[FFML] drunkard walk

[J. w.]

Very cool, doug is back and a new chapter. Thank you bob for the newest chapter and it is very cool.
Jason walters


------------------------------
On Mon, Feb 17, 2014 2:00 PM CST ffml-request at chez-vrolet.net wrote:

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>Today's Topics:
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>   1. {HP] {XOVER] Drunkard's Walk VIII, Chapter 3 (Bob Schroeck)
>   2. Re: {HP] {XOVER] Drunkard's Walk VIII, Chapter 3 (William Lathan)
>   3. Re: {HP] {XOVER] Drunkard's Walk VIII, Chapter 3 (O David Morgan)
>   4. Re: {HP] {XOVER] Drunkard's Walk VIII, Chapter 3 (the DragonBard)
>   5. Re: {HP] {XOVER] Drunkard's Walk VIII, Chapter 3 (Arthur Hansen)
>   6. Re: {HP] {XOVER] Drunkard's Walk VIII, Chapter 3 (Amberion)
>
>
>----------------------------------------------------------------------
>
>Message: 1
>Date: Sun, 16 Feb 2014 21:20:23 -0500
>From: Bob Schroeck <rms at eclipse.net>
>To: The Fanfiction Mailing List <ffml at chez-vrolet.net>
>Subject: [FFML] {HP] {XOVER] Drunkard's Walk VIII, Chapter 3
>Message-ID: <530171E7.90908 at eclipse.net>
>Content-Type: text/plain; charset=ISO-8859-1; format=flowed
>
>Life has let up on me enough that I've managed to turn out another
>Drunkard's Walk installment.  Enjoy.
>
>-- Bob
>
>===========================================================================
>Bob Schroeck         http://www.accessdenied-rms.net        rms at eclipse.net
>===========================================================================
>Then the horns kicked in...
>...and my shoes began to squeak.
>===========================================================================
>
>
>
>Disclaimer and credits will be found after the end of the
>chapter.
>
>
>
>
>                       DRUNKARD'S WALK VIII:
>             HARRY POTTER AND THE MAN FROM OTHEREARTH
>
>                       by Robert M. Schroeck
>
>
>
>
>
>3.  School Days, School Days, Dear Old Golden Rule Days
>
>Wizardry *is* choice.  All else is mere mechanics.
>-- Diane Duane, "High Wizardry"
>
>"It is among children, and as children only, that you will find
>your healing and true wisdom for your teaching."
>-- John Ruskin, from "Crown of Wild Olive"
>
>Man has always sacrificed truth to his vanity, comfort and
>advantage.  He lives by makebelieve.
>-- W. Somerset Maugham, "The Summing Up", 1938
>
>
>
>    *Slytherin House
>    Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry
>    2 September 1995*
>
>    *Dear Father:*
>
>    *Per your usual request that I keep you informed of matters at
>    Hogwarts, I write to you with my impressions of the first two
>    days of the term.*
>
>    *The ride on the Express was uneventful.  As I'm sure you're
>    already aware due to your position on the Board of Governors,
>    Potter's Mudblood and blood traitor friends are the new
>    Gryffindor prefects.  Isn't the very idea disgusting?  So for
>    the first time he spent part of the ride there without them.
>    Sadly, due to my own prefect duties I was not able to take
>    advantage of this.  When I was finally able, as has been my
>    practice, to seek Potter out during the trip, Weasley and
>    Granger had already rejoined him and were sharing their
>    compartment with several others.  Still, one does what one
>    must, and after offering appropriate greetings I made another
>    overture of alliance to him.  However, he rejected my offer
>    once more.*
>
>    *The start-of-term feast was equally uneventful...*
>
>                              * * *
>
>"I don't know, Ron," Harry said softly as they entered the Great
>Hall.  "I think Malfoy was hinting that he knew something about
>S... Snuffles."
>
>"Even if he was," Ron said, his eyes fixed firmly on the tables
>before them, "what could he do?  It's not like he has proof or
>anything, is it?"
>
>"Not yet," Hermione hissed at them, "but if you keep talking
>about it, I can guarantee he *will*."
>
>Ron glanced at Harry and rolled his eyes, but didn't say another
>word.  Harry felt like chuckling, but suppressed the urge so as
>not to irritate Hermione further.  Although at times it seemed
>like the entire trip to Hogwarts this year had been calculated to
>do nothing else, what with meeting Luna Lovegood and learning
>about *The Quibbler*, Draco's annual visit-and-threat, and then
>the strange dragonlike horses hitched to the carriages and having
>to explain his reaction to those who couldn't see them.  Add onto
>that whatever had happened with Draco during the Prefects'
>meeting on the Express, and it seemed to him that Hermione was a
>bit more prickly than usual.
>
>Harry wracked his brains to find a new subject that wouldn't
>aggravate her.  When his eye fell upon Hagrid's oversize -- and
>very empty -- seat, he said, "Hagrid's not there," as much out of
>genuine surprise and curiosity as out of a need to find a less
>contentious topic.
>
>"Yeah," Ron agreed as Hermione's annoyance visibly drained away.
>
>She craned her neck to look about, almost if she thought that
>Hagrid might be in a different part of the Hall, his immense form
>somehow obscured by a student.  "Oh, I hope he's not hurt or
>anything," she murmured.
>
>"He's probably not back yet," Harry said quietly.  "From that
>thing he was doing for Dumbledore."
>
>She turned back to him, worry clear in her eyes.  "Oh!  You think
>so?"
>
>"Yeah," Harry said as much confidence as he could muster.  "I
>mean, what could possibly hurt Hagrid?"
>
>Hermione smiled, albeit a bit weakly.  "You're right, of course.
>I'm sure we'll see him any day now, then."
>
>"Right," Ron agreed with an encouraging grin.  "Hey, there's
>Professor Sangnoir, up at the head table next to Snape."
>
>"*Professor* Snape," Hermione scolded him.  "Of course he is,
>Ron.  Where else did you expect him to be?"  She paused a moment,
>and when she spoke again her tone was quieter.  "I'm still
>wondering about what he did to Kreacher and the portrait of Mrs.
>Black.  As soon as he left, the both of them went right back to
>the way they were before he arrived."
>
>"We know, Hermione," Ron muttered as he rolled his eyes at Harry.
>
>"Professor Sangnoir?" Neville Longbottom's voice came
>unexpectedly from behind them.  Harry'd thought Neville had
>beaten them into the Hall.  "Who's Professor Sangnoir?"
>
>"The new Defense professor," Ginny called back to Neville from
>where she was walking in front of Harry.  With an impish grin,
>she added, "He's a superhero."
>
>"What's a super..." Neville began, but Hermione cut him off.
>
>"Ginny!" she snapped.  Then she took a breath and turned back to
>Neville.  "He's not a superhero, they're Muggle fiction.  But he
>*is* impressive.  He stayed for a week the same place we were at
>the end of the summer, and we saw him training.  He's very good."
>In lower, more conspiratorial tones, she added, "And there's
>something really strange about him that we're trying to figure
>out."
>
>"*Again?*" Neville demanded in aggrieved tones as they found an
>open area at the Gryffindor table large enough for all of them.
>As they took their seats, Ginny joined a group of friends from
>her year further down the table.
>
>"Yeah, I know," Ron replied sympathetically.  "Every year it's
>the same thing, right?  And they usually want to kill Harry,
>too."  Harry resisted the urge to drive an elbow into his best
>friend's side.
>
>"So what is it this time?" Neville inquired in more
>conversational tones as he unfolded his napkin and laid it in
>his lap.  Ron shot Hermione an expectant look which, to Harry's
>private amusement, she failed to notice.
>
>"We'll tell you about it when we get back to the Common Room,"
>Harry said softly.  "Better that way."
>
>Baffled, Neville nodded.  "All right, then."
>
>"Hey, look!" announced Ron a bit too loudly.  "Here come the
>firsties!"
>
>                              * * *
>
>For the last couple weeks as I settled into the school and got to
>know the rest of the staff, I'd been bumming around in what
>amounted to "business casual" robes -- the wizarding equivalent
>of khaki slacks and a company polo shirt.  But now that the
>students had arrived, I actually had to look like a professor, so
>I broke out the stuff for which I'd paid the big Galleons at
>Madam Malkin's.  Silk and fine linen, mostly in greys or dark
>blues with subtle trimming.  And of course, all the options --
>leather interior, bucket seats, power windows, the works.
>
>Ahem.  I mean, comfort charms, sizing charms, permanent press
>charms, self-cleaning charms, wash-your-face-and-comb-your-hair-
>for-you-sir? charms.  By the time I'd finished with the
>interminable fitting session I just threw money at Malkin and
>took *every* option she had to offer, simply to stop the sales
>pitch and get out the door that much faster.
>
>(Charlie had later commented that he'd never seen anyone, not
>even some of the real upper crust folks his father knew through
>the Ministry, go that route to get out of the usual presentation.
>In his experience, *no one* had ever bought *all* the options
>that Madam Malkin offered.)
>
>Showing up in my formal academic attire afforded me more than a
>few appreciative looks from several of my female colleagues.  In
>addition to an appreciative look, I had to dodge an appreciative
>butt-pinch by Rolanda Hooch while we were still in the staff room
>behind the high table.  Afterwards, as we filed out into the
>Great Hall to take our seats for the start-of-term feast, I
>grinned and wagged my finger playfully at her to show there were
>no hard feelings on my part.  She gave me a saucy little smile
>and head toss in return.
>
>As I had each dinner for the last two weeks, I took my seat at
>the far left end of the table, next to Severus.  He was more
>scowly and growly than he'd been at any other meal since I'd
>joined the staff, and his thundercloud-dark expression only
>worsened when the first of the returning students sauntered
>through the huge doors at the end of the Hall.  It didn't take
>much effort to figure out why.
>
>*Why am I not surprised that he hates children?* I mused to
>myself with a quick glance to the heavens -- or the Hall's
>ceiling, which was much the same thing.  *Why the hell is he a
>teacher, then?*  "Buck up, Severus," I muttered out of the side
>of my mouth.  "In only ten short months you'll be free of them
>again."
>
>The sidelong look he shot me mixed equal parts surprise and
>suspicion.  I ignored it and him, and concentrated my attention
>on the students slowly entering the Hall.  Flowing into it like a
>vast, viscous wave, breaking into smaller streams that swirled
>and eddied, pooling here and there as groups of friends met up
>again after two months' separation, the student body gradually
>filled the Great Hall like molasses pouring lethargically into a
>bucket.  Bit by bit the four long tables filled as the various
>cliques and gangs of each house settled into either accustomed or
>newly-acquired spaces, jockeying for position both physical and
>social.
>
>The Slytherins were clearly more into the "social" than the
>"physical"; their table was strictly organized by age, with the
>seventh-year students closest to the High Table, and each year
>below them taking its place as a bloc in order.  Within each
>class there was oh-so-courteous but oh-so-cutthroat competition
>for the best available seats.  Some students, like the sharp-
>featured blond kid who looked like a 15-year-old Andy Warhol and
>his pair of hulking BFFs, obviously dominated among their
>yearmates and occupied their "rightful" places without dispute;
>in other years it took longer to ascertain the new pecking order.
>
>By way of a contrast, the Gryffindors were a cheerful, somewhat
>unruly mob who rolled over and occupied their table like a good-
>natured army.  While they, too, sorted themselves out by year, it
>was in a broad, general way in comparison to the Slytherins'
>precise, measured segregation.  I saw most of my young housemates
>from Grim Old Number 12, along with a couple of friends,
>cheerfully squeeze their way into a block of seats just above the
>middle of the table, next to Sir Nicholas de Mimsy-Porpington,
>the ghostly mascot of Gryffindor.  The little redhead -- Ginny
>Weasley -- broke off from them to join her yearmates a bit
>further down, while her twin older brothers headed the other
>direction and seated themselves closer to the High Table along
>with a dreadlocked black fellow their own age.  One of the main
>group's friends, a slender girl with long dirty-blonde hair and a
>strange, drifting walk, didn't join them at all, but instead
>wandered on to the next group of students to catch my eye:  House
>Ravenclaw.
>
>The Ravenclaws were a strange mix of regimentation and
>distraction.  Many of them were already carrying books -- I
>spotted some of the volumes I'd put on the textbook list -- and
>while they sorted themselves out even more precisely than the
>Slytherins, it wasn't (entirely) by year.  Rather, it looked like
>they were already forming up into study groups, judging by the
>books and the parchment sheets they were stacking on the table by
>their places.
>
>Finally, there were the Hufflepuffs -- *my* house.  I watched
>them perhaps more than the rest combined, simply because in a
>very real way they were my responsibility.  Pomona had described
>how the house "worked", so my observations were less about
>discovery than they were about studying how the system, if you
>could call it that, functioned.
>
>The Hufflepuffs tended to cluster, like the other houses, into
>groups of yearmates, but every group regardless of its size had
>one or two older students who kept an eye on them and essentially
>mentored them.  These mentors were members of their own little
>bands, of course, and were (save for the seventh-years) mentored
>by the students above them.  In turn every group offered
>mentoring to a younger group, except (of course) for the first
>years.
>
>To my professionally-trained eye the system looked a little like
>a revolutionary cell network and a little like a military
>organization (with each group being a fire team and each year
>being a squad).  The mentoring was completely voluntary -- my
>observations later in the term suggested that second-year 'Puffs
>gradually "adopted" groups of firsties as they formed during the
>first few months of school and maintained the relationship until
>they graduated.  Pomona had admitted the process wasn't entirely
>hands-off -- there were always the shy, the terrified and the
>stand-offish among the first-years, and it took some gentle
>encouragement on her part for them to bond with both their
>yearmates and an older student or two.  But overall, the process
>-- ingrained after decades of tradition -- happened pretty much
>automatically.
>
>I found myself thinking of the whole arrangement in terms of the
>"kohai-sempai" relationships I'd seen in the Japans of so many
>universes, starting with my home Earth.  The whole system of
>informal yet interlocking responsibilities and relationships was
>deceptively simple but bound the house together into a mutually
>self-supporting network.  You literally could not be in
>Hufflepuff and not have someone to turn to for anything you might
>need, be it relationship advice, help with homework, or an extra
>hand to move an inconvenient corpse.
>
>And I haven't even gotten into the work ethic yet.
>
>I could see this network of mentors and mentored spooling up for
>the new school year right there on the floor of the Great Hall,
>with the sempai seeking out and checking on their kohai and
>re-establishing connections grown dormant over the summer (if, in
>fact, they had).  I was well aware by that time of Hufflepuff's
>reputation as well-meaning but dull duffers who faded into the
>background compared to the far more flamboyant Slytherins and
>Gryffindors and the rather intensely brilliant Ravenclaws, but
>when I looked at them I saw an army in the making -- not of
>conquerors or invaders, but a corps of engineers who built and
>maintained the culture that gave the flashier houses a backdrop
>against which to play their games.
>
>As far as I was concerned, the 'Puffs were ultimately the real
>movers and shakers of the British wizarding world.
>
>Anyway, in the midst of all the activity in the Great Hall, the
>translucent grey forms of the various castle ghosts drifted to
>and fro, holding forth with various students as they passed.  The
>House ghosts orbited their tables and restricted themselves --
>for the most part -- to the students of their Houses, but they
>were far from the only spectral inhabitants of Hogwarts.  Pomona
>had told me there were dozens, including a few bound to specific
>locations in the castle, and it seemed like all but those
>unfortunate few had turned out for the feast.  Even Peeves was in
>attendance, oddly restrained in his behavior according to Pomona;
>but the little imp caught my eye and waved to me, so I had my
>suspicions as to the reason for it.
>
>Above this bubbling panoply of pre- and intra-adolescent
>politicking and socializing, the ceiling of the Great Hall
>reiterated the starless black of the overcast sky outside.  But
>even if clouds had not been blocking them, I doubt the stars
>would have been visible past the glare of the hundreds --
>possibly thousands -- of white taper candles that floated about
>two-thirds of the way up the height of the Hall.  It was a
>veritable swarm of hovering tallow, and it flooded the room with
>a warm golden light that seemed to creep into every corner and
>banish all but the smallest and most persistent of shadows.
>
>I had to admit, what the Wizarding world may have lacked in
>technological sophistication they often made up for in sheer
>style.
>
>Behind me, I heard the door to the staff anteroom open and shut.
>Glancing along the length of the table, I saw Wilhelmina slipping
>into that monster of a chair at the other end.  Having been
>briefed on the script for the evening, I knew what that meant --
>the festivities were about to begin.
>
>Moments later, the doors from the entrance hall -- the same ones
>through which I had passed with such trepidation only two weeks
>earlier, and through which the upper classes had just streamed --
>swung open once more, and Minerva appeared, her posture
>absolutely ram-rod straight and her expression as severe as I'd
>ever seen.  (Quite a contrast to the Minerva I'd gotten to know
>in the weeks before school started, a Minerva who liked to put
>her button-shoed feet up on the table in the staff room and laugh
>like a braying mule over a tumbler of whiskey and a bawdy story.)
>
>In her hands she held a battered wooden stool, on which rested
>His Millinery Majesty, the Sorting Hat.  Behind her, in two
>fidgety lines, were forty or fifty eleven-year-olds in plain
>black robes and pointy hats, looking for all the world like
>peewee-league participants in some Halloween-themed team sport.
>
>As the chatter that had filled the Hall dropped to nothing with
>an unnerving suddenness, Minerva marched her tiny charges right
>up the central aisle between Gryffindor and Hufflepuff, then set
>them up in a line in front of the high table, facing the rest of
>the student body.  Stepping back along the aisle about three
>meters, she carefully positioned the stool so that the Hat's
>"face" was looking at them.  Then she stepped back expectantly.
>A palpable air of anticipation filled the Hall and I wondered
>what was going to happen next.  This was a whole lot more pomp
>and ceremony than *my* Sorting had involved, but it was obvious
>that everyone here save for two score or so eleven-year-olds and
>Mama Sangnoir's Favorite Son knew what was coming and were
>eagerly awaiting it.
>
>There was a long, long moment of teasing silence.
>
>Then the rip just above its brim which served the Hat as a mouth
>opened, and the damned thing began to sing!
>
>                              * * *
>
>The Sorting Hat's song this year seemed normal enough at first --
>a dozen verses or so retelling the story of the founding of
>Hogwarts, another dozen describing the Founders themselves and
>what they looked for in students, and a bit more about the
>Houses.
>
>And then it got ... different.
>
>"Oh, know the perils, read the signs," the Hat sang as it drew to
>a close.
>
>      "The warning history shows,
>       For our Hogwarts is in danger
>       From external, deadly foes.
>       Beyond them far, though, can be found
>       Both hope and allies great
>       And ordered chaos comes to change
>       What might have been our fate
>       Though strong and wise, such friends as these
>       Who're called on in the night
>       Cannot alone stand forth and hold
>       Our Hogwarts in the light
>       Attend their words and learn them well
>       And by their side then stand
>       The music of the madness then
>       Puts power in your hand
>       Unite with them for Hogwarts' sake
>       Or we'll crumble from within
>       I have told you, I have warned you...
>       Let the Sorting now begin."
>
>The Sorting Hat then went still.  The Hall burst into applause
>leavened with whispers and muttered discussions about the Hat's
>strange warning.
>
>Her heart pounding a mile a minute, Hermione looked down the
>Gryffindor table to find Ginny looking back up at her with wide,
>surprised eyes that Hermione was sure matched her own expression.
>As Ron turned to Harry and said, "Branched out a bit this year,
>hasn't it?", Hermione slowly mouthed "friends who're called on in
>the night" to the younger girl.  Biting her lip, Ginny slowly
>nodded.
>
>"Too right it has," Harry replied as Hermione and Ginny continued
>to stare at each other, the same thought running through their
>heads:  had their midnight ritual all those weeks ago been more
>successful than they had thought?
>
>"Tonight," Hermione mouthed, and Ginny nodded again.
>
>                              * * *
>
>I managed to suppress my start of surprise when the Sorting Hat
>sang out the line about "the music of the madness".  Although I
>chose to spell my codename "Toons" instead of "Tunes" to avoid
>trademark issues with Warner Brothers, it's pretty obvious what
>my intent was and still is.  Further, the translation that the
>Japanese of my Earth use instead of lowering themselves to speak
>English -- *Kyoki no Kyoku* -- doesn't beat around the bush:  it
>literally back-translates into "Tunes of Madness".
>
>(I suppose it should go without saying that the very rigid and
>orderly, not to mention xenophobic, Japanese of my home timeline
>find my metatalent frighteningly and disturbingly chaotic, almost
>borderline demonic -- the antithesis of everything they believe
>about the way the world works.  Which was one reason that even as
>a rookie I was never assigned to Beta Team in Tokyo.
>
>The other being that Hexe didn't want her brand-new loose cannon
>that far out of her sight.)
>
>Anyway, if there was one thing I was intending on doing with my
>classes, it was putting as much power in my students' hands as I
>could.
>
>So the Hat was obviously -- well, obviously to me (and, no doubt,
>Albus) -- referring to yours truly.  I suppose it might have
>pulled the info it needed for the song from my mind while it was
>sitting on my head.  As far as I could tell, though, it hadn't
>attempted to breach the mental defenses which Psyche had
>painstakingly drilled into my thick skull during my first few
>months with the Warriors.  (And thanks to him, I've been able to
>detect, and repel, some fairly subtle telepaths over the years.)
>So... was it prophecy?  Having been a house guest of the Norns
>for a year or so, I wasn't about to discount the possibility.
>
>And I have to admit I was curious about what "strong and wise"
>friends had been called on in the night, and by whom.  Because it
>certainly wasn't me, on either end of that equation.  And I
>wanted to know if it was something that had happened already, or
>something yet to come.
>
>After all, if they were prophesied allies, I wanted to identify
>and approach them as soon as I could.
>
>                              * * *
>
>    *...the Hat recited its usual meaningless doggerel before
>    winnowing the worthy from the dross...*
>
>                              * * *
>
>The Sorting itself took a surprisingly short amount of time,
>compared to my own experience with the Hat.  Sure, a few of the
>forty-odd eleven-year-olds took as long as or longer than I had,
>but most were Sorted in thirty seconds or less, and a couple were
>assigned Houses pretty much the moment the Hat landed on their
>heads.
>
>I suppose it only makes sense.  Eleven years of life experience
>is easier -- and faster -- to analyze than ten times that.
>
>I made a point of memorizing faces, names and Houses for all the
>first-years as they proceeded through the Sorting, from fearful
>little Euan Abercrombie (Gryffindor, despite his obvious terror)
>through the Martinez triplets (one in each house except for
>Slytherin) all the way to Rose Zeller (the last Hufflepuff to be
>Sorted).  These were the students I had the most hope for, the
>ones for whom I would *not* be a holy terror if all worked to
>plan.  If I could lay the right groundwork with them, then I
>might be able to ameliorate, if not entirely then partly, the
>effects any future *bad* Defense teachers might have on them.
>"Give me their minds when they are young..." and all that,
>y'know.  Because I wouldn't be here to guide them all the way to
>their graduation, I had to build a solid foundation on which they
>could progress, unguided and alone if necessary.
>
>In the course of memorization, I noted one little statistical
>factoid that I had actually anticipated:  the kids were Sorted
>pretty much evenly between the four Houses.  And a quick glance
>around the Great Hall at the older students confirmed that, more
>or less, the Houses were all of a size with each other.  Which
>said to me that at least part of the requirements for House
>assignment were clearly bogus.  The Hat had to be jiggering
>things so the distribution was always equal, or close to it.
>
>I decided then and there that I needed to have another talk with
>the Hat.  On several topics.
>
>                              * * *
>
>"Talbot, Marcia!" Professor McGonagall read from her scroll, and
>another first-year made her way to the stool on which the Sorting
>Hat rested.
>
>"Look at him," Hermione whispered to Harry and Ron as the little
>girl placed the Hat on her head.
>
>"Who?" Ron muttered.  "Malfoy?"
>
>Hermione rolled her eyes.  "No, Ron.  Professor Sangnoir.  He's
>so... intense.  Like he's studying every one of the first years,
>memorizing them."  She shook her head.  "He's nothing like he was
>back at... at where we were staying this summer."
>
>"Ravenclaw!" the Hat announced, to the cheers of that house and
>the applause of the others.
>
>"He wasn't a teacher then, was he, though?" Ron observed as they
>clapped.  "It's like Professor Lupin -- he didn't act like a
>Defense professor when he was at... that place with us this
>summer, right?"
>
>"Walther, Peter," called out McGonagall, and a little boy, dark-
>haired and slender, approached the stool.
>
>Hermione absently worried her lip.  "I suppose.  It's just, it's
>strange seeing it the other way.  I mean, after watching him with
>Charlie and the twins and with S... Snuffles, I kind of started
>thinking of him as, well, not quite professor material despite
>all the mystery around him."  Focused on articulating her
>feelings, Hermione missed seeing both Harry and Ron smirk at each
>over over the latest resurgence of her current obsession.  "But
>now... he looks almost as intense as Professor Moody."
>
>"Slytherin!"  And little Peter made his way to that table to the
>accompaniment of considerably less cheering than little Marcia
>had received.
>
>"Merlin!  I hope not!" Ron declared, scowling after the latest
>recruit for the house of Death Eaters.  "Two professors like that
>in a row..."  He shuddered.  Harry suppressed a snicker when
>Ron's stomach audibly growled, as if in agreement.
>
>"Zeller, Rose!"
>
>Harry snorted.  "I think you're both off.  We *know* what he's
>like.  There's no way that Dou..."  Hermione glared and opened
>her mouth, and Harry swiftly corrected himself.  "...that
>*Professor Sangnoir* is going to be as bad as Moody.  Even the
>fake Moody."
>
>"Hufflepuff!"  And they stopped to clap and cheer for the last of
>the first years.
>
>As the applause faded away and McGonagall carried off the Sorting
>Hat and its stool, Dumbledore stood up from his seat at the
>center of the head table.  Harry suppressed a surge of anger at
>the headmaster for ignoring him, barely even acknowledging his
>existence, once his hearing in front of the Wizengamot had
>concluded.  For a moment he was inclined to forgive Dumbledore
>for snatching away the care and closeness he'd given Harry for
>four years; for this one moment, when everything was the way it
>was supposed to be.  He closed his eyes for just long enough to
>bask in the *rightness* of it all, then opened them again.
>
>Spreading his arms wide and smiling broadly, Dumbledore looked
>out over the student body and declared in a clear and carrying
>voice, "To our newcomers, welcome!  To our old hands -- welcome
>back!  There is a time for speech making, but this is not it.
>Tuck in!"
>
>And the food appeared.
>
>                              * * *
>
>"You know," Nearly Headless Nick said not much later, "this is
>far from the first time the Sorting Hat has issued a warning."
>
>"Really?" Harry asked as Ron mumbled something through a full
>mouth that was probably the same word.
>
>The ghost nodded -- carefully, by bending slightly at the waist,
>so as not to dislodge his head from the stump of his neck.  "Oh,
>certainly.  Whenever a time of great crisis for Wizarding Britain
>has been imminent, particularly one that threatened Hogwarts
>itself, the Hat's song has carried a clear warning, and has
>always encouraged the Houses of Hogwarts to stand together,
>unified, to face it.
>
>"What is unusual," he continued musingly, "is its mention of
>allies from *outside* Hogwarts.  Yes."  Unseen by Nick, Hermione
>and Ginny traded meaningful glances once again.  "It is the first
>time, at least in my experience, that the Hat has not *only*
>advised that we stand together and be strong from within.  I
>wonder whether it bodes well or ill."
>
>"The first time?  Really?"  Hermione leaned toward him, intent,
>Harry thought, out of all proportion to the question.
>
>"In *my* experience, yes," Nick confirmed.
>
>"How about for the other ghosts?" Ron asked between forkfuls.
>
>Nick considered this.  "I'll have to ask," he finally said.  "In
>fact, I think I'll do so now."  He drifted up out of the seat he
>occupied until he hovered well above the table.  "I shall return
>shortly," he called down before floating over to the Ravenclaw
>table and the side of the Grey Lady.
>
>"So... bad news, you think?" Ron said with a knowing smirk after
>Nick had left the table.
>
>"Only a little," Harry said with a levity he didn't really feel.
>It was pretty obvious that the Hat had been referring to the
>return of Voldemort at the end of the Triwizard Tournament.
>
>Hermione wrinkled her nose at them in disgust.  "You two think
>you're so funny.  This is serious."
>
>"Of course it's serious, Hermione," Harry sighed.  "But is it so
>wrong to want to find a little something to laugh at in the
>middle of it?"
>
>Hermione's pique deflated, and she shook her head.  "No, I guess
>not.  I just didn't want you to be making light of, well,
>everything that happened at the end of last year."
>
>Harry suddenly felt a surge of irritation at that, and tried to
>stomp it down.  "Believe me, Hermione, I haven't forgotten just
>how awful it was, and how awful it's *going* to be," he snapped.
>
>She blanched.  "I didn't mean to..."
>
>Before she could finish, Nearly Headless Nick reappeared and
>drifted back into the seat he had been occupying.  "That's it,
>then.  According to the Grey Lady, the Hat has never before
>advocated working with anyone outside of Hogwarts during a
>crisis."
>
>"The Grey Lady?" Ron asked, looking up from his plate.
>
>"Oh yes," Sir Nicholas replied.  "She's been here the longest of
>any of us, except perhaps for the Baron.  She dates almost all
>the way back to the Founding, I'm told."
>
>"Really?"  Hermione's eyes began to shine.  "That's not in
>*Hogwarts:  A History*!"
>
>"Well, it wouldn't be, would it?" Nick pointed out.  "It's a very
>personal thing to a ghost sometimes, you know -- when we died...
>and how.  Some of us don't want to talk about it at all."
>
>"And some won't shut up about it," Ron whispered to Harry, who
>had to stifle a snicker lest he insult Sir Nicholas.
>
>                              * * *
>
>Dinner was, simply put, sumptuous.  Within the confines of
>pseudo-Victorian British cuisine, of course, but jokes about
>English food aside, that still allowed for quite a number of
>dishes that were quite good.  Of course, the selection was
>strongly tilted toward the tastes of teenagers, so there was
>nothing *really* exotic to hand, but still I enjoyed myself
>thoroughly.
>
>Suppressing a burp, I wiped my mouth with my napkin then laid it
>down on the table where my plate and silverware had been only
>seconds before.  I was just wondering what was going to happen
>next when Albus stood up again.
>
>"Well, now that we are all digesting another magnificent feast, I
>beg a few moments of your attention for the usual start-of-term
>notices," he announced, his surprisingly stentorian voice easily
>carrying throughout the Great Hall.  "First years ought to know
>that the forest in the grounds is out of bounds to students --
>and a few of our older students ought to know by now too."
>
>Over at the Gryffindor table, some of my young housemates from
>the summer were sharing smirks -- including what's-her-face, the
>one with the Shakespearean name that started with an H --
>Hermione, that was it.  I'd've thought she would've been a bit
>more of a priggish swot given the way she'd acted most of the
>time while I stayed at Grim Old Number 12.  But judging from that
>shared look, she was a secret trouble-maker, along with her two
>male friends.
>
>To quote Arte Johnson, "Veeeery eeeenteresting."
>
>Albus had meanwhile gone on to relay a number of notices and
>warnings from Argus -- stuff like no magic in the corridors and
>the existence of a list of banned items pinned to his office
>door.  I suspected that Argus's less-than-sunny disposition did
>quite a bit to discourage comprehensive awareness of that list's
>contents among the student body.  I had to admit that I was more
>than a little curious what was among the four hundred and some
>items on that list myself, though, so I made a mental note to
>drop by and check out the broadsheet when I was next in that part
>of the castle.
>
>My drifting attention was suddenly yanked back to Albus'
>continuing after-dinner speech when he said, "We have had two
>changes in staffing this year.  We are very pleased to welcome
>back Professor Grubbly-Plank, who will be taking Care of Magical
>Creatures lessons; we are also delighted to introduce Professor
>Sangnoir, our new Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher."
>
>As a rather fragmentary and entirely obligatory-sounding applause
>dribbled out of the student body, I stood, smiled and gave the
>room a little wave.
>
>"Tryouts for the House Quidditch teams will take place on the..."
>Albus droned on as I sat back down, but I tuned him out while at
>the same time putting on the earnest-new-employee face I used to
>wear while zoning during Warriors meetings my first year or so on
>the team.  I stayed that way until the feast officially ended --
>helped immensely by Severus's non-existent social skills on the
>one side, and Sybill's complete space-out of her own on the
>other.
>
>Not for the first time I reflected on how I'd had better
>co-workers in other jobs.
>
>When the rest of the staff took their leave of the table, I
>followed them out of the room and back to the staff wing, at
>which time we parted company.  In my case, I bid them goodnight,
>politely declining an invitation to join the latest round of the
>cut-throat floating poker-like game the staff played at least two
>nights a week using Tarot cards.  Between the old Stephen Wright
>joke and the simple fact that I had yet to master the blasted
>game's complexity, I decided I didn't want to risk it -- at least
>not that night.
>
>Besides, I'd already lost my first week's salary to Pomona, who
>behind her motherly exterior was actually a vicious card-shark.
>And Minerva was just as bad.  I wasn't too keen on losing
>*everything* I'd earned so far at Hogwarts.
>
>I also declined Rolanda's offer of a nightcap in her quarters.
>Retreating to my rooms as quickly as I could politely manage --
>not that, what with Severus on staff, anything but the most
>monumental rudeness on my part would even be *noticed* -- I
>closed and locked the door behind me then breathed a comically-
>exaggerated sigh of relief at escaping her wiles once more.  I
>simply *had* to find that woman a romantic interest who wasn't
>me, if only so I could stop having to dodge her.  Even the
>knowledge that I was married didn't slow her down.
>
>Once safely ensconced in my quarters, I went back to my cultural
>familiarization efforts.  That night's program covered recent
>Wizarding history, in particular the shadow civil war that
>Voldemort had prosecuted some two decades earlier.
>
>The books I read didn't actually *call* it a war, but come *on*,
>people.  Class conflict, ethnic cleansing, intent to overthrow
>the legal government, battles in the street, the Ministry of
>Magic all but recycling old Winston Churchill speeches -- it
>*was* a war.  Calling it anything else was disingenuous at best
>and deadly self-delusion at worst.
>
>The real kicker was how the whole conflict ended.  In an incident
>that was so unreal as to be practically mythic, Flight-of-Emo
>basically nuked himself.  On Halloween 1981, he went after a
>family who had gone into hiding, killed the parents, and then got
>taken out by an unprecedented magical backfire when he tried to
>kill their toddler with a no-miss, no-fail death ray spell.  Of
>course, because Voldemort had his death-avoidance plan in play --
>Albus was pretty sure Lord Emo had used partial soul anchors and
>had made at least two -- he didn't die from this, but Wizarding
>Britain didn't know (and didn't *want* to know) that.  His body
>got vaped by the backlash and he ended up discorporated in the
>usual manner for those with partial anchors, neatly terminating
>(for the moment) his campaign, his threat, and his ability to
>scratch his butt.
>
>While what was left of Flight-of-Emo's immortal soul buggered off
>to parts unknown but purely terrestrial, the toddler, one Harry
>James Potter by name, became the Wizarding World's equivalent of
>Jesus, Spartacus and Shockwave all rolled into one lisping,
>diapered package, simply by virtue of having *survived* where
>Voldemort didn't.  Someone with a good sense of theatre but not
>much imagination tagged him with the moniker "The Boy Who Lived",
>but not before the kid vanished into folklore -- according to my
>texts he hadn't been seen since that night.
>
>As I sat on the floor, my back against the side of my bed and all
>those history books scattered across the throw rug under me, I
>leaned my head back against my mattress and thought about it.
>That had happened in 1981, fourteen years earlier.  Frowning, I
>checked the publication dates.
>
>The most recent of my texts was dated 1990.
>
>Hm.  A lot could happen in five years.  This Harry Potter would
>be 15 now -- I wondered if he was still missing, or whether he'd
>shown up at one of the Wizarding schools when he'd turned 11.  I
>made a mental note to ask Albus.  If he didn't know, no one did.
>
>Oh, and the war?  Without its prime mover, Voldemort's army had
>all but collapsed.  A few die-hards apparently kept trying to
>fight for a few weeks to a couple months more, but without the
>Big Bad Bogeyman to scare the poor Aurors, the Ministry actually
>made a decent effort at rounding up Flight-of-Emo's soldiers.
>Most of them ended up either executed or imprisoned in a place
>called Azkaban.  (Azkaban didn't get much of a description, but
>from what I could gather by reading between the lines, it
>apparently made the Bastille look like a luxury resort.)
>
>And the rest?  Well, Voldemort's richest, most aristocratic
>supporters claimed to have been under mind control, the local
>version of which was a spell called the "Imperius".  How
>successful they were at getting acquitted because of this seemed
>to have a very odd correlation with how rich and politically
>connected they were.  (Very odd, that is, unless you're a cynical
>old bastard like yours truly.)  Of course, none of the books
>actually *said* that, but I'd been living in the Wizarding World
>long enough now to know the names of the families that the
>average British wizard crossed at his peril -- names that kept
>reappearing on the lists of Imperius "victims".
>
>In the immortal words of Bill Cosby, "Riiiiiiight.  What's a
>cubit?"
>
>I groaned and rubbed my eyes.  I did *not* want to work myself up
>into a fit of impotent anger at the rich sons of bitches who had
>escaped justice by throwing money at the corruptible.  If I let
>myself stew on that subject I'd end up doing something dramatic
>(or, as Hexe would put it, "grossly stupid") to get rid of that
>feeling of impotence.  I needed to change my focus.
>
>I gathered my history texts up into a neat stack and set them
>back on the shelf where I'd been storing them between my few
>chances to read.  The same shelf where lived a certain cardboard
>box with three large, looping "W"s written on it.
>
>I'm sure if anyone had been watching me at that point, they would
>have seen my face completely recapitulate the "wonderful, awful
>idea" sequence from "How The Grinch Stole Christmas".  I took the
>box in both hands and, still smiling that wide, evil smile,
>carried it to the bed, where I carefully placed it on the covers
>before seating myself before it.
>
>Trusting the twins to be good to their word, I simply lifted off
>the lid.
>
>And when I saw what was in it, my smile grew even wider.
>
>                              * * *
>
>    *...that oaf Hagrid appears to have been sacked and replaced
>    for good by Grubbly-Plank, which I'm sure upset Potter and his
>    friends.
>
>    As you requested, I have been watching the new Defense
>    professor; Sangnoir is to all appearances another self-absorbed
>    fool like Lockhart, smiling smugly at us while dressed in robes
>    of a quality above his station.  I shall give you more of my
>    thoughts about him later in this letter, but first I must ask,
>    can you tell me what more you have learned about him through
>    the Board?  Any number of rumors are circulating, from the
>    plausible to the utterly ridiculous.  By turns he is supposed
>    to be an American Auror, an escaped convict, an Unspeakable,
>    or even some kind of exotic Muggle adventurer.  I have even
>    heard claims that the man killed a dragon with single blow,
>    without magic!  Please pass on to me anything you have learned
>    so that I can end this annoying speculation and return my
>    housemates' attention to more important matters.*
>
>    *After the start-of-term feast concluded, we retired to the
>    Common Room, where we ensured that the first years knew their
>    proper place in the House...*
>
>                              * * *
>
>Gryffindor Common Room.  September 1, 1995, 8:00 PM
>
>Harry, Ron and Hermione chose not to follow the majority of their
>housemates upstairs and into the dorms upon returning to
>Gryffindor Tower after dinner.  Instead, they took their
>accustomed places on the loveseat and the pair of armchairs near
>the monumental hearth which anchored one entire wall of the
>common room.  Neville followed, all but dragged by Ginny, and the
>two of them sat down as well.
>
>"All right," Neville inquired as everyone settled in, "what's up
>with the new Defense professor?"
>
>With many false starts, tangents, loopbacks and "hey, you forgot
>this"s, and many, many interjections from all sides, the four of
>them eventually told Neville everything they knew or suspected
>about the new Defense professor.
>
>After they had finished, Neville sat for a long moment, his head
>tilted to one side, as he considered everything they had told
>him.  "You're serious," he finally said.
>
>Harry briefly considered making his godfather's favorite joke,
>but realized in time that Neville wouldn't get it.  Not without
>telling secrets he couldn't tell, at least.
>
>"Yeah, mate," Ron said in the meantime.  "I mean, Hermione's a
>bit overboard on it and all, but yeah, Professor Sangnoir's...
>he's..."  Ron searched for the words for a moment before giving
>up and shrugging.
>
>"Some kind of crippled superwizard from a mysterious land of
>superwizards nobody's ever heard of, who lives like a Muggle and
>can't use a wand..." Neville shook his head.  "It's only because
>you guys have hardly ever been wrong before when you said stuff
>like this that I don't just laugh in your faces, you know?"
>
>Hermione leaned forward, her elbows on her knees, and gazed
>intently and sincerely into Neville's eyes.  "We know, Neville,
>and we appreciate it, we really do."  She sat back and slumped a
>little.  "It's not just that it sounds strange.  It's that
>nothing about him adds up, and there are more than a few blatant
>impossibilities around him."
>
>"The Headmaster trusts him, though, right?" Neville pointed out.
>"Surely that must count for something."
>
>All three of them stared at him, while at his side Ginny was
>briefly seized by a coughing fit that sounded suspiciously like
>"snapesnapesnape".  Not being totally thick, Neville thought
>about what he'd just said.  "Oh, right," he mumbled sheepishly
>after a moment.  "I guess we should keep a close watch on him,
>then?" he added in a stronger voice.
>
>Ginny elbowed him gently and with a smirk asked, "'We'?"
>
>Neville sat up straighter.  "Yes, *we*," he said with surprising
>determination.  "I mean, we're just going to observe, right?  So
>what could possibly happen?"
>
>As Harry winced and Hermione sighed, Ron slapped a hand over his
>face and groaned, "Merlin, now we're in for it."
>
>Next to Neville, Ginny just giggled.
>
>                              * * *
>
>Some time later, Ginny and Hermione faced each other from
>opposite ends of Hermione's bed.  The curtains were drawn
>tightly.  Had either of them known any spells for ensuring that
>they would not be overheard, they would have been cast.  As it
>was, they had to depend on the continued absence of Hermione's
>roommates for their privacy.
>
>"So," Hermione said as she settled in with her pillow cushioning
>her back against the headboard, and wrapped her arms around
>herself.
>
>"So," Ginny replied from where she sat, Indian-style, at the
>foot of the bed.  She closed her eyes, breathed deeply, and then
>opened them again before saying softly, "'Friends who're called
>on in the night'.  Strong and wise ones, yet."  She gave a
>lopsided grin.  "Y'think the Hat's a seer?"
>
>"It *could* just be a coincidence," Hermione whispered.
>
>Ginny shrugged.  "Maybe."  She peered closely at Hermione.  "But
>I don't believe it.  Even if nothing seemed to happen, I think
>maybe something *did* happen -- something big."
>
>"But what?" Hermione whispered.
>
>                              * * *
>
>September 2, 1995, 6:48 AM
>
>"It's hard to say what Defense is going to be like," Natalie
>McDonald, second-year Gryffindor, replied offhandedly in response
>to a question from one of the first-year Gryffindors she was
>leading down the stairs to breakfast from their tower dorms.
>"Hold on."  Warned by a faint vibration, she interrupted herself
>and held out an arm to stop Euan Abercrombie from stepping onto
>the landing below them.  "The staircase is about to move."
>
>Behind the little band, Ginny smiled approvingly.  Natalie was a
>good kid, pure Gryffindor through-and-through.  Despite her
>Muggle origins she had adapted well to life in the castle and
>now, at the start of her second year, she was the old hand
>imparting her years -- well, *year* -- of wisdom to the newbies.
>Sure enough, the staircase swung away from the landing and to
>another.  After a moment, Natalie dropped her arm and led her
>charges along the new route to the Great Hall.  "You always have
>to be careful," she admonished.  "If you're not careful, you
>could fall right off..."
>
>With a loud flapping of cloth, a figure in deep blue robes
>plunged through the open air next to the staircase.
>
>"...the steps!" Natalie finished with a squeak of surprise and no
>small amount of terror.  She dashed to the balustrade, followed
>closely by Ginny and the younger Gryffindors.  They looked over
>the railing just in time to see the robed figure spin around a
>wooden beam and launch itself back up into the air.  A moment
>later it passed the staircase again, where it was revealed to be
>a blond man -- and one Ginny recognized, at that.
>
>Professor Sangnoir grinned and waved at the gobsmacked students.
>"Good morning, kids!  Heading to breakfast?" he asked as he
>slowed to a halt just above their heads.  "Good!" he continued
>without waiting for a response as he began to fall once more.
>"Most important meal of the daaaaaaaaaay!" he trailed off as he
>disappeared below again.
>
>Ginny and Natalie exchanged looks, then stuck their heads back
>over the balustrade.  The first-years swarmed around them to get
>their own looks, as well, some even sticking their heads out
>between the individual stone balusters to see.
>
>The professor was proceeding to the ground level in a series of
>stupendous leaps and acrobatic tumbles. More than once they were
>sure he was going to miss a grab or a landing and break his neck,
>but one long, long, nerve-wracking minute later he was safely on
>the ground floor of the castle.  Natalie and Ginny shared a
>giggle when they saw him bow flamboyantly to the applauding
>paintings at the base of the stairs.
>
>"Who was *that*?" Natalie asked as the staircase shivered and
>then began to swing back to its original position.  Around and
>behind her, the first-years chattered excitedly amongst
>themselves.
>
>Ginny snorted.  "*That* was the new Defense professor."
>
>                              * * *
>
>Defense Classroom.  September 2, 1995, 8:00 AM
>
>Although I'd been coming to it daily for about two weeks now, I
>still had to stop for a moment upon entering and admire my
>classroom.  It was half miniature cathedral, half Ripley's
>Odditorium.  Stone construction that reminded me again of
>Princeton, but with a tall, vaulted ceiling, from which hung both
>an iron chandelier and the skeleton of what looked like a wyvern.
>The chandelier was a little worse for wear; I suspected it had
>come falling down, Phantom-of-the-Opera-style, a couple times in
>its life.  Until the next time it did so, though, it held candles
>that lit the room with magical flames that never consumed their
>wax.  The banks of benches and desks, centuries old and darkened
>by both design and age, took up most of the floor and -- back to
>the cathedral imagery again -- reminded me of pews.  And at one
>end I even had a pulpit.
>
>Well, actually it was a landing of sorts in the middle of a stone
>staircase up to my office proper, but it projected slightly out
>over the floor of the classroom and was somewhat cylindrical in
>shape; it reminded me of more than a few pulpits I'd seen in
>cathedrals, like Saint Patrick's in New York City.
>
>Huge windows allowed the determined Scottish sunlight to
>illuminate the room, at least during the scant daylight hours
>available at this latitude -- clear glass, not stained, but made
>of leaded panes.  Again like McCosh 10 in Princeton.
>
>Unlike Princeton *or* a cathedral, though, was the bric-a-brac
>that had littered the room when Albus first showed it to me.  It
>had been about as eclectic as might be expected given the annual
>turnover in the professorship; I suspected that each of my
>predecessors had left behind at least one item to contribute to
>the collection.  These ranged from optical instruments to African
>sculptures to seashells to a mushroom-covered skull in a bell
>jar.  Several shelves of ancient, decaying grimoires surrounded
>the table under the "pulpit" that served as my desk/lectern.
>
>I got rid of most of the junk by the simple expedient of shoving
>it off on the house-elves to dispose of, but I kept some of the
>more interesting or decorative pieces.  Like the unlabeled marble
>bust of some ancient Wizarding dignitary, which I'd moved to the
>table on the day I'd first visited the room and had been using as
>a helmet perch since.
>
>One thing I didn't keep, though, was a metric crapload of books
>written by a bozo named Lockhart.  (Said bozo having been one of
>my esteemed predecessors about three years earlier.)  I swear,
>there seemed to be a couple of them in every nook and cranny in
>the room.  They all had titles like "Hobnobbing with Hobgoblins",
>"Nattering with Nifflers", and "Wallowing with Wombats".  After
>browsing through them a bit I relegated his entire body of work
>to the same category as Wilbert Slinkhard's treatise on avoiding
>combat by preemptively embracing defeat.  Which is to say,
>worthless junk completely undeserving of a place in a Defense
>classroom.
>
>The end result of my efforts was a room that had enough curious
>doodads to pique the interest of the students, but not so many as
>to distract them unduly, with enough space available to explore
>some practical work when needed.  And I intended on exploring
>practical work for *every* year.
>
>Anyway, I rushed through breakfast that Monday morning, barely
>trading nods of greeting with those of my fellow educators eating
>at the same time, before all but running to my classroom to do my
>last-minute preparations.  Don't get the wrong idea, though -- I
>wasn't the least bit nervous about my first day.  It wasn't the
>first time I'd been a teacher, after all.  And if you're
>affiliated with the Warriors and/or have been reading these
>journals of mine in their proper order, you'll know that.  And if
>you haven't shame on you for skipping.
>
>To start with, at the time of my exile I was one of the primary
>combat trainers for the Warriors' powered infantry corps.
>Skilled soldiers and volunteers all, from the militaries of every
>member nation of the U.N., these were the guys who served as our
>ground troops, doing everything from security at the Mansion to
>backing us up on the really *big* operations.  I was one of the
>Warriors tasked with getting new troops up to speed on using
>powered armor to combat metas, and with keeping the experienced
>troops in fighting trim.
>
>In addition to that, like every other Warrior I had taught the
>occasional class at Warriors Academy, our in-house private school
>for kids with early-manifesting metatalents.  The only real
>difference I could see between Hogwarts and the Academy was the
>class size -- a half-dozen students at the most in an Academy
>class vs. twenty or so here.  And none of the Hogwarts students
>would call me "Uncle Doug" like Nina, Ruth and Gracie did.
>
>Okay, and the subject matter was a little different, too.
>
>After being ejected from my home timeline, teaching naturally
>became one of the ways I chose to support myself.  Over the past
>75 years, I'd have to say I've been a teacher of one stripe or
>another more often than any other single occupation.  Hell, it
>was the way I initially earned my keep in Velgarth, the first
>world I was stuck in after I fell through that damned teleport
>gate in Piccadilly Circus.  Starting with Alberich, their
>existing instructor at the Collegium at Haven in Valdemar, I
>taught unarmed combat to Heralds who were interested -- and it
>kept going from there.
>
>So while the particular subject matter may have been new to me,
>at least in part, the profession certainly wasn't.
>
>Which leads me to my first class.
>
>The voices of children echoing down the hall drew me out of my
>musings, and I quickly positioned myself behind my desk.  I swept
>my hands down the front of my robes to straighten them, glanced
>at my helmet to make sure it wasn't going to fall off Old Marble
>Head, and reassured myself that my wand was still in its holster.
>Then I smiled as I watched the children stream into the room and
>take their seats.
>
>When the last 11-year-old (Euan Abercrombie, dashing in all out
>of breath and toting a bookbag nearly half his size) had found
>his place, I nodded approvingly.  "Good morning," I then said as
>I strode down the aisle that ran down the middle of the room.
>"I'm Professor Sangnoir," I added as I gently shut the door.
>"Welcome to Defense Against the Dark Arts."
>
>                              * * *
>
>Forty-five minutes later, I leaned back against my desk and
>watched with a little satisfied smile as my students exited the
>room, excitedly chattering amongst themselves about the first
>lesson.
>
>That had gone well, I thought.  They'd seemed thoroughly engaged
>with and engrossed by the material.  Good.  I wanted them
>thinking and discussing.
>
>Hogwarts had a very simple schedule -- the basic layout was three
>one-hour periods in both the morning and the afternoon, with a
>longish lunch in between.  Some classes -- like one of my
>upcoming afternoon sessions -- actually took up two slots and
>were called, naturally enough, "doubles".  According to my fellow
>instructors, these were intended to be as much labs as lectures
>(to use college terms).  I intended to use them as often as I
>could for that practical work I mentioned earlier -- and it would
>be *very* practical work.
>
>Which reminded me that I needed to make a quick jaunt back to
>London soon to pick up some martial arts training supplies for my
>upper years -- things like padded mats, sparring gear and wooden
>weapons.  With Albus' knowledge and approval I'd been evolving my
>original syllabi, changing the upper-year programs to be a bit
>more rough-and-tumble, more challenging, with the goal of
>actually teaching real combat techniques to the fifth-year and
>older students.  But to do that I needed the right equipment.
>Chalk up one more thing on my "to-do" list.
>
>                              * * *
>
>September 2, 1995, 12:08 PM
>
>Harry gritted his teeth as he dropped onto a bench at the
>Gryffindor table in the Great Hall.  Between embarrassing himself
>in front of Cho between classes this morning and then Snape being
>an utter bastard to him in Potions as usual, Harry was hard-
>pressed not to alternately pound his head against the table and
>lash out at those around him.  His mood was darker than the
>stormy sky that was mimicked by the ceiling above and visible
>through the rain-lashed windows.
>
>The relative quiet of the weather was vaguely disappointing;
>some overly-dramatic part of his mind wanted the rain to be
>ripped through with lightning and thunder, the better to mirror
>his anger and inner turbulence.
>
>Some other part of him had the good graces to be vaguely ashamed
>of the first part and its desire for overblown theatrics.  Which
>just added to his disgust at himself and his life.  Which made
>him want the theatrics all the more.  Which made him more
>ashamed, and so on in an endless feedback loop.
>
>It was a good thing, he thought, that the silverware was stronger
>than he was, otherwise it might become difficult to eat neatly.
>
>Perhaps fortunately, the other Gryffindors seemed to detect the
>dudgeon he was in, and gave him a wide berth -- when Ron and
>Hermione finally caught up to him he was alone, with empty seats
>across from him and for ten or fifteen feet to either side.  He
>all but ignored them as they sat down, preferring to focus all
>his attention on his shepherd's pie.
>
>Taking her own share of lunch, Hermione tried to console him.
>"Professor Snape was terribly unfair to you, Harry."
>
>"She's right, mate," Ron said as he took his own share of the
>shepherd's pie.  "I mean, did you see Goyle's potion?  It set the
>flagon on fire when he tried to pour it in."
>
>Harry closed his eyes and counted slowly under his breath before
>replying.  "It's not like he's ever been fair to me, has it?"  He
>stabbed his lunch viciously before scooping a forkful into his
>mouth.
>
>After a long moment of silence that Harry took as tacit
>agreement, Hermione looked up from her plate.  "I had hoped that
>he'd be a little better this year," she offered softly, "what
>with... "  She glanced around to confirm that they were still
>effectively alone.  "What with him being in the Order and all."
>
>Ron snorted.  "Not bloody likely.  Poisonous toadstools don't
>change their spots."  He shoveled another portion of the
>shepherd's pie into his mouth and chewed thoughtfully.  "'Course,
>I've always thought Dumbledore's barmy, trusting Snape.  I mean,
>what proof is there that he ever really stopped working for
>You-Know-Who?"
>
>"Ron!" Hermione immediately snapped.  "I'm sure that the
>Headmaster..." she began, only to be cut off by Harry.
>
>"Please.  Don't," he said quietly.  "Just... don't.  Last thing I
>need right now is the two of you going at each other again."
>
>That silenced Ron and Hermione very effectively, and neither said
>more than a word or two more for the rest of lunch.  Finally,
>Harry finished his meal.  Without saying a word to either of his
>friends, he shoved his plate back roughly, sending his fork
>clattering away in a thick spray of brown gravy.  Then he stood,
>swung his schoolbag over his shoulder and departed, leaving them
>sitting there, stunned.
>
>When Ron caught up with Harry in the Divination classroom in the
>last minutes before the first class of the year was to begin, he
>hesitated a moment before dropping heavily into the seat next to
>him.  "You all right, mate?" he asked as he stowed his bookbag
>under the chintz-trimmed chair.  Behind them, Professor Trelawney
>drifted through the room with a stack of books in her arms,
>placing one in front of each seat.
>
>Harry just looked at him for a second before glancing away.
>
>"Because Hermione and me, we're worried about you.  You're not
>usually this... touchy.  Even with Seamus and Snape and
>everything, it's like you're taking everything harder than last
>year."  As Harry opened his mouth to respond to that, Ron added,
>"And we're not fighting, her and me.  We're trying not to, at
>least.  We know you don't like it."
>
>Harry closed his mouth and thought about that for a moment.
>"Thanks," he finally said.
>
>"Right," Ron replied, as he picked up the leather-bound book that
>had already been at his seat.  "'The Dream Oracle', by Inigo
>Imago," he read aloud from cover.  "More rubbish.  How long d'you
>figure before she predicts your death today?"
>
>"Not helping, Ron," Harry muttered.
>
>"Come on, Harry, what else can you do but laugh about it?" Ron
>protested.  "It's all ridiculous, anyway."  He leaned in
>conspiratorially.  "A Sickle says it's in the first 10 minutes of
>class."
>
>"Good day," said Professor Trelawney in her usual misty, dreamy
>voice, and the two of them looked up in surprise.  The classroom
>had filled up while they had been speaking, and the period had
>obviously begun.  "And welcome back to Divination.  I have, of
>course, been following your fortunes most carefully over
>the holidays..."
>
>"Sure you have," Harry muttered, and Ron stifled a snort.
>
>"...and I am delighted to see that you have all returned to
>Hogwarts safely -- as, of course, I knew you would."
>
>"Sure you did," Ron muttered in return, and despite himself,
>Harry felt a smile tug at the corners of his mouth.  Okay, so
>maybe Divination wouldn't be *all* bad.
>
>                              * * *
>
>Several minutes before two, Ron and Harry met up with Hermione in
>front of the Defense classroom.  "I've been listening to people
>who've already had classes with him," Hermione began without
>preamble or greeting, "and I'm not quite sure what to make of it
>all."
>
>"And hullo to you, too, Hermione," Ron said with a smirk at
>Harry, who looked like he couldn't decide if he was annoyed or
>amused at this manifestation of Hermione's latest preoccupation.
>"'Him' who?"
>
>Hermione huffed and rolled her eyes.  "Professor Sangnoir!  Who
>else?"
>
>"Who indeed?" Harry murmured, though not too softly for her to
>hear.
>
>She scowled at him for a moment, then returned to her original
>topic, undeterred.  "What people think of Professor Sangnoir
>depends on what year they're in.  The first years who had DADA
>this morning love him.  He apparently introduced himself to them
>as the 'Defense Against Boring Classes' professor."
>
>Ron guffawed, and despite his dark mood Harry smiled, as much at
>Hermione's obvious disapproval of the idea as at the idea itself.
>With a sniff she continued.  "They say he follows the book, but
>he makes it interesting and engaging, and he already had them
>doing practical work in their first classes.  And he tells funny
>anecdotes about his own experiences that are obviously made up
>but have an immediate connection to the material."
>
>"Made up?" Ron asked.  "Like what?"
>
>Hermione looked somewhat disgruntled.  "Like a story about how he
>and some of his friends fought a woman who could change into a
>dragon, and how they defeated her by putting an inverted
>Bubble-Head Charm on her."
>
>"An inverted Bubble-Head?" Ron asked, his brow furrowing.
>
>"It cut off her air and she passed out," Hermione explained.  "He
>used it as an example of how clever uses of apparently harmless
>spells can completely turn around a battle."
>
>"Huh."  Harry nodded slowly.  If it had actually happened, it was
>a pretty cool stunt.
>
>"Obviously he just made up the story," Hermione continued.  "I
>mean, really, what was she supposed to be, a dragon Animagus?
>Ridiculous!  Still..."  Her tone softened.  "It's a good way to
>teach a lesson like that."  Then her expression hardened.
>"Anyway... anyone who *isn't* a first year who's had a Defense
>class today isn't nearly as happy about him.  Apparently
>Professor Sangnoir wasn't impressed by the last few Defense
>professors, and he's determined to make up for all their
>failures -- in one year."
>
>"In one year?" Harry asked, incredulously.
>
>Hermione nodded vigorously.  "According to one of the third-years
>he says he's racing the DADA curse to get us where he thinks we
>ought to be.  And that means he's teaching as much as he can, as
>fast as he can, and he's not going to be very forgiving."
>
>"Well, isn't that just bloody great," Ron spat.
>
>"It's not like he's as bad as Snape, though, is he, Hermione?"
>Harry asked.
>
>"*Professor* Snape," Hermione chided automatically, and then
>continued, "No, it doesn't seem so.  He's not unfair, he's
>just... *demanding*," she finally said after searching for
>several seconds.  Then she brightened.  "I'm actually looking
>forward to it!"
>
>"You would," Ron muttered, and Harry stifled a snort of
>amusement.
>
>"Ron!" Hermione objected.
>
>"Out of the way of your betters, Granger."  They turned to see
>Draco Malfoy smirking nastily.  His two goons, Crabbe and Goyle,
>stood at their accustomed places at his sides.
>
>"Malfoy," Harry snarled and began to lift his wand.
>
>"Potter," snarled Malfoy as he did the same.
>
>"Children!" came a warning voice through the door.  Harry glared
>at Malfoy before turning on his heel and entering the classroom,
>followed closely by Ron and Hermione.
>
>"Come on in, no need to crowd around the door."  Professor
>Sangnoir's American-accented tenor rose above the noise of the
>students taking out their books and settling into their seats.
>"C'mon, c'mon, I don't bite."  There was a brief pause, during
>which Harry caught a glimpse of him through the crowd, and then
>the professor added, "But while I may not bite, I do claw and
>scratch when necessary."
>
>Quiet laughter bubbled through the class as they finished seating
>themselves, and Harry got his first close-up look at Professor
>Sangnoir since he'd left 12 Grimmauld Place two weeks earlier.
>He was dressed in deep indigo robes trimmed with a twisting
>Celtic knotwork design in a darker blue, barely visible from
>where Harry sat.  He was perched rather informally on the desk at
>the front of the room, which hiked up his robes enough to reveal
>that he was wearing blue jeans and motorcycle boots under them.
>Harry briefly wondered if the professor was also wearing one of
>the apparently infinite supply of T-shirts he seemed to own as
>well, and if so, what it said on it.  To the right of the desk
>was a largish slate standing on an easel; written on it in white
>chalk was, not unexpectedly, "Professor Sangnoir".
>
>The professor smiled and nodded approvingly as the class fell
>silent, then hopped off the desk.  His boots made a solid "thunk"
>against the wooden floor.  Harry was not surprised to spot his
>wand laying on the desktop; if the twins' report on its behavior
>was to be believed, Harry supposed the professor would try to use
>it as little as possible in class.
>
>"Good afternoon, everyone," the professor said, "and welcome to
>Interpretive Dance 101.  I'm very pleased to see such a large
>turnout, and so many young men, too!  Far too many teenage boys
>think that dance is somehow effeminate..."
>
>As a confused murmur rose from the tables, the professor chuckled
>and raised his hands placatingly.  "Just kidding.  Welcome to
>fifth year Defense Against the Dark Arts, double session for
>Slytherin and Gryffindor Houses.  I'm the latest installment of
>your annual instructor subscription, Professor Sangnoir."  He
>gestured to the slate.  "I wanted to start us off with a little
>humour because, I am sorry to say, there won't be a lot to laugh
>about in this class."  He began striding back and forth.  "Your
>previous instructors have, for the most part, been...
>inadequate."  Harry glanced over at Hermione, who smirked at him.
>Then he smiled to himself; based on the conversations he'd
>observed between Professor Sangnoir and Professor Lupin during
>the time the former had spent at 12 Grimmauld Place, he had a
>pretty good idea how few had been considered "adequate".
>
>During his distraction, Professor Sangnoir had continued
>speaking, but his manner had quickly lost its familiar joking
>tone and grown serious, even harsh.  "Compared to what your
>curriculum *should* have been, you -- and most of Hogwarts'
>current generation of students -- have been cheated of a proper
>Defense education.  I intend to correct that to the best of my
>ability in the time we have.  This is especially critical for
>you as fifth-year students, since you are facing your O.W.L.
>tests at the end of the academic year."
>
>He stopped pacing and stood with his arms folded behind his back,
>looking out over the class.  Harry realized with a shock that
>although his robes hid it well, the professor was standing in a
>very military -- *Muggle* military -- parade rest stance.
>"Unlike some of your previous years, this will not be an easy
>course.  I will be pushing you to the edge of your ability and
>beyond.  I will be driving you to excel.  And I will not accept
>failure from any of you."  He closed his eyes for a moment, then
>opened them again.  "Because sooner or later, your lives will
>depend on what I will teach you.  And if I do not teach you to
>*my* satisfaction, then I will share in the guilt for every one
>of you who is injured or killed in the coming years."
>
>The room was deathly silent for a long moment.
>
>"If you think Arithmancy is hard," the professor finally said,
>breaking the silence, "believe me, it will have nothing on
>Defense as I will be teaching it to you.  You *will* hate me,
>but perhaps you will someday thank me for it."  He clapped his
>hands suddenly, startling a couple of girls in the row ahead of
>Harry.  "Well, let's get started.  As a wise man once said, 'We
>come into this world naked, covered in our own blood, and
>screaming in terror -- and it doesn't have to stop there if you
>know how to live right.'"  He smiled, not entirely reassuringly.
>"I'll see to it that you know how to live right."
>
>Harry and Ron traded worried looks.
>
>"But first, I have to take attendance."
>
>                              * * *
>
>So Harry of the messy hair from Grim Old Number 12 was the famous
>Harry Potter of recent history.  As I took the roll, I wondered
>how I had missed that, but then, thinking back, I realized that
>no one, not even the adults, had ever used his last name around
>me.  He'd always been just "Harry", just as the brown-haired girl
>had always been just "Hermione".  Come to think of it, I'd only
>known the Weasley kids' last name because of Charlie.  Still, I
>couldn't help but suspect that maybe they'd deliberately kept
>Harry's name from me to give him a little privacy.  Especially
>with how he was getting savaged by the "Daily Prophet".
>
>And no, I didn't think he was some kind of lying attention-
>seeker.  I know a hatchet job in the press when I see one.  And
>the "Prophet" might as well have been handing its stories about
>Harry to little Georgie Washington and pointing him at a cherry
>tree.  Especially since just about everything written about Harry
>before his return to the Wizarding World had (as I've already
>noted) painted him as the second coming of Christ, only with
>glasses and a flying broom.
>
>During the week I'd spent at 12 Grim I hadn't interacted with him
>very much, but what I'd seen when I had, had been neither a
>crazed anarchist nor the Savior of the Wizarding World -- just a
>fairly normal teen-aged boy with a pretty loyal gang of friends.
>And based on the "Prophet"'s campaign against him and a few
>overheard bits here and there, it was also obvious to me that he
>was Albus' "young man of impeccable character" who had witnessed
>Flight-of-Emo's resurrection.  I was going to have to have a
>private chat with him at some point because unless I missed my
>mark, he was likely to find himself at the center of a lot more
>attention, much of it even more malevolent than the press was
>giving him already.  And I could offer a little advice on how to
>cope with it.
>
>                              * * *
>
>"So," Professor Sangnoir said as he closed the book that held the
>roll.  "Let us begin.  I will start by noting that much of what
>you have been taught over the past four years has been
>*reactive*."  He stepped around the desk.  "By which I mean, you
>have been taught mostly along the lines of 'if in situation X,
>use response Y'.  This is well and good for beginners, but if you
>want to ever *stop* being beginners, you need to approach matters
>from a higher level."
>
>The professor stepped to the slate and picked up a piece of
>chalk.  "What we're going to cover this term starts with these
>points -- you might want to note them down, as they're key
>concepts," he added in an aside, at which twenty quills hovered
>over twenty sheets of parchment.  "First, the nature of evil, and
>the difference between 'dark' and 'evil'.  Second, evil and
>magic.  Thirdly, strategy and tactics."  He scrawled each topic
>on the slate in an unrestrained hand, underlining each one, then
>turned back to face them.
>
>"This is *not* going to be a 'recipe class'.  You are not going
>to learn a list of 'if-thens' here -- 'if confronted by a blue-
>tailed eyebiter, then throw salt at it.'  You are going to learn
>about evil, how it works, how it thinks, why it does what it
>does.  You are going to learn how to identify it at work even
>when it's disguised, how to spot its tools and deflect or break
>them.  When it comes specifically to evil magic, you will not
>learn just simple counter-charms.  You will learn how to defend
>against *any* evil magic, without knowing what it is.  You will
>gain reflexes against it, become able to react and defend before
>you consciously know you've been attacked."  He leaned forward
>and raked his eyes over each and every one of them in the class.
>"I will teach you not only how to defend against evil, but how to
>hunt it down and *destroy* it."
>
>The room was absolutely silent.  Then a single voice in the back
>ranks whispered loudly, "Cor!  All that in one year?"  A wave of
>laughter crashed over the room, releasing the tension that had
>grown during the professor's monologue.  Even the professor
>himself laughed, Harry noted with some relief.
>
>"I'll try, at least," he said, still chuckling.  "Which means we
>need to get started right away."  He clapped his hands together,
>raising a small cloud of chalk dust.  "Right!  Before you can
>defend against evil, you must be able to identify it.  So.  What
>is evil?  Define it please..."  He searched through the students,
>ignoring Hermione's vigorously-waving hand.  "...Mr. Malfoy."
>
>Draco Malfoy smirked.  "The opposite of good, sir," he answered,
>the barest hint of mockery in his voice, and Harry scowled.
>
>Professor Sangnoir apparently caught the faint mockery in Draco's
>voice.  He raised one eyebrow.  "I see we're a sophist, Mr.
>Malfoy.  That was a classic no-answer answer.  While technically
>correct, it is devoid of meaning and thus unacceptable."  His
>jovial tone suddenly chilled.  "Smart-aleck responses will gain
>you no favour in this class, Mr. Malfoy.  Minus three points to
>House Slytherin."
>
>The Slytherins in the class fumed, while the Gryffindors giggled,
>murmured and chuckled among themselves.  Behind his glasses,
>Harry blinked.  He glanced at the Slytherin boy.  Malfoy's usual
>reserve cracked and a look of pure fury blazed across his face
>for a moment; then he noticed Harry watching him and recomposed
>himself, and returned Harry's interest with a baleful, reptilian
>stare.  Harry snorted and returned his attention to the
>instructor.
>
>The professor's voice had gone back to being friendly.  "You'll
>find I'm easy to get along with, if you understand this:  I am
>here to teach you things that will save your lives, the lives of
>your loved ones, and possibly the lives of untold innocents.  But
>I only have a limited amount of time in which to do so.  I don't
>mind wrong answers, if they're sincerely offered.  I *do* mind
>disruptive behavior, sniping at myself or other students, and bad
>attitudes.  I will penalize these according to the level of
>disruption, starting with points and ranging up to and including
>expulsion from this class."  His voice went cold again, and Harry
>realized that his eyes rested solely on Draco Malfoy.  "Do I make
>myself understood?"
>
>"Yes, sir," the class replied in a chorus of desultory murmurs.
>
>"Good.  Now, where were we?  Right.  The definition of evil.
>Does anyone else have any *useful* ideas?"
>
>Hermione's hand was waving so hard that Harry thought it could
>drive a windmill.
>
>"Miss Granger?"
>
>"Evil is selfishness," she said primly.
>
>Professor Sangnoir nodded.  "Good answer."  Hermione sat back, a
>familiar satisfied look on her face.  "Anyone else?"
>
>"Bullies!"
>
>"Murderers!"
>
>"People who hate!"
>
>The whole class began shouting out all manner of despicable
>behaviors, and Professor Sangnoir nodded at almost all of them.
>Harry kept silent, thinking about the evil he'd come face-to-face
>with over the past few years, and tried to figure out if there
>was a common element to it all.  Next to him, Hermione hmphed in
>annoyance as the answers offered began to dip into the trivial
>and silly.
>
>"Objects," Harry suddenly blurted as something occurred to him.
>
>"What was that, Mister Potter?" Professor Sangnoir asked.
>
>Harry started; he hadn't realized he'd spoken aloud.  He tried to
>ignore the flush of embarrassment he felt climbing up his face.
>"Um.  Objects, sir.  All the really evil people and creatures
>I've ever met treated people like... like *things* you could use
>up and throw out like garbage."
>
>An approving smile flickered across the professor's grim face.
>"Exactly.  One key identifying characteristic of evil is that it
>sees other living creatures -- sentient beings or not -- as
>*things* to use, abuse, and discard in order to achieve its
>goals.  Empathy is alien to it; it has no care for the feelings
>of other beings except when it delights in their manipulation.
>An evil person may have exceptions to this general perception,
>but that's all they are -- exceptions.  Uncommon cases somehow
>special and different from the vast bulk of humanity."  He looked
>about at the class.  "In any case, most of the other attributes
>the class was suggesting, especially Miss Granger's suggestion,
>are *symptoms* of evil.  Very good, Mister Potter.  Five points
>to Gryffindor."  Harry couldn't help but smile slightly; Ron and
>Hermione were less restrained.
>
>"Let me just add here," Professor Sangnoir continued, "that one
>does not have to be actively delighting in the harm of others to
>be evil.  Evil can be banal and routine, like a guard in a prison
>camp convinced that an entire group of people are somehow less
>than human and thus undeserving of basic rights and dignity.  He
>is not a sadist, but he will torture and kill them without a
>qualm because to him they *do not matter* -- any more than an
>insect or a stone would."
>
>The professor then asked, "There is another key attribute of
>evil.  Any guesses?"
>
>The room grew silent as twenty youthful faces frowned in intense
>concentration.  Harry, without realizing it, was among them.  He
>dug through his memories of his confrontations with anyone he
>thought of as evil, from Lord Voldemort in all his guises over
>the years, to Lucius Malfoy and the other Death Eaters, to even
>someone as petty in their evil as Rita Skeeter, and tried to find
>something all of them had in common.
>
>"Anyone?" the professor asked of the quiet classroom.
>
>Harry bit his lip as he thought of a possibility.  Hesitantly, he
>raised his hand.
>
>"Mr. Potter?"  The professor's tone seemed slightly amused, but
>not mocking.
>
>Harry swallowed.  His answer didn't seem to make sense, but it
>fit the facts...  well, some of them.  "Evil...  it seems to
>think it's *Good*, sir."  He winced.  That hadn't come out the
>way he wanted it to.
>
>To his surprise, the professor gave him another approving nod.
>"Very good, Mr. Potter."  He turned his attention on the rest of
>the class.  "Evil -- *true* Evil -- is very often convinced it is
>Good or acting for the good of others.  It is, in fact, *far*
>more certain that it is Good than Good is -- and that's how you
>can often tell the difference.  Good doubts itself and the means
>it uses to accomplish its goals -- it's a necessary mechanism
>that *keeps* it Good.  Evil never doubts itself, its motives or
>its methods.  It deludes itself, or lets itself be easily deluded
>by others, that it is always in the right, and that whatever
>action it chooses to take can be justified by its goals or its
>ideology.  It is always convinced that what it does is Good.  Of
>course, it usually redefines 'Good' to mean whatever *it* wants."
>
>He sat back down on the edge of the desk.  "If you ever have
>doubts about the rightness of a course you have set yourself on,
>you are at the very least redeemable.  Only the irredeemably evil
>are ever *absolutely* sure of their actions."  He held a finger
>up to his nose for a moment, an odd gesture in Harry's opinion.
>"Now some of you will object that you have read about villains
>who delight in their villainy, who rub their hands and cackle
>about how eeeeeevil they are."  The professor suited action to
>words, hunching over and miming so stereotypical a villain that
>Harry had to join his classmates in laughter.  "Ooooh, arrrrr,
>I'll be eatin' me some babies this mornin', I will, an' then at
>10 o'clock I have me weekly oppressin' o' the peasants."
>
>The professor straightened, shedding the persona instantly, and
>the laughter evaporated into an uneasy quiet.  "They do exist,
>but such behavior is more a symptom of insanity than of evil.
>The two *do* intersect, but we'll cover that in a bit more detail
>later in the term.  True evil *rarely* gloats about how evil it
>is.  It's more likely to sound like this."
>
>Again he changed his posture and bearing, and for a moment Harry
>was sure he was looking at Lucius Malfoy in the hallway outside
>Dumbledore's office, two years earlier.  "You must understand,"
>the professor said in cultured and sophisticated tones that
>sounded completely unlike his American-accented speech, "that
>these are dangerous times.  Certain... concessions must be made
>to guarantee the safety of the average witch and wizard in the
>street.  Mandatory weekly Legilimentic examination of every adult
>in Wizarding Britain is the only way to guarantee that the
>disruptive elements among our population are identified and...
>rooted out.  No, no, of course members of the Wizengamot will be
>exempt."  Then with a faint, not-quite-smug smile he added, "As a
>matter of fact, I have several associates quite skilled in
>Legilimency who would be willing to act as examiners for only a
>token fee."
>
>Harry shivered, and risked a glance across the classroom at
>Malfoy.  The Slytherin was absolutely stock-still, his lips
>pressed into a tight line and his eyes narrowed.  *This*, Harry
>thought, *is going to be interesting.*
>
>                              * * *
>
>"Finally!" Hermione exclaimed as they left the classroom almost
>two hours later.  "A decent Defense professor.  *Another*," she
>hastily amended herself when Harry cleared his throat.
>"*Another* decent professor.  The first since Professor Lupin,"
>she added with an apologetic look at Harry.
>
>"Decent?"  Ron stopped and stared at her.  "We didn't do anything
>the whole class other than listen to him talk about philosophy.
>Now, I'll admit he made me laugh here and there but, bloody hell,
>woman..."
>
>"Language, Ron!" Hermione snapped reflexively.
>
>"He did say we'll be starting practical work in the next class,"
>Harry pointed out.  "And he'll be evaluating our wandwork during
>the next double class on Thursday."
>
>"What I want to know is what happened to the bloke who spent his
>time drinking and joking with S... Snuffles," Ron grumbled.
>
>"He flew away on his motorcycle and we haven't seen him since,"
>Hermione sniffed, then strode off.
>
>Ron stared after her, and then turned to Harry.  "Did she just
>make a joke?"
>
>                              * * *
>
>    *I must agree that despite his foppish demeanour at the
>    start-of-term feast, Professor Sangnoir does appear to be as
>    troublesome as you had indicated to me the night before I
>    left.  He is clearly hostile to the Dark Lord's cause and
>    given to mocking his betters.  Combined with his inexplicable
>    charisma and skill at holding a class's attention, this makes
>    him potentially very dangerous.*
>
>    *His hostility to our cause may be in part because I suspect
>    he is a Squib.  Although his wand was visible on the desk at
>    the front of the class, I have yet to see him even touch it,
>    let alone cast a spell with it.*
>
>    *For that matter, have you been able to find more information
>    on his family history and blood status yet?*
>
>                              * * *
>
>September 2, 1995, 4:28 PM
>
>"You wanted to see us, Professor?" one half of FredAndGeorge
>Weasley said after knocking on my open classroom door.
>
>It was a few minutes after the last students from my final class
>of the day had finally departed.  I was beginning to wonder
>about my assumption that my second-years and above would hate me.
>Some very definitely did not like the intensity at which I was
>teaching, but others seemed to warm to the challenge -- mostly
>Ravenclaws, which from what I'd been told was practically a
>foregone conclusion.  But there were a few in every House who
>seemed to come alive in my classes, and who hung around at the
>end of the period to ask questions.
>
>I'd just shooed the last of the most recent bunch out of my
>office, almost half an hour after the final period of the day had
>ended, and had been shaking my head at the incredible enthusiasm
>they'd shown.  I was going to be putting them through something
>almost as challenging as a Warrior's probationary period, and
>they were looking forward to it.  Weird.
>
>The arrival of the twins (in response to a request I'd passed
>along via their brother Ron) was what I needed to kick me out of
>my mental loop.  "Come on in, guys, and shut the door behind
>you."
>
>They traded raised eyebrows but did so.  "So, what can we do for
>you, Professor?" said the other half of the pair.
>
>I looked up at the arched stone ceiling with a grin.  "Word on
>the street says you two are the ones to go to for certain...
>wagering opportunities."  Said word being uttered with fond
>exasperation by Minerva and a few others on the staff.
>
>"A lie..." said one.
>
>"...and a base canard," said the other.
>
>"What's a canard, anyway?" muttered the first.
>
>"A lie, or a small wing on a Muggle aircraft," I said.  "It's
>also French for 'duck'."
>
>"Right," said the first.  "It's a lie..."
>
>"...and a base duck," finished the other.  They shared a grin and
>a nod.  "I like that.  Has style."
>
>"Ducks are always in style," I agreed.  "So, then, no truth at
>all to the rumor.  Pity."  I took out a Galleon coin, flipped it
>into the air with my thumb, and caught it when it came back down.
>"I had some money with nothing to do with its time but ride on a
>wager.  It'll be so disappointed."
>
>Thing Two held up a finger.  "Now wait a moment, let's not be too
>hasty here."  The pair of them then shared another look, this one
>longer than the first.  The *hell* they didn't read each other's
>minds.
>
>Thing One disengaged and switched his gaze to me.  "We *do*
>sometimes facilitate practical research into probability
>distribution for select members of the student body."
>
>"Ah," I said, flipping the coin again.  "You do.  In that case,
>I'd like you to facilitate research into the chance I'll last
>all the way to the end-of-year feast in June.  20 Galleons' worth
>of research."
>
>"Sold!" they said in unison.
>
>I dug into my sleeve and pulled out a sack of Galleons I had
>bagged earlier in the day.  "Oh, and five more on 'Fired by
>Halloween'."
>
>And after they gave me the stubs for my wagers and took off for
>dinner, I cornered Minerva and placed the same bets in the
>*faculty* pool.
>
>                              * * *
>
>September 2, 1995, 7:33 PM
>
>"Professor?" Harry Potter said as he entered the Headmaster's
>office.  "Professor McGonagall said you wanted to talk to me?"
>
>Professor Dumbledore looked up from his desk, but his gaze never
>came near Harry's face.  "Yes, Harry, please come in and take a
>seat."
>
>Harry did so, taking note of the objects that occupied the center
>of the Headmaster's desktop.  The large, low stone bowl with
>runes engraved around its rim was familiar enough from his
>experience with it just a few months ago, although today it was
>empty, no silvery contents emitting shining white light; it
>merely garnered a curious glance.  The blackened, ink-stained
>book with a hole more than an inch wide punched neatly through
>it, however, actually caused him to falter and nearly miss his
>seat.  "Is that..."
>
>Dumbledore nodded without looking directly at him.  "Voldemort's
>diary, yes."  He sighed.  "I have been studying it in order to
>answer a question of grave importance.  But I find that in order
>to determine that answer, I must ask a favor of you, Harry."
>
>"Anything, sir.  I'm happy to help in any way I can," Harry said,
>frowning at the way that the Headmaster refused to meet his eyes.
>"Professor, is there something wrong?  Why aren't you looking at
>me?  Ever since the hearing last month..."
>
>The Headmaster sighed again.  "I mean no insult to you, Harry,
>nor should you take it as anger or disapproval on my part; it is
>merely a... precautionary measure that I'm afraid I cannot
>explain to you at the present time.  I do promise that I will
>explain as soon as it becomes safe; will that satisfy you for
>now?"
>
>Harry's brow furrowed in confusion.  Was half an explanation
>better than none, if it left him just as confused?  "I suppose
>so," he said doubtfully after several moments' thought.  "I was
>just worried that... well, with the hearing and the dementors and
>all..."
>
>Dumbledore shook his head, a sad smile flitting across his lips.
>"No, Harry, you need not fear any growing distance in our
>relationship.  In fact, I am extremely proud of how well you have
>held up under the stresses of the last few weeks."
>
>"Thank you, sir."  Partial relief, if not total, washed over him.
>He'd been worried that he'd been losing the closest thing he had
>to a grandfather; Dumbledore's reassurance dispelled that fear.
>"So, what is it that I can do for you, Headmaster?"
>
>Dumbledore smiled and gestured at the stone bowl.  "I'm sure you
>recall my Pensieve."
>
>Harry returned the smile.  "Yes, sir, I certainly do."  Then he
>made a sudden, intuitive leap, and asked, "Do you need to see a
>memory of mine, Professor?"
>
>"Indeed I do, Harry, although you may of course choose not to
>share it with me."  Dumbledore's eyes grew distant.  "It is, I am
>sure, *not* one of your happier memories, and I would not blame
>you if you did not want to revisit it even to the minor extent
>that is needed to transfer it to the Pensieve."
>
>Harry frowned.  "Which memory is it?  If it's to defeat
>Voldemort, I'll help any way I can."
>
>Dumbledore closed his eyes, then opened them again.  "If you
>would be so kind, Harry, I would like to see your memory of
>Voldemort's resurrection."
>
>"Certainly, sir," Harry said without hesitation, though the
>thought did fill him with some trepidation.
>
>The process, Harry discovered, was simpler than he had feared --
>visualize the memory then draw it out of one's mind with the tip
>of a wand as though it were a string pulled by a buttonhook, and
>then deposit the memory within the Pensieve.  The Headmaster then
>gave Harry the option of *not* viewing the memory along with him,
>but Harry refused, and they both plunged their faces into the
>silvery contents of the bowl at the same moment.
>
>Some time later, they returned to the Headmaster's office.
>
>"My dear boy," the Headmaster said after they spent several
>seconds recovering.  "I must apologize profusely for my part in
>what you experienced."
>
>Harry shook his head.  "You didn't have anything to do with it,
>Professor!"
>
>Dumbledore chuckled sadly, still not looking at Harry's eyes.
>"Oh, but I did.  Had I tried harder to find a way to release you
>from the hold of the Goblet, or had I noticed my old friend
>Alastor was not quite himself, I might have been able to spare
>you the horrors of that night."  He shook his head.  "Instead I
>doomed you to suffer through so much last year, and helped bring
>Voldemort back to the ranks of the living as surely as though I
>performed the ritual myself."
>
>Hesitantly, Harry laid a hand on the older wizard's arm.  "I
>think you're being too hard on yourself, Professor."  Desperate
>for something to change the mood, he asked, "Did you find what
>you were looking for in my memory?"
>
>"What?"  Dumbledore looked up, almost meeting Harry's eyes before
>wresting them away again.  "Oh, yes.  Indeed, my boy, I did, and
>I thank you."
>
>"What was it you were looking for?" Harry asked as he drew back
>his hand.
>
>"Ah."  The Headmaster nodded, more to himself than to answer,
>Harry thought.  "I had thought I'd known the means by which
>Voldemort had managed his resurrection, but Professor Sangnoir
>offered other possibilities and thus raised some doubt in my
>mind.  Being able to see the exact ritual used on that terrible,
>terrible night...  I am glad to say my original suppositions were
>correct."
>
>"And that's good, sir?" Harry ventured.
>
>Dumbledore smiled sadly.  "It is perhaps not the *best* of the
>possibilities, but it is the one about which I know the most, and
>consequently with which I am best prepared to deal.  So yes, it
>is good, Harry, for a cautious sense of 'good'."
>
>                              * * *
>
>After dinner I had another tutoring session with Septima Vector.
>As I had feared, I had been finding that anything beyond basic
>schoolboy Arithmancy was annoyingly difficult; I'm not all that
>mathematically-inclined, which made it worse.
>
>"But you're a programmer and an engineer," I hear you, O
>Hypothetical Reader, objecting.  "Not to mention a mutant genius
>with semi-eidetic memory.  How can you *not* be a master of the
>most complex mathematics?"
>
>Because I'm not, okay?  Despite my general genetic awesomeness,
>there are more than a few things I suck at.  Among other things,
>I can't surf (yeah, California boy, go figure), I can barely
>swim, and I *don't do math*.  I only learned as much as I needed
>for my chosen profession(s) as of my college years -- which is to
>say calculus and just a bit beyond.
>
>Arithmancy firmly trod on ground more than just a bit beyond, and
>that made my lessons with Septima more than just a bit
>interesting.  But I will gladly acknowledge that she was a very
>talented teacher *and* quite gifted in her chosen field of study;
>she did more to lead me into advanced mathematics than any
>professor I ever studied under at Princeton.  I was learning far
>more than I had expected from her, and not just about the
>mathematics of Wizarding magic.
>
>Then again, as little as I wanted to admit it, Septima was
>learning as much as -- and arguably more than -- I in return.
>She had (as I've noted) decided to take up what she thought of as
>my personal notation system for mathemagics, and for those first
>couple weeks, at least, it had been giving her fits -- because in
>order to really grasp it she had to abandon all pretense that the
>wizards and witches of this world possessed the Ultimate Truth of
>Magic, and she still hadn't realized that.
>
>I would have been more comforted by the feeling of smug
>superiority this could have given me if she still hadn't been
>picking it up a whole hell of a lot faster than I was picking up
>Arithmancy.
>
>Dammit.
>
>That evening's lesson was the turning point where she left me
>behind in the dust, and at the same time blew all my own pretense
>out of the water.
>
>"So," Septima said as she settled into her seat at the table
>where we held our tutoring sessions.  "You've been hiding
>something from me, Doug."
>
>Well, yeah.  Got something specific in mind?  "I have?"
>
>She looked at me through narrowed eyes.  "I know your level of
>mathematical skill, Doug.  Our work over the past couple weeks
>makes it pretty clear what your limits are."  She pulled out the
>bound stack of parchment sheets in which she had made all her
>notes.  "And this 'personal notation system' of yours extends
>into areas that are far beyond your capabilities.  Once I saw
>that, and applied certain Muggle mathematical principles to it, I
>had a moment of epiphany.  And *that* led me to a quite
>comprehensive understanding of the system.  At which point I
>realized two things."
>
>Ah, shit.  I tried to look nonchalant.  "What're those, Septima?"
>
>She flipped open the crude "book" and paged through it.  Damn.
>The last time I'd seen it, it hadn't even been a third full.  Now
>well over half the sheets in the bundle were covered with
>Septima's elegant longhand.  On both sides.  "First, that this
>'personal notation' of yours is too complex and too complete to
>be the ad-hoc creation of an Arithmantic innumerate like
>yourself."
>
>"Hey!" I protested, only half-seriously.
>
>She ignored me.  "Someone else -- someone far more skilled in far
>more abstruse mathematics than you have demonstrated yourself
>capable of -- created this system you've claimed as your own."
>She paged further through the book.  "Secondly -- and I found
>this almost impossible to believe at first -- it is ultimately
>not for describing Wizarding magic.  Or at least not *only*
>Wizarding magic."  She held out the book to me, and I looked at
>the page she'd chosen.
>
>It was a generic description of a basic light spell -- the spell
>designer's equivalent of "Hello World" -- in her handwriting.
>Following it were translations into executable spells for
>Wizarding wand-magic (with the incantation "lux" instead of the
>usual "lumos"), something that looked a little like a Hermetic
>ritual, and something that seemed to be utterly random and based
>on the stuff you might find on a teacher's desktop.  Next to each
>one was one word -- the same word, three times, in her elegant
>writing:  "Works".
>
>"Um," I said, completely flabbergasted.  The woman had to be a
>genius, maybe even on my scale.  How else could she have gotten
>that far in the two days since our last session?  Especially with
>all the start-of-term stuff going on?  She'd taken what I'd been
>able to teach her about the UTM and its notation, and raced far
>ahead of me, reconstructing the parts I didn't know and couldn't
>use from what I'd given her combined with sheer mathematic
>inevitability.
>
>"This notation system can't possibly be your work, Doug.  So
>please tell me," she continued in low, silky tones, "where did
>you find a system that describes magic using Muggle mathematics
>in such a way that it can be used to define not just Wizarding
>magic, but any other kind of magic one can imagine -- and make
>it all *function*?"
>
>I sighed, rubbed my hand down my face, and said, "We need to talk
>to Albus."
>
>Long story short, we told Septima where I came from.  It took
>both Albus confirming my story and me demonstrating some of my
>metatalents to convince her, but with the evidence in front of
>her she was quite rational about the whole thing and didn't freak
>out about it.  On the contrary, she just nodded and said, "Well,
>that makes perfect sense."
>
>And since she was in on the ... well, it wasn't really a secret
>so much as just a thing I wasn't talking about, but once she was
>in on it, there was no reason not to bring her in on the
>dimensional magic research as well.  So now there were three of
>us working on getting me home, one of whom now had the dual grasp
>of both Wizarding magic and the UTM which Albus and I had been
>working toward.  Which was very good indeed.
>
>                              * * *
>
>    *...all in all, Father, I feel the prospects for our cause are
>    excellent this year.  Of course, I shall continue to watch
>    both Potter and the Defense professor, and will report to you
>    anything that strikes me as significant about either of them
>    or their actions.*
>    
>    *Give my love to Mother, and please reassure her that I am
>    eating properly.*
>    
>    *In the service of our Dark Lord, I remain*
>    *Your son,*
>    *Draco*
>
>
>
>END OF CHAPTER THREE
>
>------------------------------------
>
>This work of fiction is copyright (C) 2014, Robert M. Schroeck,
>and is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-
>Noncommercial 3.0 Unported License.
>
>The Harry Potter universe and the settings and the characters
>thereof are the property of J.K. Rowling, Bloomsbury and Warner
>Brothers, and are used without permission.
>
>Some of Dumbledore's dialogue during the start-of-term feast
>along with several lines from the Sorting Hat's song were taken
>verbatim from "Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix" by J.K.
>Rowling; I do not believe the selections I employed were beyond
>the bounds of Fair Use, but if someone more knowledgeable than I
>in the legalities of the matter says otherwise, I will gladly
>correct it.
>
>"Douglas Q. Sangnoir," "Looney Toons", "The Loon" and any
>representations thereof are copyright by and trademarks of Robert
>M. Schroeck.
>
>For a full explanation of the references and hidden tidbits in
>this story, see the Drunkard's Walk VIII Concordance at:
>
>	http://www.accessdenied-rms.net/dw8conc.shtml
>
>Other chapters of this story (when there are any), along with
>other parts of the Drunkard's Walk saga, can be found at:
>
>	http://www.accessdenied-rms.net/dwmain.shtml
>
>The Drunkard's Walk discussion board is open for those who wish
>to trade thoughts and comments with other readers, as well as
>with the author:
>
>	http://drunkardswalkforums.yuku.com
>
>Many thanks to my prereaders on this chapter:  Christopher Angel,
>Kathleen Avins, Nina Avins, Nathan Baxter, Ed Becerra, Andrew
>Carr, Kevin Cody, Logan Darklighter, Shaye Horwitz, Helen Imre,
>Eric James, Josh Megerman, Berg Oswell, Peggy Schroeck and Amanda
>Stair-Duran.
>
>C&C gratefully accepted.
>
>
>
>------------------------------
>
>Message: 2
>Date: Mon, 17 Feb 2014 00:59:01 -0500
>From: William Lathan <zoomorph at gmail.com>
>To: The Fanfiction Mailing List <ffml at chez-vrolet.net>
>Subject: Re: [FFML] {HP] {XOVER] Drunkard's Walk VIII, Chapter 3
>Message-ID:
>	<CAPTqiaaGO2WKMsomC3=FS01dhQ4r2Boc1dFiM3m=YL1L8ZHCBQ at mail.gmail.com>
>Content-Type: text/plain; charset="iso-8859-1"
>
>Not sure if it's just me, but your post cuts off at this point:
>
>
>
>> seemed to come alive in my classes, and who hung around at the
>> end of the period to ask questions.
>>
>> I'd just shooed the last of the most recent bunch out of my
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>
>------------------------------
>
>Message: 3
>Date: Mon, 17 Feb 2014 02:03:35 -0500
>From: O David Morgan <dmorgan at tgbob.com>
>To: The Fanfiction Mailing List <ffml at chez-vrolet.net>
>Subject: Re: [FFML] {HP] {XOVER] Drunkard's Walk VIII, Chapter 3
>Message-ID: <5301B447.9020809 at tgbob.com>
>Content-Type: text/plain; charset=ISO-8859-1; format=flowed
>
>William Lathan wrote:
>> Not sure if it's just me, but your post cuts off at this point:
>>
>
>I got the whole thing.  -shrugs-
>And I intend to finish reading it before bedtime!
>
>-Strike & Co.
>-- 
>Rule # 1: There are always exceptions to the rules.
>
>
>------------------------------
>
>Message: 4
>Date: Mon, 17 Feb 2014 06:22:54 +0000
>From: the DragonBard <dragonbard at hotmail.com>
>To: The Fanfiction Mailing List <ffml at chez-vrolet.net>
>Subject: Re: [FFML] {HP] {XOVER] Drunkard's Walk VIII, Chapter 3
>Message-ID: <BLU176-W218AAA4ADB6D75F29A7D49CB990 at phx.gbl>
>Content-Type: text/plain; charset="iso-8859-1"
>
>I got the whole thing.
>
>I used to have problems with pages cutting like that back before I got a new computer, when the pages started exceeding the available RAM.
>
>> Date: Mon, 17 Feb 2014 00:59:01 -0500
>> From: zoomorph at gmail.com
>> To: ffml at chez-vrolet.net
>> Subject: Re: [FFML] {HP] {XOVER] Drunkard's Walk VIII, Chapter 3
>> 
>> Not sure if it's just me, but your post cuts off at this point:
>> 
>> 
>> 
>> > seemed to come alive in my classes, and who hung around at the
>> > end of the period to ask questions.
>> >
>> > I'd just shooed the last of the most recent bunch out of my
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>Message: 5
>Date: Sun, 16 Feb 2014 23:31:37 -0700
>From: Arthur Hansen <arthurh3535 at gmail.com>
>To: The Fanfiction Mailing List <ffml at chez-vrolet.net>
>Subject: Re: [FFML] {HP] {XOVER] Drunkard's Walk VIII, Chapter 3
>Message-ID:
>	<CAH3C2Fx86tXx8oMjpsUBNsQZA7f3Z11nN9JqsmcyMwTEbAivZQ at mail.gmail.com>
>Content-Type: text/plain; charset=ISO-8859-1
>
>It's usually an email-client thing.
>_____________________________________
>Arthur Hansen
>
>Fan artist and author.
>
>
>On Sun, Feb 16, 2014 at 11:22 PM, the DragonBard <dragonbard at hotmail.com> wrote:
>> I got the whole thing.
>>
>> I used to have problems with pages cutting like that back before I got a new computer, when the pages started exceeding the available RAM.
>>
>> Date: Mon, 17 Feb 2014 00:59:01 -0500
>> From: zoomorph at gmail.com
>> To: ffml at chez-vrolet.net
>> Subject: Re: [FFML] {HP] {XOVER] Drunkard's Walk VIII, Chapter 3
>>
>> Not sure if it's just me, but your post cuts off at this point:
>>
>>
>>
>> > seemed to come alive in my classes, and who hung around at the
>> > end of the period to ask questions.
>> >
>> > I'd just shooed the last of the most recent bunch out of my
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>>          |   Unsubscribing - ffml-request at chez-vrolet.net   |
>>          |         Put 'unsubscribe' in the subject         |
>>          `----- FAQ http://chez-vrolet.net/ffml/faq.txt ----'
>>
>>
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>>          |   Unsubscribing - ffml-request at chez-vrolet.net   |
>>          |         Put 'unsubscribe' in the subject         |
>>          `----- FAQ http://chez-vrolet.net/ffml/faq.txt ----'
>>
>
>
>------------------------------
>
>Message: 6
>Date: Mon, 17 Feb 2014 13:36:57 -0330
>From: Amberion <amberion2dp at gmail.com>
>To: The Fanfiction Mailing List <ffml at chez-vrolet.net>
>Subject: Re: [FFML] {HP] {XOVER] Drunkard's Walk VIII, Chapter 3
>Message-ID:
>	<CA+61jbc_XbOk7utvhuQquvprbTxb6B=AzjNfbcwJVA=kZJqTCA at mail.gmail.com>
>Content-Type: text/plain; charset="iso-8859-1"
>
>if you are using gmail as I am, try reading the message source. That worked
>for me.
>
>
>On Mon, Feb 17, 2014 at 3:01 AM, Arthur Hansen <arthurh3535 at gmail.com>wrote:
>
>> It's usually an email-client thing.
>> _____________________________________
>> Arthur Hansen
>>
>> Fan artist and author.
>>
>>
>> On Sun, Feb 16, 2014 at 11:22 PM, the DragonBard <dragonbard at hotmail.com>
>> wrote:
>> > I got the whole thing.
>> >
>> > I used to have problems with pages cutting like that back before I got a
>> new computer, when the pages started exceeding the available RAM.
>> >
>> > Date: Mon, 17 Feb 2014 00:59:01 -0500
>> > From: zoomorph at gmail.com
>> > To: ffml at chez-vrolet.net
>> > Subject: Re: [FFML] {HP] {XOVER] Drunkard's Walk VIII, Chapter 3
>> >
>> > Not sure if it's just me, but your post cuts off at this point:
>> >
>> >
>> >
>> > > seemed to come alive in my classes, and who hung around at the
>> > > end of the period to ask questions.
>> > >
>> > > I'd just shooed the last of the most recent bunch out of my
>> > -------------- next part --------------
>> > An HTML attachment was scrubbed...
>> > URL: <
>> http://www.chez-vrolet.net/pipermail/ffml/attachments/20140217/a59c24ee/attachment.html
>> >
>> >          .-------Anime/Manga Fanfiction Mailing List--------.
>> >          |   Administrators - ffml-admins at chez-vrolet.net   |
>> >          |   Unsubscribing - ffml-request at chez-vrolet.net   |
>> >          |         Put 'unsubscribe' in the subject         |
>> >          `----- FAQ http://chez-vrolet.net/ffml/faq.txt ----'
>> >
>> >
>> > -------------- next part --------------
>> > An HTML attachment was scrubbed...
>> > URL: <
>> http://www.chez-vrolet.net/pipermail/ffml/attachments/20140217/2a812234/attachment.html
>> >
>> >          .-------Anime/Manga Fanfiction Mailing List--------.
>> >          |   Administrators - ffml-admins at chez-vrolet.net   |
>> >          |   Unsubscribing - ffml-request at chez-vrolet.net   |
>> >          |         Put 'unsubscribe' in the subject         |
>> >          `----- FAQ http://chez-vrolet.net/ffml/faq.txt ----'
>> >
>>          .-------Anime/Manga Fanfiction Mailing List--------.
>>          |   Administrators - ffml-admins at chez-vrolet.net   |
>>          |   Unsubscribing - ffml-request at chez-vrolet.net   |
>>          |         Put 'unsubscribe' in the subject         |
>>          `----- FAQ http://chez-vrolet.net/ffml/faq.txt ----'
>>
>>
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>------------------------------
>
>Subject: Digest Footer
>
>---
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>------------------------------
>
>End of ffml Digest, Vol 80, Issue 5
>***********************************