"So you're perfectly all right with an unknown variable sitting at your staff table, who, as far as we know, could be plotting to plunge a knife into your back at any moment?" Moody growled, taking a large swig from his mug.
"In all honesty, Alastor, I see no reason to worry about that." Dumbledore said, shrugging ever so slightly. "Young Mr. Ashworth doesn't particularly strike me as the assassin sort, and he's certainly displayed nothing to give us reason for suspecting that he has nefarious motives."
"The best assassin is the one who doesn't appear to be one."
"That may well be, but in my conversations with him, I didn't detect any evil in him. He seemed perfectly polite, if a little nervous. Certainly not the demeanor of a professional hit wizard."
Moody eyed the ancient wizard suspiciously. "He also seems to know an awful lot about the school and Britain in general, for someone who has never been here before."
Dumbledore didn't have an answer for that and remained silent for a while. "True," he finally admitted, "but until Mr. Ashworth proves to be untrustworthy, I think we should give him the benefit of the doubt. If I let myself get distracted over Ashworth, I'll end up neglecting my other duties. We currently have more serious issues in the Wizengamot."
Moody nodded curtly, understanding perfectly well what Dumbledore was getting at. "I suppose the affairs of state are more important than the existence of an odd young man. And it isn't as if he's out on the streets causing havoc-unlike certain other young people."
"You never know," Dumbledore said slowly. "But as far as I can see now, the improper hiring of a substitute Potions teacher is the least of my concerns. Even if Malfoy is plotting something against Hogwarts or me, there is enough trouble brewing among the pureblood families to keep him occupied. As for Mr. Ashworth… if he is capable, so be it. If not, he'll be replaced when Horace recovers and returns."
.....
Harry arrived in the Potions classroom the next morning well before his first class was due to start. He would have the pleasure of teaching the fourth year Slytherin and Gryffindor classes, something he looking forward to with a certain amount of trepidation. As far as he knew, the rivalry between the two houses was just as bad now as it had been in his time. He felt fortunate that he had the lesson plans and teaching materials supplied by the headmaster. It would alleviate his stress a little bit. In addition, he at least possessed a passing familiarity with many of the potions, and had enjoyed being able to pick one he actually knew a little more about for his first attempt at teaching.
Deciding to take a clue from Professor Snape, he wrote the recipe for the chosen potion on the chalkboard and then hid it behind an illusion charm. It didn't take long after he had finished with that for the first students to filter into the room, and Harry realized why the Snape of his day liked to stride into the classroom after all the students had arrived and were settled in. As it was, he could feel every pair of eyes on him, some with interest, some with condescension, but all of them curious. Harry made a show of studying a random textbook in an attempt to avoid direct eye contact until the bell rang.
When the time had come, he looked up, all of his carefully planned first words forgotten as he stared at the collection of faces staring back at him from the rows of students. Sitting in the first row, side-by-side - or, at least, as side-by-side as a Gryffindor and a Slytherin could get - were Severus Snape and a woman whose face he had only seen in photographs. Despite the fact that she was much younger now, there was no mistaking her long, red hair and vivid green eyes that were staring right back at him: Lily Evans.
Two rows behind them were even more familiar faces. Occupying two benches next to each other were the four Marauders. Sirius was unmistakable, with his unruly black hair and roguish grin, and Remus Lupin looked as scraggy now as he would decades in the future. Harry knew that the pudgy young man sitting next to Lupin was Peter Pettigrew, recognizing him as he stared a little harder. Realizing that he had been staring, he moved his gaze to James Potter, who was trying to bore a hole in the back of Snape's head with a glare.
Despite the fact that they'd already met, this was the first time Harry took the time to study his father carefully. He could see why a lot of people told him he was his father's spitting image, because, looking at the young James Potter, Harry felt as if he was staring at a mirror. However, there were subtle differences. The eyes were blue, instead of green, and there was a demeanor to James Potter that Harry figured he had never had - a sort of straightness to his spine, a sort of feeling of superiority or invincibility that came from the knowledge that he was the better man. Harry idly wondered where that had come from, then stopped when he realized that he should probably start the class.
"Well…" he began, looking for the right words. "Welcome back from the holidays.
The class stared at him wordlessly.
Harry cleared his throat and started again, determined not to let a group of fourteen- or fifteen-year-olds intimidate him. "As you know, I am Harry Ashworth I shall be your substitute Potions instructor until further notice."
Pettigrew raised a hand.
"Yes?" Harry nodded at him.
....
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