Disclaimer:I am making no money from this. Anything recognised from Harry Potter belongs to JKR and her affiliates. Anything from the various religions comes from them and probably belongs to them. Anything totally unrecognisable is the result of my warped imagination and perverted sense of justice. No animals, humans, demons, angels, gods, witches, wizards or giant squids were harmed in the writing of this work of fan-fiction.

Chapter 1; Returns and New Beginnings

It was the 1st of September and it was raining. Of course, in Scotland that was hardly surprising. The night sky was shrouded in rolling grey and black clouds, the stars completely concealed from view. The little village of Hogsmeade lay in a small valley at the foot of a rather well known mountain, although few people knew the mountain's name. Far more recognisable and far more memorable was the building lying around half way to the summit; Hogwart's School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. With the bright pennants flying from the turrets of the castle, it looked rather out of place when viewed from the village against the backdrop of the rain and fast rising wind.

On the outskirts of the village, on the far side to the school, a red glow appeared suddenly on small piece of barren land and began to spread across the muddy ground. The glow formed into lines, which in turn split apart to form runes and outside the runes, a thin circle. The rest of the glow began to gather brightness and slowly rise to form a pillar of light at the centre of the glowing runes. An indeterminate time later, the pillar began to solidify to form a vaguely human shape. Then further to form first a humanoid form and then the figure of a person a little over six feet in height.

The light continued to condense until individual features were visible. It was a young man of around twenty-three or four years of age. He was quite tall, a few inches over six feet in his heavy black boots, with a slim, athletic build and a nice pair of shoulders. His face was handsome, with full lips, high, sculpted cheekbones and hooded eyes, currently red from the light and a ragged scar that ran from his hairline above his right eye and trailed off to the side, ending at the bottom of his jaw. At its widest point, just above his eye, it was around three inches across and looked like something had tried to claw his face off. This was not far from the truth. His ears were delicately pointed and each one was pierced three times. His hair was short and loosely spiked, the tips a lighter shade then the rest, but the colours were muted in the glow.

He was wearing a pair of dark trousers and a shirt of what was probably the same colour, under a full length trench coat that fell to his ankles. A bag was slung loosely over his left shoulders and held in placed by the long slender fingers of that hand. The nails on those fingers were a darker colour then the rest of his skin and seemed unnaturally pointed, more like claws then human hands.

The young man's hair moved lightly in a different wind to the one blowing through the surrounding countryside. He looked around for a moment and appeared to sigh once before raising his right hand, palm downwards and making a complicated movement as if on a control panel only he could see. With one more bright flash, the light disappeared, leaving the young man behind. A hastily muttered incantation created a softly glowing shield around him to keep off the wind and rain and he looked around again, this time with green, cat slit eyes. In the softly glowing white light, his clothing and nails were revealed to be black, along with his hair, although this was tipped with silver. He dug around in his pocket for a moment and then produced a small box, from which he took a cigarette and lit it with a word. As he put it to his lips, fangs flashed in the gentle light.

Then he started walking towards the main village road. He moved with the wolf-cautious grace of someone who was never truly off their guard, quickly and quietly. If he didn't miss his guess, the sorting should just have started and he wanted to make an entrance. As he walked, certain things began to change; first, his nails lost the sharpness and colour, becoming softer and more human looking, his ears became rounder, although he kept the earrings. His eyes became human eyes, the vivid green darkening a shade as they did so. His cheek bones altered slightly, indicating that his fangs were gone, a fact proved as he looked up and smiled as the castle came into view along the path ahead of him.

He stopped at the gates and dropping the cigarette onto the wet muddy trail. Then he used the toe of his boot to grind it into the ground and settling the bag more comfortably onto his shoulder, he made his way towards the school ahead of him. He hadn't expected to run into anyone during the short walk from the doors to the entrance to the Great Hall and he was as pleased to find this guess correct as he was irritated at the lack of security in a time of war. He stopped in front of the doors to listen.

"…been fed, there are a few announcements to be made…" he could hear Dumbledore saying, "The Forbidden Forest is just that, forbidden. All students should take note of that. Mr Filch has asked me to advise you that all product of Weasley's Wizard Wheezes have been added to the banned items list. Due to the situation outside these walls, DADA has been split into two separate classes, DSADA, Defence and Survival against the Dark Arts and DAND, Defence against Natural Dangers. Both these classes are compulsory. Professors Snape and Hagrid have agreed to take over the latter of two classes, so please welcome Professor Andrew Race-Norris who will be teaching Pre-OWL potions. Professor Tristan Daimonas who will be teaching DSADA appears to be running a bit late..."

The doors swung open, catching everyone's attention and the young man walked into Great Hall.

"I'm here." He asked softly into the ensuing silence.

"Ah, Tristan, you made it!" Dumbledore didn't miss a beat.

"The weather is atrocious." He said by way of explanation. Then he looked slowly around the room, taking in the students and then the teachers as he started moving again. A few moments later, he took the set between McGonagall and Flitwick.

"Students, allow me to introduce your new DSADA professor, Tristan Daimonas." Dumbledore beamed.

There was a smattering of polite applause, but most people seemed unsure. Tristan wondered if that was because of his appearance or his apparent age. He ignored Dumbledore as the old man conducted his students for the school song. And then they could leave.

"I'll show you to your quarters, Professor Daimonas if you'd like?" McGonagall said. He nodded and stood up to follow her out of the hall. Tristan had no intention of showing it, but he was absolutely exhausted. Jumping dimensions was not easy even for one such as him and he had had to do it twice in quick succession.

He couldn't help noticing the looks McGonagall was sending him as they walked and he had to admit some amusement as he waited for her to work up the courage to say anything. It took surprising little time, but then she was the head of Gryffindor House, "May I ask what happened to your face?"

"My familiar didn't like me very much, the first time we met. We get along better now."

McGonagall blinked and then hesitated a moment, "May I ask what your familiar is?"

Tristan smiled for a moment and then said, "I'd honestly rather not say. Part of my agreement with Headmaster Dumbledore is that Lusa won't be anywhere near the school. I don't want word to get out and any of the students either trying to find her or trying to trick me into calling her out of curiosity. At the end of the year, if you still want to know, I will tell you."

"Why then?"

Tristan smiled at the woman, "I've heard about the curse. If I do break it and return for a second year, I'll be too thrilled to care."

McGonagall laughed and decided that she liked the young man, "Professor, may I ask…"

The stopped outside Tristan's door and McGonagall trailed off, not sure how to continue.

"May you ask why I think I'm suitable for the position?"

McGonagall blushed, but nodded.

"Call me Tristan."

"Then please call me Minerva."

He cocked his head slightly, nodded once and looked at her and McGonagall was struck by how intense his gaze was and she suddenly began to entertain thoughts she hadn't had about a colleague in twenty years. She blushed even more and Tristan smiled, "First, I am older then I look, I'm actually twenty six. Secondly, to learn to defend against something, you need to understand it. Unlike the previous Darks Arts teachers, I am a dark wizard, although I practice the light arts too. Albus even made me take an oath that I'm not a Death Eater or a supporter of Voldemort. I have looked into the Abyss, Minerva, and it has looked back and I didn't like what I saw."

"I don't understand…"

Tristan tilted his head again and then said softly, "Think about it and I'm sure it will come to you." Then with another smile to take the sting out of his words, he opened the door and went inside.

He looked slowly around the rooms that would be his home for the next nine months. Teachers at Hogwarts were given a suite of rooms, usually either four or five, along with their office. Tristan wasn't surprised to learn that the DADA position came with one of the bigger ones. He was standing in what was obviously the living room and there were four open doors surrounding him. Through one, he could see a bath and through the one to his right, a kitchenette. He dropped his bag onto the floor and went exploring.

He immediately found that his guess as to the use of the room to his immediate right was correct as he entered a small kitchenette, large enough for one person with frequent guests. The door opposite the one he had entered from lead him into a reasonably large, empty room. He looked around in confusion before remembering Dumbledore telling him each suite had an empty room for the occupant to do what he wanted with. Dumbledore's twinkle had been working overtime when he mentioned one of the previous DADA teachers had turned the room into a photo studio. Although he didn't say it, Tristan guessed that had been Lockhart. After spending a few moments contemplating what he could do with the room, Tristan left it, returning to the living room and by passing the bathroom. He would explore that when next he needed to use the facilities. The next room, he was relieved to find, was the bedroom, complete with two wardrobes, a love seat, a chest of drawers and a small locker beside a large four poster bed. Deciding everything else could wait until the next morning, which was a Sunday anyway; Tristan dropped his coat onto the floor, pulled off his boots and collapsed, still dressed onto the bed. He was asleep before he head hit the pillow.

When he next awoke, he was feeling much better. A quick tempus charm told him it was a little after eleven in the morning and as such, he had missed breakfast. On the other hand, lunch was in less then an hour. Sighing, he rolled out of the bed and resolved to unpack and sort out his rooms after lunch; he stretched out before padding silently, wand in hand into the bathroom. The room was white, totally white and Tristan winced at the unexpected brightness. Several spells later, the walls were dark green and the utilities were black porcelain. The counters had been replaced with black marble. The last thing he did was dye the towels the same colour as the walls. Content that he wouldn't get a headache the next time he walked into the room, he quickly stripped off and climbed into the shower stall for what he guessed would be his first shower in over five years.

Half an hour later, he stood in front of the mirror in the bedroom debating about putting a robe on and ignoring the room around him. He was wearing a pair of black jeans with a black long sleeved T-shirt over it, but he knew that seeing a teacher out of robes would be an unusual sight for most people. He's never been truly comfortable in them though, and aside from the ceremonial battle robes he had received a few years before, he wore them as little as he could get away with. The battle robes he could do little about, so he wore them when he had to with ill grace and let it become simply another aspect of his personality… and something for the others to tease him about. He spent another moment looking at his reflection and then decided not to bother. He wasn't going to wear them any more then he absolutely had to anyway, so he should really start now. Decision made, left his chambers and made his way to the hall- slowly. He didn't want it to be obvious he knew his way.

Lunch had just started when he arrived and it was evident from the gusto many of the older students were eating with that he wasn't the only person in the school to indulge in a bit of Sunday morning laziness, although he doubted anyone else had been in quite as bad shape as he had been. Most of the students looked up as he entered and a few gaped at his clothing before they turned to whisper to their friends. Tristan ignored them and took a seat at the head table, once again beside Minerva.

"I see you found your way back."

"Yeah."

Minerva seemed about to say something else, when the door opened again and she subsided as they watched Snape storm up to the head table. Tristan raised an eyebrow at the other man, but otherwise made no move to acknowledge his presence. The greasy hair framed a sneer and then he turned to his lunch. The older man clearly wasn't impressed with Tristan's clothing. In fact, Snape didn't appear to be impressed with him, period. Tristan shrugged and continued eating. Nothing new there anyway.

Despite Snape's arrival and obvious disapproval at both the state of Tristan's dress and the young professor himself, lunch passed relatively quietly. The Gryffindor table provided some entertainment in the form of the sudden appearance of several canaries. From the laughter coming from the Weasley twins, Tristan could guess they were the cause. Snape glowered, but Minerva seemed content to allow the prank to go unpunished. Seeing Tristan's confused look, she explained, "They aren't hurting anyone and if I tried punishing them for every single prank, I'd never get anything else done."

"I see."

"If you're finished, Tristan, would you like a tour?"

Tristan smiled and nodded, quickly downing the rest of his pumpkin juice.

Minerva proved to be a gifted tour guide and for the next two hours, she showed him the ins and outs of the school, filling the time with anecdotes and stories from her time as a teacher. From Isabella Domingo, the Spanish socialite who was forced to flee Spain after her torrid love affair with the crown prince was made public and hid for two months in the north tower to tales of the Marauders prank war with the then reigning champions (who were never identified) during their second year to some of the stunts pulled by the current pranking champions, Fred and George Weasley. Tristan couldn't help but notice though, that not one mention was made of the Boy-Who-Lived and the Golden Trio. He considered asking about it, but decided not to. After all, Minerva had been his head of house. Maybe it was just her way of dealing with her grief at the death of one of her students. He was still intensely curious though, to learn exactly what his teachers had truly thought of him and his antics.

Eventually they arrived back at the door to his chambers and parted company, Minerva promising to drop off his teaching schedule later that afternoon. Tristan nodded and went in; deciding that now was a very good time to sort out his rooms when he once again took in the living room.

For the most part the rooms came fully furnished, but the colours, which last night had been the least of Tristan's worries, where now beginning to grate on his nerves. First things first though. He went and got his bag, rummaging inside it until he found the status field protected stereo and put it onto the floor in the corner. Selecting 'random' from the playlist menu, he cast a couple of silencing spells and a warning spell in the door so he knew if someone knocked and turned the volume up. Iron Maiden's Paschendale began to blare out of the speakers.

Umbridge had had a thing for frills, lace and pink. The second thing he did was gather all that into the middle of the room and set it on fire. The walls were left with the stones bare, although Tristan did dig out several of the pictures he had brought with him and hang them up. A print of Death on a Pale Horse by William Blake went on one wall and across from it another called, The Garden of Earthly Delights by Hieronymus Bosch. The last one he put up, directly opposite the door was Sir Frank Dicksee's Belle Dame sans Merci. Then just to cause confusion he added a framed poster of Iron Maiden to the wall between the doors to the bathroom and duelling room. He transfigured the coffee table and bookshelves from… whatever wood Umbridge had selected to oak. He then transfigures the curtains over the windows to heavy green velvet and changed the couches to soft brown leather. If there had been any doubt that his bag was charmed bigger inside, then it was destroyed when Tristan pulled two Persian rugs out of it. One he put on front of the fire, between it and the coffee table. The second, he placed on front of the bookcases. He then moved the stereo which was now belting out System of a Down's Chop Suey onto one of the shelves. Satisfied with the living room, he turned his attention to the bedroom.

The previous night and when he woke up, he had been first too tired and then too hungry to care about the décor, so it was with a slight wince that he took in the baby pink walls and doilies on every surface. With a wave of his hand, the walls turned to a rich, deep blue. The pink bedding was replaced with heavy blue silk, a few shades lighter then the wall and trimmed with gold. The carpet was replaced with hardwood and as with the living room, all the wood was quickly transfigured into oak. The doilies disappeared along with the rest of the lace into the smokeless fire still going strong in the living room.

He pulled out another two pictures to hang up in the bedroom, a print of Leonardo DaVinci's Vitruvian Man and a large signed poster of Rammstien on stage that he got at the band's concert in Germany over the summer. It had been one of only four trips he had made back to this world and a birthday present from the person he had begun to think of as an older sister and best friend combined.

Next was the duelling room, although that didn't take much work. He simply vanished everything inside it. Digging round in his bag, he found the miniaturised weapons rack, which, when resized, went against on wall and the weights which went beside it. Grinning at how easy the room had been, he made his way back into the living room. Walking over to the bookshelves, he dropped the bag onto the floor and began to pull out the miniaturized books that he had brought back with him, along with the CDs that he hadn't been able to fit onto the stereo's inbuilt hard drive. In between the books, he put the other odds and ends that he had decided to bring with him, the ornate replica samurai sword and stand went on, along with about a hundred candles. A triangular paperweight with a dragon formed out of tiny bubbles went beside a bowl with a handful of loose change in it. An incense burner shaped like a staff wielding wizard fighting a chimera went on as well.

Tristan was just finishing up by putting the last few knickknacks into his bedroom, along with some candles, when the alarm on the door went off. He made his way back out, turning the volume down on the stereo, which was just finishing Poison Girl by HIM. He wasn't terribly surprised to find Minerva at the door, holding what he assumed to be his timetable. He smiled at her and motioned her in, enjoying the combination of confusion, surprise and shock on her face as she looked around.

"Interesting… artwork." She said after a moment of looking around.

Knowing what she was getting at, he replied, "Art has no more meaning then the viewer chooses to give it. Only the truly great can give meaning even when it isn't wanted."

"Are you saying these do have meaning or that they don't?" Minerva snapped, feeling that she knew the young man well enough that he wouldn't take offence.

Tristan laughed, "Belle has no meaning to me. I just find the picture relaxing. Death, well that reminds me that not everything is how it appears, a lesson I learned harshly and learned well. Iron Maiden is a muggle rock band. I like their music. The Garden… well, that's personal."

Minerva blinked at the obvious thought that had gone into the choices.

"Iron Maiden?"

"Yes, an interesting name, wouldn't you say?"

"I suppose…" she trailed off, "I brought your schedule."

"Thank you." He replied taking it off of her and tossing it onto the coffee table, bringing Minerva's eyes to the flat grey box on it.

"What…"

"A muggle laptop. I find it easier to store information on it then to troll through books every time I need something."

"I wasn't aware that muggle technology worked here?"

"I can get it to work, but it's difficult. For my laptop and stereo, I decide it was worth it."

It was only then that Minerva realised she was listening to music, "What is that?"

Tristan listened for a moment and then said, "The Immigrant Song, by Led Zeppelin."

"I've never heard anything like it…" she shook her head and took her leave.

Tristan entertained himself for a few moments with the image of Biker Minerva before dragging his mind back to the present.

He turned the music back up and went into the kitchen long enough to grab a can of coke and then sat down on the couch in front of the coffee table, pulling the schedule to him as he did so. He had the Slytherin and Gryffindor 6th years first, followed by the Hufflepuff and Ravenclaw 3rd years. He absently tapped the schedule as he considered that. Ron and Hermione would be in his first class. He slid down till he was sitting on the floor, resting his back against the chair. They were unlikely to recognise him. Ron wouldn't look any deeper then the skin. Lusa had done him one hell of a favour when she had tried to rip his face off. The strip of skin she had pulled from him had included his scar and the larger scar had changed his face too much for him to be easily recognised. With his darkened eyes and the subtle alteration of his jaw line to accommodate his fangs, no one was likely to connect Tristan to Harry Potter. Hermione's much vaunted maturity would be the reason she would miss it. She had never truly been willing to admit that either he or Ron had been old enough to make their own decisions; particularly if she didn't agree then said decision. Two months for them had been ten years for him and that added age would ensure that Hermione didn't look at him as a friend. Harry Potter would stay dead.

He closed his eyes and leaned his head back against the couch, once again wondering if returning to Hogwarts was truly the best decision. Yes, it put him close to the heart of the action, but it would also mean he risked his exposure every moment of the day. Sighing he climbed back to his feet and drained his can. Either way, the decision was made. And he still had the kitchen to sort out before dinner.

Tristan still hadn't bothered to put on a robe by the time he went to dinner and once again, his entry caused a wave of mutters to spread out through the students. Dumbledore raised an eyebrow as his newest professor's dress sense, but made no comment on it. He did however; take note of the number of girls who were eyeing their new DSADA teacher up, with some trepidation. Tristan would be a good teacher, but the boy was most assuredly dark. It had taken an oath before he had believed that he wasn't a death eater. Tristan, if he remembered right, had been very amused by that.

The young man in question took his seat in between Flitwick and Sinistra this time and within a few minutes was engrossed in a discussion on the potential benefits of some charm Dumbledore could only vaguely remember hearing about once or twice and dinner began. Shaking his head, Dumbledore turned to his own meal. He had the entire year to discover Tristan's secrets.

Some time later, Tristan sat in his office, absently going over the notes left by the previous DADA teachers. According to Minerva, Snape had already been given a copy and knew where the line between their subjects would be. Tristan had little hope of the sour man actually sticking to those lines, but he didn't really care either. The students needed all the practice they could get. His office was beginning to look more homely. The bookshelves behind him were now full of the odds and ends he had decided prior to his arrival to put on display. A floe glass faced the desk and a sneakoscope was being used as a paperweight. Besides the books on the shelves behind the desk, there was also a selection of replica weapons in glass cases. A few of the weapons were real, but Tristan had no intention of actually admitting that. A smaller stereo, this one without the hard drive, and a selection of CDs were also on a shelf, although Minerva might have been surprised to discover they included a selection of classical and opera pieces. Mars, the bringer of War was currently playing in the background. Tristan had also indulged in his taste for rock posters and had hung four in the room, one of HIM, one of NIN, one of Slipknot and the final one of Ozzy Osbourne from his 'Prince of Darkness' phase. He leaning back in his chair and looked around. Life was good. No one had any expectation of him he couldn't live with this time. His mind turned to the next day and a smile pulled at his lips. The year was going to be… interesting.

Tristan missed breakfast the next morning; partly because he didn't want to give anyone a chance to question his lack of robes, but mainly because he didn't have to be at breakfast on Monday mornings and that meant that he could get another half hour in bed. So, the first time anyone seen Tristan was when he came up behind the 6th year class he had first thing on Monday morning.

"… telling you Ron, he must know what he is doing. Dumbledore isn't going to hire someone who doesn't know what he's doing after last year! Everyone knows You-Know-Who is back now."

"Hermione, he can't be much older then us. Where and when is he going to have learnt anything? After the DA last year, I'd say we probably know more then Professor Daimonos. There was a subtle emphasis on the name that told Tristan he had missed something.

"Really, Ron! Just because the professor is good looking doesn't mean anything! I just think that Dumbledore…" she trailed off as her eyes took in the professor who was no standing behind Ron.

Realising something was wrong, Ron spun around to face the man behind him.

Tristan stood there, looking at the students with a faint smile on his lips. He was wearing a pair of black combat trousers and a black long sleeved T-shirt. The heavy boots he had been wearing since the day he arrived were still there and a black leather belt with a silver buckle in a weird Celtic design was slung around his waist. His arms were folded across his chest and the silver studs on the wand holster on his right wrist reflected the candle light in the dark corridor.

"Is there any reason you are standing in the corridor and not sitting in the class room, Mr Weasley?"

Ron simply stared at him. Tristan looked around and when his eyes settled on Hermione, he raised an eyebrow in question.

Hermione drew herself up, "Not many of the teachers like the students to enter the classroom before they are present, Professor Daimonas. We thought it would be best to wait out here." She flicked her head slightly, "The Slytherins are already inside."

"Well, why don't you join them then?"

Hermione blinked, then nodded once and led the Gryffindors in.

The students got themselves settled while Tristan watched from his position leaning against the desk. His eyes wandered over the students, picking out the ones who were most likely already death eaters and those who were just waiting for the chance to join. His eyes paused at Draco Malfoy. Malfoy was an enigma; no one was sure which side he was on. Or indeed what his plans were. In the high stakes poker game Tristan was playing with the universe, Malfoy was a total unknown.

The role was quickly called and then Tristan decided it was time to get started for real. "Well then, let's get started." The class's attention was immediately on him, "My name is Tristan Daimonos. Welcome to DSADA, or Defence and Survival against the Dark Arts. You are 6th years, which means that you should already have a fairly good working knowledge of what is out there. You will note, that I said 'should'. Between the lack of competent teachers and the amount of… excitement Hogwarts has seen in the last five years, I very much doubt you are up to scratch."

The class did not look happy. In fact, Ron looked ready to explode.

"I don't know how much of a difference your little duelling club made last year, beyond giving you a chance to vent, so I suggest we start there. Mr Weasley, Mr Crabbe, front and centre please."

The duel was quickly over. Ron had only had to cast three spells to win. Tristan sent Crabbe back to his seat and called Zabini up. This time the duel lasted quite a bit longer. Zabini seemed content to dodge the steady stream of hexes, curses and charms Weasley was sending at him until frustrated Ron over extended and a shockingly quick stunning spell caught him in the chest. Tristan nodded to them and sent them back to their seats, calling the next two students up.

By the end, he had a pretty good idea of what the individual students were capable of. "Alright, not bad. Better then I thought it would be anyway." Ron bristled, his face slowly going red.

Tristan, watching him couldn't help but smile, "For next week, I want between one and two rolls of parchment on what makes a spell or a person dark."

"What?" Ron couldn't contain himself any longer.

"Mr Weasley?"

"What do you mean 'what makes a person dark'? That's obvious!"

"Is it Mr Weasley? In that case you will have no difficulty in doing the assigned homework. To make a point, that essay will count towards your final mark for the year. Class dismissed."

The students began to pack up, most of them trying to work out what angle Tristan wanted them to take on the essay. He wasn't surprised when Hermione stopped on front of his desk, "Professor Daimonos?"

"Yes, Miss Granger?"

"I was… well…" she trailed off under his gaze and then blushed.

The reason for Ron's antagonism suddenly became clear.

"Miss Granger?"

"I was wondering why Professor Dumbledore would select someone so young…"

"I assume that Headmaster believed I can do the job, Miss Granger. Do you have a question about the class?"

"What exactly do you want us to put in this essay?"

Tristan stood up straighter and looked at the girl for a moment before moving around the desk and sitting down in the chair, "Something a bit more thought out then 'they got sorted into Slytherin'. I want you to tell me your opinion on what makes a dark witch or wizard. I want know what makes the killing curse dark but the levitation charm not, when both can be used to kill. Now you had better hurry or you will be late for potions."

Hermione nodded and left; a look of confusion on her face. Tristan strongly suspected that this was the first time anyone had ever demanded Hermione Granger explain her biases.

The third year class ventured in. Tristan watched them and sighed. He was lucky he wasn't still that small. Considering the amount of time and effort it took to fix the damage his relatives did to him, he was willing to bet that Dumbledore had never intended to do anything about it. The old man had needed Harry Potter to play a role, for the 'greater good'. Tristan hoped he was home when Dumbledore came in; he really wanted to see what Dumbledore thought of the afterlife his 'greater good' earned him.

Dragging his mind back, he turned his attention to the students, "Right, role first, questions after. Alright?"

At then past four that afternoon, Tristan collapsed into the chair in his office and wondered what on earth, or anywhere else, he had been thinking when he applied for the DSADA job. Surprisingly, it had been one of the first year Hufflepuffs who had worked up the courage to ask why he wasn't wearing robes, something that amused him no end. Thus is was that the first years were the also the first to learn any personal details about their new teacher when he explained to them that after living for so long in the muggle world, he found robes to be a bother. This had results in an impromptu demonstration of muggle fighting techniques and how robes could tangle someone up. The students were impressed and Tristan was delighted that he had managed to make them question the pureblood dogma on their first day. Now though, he was exhausted. Five years would get the same piece of homework for the first week. It would also be the question they would be asked in their Christmas exam. Their mark would be based on how well they had developed an understanding of the underlying causes. The fifth and seventh years, he would focus on what was likely to come up on the OWLs and NEWTs.

He had to admit, the day had gone better then he had been expecting. For the most part the students were willing to accept him. It would take them a while to trust him, but that was time he could spend easily. After all, there was nothing he could do until Voldemort came for the school. Despite the prophecy, he hands were now tied by the rules governing the Obsidian Guards. One of these days he might even be able to work out why he had joined them and not the Silver Guard when he had the chance.

The music behind him stopped as the CD finished. Tristan sank lower into his chair at the sudden silence. If life was a stage, then all the main protagonists of this comedy were in place. Voldemort, Dumbledore and himself. As Nychta was fond of saying, now all they could do was wait for the first one to forget their lines.

He stood up and changed the CD, not really paying attention, the stands of HIM's Join me in Death filled the room. Tristan glanced down at the CD box in his hand. How strangely appropriate, he thought.

Like? Don't like? Let me know.

Thank you to those who reviewed.