A.N. A little clarification. This is what I made instead of 'Ghostly teacher'. There are several reasons as to why I'm discontinuing that one. The main concept, though, is excellent and I want to continue on it. This is not connected with the Ghost prince story, but it does borrow some things from there. You'll see. Please, abstain from asking me to continue other stories. We get there when we get there.

Hogwarts. A place of friendship, of mystery, of magic and of dubious safety standards. Built centuries ago, tucked away in the Scottish mountains, it was, by the accounts of every British wizard, the most honourable institution, whose halls had been graced by the most renowned and venerated people blessed with the gift of magic. They weren't always renowned, certainly, but it was Hogwarts that ultimately shaped them the way they were. The colossal castle of many towers stood above the wide mirror-like surface of the nearby lake, dwarfing the emerald blanket that was the forest, forbidden but not necessarily guarded. Other than a pathway from the nearest village and available only to those gifted in magic, the only way to get to the castle was by train. There, stepping onto a platform, was an unusual guest.

He was immediately pushed around by some of the inhabitants of the aforementioned village, who were probably too excited to get home. They liked the train more than other, magical means. Perhaps it was something exotic to them, like seeing a gladiatorial fight between koalas. The guest mumbled some unsavoury words about other passengers as he picked up the luggage — a black suitcase that had been dropped on its side amidst the commotion. It was not surprising that the young man did not receive any attention. There wasn't really anything that stood out about him in particular. The mess of unkept raven hair reached far enough to shield his eyes of unnatural icy-blue colour. His body physique, however athletic it could ever be, was covered by the cheap robes. All of this combined to make the quiet twenty-year-old almost unnoticeable.He was content with that. The guest looked up over the trees, seeing the tops of castle towers even from there. With his destination in mind, he stepped down from the platform and was on his path.

How he got here and for what reason requires a proper explanation, and for that reason, one would need to wind a bit back in time.

It all began with a newspaper.

Danny Fenton usually wasn't much for the press. In the mornings, he usually didn't do much. But that day was keen on breaking normal patterns. The moment he exited his rented room, something felt amiss. The small corridor was devoid of life, and even the cleaner-lady who was seemingly dead inside was not around. Odd, around that time she would come and offer the cleanup service. For that purpose, he had already hidden everything of value. She had been known to steal a coin or two, and why she was still employed was beyond him. Perhaps Tom finally had enough and sacked her. The young man just hoped that the replacement would be soon. His experiments were messy. Not fretting too much over this particular inconsistency, Danny went down the corridor and later descended the staircase leading into a much larger room.

It was, for all intents and purposes, a pub. A grubby one, without any pretense of grandeur. It was surprisingly warm and welcoming, despite the dinginess of the place. Perhaps it was the fireplace that lit the place and made shadows bounce in a rigid dance, or maybe the cheerful customers made the Leaky Cauldron a better place. Danny had gotten used to the pub over the last few months, and a smile crossed his features. And as he was used to the pub, so had he grown on the regulars. They threw occasional greetings his way, to which Danny responded either with a wave or a brief, yet polite greeting. Sitting on a barrel acting as a barstool, Danny turned to the owner, who was lazily wiping the beer mug. The man was not someone you would want to be the bartender, but he was in charge, so he very much did as he wanted. He was a bald, hunched man that looked like a toothless walnut. Still, under the unpleasant appearance hid an approachable and welcoming personality, so the owner and the pub itself were very much alike.

"Morning, Danny-boy," Tom gave a smile, "The usual?"

"Yeah. My stomach will refuse anything but the eggs right now."

"Oh, sorry, boyo. We are out of those."

Danny raised an eyebrow, "What, I ate through your entire supply?"

"No, it's just that there are more customers than usual today and I forgot to buy extra."

Another thing that went off the predestined course. Tom offered to fetch him some steak and kidney pie, and the young Fenton agreed despite his past comments. After the breakfast was served, Danny dropped a couple of silver coins on the counter and dug in, quietly. Then, from the corner of his eye he saw the man sitting nearby reading the newest publishing of Daily Prophet — the most popular source of news in the wizarding world. From there, from the photo at the frontline, a confused-looking teenager in glasses stared back at the raven-haired customer with blood-thirst in his eyes. The title read 'The Boy Who Lies'. Danny chewed on the pie and looked away, disinterested. However, the man owning the newspaper noticed the prying eye.

"Some hogwash, that is," the scruffy man muttered, "Can you imagine? Claiming that the Dark Lord came back, that's some cruel joke."

Fenton considered whether or not he should respond with anything substantive, but he merely shrugged and said: "I guess."

The riled up wizard concluded that the apathy of the younger man was not to be tolerated, so he pressed on.

"You can't just ignore this. Another Hogwarts student ends up dead and then Potter comes out all mad!"

"Poor him. Can I borrow the paper?"

"What for?" The wizard asked apprehensively.

"I need it."

Danny didn't know what urged him to do this, but it got the nosy man to shut his mouth. The befuddlement allowed for the man to take the newspaper and turn a couple of yellowish pages. Tom, who had been observing the young man ever since the first arrival at this establishment, seemed to catch on what's going on. A smile crossed his features as the page fifteen was quickly approaching.

"Could it be that you decided to find one?" The bartender asked.

"Pardon?" Danny raised an eyebrow, confused just as the owner of the newspaper.

"You are trying to find a job, ain'tcha?"

Danny snorted and gave a smirk. "Maybe. Maybe not. My funds are, admittedly, waning."

"So you ain't even employed," the wizard huffed. "Well, go ahead then, lad."

"Thank you," Danny responded curtly. "So, we have: a store helper, easy, but abysmally paid. A clerk for the Ministry... needs impeccable reputation and skill... no."

"Beggars can't be choosers kid. What, you thought you just get out of Hogwarts and get the best job there is?"

Danny blushed and rubbed the back of his neck. "I never finished Ilvermony, actually."

The man's eyes were ready to pop out, "Then what in the bloody hell are you hoping for?"

"Hey, I just got down to it. I have my hopes up. And I'm not without skills, I dare say. Whelp, look at that, nothing solid here," Danny rambled, about to hand it over. The young man dashed away, storming up the staircase. The noise he made as he did so was yet another abnormality of that day.

"He really doesn't want to work, you see."

It wasn't true, Danny would reason. He was as hardworking as a little ant. The issue here was that Danny had other things to worry about. Other things to do. In his room, messy and stuffed to the brim with all sorts of flasks and vials, ingredients and shards of metal. The young man was about to continue where he left off the day before, when he saw a sticky note on his table. 'Buy ectoplasm and bezoar,' it said. With a sigh, Dannys stuffed a list of paper into his pocket and returned to the door. From the coat rack he picked up a cloak. He checked the pockets and counted the coins that were in his piece of clothing. As such, he found two galleons and six sickles in there. It wasn't the full extent of his savings, but he could last a month tops at this pace. The forecast wasn't the most optimistic, but the young researcher preferred to look into positives. He would think about it later.

With this, Danny exited his room again and locked the door with a huge, rusty key that could potentially poison him with tetanus. And as he descended the staircase and exited in a tiny backyard, the young man entertained his mind with small riddles connected to what he was looking into. Tom noticed him leave, as did the guest. In the backyard there had already been a wizard who, in Danny's stead, opened the entrance by tapping on the bricks with his wand. Not that Fenton could enter by the conditional means. His wand was... inaccessible at the time. There, before him, was a bustling alley, filled to the brim with shops, restaurants and other peculiar establishments that caught the eye. It was bright, busy, welcoming and warm, it was everything that Danny's ultimate destination was not. His feet, encased in white worn boots, steadily marked his way towards Knockturn alley, the place he loathed and despised. And many of the inhabitants, probably, would hate him if given the knowledge.

He was what other wizards would call a muggleborn. A child born of simple people who somehow possessed the magical talent. That's why his upbringing was alien to the wizards, and his views were just as outlandish by their standards. And some of them were especially hateful of people of his origin. There was another thing he hid from everyone around. Something that would make everyone turn away from him even more. His parents, muggles they may have been, were of extremely large amount of intelligence and abysmal amount of common sense. Together those qualities resulted in them dabbling in the fields not fully understood, those bordering on the realm of supernatural. The accident in their lab changed him, turned him into one of a kind creature that walked the fine line between life and death. It had its moments, it had its burdens and consequences. He was a half-ghost, something the wizarding kind would most probably consider an abomination. Thus, he would forever keep the nature of his strange 'magic' a secret for the rest of time. However, he would be lying if he said that he didn't like this tremendous power, able to put some extremely powerful wizards to shame. And he did some grand things with it, so it was all worth it in his mind.

That's why he didn't fear delving into probably the darkest and most wicked place in England. Among popularly accessible locations, of course. A couple of minutes in Danny was already seeing some questionable characters that eyed the young man with curiosity of the malicious kind. One man was maybe too direct.

"Hey, lad," he said, his face awfully close. "Wanna check out some of the goods?" He began opening his coat.

"No, thank you," Danny responded politely, yet firmly. "I'll recommend some dental rinse. Hygiene is important."

Without waiting for the response, the young man moved away, but felt the merchant grab his hand.

"I insist, pally."

"And I insist that you learn what personal space is, old fart."

Suddenly the man felt extreme cold creeping up his hand. He never felt something so deathly cold that his skin probably wanted to be ripped off, his hand turned almost blue from the low temperature and felt numb. The seller backed off at an instant, and the coldness vanished.

"Have a good day," Danny smiled innocently and waved, only scaring the old man even more.

Soon he made it to the place he sought. Barely reading the sign 'Borgin and Burkes' Danny stepped inside the shop. A small ringing noise announced his presence. The place was dimly lit by a single fireplace. The shelves were stuffed with all sorts of magical artefacts and tools that were better left alone, lest one ended up dying from a curse. Besides, touching a withered hand, a dangling dry and tiny head, was not something the young man was dying to do. Danny coughed, not seeing the owner.

"Borgin, your prised customer is here!" He raised his voice, partially worried he would upset the delicate balance of the shop.

"Sheesh, wait just a moment, lad!" The rough voice sounded from another room.

Danny tapped on the counter in expectation. Soon the owner, Mr. Borgin emerged from behind the shelves.

"Ah, Daniel. Morning to ya," Borgin began, "What do you need?"

The man was a sleazy one, an unwashed one and missing a couple of teeth. But he put up the mask of politeness with his customer.

"The usual, Borgin. And if you have by some miraculous chance bezoar, it will save me the time."

"Heh, you'll have to go to potion makers. I sell poisons, not antidotes."

"Fair point."

As Borgin began digging in his supplies.

"Upstanding citizens don't come here, boyo," he noted, "Say... you never told me what you need all this ectoplasm for. You've already bought enough to comprise a whole ghost."

"That's my own business. I'm busy with some... experiments of mine."

"And you need the essence of dead souls for that."

"Speaking strictly, their souls are the only thing intact."

"Don't derail..."

"I never was on that trail to begin with, sir. You have your precious portion of sickles, that should be enough for you not to ask extra questions. I don't ask you about the shady characters in oddly familiar masks coming in, do I?"

Borgin froze. "When the hell did that happen?"

Danny smiled enigmatically. "I keep an eye out for things. And it just so happens that I am never spotted unless I want to be seen. So... we ARE on the same page, I hope?"

"Damn it all, you look all innocent, but beneath it all is a conniving snake."

"My ectoplasm, Borgin."

The shopkeeper sighed and put a one litre bottle on the table. It was full of murky green substance that threatened to spill out, seemed dangerous to the touch, but Danny nonetheless took it, not bothering about contact with slimy, semi-solid liquid.

"That's some low quality," he pointed out.

"What makes you say that? The liquid of the dead actually went bad like last month's milk?"

"No, it just means that the output will be quite weak... proper ectoplasm glows, so you know. I demand that you lower the price by five sickles."

"That's a shakedown."

"Even proper ectoplasm is not worth ten sickles. It's literally a ghostly fingerprint. Something you have all over your damn shop. Easier to collect than pixie dung."

"Still, I paid four sickles to get it. I am getting almost nothing out of it otherwise. Nine sickles."

"You yourself admit that it wasn't worth more than four. I'm paying you six and assure that I'll keep buying it only from you. Sweep this attempt at swindling me under the rug. If you bring better ectoplasm, I'll pay more as I did before. Deal?"

Borgin stared at the young man's outstretched hand. And then the shopkeeper shook it, noting once again how it lacked warmth of any sort.

"Now, do you have anything else to ask for? My artefact collection is for the people of fine taste."

"In Dark Arts," Danny finished. "I fail to see how any of these will be of use to me at the moment..."

"Just recently there was one lady who bought a box of Blood Quills," Borgin muttered thoughtfully. "Interested?"

"Torture is not on the bucket list of mine."

"I'm honestly surprised at how versed you are in these things. You are a young lad."

To this Danny did not respond. "If that's all you have, then I will just go. Still have shopping to do."

He knew that once he exited the shop Borgin would drop any pretence of pleasantry. Danny was a constant customer, but he never paid that much, so the relationship between the client and the owner was a tumultuous one. Besides, Danny despised that bastard. He liked to think of himself as someone having morals and standards — boundaries that he would never cross. That shopkeeper was an example of someone beyond that metaphorical line. Danny chose to leave the dicey part of this magical shopping district as soon as he could. Upon emerging from the dark alley, he looked around in search of a familiar potion-making shop.

His eyes landed on the Ollivander's, the wand shop, and Danny stared at it for a while with solemn expression, before he set off towards his new destination.

He came back to the Leaky Cauldron half an hour later, locking himself in his room for quite some time. He could go back to his research. His body was a unique one, and thus it demanded special medicine he preferred to keep by his side. Also, he specialised in the fields that his parents had driven into him. The tools for handling many spectral creatures had to be handmade. If only there was a proper buyer for all the tools he was making. It made the rational side of his mind flip, for this later infatuation did not bring him anything of value. It was research for the sake of research, like examining a wheel and what it's made of. However, this particular project was going to make his existence much, much easier. To a wizard it would seem like he was a potion maker who also liked to rip apart muggle toys. The latter was actually not exactly legal.

Only in the evening did Danny actually come out of his cave to eat. The Leaky Cauldron was just as full as ever. There, on the exact place he had occupied on that very morning, he sat. Tom was quick to oblige when his customer asked for dinner to be brought. Danny noticed that the morning newspaper hadn't gone anywhere. When Tom returned with a plate of soup, the owner smirked at seeing the guest looking just where he was supposed to. He just wanted the kid to be something better than a jobless shut-in.

"I suppose there is a reason that the page 15 is looking at me," Commented Danny.

"More like YOU are looking at IT," Tom gave a small smile.

"I told you, old man, there is nothing to fish."

"I am not telling you to apply for being a Hogwarts professor, for goodness sake, just look at..."

"Hogwarts professor?"

"Oh, that. It's not on the paper, of course. Hogwarts is too honourable for that. They don't even have to announce it, everyone knows one position gets available each year. They say the position of the teacher for Defence Against Dark Arts was jinxed by the Dark Lord himself. Nobody stays there for longer than a year... Wait a minute, you are not actually thinking of that?"

Danny remained silent, giving away his intentions at an instant.

"Kid. You stand no chance. Only the best people get the shot at teaching there. You haven't even finished your own education."

"I merely picked practice over theory. I am more than capable, in fact. But I don't know if I should try. Is it paid well?"

"Well, obviously. This position is one in a million. Still..."

"Tom, if it was Transfiguration or Divination I would have immediately refused. Because I can't do those for the life of me. But... I have the proper experience for potions, astronomy and this one."

"I am glad that you show some interest in a job, but could you pick a more realistic option?"

"I am willing to try."

"You are crazy, lad. I'll give you a free bottle of fire whiskey if you actually pull that off."

"Is that a bet, Tom?" Danny smirked. "I have nothing to offer."

"Please, you are as broke as a church mouse. You'll have other things to worry about other than paying the debt."

The young man laughed and smiled. "Well, I guess I will keep banging on their doors until they answer, won't I?"

That was the prelude as seen from the perspective of the young man himself. His plans of sending a message to the Headmaster were to come to fruition. Fenton's reasons for acting the way he did were simple. His passion and aim of his strange life required a lot of resources, a lot of materials. And they all costed money. Thanks to the exchange rate from muggle currency — the dollars, to the magical ones and also dubious inheritance split he was left with an acceptable amount of money upon his parents' untimely demise. Besides, if he were to ask his potential colleagues about the fields he needed an expertise in, Danny was sure that the advice would be the best there could ever be. All in all, there were advantages all around.

In any case, young Fenton spent around an hour trying to come up with the best introduction. He needed to be concise enough, present himself as a person worthy of at least being invited for the job interview. Once the young man was done, he looked out of the window of his room, the one overlooking the miraculous place that was Diagon Alley — the very heart of magical life in Britain. He needed to go to the local owlery to send it. He would be lying to himself if he said that it was a more proper way of communication.

And so, back in Hogwarts, his letter was received. Several days later he received a response. In the morning a small owl pecked on his window glass, disrupting Danny's peaceful sleep. Bolting out of his bed, the young man didn't even put on his pants and opened the window. The owl seemed angry at being nearly launched away, if birds even could show such emotion. Danny smiled.

"Sorry there, I got too excited," he said.

The bird with white, fluffy feathers gave the young man a glance, before sitting on the sill. In its claws the owl had a letter, which Danny gently took and then paid for. The owl patiently waited until he put the silver coins in a tiny bag tied to its leg.

"You hungry? I have the jerkies. Not sure if you want those, but..."

Apparently, owls liked jerkies. Fluttering its wings the owl chewed on a piece of meet, cooed and then flew off, leaving the recipient of the letter to examine it. Dying from curiosity, Danny prayed to the dead gods that this letter held the response he so desired. There was no doubt about its source — the symbol on it was unmistakable. Danny broke the red seal and slowly pulled out the letter, beginning to read.

'Mr. Fenton,

We at the Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry have taken note of what you wrote to us. It is true that the position still remains open and we will be very glad to fill it with a person such as yourself. Of course, a matter as important as this one demands deep consideration and thought. And I would very much like for us to meet in person, so we could sort out all the questions on both sides. I hope 10 August is an acceptable date for you, and I, as the Headmaster of our esteemed school, want to invite you to Hogwarts for said meeting. All transportation expenses lie on you, I'm sorry to say. As you arrive to Hogsmeade station, you shall be greeted by my deputy Minerva. She will show you the way to my office and give you an excursion in the process that you may eventually find useful.

Sincerely,

Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore.'

To Danny's impressionable mind it already sounded like a yes. He almost barged outside to inform his friend-barkeeper, before realising that he still had to dress up.

And that's what brought Danny to the place where he was — the Hogsmeade station. The young man began looking around, trying to find the person he was supposed to meet. It was more difficult than he had imagined, for it was hard to differentiate between the wizards if you didn't know anyone's faces. However, very soon he saw a lady in the crowd. One look at her was enough for the young man to realise who was the member of a teaching staff. There was something about her that made him feel this way. Perhaps it was her gaze, reserved and stern. She was fairly tall, about the same height as Danny himself was. Her raven hair was tied in a bun, almost invisible under a pointy hat she wore. Aside from this piece of clothing there were also emerald robes. The lady looked like she was searching for something, or, rather, someone in the crowd, which was enough for Danny to arrive to a conclusion.

"Excuse me," he called for her and got the lady's attention. "Are you Minerva?"

The lady's stern gaze turned towards him, but it softened quite a bit. "Yes, that would be me. Do you need something, young man?"

"Oh, yes, ehm..." Danny wasn't sure of himself. His job interview had basically just begun. "In his letter professor Dumbledore said that I should seek you out when I arrive."

Minerva's look changed even further as she took in the appearance of who turned out to be the potential professor. It was the expression of surprise.

"Don't make such jokes. I understand that it is not the school year yet, but... Actually, I've never seen you before. What house are you in?"

"That's because I am not a student here, ma'am. I'm not THAT young."

"You look no older than sixteen."

"I am TWENTY," Danny grumbled. He may have been tall, but his face was still pretty youthful. That often misguided people.

"That's still not enough," Minerva muttered and sighed, "Very well, Mr. Fenton. No point in discussing it here. Follow me."

All along the way Danny could see how displeased Minerva was. He could honestly understand why, so he wasn't offended. It wasn't exactly displeasure directed at him, more like... the situation in its entirety, maybe. The problem appeared out of nowhere, and it wasn't Danny's fault for being invited. Well, maybe it was. He never mentioned his age, and that was done on purpose. The letter had been a rundown of what he could do and his past experiences with dangerous creatures. All of that was perfect for the position such as this. And Dumbledore seemed to agree. All Danny had to do was to convince everyone about his age not being an obstacle to the teaching process. Seemingly simple, but Minerva would obviously be hard to convince.

The path to the castle was a long one. They passed the iron gates, decorated with statues of hogs. Danny took a wild guess as to where the name of the school was. He had heard the stories about this school before, his own magical institution back in America was founded by a woman who may not have attended Hogwarts, but she did take a lot of pages out of the book. And Danny himself heard stories about other places that taught magic in all parts of the world. But up close, Hogwarts, the colossal stone structure held together by magic, was far more incredible than he could have ever imagined. And he gaped at it like a child would at an exotic animal behind the bars. Minerva seemed to notice the young man's fascination. The feeling she experienced was ambiguous. Seeing such childish excitement from new arrivals was an unmatched experience she adored, but this was not an eleven year old child, it was an adult who wanted to teach here.

Inside the stone halls there was silence. Deafening silence. With students being at their homes, it was really of no surprise. Said silence allowed Minerva to notice another thing. Only one set of footsteps sounded through the spacious halls. She immediately looked back, and her sudden reaction made Danny straighten up in surprise.

"Something wrong?" He asked and blinked.

"I thought you... nevermind."

So the guest did not leave. His footsteps, however, were actually utterly silent, which was unnerving. Without being able to turn around every two seconds, she would have to trust the man not to detract from the course. He was older than her students, but she couldn't bring herself to see him as a full-fledged adult. He was just so young. And he was already doing everything in his power to put her on edge like few students would be able to. Danny knew the reason behind her distress, he had faced the issue before. If only she knew that he was not touching the floor to make the sounds in the first place. His feet hovered just barely above the ground so nobody would notice.

Soon they arrived to the corridor that had a gargoyle in its end. There didn't seem to be an entrance to an office of any kind, but the appearances were often deceiving. Minerva quickly approached it, pronounced the password that was the name of seemingly random candy, and then everything spun into motion. The gargoyle began turning, moved aside, and a twisted staircase slowly came before their eyes. Minerva went ahead, and Danny took it as an order to follow. Alright, this was it, he was about to meet the new boss. He felt worried, but he had already prepared how to act in certain situations. He heard several voices behind the door and felt unnerved. He had thought it would only be Dumbledore and Minerva. No matter, he was Phantom, he faced things much worse than that.

The door was opened by the deputy, and Danny almost lunged inside. Of all the rooms he had been in, he would say that this one was so far the most magical-looking. It was full to the brim with all sorts of peculiar devices, each of them made a certain noise, filling the room with ticking, clanking, whirring noises. Surprisingly, it wasn't a cacophony one would expect from such orchestra. The walls were stuffed with portraits of witches and wizards, barely leaving any room for wallpapers. However, Danny's attention turned towards everyone present in the room.

There were, including Danny and Minerva, six people in the room. Young Fenton saw the Headmaster, an old man with the longest beard imaginable, the eyes holding a great mystery and hidden behind half-moon spectacles. There was a plump lady in tattered robe and a hat that smelled of greenery. Near her stood a man half her size, dressed in black clothes and a shirt. Danny wasn't sure if the guy was entirely human. The last one of the bunch got Danny's attention on the sole account of being the epicentre of gloom in the room. Dressed in all black, with short greasy hair and pale skin he almost looked like a vampire. Danny's observation's were cut short when the shorty spoke up.

"Ehm, Minerva, are you aware there is a student walking behind you?"

"This, Filius," Minerva explained, "Is the one who we are supposed to be meeting today."

Both Filius and the plump one looked surprised. Dumbledore, however, had an entirely different reaction from others.

"Ah, Mr. Fenton, I am glad you made it. Did your trip go well? Lemon drop, maybe?"

That...wasn't something Danny had expected from one of the most powerful wizards of the age.

"Likewise, sir," the young man pulled on a smile, "The train is nice, and no, thanks, I don't want one."

"Is this some joke of yours, Headmaster?" Mr. Grease asked.

"I assure you, Severus, I had no knowledge of our guest's age. Which will be..."

"Twenty."

"So he is not a student," Dumbledore finished and chuckled, "Obviously we wouldn't be so inconsiderate to distract a child from their studies."

"He is still way too young, Albus," Minerva protested. "He barely finished his own exams, yet it takes years to properly master the skills required."

Danny was getting the feeling that his presence here was extra. But he shouldn't let it all go the way others would like.

"Pardon me, Minerva," he spoke up, "But I have plenty of experience."

"Really, and what would that be?" Asked Severus, "You strangled a frog?"

"Try Banshee. When I was fourteen."

Severus huffed and crossed his hands, "I guess we will just have to take your word for it."

Danny couldn't help but narrow his eyes, "And I will take your word that you shower each day."

Severus's look turned murderous, but Dumbledore intervened before the situation could escalate.

"Now, now. Let's not throw such accusations at each other. If we accept young Daniel you will have plenty of time for that. Let's proceed as those procedures go. Where were we supposed to begin? Ah, yes, old age must be getting to me. So, Mr. Fenton. Allow me to introduce everyone here. These are our lovely professors and at the same time the heads of four houses. Professor Sprout..."

"Hello there," the plump witch waved.

"...She is the Head of Hufflepuff and our Herbology professor."

Filius, however, chose to take the initiative by approaching his probable colleague and shaking his hand. "Filius Flitwick, a proud Ravenclaw and Charms professor."

"Nice to meet you," Danny smiled.

"You have already met Minerva and had an argument with Severus, our potions professor. They are the heads of Griffindor and Slytherin respectively."

Danny glanced at Minerva, "And you teach..."

"Transfiguration," she responded curtly.

"Mr. Fenton, please tell us now about what YOU can teach our students."

That was it, his time to shine.

"As I said, I have experience with many sorts of dark magical creatures. Mostly those of spectral and undead nature. I know how to handle them. And obviously, with it comes a multitude of much needed spells for self-defence. I have some sketches of how the program will be laid out for each year, it will be ready in a week for you to review, if you need. But I am more for a personal approach to as many kids as possible and practice when I have the ability."

Dumbledore smiled, "You seem very thorough, Mr. Fenton."

The man's diligence surprised even Minerva. He didn't look like the meticulous type.

"If I may ask such a personal question, what made you want to teach here?"

"I... won't lie that there are money involved. I have some important research projects that I have already spent all my inheritance on. But I also wish to teach the kids on how to defend themselves. If not, they are running the risk of being killed, what's with the Death Eaters running amok. I wouldn't want them to face the same risks I did."

"What, they don't teach defence where you are from?" Severus sneered.

"Not exactly... it is personal, though. I cannot say. But if you have doubts about my own abilities, then I'm ready to prove them."

"There will be no need. Just a little explanation will be nice."

Danny thought about it for a moment. "My research is the continuation of that of my parents. I... improved their methods, should I say. And as such..."

He outstretched his pale hand and opened the palm. Everyone could see their breaths, and all because of the dropped temperature. The professors saw Danny's ice blue eyes glow with cold shine. And then, a small crystal of translucent ice hovered in the young man's hand.

"Charming," Severus grumbled and rubbed his own hand, resisting a shiver. "We have a jewellery maker in our midst."

Danny smirked and lightly tossed the crystal in the air like a pebble. Then, in a single wave, he made the crystal grow to the size of a grapefruit. A very hard, sharp grapefruit.

"I don't think you would like to get impaled with this one. I can always make more."

Flitwick began to happily applaud, "Oh, that's marvellous! I have never seen a spell done like this! You have a talent, young man," the short professor said, while Sprout and Minerva stared at the display as well.

"One trick is not enough," Severus kept being the most hostile person in the group.

"I have plenty," Danny grinned, "I assure you. I have complete and total control over what I can do. There won't be any accidents."

"Are you intending to teach it?" Minerva asked.

"No. Not really. The process of being able to attain such abilities is very gruesome and may result in one's death. When my parents tested it during their student years, it sent their closest friend into a hospital for years, all covered in terrible burns and tumours. He hates my father even still, and I am an orphan. I trust that you won't want to subject your students to that."

"This sounds like Dark magic," Minerva narrowed her eyes as he lips formed an extremely thin line.

"Not really. Nobody HAS to die. Besides, becoming an animagus, for instance, is just as dangerous. But the research is still not done, so death is a definite possibility."

It was a lie though. However, the approach to sacrifice sure was... a unique one.

"And you want to continue this project, am I right?" Dumbledore asked.

"No, this one is totally unrelated. Some shady people were too interested in it, so I burned down what remained of my house and moved here. It was... hard to destroy what my parents left me, but I couldn't let it fall into the hands of people like those. They were insane."

Nobody present in the room had a way of knowing if what the man said was true. The story was outlandish, bizarre, but if anything of it was true, then the man was more than capable of assuming the post. Actually, there was one.

"Mr. Fenton, would you like some tea? Please, come sit, we can't be talking while everyone is standing. It's uncomfortable, not to mention rude," Dumbledore said with a note of amusement.

"No, thanks. Tea is not really my thing."

"Then maybe something else?"

"I really don't want to be a bother. No, thanks."

Being too insistent was too suspicious. No truth serum then.

"You are a peculiar person, Mr. Fenton. I would be happy to take you in..."

"Albus," Minerva spoke up again, "While the boy has shown some level of power usually beyond his age, he is still a mere child."

"I am twenty, Minerva," Danny said, "An adult. Old enough to drink and Apparate."

"But not to teach," Severus added. "Students need a figure of authority, and there is no guarantee that you won't indulge their lowest desires."

Danny chuckled, "I can be stern and menacing, I assure you. Maybe I should keep my hair greasy for the extra effect."

Severus knew exactly at whom the jab was directed. And he already loathed that insolent boy.

"Minerva, Severus, I think the boy has the potential. After all, even teachers learn by what they do. Teaching is the best way of learning something. It will only benefit him and the students under his guidance. Maybe that's who they need, a person close to their age."

"But the Ministry..."

"What's with the Ministry?" Danny peaked an eyebrow.

Dumbledore's look turned heavier. "You see, Mr. Fenton, we are under heavy pressure from the Minister at the moment. You've read the newspapers, haven't you?"

"I needed to keep the fireplace lit."

A snort could be heard by everyone, and yet its source would remain a mystery.

"Well, the Ministry fears that we are preparing an army here. To coup them, in fact. They think that the Dark Lord is still dead and refuse to see reason. Perhaps, it will end badly for you, because you will be seen as one of the main helpers. Since you directly teach battle spells."

Danny gave a small, sad smile, "That won't be a problem. I'm ready to face it. I get your worry, Minerva. Such unique and reckless act as accepting someone as young as me can damage the reputation even more."

While she was glad that the boy understood this, she had no illusions that he would eventually refuse. From this brief encounter he already struck her as an incredibly stubborn person.

"Then why do you insist?"

"Because teaching the students is way more important than what the Ministry thinks of all of us, correct? And I must finish my parents' work that remained. That's what they would have wanted. For the record, what exactly do you think would happen?"

"The Ministry wanted their representative to take the post you want," Sprout put in. "I've heard some nasty stories about her, Albus. I wouldn't want my badgers near her."

"Does that mean that you support Mr. Fenton's candidacy?" Dumbledore asked amusedly.

"Well," she looked at the raven-haired man, "You do seem like a nice fellow. I'm still not sure if he will be a good teacher, but at least there won't be any cruelties. I'll pick him over Umbridge any time of day."

"I second Pomona on that," Flitwick said excitedly, "Although I am much more confident about the lad. I would very much love to see what else you can do."

Danny decided that he liked that short wizard the most. And it certainly had nothing to do with generous compliments.

"I see. Well, you've got some good recommendations, Daniel," Dumbledore began addressing the guest by name.

"I am completely against it," Said Minerva, "I hope you understand that this is not some personal dislike, Mr. Fenton, but I still stand by my opinion."

"Yeah, no offence taken," Danny mumbled, "Still..."

"I agree with Minerva," Severus added tiredly. This whole discussion was irritating to him, "He is an obnoxious child."

"I pointed out the obvious," a grumble followed. "The thing is called shampoo."

"Stop it at once, you too," the Griffindor head commanded, as the Headmaster observed the exchange. Nobody knew what gears were spinning inside his head.

"I see all your points," he finally declared. "It is true that the Ministry is not going to like the appointment, no matter how you look at it. However, there are no rules that would dictate the minimal age for our professors. And the time is running out. We have received no requests up until now, as the Ministry did everything within its power to push Ms. Umbridge here. I am afraid young Daniel is our only option. However, Mr. Fenton, do not hesitate to ask our teaching staff for advice, especially those present in this room. This is still a new field, and we have standards to uphold."

Danny's smile threatened to split his face in two, "Thank you, sir! I swear I won't fail your expectations. I'll get to making the program immediately."

Minerva was about to protest, but Dumbledore gave her a meaningful look. The conversation between the two would wait.

"We are looking forward to it. We ask that you be here on 31 August. By then we will have made the schedules, and there is also the program of what we are going to have this year."

"Oh, about that..." Danny rubbed the back of his neck in embarrassment, "You don't mind if I move here in a couple of days? I don't have money for rent, see?"

Dumbledore blinked, before chuckling. "Of course. If anything, this will help you get accustomed to the castle much earlier. Come here two days from now, we will take care of it."

"That's great!" Danny responded with excitement. "So, ehm... is that all?"

"Yes, that will be it. Everyone can return to their respective duties. Filius, may you accompany Daniel to Hogsmeade?"

"Oh, you don't have to," Danny raised his hands. "I can find my way out."

"It's just a courtesy, lad," Flitwick smiled, "Come now, I will treat you to some butterbeer there."

Definitely his favourite colleague. Danny decided. With that everyone but Minerva and Albus left the room. Severus gave a small glance to the Headmaster and only then disappeared in the corridor. Once the door was shut, the atmosphere turned much more serious. Minerva turned to her superior, whose look remained curious.

"There is something on your mind, Minerva. You are still having reservations about the idea?"

"I trust your judgement, Albus, even if I strongly disagree with it. Still, this boy... I am not sure about him."

"A man with an excellent motivation appearing out of nowhere and offering his aid? Is this what troubles you?"

"Yes. That will be the case. These are dark times, Albus, are you sure we can trust him? He is keeping quiet about too many things."

"While I myself would like to know, this will be the perfect chance to learn."

"Albus, he is...strange. I have never seen such magic before. And we know next to nothing about him and his projects. What if it will end up killing someone?"

"That we will not allow, Minerva. Him staying here will actually help us set up watch. Of course, not a word about the order to him. Daniel is an unknown territory. We cannot bring him into something he didn't sign for, if he is, in the end, just an innocent boy. Which, I think, he is. If he is actually in league with our enemies, we will not be fooled in the future. Everything concerning Harry should not involve him."

"I understand, Albus," Minerva said, before a tiny huff escaped her thin lips, "I should be more worried about his teaching standards, shouldn't I?"

Dumbledore chuckled, "This is very important. Now, I think I'm going to write to Cornelius and inform him that his help is, unfortunately, unneeded."

There was that unmistakable excited twinkle in the old wizard's eyes. He was obviously enjoying this.