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Harry had a teacher that once said something that would make a lasting impression.
Mr. Owens was a man in his prime 50's. Black hair with scattered gray and a solemn complexion he was everyone’s favorite teacher. He would be Harry's as well, eventually.
The first time they had met, Harry was battered and broken. After the final battle, after the dead had been collected, everything seemingly went back to normal in the Wizarding World. (Well, as normal as a place with magic could be. The Dursley's would not have agreed.) Everything except Harry that is. Ginny was ready to settle down and Harry just....couldn't. Couldn't seem to get his head on straight. Couldn't stop looking over his shoulder to make sure there wasn't anyone behind him aiming for his head.
The entire Weasley family had noticed tried to get him help which he vehemently refused. So, it was to no ones surprise that one day, when Ron got up from a good nights sleep, Harry's side of the room was empty except for the note on his bed that read:
I'm Sorry.
Naturally Ginny was devastated and Mrs. Weasley was worried, but for the most part the entire family understood and hoped that he would come back safe.
Harry was already half way out of London by the time Ron had even read the note. Leaving wasn't easy. He had spent most of his life without a home and the Burrow had provided that warm place for him. However, lately it hadn't felt the same way it did all those years ago when Harry hadn't even known the real comfort of being completely safe before. But sometimes it was better to be sorry than safe.
Two months later he was set up with the basics: school, place to sleep, reasonable income. The job at the grocery store wasn't the best but without any real muggle schooling since he was 10, opportunities weren't exactly throwing themselves at him. After taking his GED, he settled down at a local community college near New York City and tried his best to stay low profile, but something was missing.
He was still twitchy, picking at his clothing, at his skin, on his nails. Still felt the overwhelming need to run. To just pack up and leave again, but instead he resigned himself to wait another few months before moving on.
Mr. Owens was Harry's biology teacher. Mad scientist he was not. Full on condescension and spite, eyes glaring balefully behind thick glasses. Harry's first day was not his best. The teacher pelted him with questions all the while muttering cutting statements under his breath. (Harry was eerily reminded of Snape, and Harry did not want to think about him.)
After a few weeks of this same treatment the green-eyed wizard was fed up and ready to give up. Sitting on a bench in near tears after another emotional and verbal abuse session at the hands of his biology professor he was ready to quit.
“Don't do that.”
Harry jumped a mile into the air before gaining control and looking for the source of the voice. When he found it, he blushed, deeply. Brown curly hair and gorgeous blue eyes that sparkled at him.
“I didn't think I said anything out loud.” Harry blurted before he could stop himself.
“I've been sitting here for the last few minutes listening to you mumble to yourself about your biology teacher, Mr. Owens, right?” The boy continued without waiting for a reply, “Can I suggest something?”
Harry blinked hardly following the conversation at all. “Sure,”
“Don't quit. No, really, don't. Mr. Owens is a dick. He chooses one kid a year to terrorize and see how fast he can get them out of his classroom. Last year, the girl lasted a week before bursting into hysterics and running from the room. So, yeah, he's a bastard but you know what? He's going to surprise you one day and then you're not going to be able to help loving him.” Blue eyes smiled at him one last time before getting up to walk off.
“Hey, wait!” Harry called, “What's your name?”
“Jasper Layhe, I live in the blue apartments down the street from here, number 17 if you ever want to pop by for a visit.” Then with a wink he was gone and Harry was left wondering whether he was really the only wizard around.
So he stayed and suffered through the class and two weeks later they had a lab out in the forest nearby. Mr. Owens asked Harry to stay behind for a bit and he braced himself warily. The teacher looked around a bit before talking a cigar out of his pocket and lighting it up. Puffed on it a few times and gazed in a mournful way at the surrounding area. Finally as Harry was about to leave out of frustration Mr. Owens spoke. In his low, raspy, grumbling voice he said: “Life is one damn thing after another.” He took another long draw and looked at Harry, “I think you know what I mean, Potter.”
Harry was frozen. Mind whirling and twirling he nodded. “I think I do know what you mean, sir.”
Mr. Owens nodded his head and left the small clearing to find his other students leaving Harry standing there, alone.
Never in Harry's life did everything make so much sense as it did now. Magically Harry wasn't itching anymore. He wasn't twitching or wanting to get away and for the first time in years he felt....peace.
30 minutes late found Harry in front of room 17 in the blue apartment building near the school. The door opened and Jasper looked pleasantly surprised.
“Hey, it's so good to se-” He was cut off as an overenthusiastic Harry kissed him straight on the mouth. When they parted Jasper grinned. “And here I thought I was going to have to take you on a date to get one of those.”
“I just wanted to thank you.” Harry beamed, “You were right about Owens.”
Jasper kissed him on the cheek. “If this is how you show your appreciation I'll make sure to give you helpful advice all the time.” He looked thoughtful for a few seconds. “I don't think I even know your name.”
Harry smiled shyly, “I'm Harry, just Harry.”