. "I know how to play the long game, Uncle. The only thing she could find to use against me, a certain Slytherin wouldn't allow." He allowed a fond smile for the reminder of the article that had appeared in the Prophet two days after Harry's inspection. It had been a letter, submitted by Messrs Parkinson-Saunders, which had, in turns, applauded Harry and Salazar for being open about their relationship in spite of their difficult position, given their last name, and verbally castigated anyone who considered any form of love to be 'unnatural'.
Albus smiled up at him, a little strained around the edges. "It's always nice to see a little House cooperation."
Harry rolled his eyes. "Optimist," he muttered as he turned to leave. "I'd start looking for a new History professor either way, though; it's about time Binns passed on."
"Is that an order from your husband?" Albus asked somewhat jokingly.
Harry paused to consider that for a moment, then shrugged. "No, just a request from me." He met Albus' tired gaze. "It's hard to learn from your own history when you can't even stay awake through it."
Albus inclined his head. "A fair point. I'll put out feelers."
Harry nodded and left to hunt down his husband, who had been called to the Infirmary partway through the meeting.
01 - Impossible Distance || 02 - Layers of Harmony || 03 - Breaking Inside
04 - Let It Flow || 05 - White Horses || 06 - Disturbs Your Slumber
07 - Heart Worth Breaking || 08 - Keep It Inside || 09 - Like the Stars
10 - I'll Breathe Again || 11 - Set Fire to the Rain || 12 - Generation Built on a Lie
13 - In Defence of Our Dreams || 14 - Night Falls In || 15 - Nobody Knows Our Names
16 - I'm Not Drowning ||
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