Chapter 4: Here We Are Again

Lives move in a chalk line,
Chains that define who I am
Here we are again.

—Remy Zero: Gramarye

Well, there she is. Finally. And late.

What did you expect? She's a woman. Women are always late. Not that you actually had to wait for one in how long a time? Fifteen years? Eighteen years?

Thanks for reminding me.

My pleasure.

And how welcome she is.

That could be expected. Jealous, are you?

Why should I?

She's what you want.

She has the position I want. Nothing else.

Despite everything, she's appreciated. More than you.

I don't care.

She's become quite pretty, don't you think?

I'm not paying attention to her looks. Looks can be deceiving—but she's always been a pale little girl.

Really? Then what about—?

Don't you dare go there again! Well, alright, at second thought, she's rather pretty. So what? She's not much more than that. Not to me anyway.

For a very very VERY long time, there hasn't been a single female teacher your age in this school…

My age? She's a girl for heaven's sake! I'd never even consider her a—.

Doesn't look like merely a girl to me… Are you blind? She's a beauty—well, at least to your standards. You've always kind of fancied her type, haven't you?

Have I?

Hey, wait until she's properly dry and had a few square meals to give those cheeks a bit of colour. I'm sure she could be a feast for the eyes if someone told her that. Any volunteers?

No way.

Pity. But you might be right. She doesn't look entirely cheerful to have to—

Shut it already. Subject closed.

Snape got up when she approached him, extending his hand to her.

"Miss Ravon," he said.

"Professor Snape," she said quietly, almost timid.

A girl, indeed.

He could almost see the girl he had once taught in her features—despite the fact that she looked a bit more grown up than he remembered her. Only a bit.

She moved to take his hand. Severus intended to shake hands civilly, just to show that he tried to display a certain amount of kindness—if only for Dumbledore's sake. He could give her a chance, couldn't he? See if she deserved her reputation. After all, she was a Slytherin. That deserved to be appreciated. But not too much. There was still the fact that she was where he'd wanted to be almost for as long as she lived…

Of course, he remembered that her hands were extremely cold. Not that he'd ever touched them directly. As far as he remembered, she had been wearing gloves the one time their hands had met all this time ago, and the coldness had seeped through the satin like water. How long was it? Ten years? Twelve years? He wasn't sure…

Yes, her hands were cold and—.

Goodness!

Severus flinched visibly and drew his hand out of her limp grasp. It was not the coldness that made him do so. He didn't mind coldness. His rooms were cold. The dungeons were cold. He himself did his best to appear as cold as he could. Death Eater cold.

But there it was. Death Eater. He had just been violently reminded of his past and pretended present. The Dark Mark had given an almighty and very sudden twitch. He hadn't been prepared for it to come so out of the blue. And now. The damage was already done. That was something he hadn't intended—although he wasn't really sure if he should try to be nice or simply despise that girl for the sole reason that she was here and would teach Defence Against the Dark Arts.

Her flinch didn't escape Severus either. She had noticed. Of course, she had. One could hardly have missed it.

That was very sensitive. Well done.

Strange. Why now?

It was pure coincidence. I'm sure.

But it didn't hurt like it usually does. Come to think of it, it didn't even feel bad. I was just caught unawares.

You shouldn't have drawn back that quickly. You've hurt her.

I didn't.

Emotionally, I mean, you insensitive git.

She'll get over it.

Whatever impression you wanted to make, whatever image of yourself you wanted to present… forget it.

There is nothing to forget.

"If we could continue…" McGonagall's impatient voice interrupted his thoughts. She was still standing by the stool holding the Sorting Hat over the head of a first-year. The boy was obviously anxious to be finally Sorted.

"Yes, yes, Minerva. Please continue with the Sorting," Dumbledore said and then nodded at Miss Ravon.

~*~*~

Sariss sat down on the empty chair next to Professor Flitwick. The unfortunate part of that was that Snape's seat was on her other side. What had everyone been thinking to place her there? With rustling robes, he sat back down.

She did her best not to pay any attention to him and concentrate on the Sorting instead. Damn him to Hell. If he thought he could be that way, fine! Fine! She'd just ignore him. There were enough other people and things at Hogwarts. She didn't need his respect. She didn't need the approval of the arrogant and… yes, impolite—he was indeed impolite, if not downright mean—Potions master. She didn't need him.

There was Hogwarts castle. There was Dumbledore. And Hagrid. And the other teachers. It was as though she'd never been away.

Watching the nervous first years being Sorted brought up memories…

~*~

Dumbledore had been waiting for her at the foot of the stairs in the Entrance Hall. He'd insisted she take the Hogwarts Express from London and make the traditional journey over the lake to the castle, as it was the custom for all the first years, even though she had been living at Hogwarts for almost half a year by then…

"There's nothing to fear, Sariss," he said, his eyes twinkling merrily. "The Sorting is nothing to fear. You will be Sorted into the house you will do best in; it has never failed in making the right choice."

"What is it? Please, tell me."

"Now, that wouldn't be fair. You knowing what's going to happen when the others don't…" She pouted. His eyes twinkled merrily. "You're going to like it. It's quite a show."

"I'm a bit nervous." She played with her sleeve.

"Don't be. It will take care of you. It has never failed."

"Never?"

"Never." He smiled down at her. "Now join the other first years again and remember it only takes a look into your heart and soul." He smoothed her hair back and said, "Now hurry up, Professor McGonagall does not like to be kept waiting."

She smiled at him, slightly puzzled at what he'd said—she hadn't quite grasped the meaning of his strangely phrased words—and raced towards the other first years again, who were gathered around Professor McGonagall. She explained a few things that Sariss already knew and then led the throng of little boys and girls into the Great Hall.

A stool was set up; a dirty, rumpled old hat was sitting on it, looking far worse for wear than anything Sariss had ever seen. She was a little startled when it opened a rip near its brim and started to sing…

Hearken, dear children, listen closely to me
Devised by the founders I happen to be!

Each one of them, the Hogwarts Great Four
Put wisdom in me so I'd forevermore
Judge you by talents, by gifts and by heart
to tell of which house you shall be a part.

Do diligence and industry set you apart?
Then Helga Hufflepuff who always worked hard
Would gladly welcome you into her fold
Where dwell the gentle and kind as of old.

Rowena Ravenclaw, fair and smart
Knowledge, and wisdom were her greatest art
To be in this house you must be quick-witted,
In love with books; I hope you're no nitwit.

Great Godric Gryffindor, daring and wise
Stands for bravery not weakness; for truth not for lies
There's many a kind of courage out there
If not in yourself you'll find it nowhere.

Salazar Slytherin, devious and sly
As harmful an enemy, as powerful an ally.
The gifts he approved of are ambition and cunning.
You want to be mighty, to this house you're running.

Now try me on and you will see
Just in which house you ought to be…

Thundering applause rocked the Great Hall when the Hat had finished its song. It had apparently been one of its better performances.

"When your name is called up, you will step forward and try on the Sorting Hat," Professor McGonagall instructed the nervous first-years.

"Allen, Rick Eamon!" was the first one to be sorted. Sariss had already spoken to him a bit aboard the Hogwarts Express—more than just a bit actually.

So it was that the pale ash-blond boy with a nose that seemed just a tiny little bit too prominent for a boy as small as that, sat on the stool and pulled the Hat over his head. After a minute or so, a voice shouted "SLYTHERIN!" and Sariss realized that it had been the Sorting Hat. So that was how it worked. She smiled. She realized why Dumbledore hadn't told her anything about it, no matter how persistently she may have asked: He hadn't wanted to spoil the surprise. As disappointed as she had been then, she was now glad he hadn't given away the whole procedure since it was so very exciting and fun, too.

The excitement and happiness around her enveloped her like a warm fluffy blanket and she smiled as the boy scrambled towards the applauding crowd at the Slytherin table when McGonagall called, "Ashley, Jamison Lucas!"

A boy with large bright blue eyes and a mop of reddish-blond hair stepped forward. The Hat had hardly touched his head when it decided "HUFFLEPUFF!"

After that, it was "Clearwater, Julian Frederick!" —"RAVENCLAW!" and "Crane, Hugh Edward!" who became a Slytherin.

Then it was "Day, Elisa Nicole!" who was the first Gryffindor that year and was met with lots of handshakes and playful slaps onto her shoulders. Sariss could—even from a distance—see that the girl was blushing furiously but also smiling broadly.

Sariss started to get bored—it would be a while till McGonagall reached the letter R—and began twirling a loose curl of her slightly past-shoulder-length hair around her finger, sometimes drawing it straight and letting it bounce back to its original shape. She heard the names but didn't really pay attention which house the person in question was Sorted into. Instead, she looked around in the Great Hall. She had been there before. Often. She had spent almost a year here already before school had started for her. For protection… In four days she would celebrate her eleventh birthday—or rather not celebrate it. It had stopped being a day for celebration almost exactly a year ago. Tears started threatening her again, but she had learnt how to fight them and everything else back so she didn't accidentally make something happen—explode, that is, or something like that…

She forced herself to pay more attention to the Sorting, as a distraction. "Laveau, Susan Marie" and "Lestrange, Chloe Morghanna" were Sorted into Slytherin—Sariss had met them aboard the Hogwarts Express (and didn't like them at all).

Then a silvery-haired boy who was quite tall for his age and went by the name "Malfoy, Seth Salazar" was announced a "SLYTHERIN!" and strode towards the Slytherin table throwing a glance over his shoulder towards the remaining first-years. Him, she had also met—and she loathed him already. Everything about him screamed 'Death Eater'… Strange how sometimes you only had to look a person in the eyes or feel the vibrations emanating from them to be able to tell instantly if you liked them or not.

Finally, Professor McGonagall called, "Ravon, Sariss Electra!"

She went cold unexpectedly, her stomach clenching itself together. She gulped. All of a sudden, it wasn't so very exciting anymore—it was closer to being terrifying. As she walked towards the stool, she could feel that everybody's eyes were now on her—she wondered if it had felt the same way for the others—she suddenly found the pattern on the floor exceptionally interesting. Finally, after an eternity it seemed, she managed to reach the stool, sat down and popped the Sorting Hat over her head. It fell over her eyes and she stared at the dark inside of the Hat, when suddenly a voice spoke in her ear.

"Hmm… Now there's a challenge… That's some very interesting personality and character traits you have there…" The Hat paused, thinking hard apparently. "Very interesting," it mused. "Very complicated character, complex mind…" it continued as if deep in thought. "Let's see. Definitely not a Hufflepuff that much I can tell even now…"

Put me into Slytherin.

The thought involuntarily struck her mind, and then,

There's not a single wizard who went to the Dark side who wasn't in Slytherin…

"Slytherin, you say, my dear? At first sight, I think you'd be doing best in Ravenclaw or… Gryffindor would not be too far-fetched either… if you ask me… You're not stupid and you have your heart in the right place, I think… And highly gifted with many talents too… It's not the thirst for power that drives you to Slytherin. You already have that—," it sounded amazed, "—and you don't even want it…"

It seemed to ponder a bit now. "Hmm…" it made.

Come on!

"Hmm… Oh, but how very determined you are! Eager to prove yourself worthy, aren't you? And there's something… Indeed, yes, now I understand…"

Remember, it only takes a look into your heart and soul…

"Nonetheless Ravenclaw would suit you; you see, you'd be doing well there…"

Sort me into Slytherin; sort me into Slytherin, she thought desperately, having made up her mind.

"Call me curious, but if you'd please be so kind as to tell me, why exactly that is your wish?"

The thought popped up in her mind before she could think of anything else, a thought not quite like what one would have expected of a hardly eleven-year-old child.

Know thine enemy…

"I see…" It paused again, but only for a few seconds, and then. "Well, you'll find and fulfil your destiny either way… Might even prove useful… Hmm… Difficult… But if you're sure, who am I to object? You'll be a… SLYTHERIN!" the Hat shouted out loud and she was met with the usual suspended applause from the Slytherin table, where she sat down next to Rick Allen who immediately involved her in a conversation about how surprised he had been when the Hat had Sorted him into Slytherin. "I wonder what my parents are going to say to this. You see, they were both in Ravenclaw…"

Chancing a glance at Dumbledore she caught his gaze and was amazed that he was smiling at her knowingly—as if he had known it all along, as if he had expected it—not in the least startled, surprised or disappointed. It was reassuring and made her feel safe and protected.

The Sorting continued. "Ryan, Henry James" became a Ravenclaw, whereas "Rosier, Azrael Evan" became a Slytherin.

Rosier…

And when "Shade, Aurora Dawn" ("SLYTHERIN!")—a girl with a mop of jet-black hair Sariss had shared a bag of Bertie Botts' Every Flavour Beans on the Hogwarts Express with—sat down on her other side and smiled at her, she felt the choice she had made had not been that bad after all. Apparently, it was that Sariss managed to make friends despite everything…

After that there was only "Wilkes, Thaddeus Thanatos" left, who also became a Slytherin…

And Wilkes…

Yes, she had asked to be a Slytherin. She'd wanted to know as much about He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named—whom braver people than Cornelius Fudge called Lord Voldemort—and his followers as possible. She'd wanted revenge, satisfaction. A hardly eleven-year-old girl was driven by the thirst for revenge!

And then, only a few weeks later, he'd fallen. No one could ever tell her exactly why. The only thing the wizarding world knew was that he'd tried to kill a baby—and failed. Little Harry Potter he couldn't kill…

~*~

Sariss jerked out of her reverie when McGonagall's voice spoke in her ear. "Good luck. I do hope you can deal with Severus."

What? Granted, Snape wasn't being the nicest person in the world, but why was it that everyone seemed to think Snape would rip her head off?

Dumbledore stood up to make his traditional speech as soon as McGonagall had taken her seat.

"I'm pleased that so many new faces have come to Hogwarts. And I am glad to see this castle alive with voices and the trampling of many different-sized feet again. However—as some of you might not know yet—there has been another attack… I ask you for a minute of silence in memory of Gryffindor Chaser Josie Lane, another innocent and brave soul the Dark side has violently ripped out of a life that had hardly begun…"

Another victim of the Dark Lord? Why does it never stop?

One day it will stop.

And why? What ever could stop him?

I don't know. You?

I'd just love to do that. He ruined my life. Twice.

As to why… Because it can't go on like that. It mustn't.

"Thank you. We'll never forget her," Dumbledore nodded his approval.

"Now for practical matters. As most of you might already have guessed, I managed to talk an old friend into accepting the post Professor Moody unfortunately chose to vacate at the end of last year. We have a new Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher, another one of our Slytherin Alumni."

Hear, hear. So Mad-eye Moody had been a teacher here? Well, if that was so, those children could take a lot. Especially since a few years ago there had been the Crouch-affair, a highly unpleasant thing, in the wake of which the Dark Lord had reclaimed some of his former power. Sariss had kind of missed out on the fact that the real Moody had been teaching at Hogwarts for reasons that she'd rather not think of. She had been to busy preventing the worst the Death Eaters could do—and had then… well, she hadn't exactly failed. She merely hadn't been there in the crucial moment… She had saved different lives from those she would have protected with her life if she had had the chance…

"May I introduce to you…" Dumbledore continued and gestured at her, "Miss Sariss Ravon, your DADA mistress."

She stood and nodded at them, smiling slightly, before sitting down again.

Sounds good.

DADA mistress. That's me.

"And now fill your empty stomachs so that tomorrow your teachers may begin filling your heads with knowledge. Let the feast begin."

It felt strange, surveying the Great Hall from the high table. But one thing she was sure of: Yes, this was home.

Sariss could hardly wait to see her rooms. The rooms that had—in her last year at Hogwarts—belonged to the late Professor Quirrell. Sariss would never have suspected him of joining the Dark Lord. She'd never sensed anything coming from him that had pointed to that. He had been a new teacher. Snape had loathed him from the first moment on… He'd been young, as young as Sariss was now, and, yes, quite handsome actually. Nice voice—although not as nice as Snape's could sound.

Did I really think that?

How a voice could make you leap to conclusions about a person's personality was beyond Sariss. Snape did, most of the time, not sound half as spiteful as he liked to appear. He never had. Not even a few minutes ago. Cold, yes. Detached, yes. But never had he sounded exactly mean. His words could be mean, but the meanness never penetrated his voice completely. How strange was that?

And how strange was it that Sariss actually thought about that?

Be that as it may, Sariss was at Hogwarts; and she was curious as to what her new accommodations would be looking like. The ones she had sort of inherited from Professors Quirrell, Lockhart, Moody (both), and—what had been the name?—Loope, Lupus… Lupin? Yes, the werewolf. It had been a small scandal—although Sariss had merely shrugged. Dumbledore knew what he was doing. Always. If there was anyone whose judgment you could trust, it was Dumbledore. He had helped proving Sirius Black's innocence, too. Sariss had never met him, but she'd heard quite a lot about the whole thing as a child and then years later when he'd escaped from Azkaban. An incredibly brave man. What he must have gone through in prison was hardly imaginable. Fortunately, Sariss never had a close encounter with a Dementor. They were disgusting creatures. Dumbledore had done right in not letting them into Hogwarts, even though he'd been thinking that Black had indeed been a criminal.

Dementors. Sariss didn't have to meet one of them to have the living daylights scared out of her. In that respect, they were second only to the Dark Lord himself.

Sariss found she admired Black in a way. There was even one thing they had in common. The thirst for revenge had made him break out of Azkaban. The same thing kept Sariss going. It was a never-ending fuel…

But not now. For the time being, Sariss would not fight the Dark side actively. For the time being, she'd do something she'd never done before. She'd teach young wizards how to fight the Dark side. She'd try to make them see Darkness as what it was, a devastating, destructive, and violent evil. She would be teaching Defence Against the Dark Arts—for the time being.

She still had to get accustomed to the thought that she had actually chosen to be a teacher—although only at Dumbledore's request. She'd not merely attend the lessons, but she'd be sitting at the teacher's desk. She'd be sitting in her office, grading essays, preparing the following day's lessons… And in the evenings, she'd sit in front of the fireplace in her quarters (they surely had a fireplace), reading up on something. The library must have acquired several new books she could read…

Mmm. The food was still as delicious as Sariss remembered it. Hogwarts must have the most talented house-elves. Rumour had it that Dumbledore even paid some of them a few Galleons per month. Sariss would love to meet one of the elves who demanded to be paid for his or her service, just because she was curious what had given them the idea. It was a good thing, but it was also unusual. Hogwarts had always been a place for the unusual. The one place in the wizarding world where anything was possible…

Much later, the students went to bed, and Sariss, too, wanted to head for her rooms.

"My dear, we share a large part of the way to our rooms, don't we?" said Dumbledore as he accompanied her up the marble staircase.

"Only if they're on the third floor," Sariss answered. She remembered that the office kept jumping between second, third, and fourth floor. Did the private quarters do that, too? Good gracious, if they did that, Sariss would have to write a schedule about when she could enter her rooms from where…

That was funny. Playing hide and seek with a room. Where else but Hogwarts was that possible?

"A good guess," Dumbledore smiled. "Your rooms are a quite jumping lot."

"I'm looking forward to seeing them. It's not every day that a former student sees the private quarters of his or her teachers, is it?"

The headmaster chuckled. "No. No, that would be quite uncommon. By the way, you'll notice a large fireplace in your rooms. I had it magicked there just for you. You still like high temperature, don't you?"

"Yes, indeed. Thank you. But it really wasn't necessary. I'll be okay either way. Cold isn't comfortable but it won't hurt."

"Everything that makes you feel better is necessary," Dumbledore said benignly. "You've grown up, Sariss."

"And you haven't aged a day, sir."

"There. Third floor, indeed. You'll get a feeling for where your rooms are. Don't worry about that."

"A feeling for where they are located? That sounds funny."

"You'll see. The castle has its own way of showing you to the places you ought to be…" he mused. "Good night, my dear. Your luggage has arrived safely and has been taken care of. You'll find all your things in there."

"Thank you. That's good to know. I really have to change."

"And good luck for your lessons tomorrow. Do you think you can sleep? Would you like a potion?"

He still cared for her as if she were twelve years old, as if he were her father, or rather grandfather.

"No, Professor. I don't dream so much anymore. I need no Dreamless Sleep Potion."

"No more nightmares?"

"Rarely. Very rarely. And if at all, not distinct. Just… images, really. Feelings."

"That's good to hear." He looked relieved. "Well, it seems that you'll be fine."

"Yes, I'm fine. At least for now. Thank you and good night."

"Good night, little one," he murmured and proceeded down the corridor, whereas Sariss opened the door to her rooms and entered.

"Well, hello, study, hello, bedroom and bathroom. I hope I'll be able to find you a bit more easily than it seems to me at the moment… Hmm. Everything's here." She scanned the shelves and her desk and then proceeded into the bedroom. The fireplace was set in the wall in a way that allowed it to turn according to where Sariss was. It only made a slight scraping noise when it changed position. Nice. And a large and very warm fire was flickering in it. An armchair was in the corner between the windows and the fireplace. Another one was in the far corner. Sariss pushed it nearer to the fireplace. Yes, that was good.

Then, Sariss opened the wardrobe that was located opposite the windows. All her clothes seemed to be inside. And they were dry and ironed. The house-elves were really good. On the other wall, next to the head-end of the four-poster, there was a high mirror.

"I should go to bed," Sariss muttered and her reflection agreed, eagerly nodding its head and saying, "You do look tired and even a bit dishevelled I daresay. Long day, huh?"

"You could say that." Sariss prepared herself for bed.

She sighed as she slipped under the blankets. It was so cosy. And even though Sariss was fairly excited about what the following day would have in store she fell asleep rather quickly and didn't even wake up, as it happened often.

No, apparently, this was one of the nights she was allowed to be sleeping through, undisturbed by the feeling of emptiness that so often gripped her during the darkest hours of the night…

~*~*~

The next day, the first day of lessons that year, Harry sat at the Gryffindor table as the prefects handed out their schedules.

"Oh no! We've got Potions first!" Ron complained. "Couldn't we start nice and slow with Divination?"

"Divination in the morning? Would be nice," Harry said. "That way we could get another hour of sleep—and a headache. I'll never get accustomed to the fumes up there. I wonder what Trelawney burns to make the air that stifling."

"But to see Snape first thing in the morning isn't my idea of a nice start either—."

"I've got DADA first," Ginny said. "I wonder what it's going to be like. I just hope Professor… What was her name again?"

"Ravon," said Hermione. "Yes, her name is Ravon."

"I just hope she's nice. She's a Slytherin."

"Moody was a Slytherin, too," Harry said. "And he was okay—despite his paranoia. Come to think of it… Most of our DADA teachers were Slytherins…"

"I can see a pattern developing here," Ron muttered.

"Well, I'm off. Don't want to be late." Ginny got up. "Just in case she's not as nice as she seems to me. See you."

"She seems nice to her?" Ron asked. "I think she's creepy."

"Creepy?" Hermione echoed.

"Yeah."

"What do you mean with 'creepy'?"

"Strange. Eerie, you know."

"You've only seen her once in your life. You haven't even spoken to her. And you don't like her already?"

"I didn't say that. Besides, sometimes it's enough to see a person and know if you like them or not. However, I'm not quite sure what to make of her. I haven't decided yet."

"Don't worry, Hermione. Ronnikins is afraid of strangers," Harry teased.

"Will you stop calling me that?" Ron said. "Harrykins."

"As Fred and George aren't here, I thought I'd provide the entertainment, and that includes calling you Ronnikins, Ronnikins."

"I could understand that if you were older than me—which you aren't, little Harry."

"Guys, I hate to interrupt you, but as you've said, Potions first thing in the morning," Hermione said, "and we're going to be late if we don't hurry."

"Right. Wouldn't want to give Snape a reason to take away any points, do we?"

"As if he needed a reason…"

~*~*~

Sariss was very nervous as she headed to her first teaching lesson ever. It would be the sixth year Gryffindors and Hufflepuffs. The way from her rooms to the classroom was quite short, but seemed to stretch endlessly, as she walked along the third floor corridor.

She had prepared the lesson very thoroughly, going over it in her mind numerous times during the night; she'd woken up early in the morning and couldn't sleep any more. She was excited like a first-year student.

When she entered her old DADA classroom, the students were already sitting at their desks and fell silent at her entry. The typical first school day situation. In a few weeks, their chatter would only die down when she'd have demanded their attention. When Sariss had been a student, it had been that way. Why should it have changed? Children were children. Students were students.

"Good morning to all of you. I am Professor Ravon. I will be teaching you Defence Against the Dark Arts this year. Let's take the roll call first, so that now that you know me, I come to know you as well," she said, trying very much too sound not as nervous as she was. The fact that roundabout everyone else in this class was highly anxious about what the new term would bring, wasn't very helpful. "When I call up your name, you will kindly raise your hand or say yes or something like that, alright?"

Sariss read the list of names, glancing at the students after each of their names. Most of the names she'd never even heard of, but the name Weasley she knew quite well. When had there ever been a time without one or two Weasleys at Hogwarts?

When she'd finished, she felt much calmer, ready to begin the lesson in earnest.

"Right…" she began. "Open your Duelling Hexes book on page fifteen. We'll start with a few only slightly nasty hexes, and near the end of this lesson, we'll hopefully have some time left to practise them a bit. Try to remember the appropriate Blocking Spells as Madam Pomfrey will be busy enough either way if you're not very careful," she advised and sat down on the edge of the teacher's desk. It was strange to be not on the receiving end of a lesson. Sariss had never seen herself as the type to teach children anything. But she felt it was going rather well. The vibrations that came from the students were fine. They listened and paid attention.

This is easier than I thought…

"If you'd be so kind as to read the first paragraph, Miss Watson?"

"Yes, Professor," the black-haired girl Sariss had addressed answered and began to read…

~*~*~

"So… How is the new teacher?" asked Ron when they sat at lunch.

"She's great," Ginny said. "Honestly. We did some duelling hexes today. And after that, we duelled a bit. She managed to hit me with a tickling curse that lasted for ten minutes. I thought I'd never stop laughing. My belly still hurts. It was so great."

"What's she like?" Hermione asked.

"Oh, well, I guess she's as nervous as we are. She never taught before, you know?"

"And?" said Harry.

"You'll see for yourself. Thursday, isn't it?"

"Yeah," said Harry and Ron.

"I like her. Period." Then Ginny added, "But it feels a bit weird when she's around. Like the air was full of magic. And she seems always a little sad to me. I don't know why. She smiled all the time. And there's something else. You're probably going to say that I've gone completely bonkers now, but she seems a bit familiar to me. Like I'd seen her before…"

"You know what?" said Harry. "I've got a similar feeling."

"What did I say? She's strange," Ron said.

~*~*~

"Hello, everyone. As you might already have guessed, I am Professor Ravon and I'll be teaching you Defence Against the Dark Arts this year," the Professor began her lesson as soon as the seventh-year Gryffindors and Slytherins had sat down at their respective desks.

"I thought I'd give all of us an easy start, that is, a revision lesson. Today we'll cover Grindylows, Red Caps and Kappas. I hope it won't be too boring for you to hear about those creatures again. As it is, you should know what they look like. However, I found it not quite safe to go out and catch a few Red Caps and Kappas to bring them here—for reasons that you should know. If you don't, this is your chance to refresh your memory."

She spoke lightly, her voice was even, and a small smile was plastered into her face. But Ginny had been right. Her eyes looked indeed a bit sad all the time, no matter how light-hearted she might sound.

And yes, there was indeed that strange sense of familiarity that Ginny had pointed out. Harry wouldn't have noticed if Ginny hadn't said something. He couldn't quite fathom why the new Professor seemed so familiar to the two of them. Well, perhaps they were only imagining things.

"The Headmaster informed me that you've already seen a Grindylow. So I dropped my idea of bringing one with me. It's a pity. I would have loved to bring something for demonstration purposes. Well, bear with me. I might just drop in with a Manticore or a monster courtesy of Hagrid's, one day," she joked, her smile growing broader as she mentioned Hagrid and thus revealing a set of white and even teeth. Did she know Hagrid well? The way he had grinned at her at the feast, suggested it. Harry would ask him about her some time or other.

The Professor meanwhile explained the details about a Grindylow's fingers and the purpose the little horns on its head served. It was almost like a dangerous Care of Magical Creatures lesson—although with Hagrid teaching it, that was not entirely correct. He might indeed bring on a Manticore—or an Acromantula by the name of Aragog, for that matter; and Ron would certainly be pleased to see a lot of Aragog's only a little smaller relatives. Not. Ron would get an apoplectic fit—as soon as he'd have recovered from the first shock, that is. And the second and the third…

Anyway, Professor Ravon continued the lesson, asking questions now and then and showing on a map where the species of Grindylows were most commonly found, all over Britain and Ireland, that is. She magicked little pictures of those creatures into the places where those pale green water demons preferably took their lodgings.

"Fine, I think that's all you need to know about the Grindylow. Let's proceed to something more exciting. The Red Caps. You might want to reread page forty-seven of A Field Guide to the Little People by Nancy Arrowsmith with George Moorse, New York: Hill and Wang, 1977." She wrote it on the blackboard in large even and fluent letters.

"Red Caps are far more vicious creatures. They love bloodshed. Thus, they only can be found in places where blood was shed. Old castles, battlefields or similar places with a history of bloodshed are their preferred areas. They can also be found in many Lowland peel-towers, waiting for an unaware human. Does anyone know why those small Scottish elves are called Red Caps at all?"

Hermione's hand shot up.

"Yes, Miss Granger?" Professor Ravon prompted.

"Their name derives from the fact that the Red Caps' main occupation is colouring their red caps, which they dye with human blood. They throw boulders onto travellers from their towers, then catch the blood in their caps to keep them brightly red."

The Professor beamed at Hermione. "Very good. Take five more points for that. And should you come across creatures that look like short, old elves with a sturdy build, long grey hair and red eyes and they happen to wear a brownish cap, be careful, since they might try to slay you to turn it a lovely shade of red. They're most prevalent in northern Europe, by the way, so watch your back in places you haven't been to before." She magicked pictures onto the map again.

Was it only Harry's impression or had he sensed a dark sense of humour there?

"She just evened the score between Gryffindor and Slytherin," Ron muttered.

"What? You take notes on how many points she awards or takes away?" Hermione whispered. "Ridiculous."

"Not ridiculous. Just curious."

Harry shook his head. But Ron was right. Professor Ravon was indeed handing out points rather evenly. If that would stay that way, only time would tell.

"As soon as the blood dries and the colour fades, the Red Caps look for new victims. However, they do have one use. They can foretell disasters by making a loud noise similar to the beating of flax," she said. "How can you drive them away if they threaten you?"

Hermione's hand shot up first. The Professor smiled at her but shook her head ever so slightly, as if she wanted to say, 'I know that you know it, but there are nineteen other students in this class.'

"Mr Weasley? You haven't said anything yet. Any idea?" she asked, not unkindly.

Ron blushed furiously as the Professor's eyes rested on him, but finally managed, "They're scared of anything that looks like a cross… and it's said that they don't like it if you quote the Bible…" He sounded more as if he were asking a question instead of giving an answer. Since when was Ron so shy in class?

It didn't escape the Professor's notice either.

"Why so shy? That's five points for you, Mr Weasley."

She swished back towards the desk and casually leaned against it.

"Next topic. The Kappa. A water-dweller with webbed hands whose appearance resembles a monkey that is covered in scales instead of fur. They live in shallow ponds and rivers and are most commonly found in Japan." Again, she magicked a small picture into place. That way, Harry found it much easier to remember the countries in which the creatures lived.

"Excuse me, Professor," said Draco Malfoy, "that can't be right. They're native to Mongolia, aren't they?"

"I'm sorry, but no…" Professor Ravon furrowed her brows. "Where did you get that thought from?"

"Professor Snape pointed it out quite some time ago when he was substituting," Hermione spoke up.

"He did? Well, as he was merely substituting, that small error can be forgiven. He was close. But he—as well as you, Mr Malfoy—should have consulted a certain book first, shouldn't he?" Professor Ravon pointed out. The subject was closed.

"As I was saying," she returned to the topic at hand, "the Kappa is a Japanese water demon…" she repeated for emphasis and indicated the map once more, "that feeds on human blood, but, as strange as this seems, it can be persuaded to not harm a person if said person throws it a cucumber bearing his or her name carved into it. However, as it's quite unlikely for any wizard to always carry a cucumber with them, it should rather be tricked into bowing, since if it does so, the water in the hollow of its head will run out and thus deprive it of all its strength…"

Harry's quill still scribbled furiously. Hermione's birthday present really came in handy. Although Harry wrote fairly fast, his handwriting was much more legible than it had been before he'd been given the special quill. He found his notes did indeed look as if he'd concentrated on writing evenly instead of quickly.

After another few minutes, the Professor chanced a look at her wristwatch. "Well, that's it then. I expect a twelve-inch essay covering today's lesson's topic by Monday. You may leave."

Everyone stuffed their books into their bags and packed up their notes and quill before bidding the Professor good-bye and filing out of the room.

"See? Not all Slytherins are as evil as Malfoy or as… unpleasant… as Snape," Harry said, as they made their way along the third floor corridor.

"At least she's not as stupid as Crabbe and Goyle," Ron answered, "or as ugly as Bulstrode, as arrogant as Pansy Parkins—."

"We get the idea, Ron!" Harry interrupted.

"Never mind, but she still gives me the creeps."

"Your face obviously had a different opinion…" Hermione said.

"Blimey, I can' t help it! It's that ruddy Weasley complexion—and it was not because of that. She's not a veela, is she? Don't tell me you didn't feel it, too. The way it feels when she looks at us—it's as if she were seeing right through us… Creepy!"

"Really, Ron! I kind of like her; the way she does her lessons, she reminds me a little bit of Professor Lupin."

"At least she seems to know what she's talking about," Harry said. "That's more than you could have asked of Lockhart—or Quirrell—for that matter—."

"Quirrell knew too well for his own good what he was talking about."

"Stop splitting hairs, Ron, will you? You know what I meant. I found the lesson very entertaining."

"Ginny was right," Hermione said. "She's really nice—for a Slytherin, anyway."

They were silent for a while. Then Harry began to speak again shaking his head slightly as he did so. "She kind of reminds me of someone… Argh! I just can't put my finger on it. It's almost as though I'd seen her before," he said.

"Well, ask her," Ron suggested.

"Yeah right, waltz up to her and just blurt out 'Say, haven't we met?' Sounds like a bad pick-up line to me."

"Yeah, that would prove a bit awkward…"

Next chapter:

Sariss gets scolded, Snape gets mad, Sariss gets mad too, a lot of memories surface and Hagrid gets a visit.