The New Headmaster
Author’s note: I liked the ending to Deathly Hallows but I would’ve liked to have seen Harry become Headmaster, so I wrote this little one-shot in which he does become Headmaster. This is one of my older stories that I had written a long time ago and it's basically how I probably would've ended the series. Reviews are still welcome!
The New Headmaster
It was a full house at the Weasley’s, as usual. On this Christmas day, however, it seemed more crowded than normal due to the new additions to their family. They were: Hermione and Ron Weasley with their children, Hugo and Rose, and Ginny Potter and her three kids, whose names were Lily, James, and Albus.
They were all gathered around the large table in the Weasley’s kitchen. Arthur Weasley, Ron’s dad, was trying to discuss muggle politics with his other son Percy. Meanwhile, across the table from them, Molly, Ron’s overprotective mother, was attempting (and failing miserably) to straighten her son’s wild, red hair as the other children discussed in loud, excited voices their first year at Hogwarts.
“It’s great mom,” Lily commented.
Ginny smiled at her daughter, who, Harry, her husband, had named after his long-dead mother. The truth was, though, Lily hadn’t inherited any good looks from her father’s side of the family. She got it all from the Weasley’s.
“Yeah, especially Herbology,” James concurred. Ginny glanced over at her oldest son, who had inherited his father’s unruly, black hair. “Neville’s great. When we corporate, he tells us old stories about you and dad that you wouldn’t believe -”
From beside James, Albus, his younger brother, snorted, “Yeah, you should’ve heard that one about the Yule Ball. Now that was a classic.”
“You’ll have to go through it to, you know?” George said, looking a bit out of place without Fred, his twin brother who had, during the last battle between Voldemort, tragically perished. It hurt Ginny every time she looked at George to see that his brother wasn’t there, as it hurt her now to see Bill, her older werewolf brother, in his place from across the table.
“No we won’t,” James shoved a piece of chicken leg down his throat. “Because we’ll run away, right Albus? We’ll run into the Forbidden Forest and never come back out.”
Lily rolled her eyes. “Oh please, you’ll never last a day in that forest,” she scoffed, returning to her food, which consisted of chicken, green beans, and corn. Everyone else was having the same thing, for Mrs. Weasley had outdone herself and over served too much of everything.
“Say, what houses did you end up being in, anyway?” Charlie, another Weasley brother, asked. The children stared at him. This was, after all, a man who made a living raising dragons. Why should he still want to discuss school with a bunch of brats?
“Well, James got in Slytherin,” Albus informed, looking peeved while his brother scowled at him. “Lily and I got in Gryffindor because were just cool like that and well…I think Hugo got in Hufflepuff because he’s a dumb twit like his father and Rose got in Ravenclaw because she’s so smart like her mother.”
“Oh, Albus, that’s so thoughtful of you,” Hermione said, looking smug. Beside her, Ron was growling and trying to throw a piece of corn at Albus, who was making faces at him.
Charlie smiled in satisfaction. “Well, that’s good to hear.” He stretched his hand across the table to settle Albus back down in his seat. “But what about Harry? How’s the old man doing?”
“He’s amazing,” Rose said, looking fondly up at her mother. “I can see why you and father got along with him so well. Charlie’s right though. He is getting old, and I think that he’s spending too much time alone up in that office.”
“Yeah, he’s starting to look like Dumbledore,” Hugo agreed. Hermione boxed his ears, getting a pained yelp out of her son.
“There’s nothing wrong with that,” she said, lowering her hand away from the side of his freckled face. It never hurt to get too rough with them.
“Yeah, but the last time I saw him his beard was as black as a bloody hole!” Ron said. Rose sighed.
”It still is, and it looks lovely” she said. A disgusted look came across Ron’s face.
“Why are all girls completely mental?” he muttered, and Hermione tried her best to ignore him. She was thinking of Harry for the rest of the night.
The office was quiet. Harry was beginning to think that it was too quiet, for the portraits that lined the walls of Dumbledore’s old office were asleep and for once they weren’t snoring. Harry actually missed their snoring.
“It’s getting pretty lonesome in here, isn’t it, Fawkes?” Harry questioned the old phoenix, who had flown back to Hogwarts after learning that Harry had became the Wizard School’s new Headmaster. Harry, as he had before when the bird had came to his rescue down in the Chamber of Secrets to present him with the Sorting Hat that had awarded him with the sword of Gordric Gryffindor, felt an overwhelming sense of gratitude for the undying bird, who squawked in reply.
“Whatever you just said,” Harry began, removing his old, withered hand from the bird’s skull to twist his beard with his arthritic fingers, “I’m sure you agreed with me. Oh, it sounds as if we have a visitor, Fawkes.”
Indeed as Harry spoke, someone began to knock on the office door, shouting from the other side of it, “Harry, may I come in? It’s Neville and I got a Christmas present for you!”
A wide, pleasant smile came across Harry’s bearded face and the old wizard slowly rose from his chair to welcome in his friend. “Do come in, Longbottom! I’ve needed some company for awhile now!” he coached the Herbology professor in. Harry stared at him with warmth in his bespectacled, green eyes.
Neville was one of the few friends Harry still had who hadn’t changed much. As Harry looked upon him, he saw the same bumbling friend he knew in school though he had gotten a bit taller, weighed a bit less, and had fewer hairs on his round, balding head.
“It’s great to see you, Harry!” Neville painted, a bit out of breath from all the climbing he had to do to reach Harry’s office, which wasn’t easy to get to, especially if you didn’t know the password. Neville knew it of course, but half the time the flustered wizard forgot it, as he had always done in the early days he had spent trekking about the castle with Harry, Ron, and Hermione as they solved mysteries and brewed trouble. .
Fortunately, Neville had remembered the password and was able to stand in Harry’s mystifying presence once again, this time to hand him an envelope which was posted with many stamps. Harry chuckled as he tore the letter open, knowing whose joke that the stamps had been.
We all love you very much and wish that you can be here for Christmas so please come home this instant and have a bite to eat. It’s all going to get cold.
P.S.: It was Ron’s idea to put on all those stamps. He thought it would be hilarious if you remembered that time Arthur and I sent you that letter with all the stamps on it. Don’t ask me why. Just get your butt down here and ask Ron yourself!”
Harry was roaring with laughter as he finished the letter, which he handed back to Neville to read. Harry’s friend scanned over the letter, his eyes twinkling with amusement as he read.
“You better get down there Harry,” he advised, handing the letter back to Harry, who tossed it on his desk. “It sounds like they’re desperate.”
“Indeed!” Harry laughed. He walked toward the drawer that held Dumbledore’s Pensive and one of his newer broomsticks. He had lost many faithful brooms over the years but, since he had become Headmaster, some grateful students had furnished him with plenty, and he had no trouble choosing one for his late night flight to his friend’s house.
“Got a Firebolt in there?” Neville asked, peering curiously into the drawer as Harry rummaged through it and eventually pulled out a worthy broom for his quest.
“Sure, this is a grand one,” Harry said. Holding the broom out in front of him, he lifted his leg to straddle it across the boom’s wooden surface in order to haul himself across it. Doing this had gotten to be a trifle business as Harry became older but he managed.
“You’re going to Disapparate, aren’t you?” Neville asked.
Harry nodded. Shooting Neville a wink, he vanished, leaving his friend smiling in his wake.
“Oh Harry, you haven’t changed a bit,” Neville chuckled to himself. With a last farewell to Fawkes, who had watched the entire exchange between Neville and Harry with small interest, he strolled out of the office.
The old professor had upcoming classes to prepare for, and he was ready for them.
“Jeez, Mum, you wrote that letter awful fast,” Ron remarked as his mom, finishing up a letter that she had just gotten the wild urge to write, shooed Errol, Ron’s poor confused owl, out the kitchen window.
“Yeah, who was it for?” James asked.
All the kids encircled around Mrs. Weasley, staring unblinkingly at her as she smiled knowingly at them.
“If you’re patient you’ll find out tonight,” she assured them.
So they waited.
If any muggle happened to look up into the sky on that starry, Christmas night, they would have spotted an old, wizened man astride his broomstick, soaring onwards to his friends’ house.
Fortunately, no one on Privet Drive had looked up and witnessed the-boy-who-lived turned man flying to the Burrow. If they had, the Ministry of Magic would have swarmed the place in an instant, wiping the poor muggle of his memory of the sight that they had just witnessed.
Harry wouldn’t have wished that on anybody for he had seen the effects of what a memory loss could to do to a person. In his second year one of the former professors of the Dark Arts class had lost his memory when Ron’s damaged wand had accidentally backfired and bounced off the Professor’s (he’s name had been Lockheart) skull, erasing any knowledge that the man may have had from his mind. He hadn’t even remembered his name, or where he was.
Shaking his head, Harry turned his eyes downward, where they fell upon a
heartbreaking sight: the Dursleys’ house, which had been empty forever since its owners had abandoned it, and Harry felt tears stream down his face as the wind froze them.
Being back in Privet Drive again was summoning back images of Hedwig, Harry’s snowy white owl who had died in the final stand against Voldemort. She, like Harry, had always hated being locked up in that place for she had been a free soul and Harry had always loved her for it.
Squeezing his tear-filled eyes as tight as he could, Harry tilted his broom up farther into the sky, and when he had opened them again he had arrived at the Burrow.
“Oh, Harry, why didn’t you Disapparate? Or use Floo-Powder instead of flying in the rain and getting yourself soaking wet?!” Mrs. Weasley fretted over Harry as she carried the rain-drenched wizard in, and everyone greeted him with open arms.
“Hiya, Harry, did you like my joke?” Ron asked as Harry eased his weary body into an empty chair at the table. He was hungrier then he had thought.
“Yeah, bloody brilliant joke, Ron,” he complimented his friend, who beamed at him as he tore into the food. It didn’t take long before his plate was cleaned and his belly stuffed.
“Great food, Mrs.Weasley,” he said, stifling a burp. Mrs. Weasley smiled at him.
“Good, good, Harry, now get yourself some rest,” she urged, beginning to clean off the table. Her sons went to help her, using their wands to make things easier. “We’ll be going to bed shortly so run along now!”
Not having to be told twice, Harry turned his back from the kitchen and headed up to Ginny’s room, where she was waiting for him.
Not being able to sleep, Hermione flung herself out of bed that night and, careful not to disturb Ron (he was sleeping beside her, snoring loudly), she tiptoed out of the house and stood out in the cool morning air, digging her bare toes into the Weasley’s freshly mowed lawn.
For the longest time she just stood there, lost in deep thoughts about her friends. She cared for them all so much…and was so happy that they could all be here together…but it was Harry who worried her the most. Why she couldn’t fathom but…there was just something about him that stirred deep emotions within her, emotions that she couldn’t even began to describe…
“Hey, what are you doing out here, Hermione? Ron’s mum is going to go through the roof if she finds you out here!”
She turned her head at the sound of the voice, knowing that it would be Harry.
“Having trouble sleeping to?” she asked. Chuckling Harry walked up beside her.
“She kept on kicking the covers off of me,” he laughed, putting a hand on her shoulder. “Does Ron do that to you?”
Hermione shook her head. “No, he just snores very loudly,” she sighed, but a grin had came across her face. “I wouldn’t have wanted it either other way, though.”
“Me neither,” Harry agreed. He gently planted a scratchy kiss on her cheek. His beard tickled her.
“Hey, what are you two doing out here? Plotting against me, are you? Well, I already have three bloody conspirators after me so what the bloody hell?”
Hermione jumped as Ron joined them, looking flustered and angry.
“What’s the matter, Ron? Having trouble babysitting?” Harry wondered. Ron’s face puffed up angrily.
“It’s your bunch!” he said hotly, running his fingers through his crimson hair and glaring at Harry. “You should put a leash on them or something because they just planted a fake bomb in my room. George is denying it but I think he and Charlie put them up to it.”
Harry and Hermione broke into laughter. They could here shouts coming up from the house, which was shaking on its foundations wildly.
“Ha, just like old times, then?” Harry figured. Ron couldn’t help but smile.
“Just like old times, mate,” he agreed, and took Hermione’s hand.
“Just like old times,” she echoed, and clasped Harry’s hand in her own. Together, the three of them stood like that for the longest time, watching the sun rise above the hills behind the Weasley’s house. It was a glorious morning.
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