A/N Written by me, but with a little editorial advice from ArgentineRose. See pofile (my profile) for details.

It was Christmas Eve. Snow fell (insert descriptive adjective) on the ground of Hogwarts School, as a carriage drew up outside, drawn by invisible horses. A tall figure stepped out which anyone could have mistaking for a dementor (if it weren't for the fact that he wore a top hat). Whilst he did not exactly drain happiness from the air, he certainly did nothing to add any cheer to the atmosphere. In fact, he produced a definite chill. As soon as he stepped out of the carriage the happiness positively drained out of the air. Any Christmas feeling that was one lit by the decorative fairies was extinguished. (mostly due to the fact that hey flew away. Screaming)

The man looked up at the turrets and towers of Hogwarts and the best way to describe his expression was disgust.

"God I hate neo-gothic!" he mouthed to himself, "S'like that bloody depressing 'Notre-Dame de Paris' book"

A whispering entered his ear, "Actually ,it's original." The voice was as sarky as the man's usual thinking voice so he made nothing of it, until it spoke again.

"You're the new defence against the dark arts teacher, aren't you?"

Since there was no reason for him to ask himself this question, seeing as he already knew the answer, the man deduced that there was someone standing behind him. He turned to see a tall gangly figure, with deathly pale skin, greasy black hair down to his shoulders, and a hooked nose,who was wearing an expression of utmost disdain. He uttered a small snort at the man's ridiculously overlong nose - when he was tired he found it very hard to be polite.

"Who are you?" he enquired.

The hooked nosed man sniggered slightly as he thought what ridiculous sideburns the stranger had.

"I'm Professor Snape. Head of Slytherin House and Potions Master." Snape silently picked up one of the man's trunks and started dragging it up the stairs to the huge oak door. The man followed suit and picked the other trunk, noticing that the Snape fellow had left him the heavier one."

"Bastard," he muttered with a distinct French accent. Snape heard this remark but decided not to comment.

Inside the hall the potions master said sourly, "Leave the bags - the house-elves will take them to your room. Dinner is waiting for you in the great hall."

He followed Snape into the hall, which lavishly decorated. Obvious. Lacking in taste. The was a large wooden table and an even larger roaring fire. He looked up, to find he could see the stars.

"Is this ceiling transparent or an illusion?"

"Both - from the outside you can't see in."

"oh"

Harry looked up from his pumpkin soup, to find Snape walking in with a equally formidable man by his side. He liked the look of the man not a bit. He was the type you would find in crappy muggle period dramas. Was this an equally greasy relative of Snape's visiting for Christmas? Ron had noticed him too as he looked at Harry for an explanation. Finding none forthcoming they shrugged at each other and looked at Dumbledore.

"Severus, you found him alright then?"

"Yes, Sir," Snape did not like being talked down to like a retarded pre-schooler, which was why he spent most of his time avoiding the headmaster.

Dumbledore addressed the man, "Was you journey alright?"

"Yes, but the thestrals are an awful bother. They remind me of my own mortality."

Harry was taken aback: "Ok, so you've seen someone snuff it but it's Christmas Eve, lighten up a little!" he whispered to Ron, who snorted into his pasty.

Dumbledore addressed the table, "Oh, I'm terrible sorry! I haven't introduced you all. This, Ladies and Gentlemen, is your new Defence against the Dark Arts teacher, Professor Javert."

There was a little polite applause but Ron muttered to Harry with disgust, "Oh God, he's French!"