Town and Gown

Knowing your own darkness is the best method for dealing with the darknesses of other people.

    -- Carl Jung

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"We need to sit closer to the front! How can we see anything if we're all the way back here?"

"Hermione, we're only five rows back."

"Just because *you* like goofing off in the back of the room, Ron Weasley, doesn't mean that the rest of us do!"

"Stop it, you two," Harry sighed, pushing his glasses up from where they had slipped down his nose. "Ron, I'm sure we can move up another row. Hermione, you know I don't like being right on top of the person who's talking, so is four rows back all right with you?"

Neville, who had been quietly walking behind Harry, piped up, "Would it be all right if I sat with you? Four rows back is fine with me. I don't really like being in the front row, either."

"See?" Ron said, smirking.

Hermione flounced past him in a huff. "Fine, fine," she said, letting the sarcasm drip off her words. "It's possibly the most IMPORTANT lecture of the year, but far be it from me to want to actually PAY ATTENTION."

Professor McGonagall swept forward, scattering the students in her path. Her hands were fluttering about, shooing them down the aisle. "Come along, Miss Granger, Mr. Weasley, sit down so other students can get to their seats. We mustn't keep Professor Stanton waiting."

The four friends settled into the centre of the large lecture hall.

"What's this all about, anyway?" Neville asked Ron as they sat down. Harry had judiciously placed himself in between Ron and Hermione, with the hope of preventing another row from breaking out between the two.

"Dunno. Guest speaker, from the look of it," Ron said with a shrug.

"Have you heard anything about it, Hermione?" Harry asked.

Hermione nodded. "I was talking to McGonagall the other day after class, and she mentioned that this Professor Stanton's talk is about Defence Against the Dark Arts and Muggle Studies. She wouldn't say much more than that, except to inform me that if anyone skipped the lecture, we'd fail both classes for the year."

"Really?" Ron gave a low whistle, and Neville's eyes widened considerably.

Harry scratched his head. "Well, whatever it's about, she's certainly uptight about it. I've never seen her so jumpy. Like a cat on the coals."

"Snape doesn't seem to be acting any different," Ron said, jerking his head toward the Potions master, who was watching a group of Slytherins file into the lecture hall. There was a look of profound irritation on his face.

"I don't see why we have to be with the Slytherins for this," Harry commented. "You'd think they'd know better by now. Why not put us with Ravenclaw, or even Hufflepuff?"

"I'm sure they'll hear the lecture after us," Hermione said sagely.

"How does that explain anything?" asked Ron.

"Chocolate Frog?" Harry offered, quickly passing out the slightly squashy chocolates before Hermione decided to retort. His efforts were rewarded with the sound of contented munching, just as Professor McGonagall marched up to the raised dais at the front of the hall.

She gave the assembled students a stern glare, her piercing gaze roaming around the hall in search of miscreants. "Now, I hope that all of you will give Professor Stanton your full and undivided attention. I also hope that I don't need to remind you how we at Hogwarts behave toward our distinguished guests. I expect nothing but appropriate conduct from each and every one of you."

"Who does she think we are? A bunch of silly first-years?" Ron said in a stage whisper.

"Ssh!" hissed Hermione, craning her neck to see over the heads of the few students in front of her.

There was movement up in the front of the hall, and a smattering of polite applause spread across the audience as a dark-robed figure approached the raised platform and took his place behind the podium at centre stage.

Their lecturer was a tall man in his late thirties or early forties, with an unruly thatch of short brown hair. He wore a dark floor-length cloak, which was clasped at the throat with a flat gold bar. His round face was placid and entirely unremarkable. From somewhere within his cloak, he produced a pair of thin, horn-rimmed spectacles and settled them on his nose.

Harry's first impression of him was that of a man behind a glass wall. He looked kind, true, but he had an air about him that made him seem entirely unapproachable. The closest comparison he could make was to think of...no, it wasn't like being watched by Snape, who made you feel clumsy and ignorant with every cold glance and cutting word. This was more analytical, more detached, as if the man had seen everything before and was silently classifying you, using some system that only he knew.

The man peered at the audience over the top of his glasses. "As I'm sure your professors have told you, attendance at this lecture will be counted toward both your Defence Against the Dark Arts and Muggle Studies grades. You are not required to take notes. However," he continued, raising his voice to be heard over the rustling of books and parchment being put away, "however, I would recommend it. It is entirely up to your professors whether material from this lecture would find its way onto either course's final examination."

With a collective groan, and much whispering and shuffling of papers, the students settled down to take notes.

The man at the podium waited patiently until things had quieted before he cleared his throat.

"I must confess that I have not had much experience at lecturing to this kind of group. When one deals primarily with Muggle students of anthropology at various institutes of higher learning, one tends to develop a teaching routine. Please feel free to let me know if the pace is too fast or--"

A loud, obviously fake snore interrupted the speech, followed by a burst of giggles from the back of the hall.

Tittering and whispering, the assembled students looked around for the source of the noise. Both McGonagall and Snape, certain that the other's House was responsible for the disturbance, put on their best disapproving glares and waited for the chance to deduct points.

Hermione scowled irritably. "Honestly, can't people grow up?" she said out loud to no one in particular.

The lecturer, far from being irritated, merely raised an eyebrow and kept a neutral expression. "I see. Never let it be said that my teaching style was superior." He rested his hands on the podium. "And thank you very much, Mr. Malfoy, for being so kind as to remind me."

The snickers and giggles stopped as abruptly as if they had been turned off with a switch.

"Fifty points from Slytherin!" they heard Professor McGonagall crow triumphantly in the stunned silence.

Ron and Harry sneaked looks at Draco, whose normally pale skin had lost even more color, if possible. His mouth hung slightly open, but he quickly snapped it shut. Scowling, he slouched down in his seat, arms folded across his chest. The Slytherins surrounding him had edged nervously away, and were intently staring at the front of the room as if to disassociate themselves from the source of the distraction.

"Wow..." breathed Neville.

"So what?" Ron muttered, casting another glance at the sulking Draco. "Dumbledore or someone probably warned him about Draco and his lot. *I'd* warn him, too."

"I assure you, Mr. Weasley, your Headmaster and I have had several long conversations about the student body at this school. He has nothing but glowing praise for all of his students, particularly those at this grade level."

Now it was Ron's turn to change color. A brilliant flush crept up his face, and his ears burned a fiery scarlet. He looked as if he wanted nothing better than to sink into the ground and disappear. Harry squeezed his eyes shut, Neville chewed nervously on his lower lip, and Hermione buried her face in her hands.

"Fifty points from Gryffindor, *and* a detention for Weasley," countered Snape, sounding very pleased with himself.

The lecturer cleared his throat again, and resettled his glasses on the bridge of his nose. "If I may continue...."

Quills sprang into action as note taking commenced with a fury.

The lecturer nodded. "Thank you. First, a brief introduction. My name is Will Stanton, and I am currently a Professor of Social Anthropology at Cambridge University, a Muggle institution of higher learning. You may address me as Professor Stanton or Dr. Stanton, whichever you prefer.

"Anthropology, for those of you who are unaware of the discipline, is much like your Muggle Studies classes. Students investigate various Muggle cultures, their origins, social customs, cultural development, and general beliefs. Quite straightforward, wouldn't you say?

"I suppose you are wondering why this lecture combines a science as ordinary as Muggle Studies with the more specific Defence Against the Dark Arts. At first glance, they would have absolutely nothing in common. Some wizards believe that Muggle Studies and other related subjects are worthless, especially when compared to more 'practical' classes, such as Potions or Transfiguration."

At this last sentence, Harry noticed McGonagall straighten her robes and smooth back her hair. Snape, leaning against the wall with an air of bored indifference, did not seem to have heard anything out of the ordinary.

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Hermione nod eagerly as her quill raced across the parchment. Her notes appeared to be an almost verbatim transcript of Professor Stanton's speech so far. He looked back at his own paper, on which he had scrawled:

Prof. Stanton - Lect. Notes Prof. of Anthrop. (like Mugg. Stu.) Mugg. Stu./DADA combo. Why? vs. 'practical' classes?

He sighed quietly, and chewed on the end of his quill.

"I have three reasons for my choice of combination," Professor Stanton said, ticking the points off on his fingers. "First, the link between the wizard and Muggle worlds cannot be ignored, especially not in these times. Second, defending oneself against all forms of the Dark Arts can only be accomplished with a thorough grounding in cultures not directly part of the wizarding world--which includes Muggles. And finally...well, the third reason will soon speak for itself.

"Events in the Muggle world tend to reflect occurrences in the wizarding world. Perhaps not on the same level, but the connection is certainly present. If you were to compare the events in one of your History of Magic textbooks with a standard history text from a Muggle school, you would notice some interesting similarities. This does not merely include the instances of witchcraft persecution--in fact, very few of those charged and condemned had little to do with any magic, whether it was for good or evil."

Pausing for a moment, Professor Stanton leaned forward with a smile that could only be described as conspiratorial. "Keep that in mind the next time you are asked to write an essay on the impact that the "Burning Times" had on the wizarding world as a whole."

Neville, who until that point in the lecture had looked more lost than usual, nearly tore his parchment in half trying to scribble down all the relevant information.

As suddenly as the moment had come, it was gone. The friendly schoolmate vanished, and the reserved professor reappeared.

"Now for my second point. A proper defence against all forms of the Dark Arts can only be accomplished with a thorough grounding in cultures not directly part of the wizarding world. I'm sure in previous classes you've studied various harmful magical creatures, from Goblins to Vampires and everything in between. You've learned their habits, their behavioral patterns, their strengths and weaknesses. And by studying all of these, you hope to have a strong defence against these potentially deadly creatures--should you ever be unfortunate enough to come across them one day.

"Why bring Muggles into this? Well, Muggles can affect you in ways you could never even begin to imagine. They are easily swayed, both through magical and mundane means, to dark purposes. And," he added, his face hardening into a cold grimace, "the wounds they leave cannot be cured with a flick of a wand."

A stifled hiss made Ron look up from his parchment. He opened his mouth to ask Hermione just what he had done this time, but the angry words died in his throat.

Harry was gripping the arm rests of the chair so tightly that his knuckles had turned white. His eyes glittered with a strange glazed light, and his head was tilted slightly to one side, almost as if he was listening to something that no one else could hear. A broken quill lay forgotten in his lap, along with his note-covered parchment.

"Psst! Harry! Hey, are you all right?" he murmured, fear making the hairs on the back of his neck prickle.

Hermione, who had also noticed Harry's reaction, stared at her friend with mingled terror and concern. Panicking, Ron nudged Neville with his foot, trying to get his attention. But before the other boy could react, Harry released the breath he had been holding. Slowly, his grip on the arms of the chair relaxed, and he clenched and unclenched his hands a few times. He blinked rapidly, several times, and the dazed look slowly faded from his face.

"Harry? Harry?!" whispered Hermione fearfully, tugging on the edge of his robes.

"Listen to the lecture," Harry said quietly, not taking his eyes off of the man standing at the podium.

"But--" Ron began.

"Listen to the lecture," Harry repeated in the same monotone. Ron, Hermione and Neville exchanged confused glances, then turned back to face the front of the hall.

The coldness on Professor Stanton's face had softened into a wistful expression. "A long time ago, a good, just, and noble man told a close friend of mine something I will never forget. He said, 'Beware your own race...they are the only ones who will ever hurt you, in the end.'"

"He was speaking of Muggles, of course. And though this friend of mine possessed a magic to rival that of the most powerful wizards of all time, all that was needed was a bullet from a Muggle rifle to destroy his innocence. It left a wound--not physical, but emotional--that never fully healed.

"Using magic to heal certain injuries made by Muggles would be as pointless and futile as using Muggle methods to treat the effects of a hex or a curse. Yet, both types of injuries can be caused by the Dark Arts and its practitioners, either directly or indirectly. A moment of weakness is often all that is needed."

His eyes narrowed, and he fixed them all with a stern glare. "Now, I am not suggesting that all Muggles are inherently dangerous--that would be like saying that all wizards are dangerous. Resorting to prejudice and rumor is nothing more than an easy out. Nevertheless, you wouldn't like to find yourself in a situation where even your most potent spell would be useless.

"This brings me to my third and final point."

He stepped back from the podium and removed his glasses, tucking them into some hidden recess in his cloak.

"As the more observant of you may have realized by now, I am not a wizard, not like yourselves. If you passed me on the street, you would most likely think that I was just another Muggle, going about his business. But appearances can always be deceiving...."

With that, the figure at the podium seemed to ripple, then vanish.

There was a stunned silence, and then everyone began talking at once.

"Did he Disapparate?" Neville asked, wringing the hem of his robes with agitated hands.

"Nonsense!" Hermione snapped automatically, but her eyes kept darting back to the now vacant podium. "That's not how it's done, anyway. And how could anyone do something like that inside this school?"

"Oh, who cares?" Ron shouted. "Harry, what happened back there? What happened to you? Was it--"

"No," Harry said shortly. "Not Vol...I mean, You-Know-Who," he quickly corrected himself, seeing Ron shudder. "Nothing like that."

"Then what?"

"I can't tell you, Ron," Harry said, standing up and collecting his broken quill and discarded parchment. "But don't worry. If he wants to let you know, you'll know."

"Harry--" Ron protested, but Harry shook his head.

"There's nothing to discuss," he said with finality.

Hermione's face darkened with anger. "I don't believe this! You had us all scared to death, and now you won't even--"

"Silence!" boomed Snape, pulling out his wand.

The students froze, and all conversations ceased.

"You will leave here and continue with the rest of your classes. And you are all forbidden from discussing what you have heard and seen here today--your professors have been instructed to take points from the Houses of any students caught doing so." His dark eyes lingered on Harry for a long moment as he said the last sentence, almost in unspoken challenge.

Not willing to find out how willing Snape was to carry out his threat, the Slytherins and Gryffindors filed out of the hall in uneasy silence.

Yet as they exited the lecture hall, Harry could have sworn he heard Snape mutter to himself, "Showing off again, damn him."

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Gramarye [email protected] http://gramarye.freehosting.net/ December 20th, 2001