Albus Dumbledore sank into his chair and studied the 
young-looking man across from him. A moss-colored cloak 
hung off the youth's shoulders, held fast by a gold chain 
fashioned in the shape of oak leaves. His eyes were 
piercingly blue above high pointed cheekbones. His chin 
was smooth and also somewhat pointed, his nose long, but 
handsome, and his light brown hair fell neatly just below 
the turned collar of the green silk tunic he wore. The hair 
almost covered his gently curved ears, but pointed tips 
stuck out just enough to be seen.

"Well, Ryan," Dumbledore smiled. "When the Elves agreed 
to send an answer, I didn't think they meant an envoy."

The other shrugged gracefully, with long, delicate hands 
turned palm up. "I volunteered. There are things we cannot 
discuss over long distances. And I wanted to visit Hogwarts 
again, when I had a good excuse."

"Yes, of course. The council has reached a decision then?"

"It has." He frowned. "My friend, the Anvasse take a very 
long time to decide anything. But in some cases, the answer 
is clear. The Seven Houses will not stand with Voldemort."

"I sense a But. They will not actively stand with us, either, 
will they?"

The Elf Ryan looked somewhere far away. "Not exactly. 
They will not leave their enclaves in the forests. If a servant 
of the Dark Lord, or even Voldemort himself, were so 
foolish as to enter Anvasse land, you may be sure we will 
dispose of the interloper in our own way. But do not look 
for a host of my brethren to muster on the day of battle."

"I see." Dumbledore detected his guest's private opinion on 
the matter. The Elf contemplated Dumbledore in the same 
manner, though the natural patience of his people made him 
seem somehow older than the white-bearded, aged wizard 
who sat across the desk. "There is another reason you were 
sent to Hogwarts to meet me, is there not?"

"Yes. We understand Severus Snape has embarked on a 
mission to rejoin the dark forces as a spy."

Dumbledore frowned. "It's a risk, certainly, but we need 
someone inside."

"It will not work, Albus. You have a much better source of 
information here. However, you cannot exploit it yourself." 
He held up one hand in an elegant staying gesture. "I know, 
as Headmaster you have methods of discovering what 
happens here. How well I remember," he smiled wryly. 
"But even you cannot find out everything that is said and 
done, and this source would not willingly talk to any 
teacher, even the head of his own house."

Dumbledore nodded. "Yes, I think I know who you mean, 
Jorian." The name was a lilting, rolling sound. "What do 
the Anvasse propose?"

"I am to remain here for the duration, as a conduit of 
information for my people. What we receive is often old or 
out of date. Generally it does not matter, but when events 
move so swiftly, we need accurate intelligence."

The Headmaster of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and 
Wizardry locked eyes with the youthful emissary. "You just 
said this source will not talk to a teacher..."

"Precisely. In any case, do you think I could pass for a 
human teacher after all this time? No, I must be close to 
him, close enough for him to take me into his confidence 
and pass on what his parents tell him. I must be a student in 
his class, in his very house. I will-'transfer,' I believe it is 
called-to Hogwarts as a fifth year student."

Dumbledore sighed. "Even if we could allow this, the 
Ministry would object."

Ryan waved his hand again. "I am licensed for proper wand 
use by the Ministry. I have licenses in six other countries; it 
had to recognize them. Remember, the laws against non-
humans using wands were passed long after I was a student 
at Hogwarts. They had their function at the time, those 
laws, and the time will come when they will be modified 
again. No, the Ministry is not the problem. However, I must 
appear to leave and then return as a student, or Voldemort's 
sources at the Ministry will know there is an Anvasse 
here."

"True." Dumbledore sighed. "You'll have to be Sorted-
you and all your family were in Gryffindor, weren't they?"

"The Sorting Hat does nothing more or less than the wearer 
tells it to, Albus. You know that. It and you may be the 
only people at Hogwarts who remember me from back 
then-it was over a century ago. There's the ghosts, of 
course, but they won't be a problem. And naturally I will 
have to charm myself to appear human, and a little 
younger. I shall have to use the name, though. I have to be 
a 'pureblood' to get close to the target."

"Yes...what about old school records? The trophy room?"

"What about them? The Anvasse have not sent their 
offspring to magical school for additional training in a 
hundred years, not even the ruling families. If anyone 
actually recognizes the Pelerand name, I can simply say 
that it must be some ancestor. Albus," he leaned forward 
and was almost apologetic. "You don't have a choice. The 
Anvasse tasked me with this as our price for our support. 
Of course we will protect ourselves, and we may yet 
convince the Council to stand with you. But to do that, we 
must have up to date information. And you know as well as 
I that the more often a fact changes hands, the more likely 
it is to be distorted, lost, or captured."

"Yes. But if you pretend to leave the country, return, and 
are caught...."

"The Muggles have a term: 'disavowed.' Do you know 
what it means?"

"I see. Your actions will be denied by the Anvasse council 
and you will stand against any Ministry violations on your 
own. I don't like that at all, Jorian."

"Who among us is beyond risk, Albus? Think. It is for the 
boy's own protection, as well. He and Voldemort share a 
loathing for the Potter boy. It may well be that the Dark 
Lord will try to use him as a vessel to strike at Harry. You 
might not know until it's too late. Someone close to the boy 
could watch for signs of possession or influence."

The Headmaster thought for a long time. "Yes," he sighed, 
"I suppose you are right. You will of course share any 
information you do gather with me as well as the 
Anvasse?"

Ryan grinned. "We understand each other perfectly, 
Headmaster."

"Very well. I will make the arrangements and include you 
in the roster."

"Good." He rose, and his liquid smoothness while sitting 
transformed instantly into a powerful energy, like a wild 
creature about to strike. "I'll stay the night, and we can 
work out the details. I'll leave early tomorrow before 
anyone sees me. I'll need to go to Diagon Alley for my 
things-you have the professors' lists? Good. And then I 
shall have to board the train at King's Cross like the others, 
shan't I?"

The station was crowded and noisy. Children ran about the 
platform, greeting their friends, saying goodbye to anxious 
parents, and generally enjoying the last few hours before 
the school year officially began. Ryan moved quietly 
through the throng, rolling his trunk on a little set of 
portable wheels which he had attached to one end. He 
slipped onto the train and looked for an empty 
compartment. He navigated the corridor with the ease of an 
experienced traveler, though he had never taken this 
particular train before. 

As he passed up a partially full compartment, its door slid 
open and a red-headed young man poked his head out. "Oi! 
You the new teacher then?"

Ryan glanced down immediately, wishing he had a mirror. 
Was his disguise charm in need of replenishment? Was he 
that obviously older than the others? His confusion must 
have been patent, for the boy laughed at him, and was soon 
joined by an identical face. "Just joking-we didn't 
recognize you. I'm George, and this is my brother Fred."

"Hallo." Ryan grinned. "Call me Ryan."

"I thought we knew everyone who goes to Hogwarts," Fred 
said casually as they insisted that he sit with them.

"Transferring." Ryan told them briefly, not wanting to get 
too chummy. He recognized them from the Daily Prophet 
archives, and of course, the family resemblance. These 
were Weasleys. It wouldn't do to get too friendly with 
Gryffindors. Although, alliances are always a good option, 
he thought. And he didn't want to meet his target too soon.

"Transfer student?" George said dubiously. "I don't think 
I've ever heard of that before."

"Yes, awfully mysterious, George." Agreed Fred. 
"Transferring from where, then?"

"Another school," Ryan told them with a one-shouldered 
shrug. "Are those fireworks in your bag?"

"Yeah," the twins smiled wickedly, accepting the change in 
subject without really noticing. "It's our last year, so we've 
really got to make it count," Fred explained.

"And that means setting off firecrackers?"

"Firecrackers, stinkbombs, and our own private stock as 
well." And George launched into the theory and genius 
behind Weasley's Wizard Wheezes.

Ryan let them amuse themselves, thinking of his own share 
of pranks from the Hogwarts he remembered. Apart from a 
disturbing reliance on stinkbombs, these two seemed 
industrious enough.

"What kind of detentions do you lads get for all this?" He 
broke in at one point.

"Detentions?" They frowned. "Oh, the usual-polishing 
silver in the trophy room, dusting the hallways and 
classrooms, anything Filch wants us to do, really."

"And you don't mind it?" Ryan asked, knowing the answer.

"Depends on how well the joke goes, doesn't it?" George 
said blankly.

"I guess it would, at that."

"How about you?" Asked Fred, his curiosity returning now 
that they had exhausted their inventory, and sold nothing. 
"Why did you say you were transferring?"

"I didn't." He smiled. "Let's see this Laughing Lozenge 
again-you say it took three hours for the fumes to wear 
off?"

The lunch cart came around soon afterward, and they filled 
up on pasties and chocolate frogs. Ryan ate a pasty 
delicately and watched the countryside out the window. 
The compartment door slid open again and a boy with 
dreadlocks came in to sit beside him. "There you two are. 
I've been looking all over. I was stuck with-who's this 
then?" He asked, seeing Ryan for the first time.

"What? It's Angelina Johnson, Lee, obviously. She's had a 
little change," George began, but Fred swatted him 
soundly.

"Ryan, this is Lee Jordan. Lee, this is Ryan...er..."

"Pelerand," Ryan said, supplying the surname. "I'll let you 
chaps catch up. Excuse me." And he stepped into the 
corridor to find the bathroom.

"What's his story?" Asked Lee as soon as the door shut, 
helping himself to a chocolate frog.

"Transfer, he says," George said. "I've never heard of that, 
have you?"

"No. Maybe his parents moved to England or something."

"He's English, all right, you heard him talk. That's 
Mayfair, as ever was."

"Yeah. Maybe he's been expelled from somewhere else."

The twins liked the sound of that at first, but then Fred said, 
"Wait. When Ron told us about Hagrid being expelled all 
those years ago, didn't he say they'd snapped his wand?"

"Oh, yeah." Silence fell as they tried to guess a better 
reason.

"Did he say he'd transferred from another wizarding 
school, specifically?" Lee asked.

"Yes, he-" started Fred.

"Nah, he didn't," finished George. "Remember? He just 
said, 'Another school,' all secretive like. Downright snotty, 
if you ask me."

"But he liked our joke stuff," Fred pointed out. "And he 
seemed to understand about everything. I don't think he's a 
Muggle-born, George."

Another awkward silence fell. "So, last year, hey, boys?" 
Lee said brightly.

"Yep."

"What about the house team this year? Think we'll pull any 
decent players to replace Wood, Johnson, and Bell?"

They were still talking about quidditch when Ryan 
returned. Lee Jordan immediately began to ask pointed 
questions.

"So...do you play quidditch?"

"No. No good at it," Ryan told them. 

"But you know what it is," Lee pressed.

"Of course." He appraised the young man who slid over to 
let him sit down again. "Trying to figure out if I'm Muggle-
born or not?"

"No," both the twins said immediately.

"Yes," Lee said firmly, with a glare across the 
compartment.

"Not." Ryan told him. "I understood only Slytherin house 
was so concerned with Muggles versus purebloods."

"Oh, we're not concerned, we just...wondered," Fred said 
apologetically.

"Ah. I'm from a wizarding family, lads. 'S'all good."

"Why are you transferring, then?" Lee asked directly.

"Because....my family felt I should finish up at Hogwarts." 
Ryan told them. It was a statement calculated to be wholly 
unconvincing, and it succeeded. The boys were even more 
suspicious than before, but something in the way he said it 
also seemed to indicate that probing further would do no 
good.

They talked about quidditch some more, and school, 
inevitably. When the twins found out Ryan was to be 
entering his fifth year, they grew excited. "Our little brother 
Ron's in that class," George told him. "Yeah, and of course 
Harry." Said Fred.

"Harry...Potter?" Ryan lifted his eyebrows, feigning 
surprise.

"That's right. And our Ron's his best friend, to boot. You'll 
see, just you wait. We'll get you settled in Gryffindor in no 
time," George assured him.

"Hm." Said Ryan, knowing he had other plans. "This 
sorting...how does it work, exactly?"

"Well, it's different for everyone," George began.

"Yeah, I had to wrestle a troll," said Lee.

"And I had to hex a witch while standing on my head," 
Fred told him.

Ryan snorted. "What do you think I am, eleven? I'm not a 
firstie, lads. Really. What sort of test is it?"

"What test did they give you at your other school?" Lee 
asked slyly.

"Which one?" Ryan retorted. "Come on, tell me," he 
continued hurriedly, letting his voice whine just a tiny bit. 
"Is it a lottery, a chamber with doors, what?"

"Oh, no," said Fred. "Everyone has to find out the same 
way. We won't tell." And he crossed his arms and nodded 
his head decisively.

"Right," echoed Lee and George, aping him. "Unless...." 
George said slowly.

"Unless what?"

"You tell us the truth about where you went to school 
before and why you're switching."

Ryan held George's steely gaze for a few moments, 
challenging him silently. Then he deliberately slid his focus 
out the window and said, "Be that way, then." He decided 
to sulk a little while, for effect.

Accepting his reticence, but no less friendly, the boys 
fished out their cards and they invited him to play 
exploding snap for the rest of the trip. As the train pulled 
around a bend and Hogsmeade appeared in the distance, 
Fred announced that they should all change into their robes. 
Lee went to find his trunk and get his things together. Ryan 
simply pulled his robe over his regular clothes-jeans and a 
tee-shirt-and produced a belt which he used to give the 
shapeless cloth some definition around his waist. It had no 
buckles; he merely wrapped the tail around and down, 
almost like a tie, to cinch it.

"Never thought of doing that before," Fred said. "Looks a 
little funny, though, with the muggle clothes underneath."

"Professor Lupin wore a belt sometimes, didn't he?" 
Pointed out George.

"I've never liked robes much," Ryan said truthfully. "Belts 
at least make them a little more useful. And stylish."

"Get the fashion hound," George said, hooting. But just 
then the train pulled into the station and he lost his balance, 
falling against the seat. Fred also stumbled. Only Ryan 
reflexively stayed on his feet. 

"Right. Here we are," he said, offering them each a hand to 
pull them up. 

They unloaded their trunks ("Dead clever, those wheels," 
observed the Weasley twins), and bustled out with the other 
children out of Hogsmeade station and into the waiting 
carriages. As Ryan glanced up at the imposing castle on the 
hill ahead, he couldn't help remember his real studies here, 
so long ago....

Jorian Jorianele Melianele Peleranel, latest scion of a 
lengthy ruling line of the Anvasse, waited at his table for 
the new first-year students to be sorted. Among the first to 
be called was "Dumbledore, Albus," and a shy-looking 
young boy went and sat on the stool. The hat covered the 
boy's forehead, but quickly called out "Gryffindor!" and 
Jorian cheered along with the rest. "Good," he thought. 
"That will make life easier."

"Hey, Ryan, that's the kid, right? The one you're to look 
out after?" His friend Cygnus asked him over the applause.

"Yes. He's the one."

"Didn't he have a brother...." Asked Perseus Hardwicke, 
one of their roommates.

"Aberforth. Cheeky git. Squeaked through here, I 
understand, a few years ago. Only got an 8 on his 
N.E.W.T.S. Mother says Albus has a lot more potential, 
though."

"Right. I remember him now. Ravenclaw, wasn't he?"

"That's the one."

But the boy now came among the older students, chewing 
his lip nervously. "Is this seat taken?" He asked formally.

"Sure, go ahead," said the dark-haired Cygnus breezily, but 
then ignored him. "Ryan, why don't you try out for 
quidditch this year?"

"No, thanks." Ryan smiled at his friend's yearly joke. He 
hated flying, and everyone knew it. "I'll gladly use you for 
target practice, though," he offered, riposting as he did 
every year.

"No, thanks," Cygnus echoed in perfect imitation. Then 
they all cheered as the hat added another Gryffindor to their 
ranks.

Ryan turned his attention to the young boy who watched 
them gravely. "Didn't you make any friends on the coach?" 
He asked with genuine concern.

The boy shrugged. "I was reading." He must have read a 
great deal, for he wore wire spectacles that made him look 
even more frail than his thin form and light auburn hair. 

"Hang on...Weasley! Come here a second," he ordered, 
and a red-haired, gangly youth pushed his chair out from 
the table and complied. "Weasley, this is Dumbledore." 
The two boys shook hands. "Weasley's going to fag for us 
this year; we arranged it end of last term. If you like, he can 
show you the ropes. He's only a year ahead of you, 
Dumbledore, so you won't be in too old a crowd." He 
winked as he said this, but the little boy just blinked at him.

"What's fagging?" He asked.

"Oh, you know, I help out," Weasley told him in good 
humour. "I fetch things, and get the older boys' boots 
polished for them, and clean up around the dormitory. It 
helps them get all their work done," he explained.

"What about your work?" Dumbledore asked.

"Well, they help with that, do you see, plus it pays!" All the 
boys laughed a bit.

"That's right," Cygnus said. "Three shillings and sixpence a 
week to fag for the three of us-that's to say Hardwicke, 
Pelerand, and me. Say, Dumbledore, you wouldn't be 
interested in helping Weasley out, would you? I'd swear 
he's been shoving things off on the house-elves. What do 
you say? Whip him back into shape, give him some 
competition, what?"

"Stop it, Cyg," Ryan said, rolling his eyes. "You may 
ignore him anytime you like, Dumbledore. Anyway, first-
years have too much to worry about getting used to this 
place to fag for the older fellows. But if you stick to 
Weasley, and young Longbottom over there, you'll know 
your way around in no time." He pointed to a blond boy 
busily chatting with "Wilkes,Wendolyn," who had just 
been Sorted into the house.

"I've only ever been to boys' schools. But I notice there are 
girls here. Why is that?" Dumbledore asked. 

"That's how it's always been. Muggles may feel the sexes 
must be segregated to learn, but we've always used 
Hogwarts as a way to meet our future wives, haven't we, 
Potter?" Cygnus suddenly leaned across the table at 
another, even older boy, wearing a Prefect badge. He was 
sitting with a very pretty witch, who scowled at the 
interruption.

"Shut it, Black," the Prefect said testily, causing the others 
to laugh again.

"Nevermind Potter," Cygnus told the new boy. "He's 
always uptight. It's our mission in life to untwist his 
knickers, isn't it Ryan?"

"That or get the house-elves to over-starch them."

"Mister Pelerand!" Yelled the Headmaster, who had been 
calling for quiet....

"Mister Pelerand?" An older woman with a greying bun 
and a severe look called to him behind thick glasses. A 
crowd of young students trailed behind her.

"Yes, ma'am," he said, coming over to her from his 
carriage.

"You're to accompany me and the first-years, Pelerand. 
Leave your trunk here."

They proceeded together up to the main entrance of the 
school. The professor led them into a side room off the 
main hall and launched into her usual speech to new 
students, explaining about the traditional sorting into 
houses, and admonishing them all to behave themselves 
and honour whichever house they were selected to be in. 
She was not the same professor who had prepared Ryan's 
first-year class, so many years previously, but the speech 
itself had barely changed.

"Mr. Pelerand, you may feel a little foolish about all this," 
she said sharply, misinterpreting his nostalgic, lopsided 
grin for embarrassment, "but we make it a policy that all 
students are sorted before the whole school. That includes 
transfers." She stressed the word ever so slightly with 
disapproval. "You will be sorted when the first-year 
students are through."

"Yes, ma'am." He said, dutifully looking serious again. 
Then they all went into the hall.

The Sorting Hat finished its annual song with a flourish to 
the applause of the students in the Great Hall. Professor 
McGonagall held up a parchment with all the first-years' 
names and began to read. One by one, they sat on the stool, 
put on the cap, and awaited its pronouncement. Inevitably 
the cap would shout "Gryffindor," "Hufflepuff," 
"Ravenclaw," or "Slytherin," and the child would join the 
table whose students cheered.

Ryan waited at the back for the first-years to finish up. He 
could feel the whole school glancing at him curiously, since 
transferring students were practically unheard of in the 
wizarding world. He was obviously too old and tall to be a 
first-year, but no one had ever seen him before. 

Finally the last student, "Zawicky, Evan," joined 
Ravenclaw and Professor McGonagall said, 'Pelerand, 
Ryan, Fifth Year."

Ryan stepped forward with a dubious look and put the cap 
on while everyone was silent around him. But his attitude 
was an act; inwardly he put all his attention to directing the 
sorting hat to place him in Slytherin house. It wasn't easy. 
As soon as the cap touched his head, it began "Gr-"

"Slytherin." He told it decidedly.

The voice spoke inside his head. "Haven't I sorted you 
before? It was Gryffindor, wasn't it?"

"Yes," he thought back patiently, "But this is a special case. 
Slytherin, please."

"I don't know..." the hat said. "I'm not sure I can change 
things once..."

Ryan "spoke" to the hat forcefully. "You were created to do 
one thing: name the house that is foremost in the mind of 
the subject. It has to be Slytherin, so say it!"

"Well, all right, if you insist-SLYTHERIN!" It shouted 
the last word.

Ryan took off the cap with relief, but all he showed was a 
faint sneer not unlike that of the blond boy sitting near the 
head of the table with two large and stupid-looking boys 
flanking him. As Ryan took his place, he glanced over at 
the Gryffindor table and could see Harry Potter and his 
friends making their own assessment. Fred, George, and 
Lee seemed quite disappointed. The only seat left at the 
table was next to the house ghost, the Bloody Baron. Silver 
blood spattered his translucent robes.

"Your Excellency," Ryan said, bowing out of habit as he 
sat. This caused a small ripple through the table, but the 
Baron grinned maliciously. 

"I haven't been addressed properly in over a hundred years. 
You! Malfoy," he went on, jabbing a finger at the 
supercilious blond boy. "You could use a lesson or two in 
manners from this one. What's your name again?"

"Pelerand," Ryan said, tucking in to his food.

"Pelerand...." The Baron rolled the name around in his 
mind. "Wasn't there a Pelerand family went to Hogwarts a 
long time ago?"

Ryan shrugged. "Think so."

"Transfer student, eh?" This was Malfoy. "Transferring 
from where?"

Ryan smiled coldly. "Another wizarding school." Several 
Slytherins laughed. A few of the girls whispered to one 
another. Ryan went on, his tone dripping with disdain. 
"Malfoy, is it?"

"That's right. Which one? Durmstrang?"

"Perhaps." Ryan smiled at the girl sitting across from 
Malfoy and winked. She blushed.

Malfoy turned red too, but it was with frustration. "Come 
on.... Well, why'd you leave then?"

"Why don't you ask the Headmaster? He has my file."

Malfoy sniffed derisively. "I've never heard of someone 
transferring halfway through school. There must be a 
reason."

"And there is." Ryan smiled again, dismissing the topic and 
asking for the butter to be passed. The girl near Malfoy 
jumped up to get it for him. 

Seeing that it was useless to pursue the newcomer's past, 
Malfoy instead decided to regale the table with his 
knowledge of Hogwarts' strengths and weaknesses, 
providing his own biased orientation for Ryan and the first-
years. Occasionally, older students would put in a comment 
or two, but Malfoy by far held the group's attention. He 
pointed out each professor and assessed their subject and 
their teaching. He praised Snape, now absent, and 
wondered aloud about the two professors they didn't 
recognize. One was possibly Snape's substitute in Potions, 
and the other had to be their new Defense Against the Dark 
Arts professor. 

"Know anything about the Dark Arts, Pelerand?" He asked 
in a superior tone.

"A little." 

"Well, Dumbledore won't let us really learn anything here, 
only how to defend against them, but I've studied a little on 
my own, of course." Several heads bobbed in assent, 
echoing the boy's statement. "Oh-and one more thing. 
You'll need to watch out for him," Malfoy went on, 
pointing across the hall to where Harry sat at the Gryffindor 
table.

"Is that Harry Potter?" Ryan asked quickly.

Malfoy rolled his eyes. "Of course it is," he whined. "He's 
pathetic, actually. And a muggle-lover. How about you," he 
asked, rounding on Ryan again, "Where do you stand on 
muggles? You are a pure blood, aren't you?"

Ryan smiled. "About as pure as it gets," he muttered.

"What?"

"I said, yes."

"Oh. Well, you never can be too careful who your friends 
are. Look at Potter. That girl next to him is Hermione 
Granger, a bossy, know-it-all mudblood who thinks she can 
do real magic just from reading books. And then there's 
Ron Weasley, whose family are wizards back as far as 
anyone can remember, but look at him! Not the right sort at 
all, don't you agree?"

"Quite," Ryan said, afraid to say more.

"Poor too, naturally. See what associating with mudbloods 
gets a wizard family these days?" He peered at the 
newcomer. "How about your family, Pelerand? What side 
are they on?"

Ryan looked him right in the eye. "Their own, of course."

Malfoy opened his mouth to ask another pointed question, 
but the girl beside him broke in. "Oh, don't pester him, 
Draco. I think he'll do Slytherin proud. Won't you?" She 
batted her eyes down the table at Ryan.

"For you," he promised her. All the girls giggled. Malfoy 
blushed deeply but concentrated on his meal from there out.

"I'm Pansy Parkinson," the girl told him. The Baron had 
floated off at some point, so she came down and sat in the 
empty seat, leaving Malfoy scowling. Ryan smiled and 
nodded and gave Pansy every appearance of paying her 
attention, but merely shrugged his shoulders back at the 
other boys, who seemed torn between laughing at Malfoy 
and fearing to be on his bad side.

After dinner, Dumbledore rose and addressed the students. 
"Welcome to another year at Hogwarts. I have as usual, a 
few brief announcements. Remember that the Forbidden 
Forest is off limits to all students. Quidditch trials are open 
to second-year students and above and will be held on 
Saturday. And I would like to introduce two new teachers 
to our little family...Professor Tamarov, who will be taking 
over Muggle Studies, and Professor DuBois, your new 
Defence against the Dark Arts teacher. I trust that you will 
treat them with the respect and courtesy you extend to all 
our professors."

"Muggle Studies?" Malfoy groaned as they stood to leave 
the great hall a few minutes later. "Every year, it gets 
worse. Dumbledore infests the school with more and more 
Mudblood students, and now a new Muggle Studies 
teacher?"

"I heard What's-his-name was retiring," a seventh year 
student agreed. "I'd rather hoped he'd let the whole subject 
die out. Should have done," he muttered.

"Larkin? He wasn't old enough to retire," argued an older 
girl.

"Maybe someone convinced him," yet another boy said 
menacingly. An awkward silence fell.

"So...where's Professor Snape?" Chirped a little first-year 
boy.

"Who knows? Presumably he'll turn up," said the seventh 
year. 

But Malfoy grinned wickedly and winked at his gorilla 
companions.

Although the entrance to Slytherin's common room was 
through the dungeons, the dormitories were midway up one 
of the towers. Several of the Slytherin girls tried to make 
sure they were standing next to Ryan on their way up, but 
most were quelled by a look from Pansy Parkinson. Once 
up the several flights of winding stairs, the rooms were 
quite warm and comfortable. Their trunks were set by their 
curtained four-poster beds, which had been turned down, 
and a fire crackled merrily in the hearth. Ryan followed the 
boys to their bedroom and noted with relief that his trunk 
was safely delivered and undisturbed.

"Have you picked out your classes, then?" Malfoy asked 
him.

"Yes-over the summer. McGonagall gave me this just 
now, though. I suppose they had to wait and find out what 
house I would be in before they could assign my class 
times." He held out a schedule. Since he had access to 
Malfoy's, he'd made sure he was in most, but not exactly 
all of the other boy's classes. To duplicate his schedule 
would look too suspicious.

"Oh. Well, I suppose you'll need to do a lot of work to 
catch up to how things are done around here."

"We'll see, won't we."

Malfoy sniffed doubtfully. "Well, if you need any help, just 
ask."

"I'll do that." 

They climbed into their beds and Ryan waited for the 
others to fall asleep. He passed his hand through the air a 
few times and felt invisible wards form around the bed and 
his belongings. Only then did he allow himself to sleep....

Funny, how being back at Hogwarts played on his 
subconscious. He dreamed of his own first experience of 
the big four-poster beds, although Slytherins' curtains were 
apparently green, not red. His roommates for seven years, 
Perseus Hardwicke, Geoffrey Bramdon, Meningus Moran, 
and Cygnus Black, all gazed on their new quarters with the 
same awe and pleasure as countless generations of 
Hogwarts students before and after. Their trunks were set at 
the foots of the beds, and as usual the house elves had 
guessed well, or else their brand of magic had ways of 
discovering the best arrangements. 

They changed into their nightshirts, getting over the 
awkwardness by trading more facts about themselves. The 
first topic was ages and, logically, birthdays.

"Mine's in December," volunteered Bramdon. "Almost at 
Christmas. I'll be twelve."

"I just turned eleven last June," Meningus told them.

"Mine's not until January," said Perseus.

"August," grinned Cygnus. "What about you, Pelerand?"

Ryan hesitated, folding his traveling cloak carefully. "Erm, 
I'm not sure."

"Not sure? Are you an orphan, or something?" Perseus 
asked.

"No, but-we don't use calendar months." 

This stumped them for a bit. Then Cygnus said, "Well, 
what do you use?"

"Lunar months."

"So, how do you reckon it-you do keep anniversaries, 
right?" Cygnus prodded. He was rather like a dog with a 
bone, worrying it until he had completely destroyed the 
problem.

Ryan nodded to answer the question. "I was born on the 
eve of the first waxing gibbous moon after the vernal 
equinox."

"Ten or eleven years ago?"

"Ten."

"Right. So-vernal equinox, that's about the end of March. 
When's our first Astronomy class?"

"Tuesday evening," Moran supplied.

"We can look up the phase of the moon on the vernal 
equinox ten years ago. Then we can find out how long it 
took for the moon to be waxing gibbous, can't we? Then 
you'll know our date for your birthday."

The other boys responded enthusiastically, but Ryan 
frowned. "You use the same date every year, don't you?"

"Yes," all five boys said at once.

"But will that be the same moon phase every year?"

"Oh." Five voices said in ragged chorus.

"Well...you'll have two anniversaries, won't you? One for 
the calendar year, and one when the moon is right." Cygnus 
said brightly.

"Quite right," said Bramdon, and "Here, here," said 
Perseus, followed shortly by a simple, "Brilliant," from 
Moran.

Ryan nodded once in consent. They had collectively solved 
their first problem. But mostly, it was his gratitude to 
young Cygnus Black that sealed the friendship between 
them.

And turning in his well-warded sleep in the Slytherin dorm, 
Jorian muttered to himself, "April 12th."

 

A/N: Okay, I have to admit I came up with this idea long 
before I realized how many other people have inserted 
transfer or new students into the school of witchcraft and 
wizardry. While I maintain that we'll need a new wing of 
the school soon to house them all, I felt this was different 
enough (and not a Mary Sue) to warrant placing it up here. 
I also want to say that while I'm sure there are some really 
smashing stories out there about the kids in their fifth years 
and beyond, I haven't read many of them, or many tales 
involving transfers, because I didn't want to be influenced. 
So if I've repeated anything that's been done before, well, 
it's not intentional. I also want to say it's really fun playing 
with everyone's ancestors, and there's more of that to 
come. Suggestions? Comments? Speak now before the next 
piece gets uploaded. Cheers.