AN: Another chapter! Not my best, but even so my mojo is back.

Disclaimer: I own nothing but my ideas.

The new caretaker rolled his trolley full of cleaning products through the halls, watching the students move past him looking at him curiously. Filch was unfortunately, or not as the case may have been, still paralysed and he'd been such a feature of the castle that many were stunned that anyone else could or would take the job. It wouldn't be long before they were all ignoring him however. He was a cleaner. No-one ever noticed the cleaner. The only reason anyone ever paid attention to Filch was because he gave out detentions and took points.

Andrew Mendax stretched his back and hoisted his belt, which had about as many pouches as Hagrid's coat, higher on his large pot belly. There was a lot of things Old Filch had missed with his poor eyesight and obsession with catching the 'Weasley twins'. He'd made the mistake of asking Professor Snape about those two. The words 'marauders' and 'vicious bastards' had appeared at least four times each in the space of a two minute period. Andrew was now terrified he wouldn't be able to get anything done.

Plus, Dumbledore still wouldn't give him the keys he needed. 'Security concerns' he said. Andrew hated it when people did that, since it made jobs so much more inconvenient. Hagrid was no help either. The Keeper of the Keys could be surprisingly tight fisted. He supposed he'd have to do things the hard way. Sighing, Andrew pulled his blue mop and bucket off the trolley and started his way down the abandoned corridor.

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Harry slid down the corridor, past the trolley and down the stairs. "New guy takes his job seriously,"he said, waiting for his friends to catch up.

"Well, considering how old Filch was, is it any surprise he's been doing a bad job?" asked Hermione, hefting her bag.

"Hermione Granger disrespecting a staff member? I'm shocked. Ouch!" Ron ducked his head as she took another swing at him with her folder of notes. "Hey! That's heavier than our text books, remember!"

Hermione, to her credit, looked horrified. "Oh god! I'm sorry! I thought I was-"

Harry tuned them out as he reached the Defence Against The Dark Arts classroom door. Those two always squabbled. It was practically their default behaviour. Trying the door and finding it unlocked he entered, sitting down next to Neville, who had somehow got there first. "The Professor here yet?" he asked quietly, glancing around the dark room.

"He's just getting something." They grinned as Ron stubbed his toe coming through the door.

"Whys there no lights?"

"Apparently the professor's doing a presentation to introduce us into the proper course work."

"Oh." They sat quietly as the rest of the class drifted in, since no-one was certain what the mysterious Professor Shacklebolt would be like. Harry and the others who'd met him doubted he'd be bad, but he supposed a big black man might scare some people, especially the little Slytherins they shared the class with. Then again, everything scared the Slytherins. Stuff in the Daily Prophet, large shadows, small mice. Actually that was a little unfair, but being part of a small house and their alumni seemingly being targeted by psychopathic terrorists had made the remaining snakes strangely timid and paranoid.

"Good," came a deep voice from the door. "You're all here on time." Professor Shacklebolt strode to the back of the class, carrying a briefcase. "I'm Professor Shacklebolt and today we are going to be looking at what you should have been taught from the start of the year." He placed the briefcase on an empty table and pulled out his wand, tapping it gently on the case and stepped back as it unfolded to become a large slide projector. Fiddling with a few knobs, he nodded in satisfaction and walked up to the front. "Well then, lets make a start. We only have a very short time to cover any of this material, so unfortunately we won't be able to do much theory after this class. I hope you're all paying attention."

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"He's not bad," said Harry happily. He liked Professor Shacklebolt and though he seemed inexperienced, he hid it well enough from the rest of the class. The promise of mostly practical work was extremely appealing.

Hermione gave a non-committal noise and Harry had the distinct feeling the girl was subconsciously thinking back to Lockhart. That man's effect was amazingly far reaching and long lasting; it was no wonder he'd never been exposed in his lifetime.

"I liked him," said Neville. "He's a bit dry, but I guess he's new. I'm looking forward to some practical after all that rubbish Lockhart made us sit through"

Another non-committal noise and Harry shook his head ruefully. It sounded like Hermione was going to need some converting.

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Umbridge scowled. She had been promised power by Quirrell and secrecy by his whore, but she could not have thought of a higher cost. She'd always hated children, even when she was a child. Being stuck looking after them was her worst nightmare. Dementors were less cruel than the little brats running around the halls of this accursed school, sniggering at her as she walked past, laughing behind her back. If she could punish the vermin for their insolence she might feel better about being here, but she wasn't on the staff.

What made the experience worse was that even if that bitch Rita hadn't been blackmailing her, this probably would have been the best move politically anyway. Fudge was her only solid backer and the man had somehow lost his magic touch in one fell swoop. Disappearing from political life for a while 'to protect our future' would be the only way anyone would forget their petty grievances and begin to think of her as a real option. With Quirrell's power on the rise, she was practically guaranteed a good position in the ministry. She'd be out of the way when the heads started to roll and able to step into another man's shoes.

Quirrell was a much finer man than Fudge, now that she thought about it. Fudge, bless him, had the illusion of power while Quirrell practically exuded it from every pore. When she'd met with him and his servants, she could see their devotion to him, their absolute loyalty. Such a fine man. It was a shame he'd fallen to that scarlet woman.

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Tonks was sitting outside Whately's office, winging her feet and feeling bored. He'd left her waiting for half an hour for Merlin's sake. How rude was that? Admittedly she was just a Trainee Auror, but when some paper pusher in another department called her in for a favour Tonks expected punctuality. The way they were pushing aurors out into the field at the moment she might not even be a trainee for much longer. True, it was a long shot, but there were a lot of provisional aurors already and she was close to the top of most of her classes.

Tonks stood up, glaring at the enchanted door sign. If he'd wanted to talk to her so badly he'd just have to cut his meeting short. "Alohamora." She tried the door. Nothing happened, so she hammered hard. "Whately! Open up dammit!"

Still no response. Tonks was starting to get worried. He really shouldn't have left her waiting this long. Was he alright in there? He wasn't an old man by any means, but he still could have had an accident. She sized up the door. Though it'd be cool, it'd be best not to try to kick the door in, not with her coordination. She'd blow its hinges off, that was it.

A pair of reductos and the door fell inwards with a crash, causing a startled yelp from somewhere behind her. Tonks didn't bother with that. Her eyes were fixed on the ruin that was the office. The filing cabinets she'd remembered from her last visit were strewn around the floor, torn open. Paper lay everywhere, shredded so that it looked like the cage of the hamster she'd had as a pet when she was young.

"What the hell?" Tonks mouthed silently, slipping into a duelling stance. Something was definitely very wrong here. Why would someone want to trash Whately's office so badly? The man recorded the birth of squibs for heavens sake. Had they been looking for something? Had they found it? There'd be no way of telling, which might explain why someone had wrecked the place so badly. She peered under the desk carefully and almost unbalanced in shock. "Whately?"

A pair of feet stuck out from a mound of paper. Those shoes were his for certain, ridiculous turquoise things with curling toes that had to be tied to his knees so the man could even walk. "Hold on Whately, I'll dig you out," she called, hoping he could hear her as she used her wand to blow the paper off his prone form. His face, with its slick skin and pasty complexion was the first thing to show and she gasped in horror. His eyes were open and a terrified expression was frozen on his unattractive features. Whately, a bland but kind pen pusher who'd never hurt so much as a fly in his entire life, had been murdered.

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It had been hours waiting until the curse-breakers and examiners had fining going over the room, looking for any clue of the attacker or their purpose to no avail. Tonks had been asked the same questions over and over again, like someone thought that the asking would somehow change the answers. The fact that it didn't seemed to anger some, but Moody seemed unbothered. Eventually it was over and she was being escorted outside, to wait while the higher ups discussed what was to be done.

Tonks had been left waiting for so long that she'd found herself nodding off several times and so had gotten up and had a cup of tea. This seemed to have done the trick, so she was quite startled to find herself being shaken roughly awake.

"Wha-Ah!" She reeled back from the scarred, lopsided monstrosity looking down at her. "Damn it Moody! Don't do that. I've had a hard enough day as it is."

"Oh suck it up Nymphadora," growled the old man, pulling her to her feet. "This isn't anywhere near what I'd consider a bad day."

Tonks couldn't argue with that, so opted with grumbling under her breath as she was dragged down the corridor by the surprisingly fast old codger. "Moody, where are we going?" she asked waspishly. "I'm tired enough as it is."

"Oh?" said Moody, not looking at her as he clumped his way down the hall. "Too tired to even be my probationary partner in an important case?"

She stumbled in shock, sputtering. "What? Why?"

Moody scowled irritably. "Kingsley's on leave, all the other aurors are busy with their own cases and you're the only trainee I've actually seen that I liked, so it looks like you're stuck with me. Don't do anything to change that."

Tonks honestly considered doing a little jig, but decided against that. She didn't want to hurt her chances just yet.