The week leading up to the students leaving for the Christmas break was a cold week to say the very least. Scotland, even being warmed by the Atlantic, was still cold and it snowed here and there. Not so much one day, but plenty a day or two later. And stone castles weren't conducive to keeping heat in as much as they were to absorbing the cold from outside. This meant that students bundled up everywhere they went. The castle was a nice place to visit, Harry knew, but he certainly didn't want to live there. Not anymore. Not since he got his own family back. Er… however it is he came here that is.
Monday morning of the final week of classes started off like it normally did. He woke, got cleaned up, waited for his friends and they all made their way to the Hufflepuff table. Hermione and a few of his other girl friends from other houses joined them when they showed up. Edward had made friends with other boys his own age, but didn't mind sitting with all the girls around Harry in the morning since he was around the boys (and their penchant for fart jokes) in the afternoon and evening.
"At least this way I don't have to smell any funny business," Edward had told him when Harry asked if he was okay being around all the girls.
As breakfast progressed, morning mail kicked into gear and wings were soon pounding over everyone's heads as the avians dropped parcels and letters to the recipients. Harry noticed Lost make an appearance, drop its letter on Harry's breakfast (like it normally did - ruddy bird), and then go chase another owl out of the Great Hall (bloody randy bird).
After wiping flecks of food off the envelope, the first thing Harry noticed as that his name was not in his mother's handwriting. It was in his dad's. He hoped nothing was wrong: his father hadn't written him a letter all term - he'd added bits to his mother's letters, but they were all started and completed by his mother.
I wonder what he wants me to bring home from the kitchens now? Harry thought.
He opened the letter.
Dear son,
I'm sure this letter is coming as a shock to you. Here it is the end of your first term and your father is finally writing, right? Well, all I can say is that I'm following tradition. Your grandfather did the same to me and his father to him as well. It's not as if writing letters seemed unmanly, but more to the point, what was left for us men to cover that our wives hadn't already put to paper over the past few months. Not that it's an excuse, but it is tradition to tell our children how proud we are of them for doing well in school and that we'll see them soon. And I thought to do it in a letter vs. a howler since your mother beat me to that option. After all, no one likes a copycat.
And let me tell you, I am very proud that my son is an apprentice. I know, I know, your mother already gushed on and on in previous letters about how proud we are. But I wanted you to know that I am very proud of this fact. There hasn't been an apprentice in the Potter family for a couple generations, and that was for a financial apprenticeship with the goblins back in the late 1700's. And here it is you've managed to become a teaching apprentice - especially impressive considering it is at such a young age.
And while that is impressive and all, that is not what I wanted to spend this letter gushing on and on about. Yes, your mother has already inflated your ego enough, but I wanted to let you know that as your father and sire, nay, as your fellow marauder, that I am still reliving the memories we got from Hagrid of your sound thrashing of Professor Snape during your bake off! I don't know how you did it, but it was definitely a marauder tactic to cause his biscuits to combust on command. Well done, son! Well done indeed. Seeing as you are not just a bookworm, your family and myself are going to welcome you back into the house when we see you instead of just putting you in the servant's quarters.
I'm kidding, I'm kidding. We were actually refurbishing Paddy's doghouse for you before your bake off.
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