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. 
Last time, our hero managed to impress Snape-possibly-
and was accepted by the Slytherins. But Hermione has her 
doubts about the mysterious transfer student, and Professor 
McGonagall harbours an unnatural dislike for the "boy." 
Will his luck continue? Or will new evidence convince 
Hermione she is right?

 

Saturday morning arrived, and with it the much anticipated 
Quidditch trials. Ron had been practising all summer, 
hoping that with three open positions on the house team, he 
could manage to join his brothers and his best friend for 
another winning season. Harry couldn't wait for the 
training to begin, as his Firebolt, the world's best 
broomstick, had spent the summer locked up in the 
Dursley's cupboard. They looked up through the enchanted 
ceiling of the Great Hall, remarking how wonderful the day 
was, and speculating how much longer the weather might 
still feel like summer.

Over at the Slytherin table, Draco cast an appraising eye 
over the hopeful students. "As Captain, it's my duty to 
accept only the most qualified players," he reminded the 
children of various ages. 

Ryan had agreed to rise early with Malfoy, Crabbe, and 
Goyle to provide moral support. Pansy also joined them 
and sat next to Malfoy, playing cheerleader to his captain. 
Ryan helped himself to a bowl of hot oatmeal and doctored 
it liberally, listening to the odd assortment of 
"qualifications" the Slytherin students were citing to 
Malfoy.

"I've been working on my Wronski feint ever since the 
World Cup. Bet it's better than Potter's."

"I got a broom servicing kit last year, and I've gone over 
every inch of my Nimbus. It's flying faster than ever."

"Have you read Quidditch Tactics: Keep the Quaffle; Snag 
the Snitch? It's brilliant. I'll loan you my copy."

Other students chose instead to assess the team's prospects 
more generally.

"Well, Gryffindor's really the only problem team this year, 
isn't it? After what happened to Diggory last term, 
Hufflepuff's bound to be in disarray. And as far as 
Ravenclaw, I hear Chang's taking a year as an alternate. 
The whole team's lost its drive." The brown-haired sixth-
year student who said this, Malcolm Avery, shared a slow 
smile with Malfoy.

"Yes, of course. How touching. 'Remember Cedric 
Diggory,'" Malfoy quoted with a sneer. "I remember him, 
all right. Remember him for an object lesson on how the 
strong survive, and the weak don't."

There were only a few first-year students up, since they 
couldn't try out for the teams, but they wanted to watch. 
They were clearly confused by the comment, but they 
caught Malfoy's implication. Everyone else at the table, 
except Ryan, nodded grimly. "Who was Cedric Diggory?" 
Ryan asked, since the first-years were too intimidated to 
do.

"Seeker for Hufflepuff up until last year. Represented the 
school in the Tri-Wizard Tournament, didn't he?" Avery 
said with economy. "Or should we say, he tried to do. 
Potter couldn't stand not getting the glory for himself, but 
Diggory hung on for dear life." He laughed at his own 
macabre joke. "You know, if he'd had the sense to let go of 
the prize, he might not be a corpse."

Malfoy grinned viciously at Avery. "Your father told you 
about it too?" He asked.

"Course he did. 'Kill the spare,' that's what they say He 
said."

At the end of the table, the first-years' faces paled to white. 
"He...died?"

"He was killed, yeah," Avery told them with a glint in his 
eye. "By the Dark Lord."
Ryan knew some of the details from talking with 
Dumbledore that long night when they sat up concocting 
his false record. He had no real taste for the conversation, 
and tried to think of a way to change the subject. Luckily, 
at that moment, a stream of owls flew in to the great hall, 
bearing the mail. A tawny owl dropped a letter by Malfoy's 
plate. And a pair of birds came swooping over to Ryan, 
with a long, thin package clutched between them. One 
looked like the school owl he out sent the week before; the 
other wasn't an owl at all. It was a peregrine falcon. She 
was white with flecks of grey through her feathers, and 
brown wingtips. She shrieked once as she dropped her end 
of the package and landed on top of it. The owl dropped his 
half of the parcel and swooped up to the owlery, but the 
falcon looked wide awake still.

"Hullo," Ryan said to its cocked head. "What have you 
brought me?" He eased his fingers between the parcel and 
the falcon's claws. The peregrine allowed him to lift her up 
and walked gingerly up his arm to perch upon his shoulder 
while Ryan slid the strings off the wrapping. Inside was a 
thin length of wood wrapped in the middle with smooth 
leather. A cord wound out of two colours of string was 
attached to one end of the stick, and a short piece of 
parchment was tied by a thin purple ribbon to the other end. 
Ryan ignored his oatmeal and the dwindling conversation 
and untied the ribbon. He stuffed it absently into his pouch 
and picked up the parchment. A light odor of perfume 
wafted up from the slip of paper.

"Is that from the infamous girlfriend?" Malfoy asked. 
Pansy looked up with obvious interest. 

Ryan scanned the note quickly, a smile softening his face 
as he reached the signature. Before carefully folding and 
adding the letter to his pouch, he sniffed the parchment and 
sighed. "Yes." Ryan said, rising. The falcon shifted, but 
stayed on his shoulder. 

The assorted boys, especially Malfoy and Avery, cooed in 
an exaggerated fashion and made kissing noises at him. 
Ryan smiled. "I'll just take this back to the dorm," he 
announced, picking up the staff. "Meet you on the pitch," 
he told Malfoy, ignoring the leers and teasing voices that 
continued as he walked away.

The falcon fluttered around the room while Ryan penned 
two quick notes for her to carry back. One was a brief 
report; the other, a note to thank the sender. Using the tiny 
ribbon, he tied the notes to the bird's leg. He carried her 
back outside on his way to the Quidditch pitch, but she took 
off as soon as they left the great entrance hall doors.

The pitch was actually rather full. Each section of the 
stands was scattered with onlookers and well-wishers, 
especially the Ravenclaw and Hufflepuff sections. An odd 
assembly of youngsters presented themselves and their 
brooms to the house captains, each house taking turns to 
evaluate the players in the air. Alicia Spinnet, Gryffindor's 
captain, stood to one side of the pitch along with Harry, 
Fred, and George, watching a dozen or so Gryffindor 
hopefuls zoom around the goals, passing the quaffle to one 
another in a sort of scrimmage. As Ryan took a seat in the 
stands with Pansy, Goyle, and Crabbe, Ron Weasley sank 
the quaffle through the left-most goal post. Madam 
Hooch's whistle blew and the Gryffindor flyers all leaned 
forward on their brooms to return to the ground.

"Very nice flying, all of you," Alicia said, drawing the boys 
away with her to discuss their choices. "If you'd like to 
hang around a bit," she said to them, turning back, "we'll 
announce our decisions. All right, Madam Hooch." The 
Gryffindor team members slipped around the corner and 
the children took up seats to watch the next display of 
talent. 

"Slytherin, you're next," Madam Hooch announced.

Malfoy, in his green quidditch robes and carrying his 
Nimbus 2001, swaggered onto the center of the field. The 
remaining members of his team followed: the two sixth-
year chasers, Montague and Warrington, and a seventh-
year student named Bole, who played beater. All three were 
enormous. Malfoy was the youngest and smallest member 
of the team, but his father's money spoke volumes about 
his leadership.

"All right," he drawled to the collection of students. "Now, 
we need a chaser, a beater, and a keeper. First I'd like you 
each to tell me your names, your year, and what broom you 
ride," He smiled back at his companions, as if they had a 
secret plan.

The Slytherin students lined up. "Sextimus Trent," said the 
first boy. He was the same boy Ryan had threatened in the 
Slytherin common room. He was short and had brown hair. 
"Third-year. I have a Cloudburst 900," he told them, "but if 
I make the team, my father says he'll buy me a Firebolt." A 
murmur of excitement rippled through the crowd.

"We'll keep that in mind," Malfoy told him coolly. "Next."

"Lancelius Mulberry, fourth-year. Nimbus 2001."

"No Firebolt for you, hey, Mulberry?" Malfoy asked 
companionably with a look at Trent.

"I'll fly on the same model as the rest of the team," 
Mulberry said pointedly.

"Good show. Next."

A good-looking girl with brown hair stood behind 
Mulberry. "Alexandra Harrison, third-year. I've only got a 
Cleansweep 7, but I play keeper."

"We'll see," Malfoy told her, in a voice that clearly doubted 
she would play at all.

"Icarus P-puck, s-second-year," stammered a thin, weak-
looking boy. "N-nimbus T-t-two-thousand," he finally got 
out.

"Let's hope you fly faster than you speak," Montague 
muttered as Malfoy called, "Next."

"Antonius Flint," said the next boy. "Second-year. I'm 
Marcus's brother," he added. "And I've got a Nimbus 2001, 
as well."

"Marcus told me you might try for the team," Malfoy said, 
looking pleased with a candidate for the first time. "Who's 
next?"

"Stelmaria Nott," a dark-haired, dramatic girl announced. 
"Third-year. I have a Comet 990." The way she said it 
sounded like a challenge.

"Have you?" Malfoy said sarcastically, pretending to be 
impressed. "Next."

"Felicia Avery," said the girl behind her. She looked very 
like her elder brother, Malcolm, except she was blonde, but 
seemed every bit as confident as he. "Fourth-year. Mine's a 
Cloudburst 500."

"Anyone else?" Malfoy asked, hoping there would be 
another boy. "Ryan, what about you?" He called.

Ryan shook his head. "I don't play Quidditch," he insisted.

"Come on-you said you could fly," Malfoy seemed 
almost desperate, as if even a horrible player was a better 
alternative to putting a girl on the team, and he wanted 
better options than Trent and Puck. "Warrington, give him 
a broom. Crabbe! Goyle! Bring him over," he ordered.

The two behemoths stood on either side of him. Ryan felt 
rather like the victim in an old gangster movie, caught 
between two bruisers about to blow his head away. He let 
them frog-march him down to the pitch and accepted the 
broom.

"I really don't think-" he began.

"Oh, come on, it's not that hard. If Potter can do it; anyone 
can." Malfoy looked down his nose at the seven other 
players all arrayed on the field. "Well, maybe not Puck, 
here."

"Mr. Malfoy! May I remind you that the Hufflepuff and 
Ravenclaw teams still have to try out their players?" 
Madame Hooch called sharply. "Please proceed as quickly 
as possible."

"Of course, Madame Hooch," Malfoy smiled back at her. 
"Not long, now." He turned back to them.

"Right. Now we'll hold a short scrimmage. I want you to 
divide up in teams of four each. Puck, you take beater," he 
said with a glint in his eye, "and team up with Harrison, 
Nott, and Avery. Avery and Harrison, take chaser positions. 
Nott, play keeper."

"I said I play keeper-" Harrison reminded him.

"I'm the captain, Harrison," Malfoy told her with evil 
delight. "You'll play where I say you should play." 
Harrison shrugged, acquiescing with a sigh. "Right. Now, 
Mulberry, you and Flint take chaser; Trent: beater." He 
looked at his classmate. "That leaves you keeper, Ryan, all 
right?"


"As long as you don't mind me losing," Ryan muttered. 
"Malfoy, I'm really not good at this," he hissed.

"Relax. It's just for the scrimmage," Malfoy said. But Ryan 
felt that the malicious streak in the boy wouldn't rest until 
he found some way to establish his superiority over the 
transfer student. Swallowing his pride, Ryan prepared 
himself to fail miserably.

"You'll have five minutes to score as many goals as you 
can," Madame Hooch announced. "On my whistle: 
three...two...one...!" She blew the whistle and they all 
kicked off.

Ryan wrapped his legs around the broomstick, which was 
wobbling dangerously under him. Trying to compensate, he 
pulled up too far and sailed right past the goals, allowing 
Felicia Avery to score a goal in the first ten seconds. 
Harrison retrieved the quaffle and scored again before Ryan 
could get back down to the level of the posts. Meanwhile, 
Puck managed to slap a bludger toward him and he dived to 
avoid it. He shifted his weight too far to the left and his 
broom twirled in place, so that only his tight grip kept him 
from falling off. As it was, his legs came free and he hung 
from the broom as it came to rest. The sounds of the 
spectators faded as he concentrated on holding on. He 
widened his grip along the length of the handle, enough to 
dip the tail of the broom down toward his legs. That sent 
the broom flying up, of course, but he managed to hook one 
leg over the tail and get the broom under control again. By 
then his goal posts were unguarded long enough for Avery 
to score. He got back into position; the noise of the pitch 
rushed back to fill his head. Flint took possession of the 
quaffle as it passed through the goal and threw it with 
considerable force to Mulberry, who positioned it for a 
goal, but Nott blocked it and passed it back to Harrison. 
She passed it to Avery, but Flint intercepted, only to be 
knocked off course by another bludger, courtesy of Puck. 
Harrison and Mulberry tussled over the quaffle, with Avery 
and Flint hovering nearby, looking for an opening. Trent 
sent a bludger whizzing toward Harrison, who had trouble 
shaking it because her broom was slow. She ducked at the 
last minute...and the bludger headed straight toward Ryan. 
With a cry of surprise, he flattened himself against his 
broom to avoid the bludger. The broom shot forward at full 
speed, sending him flying across the field. Directly at Nott.

"Pull up!" She cried. Ryan did so immediately, without 
checking the air above him first. He crashed right into 
Mulberry, jarring them both into almost losing their grips. 
Meanwhile, Harrison grabbed the quaffle and scored again.

Madame Hooch's whistle blew. With an audible sigh of 
relief, Ryan coaxed the broom to the ground. "Are you all 
right, Pelerand?" The witch asked. "Mulberry?" 

"Fine, Madame Hooch," the boys said. Mulberry shot Ryan 
a derisive look, which the Elf ignored.

Ryan stepped off the broom and handed it back to 
Warrington. "That's all for me," he told Malfoy. "I told you 
I'm really not good at this."

"And you were right," Malfoy said, laughing. "You should 
have seen your face when you fell off-" and he clutched 
his sides.

"My boots work best on the ground," Ryan said ruefully.

"Anything else, Mr. Malfoy?" Madame Hooch asked. "Or 
may we proceed with Hufflepuff's trials?"

Malfoy looked back at Warrington, Montague, and Bole, 
getting his giggling under control. "No, I think we've seen 
what we need to see," he said. The four walked off the 
pitch to make their decisions.

Avery, Nott, Trent, Puck, Flint, Harrison, and Mulberry all 
resumed their seats in the stands to wait for the results. 
Ryan turned to join them, but he pulled up short when he 
saw who had taken a seat next to Pansy on the other side of 
Crabbe. Emma Naigle.

She smiled at him invitingly and patted the bleacher next to 
her. Seeing no real alternative, Ryan went and sat. She 
immediately shifted closer so that her thigh rested against 
his. "That was pretty awful flying," she observed with 
humour.

"I told him I don't fly well, but Malfoy insisted," Ryan 
explained.

"I think Draco's skills are steadily improving," Pansy 
contributed unasked. "And this year, with him as captain, 
we're sure to take back the cup and the house 
championship."

"Yes, well, how nice for Draco," Ryan said.

"Oh, don't worry about it," Emma told him. "I don't care if 
you can't fly. As long as you can learn to Apparate, you 
don't need to anyway."

"Hm." Ryan grunted. He had never learned to Apparate, 
either. 

Pansy frowned at Emma. "Wasn't that a broomstick your 
girlfriend sent you this morning?" She asked, stressing the 
sender's identity.

"What?" Ryan swiveled his head to face her. "Oh-no, it 
wasn't."

"But it was from your girlfriend?" Again, the same pointed 
tone, aimed at Emma. "I think Quidditch is so exciting," 
she continued. "And Draco's ever so good at it. I don't 
know how I'd feel if he suddenly turned out to be clumsy."

Emma ignored Pansy's non-too-subtle warnings. "Pooh. 
Ryan's good at lots of things; he doesn't have to be good at 
flying too."

"Ladies," Ryan interrupted, sensing the beginnings of what 
might be an embarrassing argument, "I'd like to watch the 
Quidditch," he explained, motioning for quiet.

Pansy lapsed into silence, pouting. Emma too complied, but 
she cuddled up closer to Ryan and slipped her arm through 
his. Ryan sighed and removed her hand.

"My hands are cold," she explained inadequately and 
replaced her hand, this time linking her other hand around 
from the front as well, and resting her head on his shoulder.

Ryan sighed. "Whatever," he said, defeated. Satisfied with 
this response, Emma made herself more comfortable 
against him and watched the Hufflpuff trials.

Unlike the other house stands, every Hufflepuff in the 
school appeared to be present. It seemed that House 
Hufflepuff would deal with the loss of their Seeker and 
school champion in its own way.

Down below, three young players in Hufflepuff yellow 
stood on the pitch. They were facing away from the 
Slytherin side, so it was hard to hear what they were 
saying, but it seemed they wanted not only a full team, but 
at least one alternate for each position. Occasional phrases 
floated across the pitch to where Ryan and the others were 
seated.

"Who's interested ... chaser?" Asked the Hufflepuff 
captain, a girl with long curly brown hair pulled back in a 
pony tail.

Six or seven Hufflepuffs raised their hands. 

"And how about beater?" The girl asked.

Another ten hands went up.

"Seeker?"

For a moment, nothing happened. Then three students 
cautiously raised their hands. Even from behind, the 
Hufflepuff captain looked relieved. "Brilliant. Okay, let's 
get you all in the air," she went on. Ryan strained to hear, 
but the wind only carried about every third word their way.

The twenty Hufflepuff students made their way to the 
ground and straddled their brooms. "I'm just going ... 
quaffle first, and ... go up and play. Then, after ... are up, 
I'll ... bludgers, and the same thing. We'll ... seekers in a 
minute." She reached down into her box and unstrapped the 
quaffle. It sprang up into the air, red and large and lazily 
circling the pitch. Then the captain pointed to the first three 
chaser volunteers. Up they went, kicking off with a 
flourish. After a moment, she tapped two of the self-
pronounced beaters and they rose on their brooms. She let 
out the bludger and launched herself, not to play but to 
watch from the same level as the players.

The Hufflepuffs were having a grand time below. They 
shouted encouragement and called out to their friends with 
helpful hints: "On your left, Jackie-four o'clock!" They 
behaved as if the whole proceeding were a Sunday picnic. 
The Hufflepuff captain flew abreast of a chaser and tapped 
her, they exchanged a few words, and the chaser sank to the 
floor, only to speak to the next in line, who kicked off his 
broom and took her place in the game.

Because of the number of students trying for the team, their 
auditions took much longer than anyone else's. One by one, 
the flyers swapped in and out to play a game without a 
snitch, and one by one the captain touched them on the 
shoulder and they descended. Finally, she caught the 
quaffle and held it, and brought it down to the ground with 
her.

"Okay." She caught her breath. "Now, where are our brave 
seekers?" The three students-two girls, and a boy-
stepped forward smartly.

"Right. Now, ... release the snitch. I want ... try to catch it. 
I'm ... leave ... bludger up there so ... maneuver around." 
She beckoned one of her yellow-robed comrades to join 
her. "...Gerry, here. He's ... beater ... but ... watch 
yourselves. Get the snitch."

She walked back to the box and wrestled the quaffle, still in 
her arms, into its cradle. "Ready?" She asked. All three 
seekers answered "Yes!"

"Go!" She said, and released the snitch.

Four brooms shot from the ground up to the level of the 
goalposts. Yellow robes whizzed after the black bludger. 
Three sets of black robes zinged around looking for the tiny 
golden snitch. All three made valiant efforts to avoid the 
bludger as it targetted each, but one manoeuver in 
particular set the whole crowd to cheering. One of the two 
girls-smaller than the other, with a set of hennaed 
dreadlocks-twirled on her broom to avoid the bludger and 
as she did, she dipped underneath her competitors and back 
up on the other side. It could have been the same move 
Ryan made during his short stint as keeper, except she 
stayed on her broom and looked graceful doing it. She 
whirled above the game of keep-away and pushed her 
broomstick into a turn so tight around the pitch it almost 
looked like she was spinning in place, horizontally this 
time. By the time she had turned around twice, her eye 
caught the snitch, and she hurtled after it. 

The boy seeker saw it as well, and sped his broom to catch 
up. But the snitch belonged to the red-haired girl. Confident 
fingers reached, grasped-

Madame Hooch's whistle blew with force and the seekers 
all drifted to the ground to the resounding applause of the 
Hufflepuff spectators, and indeed the whole stadium. The 
Hufflepuff beater opened his arms to receive the bludger as 
it aimed for him, now the only player left in the air; then he 
too sank to earth.

The Hufflepuff captain's congratulations couldn't be heard 
over the din. Finally, Madam Hooch raised her hands and 
cried, "Silencio!" and the pitch fell dead silent. "Finite 
Incantatem," she intoned, and a more natural murmur 
resumed. The three Hufflepuffs trooped away to make their 
decisions, though the choice of seeker, at least, seemed 
clear.

"Well, that leaves Ravenclaw," Madame Hooch announced.

The Ravenclaw stands were nearly as full as the Hufflepuff 
section. Toward the front, a pretty, petite, Asian girl in deep 
blue robes sat surrounded by a small group of students. It 
was clear from the way they treated her-it was mostly 
young men-that they considered themselves an honor 
guard. She rose to join her teammates and the whole group 
of boys stood as well. The young woman smiled back at 
them, said something, and walked down to the field alone.

The Ravenclaw team in blue greeted her warmly. Then 
their captain spoke. The wind brought more of the 
discussion to the Slytherins.

"You all know Cho, of course," said the Ravenclaw 
captain, a young man with attractive black hair. He 
gestured to the Asian girl, who waved shyly to the approval 
of her house. "Cho's taking a year off as seeker, but she's 
agreed to stay on the team in an advisory capacity. Sort of a 
third-base coach," said the boy, only to be met by blank 
stares. "Sorry," he continued hastily. "Baseball reference. 
Anyway, she's going to oversee our practices, but she 
won't actually be playing this year-unless we need her as 
an alternate. So, we need a replacement seeker, and a new 
chaser."

Three young men and two ladies stepped forward. "Right." 
Said the captain. He gave similar instructions about 
catching the snitch and the students launched. The game 
was a modified tag, instead of straight Quidditch, and 
although Madame Hooch's whistle blew to signal the end 
of their five minutes, they kept going a bit. In the end, 
Madame Hooch had to fly up to stop them, and got tagged 
"it" for her trouble. Luckily, the mood was considerably 
lighter after all this horseplay, and she didn't seem to mind.

Ryan scanned the pitch to see if any of the teams had 
returned yet to announce their decisions. The Gryffindors 
weren't back yet, but Hufflepuff was. Their captain gave 
the names of the new players: Jacqueline Wallace and 
Johanna Thorn as chasers; a large and capable student 
named Mike Fullington as beater; and Tanya Martin, 
seeker. They also named a whole second team's worth of 
alternates. The whole house leapt to its feet. Cheering and 
clapping for the eleven junior members, who were pushed 
forward to acknowledge the applause, Hufflepuff prepared 
for what looked like a great comeback season. To no one's 
surprise, Tanya Martin, the new seeker, was the one who 
had flown circles-literally-around her competition.

By then, the Slytherin students were returning, as were the 
Gryffindors. Ryan wanted to find out whether Ron had 
made the team, but he couldn't see past Draco and his 
behemoth teammates. 

"This was a difficult decision for some of us," Draco 
drawled by way of introduction. "But I think we've made 
the best choices possible. Trent: we'd like you for chaser. 
Flint: take keeper; and Mulberry, you'll be beater for us. 
Now, as for the rest of you, good show." He sounded flat 
and insincere. "Will Misses Nott and Avery please see me 
before you leave? Thank you." The three new players 
smiled, receiving much back-thumping and hand-pumping 
by way of congratulations. Puck and Harrison, scowling, 
headed out of the pitch and back to the castle, each 
accompanied by one or two friends to console them. Nott 
and Avery sauntered forward to talk to Malfoy.

Pansy scowled as well. Things weren't going well today. 
First, Draco had to embarrass Ryan so badly, and then 
Emma showed up and gushed all over him. And now there 
were two more girls-and rather good-looking ones-
talking to Draco, possibly being offered positions as 
alternates on the team. She wished she had taken her broom 
out and tried for the team. At least it would be doing 
something, instead of waiting for Draco all the time. But 
she didn't think Draco would have liked her to try, so 
instead, she just sat on the sidelines, fuming in silence.

Ravenclaw came back and made their choices known. 
Across the field, Ryan could see the Gryffindors filing out, 
but there was no sign of the team.

"At least Malfoy had the sense not to insist that I play," 
Ryan sighed, half to himself. "Well, shall we get back 
inside? After all," he said to Emma, "if you're cold...."

"Oh, I'm all right; the sun's out now," Emma said, but she 
rose when he did. "Coming Pansy?"

"Yes," Pansy said forcefully and stood. "Goyle, tell Draco 
I'll be in the common room. Or the library. Crabbe, please 
tell Goyle to remember to tell Draco." She sidled out of the 
bleacher and followed Ryan and Emma out of the stands 
and up the grassy walk to the castle.

"I've simply got so much homework to do," Pansy babbled. 
But as they started up the hill, Ryan could see three red 
heads and some others in crimson robes ahead of them.

"Catch me up," he said to Emma shortly, and quickened his 
pace to overtake the Gryffindors. 

"Oi!" He called. "How'd it go? Slytherins were announcing 
at the same time, so I didn't see-" He broke into a grin at 
the look on Ron's face. "Made the team, then?" He 
guessed.

"Yeah." Ron was so happy he didn't worry about how it 
looked to talk to a Slytherin. "I'll be a chaser. My favourite 
position, too. Dead brilliant."

"Congratulations," Ryan said warmly. But Hermione turned 
around to face him.

"Why do you care who's on the Gryffindor team?" She 
asked suddenly.

"Sorry, I just-"

"Well, mind your own business, won't you?" And she 
grabbed Ron's arm to turn him back to his brothers, Harry, 
and the rest of the small group.

"Look," Fred said apologetically. 

"It's not personal," said George, overlapping.

"But we can't have you spying for Slytherin." They 
grinned, but they meant it.

"Funny, only a few days ago I was accused by Slytherin of 
spying for Gryffindor."

"Yeah, well, it's rough, isn't it?" George said. "Listen, if 
you want to order anything, send us a note at breakfast." 
Then he turned and they walked on, leaving Ryan behind.
"What was that about?" Emma asked when the girls 
rejoined him.

"Nothing." Ryan said. His eyes were on Hermione as she 
entered the castle. Obviously, she didn't trust him at all. It 
could just be because of his association with Malfoy. That 
was to be expected-in some ways, desired. But something 
about the girl's uncanny intelligence made him pause. It 
could be what he wanted....but it might be she was already 
checking his background. He had to find out what she 
suspected. And he had to do it without her-or Malfoy-
knowing.

 

All in all, Ryan didn't mind the refresher course in human 
magic. Classes stretched into a routine, with an ebb and 
flow he remembered over countless years. Sometimes he 
would deliberately make small mistakes in class; others, his 
faulty memory needed no assistance. Once, his wand 
actually backfired and turned his banishing spell into a 
summoning, and half the ghosts in the castle showed up in 
the Defence Against the Dark Arts classroom (costing 
Slytherin 10 points as well).

He never did more than token homework, for several 
reasons. For one thing, it reinforced his reputation as a 
reprobate, and second, it kept him from remembering what 
he had forgotten since his time at Hogwarts. As if being 
back at the school wasn't enough to remind him in the first 
place. He could scarcely walk through a hallway, or look at 
the faces of his classmates' descendants, without expecting 
to see his old friends and enemies. Like once in the third 
week of classes, when he made his way up to the library, 
and he saw a chipped spot on the wall. He remembered 
how that flaw came to be....

 
"Give that back!" Young Albus Dumbledore doubled back 
to follow a tall, silver-blond young man walking in the 
other direction. A small group of other youths laughed with 
the tall boy in mockery.

"Oh, I'm sorry," the blond said, holding a book just out of 
Albus' reach. "I didn't realize-is this book yours?" He 
passed it back to one of his friends.

"Let's see..." Said the new book-holder. "No name in it.... 
How can you prove it's yours?"
Albus set his jaw and adjusted his spectacles. "Aren't you 
in your fifth year?" He asked the group. "If so, why on 
earth would you have a standard book of spells, Grade 1?" 
He smiled. "Unless you need remedial tutoring...."

"You little-" Three of them reached for their wands.

Albus centered his weight and put his hand in his pocket, 
where it met the polished birch wood. He readied his first 
spell, watching for any sign of motion from the older boys. 
But before he could get the wand out and aimed, the silvery 
blond shouted, "Homonium Leviosa!" And Albus found 
himself in midair. 

The spell he had prepared died on his lips from the 
disorientation. The older students laughed and a second boy 
shouted, "Expelliarmus!" 

Albus' wand left his hand and into that of the spellcaster. 
The other two were getting out their wands, but it was the 
third boy's turn. He pointed his wand at Albus and said, 
"Follicasto!" Albus' light auburn hair began to grow 
rapidly. It hurt, to suddenly have his hair grow more than a 
foot inside a minute. Despite his determination, Albus cried 
out.

Ryan and Cygnus were on their way to the library when 
they heard the shout. They turned the corner and stopped 
short before the scene: the first-year student hanging two 
feet above the ground, his hair reaching past his knees, and 
a group of five Slytherin students pointing their wands and 
laughing.

"Jareth Malfoy!" Cygnus snarled, grabbing his wand.

"Well, if it isn't the Gryffindor rescue team," the blond 
ringleader sneered. "Come to save your prodigal?" He 
chuckled. "Go ahead. If you can." He traced a lazy circle in 
the air. Albus somersaulted. His hair fell over his face.

"Why don't you pick on someone your own size, Malfoy?" 
Ryan said, drawing his wand.

"And that would be you?" Retorted the handsome blond.
"Let him go and you can see," replied Ryan.
With a sharp nod, the older boy reversed the levitation 
spell. Albus fell to the floor with a thud, his legs and long 
hair crumpling under him. "My wand," Albus demanded 
calmly, despite how ridiculous he looked. "And my book."

"Not so fast," Jareth Malfoy stopped the others from 
restoring Albus' belongings. "Pelerand, we'll go three 
passes. If you win, Dumbledore gets his things back."

"And if you win?" Ryan asked.

Malfoy's lip twitched. "If I win...your friend Black doesn't 
play Quidditch in the match next week."

"What?!" Cygnus burst out. "If I don't play, Gryffindor will 
have to fly an alternate, or forfeit. If we don't win, that will 
move Ravenclaw into second. We'll lose our chance at the 
cup!"

"Well, five points for Gryffindor," Malfoy mocked. 
"You've accurately named the stakes. So, do we have a 
deal?" He crossed his arms, the image of patient 
conciliation. 

Ryan glanced from Cygnus to Albus. The boy got to his 
feet between the two would-be duelists. He held his 
voluminous hair in one hand, and gave his head a very 
slight shake. Ryan looked back to Cygnus, who still held 
his wand ready. Hoping Cygnus would understand the 
signal, Ryan faced Malfoy again.

"No deal, Malfoy," he said, and immediately continued, 
"Accio spellbook!"

Beside him, he heard Cygnus pick up his cue. "Accio 
wand!" Came the boy's cry, and the objects flew back to 
Gryffindor hands.

Malfoy launched a spell at Ryan, but the boys were already 
running down the corridor, dragging the younger student 
with them. They heard the faint ring of sparks hit the wall 
as they ran away.

When they reached the common room, Cygnus flopped 
onto a sofa with exaggerated exhaustion, laughing. "Whew! 
That was close. You scared me, Ryan; for a moment, I 
thought you were really going to duel him for the Quidditch 
finals."

"Nonsense, Black, everyone knows Malfoy never duels 
fairly-that's why he never loses. I wouldn't risk your 
precious cup, but under no circumstances could we allow 
them to mistreat Dumbledore that way."

Albus himself, now that the incident was past, felt foolish. 
His hair had stopped growing, but he would need a 
counterspell-or a stout pair of scissors-to cut it short 
again. "It's my fault," he explained to Ryan. "Malfoy 
grabbed my spellbook. I tried to get it back.... I taunted 
him. But I was going to cast a spell! And then...." He 
trailed off, embarrassed at the memory of freezing under 
attack. But then he saw the look on Cygnus' face.

"You tried to duel against Jareth Malfoy?" He asked 
incredulously. "He's the best duelist in the school, he's four 
years older than you, and he had four other fifth-years with 
him, and you took them all on?"

Albus met Cygnus' wide-jawed stare with sparkling blue 
eyes. "Yes, but I choked."

"So what? Dash it all, man, five fifth-years, including 
Jareth bloody Malfoy! Dumbledore, you're either very 
brave or too cocky by half."

The young boy smiled, a little red about the face, but 
unable to hide his gratitude or his pride. He thumbed his 
textbook absently. "There must be a way, though, to find 
out where people are in the building, and what they're 
doing," he mused. "Maybe...if we had an item-a mirror, 
perhaps, or a map-that tells one...shows one...then I'd 
see them coming!" He opened his book to a chapter toward 
the back.

"What are you talking about?" Asked Tighlman 
Longbottom, who came in with a pair of boots. He sat by 
the fireplace and began to polish them. "Cygnus, got my 
pay this week?"

"Hm...Oh, right." Cygnus fished out a few coins. "Here. 
Dumbledore's just taken on Malfoy and four other fifth-
year Slytherins."

"Really?" Longbottom asked, impressed. "How badly did 
you lose?"

"Just the hair, really, no lasting damage." Ryan said. "Hey, 
did you find that powder for Potter?"

"Yeah." Longbottom said. "I had to nick it from the 
cupboard by Gaines's office, and you know how he guards 
his supplies, so that's an extra knut, if you don't mind."

"Worth it if we can get this stuff into Potter's robes before 
his N.E.W.T. practice round...."

 

Ryan gave the old scarred brick a light touch as he went 
past. It would be much more fun to be back, he thought, if 
he had someone else around to share the nostalgia with 
him. Only Dumbledore remained, now. It was one more 
reason Elves tended to associate with humans on a very 
limited basis. Their brief lives were over so quickly. Most 
of his friends had great-great-grandchildren here now. But, 
remembering his mission, and its importance, Ryan pressed 
on with the masquerade.

 
As days stretched into weeks, though, Ryan began to 
wonder if he was wasting his time. He'd been at school 
nearly a month and still hadn't learned anything useful 
about the Death Eaters or their movements. He knew 
something was up when Snape was absent from class one 
week; DuBois substituted and Draco walked around the 
school looking even more superior than usual. Ryan also 
noticed that Draco got a letter the same morning Snape 
returned.

One night, soon after that, Ryan watched Malfoy, Crabbe, 
Goyle, Malcolm Avery, and Stelmaria Nott make their way 
around the common room, speaking with various people 
individually. Emma seemed enthusiastic during her private 
conversation with Stelmaria; Pansy by contrast stuck close 
to Malfoy and smiled at Ryan every few minutes, as if to 
reassure him. He did his best to ignore them, feigning 
disinterest, and divided his attention between his book and 
the fireplace.

He felt someone sit down next to him and looked up, afraid 
it was Emma come to bother him again. Instead, he came 
face to face with Malcolm Avery. "Draco says you're 
pretty closed-mouthed about your family," the young man 
said.

"Yes," Ryan said, seeing no reason to contradict him.

"Well, what's your view on the whole thing? Should 
Hogwarts be accepting Mudbloods?"

"It's not really my decision, is it?"

Avery sighed and tried another tack. "You mentioned to 
Malfoy that you've never had to deal with them at your old 
school-Mudbloods, that is."

"Did I?"

"Yes." Avery's answer was swift and confident.

"Ah."

"So, I take it your old school didn't accept them as 
students."

"I never said that," Ryan said, smirking. "I said it wasn't a 
problem."

"So are you a Muggle-lover or not, Pelerand?" Avery asked 
bluntly.

"I don't know enough Muggles to claim either way." Ryan 
prevaricated.

"Just answer the question. Do you think Mudbloods should 
be involved in magic?" Malfoy caught Avery's eye and 
started over, Pansy in tow.

"Come on, Pelerand, there's no one here to condemn you." 
Avery kept his tone quiet and civil, but it was clear that he 
found the topic deadly serious. "Malfoy, tell him."

"It's just us, Pelerand," Malfoy said as he leaned over the 
back of Ryan's seat. Pansy hung on him and he curled one 
arm absently around her waist. "Tell us how you really 
feel."

"All right: I don't think superior and inferior races should 
intermingle."

"There you have it, then. Wizards are clearly superior to 
Muggles. Why didn't you just say so?" Avery rolled his 
eyes.

Ryan exhaled audibly, still smirking. "I should think you'd 
know by now, chaps, that one gets used to learning to say 
the right thing."

"Never mind that," Malfoy said. "We're all friends here. 
You don't have to pretend to like them around us."

"Right." Avery agreed. "And on that note...we'd like to 
offer you membership in a little...initiative we're 
planning."

"What sort of initiative?" Ryan asked.

"It'll happen very soon," Malfoy told him. "We've got 
instructions. But we need to know who to include, and who 
to trust."

Ryan's heart leaped, but he kept his voice carefully under 
control. "And you're trying to decide whether or not to trust 
me, is that it?"

Malfoy smiled cruelly, but didn't deny it. "If you were to 
participate in a prank we've got in mind, it might go a long 
way to convincing some of the others that you're...our kind 
of wizard."

Ryan pretended to consider. "What would I have to do?" 
He asked finally, noting Malfoy's pleasure at this question. 
He disentangled Pansy from his arms and jerked his head at 
her. She drifted away to stand with a small group of fifth-
year girls.

"We just need to see you put your wand to work for us. 
Jinx a Mudblood or two. A little test, if you will."

Ryan looked from Malfoy to Avery and back. The common 
room continued to buzz around them, as if their 
conversation were pointedly being ignored.

"All right." He said slowly, as if still unsure. "I'm 
interested."

"Good." Avery clapped him on the shoulder in a fatherly 
way. "Now, we just have to decide whom he should hex."

"Aim high," Ryan suggested. "Any Muggle-born Prefects 
in the houses?"

"Lots. Doesn't Ravenclaw have a Mudblood Prefect this 
year?" Avery asked.

"Yeah. Say, what about Granger?" Malfoy suggested, 
obsessing as usual over his least favourite students: Harry 
Potter and his friends.

"She's not a prefect," Ryan said quickly.

"Sure she is; she always gets top marks in everything. She's 
got to be a prefect."

"Well," Ryan thought carefully. "I ran into her twice so far, 
outside of class, and she doesn't wear a badge."

"So what?" Malfoy interrupted, too pleased with the choice 
to care about technicalities. "She's still a good example. 
Serve her right, too." He grinned at Ryan malevolently. 
"Now, all we need is a plan...."

 

Thus it was Ryan found himself going up to the library on a 
Friday evening in early October, fully prepared to hex 
Hermione Granger.

Harry, Ron, and Hermione had commandeered a table by 
one of the sets of high windows, between the "Cauldron 
Care" and "Culinary" sections, to do their work. The fading 
light streamed through the large panes as Ryan padded 
through the stacks, cat-silent, wand in hand. He crossed 
over through an aisle two bookcases away from the table 
where the three Gryffindors sat, scratching on their 
parchment with inky quills. He peered between the tops of 
the books and the bottom of the shelf above to watch. He 
waited until Hermione sat up to stretch, leaning a safe 
distance away from her essay. He aimed and fired with a 
quiet incantation, "Pyrorem vellumus!" The parchment 
burst into flames in front of Hermione.

"Oh!" She yelped, and fumbled for her wand before the fire 
spread to their books and the table itself. Ryan ducked 
down while Mrs. Pince, the librarian, came over to shush 
the students. He prepared to move.

"But Mrs. Pince, someone must have hexed my essay-it 
caught fire!"

"Fire! In the library? Gracious, that's out of the question. 
What on earth were you doing practicing hexes in here, at 
any rate-you know that's not allowed. If you want to 
practice, find an empty classroom." 

"Yes, Mrs. Pince, but-"

"Silence," the librarian hissed. She went back to her desk, 
muttering.

Ron offered to help her look for the perpetrator.

"He can't have gone far, Hermione, let's take a look 
around."

"Oh, Ron, now I've got to start my whole essay over. And 
I'd just finished it. You look, if you want to do. I'm going 
to stay and rewrite this."

"I'll go," Harry said to Ron, and they put down their books, 
grateful for the excuse to get up and move around.

But just then, Ryan tipped a book off the shelf to attract 
their attention. He walked toward the entrance, shooting a 
look back at them that dared them to follow.

"Let's go," Harry and Ron said.

"Wait-I don't think-"

"Come on, Hermione!" Hissed Ron in an excited whisper. 
He grabbed her hand and dragged her to her feet. They 
joined Harry and followed Ryan out the door.

"Where'd he go?" Asked Ron.

"Around the corner. We can still catch him." Harry said, 
ignoring Hermione's this-might-be-a-trap expression. They 
drew their wands and rushed off in pursuit.

Around the corner, Ryan signaled Malfoy and Avery.

"Did it work?"

"Whole essay, up in smoke," Ryan said with a little "poof" 
gesture of his hand. "They're right behind me."

"Right. Avery, you go over there. I'll take this side. Ryan, 
stay in the middle. When they turn the corner, take their 
wands. Then Avery can get the Weasel, I'll hit Potty, and 
you cast the jinx on the Mudblood."

Malfoy and Avery moved to their positions. Sure enough, 
Ron hurtled around the corner first, Harry on his heels. 
Ryan turned, pointed, and shouted, "Expelliarmus!" And 
their wands came rushing toward him.

"Conjuntivo!" Shouted Avery, and Ron clapped his hands 
to his eyes.

"I can't see!" He called out.

"Locomortis!" Draco said, and Harry fell to the ground, his 
legs stiff and immobile.

Finally, Hermione rounded the corner. "Trans-scrofus 
Rhinoplatico!" Shouted Ryan, and Hermione's nose 
lengthened into a pig-snout.

"Go sniff through the mud, where you belong," cried 
Malfoy as he, Avery, and Ryan ran down the hallway. 
Right into Professor Flitwick.

"What on earth-" The tiny charms professor exclaimed as 
the three young men came hurtling around the corner. "No 
running in the halls!" He sputtered.

Draco, Malcolm, and Ryan skidded to a halt. "Sorry, 
Professor," Malfoy said, oozing contrition.

"That's better." Professor Flitwick brushed at his robes. 
"I'm sure you boys have some homework to do."

"Yes, Professor," said Malfoy, still the picture of 
cooperation. "That's just where we were going. If you'll 
excuse us-"

"Professor Flitwick!" Came a call from the direction of the 
jinxed Gryffindors. "Please, Professor-they hexed us and 
ran!" 

Malfoy's pleasant smile grew colder. "Granger...." He 
growled, fuming.

"Hexed?" Professor Flitwick repeated. "Dear, oh, dear, let 
me see-Ooh!" He turned and flicked his wand at the three 
boys in quick succession. Malcolm was too quick and got 
away, shooting down the stairs as fast as a Firebolt. But 
Draco and Ryan were frozen to the spot, unable to move.

The tiny Charms professor's face fell. "I'm going to have to 
give you detentions for this," he told them. "Stay there, and 
I'll be right back."

"As if we could go anywhere," Malfoy snarled after he'd 
gone. 

Flitwick came back a minute or so later with Harry, Ron, 
and Hermione, restored to their former states. Hermione 
still clutched her nose, as if checking to make sure it was 
human again.

"Now, as for your detentions," Flitwick began, but was 
interrupted by the sound of an argument.

"No running in the hallways, Avery, how many times do I 
have to tell you?" Professor McGonagall appeared, tugging 
Malcolm Avery along by his ear.

"Ow-Professor McGona-"

"Ah, Professor McGonagall," Professor Flitwick said with 
tangible relief. "Thank you-I believe you are owed a 
detention, as well, young man." He smiled benignly.

"Detention?" Professor McGonagall paused to assess the 
situation before her. Flitwick stood in front of Malfoy and 
Pelerand, who appeared to be rooted to the spot, and behind 
the charms professor were Harry, Ron, and Hermione. "Am 
I to understand that some sort of scuffle took place here?" 
She asked tersely.

"Indeed," Flitwick said, almost gleeful that he could pass 
the whole thing off to her. "From what Miss Granger, Mr. 
Potter, and Mr. Weasley tell me, they were lured into an 
ambush."

"An ambush?"

"Yes, Professor," Ron jumped in, pointing at Ryan, Draco, 
and Malcolm. "He set Hermione's essay on fire to get us to 
follow him out of the library, and then he took our wands. 
Then all three of them hexed us."

Professor McGonagall rounded on the Slytherins.

"Is this true?"

"Certainly not, Professor," Malfoy said smoothly.

Avery shrugged. "I wasn't even there, professor. You 
stopped me two floors from here."

Professor McGonagall fixed a cold stare at Ryan. "And 
you?"

"Oh, absolutely, Professor. It happened just like Weasley 
said."

"What?" Seven voices chorused.

Ryan shrugged. "It was harmless fun. Nothing they 
couldn't have reversed on their own. Oh, here are their 
wands," He brought them out from behind his back. Harry 
and Ron snatched them away.

"Detention for Avery and Malfoy, I think, Professor 
Flitwick." Professor McGonagall concluded. "And if you 
will be so kind as to release Pelerand from his cementation 
charm, I believe I will take him to see Dumbledore 
directly."

 

Ryan kept absolutely silent on the way up to Dumbledore's 
office. It was easy to do, since Professor McGonagall 
barely stopped lecturing him the whole time. 

"-I warned you, Pelerand, that I do not tolerate wanton 
destructiveness in this school. Certainly not of the type you 
seem so fond to cause. When the Headmaster informed me 
of his decision to allow you to come here, I advised him 
against it. Anyone can see from your record that, family 
history or no, you make a poor excuse for a wizard. I 
suppose, he hoped that you had some inner goodness and 
would make a Gryffindor like your ancestors. Well, we've 
all seen how far that went. Disrupting three other students' 
studying, and destroying another student's homework! 
Disgraceful. It's unconscionable! It's-"

"It certainly is." Albus Dumbledore, Headmaster of 
Hogwarts, stood at the threshold of his office. His blue eyes 
twinkled gaily behind half-moon spectacles. He wore his 
customary purple robes and the buckles of his boots were 
visible beneath them. His hat was off; the silvery-white hair 
that hung below his shoulders was fluffy and blended into 
his long beard. He could barely contain his little grin of 
delight, seeing the Deputy Headmistress manhandle the 
thin, comely young student, who was a head taller than she, 
far stronger, and, though she didn't know it, over twice her 
own age. "I heard you coming," he continued, to mask his 
own amusement. "So I took the liberty of finding out what 
the trouble is. Dueling in the halls, was it?"

"Dueling!?" Professor McGonagall frowned. "It was a 
calculated ambush, Headmaster. To make matters worse, 
the boy admits it was planned."

"Really?" Dumbledore struggled to keep from chuckling. 
He raised his eyebrows at the transfer student, giving him 
permission to answer.

"Yes, Headmaster," Ryan told him in a perfectly deferential 
tone. "We-that is, I-lured Miss Granger into the hallway 
to a spot where we could jinx her and her friends."

"And why Miss Granger, pray tell?"

Ryan shrugged. "She's Muggle-born, or so I hear." He 
made definite eye contact with Dumbledore then, as if to 
communicate the deeper meaning of his words.

"Yes, indeed, she is. And very talented, too. Well, I think 
this calls for a little talk between the two of us. Minerva, if 
you'll excuse us?"

"Headmaster, I think-"

"Yes, I understand, Minerva. Let me talk to the boy alone." 
His voice had a hint of steel, but his smile carried its own 
kind of charm, and without saying more, he asked for her 
indulgence.

Knowing she would probably regret it, but nevertheless 
unable to refuse his request, Professor McGonagall sighed. 
"All right, Albus. But don't let him sweet talk you. He's 
already got most of the professors wrapped around his 
finger."

"All the female professors, I expect," Albus said 
cryptically, but continued quickly, "I promise you, 
Minerva, I am not completely out of my mind. I do know 
what I'm doing. And I think I can handle one fifteen-year-
old student by myself."

Again, Professor McGonagall sighed. "Whatever you say, 
Headmaster," she said in a defeated tone, and turned back 
down the stairs.

"Now, young man, I should like to hear your explanation." 
The Headmaster said quite severely in tone, but the smile 
never quite left his face. "Shall we go inside?" He made a 
sweeping gesture to invite the young delinquent into his 
office. He shut the door behind them, then cracked it ever 
so slightly to make sure Minerva had left through the lower 
one.

When he turned, he let out the loud, belly-shaking laugh he 
had been holding in for the past few minutes. "Oh! I 
haven't seen anything quite so funny in days. The look on 
your face when she brought you up here.... Care for a 
brandy?" He asked, crossing to a sideboard with a decanter 
and glasses.

Ryan drew a deep breath, then let it out with a laugh of his 
own. "Thought you'd never ask."
 
A/N: Well, this turned out to be quite a long chapter, but it 
took a lot of writing to get in everything I promised would 
be there. Next time: Hallowe'en, Draco's plan, and a visit 

from Snuffles....