Harry Potter characters do not belong to me but to J.K. Rowling.

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In Terms of a Name

By Taliya

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Chapter VI: Professor Hamilton

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Harry sighed as he left the bank. Finished with his foray into Diagon Alley, Harry ducked into Knockturn Alley and Slipped into the shadows.

---

A light tapping on the window to his study in the Potter Estate in Manchester drew his attention from his mid-morning musings. Harry glanced up to find a tawny owl perched on the window sill. With a wave of his hand, the window unlatched itself and opened, allowing the bird inside.

After taking off the envelope from the raptor's foot, Harry watered and fed the bird as he read the contents of his letter. My O.W.L. scores, he thought. Not bad. He grinned half-heartedly. I did well, all things considered.

The owl left him to his solitude. Pulling the letter from Dumbledore out from his cloak, he reread the loopy handwriting. "If you need sanctuary, I am able to secretly grant you this at Hogwarts, should you need it."

Perhaps it was time to test the aged Headmaster's words.

But for now, Harry settled for learning more about his seemingly newfound Metamorphmagus abilities.

---

Exhausted after an entire afternoon of playing with his abilities before a mirror, Harry retired to the bed in the master bedroom of the Potter Estate. Flopping on the fluffy down comforter, he allowed his mind to drift as he rested.

A thought hit him and he slowly got up, wincing a little at the slight aches he felt throughout his body. Heading for the bathroom, he turned on the tap for a bath and watched as water streamed from the nozzle. A hot soak would do wonders for his soreness—so he had heard. As an afterthought he added aromatherapy oils and soap into the bath, observing as the soap generated a thick, fluffy froth. Grabbing a towel from a cabinet, he hung it on the towel rack and turned to face his reflection in the large three-fold mirror.

It was the first time that he had actually looked at himself—really looked at himself—in the mirror after his transformation. He had believed that his eyes were unique in color, even for the already rare green. They had always been a bright viridian, but now, they seemed almost luminous, even in sunlight. These changed eyes contrasted with his pale skin, almost paper white in the filtered sunlight that leaked into his bathroom. Again, this newly changed feature contrasted starkly with his onyx-colored hair. His hair matched his new robes, gifted to him by the Dementors. Releasing the constraints he placed on himself, he watched as some odd shadowy light infused his body, just enough to grab attention. The same black smoke characteristic of the Dementors curled around his feet. His sword's hilt flashed silver in the light, reflecting off the mirror to highlight his medallion and smoky clasp.

Harry took in his appearance, studying himself. All in all, he looked regal—almost like, dare he say, royalty. Albeit, dark royalty… or maybe a dark sort of mage. Examining himself a little more, he noticed the mirrors fogging up.

Quickly disrobing, he slid into the bath after shutting the tap off. The warmth of the water soaked into his body, relaxing his muscles and working through his aches. He leaned against the side of the tub and stared up at the ceiling, deep in thought.

With this change, where do I stand in society now? I know I can alter my appearance, but I'd prefer not to if I can help it. He frowned. With all these new thoughts, ideas, and knowledge that are not mine, am I still the same Harry Potter? No, I can't be the same Harry Potter everyone saw before. I am different; I have changed. Can and will Ron, Ginny, Luna, Neville, and Hermione accept me now? Will they reject me for my unintentional alignment with what have been traditionally thought to be the darkest of creatures?

Harry batted the bubbles and foam too and fro for a little, still contemplating his "new" identity. Was he still Harry Potter, Wizarding Britain's Boy-Who-Lived, the boy savior under the tutelage of the Light's leader? Or was he Harry Potter, the Dementors' Lord Sovereign of Darkness, a persona destined to be wrongly associated as a Dark Lord? He snorted. I have two too many bloody titles.

He pulled the plug and climbed out the bath. Drying himself with the towel, his frown morphed into a scowl as he realized that he had no clean clothes. He blinked as a clean set of grundies, jeans, and shirt popped into existence before him. Did I conjure that?

Shrugging, he slipped on his new clothes, marveling at the fit before replacing his adornments. He looked back at himself in the mirror. With a little concentration, he darkened his skin tone to a more healthy, sun-kissed pink color, dulled the glow of his eyes and skin, and dispelled the swirling black smoke.

What is the face that I want to use? Hmm… I'll change a few things about my appearance, only just enough to make sure no one can make the connection to Harry Potter. Concentrating, he changed himself to his liking.

---

Books lay scattered about the Riddle library. Tom Marvolo Riddle, now better acknowledged across Britain as Lord Voldemort, threw yet another book down in disgust. Years ago, before his first reign of terror began, he had cleansed the library of all Muggle books, replacing them with volumes upon volumes of dark magic long since banned by the Ministry.

Pale fingers nimbly grazing the ratty spines of dark magic tomes, they paused upon reaching a particularly dilapidated manuscript. Said fingers gently pried the hardback from the shelf, easing the antique open to flip through the musty pages.

Vermillion eyes widened, then crinkled in sick glee at the contents of Summoning the Shadow Creatures. His eyes greedily skimmed the pages, mind whirling. Oh, the possibilities… he thought, reading through the first page on creatures.

"There are only five different shadow creatures known to Wizard kind. These creatures all have colorings that are a variation of black. They are creatures that cause unhappiness and destruction, and are extremely powerful if under your command.

"The first of these creatures is the least destructive and most well known: the Dementor. These creatures feed on the happiness of people, both Wizards and Muggles. No contact is required for them to feed; only a certain proximity to their victim is required. They are also capable of ingesting the souls of their victims by "kissing" them on the mouth, thereby sucking their souls out of the victim's body.

"Only Wizards can see them, as well as negate their effects with the casting of the Patronus spell, a physical embodiment of their happy memories and feelings. This spell is so intense that Dementors cannot physically tolerate it and therefore will flee from the spell. They multiply in times of decadence and frivolity, and decrease in numbers in times of depression and duress. At any one time, there usually can be found around a few thousand scattered about the world.

"The other four creatures are extremely powerful by their natures. If commanded, they can control certain elements, allowing substantial damage and destruction to be done. Their size alone also can cause potential damage. There is only one of each kind. Little is known of these creatures besides their elemental abilities.

"The first creature is a winged dragon of the blackest night. This dark creature commands the fire element. Giant infernos hot enough to melt metals can be created at any given notice, large areas can be swept clean and incinerated if given direction and scope.

"The second creature is a wolf with black-feathered wings. This creature of shadow commands the earth element. Mountains and canyons can be created or destroyed, earthquakes precisely placed, and jungles and forests can be grown in minutes.

"The third creature is a stallion with black-feathered wings as well. This shadow creature commands the wind element. The winds it creates can cause tornadoes, dust storms, and other such violent winds powerful enough to knock over trees and buildings.

"The fourth creature is a panther with black-feathered wings. This creature of darkness commands the water element. It can call down rain, sleet, and hail, cause floods or droughts, and lightning in these storms are capable of hitting directed targets.

"Together these five creatures are capable of sending entire continents on their knees. The rituals needed to summon these creatures therefore exact an extremely heavy price on the ones doing the summoning.

"The Dementors act as recruiters for the Land of Eternal Night to choose and transform a leader. Once this leader is transformed, command over every dark creature is freely given. The Dementors answer every call the leader gives, and heeds every command.

"The ritual materials required to summon one of the latter four takes exactly one year to prepare…"

"Wormtail!" Voldemort barked.

The poor fool came bumbling into the library moments later.

"M-my Lord?" he sniveled, bowing deeply.

"Gather my faithful in the great room. I have certain job assignments to hand out."

As his fearful servant scurried away to do his bidding, the Dark Lord furrowed his brow. How does one go about convincing the Dementors to choose you? Perhaps… I need more to persuade them. Any and all souls they find, barring my own and possibly my more powerful followers? I must think on this.

---

Hermione packed up her belongings, her stay at Number Twelve, Grimmauld Place, the Order of the Phoenix's headquarters, over. She sighed. There had still been no sign of Harry.

"Buck up," a voice said in the direction of her doorway.

The young woman turned troubled hazel eyes to find Ron leaning in her doorway, watching her slowly pack up her things. His sister Ginny appeared a moment later. The siblings would be staying at headquarters longer.

"Harry will be fine. He always has been before." Yet even these words he spoke sounded hollow to his ears. "We'll see him on the train come September first." His countenance faintly revealed how troubled he really was.

"Ron's right, Hermione," Ginny said quietly. "Have faith in him and his abilities."

Hermione held back her tears and sniffling as she rapidly packed up her remaining belongings. Ron said nothing as he helped Hermione move her trunk down the stairs. At the foot of the stairs, Remus Lupin waited.

"Ready to return home, Hermione?" he asked with kind eyes.

"Yes, sir," she replied. Turning to Ron, she smiled and gave him a hug. "Thank you, Ron."

"It was nothing," Ron mumbled with a lopsided smile. "Take care."

"See you soon, Ginny," Hermione murmured as she hugged the younger girl.

"Don't worry too much; Harry's always gotten out of scrapes mostly unharmed," Ginny whispered, drawing on experience.

With a parting wave, Remus and Hermione portkeyed away.

---

After having an enthusiastically chattering Hagrid show him in, a tall, handsome young man with combed but wavy onyx-colored hair and glacial blue, almost silver eyes stared at the gargoyle statue that guarded the passageway to the Headmaster's office. He was clean-shaven, with only scraggly bangs obstructing his view every now and then. His robes spoke of wealth; gold ivy leaves and vines were richly embroidered along the trim of his deep blue crushed velvet robes and cloak. He had a black leather portfolio loosely clasped in one arm. Hidden underneath his clothing were a black and silver sword strapped to his hip, a silver medallion of animated Dementors, and other assorted weaponry hidden on his person.

Ah, hello, old friend, he thought as he studied the hideous work of art. It was such a wonderful feeling to be back in these familiar hallways. He had wondered many times during his different captivities whether or not he would ever see these beloved stone walls again. Smiling slightly, he turned his eyes back to the gargoyle, which had already jumped to the side, revealing the winding staircase.

Face now wiped of all expressions, except perhaps, boredom, he stepped onto the moving stairs. Ever since his transformation, he had noticed that he felt emotions more strongly than before. Sirius' death ached much more in his heart as it had, and the simple joy of flying on his conjured broomstick had increased overall. Despite the increased intensity of his emotions, he found that his overall control over his reactions had grown proportionally, even increasing so much as to surpass the force of his strengthened emotions. Now, he could feel the powerful rush of excitement and happiness on his broom and have only the slightest quirk of the lips to show for it.

"Enter," called an age-roughened voice from behind the door. Harry blinked once and mentally shook himself before opening the door. He had decided earlier not to reveal his true identity—at least, not just yet. His Occlumency was nigh impenetrable, so he had no worries of the elderly wizard figuring him out. What you don't know can't hurt you, he thought with a mental smirk. Unnoticeably fingering his homemade wand strapped to his arm in his sleeve, he greeted the aged Headmaster with a stiff nod while reminding himself not to address the man as "Professor Dumbledore".

"Good afternoon, Headmaster Dumbledore. My name is Faustus Hamilton," Harry professionally introduced himself as he opened his portfolio and handed over a résumé. His countenance was a study of blankness that Dumbledore could not read at all. "I am twenty-two years of age and I was taught in the States. I heard by word of mouth that you were in search of a Defense Against the Dark Arts professor. I have a few years of experience, and I am quite well versed in assorted Muggle martial arts and weaponry." All of this was spoken with a vague American accent as the Headmaster perused the thick paper.

Albus Dumbledore carefully read through the young man's résumé. While there was, admittedly, not much, overall the accomplishments of the young man were fairly impressive. Regardless, a practical test of sorts was required. In these dark times, practical skills are very much valued over knowledge, sadly enough, the wizened educator thought.

"As the headmaster of this school, it is my duty to protect those under my wing. However horrible this sounds, I must ask: do you bear the Dark Mark?" asked Dumbledore.

Harry shook his head. "I do not," he answered quietly, lifting away his left sleeve and exposing his bare forearm.

The austerity on the old man's face seemed to melt away, revealing the more familiar grandfather-like persona he frequently used. "Now, Mr. Hamilton, would you humor an old man such as myself by subjecting yourself to a practical examination of sorts?" asked Albus, his eyes twinkling slightly.

"But of course, Headmaster," Harry consented, flicking his wand out from his wand holster. Harry was immensely proud of his handcrafted wand. Fifteen inches long, the wand contained the feathers and a scale of his four shadow creature friends in the core, concealed within a simple yet intricately sculpted silver oak shaft and handle. Although the core was inherently dark, the magical wood was inherently light, thereby allowing the wand to channel dark magic just as easily as light magic. At the base of the handle, a small onyx cabochon was embedded, both to focus and concentrate the channeled magic as well as pass as an aesthetic pleaser. All in all, it was a beautiful, powerful wand.

"To the Great Hall, then," directed Albus as he stood up. Harry stood as well and followed the aged wizard out of his office.

They meandered through the hallways, ending up in the same room Harry had seen almost daily for ten months out of the year for the past five years. The tables and benches had been neatly arranged along the walls, leaving a large open space to work with.

"Now, my young lad, please show me a few of your skills on this mannequin," instructed Dumbledore as he conjured an animated human-like doll, complete with wand.

Harry rolled his shoulders and neck to loosen the muscles and circled the mannequin. He discretely re-holstered his wand as he lunged forwards to engage the dummy in hand-to-hand combat. The physical enhancements he had obtained from his transformation pushed his limits far beyond that of an ordinary human. Were he so inclined, Harry could pass out hits so quickly that a normal human could not register the action with their eyes. Faster reflexes and more acute senses were also part of his physical transformation. Erring on the side of caution, Harry slowed his movements so that his aging observer could watch them.

Taking a few hits himself, Harry danced backwards and pulled his wand free of its holster. Like an automatic pistol, he fired spell after spell with no pauses in between. Because his wand had been customized, it allowed him to only think of the incantation; the wand "felt" its owner's intentions and translated the "feeling" into casting the correct charm or curse. As a show, Harry muttered his incantations under his breath, his lips moving almost silently.

Wandless magic is so much easier, he mused as he dodged a jinx cast by the mannequin. Shooting a few more spells back in retaliation, he slipped his wand back into his holster and pulled out two daggers from his boots, previously hidden via his robes. Swiftly approaching the dummy, he used two clean crossed slices. The head toppled off the body with a dull thud and rolled away. The body collapsed.

Harry sheathed his daggers to the sound of Albus' applause.

"Impressive. Very impressive. You certainly qualify for the job; I do hope you remain there for more than a year," the Headmaster commented with a smile.

"Thank you, Headmaster," replied Harry as he dusted himself off.

"Please," Dumbledore said, holding a hand up, "Call me Albus."

Harry shook his hand. "Of course, Albus."

"Welcome to Hogwarts, Professor Hamilton!"

---

Harry had finally brought a trunk of his "belongings" and had settled into his rooms. Books taken from the Potter and Black estates, as well as a few that he had gone out and bought were neatly arranged on the built-in bookshelves. His clothes were hung in the armoire, and a few little trinkets that had caught his eye while down in the family vaults were artfully arranged throughout his quarters. None of these trinkets had the family crests on them; he had made sure that they could not be traced to be either Black or Potter heirlooms.

The young Lord Sovereign of Darkness was currently strolling about the hallways, regaining his familiarity with the school's layout as he directed himself towards the owlery to find his beloved familiar, Hedwig. He had grown tired of reading a packet detailing the privileges and responsibilities of being part of the teaching faculty and had decided taking a walk about the premises would do wonders to clear his mind. As he passed the library entrance, he encountered his former Potions professor, Severus Snape.

Harry eyed the man before him. He had not changed since the last time he saw the man. Harry felt the stirrings of anger within him but swiftly squashed the feelings. The Potions Master did not know he was Harry Potter. A fresh start was possible.

"Good afternoon," Harry greeted with a nod of the head.

The uptight man before him nodded in return. "You look a little young to be wandering the hallways before the start of term," the Head of Slytherin House remarked with a touch of contempt.

Harry allowed himself a small smirk. "Young I may be, but I am the newly hired Defense Against the Dark Arts Professor."

Snape blinked once in surprise before his bland façade was back on. "I see. Nonetheless, mind you keep out of my way." Turning, Severus Snape stalked away, his black robes billowing out behind him.

No sooner had Harry blinked at the oddness of the meeting and resisted the urge to stick his tongue out at the man's back than his former Transfiguration professor wandered upon him.

Eyeing the young man, she asked, "May I help you, sir?"

Said young man allowed a small smile to grace his lips as he replied, "Nay, madam, I am simply allowing myself to become used to my surroundings. I am the new Defense Against the Dark Arts professor."

"Oh," the woman exclaimed, "Where are my manners? Minerva McGonagall, Professor of Transfiguration." She held her hand out.

"Faustus Hamilton," he answered by way of introduction as he shook her hand. "Pleased to meet you."

The Transfiguration professor smiled warmly. "Welcome to Hogwarts."

"Thank you," Harry replied, pleased with her acceptance.

"I'm terribly sorry, but you'll have to excuse me. I still need to prepare for my classes." With a parting nod, both instructors went their separate ways.

Reaching the owlery, Harry gazed up at the different shades of brown flurry of feathers. "Hedwig!" he called. Out of the huddled masses a snowy white figure descended to circle him rather than land on his outstretched arm.

"Hedwig? Remember me, girl? It's me, Harry," he murmured softly.

Hedwig hooted and gently landed on Harry's arm. Harry chucked as the bird nibbled his ear affectionately.

"How have you been doing, girl? Have you been treated well?" he asked, stroking her breast feathers gently.

The raptor cooed, her tawny eyes displaying her concern for her master.

"What say you to some quality outdoors time flying?"

---

September first rolled around faster than anyone had anticipated. Ron, Ginny, and Hermione had already loaded their trunks on the puffing, scarlet Hogwarts Express. Changing quickly into their school uniforms, the older two headed towards the Prefects' Compartment, stopping to tell their friends Neville Longbottom and Luna Lovegood where Ginny was and where their belongings had been stashed.

The Prefect Meeting was rather boring; all Ron and Hermione could think about was Harry. After the meeting was adjourned, they hurriedly left the compartment to join their friends. The journey from London to Hogwarts should have been full of laughter and joy at the friends' reunion. Instead, it was quiet and somber—all thoughts were centered on their missing friend.

Sometime during the trip, the group's enemies, consisting of the unsaid but acknowledged Slytherin Prince, Draco Malfoy, and his cronies, Vincent Crabbe, and Gregory Goyle, showed up. Making snide remarks about Harry's absence, the group of friends quickly ousted the trio from their compartment.

They reached Hogwarts after night had fallen. After arranging themselves at their respective tables in the Great Hall, they glanced up at the High Table. Immediately they noticed the new face sequestered between Dumbledore and Snape. He was young—probably between his late teens to early twenties. He possessed a handsome face crowned with wavy black hair and was dressed in elegant midnight-colored robes. His posture was impeccable, and his face devoid of all emotion. His eyes were what really drew their attention: they were a bluish silver color, and so cold and distant that they involuntarily shivered as said eyes passed over them individually. Turning away from whom they assumed would be their new Defense Against the Dark Arts, or DADA for short, professor. Eagerly they waited for the sorting to begin.

---

Draco sat down at the Slytherin table, subtly monitoring the new professor. He was young—extremely young for a professor, and seemingly quite the stoic one as well. His eyes were cold—they betrayed nothing about the man's thoughts. His lack of facial expression was one hundred percent quality Slytherin. Perhaps he had been in Slytherin House in his younger days? However, as Draco thought back, he did not remember anyone in his house with facial features such as his. Eyes as unique as his would have stood out in his mind.

Draco frowned. Perhaps he is older than he looks. Maybe Father knows him, or at least who he is, he thought. He looks well bred and Slytherin enough—maybe we can… persuade him to our cause. I wonder what his name is and what family he belongs to.

The new professor's silver-blue eyes latched onto his own light grey eyes. The harshness of his gaze unsettled him. Before, Draco had believed that his father possessed the coldest, most aloof front that any person could present to the world at large. Obviously, he was very wrong.

Idly the platinum blond boy wondered how long it took to gain such mastery over emotion. He would study the man to learn. Even the smallest detail would gain him some insight into the workings of this man's mind.

---

The Sorting went smoothly. After the last First Year had settled into their proper table, Minerva used her spoon to tap the side of her glass goblet. All attention fell on the aged Headmaster as he stood.

"For those of you who are new, welcome to Hogwarts! To those returning, welcome back! I have a few announcements to make before the Start-of-Term Feast begins. Firstly, Mr. Filch kindly wishes to remind you all that magic is not to be performed in the hallways. A list of items not tolerated within these walls can be found in Mr. Filch's office. Secondly, the Forbidden Forest is restricted from all students of all years. Lastly, we are proud to have a new Defense Against the Dark Arts professor, Professor Hamilton!"

The last announcement was met with polite applause as Harry stiffly stood and nodded his head before sitting back down. Harry coughed a bit as his sensitive hearing heard the giggles of the girls and the guarded whispers of the boys.

"He's so cute!"

"He's probably going to steal my girl!"

"Don't you love his eyes?"

"He's so mysterious… and so dreamy…"

"His eyes are kind of scary…"

Albus allowed the students a few moments to whisper to themselves. Clearing his throat, he spoke. "A few last words before we tuck in. Oahu! Magenta! Hullabaloo! Snit!"

Food appeared on the tabletops and both students and staff began filling their plates.

---

Harry discretely observed his friends. Their faces were pinched with tension and worry even as they laughed and joked with their dorm mates. He immediately felt guilty, but logic reasserted itself, stating the same "ignorance is bliss" argument. Although his longing to talk to his friends was strong, his will and control was greater, allowing him to step back and view the situation as though from a third party.

Harry understood that the fewer people knew he was within the walls, the safer everyone would be. He had no illusions that if Voldemort could, he would use Occlumency on his friends to find his location. They would be unable to provide that answer, and hopefully remain safe. Such wishful thinking, he softly snorted to himself, If Voldemort can't find any information, he's likely to kill them on the spot in anger. He sat silently, arguments chasing each other around in his mind until he came to a decision. With a heavy heart, Harry promised to distance himself from his friends and allow any and all communication between them to remain strictly within the bounds of a student-instructor relationship.

As the feast ended and students began to loiter towards the doors of the Great Hall, Harry sighed softly to himself and made his way towards his quarters to finalize his syllabi. Sometimes, Harry thought, having the experience of different people makes my life easier.

---

The first class of the day for Sixth Year Gryffindors was DADA with Professor Hamilton. After breakfast, Ron, Neville, and Hermione bid Ginny goodbye and followed year mates Parvati Patil, Lavender Brown, Seamus Finnigan, and Dean Thomas to the DADA classroom.

The door was open, so they quietly filed in and took their seats. In a few minutes the bell had rung and everyone was seated. More minutes passed, and no Professor Hamilton appeared. Many of the students began fidgeting, but they all remained quiet.

"Here to learn Defense Against the Dark Arts, Sixth Year Gryffindors?" asked a low, masculine voice from the back of the room.

All of the students jumped, quickly spinning in their seats to find the source of the voice. All eyes fell upon a blank-faced Professor Hamilton leaning against the shadowed back right corner, eyes roving about and locking onto each and every student's eyes.

Hermione blinked. She could have sworn that no one was there before, and there had been neither movement nor sound around the doors. Maybe he has an invisibility cloak or used a disillusion charm of some sort, she reasoned.

Harry really had no need for invisibility cloaks or disillusion charms anymore. Slipping and Streaming worked well for him. Slipping was how he got there in the first place. He took in the startled and slightly fearful gazes of his students before he pushed off the wall and sedately strolled to the front of the room and settled at his desk.

"Now, when I call your name, please indicate to me that you present," Harry started, glancing at his attendance sheet. After reading off all the names and checking off who was absent, he began his class.

"Now, who can tell me what topics you've covered already in the past few years?" he asked even though he knew from personal experience.

Instantly Hermione's hand shot up. He called on her, pretending to ask for her name again and listening to her brief but detailed synopsis of the past five years of DADA.

Nodding his head, he scribbled on a few sheets of paper and tapped it with his wand. With a careless wave of his wand, he sent a small stack of papers to each student.

"This is your copy of the syllabus for the semester, as well as a calendar of readings and their corresponding homework assignments, and subsequently, exam dates. Now that you know what is expected of you homework-wise, I will accept no late work. As you can see, we are going to be starting off the year learning practical application of spells, jinxes, charms, and curses that you've learned in the form of duels. You will not be dueling each other for a long time. You will learn how to improve your speed and accuracy in your spellwork before any sort of wand pointing at each other. Is that understood?"

A chorus of affirmatives answered his question.

"Should I find that anyone has attempted to duel another, whether in class or not, both offenders will be automatically given a detention under my supervision." Here Harry hardened his stare slightly, causing some of the less brave Gryffindors to squirm uncomfortably in their seats.

"I will not tolerate dueling in any form without my supervision, and I will know who has attempted a duel."

Experiences not his own had forced Harry to make this statement: too many of the souls taken had suffered irreversible damage at the hands of inexperienced and overconfident students of dueling. He also did not want any of his friends to find themselves on the business end of Malfoy's wand.

The threat hung thick in the air.

"Now," Harry said crisply, eyes suspiciously bright, "Who wants to watch a rather toned-down duel between myself and a rather dangerous man known as Headmaster Dumbledore?"

The gobsmacked expressions of the Sixth Years were all the answer he needed as Albus entered the room, chuckling at the stunned countenances of his pupils.

"Please stand on the perimeter of the room," Harry instructed. The students eagerly did so. Harry cleared the desks off to the sides of the room and set up a barrier to protect his former classmates. Bowing to the aged wizard, the duel began.

They had both agreed to start off with the simpler hexes and jinxes, such as the Tickling Charm and the Jelly-Legs Jinx. After a few rounds of casting and dodging, they began using the Disarming Charm and other more powerful curses. Near the end of the class, the two duelists were waging all out war, using fairly advanced, medium-powered spells that summoned fire, wind, and water.

Hearing the bell that dismissed class, the two professors discontinued their battle and bowed to each other, twinkles in their eyes, a grin on the Headmaster's lips and a small quirk on the DADA professor's.

The Sixth Year Gryffindors quietly filed out of the classroom, still dazed by the demonstration.

After the last student had left, Harry turned bright eyes towards the older man. "You move fast for an elderly man, Albus," Harry quipped, the small upturn of his lips fading but the amusement and excitement still shining in his eyes.

Albus chuckled in surprise. He had no idea that the younger man could joke, considering his imperviously stolid façade. "I still have some energy yet to beat you young whippersnappers," he retorted good-naturedly.

Harry smirked. "You absolutely sure you are up to doing this for the remaining Sixth Years and all the Seventh Years?"

Dumbledore lightheartedly scowled at him.

---

Classes were over for the day. Harry sighed and rolled his shoulder. Blinking his eyes tiredly, he closed the door to his classroom and sequestered himself in his quarters. Deciding that a visit to the Lands of Eternal Night were in order, he closed his eyes and Slipped.

He materialized in the same dimly light valley. The stallion noticed him first, whickered, and trotted over. The other animals followed soon after.

"What brings you here, My Liege?" the dragon asked, nudging Harry's other free hand for a petting.

"A long day of teaching," Harry replied. "I am curious—what other abilities you all possess? Would you be so kind as to allow a demonstration?"

The assorted animals vocalized their agreement, and Harry, carefully keeping track of the time, lost himself in the spectacular displays of magic and power.

The creatures demonstrated their elemental abilities in heated battle against one another. Harry watched as his mind assimilated the images he saw and pieced together how the elements interacted with each other. The combining of elements would most assuredly be useful in the fight against Voldemort.

He then spent some time riding on the backs of the creatures. It was exhilarating, seeing the world from so high above. It was like being on a broom, but better. It reminded Harry of riding on Buckbeak, the hippogriff that he and Hermione had helped escape from a grisly execution.

His subjects informed him that when they were in contact with one another, Harry could imbue his sword with the element of the animal he touched, only magnitudes more powerful than normal. A test proved that if Harry touched the dragon, his sword would flare up to such high temperatures he knew that his sword should have melted long ago. Perhaps if he could manipulate the element swirling around his gifted weapon…

---

DADA was the talk of the day. Those who had classes with Professor Hamilton spoke of his strict and austere manner. Yet they could not help but be impressed with the mock skirmish between the DADA Professor and the Headmaster. The others who had not yet had his class wished the hours would pass faster so that they could experience Professor Hamilton's classes for themselves.

As Harry approached the High Table for dinner, students would hush as he swiftly strode by, a flurry of whispering left in his wake.

"Ah, Faustus," greeted Dumbledore, "Your classes were and are the talk of the day."

Harry smirked slightly. "Is that so, Albus?"

"The students do not know whether to detest you or admire you," Albus continued.

"It is not my duty to make them like me, Albus," Harry replied, "I simply teach the way I believe the subject should be taught."

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Finally! Another chapter done! I hope you enjoyed it and please, review. My muse had decided a five-month vacation was in order, and now has returned invigorated and refreshed. The name "Faustus" means fortunate or lucky in Latin. My apologies for the wait; I thank those of you that reviewed.

-Tal.

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Completed: 1.6.2007

Edited: 1.9.2007

Re-edited: 1.7.2009

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