Winter drags on [Timothy]

There were some days he just couldn’t do without Honeyduke’s fudge.

Breaking off a piece of the chocolatey sweet and sucking on it, Dean wandered up the high street. It was odd to see Hogsmeade the way it usually was, without students thronging the streets. For years he’d never come here unless directed by school. Now, just occasionally to indulge his sweet tooth. Most of the wizarding items he required, which weren’t a whole lot these days, could be bought in Diagon Alley. But there was no Honeydukes in London. Often it was only when he got to wanting that superlative chocolate that he remembered he could apparate wherever he pleased. (Still couldn’t drive, though, to his parents’ chagrin.)

He passed all the places he used to visit when he was young, looking in windows. At the Three Broomsticks he lingered. There was a chill in the air and he figured he could do with something to warm him up. As long as he was here. The old revolutionary in him thought he ought to visit the Hog’s Head instead, but, political symbol though it was, truthfully he’d always preferred a cozier atmosphere.

Claiming a table to himself and draping his coat over the back of the chair, he set aside his box of fudge and ordered a butterbeer.

@Timothy Darien Winchester

Timothy walked into the cozy dwelling speaking to a squat, old wizard. "I'm telling you Chrisley, teaching at Hogwarts is a dream. I don't know why you never did it. Didn't want the portraits to be younger than you?" Timothy and the older wizard laughed. "I'll see you Chrisley." Timothy waved goodbye as the older wizard left. Timothy nodded to the bar. "Could I by chance get a hot chocolate with some marshmallows?" The tender smiles and nods. Obviously, Timothy was here often, always friendly with passersby.

Timothy sat at a table across from a handsome young wizard munching intently on some fudge. Timothy nodded his head at the other wizard and sat down. Then Timothy stopped and looked at the wizard again. "Excuse me. I hope I'm not intruding but...you're Dean Thomas aren't you? I'm sorry, I'm sure you get this often...your somewhat celebrity status. I don't know if you remember but, I fought alongside you all those years ago. Never imagined I'd see a member of Dumbledore's Army around here." Timothy spoke softly to not alert anyone. The last thing he wanted was a media circus around him and the young wizard.

It took all Dean had not to laugh. He’d probably gone to school with this man, sure, he’d buy that he recognized him from that, but celebrity status? “Have I really got one of those?” he asked, eyebrows raised in amusement. There had been loads of other DA members, he was hardly the most recognizable. He wondered how many other wizards had recognized him by sight over the years, and just never said anything.

“Oh,” he said as the man went on, feeling stupid. He didn’t remember. So many people had fought in the Battle of Hogwarts, but still he thought he ought to remember them all. “What’s your name?” Dean asked. Maybe that would ring a bell.

“By all means,” he said, gesturing across the table, “sit.”

Timothy moved to Dean's table. "Oh, yes you have one. Your name is in the updated History of Magic textbook. Yeah, there were loads of DA members, but the ones close to Harry get special attention in the eyes of the world. I recognize you because of the situation we found ourselves in. The staircase up to Gryffindor common room. That horde of Death Eaters trying to make their way down to the entrance hall."

Timothy raised his sleeve and revealed a long scar. "I'm that man that got a troll club spike in the forearm but his adrenaline was too up to notice the pain." Timothy smiled and extended his hand to Dean. "Timothy Winchester. Ravenclaw in my school days. Veteran of both wizard wars. Currently Arithmancy professor at Hogwarts. Minevra has told me much about you and your friends."

“Really,” marveled Dean. He may well have been sitting with the only wizard in England to have actually read a History of Magic textbook, but he still felt unexpectedly special. And to think, he’d just happened to be sorted into the same house as Harry Potter, and that had gotten him put down in history.

He’d have to get his hands on a copy, show Seamus. For sure he’d get a kick out of this.

“Oh, yeah,” Dean said again, softly. He remembered that. As Timothy brought out his troll scar he winced, recalling all the blood. “Arithmancy, really?” he said, distracting himself. He hadn’t taken the subject in his school years—none of his friends had, which was his main thought when finalizing his schedule at thirteen. It was just as well, probably. His grades suffered as he got older, and a subject full of charts and busywork would have been the first to fall by the wayside.

He sipped his warm butterbeer. Timothy looked quite young to be a professor. Surely his class was rather more popular than Vector’s had been.

"Yes, yes. That was an interesting time indeed. Yes, Minevra was so incredibly fond of all of you. When I was in school, I got little attention from professors. Never noticed me. I was never something special, never stuck out. That is until the first war. I got my fair share of attention, including the second war. The first war came all so sudden. I contacted Dumbledore and he encouraged me to come to Hogwarts. So I did. I was met by James Potter, and drafted into the war."

Timothy felt a tad bit of pain in speaking about the first war. "The second war was awful. Truly, it was. But that first one. I was 20. I knew nothing of the atrocities capable of man. My first true battle was on February 19, 1980. The Battle of Smithson Hollow. A band of nearly 800 Death Eaters took the muggles of Smithson Hollow hostage. Myself and a team of 19 other wizards intervened. We fought for eleven hours. It ended with 6 of us left, and 19 of them. I saw so much death and destruction that first time around."

Timothy caught himself. "Pardon me, I'm sure you don't care to here about a conflict that took place before you were even a thought. I apologize."

“Was she really?” Dean recalled being reprimanded more than complimented by Professor McGonagall in his time. But perhaps that was just her way.

He listened, somberly staring into his butterbeer. “I—I get it, sort of,” he said. He didn’t want to be so presumptuous to say he related to this horrible time in the other man’s life, not when he’d been in just a couple battles and been in hiding for most of his war. But he’d been seventeen, eighteen. He hadn’t known anything about anything, hadn’t even finished school. If he hadn’t hooked up with the older wizards when he did, he’d surely never have made it.

“No,” he said, “er, that’s okay.” He hadn’t expected his trip to the Three Broomsticks to become a particularly dark history lesson. But he didn’t want to stop Timothy from getting out what was on his mind.

Timothy sipped his drink. He thought quietly to himself for a moment. He felt stupid, speaking like this. After all, he was nothing more than an Arithmancy professor. No hero, at least in his eyes. "Allow me to buy you something. For your time. Could I have some pumpkin bread and muffins please?" Timothy called to the barmen. It really was the least that Timothy could do. Here he was, talking Dean's ear off about useless things.

Timothy sipped the last bit of his hot chocolate. He looked to the young man sitting across from him. "So, what have you been up to since your 7th year? I hear that great opportunities flooded to that group of Hogwarts alums."

“Oh, no—“ Dean started to say, but Timothy had already called for muffins. Resigned, he shut his mouth and sighed.

He smiled a little. “I—I suppose so.” It seemed like everyone had done great things, aurors and lawyers and what have you. “Not me, really,” he said. “I never did any of that. Went to muggle school, for art.” He focused on his hands around his bottle, awkwardly. “These days I do tattoos on Diagon Alley. Well, I’m learning.” He didn’t like to oversell himself, build expectations, invite questions. He was more of a listener than a talker.

As he looked up at the man again, Dean realized who Timothy reminded him of. Professor Lupin. That dignified, yet warm man that he’d looked up to so much, liked so much. He smiled. The world could use more professors of that sort.

"Muggle art school. Wonderful. I spent much time in the Muggle world in my formative years after school. I loved it, I still love it. It's beautiful." Timothy smiled. He loved Muggles and their cultures and their people. He found solace in hard times in the Muggle world. It was a special place, with very special values. Timothy reached into his breast pocket and pulled out a still photograph of a Muggle family.

"I met these wonderful people at a small cafe in London. The man's father once upon a time worked sanitation at the Ministry of Magic. He was a squib. This family is a muggle family, with squib ancestry and full knowledge of the wizard world. They are incredible people, really helped me through a time in life where I wasn't sure what I needed or wanted. It was them who persuaded me to talk to Minerva about getting a job as at Hogwarts. Thankfully, they were in need of an Arithmancy professor and I fit the bill."

“Well, I’m not sure I’d call it beautiful,” said Dean, thinking of the dirt and discrimination and devastation, “but it’s home, I guess.” This was no time to start his waffling about identity, though he felt it coming on, the way he did whenever it was mentioned how separate Earth’s worlds were. He was more of a muggle at heart, wizard by obligation. Just happened to be magical. When he was young he felt special, chosen. But the feeling had faded. Now it was just another thing he was.

To his surprise, Timothy produced a muggle photograph. “Oh,” said Dean, “I’m glad you found someone to help.” He was glad Timothy had found his path. That wasn’t easy, and he still wasn’t sure he’d found his own.

The food Timothy had ordered had arrived. Timothy handed a few gallions over for the food and a few extra for a tip. He pushed the plate over to Dean before taking one for himself. Timothy ate it slowly and really savored it. He picked up the photograph and looked at it for a moment before replacing the photo back into his breast pocket.

"When was the last time you were on Hogwarts grounds? I am sure there are people there that would love to see you." Timothy smiled. It wasn't every day that someone so linked to Hogwarts in such a strong way walked the halls. It had been a good amount of time since the so called "Golden Years" of Hogwarts alumni had been present in the building. Surely, it was time for a change of scenery.

Dean tentatively took a muffin. He still felt like he was imposing, wasn’t sure what this man found so fascinating about him. But he didn’t want to be rude. His mother had always said never to brush off compliments. It was like saying you knew better, which you shouldn’t do, even if you thought you did.

“Oh, I haven’t been back,” he said once he had chewed and swallowed. Not since he left. Hogwarts just wasn’t his life anymore. Perhaps that was why he was so bemused by Timothy. He kept talking about old things. Fond things, but old things. “You think?” he asked. He’d never made that many younger friends or gotten particularly close with most of his professors. But maybe he was more well-liked than he thought.

Honestly, though, he was glad to have moved on from Hogwarts. He was glad to be free of that time in his life, glad to have power over things. It was sometimes overwhelming, to be an adult, but sometimes it felt good, too.

"I think." Timothy smiled. He ate his own muffin and smiled. "Things are very different there than they were when you left. I would stand to say that it is almost an entirely different world there now. Even the portraits seem to exist in an entirely different plane of existence. It feels strange. It feels...wrong. Off. There is missing joy in the hallways. Strange, indeed. Hopefully, things will change soon."

It was true. Hogwarts had become an entirely different place. It was bizarre. Unfamiliar.

Timothy was smiling as he said it but his words were ominous, a little dark. Dean’s brows came together. To hear that made something in his gut twist.

“I don’t know if I’d say Hogwarts was really joyful when I was there,” he said. It had been sometimes, of course, he’d had plenty of happy moments within those walls. But there had always been a dark shadow over everything, no matter how much they’d ignored it. From what he’d heard, it hadn’t gone away even after the war. Hogwarts was a magnet for trouble and pain. “I hope things get better,” he said softly. He wanted that school to be the place that was promised him. For all the kids going in.

His fudge was gone, his butterbeer and muffin were gone, and he’d spent more time than he expected here. “I should really get going,” he said, reaching around for his coat. “I wasn’t expecting… Really nice to meet you.” He extended a hand to Timothy again. “Honest. I bet your kids love you—the kids you teach, I mean…” He smiled and shook his head. “Thanks for the food.”