A/N Not mine, just JKR's. Plain and Simple

Prologue: The End of the Beginning

After the events in the Chamber of Secrets, the teachers were in a fuss. Even after all the students had gone home, the professors were still obsessing over how they had been fooled by Voldemort. They had been informed by Dumbledore that the Weasley girl had been possessed by his memory through that infernal diary that she wrote in. Trying to ease their worries, Dumbledore strengthened the wards around the castle and let them add any of their own design as long as he approved. These actions, however, did little to ease the worries of the professors.

However, there were three teachers that did not share in the panic that was prevalent among the rest of the staff. The Headmaster, of course, knew there was nothing else they could do to prevent further possession attempts, but only ways to keep cursed objects out of the castle. It wasn't much, but he was not too worried. As long as the people of the wizarding world kept their faith in him, it would just be that much easier for him to orchestrate the war he knew that was coming. He sighed, and turned back to the fire. The boy that rescued Miss Weasley was starting to come into his own, but Albus was having reservations about training him. True, the boy had been through much, but Harry needed a childhood. No, he didn't need to train him personally, at least until Voldemort comes back. The boy needed to live. And anyways, an exposure to such power at such a young age would just drive him into the dark. Not acceptable at all.

Down in the dungeons, one Severus Snape was not even concerning himself with what had happened to the Weasley girl. He knew that it was only luck that she had survived, and even more so that the Potter boy had saved her. Why would he believe what the boy said anyway, it wasn't like he had actually faced a basilisk. No, it was more likely that he had come across some old snake, or even more so that it was just a skeleton or a carcass, finally dead from old age. Please, it was ridiculous, how could a 12 year old boy kill a 60 foot long snake and a semi corporeal form of Voldemort. The boy's ego was growing to be worse than his father's. It just seemed like he couldn't stay out of the limelight for one second. Turning back to his potions, he set back to work. Even though the potions that Madam Pomfrey wanted could stir themselves, it was a balm on his nerves to make them by hand. This was what potion making was about, not a bunch of snotty nosed brats trying to make each others' potions explode or have some other deleterious reaction.

The third professor, however, did not watch everything from the viewpoint of complete distress. Nor did he watch it like a concerned man trying to act as everyone's' grandfather would. It was not a view of complete aloofness that he presented to the residents of the castle. It was a complete vacant expression that was the image of one who wanted to speak, but couldn't. The professors noted that he knew the answer to any question that they had, but only as long as someone else had discovered the answer first. To an unknowing observer, it appeared that he lacked imagination, but anyone who looked closely saw that anytime he didn't know he had a slight pained expression on his face, like one who knows the answer yet for some unknown reason couldn't tell the one who asked the question. Either way, he never made an original suggestion, never spoke out, never did anything to make his opinions heard. All of what he did was done perfectly, and all of what he taught was completely accurate. There was something that was hidden, something that seemed to want to get out. No one knew what to make of it. Even Quirrell showed more initiative than him. It was a wonder that he kept his job, yet he performed it well enough that he did. No more, no less.

Now, though, sitting in his office, he was sitting in his chair, staring at what appeared to be a pocket watch, yet slightly larger and thicker, yet with no knobs or dials. Taking a closer look, the watch was made of three hands, one of which was unmoving pointing at the 4 o'clock while the other two were rotating in opposite directions at constantly variable speeds. The longest hand was the one that had stopped. His desk was covered with parchments and books, all covered with arithmetic and runic calculations. Even though the calculations were complicated by normal standards, and some even incomprehensible, he understood them quite handily, and was able to compute an apparently simple answer from them, although it was spelled in a language that was archaic and dead by today's standards.

The clock's two moving hands started to both increase in speed, moving faster and faster until their motions themselves became blurred. Then, without warning, the mid-lengthed hand stopped, pointing directly where 8 o'clock would be on a normal counterpart. Both of the hands that were stopped glowed a bright blue, and a shockwave emanated through the castle, barely perceptible in the human range. Yet at this, the man smiled. The motion seemed to take a toll on him, as though the muscles that he had forgotten for this particular movement were suddenly working once more. His eyes started twinkling in that infernal manner that Albus Dumbledore was best known for. The eyes held a major difference. While Dumbledore's eyes still conveyed a sense of trust and inner youth to all who saw, his eyes were old, as one would look as they were about to die.

He picked himself up, and reached out with his mind. The headmaster's new wards protected the students, somewhat, from mental intrusion from outside influences, but they didn't even register a mental thread going out. His mind focused southward for a minute, than his mind returned to his body. He smiled again, but this time, it was feral. He looked as a hunter would after many years of pacification.

"It has been quite a while since I have spoken freely without the influence of that verdammt spell." He glanced back at the watch, and sighed resignedly. "It still lasts though. Ah well, at least now I can act, and at quite an opportune time, as there is quite an important prophecy carried out now. I shall see whether I can teach the child. He is one of two I have ever seen with potential. Magic indeed does know more than us all combined…"

With this, he leaned back and laughed. What would Albus think about his most introverted professor's new attitude. The sight would be odd, that was for sure. Now, it was time the world would know what a professor of the lowliest subject would be able to do. After all, who would expect a professor of Muggle Studies to be able to do anything?