Princeps by Lomonaaeren

Chapter 5

"I've been wanting to meet you, Professor Salvare. Fleamont Potter."

Steadying himself against the dizzying knowledge that this would have been his own grandfather—or is, or will be—Harry smiles politely and holds out his hand. James gave him about five minutes' warning that he was bringing his father to Harry's quarters. Harry will just have to live with the consequences.

Fleamont Potter is taller than Harry thought he would be, for some reason, with untamed grey hair and bright brown eyes that his silver glasses seem to highlight. He turns his head like a curious owl to look around Harry's sitting room.

"Don't remember seeing the private quarters of a Hogwarts professor when I was a student here," Fleamont observes in a reminiscent voice. "Must say that you don't seem to favor any particular House in your decoration."

Harry shrugs a little. He kept the neutral colors of brown and white that were there when he moved in, and while the sitting room isn't as clean as it would be if he knew he was having guests over, he doesn't need to blush for it, either. The several chairs aren't dusty, and the mantel is clean, and the fire is bright and warm.

"I don't think favoring any House in a good idea," Harry says. "I've tried to make common cause with students from all Houses, although it's true that most of the ones I've sworn oaths to are Slytherins and Gryffindors."

"What an odd combination, eh?" Fleamont chuckles as he takes the chair in front of the fire. Harry looks around for James, but he's already left. Harry frowns a little. So it seems they're to be in private for this meeting. "Never heard that anyone could get them to cooperate as well as you did, either."

Harry smiles, shrugs again, and takes the chair that stands across from Fleamont. His head gives a throb, and he conceals a sigh. Healer Hawken warned him that staring too long at one particular thing, like the essays he was marking, would stir up his magical concussion. But some staring is necessary if Harry wants to get the bloody essays done. "I think other professors got caught up in the House rivalry themselves, based on the Houses they were in when they were students, or the Houses they were rivals with."

"Also heard that you destroyed the curse on the Defense position last year."

Harry blinks a little, disconcerted by the jump in topic, but it's an innocuous one enough. "Yes. It was on the banister in the main staircase. Clever. Few people would have looked for it there, and it was free to influence the Defense professors in any number of ways as they walked past it."

"Huh." Fleamont strokes the small grey beard that hangs only halfway down his neck. "Why do you think no one else ever spotted it before?"

Harry shrugs. "From what I can tell, sir—sorry, what's wrong?"

Fleamont pulls his hand back from a huge gesture through the air as though to brush away an annoying fly. "As if I would accept such a title from my son's lord."

Harry feels his eyebrow twitch, but he nods. "From what I can tell, Mr. Potter, half my predecessors didn't even think there was a curse. Or they didn't plan to stay more than a year in any case, or they had other goals than finding and locating the curse. Sometimes just trying to survive was enough."

Fleamont gives a hard, dry chuckle. "Yes, I remember some of the Defense professors before this, and especially the ones James had his first four years. You're right about that. Now. Why did you accept the oaths of your first followers?"

The questions seem random. Maybe Fleamont is just trying to get a better picture of the man that James has sworn himself to, though. Merlin knows Harry would want to do the same, if he had children.