The Fine Line Between Nervous and Giddy [Flitwick]

Timothy was about to enter his third year of teaching, yet somehow he felt as if he was walking into his first. Timothy had always been an easily excitable sort, but he was sure that by now he would be well and truly in the swing of things. His nerves his first year was natural. His nerves his second year were surprising, but explainable. His nerves this year didn't seem to make much sense. Timothy is the textbook definition of confident in his abilities, and one would be hard pressed to find someone who loved their job as much as him, which made it all the more surprising that he looked at this term with unease. The first days of classes did well to get him comfortable, but he still found himself waking up in the morning with that familiar patter of butterflies in his stomach.

He decided to stop swallowing those butterflies away shortly into the term. Timothy's mother had always encouraged him to reach out to friends whenever he felt he needed them and now seemed to be as good a time as any. Timothy mentally went down the list of professors in the building and made a convincing case for any of them to be appropriate to reach out to. However one made far more sense than any of the others: Professor Flitwick. In his school days, Timothy had grown fond of Flitwick and his class. He excelled in Charms and always greeted the professor with a smile and a good morning. Despite this, he hadn't gotten to interact with Flitwick considerably since becoming a professor.

Certainly they'd seen each other at the feasts, passed each other in the corridors, but they'd not sat down and had a proper catching up. The last time Timothy could remember having a genuine and lengthy conversation with Flitwick was shortly after the war when everyone was doing their part to repair Hogwarts. That'd been some years ago, far too long Timothy reckoned. He wrote a letter to Flitwick requesting to meet at the older wizard's office at 6:30 Friday evening and was happy to hear back that the date had been saved. Timothy spent most of the afternoon going over papers and making corrections to the students work before sneaking a glance at the clock that ticked in the corner of his office.

At 6:15, he collected his things, closed the office door behind him, and took off down the corridors to Flitwick's office. Timothy had been fortunate to not really remember what it looked like on the inside. The only time he could remember being in there was to ask some questions on the homework and even then, it was limited. Timothy smiled to some students as he passed by them, and before he knew it he was standing outside of Flitwick's door. Timothy knocked and waited patiently for an answer.

Filius wasn’t quite looking forward to the first weekend of his -- Merlin’s hat, what was it now? -- forty-first year at Hogwarts. In just seven days he’d welcome his days off, the time he had to go down to the village for a cocktail or a stop in at Honeydukes, but the first Friday of term often invited the dullest two days of any school year. Last year, of course, had been an exception -- as had two years prior, as had three years prior to that, as had two years prior to that -- but Filius was rather hoping that his teaching career would take a healthy turn back to dull. His hair was going white. He imagined that Timothy Winchester felt the same; the younger wizard had (of course) been teaching nowhere near as long, but his first years at the school had been far more exciting than Filius’s.

The nineteen-sixties had been sleepy compared to the decade that had followed; back then, Hogwarts’ scandals had been limited to Dumbledore’s staffing choices. A half-giant as groundskeeper; a part-goblin as Charms Master. What a scandal that had been -- Flitwick remembered reading the editorials, back in the day. What comes next, a centaur in the Astronomy tower?

Filius had put a kettle on in preparation; his fireplace was, at his own request, only large enouh for himself to Floo through, which had precluded any mishaps with boiling water thus far. It had given him some pause, not knowing what sort of tea Winchester would like, but he’d never been wrong yet: Ravenclaws, by and large, steered toward either the minty or the heavily caffeinated.

There came a knock at the door; that was, in all likelihood, the other professor (although Filius was also expecting Jesse Joyce, to whom he’d lent a textbook while the Joyce parents shipped the one Jesse had forgotten at home.) He flicked his wand to open the door. “Ah, Professor Winchester! I was pleased to receive your note.” A little surprised, but pleased. Filius pointed his wand and the seat across from his desk slid out for his companion -- “Make yourself comfortable, I’m making a pot of afternoon tea, if you’ll have any.”

“So what brings you here today?”

The door swung open and Tim was greeted with a comforting sight. One of the most remarkable things about Flitwick was the ease with which he made people feel comfortable and his office was the perfect encapsulation of that. Tim spotted a kettle above the fire in the custom fire place and his mouth practically watered at the sight. In all of his nerves and the business of the start of term, it'd been quite some time since Tim sat down to enjoy some tea. He flashed a smile at the older wizard, that same boyish smile that he'd flashed years prior walking into his first Charms class. Tim walked in, closing the door behind him, and took a seat in a vacant chair in the room.

"Tea sounds lovely. Mint if you've got it. You can take the man out of Ravenclaw, but you can't take the Ravenclaw out of the man." Tim sipped the tea for a moment, searching for his words. What was bringing him here? It's a question that Tim had been pondering over since he returned to the castle after the summer holidays. Tim sighed. "Well sir, that's a question that's been troubling me. I suppose that trouble is why I'm here, but I don't know what exactly that trouble is."

Tim sat his cup down and looked around the room. It seemed to be what he remembered, but then again he hardly was recalling detail. But even that small sense of familiarity provided the relief that his own office hadn't been able to provide. "I returned to the castle two weeks early to prepare my classroom, and from the minute I walked through the doors to the entrance hall, I've not felt myself. Each day, I wake up not particularly excited to head to my classroom, but instead I feel nervous. I don't understand it. Certainly my first year I felt similar, but it faded just days in. Last year, the same only it faded even quicker. But this year, so far it's persisted. It's strange that my first year walking through the halls without my life being in danger is the year that's turning my stomach so."

Tim propped his elbows on his knees and leaned forward, interlocking his hands and focusing his eyes on the fire. "And I worry, sir. I worry that I'm not at my best, and I don't know what to do about it. This can't be the year that my attention slips. After all, I've got many O.W.L. and N.E.W.T. students to attend to."

Aha, mint. Filius got the correct tin out of his desk, summoned the kettle over to make the other professor a cup. “Sugar,” he said, taking his four cubes and pushing the sugar across his desk. “Milk’s in the little cupboard over there, use the one labelled ‘drink me’.” His N.E.W.T.s students had a lesson coming up on charms to unspoil milk.

With Albus’s death and Pomona’s retirement, Filius was having less and less luck denying that he was on the much older side for Hogwarts staff, these days. He rather missed the days that being in his sixties hadn’t made him aboundingly old. It didn’t help, that most of his colleagues still called him sir or professor, though he’d never quite felt right telling his former students they could call him ‘Filius’ (and suspected, of course, that they felt just as odd about it.)

Consequently, he ignored the ‘sir’ and leaned forward, propping his chin on one fist thoughtfully. It was perfectly natural to feel nervous about lessons -- perhaps even more so, for a professor who’d started his career during the turbulent year the dome had enclosed the school. It surprised Filius more to hear that the nervousness had been manageable so far.

“Well, you’ve had a turbulent four years at Hogwarts,” said Filius, finally. “Perhaps the anxiety is only now catching up to you, after last year’s scares? I know I was ill at ease, for much of the year -- but, of course, I’ve worked here for a long while.” Having been a professor since before the first wizarding war, he knew it was unfair to expect the same weariness of a man who’d still been a student when the second war had begun. Instead, Filius had to think back to his own professorial debut, way back in the sixties.

“This won’t reassure you, I know,” he said, finally, “But you’ll never feel you’re at your best. I haven’t in years. There’s no shame in having room to grow. Merlin knows I do.” Filius gave a wry glance upwards, as though to signify the additional three feet of height he’d hoped for as a young man.

He had a sip of his tea. “Don’t fret so much over the examinations, either, you’re a capable professor. If you keep doing as you have, they’ll be just fine.” As Head of House, Filius had a good sense of which professors could reliably get their students through their O.W.L.s -- or at least, which professors could get their Ravenclaws through. He supposed that Ravenclaws weren’t a representative sample. (As an Arithmancer, surely Timothy had some theories about that.) “I doubt your attention will slip -- it might take a little self-discipline, but there’s no reason your teaching should suffer this year. Unless…” he tilted his head. “Is something else on your mind?”

Tim took a cube of sugar and walked over to the little cupboard with the milk in it. He thankfully heard Flitwick's instruction in time...nonetheless, he picked up the other container and took a small sniff, instantly regretting he'd done it. He gently put the spoiled milk down and lightly poured some of the fresh milk into his cup and took gentle sips, listening intently to Flitwick's words. He made a good point. After all, there was nothing, as of yet, about this year that was raising any sort of alarms. He had indeed had time to think about everything that'd happened over the years he'd taught so far.

The dome, The Gauntlet, the boats, the ghosts...it'd been fast and furious from the moment he'd taken the position. It felt almost strange to not have to look over his shoulder in the corridors, strange that he didn't have to bolt his office door tightly to ensure nothing bursted in and took him by surprise. He knew that the other professors and the students were relived to be living life that way, and mostly Tim was as well. But he had to admit, he could use a distraction.

Tim nodded in agreement with Flitwick assessed that one would never feel at their best in this position. "You know it's funny, i used to think that the Hogwarts professors were the most confident people in the world. Professor Snape always walked with his chest puffed and assured, Professor McGonagall practically owned the castle, you seemed to be able to perform complex magic without having to think one bit about it. It used to frustrate me how much you all seemed to just have it all figured out. Only now on the other side do I recognize that what Professors are truly gifted at is giving off an air of confidence even if our heart is threatening to beat out of our chests."

The heart. A curious thing. Something that'd gotten Tim into a fair amount of trouble of the years. He hadn't really made a connection between his current state and that curious little heart of his until Flitwick had asked if something else was on his mind. "Well...now that you ask, it seems rather obvious."

Timothy took a big sip of his tea before sighing to himself. You really are mere steps away from certified basket case, Tim. "I don't really know if you remember what I was up to in my seventh year, sir. It was a rather...hectic time for everyone what with Voldemort's official return, Dumbledore's...you know. But if you do remember, you'll a remember a man. Another student, a Hiufflepuff named Reginald. You may we were...quite close. More than close. Well, after we graduated I spent a bit of time in Muggle London to relax, but returned within a couple of weeks, hearing how quickly the war had escalated. I moved in with Reginald, and truth we would've married had there a war to fight. To make a long and dramatic short, I was enlightened to the fact that while I'd pledged my allegiance to Harry Potter, Reg had pledged his to Voldemort. He'd been rather influenced by some his Slytherin friends and I'd just never noticed. One thing led to another and we ended up on opposite ends of a battle field and I was forced to take his life in that battle."

Tim stopped for a moment to think back to that evening, but quickly moved forward from it, not keen on reliving the memory once again. "The relevance is I hadn't given myself the chance to meet somebody else. Until recently, that is. And it's complicated to put it lightly. I know that a professor is meant to leave their own life outside the school, not take any of it with them. But I suppose I never have really confronted what lingers behind from Reg in my mind. And I can't deny the fact being here reminds me significantly of him. And with this new person coming along and catching my eye I guess...there's bit of guilt. Even knowing what I know about Reg."

You seemed to be able to perform complex magic without having to think one bit about it -- this had always struck Filius as high praise, that he made magic look easy. To most Hogwarts students -- particularly the younger ones, the ones who came into his classroom never having used a wand before -- it was an enviable thing.

The perpetually twenty-five year old part of Filius’s conscious (the same one that perked up whenever duelling championships came up, and the same one that had told his first class of first years that he was so short because his father had been hexed in a compromising spot) wanted to protest this: he was able to perform complex magic without having to think one bit about it, and didn’t just seem to -- but Filius rather thought that saying so wouldn’t make Timothy feel any better about the point he was trying to make.

Besides -- he wasn’t wrong. Filius knew what it was to look upon a class and feel nothing but fear -- though, doubtless, for a different reason than Timothy had. (Timothy, he had to remind himself sometimes, had not been at Hogwarts while Death Eaters ran the Ministry. In fact -- most of the school hadn’t, these days; Filius, his oldest colleagues and friends, and the seventh years were the only ones remaining.)

“Of course we’re good at feigning confidence,” he said, giving his companion an amused look over his teacup, “But don’t think too lowly of yourself, Timothy, a lot of us professors are really quite competent too.”

It seemed that Timothy had rather a lot on his mind -- Filius set his teacup down carefully, bushy eyebrows drawing ever closer together with concentration. He thought he remembered Timothy and Reginald -- though only vaguely, as over forty years of teaching had given him a rather short memory for names. Certainly, the rest of the sad tale was news to Filius. He wasn’t sure how he felt about it all -- it didn’t reflect well on Timothy’s observation skills, that his partner’s darker leanings had gone unnoticed for so long.

People could fool you, though; Filius thought back to how sickened, how betrayed he’d felt to discover Severus Snape had killed Dumbledore. How betrayed he’d felt to discover, at the Battle of Hogwarts, where Severus’s true loyalties had lain all along.

This didn’t seem to be the point of Timothy’s story, though; the point seemed to be that there was now someone else. Filius was a bachelor at almost seventy years old -- he felt woefully unprepared for this, so he took another shallow sip of tea. He would have to feign some confidence here; at least they’d already established he was an expert in that field. “It’s been five years,” Filius said sagely, “You’ve given yourself plenty of time to mourn and move on -- it’s only natural if that’s happened.”

Tim felt rather embarrassed with himself that he'd just spit out all of the things that had run through his mind. It seemed to spill out quicker than he could stop it. Timothy felt that embarrassment raise up inside of him, felt his face grow warm with the unmistakable blush of embarrassment. He sipped on his tea once more, trying desperately to look everywhere but at Flitwick directly. He almost half expected Flitwick to laugh at the conclusion of his story. How foolish me must have sounded.

When Flitwick didn't laugh at him though, Tim felt a pang of gratefulness in his chest. No, Flitwick didn't laugh...but Tim let a laugh out at his own expense. Shaking his head he said "I must sound like a bloody twelve year old...getting myself turned in such a knot over a little romance." Tim leaned back in his chair. "You're right, though. It has been awhile. I really ought to have moved on from it, left my past my past. And you know I should really be more upset at the fact that I was so blindly head over heels that I wasn't paying attention to the in hindsight obvious hints about him than I should about what ultimately happened. But I suppose that it's true what they say...we don't want to see the bad in those we care for."

Tim could feel the embarrassment rising in himself again. He stood this time to try and chase it off. He walked over the window opposite him and looked out over the grounds. Hogwarts really was a remarkably beautiful place when it wasn't trying to kill you. And here, in the late summer light, it looked particularly spectacular. Tim silently lamented that, on a day so beautiful, he wasn't able to enjoy it.

"I don't often think about him when I'm at home. Hogwarts brings it back to my mind. I suppose though that these grounds bring a lot of things back to people's minds that they'd like to forget." Tim shook his head and turned back to Flitwick. "We witnessed terrible things back then. Terrible things on these grounds. You must think me a fool for choosing a man to dwell on rather than those far more important things. Especially when people like you and Professor McGonagall get on alright having been through it all."

Filius was almost taken aback by Timothy’s laugh -- he realised belatedly that Timothy must feel uncomfortable, ashamed even, with the subject. A little romance... “You do yourself a disservice,” Filius observed, “It sounds like it was no small matter. And -- to be frank -- you do your students a disservice, too, I’ve never known the first or second years to be particularly prone to romantics.” Dramatics, perhaps -- but those were different.

Timothy echoed back Filius’s own thoughts on Reginald’s true leanings; Filius’s mind turned back to Severus Snape, who’d been a double-crosser of the highest degree. With a little sigh, he rubbed one small hand over his face, fingers lingering on his chin. “I suppose so,” he agreed. “They say love is blind.” He had been slow to trust Severus at first; that had made the realisation all the more devastating.

(Almost five and a half years ago Minerva and Pomona had talked Filius down from marching up to the headmaster’s office and confronting Snape, after one of his seventh years had been brutalised; he wondered, often, what would have happened if he had gone anyway.)

Across his desk, Timothy stood, pacing to the window to look out. Filius leaned back in his chair, regarding his companion silhouetted by the sunny afternoon.

Filius almost laughed -- indeed, Hogwarts brought him a lot of unkind memories. He’d been having one just two minutes ago; he remembered again that Timothy had only returned to Hogwarts for the Battle of Hogwarts, had missed the events of the year leading up to it. “Dreadful things,” he agreed -- his mind was straying, again, to the horror he’d felt visiting Michael Corner in the hospital wing, to the dread that had sunk in his stomach when he’d heard that Luna Lovegood had been kidnapped from the train. (It was because they were Ravenclaws; even that year he’d felt a sense of stronger responsibility for his own house. He’d long stopped feeling guilty about it -- who else, that year, had had Ravenclaws at the front of their mind? The war, by and large, had been dominated by Gryffindors.)

“Perhaps,” said Filius, cracking a smile, “We just appear to, like you said earlier.” He followed Timothy’s gaze out to the grounds and softened a little. “I can’t judge you for having a life broader than Hogwarts -- it’s enough for me, but I know not many would be content living the way I do.”

Tim smiled at Flitwick's successful bid to wash away the embarrassment that had risen up. It was a talent of the experienced professor to be able to calm and relax anyone with a troubled mind. Tim remembered his words of comfort through so many terrible things in his school days: the Chamber of Secrets, the death of Cedric Digory, the return of Voldemort, the death of Dumbledore. "Love is blind indeed. And that fact can get us all into trouble. But I guess it's that fact that also makes it such a beautiful thing as well."

Flitwick's echoing of the sentiments about the castle reminded Tim of the things that he'd seen when he came to fight. It was obvious just by looking that something terrible had been happening at the school before the trio arrived. But funnily enough, when Tim was fighting, he could only look back on the wonderful moments that school had provided him. The nights spent laughing in the common room, the Yule Ball, the Weasley twins giving the most memorable O.W.L. exam in the school's history. Yes, despite all of the awful, horrible things that had happened within the walls of the castle, there was more light to drown out the darkness.

"Well, I can see why this place has become your life. It certainly has an allure to it. Why, when the building is one piece and the things inside of it aren't threatening your life, it's wonderful. It's given me some bad things to reflect upon, but it's given me a great deal of good. Education, friends, a job. I can't really fault this place for the things that live on inside my head. It's a wonderful place", Tim smiled at Flitwick "full of wonderful people."

Tim looked at the tea kettle for a moment but thought better of another cup. After all, he'd like to sleep that night. "It was a wonderful idea to come to you. I think that I may wake up tomorrow feeling less flustered than I did today. And the day after, less flustered than tomorrow. I'm sure it'll be awhile, but maybe this new opportunity for companionship is far more a blessing than it is a curse. I should've gathered that on my own, but I guess that to some extent, we all could use a little teaching still." He smiled at his old professor.

“Indeed,” said Filius, a touch wistfully. He’d never been in love, in the sense that he knew Timothy meant -- he’d been at peace with it for almost seventy years, but he couldn’t fight the moments of loneliness.

He was jarred a little bit, from bittersweet reminiscing. (There was, he’d decided in the last five years, a little bit of lightness threaded through even the worst memories of Hogwarts, a glint of hope that hadn’t died even when they’d all thought little Ginny Weasley dead in the Chamber of Secrets, when they’d all seen Cedric Diggory dead on the Quidditch pitch, when they’d watched students tortured for sport. These days it was unbearable not to focus on it.) “It’s odd,” he said, smiling wryly under his bushy moustache. “As a student I never much cared for this place -- but, of course, forty years on, it’s wearing me down.”

Education, friends, a job -- Filius nearly remarked that it’d given that to about ninety per-cent of magical Britain, in a sense. Sometimes he was a little overwhelmed by the magnitude of his job -- reminders of it rose up out of nowhere, that his job was about more than explaining magic and assigning homework. Charmwork was, as he said in his syllabus, the bedrock of all magic.

He smiled back at his colleague. “It is,” he said. He had made all his best friends at Hogwarts, after all -- though, unusually, not until he’d graduated.

“I’m glad I could help,” he said sincerely, standing up in his chair (technically, on the little staircase next to it, so he could still see over his desk.) “I suppose pretending to know what I’m talking about has helped at least one Ravenclaw today, eh?” He chuckled -- “Come by for tea more often, if you like. I’ve always got some in the tin.”