A couple of hours later she stood in McGonagall’s office hearing the account of how her grandfather was killed. Of course, it brought tears to her eyes, but none of these people had known that Dumbledore was dying. “What did the Board of Governors decide about the school?” someone had asked.
The events which led to Dumbledore’s death—-a battle in which Death Eaters had been let into the school by a Slytherin student, one Draco Malfoy, who was now believed to be a Death Eater, had taken place in the school. He had originally been ordered to kill Dumbledore, but had been unable to do so, so it had fallen to Snape.
Many, if not all, parents were scared. The Death Eaters were the most devoted followers of the most evil wizard alive (most people were scared to even say his name), Voldemort.
“We must find a couple of new teachers and then see how many parents are willing to send their children back here in the fall.”
Professor Slughorn, a fat old man and the latest DADA and Potions teacher, not to mention the former head of Slytherin House, spoke up. “I have decided to stay on for another year.”
McGonagall smiled and nodded. “Thank you, Horace; that just leaves Transfiguration, as I will be taking over as headmistress, and most needed, Defense Against the Dark Arts.” She turned toward Remus and smiled. “The governors decided at this time that they would like you to return to Hogwarts.
We will, if you agree, make a point of highlighting the years you attended Hogwarts and taught there with no problems.”
Remus looked shocked but pleased to be asked back. “Of course, if Professor Slughorn will agree to brew the wolfsbane potion for me.”
Slughorn nodded.
“Well, that’s set.” She then looked at Christine. “I assume you will be working with the Order?”
“Yes.”
“Would you be interested in teaching Transfiguration?”
Christine was shocked. “I’ve not touched my wand in …” She thought for a moment. “ … almost sixteen years.”
“Christine, it’s something you never really forget. You’ll have all summer to brush up; besides, you were one of my best students.”
Christine knew she would not be returning to her Muggle life for quite a long time. This wasn’t something that could be done in a week. “Sure. I can do it.”
A few days later she stood outside of Harry’s home for the past sixteen years. It was the picture-perfect home, exactly like all the others on this block. She walked up to the two-storey home and rang the bell. When the door opened Christine was greeted with a face she hadn’t seen in twenty years. Harry’s Aunt Petunia, the woman who hated anything from the wizard world, which probably includes Harry, Christine thought.
“Petunia, hello. It’s been a long time.”
Petunia took a moment to realize who Christine was. “Christine? Is that you? What are you doing here?”
“Yes, it’s me, and I’m here to see my godson.”
“He and his friends should be back soon.” She looked Christine up and down, deciding that she looked normal enough. “Would you like to come in and wait?”
“Please.” As she entered the house, Christine saw far too many pictures of whom must have been Harry’s cousin. Harry’s upbringing must have been exactly as she feared.
“He brought some of your kind home without even asking.”
“Well, in a few days Harry and all of us will be out of your lives forever.”
A look of realization, then sadness, came across Petunia’s face. “Only a few days until he leaves.”
“Yes.” Christine paused. “Does that, maybe, bother you?”
“He is all I have left of my family. I mean, I have my husband and son, but-—”
“Harry’s your only connection to your roots.” The other woman nodded. “Then maybe you should have treated him better,” Christine returned with a touch of bitterness and anger.
Christine had heard how Harry had been treated and was definitely not pleased. He was only given a real bedroom at the age of eleven; before that he slept in a cupboard under the stairs.
Someone had come in the front door; they heard voices. “Harry, you have another guest,” Petunia called. Harry, Ron and Hermione walked into the living room.
“Hello, Harry,” Christine warmly smiled.
“Hello, Christine.” He returned the smile.
“Mrs. Dursley, can I give you a hand with supper? Ron, you said you had to write your mother.”
“No, I don’t,” he started.
“Yes, you did.” Hermione’s voice said more ‘get upstairs’ than what the words actually said. Ron caught on at this point and the three, Ron, Hermione and Petunia left the room.
“Harry, there’s a lot I want to know about you.”
Harry flopped down in the chair across from Christine while he had the chance. “What do you want to know?”
“Everything.”
He looked very stressed at this.
“Your favorite color, your first word, your most hated food, all the little things that make you, you.” Now he seemed pleased, which eased Christine’s mind considerably.
“What is … most people want to know about … well, how you’re ‘The Boy Who Lived.’ I could care less. No, that’s wrong. I wish you weren’t; I wish you were the boy who grew up in a perfectly normal family, whose biggest worry was what’s for supper.” With every moment that passed, he seemed to become more comfortable with her.
“Can I ask you some questions?” he asked then.
“Of course. I’m an open book,” Christine assured him.
“If Professor Dumbledore is-—was-—your grandfather, why do you have an American accent?”
“My father was Canadian, and I was raised in Canada.”
“How did you and my mum meet?”
“We met on the train to Hogwarts, first year. I remember being scared as I boarded the train but soon found Lily, who was even more scared, being from a Muggle family. We became fast friends and stayed that way until she was killed.”
“Hagrid gave me some pictures of Mum and Dad, but you aren’t in any of them. Why?”
“I was almost always the one taking the photos, but I do have this one.” She reached into her bag and pulled out a photo, looked at it for a second, then handed it to Harry. It showed Lily, James (Harry’s father), baby Harry, Sirius and herself. “It was taken the day you were born.”
Harry looked hard at it for a minute, then looked back at her. “If you thought Sirius was guilty, why did you keep this photo?”
“Because it’s the only one of you all that I had that doesn’t move.” In wizard pictures, the people moved. “I have been living as a Muggle for most of your life.”
Christine was pleased that Harry seemed to accept her answer. At almost seventeen years of age, Harry seemed very wise at times, but in other ways was very innocent. “You say you were living as a Muggle. Did you find it hard?”
“Not really. My father was a Muggle, so I was pretty used to it.”
“Oh – well — what do you do in the Muggle world?”
Christine smiled. “I’m a doctor in Star Fleet.”
Harry’s eyes grew wide, like a young child at Christmas. “I thought about going into Star Fleet before I found out about being a wizard.”
Harry and Christine talked for a couple of hours. She found out many things about him and the things he had been through. She also heard the details of when they would return to Ron’s family home as Ron’s oldest brother was due to be married in a couple of weeks. She also got the feeling that Harry did not plan on returning to Hogwarts in the fall, which concerned her greatly.
However, she would wait until he told her himself. She did plan on letting Remus know as soon as possible; Harry did have a reasonably good relationship with him. She finally decided to stay at Hogwarts, since there was little point in finding somewhere else or traveling back and forth from San Francisco.