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The next day, James woke up, his stomach churning and a cold sweat on his forehead. He'd taught before, but never as a full-time teacher, never to students younger than sixteen and never to classes of twenty or more. To put it plainly, he was terrified. He dressed, pulling a smart green robe over the black shirt and jeans that he normally wore. After all, there was no reason to antagonise Severus unnecessarily. He managed that by accident often enough!

When he arrived in the Great Hall and took his seat, Minerva looked at him sympathetically and piled his plate with food.

"Thanks, Minerva, but I'm not really that hungry," he tried to protest.

She wasn't having any of it."Nonsense, you sound like a second-year before his first Quidditch match. You need your strength. Anyway, you'll be fine."

"If he's not fine, why would he be here, anyway?" Severus asked, sneering. "A teacher who's scared of his students is a worthless addition to the staff; he threatens the tranquillity of our own classes."

"Shut up, Severus, you can't tell me you didn’t get first-time nerves, because I was the one who got you through them, just as I am doing for James now."

"I'm not nervous!" James contradicted.

"Then why are you acting like you have a problem eating?" she said patiently. "Go on, eat. Severus will leave you alone. Who do you have first?"

"Seventh-years, some of them at any rate. There's only about five of them in the class. I thought Defence Against the Dark Arts was more popular than that."

"It is; you'll find that your other seventh-year class is much larger. There was a timetable clash with Transfiguration and Potions. The class you have today takes Potions, but not Transfiguration; that's why it's such a small group. The seventh-years are a nice crowd this year. I hope you're intending to push them hard. Unfortunately, their last teacher was an incompetent of the worst kind, since he could scarcely cast the spells he was trying to teach them. Since you were recommended from the university, I doubt you'll be having that problem."

"You attended the university?" Filius Flitwick asked, sounding curious. "Which house were you in?"

"Merlin, that's why Professor Dumbledore decided I'd work out in Slytherin house."

"You know, James," Minerva said, "Albus would really prefer it if you called him by his given name, like the rest of us. He's just worried he’ll make you uncomfortable."

" I'll . . . try."

"Good, now, Filius here was duelling champion at the university for - what was it Filius - two years? Have you thought who you're going to ask to assist you with your duelling club yet?"

"Profes– Albus agreed to do a demonstration duel with me in the first session. It ought to be fascinating for the students. I've asked him to go full out and not hold back."

"Are you sure you can handle duelling him?" Filius asked, sounding interested. "He defeats me quickly every time I try."

"I think I ought to be able to manage fine. Excuse me, please, I'd like to go and set up for the lesson."

"Good luck, James."

James left, passing Albus Dumbledore in the doorway.

"Have I missed anything?" he asked as he took his seat. "James looked remarkably cheerful for a new teacher. I remember that the rest of you looked like you were about to throw up before your first lessons."

"James was merely informing us that he's not only more powerful than you, Albus, but that his technique at duelling is better than yours, also," Severus said smoothly.

"If he says so, I am certain that he's right. I already had my suspicions," Albus said. "My brother informs me that he's quite the prodigy in his field."

"He was saying that he was better than Filius!" Pomona Sprout said, sounding horrified.

"Sorry, old friend, but he is. He's… let me see … not just the only first-year student at the university to win the duelling tournament, but the only one ever to win it four consecutive years, including against the post-graduate students."

"He won every year he was there?!"

"Yes."

"Standards must really have dropped since I attended, then," Severus said. "In my day, any first-year who got ideas above his station had them promptly suppressed by his elders."

"I don't believe James even intended on winning," Albus said. "My brother mentioned something about having to blackmail him in order to get him past the first round. As for standards, how good would you say Draco Malfoy is at duelling?"

"One of the best to have left Hogwarts in recent years," Minerva said promptly. "Mr Longbottom could beat him, but only just."

"Draco Malfoy, a third-year at the time and defending champion, was the one that James Evans beat in his first final, almost without any expert training. Since then, James has received three and a half intensive years of training from my brother, an acknowledged master. Now, unless you have any more accusations to make against our new teacher, I suggest you progress to your lessons. It wouldn't do for you to be late on the first day, now, would it?"

James, meanwhile, had cleared back the desks in his classroom with a flick of his wand and arranged the chairs he'd need in a circle. Then he waited, his nervousness returning, for his class to arrive. They came precisely on time, all five of them, and he ticked them off on the register. Two were Ravenclaws and there was one student from each of the other houses. Of course, it was a NEWT class. James almost kicked himself for forgetting that they were more mixed than the younger years.

"Take a seat and put everything away," he said, noticing that they were hesitating. "You won't need anything, even your wand, for this lesson. I am, as you know, Professor Evans. Since I've been unable to find a complete list of topics you've covered, could one of you provide me with your notes from last year?"

One of the Ravenclaw girls raised her hand.

"Yes, Miss Fancourt?"

"Sir, I think we'd all agree that we'd rather learn the topics over again. I don't think I really understood them when Professor Keddle explained them to us."

"Okay, you'd like a quick review of the basic topics, then? Easily arranged. Professor Dumbledore informed me that you hadn't studied the Unforgivable Curses before, is that correct?"

"Yes, sir."

"Excellent, that's what we'll be covering today. Since this is such a small class, treat this like an informal discussion; don't bother raising your hands. What do you know about the Unforgivables already?"

"You get sent to Azkaban if you use them," one student answered.

"There's three, I can't remember their names," another replied.

"Correct, can anyone name them?" asked James.

"Imperius, Cruciatus and Avada Kedavra or the Killing Curse," the Slytherin boy said promptly. James looked at him carefully, was he a bit too quick to name them? Then the boy continued. "You-Know-Who killed my parents with Avada Kedavra. I was hiding in the cupboard."

"Yes, he did favour it. He killed my family, too; he destroyed far too many families. Try to call him Voldemort, though, fear of the name increases fear of the thing itself, and he's long since dead. There is no way he'll be able to return again. Imperius is a charm that takes away your free will, Cruciatus stimulates the nerves and causes excruciating pain and Avada Kedavra kills you instantly, there is no defence. Let's start with the last, and supposedly most terrible, Avada Kedavra. Mr Ketteridge, would you say that it was wrong under any circumstances?"

"Yes, sir."

"Why? Is it any different from the twenty or so other death curses that aren't illegal?"

"You can't defend against it."

"So if you were fighting a band of Dark Wizards, alone, and you needed to kill them to survive, you'd rather have to use a curse that they could block?"

"Um…"

"Of course, the reverse applies too, but they don't generally care about the law and will cast it at you anyway. Let us think of another scenario, Miss Timms. You're on the battlefield and your best friend has been felled with a Gladius Hex, which hit them straight in the chest. There is no way he will be able to flee with the enemy pressing forwards to where you are. There is a chance that you, yourself, will be able to escape. Should they capture your friend, they will certainly torture her further until she dies. What do you do?"

"I can't use a Portkey to get her out?"

"It’s too dangerous to shake her up like that and the glow of the Portkey will attract the enemy to you. Besides, if you’re planning on being an Auror, you should be aware by now that unauthorized Portkeys are illegal."

"I suppose I'd have to kill her."

"How?"

"The most painless Killing Curse?"

"Which is?"

The girl smiled slightly, understanding, and made a guess.

"Avada Kedavra."

"Exactly. Now we'll look at a completely different charm: Wingardium Leviosa."

"Please, sir, what does it have to do with the Unforgivables?"

"You'll see. Now, you're on a battlefield and the Ministry has somehow managed to prevent the enemy's wands from casting any Dark Magic or using any of the spells usually classed as offensive. One of them casts Wingardium Leviosa on you, levitates you to one hundred meters and drops you, injuring you by breaking your back, leaving you to die, and hitting another of your side when you land, disabling them, also. Is that wrong? Mr Barbary?"

"It does more damage to my side, doesn't it? It gets rid of two wizards instead of one. Then, it's slower, too. And I suppose it hurts more, as well."

"Exactly. In this situation, would you rather be hit by Avada Kedavra or Wingardium Leviosa?"

"Avada Kedavra," they said in unison, sounding a bit surprised that he'd managed to argue them into his point of view so quickly.

"Can you think of any other times when Avada Kedavra could be used in a beneficial way?"

* * * * * * * * * *



A week or so later, James was in the library looking over the performance records for various house Quidditch teams over the past few years. Being new to Hogwarts, he wasn't supposed to know anyone except by reputation.

"Do you have any ideas yet?" Minerva asked. He jumped, then recovered enough to reply. How he'd let her get that close to him without him noticing . . .

"Yes thanks, I reckon I know who I'll ask; I'm surprised no one's approached them before."

"Well, who are they?" she demanded. "It can't be worse than the team I chose. I selected one of the best teams that I remember, the team of '81. I'd forgotten that they'd all grown up at some point and most hadn't played Quidditch for years, some since their Hogwarts days."

James gave in. "I thought perhaps the Gryffindor team of 1992, with one addition: Oliver Wood as Keeper, Angelina Johnson, Alicia Spinnet and Katie Bell as Chasers, Fred and George Weasley as Beaters and the addition of Charlie Weasley as Seeker."

He was right, they were certainly the best recorded team in the past twenty or so years, and even with Charlie Weasley replacing him on the team, they shouldn’t have changed that much. The Seeker was the position that was the most easily interchangeable, and Charlie Weasley was rumoured to have been offered a position on the National Squad.

"Now why didn't I think of that? It sounds like an excellent idea, but I'm afraid you'll have to find someone else instead of Alicia. It’s Alicia Weasley now; she married Fred Weasley four years ago and she's pregnant at the moment. There's no chance she'll be able to play."

"Oh," James replied, a bit stumped by this revelation. He'd never thought of that as a potential problem. "Well, I can always ask Draco; he can play Chaser as well as he can Seeker."

"Draco Malfoy? On the Gryffindor Quidditch team that kept beating him when he was at school? You'll never convince him, or the rest of the team."

"I can try.

"I can convince Draco, I'm sure. Aberforth says he's been bombarded with about ten owls a week from him trying to discover where I am. I . . . uh . . . forgot to tell anyone else I'd got this job. Half of them probably think I'm in the Auror program. I'm hoping that the rest of the team won't mind too much; he's the best replacement I can think of, and he knows my style."

"If you're sure . . .?"

"I am."

"You know where to come if you need a hand. Have you thought when to schedule training? You'll have to clear it with Rolanda if you want to use the school pitch - she'll certainly have her team out every spare minute they have."

"I was thinking I could probably convince the university to allow me back to train. Professor Wainwright, the sports co-ordinator, always did like Draco and me. He'll probably decide it would be good for his students to watch such a first-rate team."

"What do you mean? I'm sure the university has teams that are as good: older players, for one thing. In '92 Oliver was the oldest, and he was only sixteen."

"Come on, Minerva, they've all grown up since they left school. Wood's a professional player; everyone thinks he'll be the next Scottish Keeper. I've been told that Weasley, Charlie that is, was offered the Seeker position on the England team but turned it down to go to Romania. Angelina Johnson is a Chaser for the Harpies. Katie Bell's an Auror, but could have gone into professional Quidditch if she’d chosen, and the same with Alicia Spinnet. As for the Weasley twins - they're legendary, even if it isn't for Quidditch."

"I suppose you have a point, James; they were quite remarkable in their day. Of course, if Potter were with them, they'd be unstoppable. I remember the first time the boy ever flew on a broom. It was his first flying lesson - he must have been eleven, I suppose, and in Gryffindor! Another child, Mr Longbottom, broke his wrist and Rolanda was forced to leave them alone while she hurried him off to Poppy. That was the class with Draco Malfoy in it, as well. The two boys couldn't stand each other. Mr Malfoy was something of a spoilt brat at the time; he's improved considerably, since. As I remember it, Draco, who'd been flying for years, picked up Longbottom's Remembrall, intending to put it on the roof. Harry – always the hero – shot off after him, not a thought in his head that he didn't know how to fly. He was a natural! When Draco saw him coming, he threw the ball at the castle. Harry caught it, coming to a spectacular halt right outside the staff room window. Scared my wits right out of me. I swear he thought we were going to expel him when I marched him off to find Wood. Wood thought I was mad at first, giving him a first-year, with no clue what Quidditch even was, for his Seeker. By the end of their first training session, he was practically singing! They didn’t lose a game when the full team was playing until the Dementors came to the school . . ."

James cleared his throat, interrupting her remarkably accurate rendering of the story. At least she wasn't repeating Madam Pomfrey's remark about him being 'delicate' yet. He never had lived it down.

"Oh, I'm so sorry, James. You must be wanting to take those letters off to the Owlery. Do you want a hand?"

"No thanks, I'll be fine. How many training sessions do you think we'll need?"

"A lot, trust me, a lot. It’s a nightmare fitting together a team that hasn't played in years. You'll need every moment they've got."

* * * * * * * * * * * * *



A few weeks later, James had received affirmative replies from all of his prospective team members. He had also carefully refrained from telling Draco he was the only Slytherin on an otherwise Gryffindor team and telling the Gryffindors that they'd have to put up with Draco Malfoy. He'd contacted Professor Wainwright at the university and scheduled their first training session that very day at eleven o'clock. Now, dressed in his university Quidditch robes and with his new Firebolt XF in hand, he Flooed to the stadium. He was a bit early, but he'd always been taught that the coach should be the first to arrive and the last to leave. Besides, he didn't want Draco and the Weasley twins left alone together if he could help it.

Professor Wainwright met him at the Floo connection. A small, thin man of about sixty and given to gesturing with his hands when excited, he wasn't your normal image of a Quidditch coach. On this particular occasion, he was almost jumping with excitement at having his prodigy return to him and hosting such prestigious players in his own 'small' stadium.

"James, my boy, how are you doing?"

"Fine, thanks, Professor," James said, grinning.

Everyone humoured Professor Wainwright - it was safer to do that than anything else. "You, sir?"

"Oh good, good. Getting along well in your new job, I suppose?"

"It's a lot better than anything else would be. I think I'm doing all right. How's Davy shaping up? He's your Quidditch rep now, isn't he?"

"Not too bad, though not up to your standard, I'm afraid. He says he wants to go professional, just like you should have."

"Sorry. Uh, so is the stadium completely free at the moment, or are the house teams training?"

"Whatever you wish, James. I thought you might want to start with a practice game, so you could see where you are before starting, therefore Merlin are out there at the moment."

"Thank you, sir. I don't think I'll have any problems - except for Draco - but it should be very interesting. Is there somewhere I can leave my things while I wait?"

"Your normal changing room is free today. No one else seems willing to take it - they all still call it Evans' room and leave well clear."

James flushed. That wasn't exactly what he'd intended when he and his team had regularly used the room.

"Er, right. Could you tell my team to meet me on the pitch when they arrive, sir? I'll warm up while I'm waiting."

"Of course, off you go now. Show my youngsters how it should be done."

Ten minutes later, James was practising his Wronski Feints to the 'ooohs' and 'aaaahs' of the younger end of the Merlin team. The older ones, after training with him for up to three years, merely looked superior as they pointedly ignored him. It wasn't quite so amazing if you'd seen the player fall head first into the mud on numerous occasions while he was teaching himself the moves.

"Evans! Get down here!" someone shouted. James twisted mid-manoeuvre to look and saw the unmistakable figure of Draco Malfoy standing in the middle of the grass. He didn't look happy.

James swerved and came to a perfect halt just in front of the other man and slid off his broom. He was hit in the face by a fist at what felt like a hundred miles per hour.

"Ow! What was that for?"

"Not telling me where you were. You might have signed the letter you sent me!"

"I meant to," James said innocently, attempting to sound honestly confused. "I must have forgotten."

"So, where have you been?"

"Hogwarts."

"Hogwarts!? Why?"

"I'm the new Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher."

"I should have guessed that," Draco said, his smile the closest to a grin James had ever seen him come. "Okay, James, I forgive you."

"That was quick," James said suspiciously. Draco had always been one to hold a grudge - this sudden forgiveness was completely out of character for him.

"Yeah, well, I wanted to tell you . . ." he began, flushing.

"What?"

"I'm a father!" he blurted out.

"I didn't even know you were married."

"Well if you'd bothered to keep in touch and reply to my letters, you might have. I married Blaise Zabini. She was in Agrippa house here, studying Egyptian burial charms. Remember her?"

"I think so; she plays Chaser, right?"

"Yes, she's brilliant, too."

"So, what about your baby: a boy or a girl?" James said, attempting to get the obviously smitten Draco off the subject of his wife.

"Oh, a boy of course. You never get Malfoy girls, it just doesn't happen. He's got blue eyes the colour of sapphires and lovely black hair . . ."

"Black hair?"

"Blaise has black hair."

"Right."

"We're calling him Harry, after Potter, you know. Everyone else seems too scared of the name being cursed to use it, so it will be original. As if Potter would do anything to harm a kid. His full name will be Henry Severus Malfoy and we want you and Severus to be godfathers."

"Me? Are you sure?"

"Would I have said so if I wasn't? You do know Severus, don't you?"

"Severus Snape, the Potions master? Yes, and he can't stand me."

"He's like that with most people; not with me, of course, but with almost everyone else. What do you think of him?"

"He's okay, I guess. If he'd stop insulting me, that is."

"He's insulting you? That's good, it means he likes you, or at least respects you."

"What does he do to people he doesn't like?"

"If they're enemies, he curses them pretty thoroughly. He taught me to duel, so he's excellent. Anyone else isn't worth the effort and he'll just ignore them. To be constantly insulted for a month . . . I'm impressed, Evans. He doesn't do that often, only McGonagall, Flitwick and Potter that I remember. Even he doesn’t dare with Dumbledore."

"I'll take your word for it," James said, wondering if he'd ever understand the man.

He listened for a few more minutes while his normally reserved friend sang the praises of his wife and son. It was with some relief that he saw four more people appear on the grass. As they got nearer, he saw they were the three Weasley members of the team and Oliver Wood.

"Mr Wood?" he said, trying very hard to appear as though he was meeting them for the first time. "I'm James Evans, the Defence professor at Hogwarts."

"Pleased to meet you," Oliver said, sounding as though he meant it. "My nephew hasn’t stopped talking about you in his letters. From what he says, it sounds as though you invented the wheel, or even the wand!"

"I'm a bit young for that. He's a pleasure to teach, very quick."

"That's good to hear. These are Fred, George and Charlie Weasley."

They nodded to him. Then one of the twins, Fred, James thought, noticed Draco standing behind James.

"What's he doing here?"

"He's the final member of the team. I needed another Chaser, and could get hold of him on short notice."

"Chaser? I though you wanted me to play Seeker!"

"No, you play much better as Chaser; you can deny it as much as you want. You made me play Beater; think on it as if I'm returning the favour. Besides, I'm sure Blaise could give you coaching between sessions."

"Fine," Draco agreed quickly. The Gryffindors' looks of polite indifference turned into a wary respect. They honestly had no idea why the 'Slytherin Prince', as he'd been nicknamed at Hogwarts, had backed down so quickly. It was unheard of!

"Thank you, Draco," James said sweetly. "Now, let's get down to business. According to the Hogwarts staff, the team of past pupils has a very bad track record. I'm intending to change that. If I have my way, you will not just beat them, you will wipe the floor with them. I’ve never lost a game while I captained or coached a team, and I don't intend to start now. We're just waiting for Miss Johnson and Miss Bell to arrive, then we will begin. If you have any warm-up exercises you use, I'd recommend doing them now; once we begin I expect you to be ready."

His new team glanced at each other, looking as though they might resent this swift transfer of power from Wood to him, but the captain nodded and they got to work. James had developed a certain presence over the past few years, and it wasn't letting them down. When the two ladies appeared, he gave them a few minutes to get ready, then took them straight into their short match with the present Merlin House team.

They won.

Easily.

By three hundred points to ten.

James grinned. This was going to be easy.

He showed his team the changing rooms, then gave them an hour to rest and eat lunch. The real training would start that afternoon.



* * * * * * **



Two days later, one Saturday, he was standing on a duelling platform in the middle of the Great Hall wondering how in Merlin's name Albus had managed to get him into this. A Duelling Club? After the complete failure of the last one? The man had finally lost it.

Despite his doubts, the floor around the stage was filling rapidly. Although young Professor Evans was a very popular teacher with all of the houses, not just Slytherin, no one wanted to miss the opportunity of seeing him thrashed by the Headmaster. Just like watching Professor Snape murder Lockhart, it was an opportunity that was too good to miss. Little did they know that James Evans had no intention of losing.

James also noticed that a number of the staff were lurking in the background, wanting to see if their colleague could actually live up to his boasts. He couldn't actually see Severus - the man was far too experienced a spy for that - but he was sure he was lurking in the shadows somewhere. James wondered, for a moment, whether Draco had told him who he was to share the honour of being young Harry's godfather with. He was sorry he'd missed it - it could have been very amusing watching Draco run for his life.

At last, the doors shut behind the last of the students and James called for silence. He got it immediately. Either he was better respected than he'd thought, or they were looking forward to the spectacle far too much to risk delaying it. He suspected the latter.

"As I'm sure you all know, this is a new Duelling Club for the school. It will be open to all years and all houses, though we might divide into groups if the turnout continues to be this high. Duelling is an ancient art filled with rituals that are invariably carried out in exhibition duels and almost nowhere else. In battle, the rules are completely discarded except in a few . . . strange cases. I will be teaching you both methods. It is certainly a skill that no wizard or witch should be without. Before we begin anything, the Headmaster has kindly agreed to duel against me in a match that should prove very interesting for all concerned. Both of us are experienced duellers, and because of this I will erect a barrier around the duelling platform to prevent any stray hexes hitting members of the audience. I have no idea what Professor Dumbledore has planned for me, but it is likely to be nasty. If you are ready, sir, shall we begin?"

Albus Dumbledore smiled slightly at him and climbed onto the platform about ten metres away. With an easy wave of his wand, a shimmering but perfectly transparent barrier formed around them and James' wand came forwards into a 'ready' position, prepared for any attack.

They bowed slightly, eyes never leaving their opponent. As he straightened, Albus sent off a hex at James, who somersaulted easily out of the way, sending back a Gladius Hex, mid tumble, in response. It deflected harmlessly off his opponent's shield.

After that, the hexes, curses and jinxes came thick and fast. Albus stood his ground. He was, after all, getting a bit elderly for the energetic tumbling that the younger man favoured. This worked, up to a point, but his shield was rapidly wearing down, although James doubted any of the students would be able to notice that.

Still focussed, he vaulted forwards, above the path of any oncoming hex, using a small amount of wandless magic to aid him in gaining height. As he landed, he channelled his power into a powerful, tightly wound, Stunning Spell. Albus knew he was finished even before it touched his shield; it was too fast to dodge. It hit him in the chest and he keeled over. The barrier around the platform came down and James revived the Headmaster easily.

The students looked stunned, disbelieving. The teachers weren't much better, but those he could see looked at the young duelling master with a grudging respect. In all of their lives, they had never seen anyone defeat Albus Dumbledore in a duel.

"Are you okay, Albus?" James asked, offering him a hand up.

"I'll be very stiff in the morning, but yes, my boy, I'm fine. My brother taught you well."

"I'm sure he'll be pleased to hear you say so. Thank you for your assistance."

"Always welcome. I hope it was challenging enough for you?"

"You, sir, could never be an easy target."

Albus laughed at that and went over to where a chair had been placed in the corner of the Hall where he could observe the rest of the session. James turned back to the students.

"As you see, duelling takes great skill and a great deal of practice and training. We'll start with the etiquette concerning the beginning of a formal duel, then you can start practising a few moves. Mr Barbary, perhaps you could come up here and assist me with a short demonstration. I'd look terribly stupid doing it alone."

The seventh year warily climbed up onto the stage and stood facing James, about five metres away.

"That's right. Take your wand out and hold it in front of you, ready to cast a spell. First, we bow to each other. Then we turn and walk ten paces away from each other. That's so that when we begin duelling, there's less risk of being hit with a short-range curse. Then we turn back and can begin whenever we choose. However, at the moment, I'm not ready for another duel, so Samuel will have to wait a while for his chance. The first duelling charm we'll try out is one of the most important, and I'm sure many of you will already know it. However, it's worth going over it again. The incantation is 'Expelliarmus'. Try it."

Obediently, the assembled students chorused it, though a number of the older ones appeared bored. James smiled - they would soon find things challenging enough - and turned back to Samuel Barbary.

"Now, Mr Barbary, I assume this is one you know."

"Yes, Professor."

"You can demonstrate, then. Put as much force behind it as you can; I won't resist."

The boy looked doubtful at that, but shouted, "Expelliarmus!"

A streak of red light shot out of his wand and knocked James' wand from his hand, throwing him backwards. He landed, rolled and came back to his feet, scooping up the wand from where it had landed.

"Excellent. Now, since we are such a large group and happen to have so many of the staff in attendance, I wonder if I might presume to request that they each take a group?"

He looked at the Headmaster, who nodded to him.

"Thank you. I'll stay in here with the first-years. Professor Flitwick, could you take the second-years? Professor McGonagall, I'd be grateful if you'd take the third-years. Professor Sprout, the fourth-years are yours. Professor Sinistra, if you would, the fifth-years will require some assistance. Professor Dumbledore has kindly agreed to take the sixth-years, and the seventh-years . . . um . . . "

"I would be willing to take them," came the calm, silky voice of Professor Snape, stepping out from behind a crowd of second-years who scattered in all directions as he came forwards, smirking.

"Thank you. I'm sure they will benefit from your expertise." A number of the older students blanched. "Of course, once this Club is established, I'll take different groups at different times and it won't be necessary for me to impose again.

They relaxed again. James raised an eyebrow at Severus, whose smirk widened, if anything – he definitely hadn't lost his touch over the years – as he swept out of the Hall, his assigned students trailing in his wake.



* * * * * * * * * * * *



The next evening, James was sitting in the staff room, marking papers. He knew he shouldn’t have left it to the last minute, really he did, it was just he'd had to write to Aberforth, and then he'd had a training session with the Quidditch team, then there'd been the Duelling Club . . . It wasn't his fault!

"James," Severus said from behind him, "I am glad to see that you sustained no . . . physical . . . injuries whilst attempting to pound some knowledge into the vacuum that passes as a brain for most of the first-years."

James sighed at the insinuation that he had sustained some mental injury, and turned to face him.

"Did you need something, Severus?"

"I was merely curious as to how you managed to convince Mr Malfoy that you were suitable material for his son's godfather when you are in fact two years younger than he."

"To start with, I'm not two years younger; I believe it's closer to two months. I was two years behind him at university because, after completing my magical education, I took Muggle courses for four years to gain qualifications that I could use should it be required. As for your question, I honestly had no idea I was even under consideration before he approached me. The only answer I can give is that I am his friend."

"An inadequate answer, as I should have expected. Why, out of all of his friends, should he have chosen you instead of a more suitable, properly Slytherin man."

"How Slytherin am I?" James asked wryly. "I'm Slytherin enough to be sorted into Merlin house; I'm Slytherin enough to have convinced you that I'm completely harmless, more of a Hufflepuff or Gryffindor than a Slytherin. If you had taken the time to discuss me with Draco, as I'm fairly sure you haven't, you'd know that I've outwitted him on more than one occasion. I'm Slytherin enough to have been assigned with the housemaster of Merlin as a mentor. What does it take to be a Slytherin in your opinion, then? A pure-blood family? Allegiance to Voldemort? Parseltongue? I'll take the opportunity to remind you that Mr Malfoy, a former student whom you obviously think so highly of, has none of these qualities other than his so called pure heritage."

"Even if I concede that point, not that I'm intending to, why you?"

"How many friends does Draco have?"

"A number."

"Of course he has a number, one's a number. How many?"

"In the region of twenty or so close friends."

"Twenty? How well do you know him yourself? I can tally those he counts as close friends on my fingers, almost on just one hand. He has many acquaintances – he's a Slytherin and an important man, after all – but he trusts very few. I would say you and me, obviously, Blaise and a boy from Draco's year at Merlin. Then I'd probably name Ronald and Hermione Weasley before running out of names. Before you accuse me of anything else, I suggest you talk to Draco and ask him about me. You're a Potions master, wouldn't it stand to reason that it’s possible to transfer the idea of research to other areas?"

"Touché, Mr Evans. I would, however, advise that you didn't leave your marking until the last minute. It not only puts more pressure on you, but means that your grading is likely to be inconsistent and the essays less thoroughly read."

With that last jab, he left. James groaned and got back to work. Despite the source, it was good advice. Was Draco really right? Was this really how he treated people he liked? He was so confusing! He hoped his friend was right.

WHAT!

Had he just thought that he hoped Severus Snape liked him? Even just as friend, that was just plain weird. Then again, if the man didn't insist on those fifteenth-century robes and actually wore trousers for a change, leather ones preferably, he wouldn't look too bad.

Right, be honest, he'd look more than just okay.

He'd look damn good.


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