The End

Additions to Disclaimer: I don't own anything that has anything to do with Alias, which was created by J.J. Abrams and is owned by ABC. This chapter title is lifted from the song "A Rush of Blood to the Head" by Coldplay.

Chapter 6: Start as You Mean to Go On

It seemed to Harry that he had only just nodded off when sunlight started streaming in through the window, covering his entire bed and waking him. He sat up and reached for his glasses, gazing around at the blurry world before he put them on. When his surroundings slid into focus, he discovered that Ron was only beginning to stir, but Michael was already awake and dressed, quietly practicing the wand movements he had learned the day before.

"Do you ever sleep?" Harry asked, looking at Michael in amazement, noting that he at least had the decency to look a little tired.

"Course I do," Michael replied, "I'm human, but I've never been much for sleeping all morning."

"They usually have coffee at breakfast," Harry informed him, "if you're interested."

"Sounds good," Michael said. "I'll go make sure Sydney and Hermione are awake."

"Right," Harry said as Michael left. "Hey Ron, its morning."

Ron only muttered indistinctly and threw a pillow in Harry's general direction, so Harry said, "Alright, I'll just have to tell the house elves that you don't want any of their breakfast. They'll be so disappointed."

Ron was immediately wide awake and exclaiming, "Not if I can help it!"

In the end, Ron was ready before Harry, mostly due to that adrenaline rush. He charged into the hallway to wait with Michael while Harry was still half-heartedly attempting to straighten his tousled hair. By the time Harry stepped into the hall a minute later, he decided that he might as well have not wasted the time, as he couldn't see any difference in his appearance despite his efforts.

When Harry stepped into the common room, he found Ron and Michael discussing Wizarding card games in the corner, and Sydney and Hermione sitting in chairs on opposite sides of the room, deliberately looked anywhere but at each other. As the group left for the Great Hall, Harry called Hermione aside and asked, "Did you and Sydney have a fight or something?"

"No," Hermione said adamantly.

"Well, what then?" Harry demanded. "I saw you before, something was wrong."

"We just couldn't find something to talk about," Hermione said. "I mean, she spent half the night experimenting with ways to strap on her gun so she could get at it while she was wearing robes. How am I supposed to start a conversation with someone who does that?"

"What was wrong with the pockets?" Harry asked, confused.

"I don't know!" Hermione exclaimed.

"Well, we need to stay on good terms with them," Harry reminded her.

"I know, you don't need to lecture me," Hermione muttered.

Luckily, when they arrived at the Great Hall McGonagall was already there enjoying a bowl of porridge, so they had the opportunity to explain the previous night's idea about using an internship program as their cover story and she agreed to help however she could.

As it transpired, breakfast that morning was something of an event, mostly at Sydney and Michael's expense, although Harry didn't enjoy himself much either because he had to spend so much time politely shooing away the people who came up to talk to him that he barely had time to eat his toast.

Since they'd met, Harry, Ron, and Hermione had been very impressed with the way that Sydney and Michael managed to mask their unfamiliarity with the magical world. However, the Muggles found themselves completely unable to hide their surprise when a hundred owls streamed in through the high windows of the Great Hall midway though the meal. Sydney stifled a gasp and protectively covered her cup of coffee with her hand while Harry and Ron simultaneously snorted over their breakfasts.

When she noticed that no one else in the room seemed to think that the sudden appearance of the owls was strange in any way, Sydney leaned over to Hermione and hissed, "I suppose that happens often."

"Every morning at breakfast," Hermione confirmed. "They deliver the mail."

"And it didn't occur to you to warn us?" Sydney pressed, grabbing an orange out of a nearby fruit bowl and forcing her finger underneath the rind to peel it.

"Oh," Hermione stammered. "Sorry about that. I guess we're just so used to it that we forgot it would be unusual for you." She grabbed the orange out of Sydney's hand and tapped it with her wand. The peel immediately fell away and she handed it back without a word on the subject.

"Well, wasn't it surprising for you the first time?" Sydney demanded.

"Sure it was," Hermione replied with a shrug. "But that was a long time ago. I'm sorry, but we're not used to having to explain everything."

Sydney bristled at this, but merely said grumpily, "Try not to let it happen again." A moment later she realized that she'd been gripping the orange to tightly and the liberated juice was running all over her hand.

"Maybe we should go see about those Muggle repelling charms," Michael muttered.

Harry, Ron, and Hermione shrugged in agreement and grabbed a few last bites of their breakfasts before standing up and escorting the Muggles to Flitwick's classroom.

When they reached the room, Hermione knocked and poked her head inside. The diminutive Professor was just barely visible behind his desk.

"Ah! Professor Granger!" Flitwick said with a wink. "Come in, come in! Come to have a look at my lesson plans? You never were one to procrastinate!"

"Well, yes, thank you, Professor," Hermione replied, stepping inside. Everyone else followed her in. "That's not all, though. Professor McGonagall said she'd let you know about our Muggle repelling charm problem."

"Yes, yes, a most intriguing conundrum," Flitwick said, while levitating his book of lesson plans from a bookshelf to Hermione. "I must admit that at first I was at a loss. Muggle repelling charms are immensely complex- they identify who is a Muggle, then force them to perceive something that isn't there. Attempting to counter all of the results would be far too difficult, so it occurred to me that Miss Bristow and Mr. Vaughn could be made to seem magical to the charms, therefore rendering them ineffective. It is by no means an easy charm to perform, but still possible."

Sydney and Michael stepped forward and Flitwick performed the charms while Hermione watched with rapt attention.

"Will it wear off?" Hermione asked.

"It shouldn't," Flitwick replied, "but I can teach it to you, since we are to be spending time together."

"Thank you," Hermione said eagerly.

"However, that will have to wait for another time," Flitwick replied. "Class is about to start."

The most punctual students were beginning to step into Flitwick's room, Ginny Weasley among them. Although Ginny was an excellent student, she was never one of the people who arrived in class five minutes before it began, leading Harry, Ron, and Hermione to suspect that Ginny had already heard rumors of their presence. By now such gossip could have circulated most of the school, but that was to be expected. More disturbing was the fact that these rumors had pinned them down to Flitwick's classroom even though they'd only been there for a few minutes. Ginny didn't say anything to them; she merely smiled at the wizards and eyed Sydney and Michael with some confusion.

----------***************

Annoyingly, maintaining their cover story took precedence over finding the Death Eaters for the next week, so Harry and Hermione had to split their time between teaching a few scattered classes and instructing Sydney and Michael in the finer points of Muggle Studies and History of Magic, or, in Harry's case, trying to. That was why he was to be found one day heaving a sigh of relief and sitting down at the head of the Defense Against the Dark Arts classroom, burying his head in his arms as the last student finally left, pulling the door shut behind her.

Only an hour ago he'd thought that there could be nothing more exasperating than teaching giddy first years, but the third years, nearly as over excitable as the first years and with the advantage of having already met Harry, or at least seen him, had proven him wrong. He'd hardly even had a chance to introduce himself before they started recounting all they knew of Harry's role in the defeat of Voldemort, and when he declined to fill in the details for them they started making up their own. Even Harry's reminder that they had an important test approaching wasn't enough to make them focus.

Now, however, Harry had seventh years, something to look forward to, or at least he thought it would be, until he heard the door open and looked up to see Colin Creevey standing there, looking positively ecstatic to see his idol sitting at the teacher's desk. Harry forced himself not to cringe. One might have thought that seven years at Hogwarts would have relieved Colin of some of his breathless enthusiasm, but that wasn't the case.

Colin still hadn't moved nor had his awestruck expression changed by the time the next group of students arrived. It occurred to Harry that this might not be so bad after all, since this bunch was looking more like the DA with every passing second. As he was pondering this, Luna Lovegood wandered in, surrounded by a rather annoyed looking group of Slytherins who seemed caught between the impulses to continue on as though their ranks hadn't been invaded, or scatter and regroup away from her. Harry shot them a look, fairly certain that this was the last time he'd do so because of their attitude towards Luna rather than inter house rivalries.

However, Harry didn't have any idea how deep his problems went until a minute later when Ginny walked in, chatting animatedly with a few friends. It was fortunate that Harry was sitting down, for he was fairly certain that he wouldn't have stayed standing for very long after all the blood rushed to his feet. Ginny, however, wasn't so lucky. As soon as she caught sight of him she stopped dead in the middle of the room, wearing a similar expression to the one she'd acquired the morning she'd walked in on Harry after his shower. One of her friends had to guide her to her chair.

Nearly thirty seconds passed before Harry realized that the students were staring at him and a full minute elapsed before he remembered why. He stood up shakily and nearly tripped over his chair as he moved away from the desk.

"For those of you who don't know me, I'm Ha- Professor Potter." Harry winced. He'd hoped that he might get that right at least once.

His statement elicited a similar reaction in the seventh years as in the rest of the students he'd taught that day: a chorus of eye rolls. Apparently, they thought being the most famous wizard in all of England meant that Harry wouldn't have to introduce himself.

"I'll be filling in for Professor Caden for the next few days," Harry continued. "His notes say you're to continue practicing combining spells with direction charms, is that correct?"

The students nodded and started eying partners and corners to practice in, albeit rather reluctantly.

"Have any of you managed it yet?" Harry asked.

The nods were replaced by downcast shaking heads. Everyone seemed annoyed that they hadn't mastered the trick. Ginny, however, raised her hand.

"Yes Gi... Miss Wea... Ginny?" If it were an option, Harry would have charmed a hole in the floor and buried himself in it.

"Could you explain how combining spells is useful?" Ginny asked.

"Alright," Harry replied, but he wished he could take it back when he saw several former members of the DA perk up. He'd missed the stealthy similarity to a question about the Expelliarmus spell he'd been asked at the first meeting of the DA, but apparently they had not.

Harry shot Ginny a look which he hoped she would understand as a request for her not to do that again and to ask him at some other time if she wanted to know something.

Ginny glared right back and there was no misinterpreting what she meant. 'I've tried asking you, now you won't be able to get out of it.'

'Watch me,' Harry shot back, then he noticed that the looks of anticipation in the other students were quickly melting into confusion.

"Right," Harry said aloud. "Combination spells can be very useful in duels and fights. Imagine your opponent is around a corner, you could jinx him without ever exposing yourself to a counter attack. Or maybe you're in a duel. Someone would probably disregard a spell that was headed the wrong way, so if it was designed to change direction it would give them less time to react or catch them completely off guard."

"What if your opponent knows how to combine spells too?" Colin asked.

"Then you'll have to be especially on your guard," Harry replied. "But that's unlikely for the time being. They were only discovered within the last year or so. You're actually the first class to learn them. I suppose you've noticed they're not in your textbook."

Most of the students nodded their agreement, but a few of them were starting to look suspicious again. Ginny especially had a very strange fire in her eyes.

"So this wasn't on the test last year?" someone asked.

"No it wasn't," Harry replied, chancing another look at Ginny, the desire to charm a hole in the floor returning.

"Could you show us what it looks like?" Ginny blurted out suddenly.

"Hasn't Professor Caden?" Harry asked apprehensively, unable to help himself.

"No, he hasn't," Zacharias Smith spat. Even the slowest students looked suspicious now.

"I suppose I could try," Harry mumbled, lifting his wand uncertainly. "But you should know I haven't had any...er...much practice."

The students sat up expectantly as Harry performed two spells in rapid succession. The second caught up to the first in mid air and the combination shot off to the right and shattered a vase sitting on the windowsill.

Harry wasn't sure if he'd ever seen so much excitement as he did when the group turned back to him. Many started talking eagerly and some even raised their wands to try it themselves. Ginny however said, "Ha- Professor Potter?"

Harry nodded while giving her another look. 'Gotcha.'

"How do you know the spell will hit your target?" she continued, ignoring the jab.

"Concentration and luck," Harry admitted with a shrug as he repaired the vase. "Are there any other questions?"

There weren't, so Harry allowed them to practice among themselves while he wandered among the groups, correcting them when he could. He managed to stop an overenthusiastic Colin before he could do any serious damage by ricocheting an explosive jinx, then had to reprimand a smug looking Slytherin who seemed to be rather adept at combing spells until he noticed that she'd been aiming at a small mirror.

All of them seemed to have much better luck with the spell now that they'd actually seen it performed. Ginny had managed it a few times but as Harry passed by he suggested that she'd have better luck if she cast the two spells closer together. She thanked him somewhat grudgingly, but as Harry turned toward another group of students he was hit from behind by a pinching spell. Harry whirled back around and discovered Ginny facing off to his right but with an obvious smirk on her face. Any other teacher might have given her detention for such an act, but it was all Harry could do to look busy enough to justify keeping his back turned to the class until he finally stopped blushing while simultaneously not giving Ginny another tempting target.

***************

Scarcely an hour went by when Harry, Ron, Hermione, Sydney, or Michael wasn't in the library, a point Madame Pince found exceedingly troublesome. Since they were technically teachers, she couldn't force them to leave, but she insisted upon being present whenever someone was within ten feet of her precious books and therefore didn't get much sleep for nearly a week.

No one spent more time in the library than Sydney and Michael, who seemed to have a distinct affinity for the place. It was a trait they shared with Hermione, but apparently the three of them only ever crossed paths when Hermione's knowledge on the subject of Muggle Studies or History of Magic was required. Sydney and Michael could often be found perusing random assortments of books, apparently with no specific subject of interest in mind.

For their part, Harry, Ron, and Hermione were only too happy to let this tendency continue. They knew that they would have to get down to sorting this Death Eater problem soon, but as long as Sydney and Michael remained satisfied with what the library had to offer, the wizards were spared the trouble of having to figure out how to converse with them on a regular basis, which remained very much a hit and miss sort of business. Sydney's moods were notoriously difficult to fathom, even Michael seemed thrown by them on occasion. However, as Harry, Ron, and Hermione got to know their companions' mannerisms, they came to realize that she was equally likely to come off of a conversation satisfied or furious, but never gave any indication of the origin of either disposition.

Harry, Ron, and Hermione were not surprised when they wandered into the library early one morning and discovered the Muggles hunched over three books each at a table in the back corner. However, some observation indicated that they weren't actually paying much attention to anything in front of them, in favor of keeping a careful eye on a group of tired looking sixth years who were scattered around the bookshelves, muttering mutinously about a charms exam while throwing dirty looks in Hermione's direction and flicking hurriedly though books like Advanced Charms for the Layman and The Complete Encyclopedia of Every Spell Known to Wizard Kind. Hermione kept her eyes locked on the floor until they left.

"What'd you do to them?" Ron demanded indignantly as soon as the last stragglers departed reluctantly for class.

"Nothing, really," Hermione mumbled, still staring fixedly at the floor.

"Some of them looked like they haven't slept in days!" Ron exclaimed.

"I just noticed that a lot of them seemed to have forgotten some of the simpler spells," Hermione explained.

"Then what were they doing in Astounding Parlor Tricks for the Time Challenged?" Ron asked, examining a book that hadn't been reshelved properly.

"I may have hinted that there would be some N.E.W.T. level spells in the exam," Hermione admitted.

"You're giving them a review exam with spells they haven't even learned yet!" Ron exclaimed, earning himself a "shush!" from Madam Pince. He dropped his voice and continued. "Didn't anyone ever tell you that the sixth year is supposed to be a bit of a break?"

"It's for their own good," Hermione sighed. "And I didn't do anything without the approval of Professor Flitwick."

"You wrote the test, didn't you?" Ron asked.

"So what if I did," Hermione replied huffily. "What does that have to do with anything?"

"Nothing," Ron sighed as he pulled two books off the shelves, one on broomstick theory and another on Muggle Studies then, after a brief and obvious mental struggle, sat down next to Sydney. "Do you have any questions?"

"Not at the moment," Sydney replied. It might have been lack of sleep, but she sounded even more angry than usual. Ron shrugged and flipped open the book on broomsticks as Harry and Hermione exchanged looks and took the two remaining chairs at the table.

Lunch was marked by the appearance of a group of fourth years, this time tossing the occasional dirty glance in Harry's direction. Apparently, Hermione wasn't the only one who assigned tests.

Eventually, Harry and Ron took it upon themselves to help Sydney learn Muggle Studies whenever Hermione was busy instructing Michael in Arithmancy, but often found that they weren't much use. After all, Sydney already knew much more than they ever would about Muggles, and they'd exhausted their ability to describe the exact differences between Wizard and Muggle kind within a few hours of starting. Ron's own subject, flying, didn't require much study, but he felt that he ought to be doing something useful, so he started creating a chart comparing Muggle technology to similar magical devices.

Ron hadn't done anywhere near this amount of writing all summer, so as the day progressed, his arm became more and more fatigued until eventually he got such a bad case of writer's cramp that he thought he might never be able to release his quill. Forcing the feather free, he tried to work out the kinks in his hand, but only managed to succeed in making his shoulder hurt as well. Sighing, he tried moving the offending joint, but it didn't seem to help. His writing skills thus incapacitated, Ron glanced around at the others, wondering what he was going to do. They were all pressing on with their various tasks, all apparently oblivious to his dilemma. With a shrug, Ron awkwardly placed the quill in his left hand, dipped it in his inkwell, and set it to paper, tongue sticking out in concentration.

Ron's handwriting was messy in the first place and had gotten progressively worse throughout the day, but now it was downright illegible and only exasperated by the fact that he kept putting his hand in what he'd just written and smearing the wet ink. He tried to clean the mess with his wand, but only succeeded in sending the sensation of hot sparks up his arm.

Betrayed by his own body, Ron was in the process of resigning himself to the fact that he might not be able to carry on when Michael held out a mechanical pencil. Apparently not everyone was unaware of him. They had agreed not to use Muggle writing devices, since Madame Pince often hovered over them. Even though they trusted her as much as Dumbledore had, they doubted very much that she would be able to keep the sight of a pen or pencil to herself. On the other hand, Michael, left handed himself, often encountered a similar problem with smearing his ink, and he gave a longing look toward his bag, where he kept a number of pencils out of force of habit.

Ron took the device, looking slightly dubious, although thankful, and awkwardly began to trace out a word with his left hand. However, the pencil left no mark on the parchment. Familiar with invisible ink, although unsure of its use here, Ron made to press on until Michael grabbed the pencil back and pressed down on the end of it a few times before once again handing it over. The mark it left on the parchment now was much more faint than that left by ink and Ron wondered whether anyone would be able to make it out later, especially since his handwriting still resembled ancient runes more than anything else, but at least he would have something to show for his work.

After spending several minutes contemplating the heading "Transportation" on his chart, Ron scribbled down "Apparation," "floo powder," "portkeys," and "broomsticks," then began flipping through his book for Muggle equivalents. He had just decided that the closest match to a broomstick was a bicycle when he realized something.

"Oh."

"What?" a few people asked dismissively.

"I might know a way to tell if Sydney and Michel can use magical transportation," Ron replied, slightly breathless with the wonder of his own insight.

"How's that?" Sydney asked. She, at least, sounded intrigued.

"We see if you can ride brooms," Ron replied.

"Oh," Hermione breathed.

***************

The group had been so busy in the library that they hadn't left Hogwarts since arriving there, so once they were outside, Sydney and Vaughn got their first view of the grounds and castle as they were meant to be seen. They were so awestruck that it took a moment for the wizards to get them back on the path to the broom locker. Sydney, Michael, and Hermione found brooms then made for the Quidditch pitch, where Harry judged they would be alone and relatively invisible, until they were forced to clear off and make way for someone's Quidditch practice.

Once they reached the pitch Ron took over, imitating their own first flying lesson. He instructed them in how to cause their brooms to leap into their hands from the ground then let them try it. However, no matter what they did, the brooms stubbornly refused to budge. The wizards found this greatly troubling since they knew from experience that this exercise tended to indicate a person's general ability to fly.

Eventually, Ron called a halt to the futile exercise, opting for a different approach.

"Why don't you lot just skip the levitating part and get straight to flying," he suggested.

Fortunately, once the brooms were lifted to the correct height they seemed inclined to stay there, so Ron explained how to properly hold and use the broom while Harry demonstrated. For the first time ever Harry felt a little silly while on his broomstick, standing there teaching two adults who no doubt thought that these brooms would be put to better use sweeping the floor.

Ron invited them to try hovering, but looked skeptical. After chancing dubious looks at each other, Sydney and Michael both jumped as Harry had shown them, no doubt expecting to return to solid ground a moment later. It was difficult to determine who was more surprised when, a moment later, they were soaring higher than any tree. Harry and Ron shot up after them, having noticed far too late that Ron had neglected to instruct them on how to coax the brooms back to solid ground. However, as soon as the wizards had matched altitude with the Muggles, another, far greater problem became readily apparent: Sydney and Michael seemed utterly unable to keep their balance. As they watched, Sydney attempted to counterbalance her side-slipping broom by leaning to the right but overcompensated and rolled underneath the handle. Harry and Ron were underneath her in a flash, prepared to catch her if she fell, but instead she clung doggedly to the broom, which still persisted in careening wildly at her slightest touch.

"Sydney, can you climb back on?" Harry called up to her.

Sydney tried but it was no use; all her attempts only loosened her grip on the broomstick.

"Ron, get Michael down then get back up here as fast as you can," Harry commanded, moving so he was right next to Sydney. The Muggle had her arms and legs wrapped tight around the broom.

"We wouldn't have asked you to do this if we knew you were afraid of heights," Harry said apologetically as he considered her situation.

"I'm not afraid of heights, I just have a problem with hanging fifty feet in the air off a broomstick I can't control," Sydney muttered. "So why don't you just tell me how to get down from here."

"I'm afraid to try and transfer you to my broom since yours tends to move whenever you do," Harry sighed. "I think the best option is to have you fly down the normal way."

"I don't see anything normal about this," Sydney protested.

"Just do what I say and you'll be fine," Harry coaxed, rolling to the underside of his broom as well so that he was in roughly the same position as Sydney. "Try shifting your weight to your upper body to point the broom towards the ground."

Sydney did as Harry suggested and was pleasantly surprised to find herself approaching the ground, although a little less happy with her high speed. After some adjustments and a few minutes, her back gently touched the grass. She let go of the broom but didn't stand up, instead choosing to spend a moment celebrating her near miss.

No sooner was Sydney back on the ground than Hermione was off, attempting to explain what had happened. "It must have been the contact with the broom that allowed them to use it. Like the Muggle repelling charms, when Sydney and Michael touched us, they could see almost everything like we do."

"What about their balance?" Harry asked. "I've never seen anyone have that much of a problem with it before."

"They must not have complete control over the broom," Hermione said.

"But will it work?" Sydney asked, sitting up unsteadily.

"It should, but you'll probably always be kind of clumsy," Hermione replied. "I'm sorry to say you'll never be Quidditch player material."

"What about the floo network?" Harry prompted.

"Well, you got a little lost your first time, right?" Hermione asked.

"Yeah," Harry muttered. He generally tried to avoid bringing up the experience. "I didn't speak clearly enough."

"All the same," Hermione continued, "I think we'd better not try it unless we have to, they might get really lost."

"Or burned to a crisp," Ron finished for her.

"I don't know about portkeys, either," Hermione said. "They're easy transportation for those who can't apparate, but I don't know if Muggles would stick to it. We'd have a hard time of testing it too since the Ministry has such a stranglehold on them."

Michael suggested that they focus on flying for the present and Sydney reluctantly agreed, so they went back to hovering. When Sydney and Michael learned to keep their balance and altitude more or less under control, Ron and Harry took them up a little higher to practice turning and other airborne maneuvers. Hermione chose to stay near the ground and act as a spotter in case either of them slipped and fell.

They got in a couple of hours of practice before Hermione called them back to the ground, indicating a group of students arriving to start their Quidditch practice. Even from across the pitch the mass of green robes was unmistakable.

"Ah, Slytherins," Ron groaned, invoking the old school rivalry even though the students seemed to neither notice nor care that they weren't alone on the pitch.

Ordinarily, Harry would have felt inclined to agree with him, but at the moment he was staring at the group, deep in thought. "Quidditch," he muttered to himself.

"Yeah, I know," Ron replied huffily. "Stinks that we can't play anymore. If we could, right now I'd be looking forward to mopping up the pitch with their sorry-"

"No, that's not it," Harry said. "Draco Malfoy's playing professionally now, isn't he?"

"Seeker for the Wasps, according to the Daily Prophet," Ron sneered. "I wonder how much he paid to get there, the scumbag."

"It can't be more than he paid to stay out of Azkaban," Harry pointed out. "But wouldn't it stand to reason that Mr. Malfoy would come and see Draco play now that he's escaped from Azkaban again?"

"What, with the whole Ministry out looking for him, just show up at a Quidditch match?" Hermione pointed out.

"Couldn't he be disguised?" Sydney suggested. "You must have some good ones."

"Sure," Hermione replied. "This leaves us with the problem of finding him, assuming he's there, of course."

"We can figure something out," Harry assured them. "After all, even if we can't find Lucius, Draco won't be hard to spot. This might be our best lead on Malfoy and the Death Eaters."

It didn't take them long to decide that the Polyjuice Potion would be Malfoy's best choice for going undetected, but as far as Harry, Ron, and Hermione could see that left them back at square one.

"The Polyjuice Potion allows its drinker to look exactly like another person," Hermione explained. "It's impossible to tell the difference."

"There's no way at all?" Sydney asked.

"Well, even if there were," Hermione said, "it wouldn't be very obvious. We can't search through thousands of fans at a Quidditch match."

"Maybe we don't have to," Harry said, beginning to pace back and forth. "He may look different, but he's still Lucius Malfoy, complete with the huge ego and pocketbook."

"So?" Ron asked.

"So, he shouldn't know the Ministry's sent people looking for him yet. He probably still thinks that just the Polyjuice Potion will be enough to conceal him, leaving him free to take a seat in a top box without anyone thinking anything of it. Not to mention he's likely to have a couple of bodyguards around. So we go to the match, track him down, and make it so we can follow him later," Harry said, pacing excitedly. "Hermione, I imagine you know a couple spells that can do that."

"If I don't, then Flitwick will, but I think I might have a better idea," Hermione replied hesitantly. "Even if Malfoy isn't expecting someone to be looking for him right now, he's bound to have precautions against Wizards tracking him. Muggles must have ways of following people as well; I think we should use one of their devices."

"Alright," Harry said with a shrug. "What do you have?"

"There are two ways we usually use," Michael explained. "The first is to plant an electronic bug on the target that transmits a signal to a satellite, allowing us to follow them."

"No good," Hermione interrupted. "If he goes anywhere that's really magical like Hogwarts the device would stop working and we'd lose the signal."

"The other way is to inject him with a radioactive substance. A satellite will follow the source of the radioactive decay."

"How do we know that won't have the same problem?" Ron asked.

"I suppose we don't," Hermione admitted.

"There's one way to find out," Harry replied.

"We're going to need a plan B," Sydney pointed out. "Just in case Malfoy isn't as predictable as you think he is."

"I think I've got one," Ron said, stopping suddenly and staring at the Firebolt in Harry's hand.

"Oh no," Harry said, aghast, "no way."

The debate continued through dinner and on to the trip up to the dormitories.

"Oh, come on, Harry!" Hermione exclaimed. "You know the only way this is going to work is if you're up in the air."

"Are you the Harry who spent the entire summer on a broomstick or not?" Ron demanded, "the one who looked so sorry when I pointed out that we were about to play our last game of Quidditch two weeks ago?"

"Yes, but, think about what you're asking me to do," Harry replied. "I'm supposed to figure out where Lucius Malfoy is, and the only way I have of finding that out is by following where Draco looks, mind you, then signal you lot where Lucius is, all while keeping Draco off the snitch until you do whatever you're going to do, then catch the snitch so I don't get run out of town."

"Yeah, that sounds about right," Ron said.

"It sounds insane!" Harry exclaimed. "I can hardly say it all, much less do it."

"Do you want to take down Malfoy or not?" Hermione asked.

Harry was about to settle into a momentary mental debate, but at that moment Ron suddenly clutched at his right arm and doubled over in pain. The episode ended quickly and Harry helped a pale and shaky Ron to his feet. Sydney and Michael stared at Ron, their expressions a mixture of confusion and concern and Hermione gave Ron a look of understanding and sympathy then shot a meaningful look at Harry, but he didn't need it. Harry's face had already hardened into the mold of resentful determination he usually reserved for Professor Snape or Voldemort.

"Alright, I'll do it," Harry replied, and everyone, even Ron, looked relieved. "You know Malfoy's going to suspect something when I show up on the opposing team just in time for a game."

"Well, if you've got any better ideas," Hermione replied.

Three weeks before the game in question, Harry attended an open try out for the seeker position of the Kenmare Kestrels. The next day he received a letter from the team accepting him as a seeker, informing him of team practices, and asking that he fill in for their regular seeker in their next game so he could have more time to recover from an injury. Ron was barely able to contain his jealousy, and while Hermione maintained that she hadn't resorted to anything illegal or sinister to get him the position, but Harry wasn't convinced that she hadn't used one of the rather juicy tidbits they'd gathered over the years to blackmail Mr. Bagman.