Disclaimer: Don't own.
Summary: McGonagall and Flitwick finally find the perfect Defence Against the Dark Arts Professor.
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"So," Fliwtick said, pacing back and forth in front of the desk that had once been Dumbledore's, but which now belonged to Minerva McGonagall. She was watching him regally from her seat. "So far, we've had, what? A Death Eater pretending to be a harmless fool."
"He was a fool, albeit not a harmless one," she pointed out. "I mean, than turban was very unfashionable. Made me choke first time I saw him."
"Then a narcissistic idiot that was obsessed with fashion."
"Please, you make Narcissus sound a lot worse than he actually was."
"A werewolf that seemed to be a terrifying beast."
"But he was a harmless puppy!"
"Then an old man who really was a psychopath pretending to be part of Dumbledore's friends."
"Well, after all that time in Azkaban, you can hardly blame the Dementors for sparing themselves the pain of having him back."
"Then we had a mole from the ministry."
"Wrong species, my friend. And don't let me see her again, or I'll hang her from one of the Quidditch loops and hold her there until she dries up and suffocates. You do know that frogs breathe through their wet skin, don't you?"
"Right. And then, we had one of Dumbledore's friends that was a Death Eater."
"Right. Ah, but what a good chess player he was."
"So, because we had all types, once in a blue moon we should have a good one, too. Don't you agree?"
"Oh, yes. I bet he'll be a good Professor."
"I'm sure of it. He seems to be a wonderful person. And such a good taste in everything! Did you see that gold ring on his finger? Very beautiful."
"Yes," Minerva sighed. "Dear old Ron Sau, I hope he'll manage…"