Usual disclaimer.

A/N More reviews are welcome! This story has no official ending yet (although I do have a few ideas in mind), and as the chapters are updated I would really appreciate any suggestions people have.

"May I start by welcoming you to another Hogwarts year," said Dumbledore. "We hope to be able to put the events of last year behind us and look forward."

He grinned. "Alright, we normally interview candidates for teaching positions during the holidays, but seeing how over the past few years we've made some spectacularly disastrous appointments, I thought I'd let you help. If a candidates good, clap. If they're…er…not what Hogwarts is looking for, stay silent".

A chair was placed in front of the top table, and Dumbledore, McGonagall, Snape, Sprout and Flitwick all had little placards with their name, their house and what they taught in front of them.

All was made clear when the first candidate entered. He was older than Dumbledore and obviously nearly dead. By the time the interview was over, most of the pupils were fast asleep. Hour after hour slipped past, with every perspective teacher being more boring than the next. It turned out that Lockhart had had a relapse in his memory and forgotten why he was there and so had mysteriously left. This cheered up Ron, who remembered gleefully the day when a Memory Charm backfired.

Finally, there was only one more person to go. There was no sign of a decent teacher yet and even Dumbledore looked fed up. Then the girl who Harry had smiled at walked in. George looked up from having his head on his arm and sighed. "Cannon fodder," he stated resignedly and returned to sleep.

But he wasn't quite right about that. Many people had started to take a bit more interest, presumably because she was so much younger than the others. She sat down on the chair and introduced herself.

"Hello, I'm Miss Jones".

Dumbledore looked down at the sheet of parchment in front of him.

"Aah, yes, Rhiannon Jones' granddaughter?"

"Yes, sir." The girl swelled with pride.

"Greatest charm worker I ever met. Had a lovely wrist action…" Dumbledore allowed himself an indulgent chuckle. "Fantastic wrist action, quick, smooth.." Professor McGonagall gave a small cough.

 "Well, perhaps this isn't the time to disclose such pleasant memories…I hear you are a professor, a doctor of history?" he asked, his light blue eyes glittering.

"Yes. I'm a historian, by nature, a social historian. Full PhD, Sir."

"Any magical qualifications?"

"Aah…" she sighed reluctantly.

At this point, Snape stepped in.

"You plan to enter a school of wizardry without any knowledge of magic?" he asked incredulously.

"Well, Professor…" Miss Jones leant forward to read his name card. "Professor Snipe,"

"Snape."

"Whatever," she replied dismissively, "I trust you've read my application form?"

"Yes,"

"Well then you'll know that I'm perfectly capable of teaching a subject which requires no use or formal knowledge of magic, as Muggle Studies does not. I can do this job with my eyes closed."

"You can't afford to work with your eyes closed at this school," Snape sneered.

Jones smiled. "You're doing a pretty good job," she said, "or so one hears."

Snape fell silent.

Everybody in the Great Hall was no listening to this exchange. They had never heard anybody speak back to Snape, no without getting fifty points taken from their house and a detention.

 "Well, I suppose I could stand her," whispered Ron, grinning. " I mean anybody who gives Snape what for gets my vote."

Dumbledore seemed to be enjoying himself.

"You must realise that Muggle Studies is not a compulsory subject for all those in the third year and above." He said.

Miss Jones looked him steadily in the eye. "Of course. But should it not be? Perhaps they could drop a lesser liked subject…" She shot a glance at Snape. "Potions perhaps..".

"Aah, unfortunately that subject is an examination subject and cannot be dropped. But…" he grinned conspiratorially. "I understand your meaning. "It could double up as a social education. An hour a week maybe? After school perhaps? Or Saturday mornings?"

 "Saturday mornings are Quidditch mornings, headmaster," Snape growled.

"I'm sure we could work around that, Severus."

Dumbledore turned round to Professor McGonagall and whispered in her ear. She nodded in approval. He stood up. "We are all in agreement. Well, what have our panel got to say?"

The hall erupted into rather loud applause.

"It seems you've been appointed, Miss Jones. See you in the morning."

"What?" Jones asked. "That's it?" She looked slightly shell-shocked.

"Yes. Oh, and as for the magic…" he winked. "Don't worry. I'm sure Severus will be delighted to help."

Snape scowled.