Disclaimer:          I don't own, nor do I want to own, the characters in Harry Potter. J.K. Rowling owns them. I've no intention of making any profit off of this, it's merely used to satisfy my desire to write and possibly to amuse you, the reader, though you can pay me if you so desire for completely unrelated reasons. The lyrics to Art of Losing belong to American Hi-Fi.
Warning:              This will be R and will contain *SLASH* You don't like it, don't read.
Summary:             Harry returned to Hogwarts after six years of self-imposed exile into the Muggle World and the defeat of Voldemort.
AN:                         Got back from Vermont last night. Trip was interesting, and I learned valuable lessons.
                1.             I am horrible at snowboarding and should not get off the bunny hills.
                2.             Family vacations are a very cruel joke.
                3.             Do not, under any circumstances wear oversized silk panties overtop ski pants. My cousin's friends did, and it was the most hideous thing I've ever seen.

                Thanks to everyone who reviewed and to everyone who forgave me for the pathetically short chapter. I don't have anything that really needs to be addressed
                Special thanks to Diagonalist, again, for beta-ing everything and for nagging me into writing.
                Even specialler thanks to Agnei Smith for being the 100th reviewer.

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Chapter VI
Challenges

Last call now I'm outta time
And I don't got no valentine
Singled out, now I stand alone
The underdog in a modern world
Suburbia is hot tonight
But nothing seems to feel alright
I don't want your sympathy
I just need a little therapy
At least that's what they say to me

Hey ho let's go
I'm gonna start a riot
You don't wanna fight it
One two fuck you
Don't tell me what to do
I don't wanna be like you
Can't you see it's killing me
I'm my own worst enemy
Knock me down I'll keep on moving
It's the art of losing

Fit the mold and do what you're told
Get a job and start growing old
9 to 5 can make your dreams come true
But I don't wanna be like you
I'm not cool and I'll never be
I break the rules and I guarantee
I don't want your sympathy
I just need a little therapy
At least that's what they say to me

Hey ho let's go
I'm gonna start a riot
You don't wanna fight it
One two fuck you
Don't tell me what to do
I don't wanna be like you
Can't you see it's killing me
I'm my own worst enemy
Knock me down I'll keep on moving
It's the art of losing

You call me a loser
Say I'm just a user
But I'll just keep on moving
Cause that's the art of losing

Hey ho let's go
I'm gonna start a riot
You don't wanna fight it
One two fuck you
Don't tell me what to do
I don't wanna be like you
Can't you see it's killing me
I'm my own worst enemy
Knock me down I'll keep on moving
It's the art of losing

Wahhhooo (It's the art of losing)
Wahhhooo (It's the art of losing)

We're the kids
We're the kids
We're the kids in America
We're the kids
We're the kids
We're the kids in America

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                My first day of teaching was going to be uneventful. I had a plan. I'd been prepared for all of my classes. I actually knew what I was doing.
                Well, not really.
                I was completely winging it.
                The only experience I had with children was with those from the younger grades. I was not a kid person. I'd never babysat for anyone, and I'd never had a younger sibling. Also, I'd never had to tutor the younger students in anything. They'd had Hermionie to do that.
                I was entirely out of my league for this.
                Well, not entirely. Overall, I had a curriculum. I knew what each year was supposed to learn, as well as what they were supposed to know for the year they were in. I also knew, however, that teachers rarely taught what they were supposed to. I can give you three perfectly good examples.
                One: in my second year, Lockheart, more concerned with publicity than his class, didn't teach us anything.
                Two: in my fourth year, Crouch impersonating Mad Eye Moody, taught us about the three unforgivables and actually cast one of them on us so that we could learn to break free of it in an effort to make himself a more believable Moody.
                Three: in my sixth year, Evangil, too afraid to even speak of the Dark Arts, once again, doesn't teach us anything. Instead we have to read it out of the texts. Hermionie was happy. That was the year I received extra lessons from Snape.
                As for myself, I was going to follow along, somewhat, with the plan, but I felt I should add my own personal touch to it, much like Remus had. Adding personal experience and such to the lessons…
                Who was I kidding? I'd be lucky if I could even "present" the information, let alone teach it. What had Albus been thinking? Sure I could perform the curses and counter-curses, but…
                This was different!
                I was really beginning to hate that cat now. It was sitting on my desk laughing at me again; my own personal ego destroyer. Fun!
                My very first class was a third year Ravenclaw class. They entered, chatting amongst themselves, not paying any attention to me. I was grateful for this. I'd managed to get the cat off of my desk, and it walked out of the room. I prayed it wouldn't come back, because if it did, I wouldn't be responsible for it getting locked in a drawer.
                Once I felt everyone was in the room, I walked to the back and closed the door. As I did so the conversation quickly died down until there was one person left talking, and once she realized she was alone, she to ceased babbling.
                I moved back to the front of the room and turned to face them. They were all looking at me expectantly.
                "Welcome to third-year Defence Against the Dark Arts. I hope you haven't forgotten, but in case you have, my name is Ethan James. Being in third year, I trust you know what you're here for." There were a few week grins, though I didn't know why. My comment wasn't funny. It was a pitiful attempt at an icebreaker. I continued anyway. "Seeing as how your previous teacher is now in Africa, I didn't have a chance to talk to her, so I don't know what you've covered. That's why I'm going to have you guys write a diagnostic test."
                A collective groan rang through the classroom, echoing along the walls.
                "Don't worry," I said in reassurance. "The test doesn't count towards anything, and it should only take you around half an hour. It's just for me to know what we have to cover this year. After this you can have free time."
                Several faces brightened at this.
                I handed out the tests I'd written up in the last two weeks before the school year and returned to my desk. I almost sat on the cat. It had somehow returned to the classroom and taken residence on my chair. I really needed to find out who the cat belonged to, or at least give it a name. At least that way if I were to curse it six ways from Sunday I'd have a name to shout it at.
                Picking up the cat, I put it down on the floor once again, I sat in the chair, and stared at the desk. It was so boring. There was nothing on it. All of the drawers were empty. Those could be filled easily enough with parchment, quills, ink, and what ever I confiscated from the students over the year, but for the top, I was going to need more than just textbooks to decorate it.
                I absently began drumming on the desk with my wand, and unconscious habit I'd developed since I'd started to play, as I began thinking of ways to flatter Professor Sprout into giving me some more plants…
                Before I knew it, students began turning in their tests. I began looking over them while I waited. Overall, it wasn't as bad as I'd expected. Snape had been right about the previous professor when he'd said she'd been a decent teacher, even if she didn't know the subject matter too well. I wouldn't have to cover too much old material before they were up to date with what they'd need to know.
                Once the students were all finished, they sat silently at their tables, as if waiting for me to give them some other work to do. Lucky for them I hadn't planned anything.
                I looked up at them and smiled. "I meant what I said. You can do what you want for the next half hour. I won't give you any work."
                The looked at each other and then me incredulously, before hesitantly beginning to talk amongst themselves once more. I smiled more widely when they began discussing their next class, Double Potions with Slytherin. Now that sounded familiar. They spoke of how much they hated it. I didn't blame them there either. I'd hated that class for most of my school years too. It wasn't until I'd gotten to know the smarmy bastard that I'd started to take an interest in it.
               
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                My first problems didn't arise until the Monday of the next week.
                Classes at Hogwarts began oddly, because they didn't start until the second of September, at the earliest. This proved even odder if the second of September happened to fall on a weekend. It didn't this year, but it proved odd none the less.
                My first classes of sixth and seventh years didn't start until the second week of school because of this odd policy.
                I passed out the diagnostic test and when the students were finished I learned that they needed a little more work than the younger students. It seemed that the previous professor wasn't as comfortable in teaching the more difficult material.
                My second class of seventh years, who happened to be Slytherin, were the most talkative afterwards, once they learned I really wasn't going to make them do any work. They started talking amongst themselves, as I would have guessed, and I began idly drumming on my desk, waiting for the end of the period. This free time was as much for their benefit as it was for mine.
                I was pulled out of my idleness when one of the students addressed me.
                "Professor James," a tall, dark haired student began, looking, for a brief moment, incredibly like Draco Malfoy, not in appearance, but in posture and attitude. I would have bet any money that this student was the richest of them all, with the most influential parents. In other words, he was this year's Draco Malfoy. "As you might have guessed, our class is some what behind, through no fault of our own. I believe that can be attributed to poor teaching. I was wondering if we will receive better instruction this year."
                I paused for a moment, deciding to play dumb. "I'm not quite sure what your asking, Mr…?"
                "Palains," he replied. "I was just asking if you have the experience and qualifications to teach us what we need to know?"
                I laughed inwardly at this. Like any teacher would admit to being under qualified. I looked directly into the young man's eyes and held his gaze. He was going to know I was his superior in this class and that he should respect that. I, however, kept my tone jovial when I spoke. "I wouldn't say I have an astounding record in teaching, but my experience in this subject is quite adequate."
                The boy, Laurence Palains I noted from the class list, nodded thoughtfully and turned back to his peers.
               
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                My next problem was rather different.
                It was the sixth-year Slytherins that created the interesting dilemma, this time.
                They took the test, and I reconfirmed what I'd already assumed from previous classes. They still needed a little review, and then all would be fine.
                During their free time, another student addressed me while I was preoccupied with thoughts of band practice. I hadn't had much time to play my drums or teach myself a little about the guitar, but I had managed to clear a space in the living room for the drum kit. I was looking forward to the next weekend where I'd hopefully have time to play them.
                "Professor James," came the timid voice of a blond haired girl who looked like a blood-relative to the Malfoy family.
                "Yes?" I answered, urging her to go on.
                "We were, I mean my friends and I," she began, gesturing to her companions, "were just wondering how you lost your eye."
                Just wondering my ass… Slytherins always have motives behind their actions.
                "I lost it in a duel when my wand snapped," I said truthfully.
                "Must have been a cheap wand," a student muttered disdainfully.
                "Our teacher can't even win a duel," another said in the opposite corner.
                "Actually," I corrected, "I won the duel."
                There! Let them puzzle over that for a moment.
                The class was silent for a while, before someone else asked me a personal question, this was beginning to look like a game of question and answer with me in the spot light. It didn't matter though. I'd known it would have to happen at one point or another.
                "So," the student began, "Are you a pureblood, or were your parents Muggles?"
                "Both of my parents were wizards, if that's what you're wondering." I was still being truthful.
                "What house were you in?" another asked.
                "I didn't attend Hogwarts." My first lie of the day… sort of. Holy Merlin this was beginning to look like a Nazi interrogation.
                "In case you want to know more about me, I'm twenty six," another lie, but I felt that if I they thought I was any younger they wouldn't respect me. "I lived in the Muggle world and I play for a band there."
                This produced a string of unplanned questions from the Muggleborn of the class about what type of music I played, what instrument, where I lived and several other things along those lines.
                Finally, near the end of the class, one of the students asked, "Do you have much experience in duelling, because Professor Snape said you were an incompetent lout and shouldn't have been given this position…"
                The poor boy trailed off, receiving a series of glares from his fellow classmates. Poor boy had said more than he should have, and he knew it.
                "Did he now?" I replied, my interest piqued. It was one thing for him to privately hate me, even if I didn't like that idea. I liked Snape, and it somewhat hurt that he despised me without meeting me, but it was just what he was like. It was a completely different thing if he began badmouthing me to his House. It was important for a teacher to have his pupils' respect. That couldn't happen if the other teachers didn't respect him.
                "You may leave now. I have some other business to attend to."
                The students looked at each other, and then at me as I stormed out the door. I was going to give Severus Snape a piece of my mind.
                I reach the dungeons just before classes were supposed to be let out, unaware I had a group of students trailing behind me, eager to see what a spontaneous comment had provoked.
                I forced my way through the students leaving the potions class.
                I didn't even wait for the students to leave, enraged at what the older wizard had said.
                "Do you enjoy insulting people behind their backs, Snape?" I asked venomously. "Are you too much of a coward to say it to my face?"
                The students in the classroom stopped, occasionally shifting to make room for the Slytherins entering the room to watch.
                "I wasn't insulting anyone," Snape replied calmly, as I would have known he would, had I been thinking straight. "I was merely stating the truth."
                I don't know what I was thinking when I said what I did, completely incensed at the older professor's stupidity. And to think I respected him!
                "Prove it," I replied as coldly as could.
                The students behind me gasped, and even Severus looked a little ruffled.
                I would have been, too. It wasn't everyday somewhat challenged that slimy git to a duel.
 
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 AN: Wow. That was a lot of fun. I actually enjoyed writing that chapter quite a bit. Not that I don't enjoy writing the other chapters, but this was a lot of fun. You might have found it boring, but it was fun to write. Next chapter has the potential to be a lot more so.
                 Next chapter. Duel between Severus and Harry. How couldn't that be fun?
                Give me feedback. If you think it's worth continuing, tell me. If it should be scrapped, tell me. If you got a new puppy and want to brag about it, tell me. If you have random pointless plot ideas, I'd love to know.
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