The staffroom at Hogwarts hadn't changed much — same grand fireplace, same mismatched armchairs, same faint smell of tea and spell parchment. The faces, however, were all new. Well… mostly. Dumbledore was still here, though a little greyer, a little more wrinkled, and far more used to being in charge.
He had gathered the staff to welcome me, "the returning legend from Hogwarts' forgotten past." His words, not mine.
The introductions went well enough. Professor McGonagall — sharp, dignified, and far too perceptive for my liking — greeted me with the kind of polite curiosity reserved for mythical creatures that had just walked in from a fairy tale. Flitwick was delightfully enthusiastic, Hagrid nearly crushed me in a hug after hearing "I used to know the first Dumbledore," and Sprout immediately started rambling about her latest batch of venomous tentacula.
Then there was him.
Professor Severus Snape.
Tall, pale, and glowering at me from across the room like I'd just kicked his favorite cauldron. His dark eyes locked onto mine with such icy disdain that even a basilisk might've second-guessed approaching.
"Ah, Professor Snape," Dumbledore said in that maddeningly serene tone. "Our Potions Master. And this," he gestured toward me, "is Professor Luna Potter, the new Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher."
I smiled politely. "Pleasure to meet you, Professor Snape."
His lips twitched — almost a sneer. "Likewise," he said in a voice smoother than silk and twice as poisonous.
I took a sip of tea and, against my better judgment, brushed my mind gently against his surface thoughts. Just a peek.
—should have been my position… She just appears out of nowhere, Dumbledore gives her the post… Potter of all names—
I pulled back immediately, suppressing a smirk. Jealous, are we?
Right. I really needed to stop doing that. Legilimency had become second nature over the years, and it was far too easy to fall back into the habit. I made a mental note to stop before I accidentally started finishing people's sentences for them.
Still, the rest of the meeting went well. The staff seemed genuinely welcoming, intrigued by my "return" from history. Most had already heard rumors of my frozen century beneath the castle — Dumbledore, of course, had been very careful not to share the full story.
We chatted, exchanged teaching ideas, and even shared a few laughs. McGonagall seemed cautiously approving of my enthusiasm for modernising dueling techniques; Flitwick looked delighted at my idea of integrating charms into defensive combat lessons.
Snape, on the other hand, spent most of the meeting looking like he was trying to hex my teacup with his eyes.
When it finally ended, I leaned back in my chair and thought, So this is my new life now. Teacher. Lord Potter. Frozen time-traveller. Occasional mind-reader. Perfectly normal.
I smiled to myself as I left the staffroom.
Well… almost normal.