Hogwarts, School of Rock

Aberforth Dumbledore plucked at a thread on his cloak and sighed. "Albus, you know I would do anything for you. But this..."

Albus frowned. "Aberforth, I need you. The Order needs you."

"So let me help in some other way!"

"I need you here. I can't allow the position to fall to someone untrustworthy again."

"Then let one of the others do it and I'll take their place."

"They're tied up searching for Kingsley. I can't afford to throw suspicion on any more of them."

"Oh, but you consider me expendable?"

"Of course not. And don't change the subject."

"But Albus, I'm not qualified for this!"

"Rubbish. Children love you."

"But I can't teach! What about the N.E.W.T. classes?"

"The seventh years are working independently, and the sixth years are more than capable of adapting to new teachers. They've had a different one every year."

"But-"

"-and Kingsley's lesson plans for every year are perfectly detailed and should be easy enough to follow."

"Says you."

"Precisely." Albus's eyes twinkled annoyingly. "Come now, Aberforth. Teaching is fun." He rested a pointy chin on folded hands. "And the school pays surprisingly well."

Aberforth stared at a point beyond his brother's left shoulder. "Sure. Fine. Whatever."

"That's the spirit."

*

The sixth year Defense Against the Dark Arts class buzzed with anticipation. It was their first class back from the winter holidays, and so far, it had been the most exciting year of the subject. Professor Shacklebolt combined Moody's no-nonsense attitude with Lupin's heart and both of their knowledge. The year got off to a great start in September when the students impressed their teacher with their skills - unsurprisingly, since almost all of them had spent the previous year secretly practicing as part of the DA. In fact, there was only one person in the class who had not been a DA member, and that was Draco Malfoy. The other students gave the lone Slytherin a wide berth at first, but when weeks went by and he made no move to do anything but sit quietly in the back corner, they relaxed and tolerated him, albeit coldly.

Today they were all looking forward to drilling their teacher about the events of the break. Just a few days before its end, there had been a large but mysterious confrontation in Lancaster, but no one could find out the details. The Prophet's statements were vague, and not even the students with Ministry parents could get any clear answers, likely, they suspected, because even their parents were in the dark.

Though they looked to Harry Potter for answers out of habit, he remained tight-lipped, claiming to know just as little as they did. From the looks his best friends kept shooting him, it was clear they didn't believe this, but Harry had withdrawn even more into himself this year and was seldom anything but silent and grave looking.

The chatter ceased as the door opened, each student readying him or herself to be the first hand to shoot up, but instead of Professor Shacklebolt, Headmaster Dumbledore walked in. A man who strongly resembled him followed behind.

The Headmaster smiled at the students, each of whom looked to be barely containing their curiosity. "Good morning, class. I'm afraid Professor Shacklebolt won't be able to make it to class for an indeterminate time. As you know, he is still an active Auror. In the meantime, Professor Dumbledore here will be leading your class. I'm sure you'll find him an excellent substitute. Good day." And with that, he departed.

The new teacher watched him leave, gazing at the door as if only a strong sense of obligation were keeping him from dashing out after the Headmaster. Finally, he turned to face the fifteen sets of eyes fixed on him. He supposed now would be a good time to say something witty or otherwise endearing.

"Erm...when's lunch?"