Our Story So Far: Jorian Peleranel, called Ryan Pelerand, has transferred to Hogwarts under false pretenses. He was sorted into Slytherin so that he could spy on Draco Malfoy for the race of the Elves, and to help Albus Dumbledore gather information about the Death Eaters and Voldemort. But so far, all he's managed to do is attract Pansy Parkinson, upset the Gryffindors' view of the world of house rivalry, and ingratiate himself to most of the faculty. For some reason, Professor McGonagall took a dislike to him from the moment he arrived and hasn't let up since. Could it simply be his reputation, the false record he and Dumbledore made up? Or could there be more to her blatant disapproval than that of a professor to a student? We join our hero on his second day of school in 150 years.... By breakfast next morning, much of the school had one opinion or another about the transfer student. "I heard he was kicked out of Durmstrang-" "I hear he's been put back a year or two because of trouble-" "He's from a wizarding family, but he doesn't like robes, did you hear-" "I heard he's got a girlfriend; told Pansy after she made a fool of hers-" "Well, I saw him on the train with the Weasley twins, but- " "And he talked to Harry, just last night, but-" "Imagine! A cute guy in Slytherin!" And so on. Snape showed up at the teachers' table as well, scowling at everyone as usual. He looked over at the Slytherin table, where Ryan sat with Malfoy, Crabbe, Goyle, and a handful of others. His eyes narrowed but he turned his attention to his tea and toast. Malfoy, however, had theories of his own. "Heard you were chummy with the Weasleys, Pelerand," he said, voice tinged with warning. "On the train. I sat in their compartment." Ryan shrugged. "They do like trouble," he said casually, adding under his breath, "and so do I." "Oh? And what about last night then? Where did you wander off to?" Ryan looked up sharply, snarling, but then seemed to force himself to be friendly. "You want a report, Malfoy? If you want to know, accept the invitation next time." "Just remember, Pelerand, this is not a good time to associate with muggle lovers, or their mudblood friends." A ripple of agreement passed around the table. Ryan set down his fork, holding Malfoy in his gaze. "Out of the worst kind of curiosity, Malfoy, just what is it about them that threatens you so?" Malfoy's jaw dropped. "You are a muggle-lov-" "Don't go jumping to conclusions, Draco," Ryan said with stress on the boy's name. "Where I-came from, it wasn't an issue. Educate me," he smiled slyly. The tactic worked. After a moment, Malfoy cleared his throat. "Well," he said, warming to Ryan slightly, "You know about the Dark Lord, of course." "He-who-must-not-be-named? Malfoy, everyone's heard of him. What about it?" "Well, he's-Wait a minute," he sneered, "I'm not stupid." "What?" Ryan tried hard to stay calm and look confused. Had he made a mistake? Was the boy onto him already? "How do I know you're not spying for your new boyfriend, Harry Potter?" It was ridiculous enough that Ryan didn't have to pretend to laugh. "Where did that come from?" He asked honestly. "Malfoy, you're paranoid. I'd never met Potter until class yesterday-and only a few hours after I'd met all of you, I might add. Why all these accusations?" "Maybe if you told us a little more about yourself, we wouldn't be half so suspicious," said a nasty-looking older student. "Really?" Ryan asked with sarcasm. "I tell you a sob story about my life, and suddenly you'll believe me? It's that simple, is it?" He snorted. "And they told me Slytherins were the smart lot. Well, I don't need your little club, boys." Just then the bell rang. Ryan fished out his schedule, deliberately contrasting his show of bravado with his gawkishness. "Great. Arithmancy." "I'm in that; I'll show you," a fifth-year girl said with a glare at the older Slytherin. Ryan flashed her his best smile, ignoring the discomfort it caused him for now. The girl whispered something to Pansy as they all left the table to go to class. "Don't mind them," she told him when they exited the hall. "They're all snobs." She pulled him through the entrance hall and up the stairs, along the corridors to the Arithmancy classroom. "So, Pansy says you have a girlfriend," she said bluntly. "Yes, I have," he said quickly, feeling his stomach sink. "Here we go again," he thought. "Well...I thought it might just have been something you said so she'd leave you alone. I mean," she rolled her eyes, "it's Pansy, after all." She turned swiftly to block his progress. He stopped short, almost knocking into her. "Erm...no, it's true," he told her, letting some of his nerves show. "Where is she?" The girl asked. She really was attractive, for a child, and clearly used to having her way. "Look, I don't even know you," Ryan began. "Emma Naigle," she answered breezily. "Where's your girlfriend, Ryan?" She pressed closer, saying his name with all the seductiveness a fifteen-year-old can muster. "On the continent," he said, backing into the wall. "At her school." Emma placed her hands on his chest. "Then she doesn't need to know anything, does she?" She leaned forward temptingly. Ryan caught her hands in his, pushing her away firmly. He chuckled. "I love trouble, Miss Naigle, but not that kind." He stepped around her, dropping pretense to find the classroom on his own. He'd forgotten how hormonally active children were at this age, a tenth of his own. He supposed he'd have to behave a little more responsively, just for appearances. Reaching back in his memory, he thought of how things were in his own real fifth year.... In 1857, Cygnus Black, Perseus Hardwicke, Geoffrey Bramdon, Meningus Moran, and Jorian Pelerand were teenagers. Cygnus played on the house Quidditch team, they all practised fencing and dueling, Ryan shot archery daily, and they all discovered girls. Each had his way of noticing the fair sex, and being noticed. Cygnus unabashedly used his Quidditch talents to impress them. Percy helped them study, inching his chair ever closer in the library until his knee pressed against the young lady's full skirted robes and his arm casually dropped over her shoulder so he could lean in to read the book they shared. Meningus flirted outrageously and made them all blush and twitter. Geoffrey was shy and quiet, but occasionally a girl would open her textbook to find a charmed rose inside, or a songbird would fly out of her notes. And Ryan was just himself. He could barely leave the Gryffindor common room without attracting the attention of half the females at Hogwarts. He played the flirting game well, his natural charm combining with the allure of his species to provide the perfect picture of a girl's fantasies. But, aware of his heritage, his responsibilities at home, and his life span, he made it clear that he was not looking for a mate during his time at school. Consequently, his relations with the young ladies at Hogwarts hardly extended beyond long walks together and innocent kissing. Indeed, in those days, hardly anyone's relations were any different. But that didn't mean things didn't happen. Among other things, Hogwarts had always been a place for young men and women to meet each other and make matches between them. However, there were always witches and wizards who married outside the wizarding community, entrusting their husbands and wives with their secret abilities. Within a few centuries of the school's foundation, the half-blooded children from these matches were also admitted to Hogwarts, thus increasing the enrollment and the options for its students. But the bloodlines still thinned, and there were more and more children born to Muggle families who showed an aptitude for magic. In 1850, three years before Ryan's class began, Hogwarts opened its doors to Muggle- born wizards, to much controversy. For the first few years, the only Muggle-born students were male. Muggle parents worried about the lack of constant chaperoning, and the ease of contact possible between girls and boys, something the school was still learning to accommodate. But by 1857, there were precisely three girls in Ryan's year who were born to Muggle parents. The most notorious of these girls, Pandora Robinson, didn't seem to put much stock in the additional rules her parents expected her to follow. Unlike the other two, who meekly succumbed to their restrictions, Pandora enjoyed her relative freedom from chaperones and managed to convince her parents that the school matrons looked after all the girls quite well. Meanwhile, she positively indulged herself in the delights of long walks, innocent kissing, and often, whatever they could get away with doing. She, like Ryan, made no secret of the fact that she had no serious intentions for any boy there, but was only interested in having a bit of fun. It was a logical combination. There was also Calliope Caldecott, a sweet Ravenclaw witch of sixteen who pursued Ryan at every turn. What was a boy to do? He acquiesced, naturally, and their discoveries behind the fourth floor study room doors were not limited to charms, hexes, or the nuances of ritual magic. The obsession with girls invaded every aspect of their lives then. They chose study partners not by who really knew the material, but based on where they would most like to practice wooing. Inevitably, the dormitory conversation at night turned from subjects like Quidditch and class work to bubbling questions about the opposite gender. "Ryan?" Cygnus called through the curtains one night. "Yes." Came the grunted reply. "What do you think...about Diana?" "Diana Cooper?" Ryan asked, thinking immediately of the Hufflepuff witch in her fourth year. "Yes. She's pretty. Isn't she?" "She's pretty." Ryan confirmed through a yawn. "You haven't...gone walking with her already, have you?" "No," he answered truthfully. "Have you done anything else with her then?" Cygnus was bright enough to be specific about Ryan's liaisons. "Anything?" Ryan equivocated, teasing his friend. "Anything." "Well...." "Ryan," Cygnus began malevolently. "Let's think....Diana Cooper....Diana Cooper....She's in Astronomy with us, and Magical Creatures....Does the thing with her hair...." Ryan drew out his assessment to the obvious distress of his roommate and the amusement of the others. "Ryan, I mean it, tell me or-" "Relax. I haven't even kissed her. I know you like her." "But do you like her?" "She's all right." Ryan said sleepily. "For a human." "What does that mean?" Cygnus asked hotly. "Means they're all human, Cygnus." Ryan woke up a little to answer the question seriously. "All the girls here-well, except Perolia, and she's my first cousin. I can't be serious about any of them, even Calliope. If you like Diana, by all means, stroll with her through the gardens or invite her to your mother's for tea." "Well, if that's how you feel, then why do you play around so much?" Cygnus asked. "Excuse me? How old are you? Have you seen Calliope Caldecott lately? Or even looked at how Pandora's robes are fitting this year?" Ryan retorted. "And how about those Weasley girls?" Geoffrey piped up. "Twins. All that red hair. Imagine." "Don't have to, my friend." Meningus lilted in his soft accent. "Weasley's older sisters? No-you're not serious...." Ryan sat in class trying to place himself back in that puerile mindset. How simple it was when the only thing that mattered was the slenderness of a girl's waist or how her lips felt against one's own.... "Care to join us, Pelerand?" Professor Vector asked sharply. "Of course, Professor," Ryan said, snapping back to the present with a charming smile. The Slytherin girl, Emma, caught his smile and presumed it was for her. So, astonishingly, did Hermione Granger. The bushy-haired girl quickly dropped her attention back to her desk, while Emma held his look with a challenge. And to Ryan's biggest surprise, Professor Vector herself simpered a bit. "Mr. Pelerand, perhaps you can tell the rest of the class the difference between the ceremonial magic of the druids and that of the ancient Minoan sects?" As Ryan launched into an explanation of the effects of the relative longitude of the earth and proximity of the sun on seasonal shift, he saw Emma frown and Hermione scribble furiously on her parchment. He wrapped up quickly to Professor Vector's obvious approval and stole another glance at the two girls, whose desks were beside each other on his left. Emma studied her textbook now, noticeably ignoring him, and Hermione seemed to be studying...him. The lesson took forever to end, but end it did, and Ryan decided the safest thing was to walk out with the few boys of assorted houses in the class. His next lesson was Charms, which all the Slytherin students took together. Charms was possibly the one form of human magic Ryan continued to use the most. Astronomy and Runes hardly counted, for they could not be confined to the realm of humans. Arithmancy was merely a human way of looking at the world of ceremonial magic, and Anvasse ceremonies were based on the same theories as everyone else's. But charms-spells combining a verbal and wand component- was a uniquely human form of magic, and one that Ryan frequently found useful in his work. However, he could not afford to be a star pupil in all his subjects, despite more than 150 years' extra practice, so he prepared himself for a few simple, minor ways to err in class. Flitwick, the tiny Charms professor, appeared worried just to have the transfer student in his classroom. Ryan stifled a laugh; the false transcript he and Dumbledore cooked up held some fearsome episodes. He didn't blame the meek little man his reluctance to discipline such a problem case. On the other hand, the Slytherin fifth-years seemed to view Ryan with a little more respect than they had at breakfast. Apparently they responded better to strong tantrums than polite requests. "Good to know," Ryan thought. With this détente established, Malfoy and his cronies took up a wary and watchful status. For the next few days, presumably at Malfoy's insistence, most of Slytherin house simply watched Ryan's conduct and movements. Crabbe apparently felt that it was his mission to discover where Ryan went each morning and what item he took with him from his trunk. Emma shadowed him in the classes they shared, which he uncomfortably discovered was many. No one asked him any questions, mindful of his tirade, but every scrap of observation, every clue was collected and brought to Malfoy, who ran his little network with equal parts threat and whine. Ryan noticed Crabbe's efforts early and decided a little divulgence would speed things along. He wasn't about to let down the wards on his bed and trunk, but he did linger one morning just long enough for Crabbe to follow him down several corridors. He lost him in order to go on with his workout privately. When he returned to the Slytherin dormitory, though, he was gratified to see Crabbe's green curtains twitch slightly. A faithful mastiff, Crabbe returned to await his prey. Ryan bent over his trunk and carefully shielded the spell to release the wards, but before putting away his weapon, he unsheathed it, retrieved a polishing cloth, and rubbed the blade down unnecessarily. Then he put everything back in the trunk and replaced the wards, hiding both his spell and his smile at the gasp he heard behind Crabbe's curtain. He left the room to shower and dress. By the time Ryan returned, clothed now in a loose pair of trousers and comfortable boot-like slippers, he could tell that someone had tried to get past his wards. He suspected Crabbe couldn't wait even two minutes before trying to break in through the invisible force field to take a look at the sword. Yet there was no sign of Crabbe other than his snoring; he must have dozed off while waiting. Ryan lowered the wards again, getting organized for his day. He slipped his robe on and belted it, looping the end of the belt around to cinch it in place. He hung his quill case, his wand, his penknife, and a small pouch with a few things off the belt. While he finished dressing, the other boys in the dormitory woke, except Crabbe, who could be heard snoring in bed. "Oi! Crabbe," Goyle said, getting a sleepy response from inside. "'S'got a sword," murmured Crabbe, rolling over. Malfoy came over to look. "Dreaming." He concluded. "Crabbe! Get up; you'll be late for Potions." Snape, the potions master and head of Slytherin house, was the only professor Ryan hadn't met in class yet-at least, the only one whose class he was taking. On his inventory, Ryan was doing pretty well: only McGonagall seemed to judge his "record" over his conduct thus far. The rest- Hagrid, Flitwick, Sprout, Vector, Binns, of course, and even DuBois, the new Defence against the Dark Arts teacher-tolerated if not liked him outright. Where, he mused, would Snape fall? Snape, as it happened, was possibly the only person whose suspicion and dislike rivaled McGonagall's. It didn't help, he learned quickly, that the imported troublemaker had been assigned to the Potions Master's own house. Nor did Ryan's very rusty potions skills count for much, either. Since Slytherin shared the Double Potions lesson with their rival house, Gryffindor, Snape said nothing during the two- hour period. Ryan worked silently on his formula regression and concentrated on getting the measurements precise-aspects of potions he never did enjoy-but each time Professor Snape peered into Ryan's cauldron to assess his progress, the man's sneer grew more malevolent. Sighing, Ryan uncorked his bottle of salamander oil and poured it, drop by drop, into the brew. He measured four drops and tipped the bottle upright to recork it, chancing a look around the room. Harry, Ron, and Hermione each had their potions well on the way to becoming Invincibility Elixirs, Malfoy looked to be a step behind Ryan, and the other students were at various stages of the process. As he scanned the room, gauging his own progress, he caught Hermione's eye, quite by accident. She blushed and looked away quite quickly, and Ryan realized she must have been watching him. When he looked back down at his own cauldron, to his surprise, the small blue bubbles that were supposed to rise to the surface appeared faintly tinged with pink.... "Damn," he whispered to himself, checking the formula again. No, they were definitely supposed to be darkish blue, not...purple? He picked up the vial of salamander oil and realized the area around the cork was slick. Had it dripped when he wasn't looking? The purple bubbles were boiling a little too quickly. Ryan did some fast calculation-was it the equivalent of one drop extra, or two?-and reached into his kit for a vial of mermaids' tears to counteract the oil. With a quick glance at Snape, who was insulting a Gryffindor student's potion, Ryan coaxed a single drop of mermaids' tears into his cauldron. He held his breath, focusing his will on the brew.... The bubbles turned blue again and the potion ceased its rapid boiling. With relief, he went on to the next step. "Time." Snape announced some minutes later. "Take your cauldrons off the flames and we shall test the results." The professor walked slowly through the classroom, grading each student's attempt. "Longbottom," he said, singling out the same Gryffindor student as earlier to begin. "Your potion isn't even finished. You'll have to do it over as extra homework. Be here at seven o'clock tomorrow evening to try again." He produced a dropper and a small pad from his robe pocket and drew a drop of potion from Malfoy's cauldron. The single drop of potion landed on a page of the pad-it was treated, like litmus paper-and Snape peered at it. "Not bad, Mr. Malfoy," he observed. "Could use a little more gossamer..." and he moved on. He had similar hints for most of the Slytherins; criticisms for the Gryffindors. He stared at Hermione's for a long time, as if wishing he could find something to fault. But then, without a word, he moved to the next cauldron: Harry's. This he jumped on and dissected in a thorough manner. He asked to see the boy's regression and clicked his tongue over the parchment. "Next time, pay more attention to the text, Potter," he admonished, and moved along to Ron. His circuitous route seemed calculated to leave Ryan's potion for last. First he looked at the brew in the cauldron. "Good colour. Yes. Consistency very good," he said, giving the potion a stir. He almost smiled. "This may be the best one in the class," he said with a glance at Hermione as he drew the sample and tested it. "Yes, indeed-" his eyes narrowed as the small blot expanded. "Wait. There's something.... Your formula, Mr. Pelerand." Ryan handed over the parchment. "Good, right...yes-but-" Snape snarled at the tall student. "You fail to mention your use of mermaids' tears, Mr. Pelerand. Why is that?" Ryan sighed. "The salamander oil must have dripped, sir. There was too much. I added a drop of tears to neutralize the effect." Snape narrowed his eyes. "And do you know how that changes the potion?" "Yes," Ryan said, liking Snape less and less. "The invincibility elixir can ordinarily be diluted with water and thus weakened. However, adding mermaids' tears makes it insoluble, harder to counteract. The potion's stronger for it-sir," he added as Snape's lip twitched. The silence stretched while the two men's eyes met. "Correct," Snape said after a moment. "Finally, a student who understands the subtle art of potions," Snape said with a piercing look at Hermione Granger. "Congratulations, Mr. Pelerand," he continued, beaming. "You're almost worthy to be taught. Ten points to Slytherin." But his eyes remained cold and suspicious while he issued the reward. "Stay after class, won't you," he said even as the bell rang. Ryan braced himself for a tongue-lashing. He couldn't see Snape as the type to appreciate being shown up by a student. This would be the second time a professor held him accountable for doing his assignments too well; it would endanger his cover story if he kept this up. But Snape didn't say anything about the potion. Whether his performance really pleased Snape or not, Ryan couldn't tell. Instead, the professor waited until the students had all filed out before saying, "I wasn't present for the Sorting ceremony, but I understand you've been assigned to Slytherin." "Yes, sir." "That means as a student, you are my responsibility. I can't say it surprises me, given your transcripts and your history, that you were Sorted into Slytherin. I've checked with the other professors on your...integration into our way of doing things, and I am pleased to hear you are doing well-so far. But I want you to understand that Slytherin has as much pride as any other house at this school-more, in fact." He circled Ryan's desk like a shark. "There is one thing you need to watch out for, Pelerand, one thing that will get you nowhere fast: and that's ever forcing me to deduct points from Slytherin on your account. I don't want to see, hear, or learn about any trouble from you. I've already heard Professor McGonagall's opinions on the subject, voicing her doubts about accepting you as a student, and she's given me no end of grief about your cheek in her class the other day. How you managed to get on her bad side so quickly I don't know-and I don't want to know. Just don't make me have to do anything about it, or you'll be sorry. Is that clear?" "Yes, sir. No mischief in front of you. No stunts that get back to you." Like an old habit, Ryan found and emphasized the loophole. Snape circled back in front of him. "No mischief, period. Don't play games with me, boy, don't dare presume to prevaricate. As far as I'm concerned, there are enough trouble-makers in this school without adding you in to the mix. Now get on out of my sight." As he approached the luncheon table later, the Slytherins buzzed with excitement. Malfoy positively glowed with pride. "Ten points! And I've never heard Professor Snape call a student worthy of teaching before. Excellent, Pelerand, really!" Ryan smiled, genuinely happy for the first time since arriving on the train. He was in, in much less time than he thought it would take. He sat down and accepted the plate of food a seventh-year proffered. "Can we see you sword?" Crabbe asked suddenly. The whole table fell silent. "What sword?" Malfoy asked. "I saw it this morning," Crabbe explained. "That broomstick. It's not a broomstick. It's a sword." Heads swiveled toward Ryan. Malfoy looked particularly interested. "Tonight, in the common room," Ryan promised. He smiled. Teens were ultimately pretty easy to manipulate, he thought. Though Snape's reaction to Ryan's happy accident in class was what put them over the edge so soon, the sword would have gotten them in his pocket eventually, he was sure. Then everyone began talking again. Even Emma's salacious grin couldn't ruin Ryan's sense of triumph. He was in. The mood at the Gryffindor table wasn't nearly so light. Neville Longbottom, who had undergone a serious fit of growing over the summer and seemed even less sure of what to do with his now long legs and arms, was miserable at the thought of losing yet another evening to redoing his potions assignment. While Harry and Ron tried to console him, Hermione obsessed over the transfer student's success in class. "Where did he learn about mermaids' tears-that's not in the reading assignment, I'm sure. And do you know, I'd bet that if one of us had solved an overdose of salamander oil with them, and answered Snape's questions the way he did, Snape wouldn't have hesitated to dock Gryffindor points for being cheeky. Worthy of being taught potions? Who does he think he is?" "Hermione," Ron interrupted. "Could you give it a rest? At least he didn't rip your formula to shreds." He held up his own regression, which Snape had rejected, demanding that Ron recalculate it all before handing it in. "Where do you suppose Snape was at the beginning of the week?" Harry asked them quietly. "Do you think-do you think he was-" Hermione stopped dead. "At the end of last term, you know, when Professor Dumbledore asked him-do you think he's gone back to him?" "I'm sure of it," Harry muttered. "And yes, that's exactly what I think. I noticed that Malfoy looked pretty smug- well, more than usual, that is. It can't be easy, pretending to serve Vol-" "Don't say the name," Ron hissed frantically. "And anyway, we shouldn't talk about this here." "Harry," Hermione cautioned, "Professor Dumbledore told us all over the summer not to worry about this. He and Snuffles and the others will do what they must. It's our jobs just to get through school." "I know." Harry said glumly. "How about Hagrid?" Ron suggested. "He said he had a lot to tell us about the summer-we could go there tonight and find out how things went." "With the giants, or with Madame Maxime?" Harry said with an eyebrow waggle, and they all cheered up a bit at that. "Still, it does seem strange, doesn't it? That he fixed the potion so easily-it was sabotaged, too, did you see? That horrible Terrance Frome put an extra drop in when he wasn't looking. And he just knew how to counteract it? And that he could get away with talking to Snape like that in class." "Oh, Hermione! He's a Slytherin; Snape's head of Slytherin house. He's always played favourites. You're just jealous because he got a better mark on his potion than you." "It's not about that, Ron, really-" She grabbed Ron's arm lightly to hold him back as the bell rang and they all rose. "I'm worried about Harry. Wouldn't it make sense for someone-You-Know-Who-to use a student to get to Harry? He's tried teachers, he's tried the Tri-Wizard Tournament, he's even tried that diary Ginny found two years ago. What if that Slytherin student isn't a student? What if he's an agent of You-Know-Who?" Ron studied Hermione's face. She was utterly, completely serious. The theory made sense in an odd way, too, but then again, who would be desperate enough to pose as a student just to kill Harry? With all the teachers around, and with Dumbledore to check on his background, how could anyone think he'd get away with it? "You're daft," he said with conviction. "Come on, we've got Transfiguration." "Is it really sharp?" "Yes." "May I hold it?" "No." Ryan gripped the hilt lightly in one hand and rested the blade against a polishing cloth in his other. The weapon glinted in the soft firelight of the Slytherins' dungeon common room. "Why not?" The speaker was a particularly annoying first year. "Ever had any training?" Ryan asked as snottily as he could manage. "No, but-" "Then no. It's too dangerous." This brought a chorus of interested "Oohs" and "Aahs" from the assembly. "You're trained to use it, then," a burly sixth-year asked. "Yes." "I can't believe they let a student bring a sword," sulked a third-year boy by the name of Trent. "How did you manage-" "What the Headmaster doesn't know won't hurt him," Ryan said. He sheathed the sword, but held the hilt under the boy's chin with menace. "And what he does know may hurt you, so you'd be wise to make sure he doesn't find out." The third-year gulped audibly. "Y-you wouldn't-" "Oh, yes, we would," Ryan heard Malfoy say behind him. "Listen up, all of you. If Ryan has any trouble from a teacher about this, you won't just hear from him about it. Got that?" Ryan couldn't help but be impressed at the way Malfoy's words penetrated the room. Even the older students, even the Prefects, seemed to be cowed by his assertion. "Go on back to your studying," Malfoy ordered. He turned to Ryan, grinning evilly. "Let's take that back upstairs," he said in a manner that assumed he could have a closer look more privately. Crabbe and Goyle trailed behind as they ascended, Crabbe announcing that he should have a go too, as he discovered Ryan's secret in the first place. "We'll see," said Malfoy. Ryan, mindful of the delicate power structure at work, said nothing until they got to their dormitory. "Ever held a sword, Malfoy?" "Sure," said the boy, but Ryan doubted it was true. "Well, here. Don't draw it, though, it's really sharp." He switched his grip on the hilt so Malfoy could accept it, and stepped back. The Slytherin student made a fist around the hilt, grasping far too tightly, and swished the blade around dramatically. His movements were so wild that Ryan was glad it was sheathed. "What are these markings on the...the end here?" "The pommel?" Ryan supplied the proper term. "They're runes. Family initial, that sort of thing." He jerked his eyes toward Crabbe, asking the question silently. Malfoy shrugged and passed the sword to the hulking boy. Crabbe swung the thing like a bat a few times and handed it to Goyle. When each had had a turn, Ryan took it back. "Show us something," Goyle pleaded. "Well, I could kill you with it," Ryan said with a tinge of threat. "What did you have in mind?" Malfoy laughed at Goyle's puzzled expression. "He's not really going to kill you, Goyle." But he didn't look too sure when he saw the odd look on Ryan's face. "How long have you taken fencing?" He asked to change the subject. Ryan chose the safest true answer. "Since I was four." Their other roommate, Terrence Frome, entered the dormitory. "Great sword," he said, as if seeing them up close were commonplace. "But it's a dress weapon, isn't it? I mean, not many families make sure their children learn to fence anymore, and certainly not with real edges on, right? Flying of course, and any wizard with a brain can hex by the time he's seven. I certainly could. How about you, Malfoy?" He asked with an undertone of familiarity. "Does your father approve of self-defence with anything other than a wand?" "Well, Father feels a competent wizard should never lose his wand in a duel," Malfoy said. He, like Frome, conversed with the easy superiority of station and wealth. "And I agree, of course. But there's still something to be said for a real sword...." "Yeah," Frome agreed, dropping his posh exterior. "It's really cool." Ryan put the sword away under the murmurs of mutual assent, and they went back down to their homework. Next chapter: Ryan receives a message from home; Quidditch trials; an incident with Albus young and old.