Chapter Six: From Students to Professors

Standing by the entrance to the Great Hall, Albus Dumbledore looked the picture of content, though in truth, he was quite possibly one of the most strained wizards in the world. His worries covered a wide range of subjects and causes, spanning from the international battle between the Ministry and the Death Eaters to the type of Muggle candy his Professors would accept for a welcome back present. He stroked his chin with a long finger, pondering just that. Lemon drops or butterscotch? Sweet or sour? He did need to get to know a few new faculty members better.

But his thoughts were interrupted by small groups of chattering students strolling to their House tables, all eager to return to classes. Dumbledore smiled as they walked by, cheerfully noting the expressions of mild surprise on their faces. Doubtless they were unused to seeing their Headmaster waiting for them to walk in, but a Headmaster ought to be Head of the school, not simply waiting up on the dais with the teachers. They had a lot to learn, he chuckled silently, but they would never find out everything about him. Not even Aberforth had managed that yet.

Face after face, he recognized them all by name, House, and year like he had made a point to when he first assumed the position of Headmaster. Behind the half-moon glasses twinkled clear blue eyes, and the way in which they caught the light reminded everyone that age had not yet taken its toll on Albus Dumbledore. Rather, it had made him wiser, or so he would like to think, but most likely what the others thought was due to his rejuvenation by memory loss.

Long purple robes swirled about his feet as he slowly walked up to the front of the Great Hall after the majority of the students had taken their seats. Dumbledore inclined his head politely to his fellow teachers before sinking into the central chair. Before taking a sip of the liquid put before him, he glanced at Minerva McGonagall with a questioning frown.

The drink was lemonade, and he was an unusual wizard indeed.

* * * * *

"Indivia! Stop that!" Remus scolded the feisty spotted owl, a beakful of ash-gray feathers stubbornly clamped in her mouth. She shook her head comically before spitting them out onto a cloth napkin, a moist gray bundle similar to those found in the Owlery. Wrinkling his nose, the seventh year continued, "Honestly, you don't have to attack every owl that borrows your job."

Unfolding his schedule with one hand and stroking Indivia with the other, James grinned at the hastily departing school owl, which also seemed to be missing a tuft of feathers from its back. "She likes her position as the one and only, don't you, Indivia?" The owl nipped his preening finger affectionately and stole a chunk of toast out of his plate. So much for "well-mannered" to be added to the list of compliments.

"I wish my owl were like that though," said Sirius, "but like everything else its lineage's been traced back a thousand years. Which makes it just as stuffy as the rest." He rolled his eyes but quickly brightened when a slip of paper floated down from the air. "Not bad, not bad at all," he muttered to himself, staring down at the timetable, and then looked up at his friends. "Transfiguration first, then—"

"Wait a moment," James frowned. "There's a 'See attached note' written on mine, when I'm supposed to have a free period."

Remus bent over and picked up a tiny roll of parchment that had fallen onto the ground during the owl spat. "This it?"

He unfurled the piece of crisp parchment and skimmed it quickly, finishing with a comprehending shrug. "Did you get it too?"

 "I'm paired with Mattie for the second years."

"Perfectly good, doing the third years with Bella," said Remus.

They turned to look at Peter Pettigrew, and James finally spoke. "So, did you get one of these teaching things?" he asked, waving the roll in the air.

"N-no," Peter stuttered, "b-but it's for Defense anyway, and I—I don't think I'm m-much good at that."

A sigh escaped from Remus's normally cheerful mouth as he contemplated once more how intolerably blunt his friends could be. Clapping a hand on Wormtail's shoulder, he said reasonably, "Well, it's just extra work anyways. Be happy that you didn't, all right?"

Peter's small plump frame was bobbing up and down anxiously though he did not utter a sound except a soft, rat-like sniff. His blanched blue eyes were opened wide as if he wondered why anyone in their right mind would want to be a part of the new project.

"Say, who did you get, Prongsie?" Sirius asked, the corners of his lips twitching slightly in amusement of Pettigrew's new act. But for Moony's sake he kept quiet. Moony had been designated official peacemaker ages ago, and somehow, he was the only one truly suited to the role.

However Sirius had no need to ask the question, for a frustrated growl sounded a few spaces down the long Gryffindor table. More than one student found himself entertained by this new outburst from a girl like none other, a girl that they wanted, a girl that would never take them.

"WHY did Dumbledore put me with Potter?" Lily balled her tiny hands up into hard fists, an intense angry light sparking in her eyes. She gathered up her papers, shoved them in her shoulder bag, and stormed out of the Great Hall, much to the curiosity of all the other students at all four tables.

Sveta shrugged and popped the last piece of toast into her mouth. "Honestly, she didn't have to run out screaming. I'm the one who got Snape, after all."

* * * * *

At precisely 9:59, Albus Dumbledore touched a wizened finger to the tiny scratch on his door and eased it open. Recognizing Charms were all too useful, he noted with a smile, although they could never be 100% reliable and thus could not be used to prevent students from entering Hogsmeade on odd weeknights. Still, under the right conditions, a well-placed Charm or two served quite a few purposes, the least of which involved allowing a white-haired old wizard to exit his office without turning a single doorknob.

"Ah, my dear students, all on time, I see?" He clapped his hands together, mentally checking off each upturned face. "Except for Miss Evans…who has now arrived."

In a flurry of robes, Lily rushed down the hall and skidded to a stop right underneath the Headmaster's crooked nose. "Sorry, Professor Dumbledore," she gasped, "I lost track of the time, and—"

He cut off her explanations with a wave. "That can come later, Miss Evans, but your classmates are most undoubtedly waiting for the next part of their explanations." Turning on his heel, Dumbledore slid his hand along the same groove on the opposite side of the door and ushered them into the office.

"Take a seat now, everyone around the table. The reason I call this group of students together is simply because you are the most talented rank of the seventh years, and I offer you a simple proposition. As you may already know, no one has ventured to accept the Defense Against the Dark Arts position…and in this dimming age, the subject will be of most vital importance. If someone could teach the first through fourth years, then perhaps I would be able to find time for the higher grades." He looked from one young face to another and raised his brows, knowing quite well that they would accept. Though he did not enjoy using his powers to force the students into an uncomfortable situation, sometimes it simply could not be helped.

Severus glowered at the group, the majority of which was constituted of Gryffindors. "Why, Headmaster," he asked simply, "can you not find someone else? I'm quite sure that some of us are not capable," at this, his steady gaze flickered towards James Potter, "of handling a group of younger students."

"And Mr. Black?" said Dumbledore, noting the restless gleam of his dark eyes.

"Personally, I feel that all but one of the group is perfectly able to do this." His joking tone had become serious; the normal spontaneity had been replaced with thought.

"Well, I cannot force anyone, as I have already informed our Head Boy and Girl, so the decision must be common consent." He waved his wand and tiny slips of paper floated through the air to fall before their places at the table. "Simply trace a 'Y' or 'N' with your finger, and I shall take a secret ballot."

Dumbledore collected the pieces of parchment with a flick of his wrist and unfolded them one by one to reveal shimmering golden letters. "Yes…yes…yes…yes…" Tired features then broke into a smile. "The decision is unanimous, and we shall continue on our endeavor. If there are objections, please voice them now."

Silence.

"None? Then we shall commence. You have all received your classes and times, and all that remains is to know what to teach."

"Which is…?" asked Remus dubiously.

"Simply all that you have learned in your years at Hogwarts. Although of course, you will need these." Textbooks dropped onto the table with a loud thump, and they opened the covers to skim through the contents.

Dumbledore's clear blue eyes sparkled at their faces, which were quickly beginning to show understanding. "Yes, Mr. Potter," he silenced the boy, "all essay answers, questions, and such are written in. Convenient, isn't it?"

"Thank you, Professor," said Lily. "This will be quite helpful, I'm sure." She glared at the others, daring them to disagree. Come on, whispered a voice inside her head, just go and try it…

Fortunately no one took her bait, as they were too busy browsing through the pages and formulating ways to guide, no, teach a group of easily excitable younger students. Then the clang of a bell, and Dumbledore stood up lightly to wave them out.

"Professor Lupin…I like the sound of that," Remus winked.

* * * * *

The next day marked the beginning of their new teacher positions, and the seven Gryffindors gathered in the common room, each planning to wish the others luck. There was a moment of uncomfortable silence before Lily cleared her throat.

"Uh, well, have fun, and I guess that's it," she muttered in a barely audible voice that came out in chunks and pieces.

"Not a problem." James winked and strolled out of Gryffindor Tower. And they followed. All the way to the Great Hall, the other professors-to-be hung behind his easy, lean figure as he trotted through the halls. They ate in silence, quite unusual for such group, and lingered at the table until most other students had already exited. Only then did James rise from his seat and start for the hall of classrooms.

He easily towered above the clusters of first years milling about the Defense Against the Dark Arts classroom. Waving Lily over, though there was no real need, James leaned against a wall and waited for them to walk in. Once the hallways had cleared, he strode into the room after Lily and shut the door with a bang.

"Right then," he began with a carefree grin, "I would believe that Professor Dumbledore has told you of the situation?"

Heads bobbed up and down; one boy with a shock of carrot red hair stuck his hand in the air.

"Yes, Mr. Weasley?" said Lily.

"I was just going to say that he told us that students would be teaching…what exactly will you be teaching, Professor Evans? Will it be better than the old teacher, at least?"

Lily twisted a strand of auburn around her finger before mustering the patience to answer Bill Weasley's always-endless stream of questions. "As of right now, we'll be continuing on some basic hexes and curses—"

"Possibly Unforgivables, if there's time," James cut in.

"Yes, and I would hope that you find our teaching slightly better than that of Professor Osbufation…wonderful man that he might have been." She paused to wrinkle her nose at his not-so-distant memory. "And simply refer to me as Lily."

"Same here, just James."

Rubbing her hands together nervously, Lily moved to the center of the room. "Right then, I think we should start…everyone, please turn to page three and read the section on the origin of curses, which should be review material from first year. Once you've finished, you can begin taking notes, and after ten minutes or so, we'll ask some questions."

Surprisingly enough, James was completely satisfied with her orders; more so was the class's instant compliance.

* * * * *

Bright blue eyes snapped with a trace of annoyance in their depths, eyes that were foreign to the nation of England despite the length of time that they had resided there. They spoke of a world of ice and snow, forests and hills to the far North, reflecting the clear cold sky after the clouds had passed, golden sun casting its weak rays of light across the heavens and earth alike. And though they had not the liquid pools shimmering behind them and were not the least bit mesmerizing—no, far from it—Svetlana Raminov did not worry about them. Light sapphire accented blond hair quite well, at any rate. Besides, she received enough unnecessary attention already, and she was not inclined to become purposely seductive.

She spun on her heel to come nose-to-nose with the shadow that had trailed her to the classroom. Her forehead barely reached his eyes, but sheer unmitigated confidence compensated quite well. Severus Snape was not the overgrown bat the Marauders all thought he was; his composed, frustrated features held intelligence and passion, albeit a very good mask had been placed over it. But her own anger tended to flare whenever he stepped too near, and of course, the fault was all his. Today, of all days, he chose to be late.

"Well?"

"If you haven't realized already, Raminov, we've been scheduled to instruct the same first year classes…possibly because you've been arranged as a sacrifice? For me?"
Sveta blew through her teeth impatiently. "Just cut it," she growled, "and don't scare them."

Ignoring her with a patent air of disdain, Severus swept into the room, the awe-inspiring look that he would become so famous for as an adult already mastered. "Good afternoon, class. My name is Severus Snape, and along with Svetlana Raminov," he gestured at the girl standing by him, "I will be instructing first year Defense Against the Dark Arts. You will address me as Professor Snape, or simply 'Professor'. Is that clear?"

"Professor Raminov, please, will do," Sveta added.

The room, previously chattering and filled with nervous energy, had settled into quiet fear. "No questions? Then we shall continue onto class requirements," said Sveta, forcing her voice to become calm rather than irritated. "Each one of you must bring to class a supply of quills, parchment, a wand, a textbook, any homework, and any other materials we may ask for."

"And why is no one writing this down?" Severus barked, and paced up and down the center aisle, ensuring that each skittish little first year had pulled out a quill and scribbled a few notes across a sheet of parchment. "Actually, before we try to go further…by a show of hands, how many of you are Slytherins?" He offered a light smirk as approximately half the class extended their hands proudly into the air. "Gryffindors?" Nothing. "Hufflepuffs?" The same.

An uneasy sigh escaped her lips; Ravenclaws were typically amazing little kids, but extraordinarily difficult to keep focused as well. Added to Slytherins, the class would be restless at best and purely chaotic at worst. "Well then…" she attempted to begin, "can anyone tell me what he or she believes a Dark Art is?"

"Mr. Alners, yes?" Snape nodded at the Slytherin boy who had raised his hand.

"Any form of magic that has been developed specifically to cause harm," recited Carson Alners, "especially curses, hexes, and jinxes."

"Excellent," he gave a rare smile. "Five points to Slytherin."

"But what about the most recent attack in the Netherlands, when someone had performed an Engorgio Charm on the Muggle's brain until blood vessels burst and he died of a stroke? Is that not Dark magic as well?"

Steely-faced with determination, Carson jerked his head up and down in agreement. "That is something to think about then," said Sveta.

Severus drew her over to a corner of the room by the sleeve, purposely disregarding the students' curious looks. "Lovely, isn't it?" he hissed with horrible mirth sketched over his sallow features. "At this rate, your poor Ravenclaws don't have a chance."

"Whatever you think, they're not mine," she snapped in an ambassador's cold whisper. "If the class exists to boost your House points, then I'm afraid I shall simply ask Professor Dumbledore to force you to leave." To the class, Sveta continued, "Due at the next meeting is four inches of parchment summarizing the first ten pages on the rise of Dark magic, and you may start now."

He drew himself up to his full height and bore into the top of her head. "I should have known that no one from Potter's House can handle anything but keeping him safe from the ickle Slytherins."

AN: Sorry for the delay, but I've been busy with midterms and such, so this chapter might not be all that wonderful and amazing. So review and enjoy—also, if you have any interest in fantasy or LotR based RPG's, take a look at . It contains some Tolkien elements, but there are unique races as well…I'm the mod called ShadowWraith, and the admin is a real-life friend. Take a look if you have time ^.^

L8er,

-cybErdrAgOn