The End

Additions to Disclaimer: I don't own anything that has anything to do with Alias, which was created by J.J. Abrams. This chapter title is lifted from the song "Iris" by the Goo Goo Dolls.

Chapter 8: Everything's Made to be Broken

"Before we get started, I'd like to introduce Harry Potter, he'll be filling in the Seeker position until McClintok is back on his feet."

The coach finished his speech and the team stepped forward to introduce themselves and shake Harry's hand. They sounded friendly enough but he sensed some hostility in the way that nearly every handshake practically dislocated his shoulder. The reserve Seeker even made a good attempt at breaking his hand.

Even as Harry shook out his smashed extremity he felt he understood where the Seeker was coming from. After all, his means of getting on to this team were not quite legitimate. He'd gone to a try out, of course, but he'd finally gotten Hermione to admit that it was rigged slightly in his favor by the Department of Magical Games and Sports. Several members of the team seemed convinced that Harry had bought his way on to the team, an assessment that was close enough to the truth that Harry didn't have the heart to try and dissuade it. Then there was the fact that by all rights the reserve Seeker should have been playing the starting position for the upcoming game, but Harry had simply come in and taken it, having never even played for a professional team before. Harry might have been the savior of the wizarding race, but that wasn't enough to dissuade the team loyalty of a group of professional Quidditch players.

They started out flying a few laps around the pitch then moved on to tossing the Quaffle. On the Gryffindor team, Harry had always faired well enough during this sort of warm up, but now it seemed that the Quaffle was moving much faster and he had some trouble catching it every time it came his way. Ordinarily, this wouldn't have daunted him; he improved quickly enough, after all, and his skill at handling the Quaffle was secondary to his ability to catch the Snitch, and the talents required for his position were completely different. However, whenever the Quaffle slid past his fingertips a quiet chorus of sarcastic cheers and laughs always erupted from the rest of the team.

Bludger practice followed, something at which Harry was a bit more adept. However, his fellow players soon developed the opinion that along with buying his way onto the team, Harry had bought a superior broom to ensure that he was better than the rest of them, for they all played on Nimbus 2001s.

So it continued for the rest of practice, whenever Harry made a mistake he was laughed at and whenever he excelled at something the team assumed he'd given himself an unfair advantage. It was like playing with a bunch of Slytherins.

The reserve Seeker finally got to vent the full range of his frustration when the Snitch was released. He played a vicious game, Draco Malfoy would have been proud, and it was mostly by lucky chance that Harry got the Snitch in the end. When it was over, the other Seeker gave him a look that clearly said he desired nothing more than to knock Harry off his broom then break the offending tool in half.

Harry couldn't help but heave a huge sigh of relief when practice was called to an end, and for the first time ever he was dreading the next one.

No one spoke to him in the locker room, not that he'd thought they would. Harry wasn't sure what he'd expected coming into this, but it wasn't open scorn from his teammates. In hindsight, he supposed he should have been a bit more prepared for something like this, after all, a group of highly competitive people couldn't be expected to take kindly to some kid with a famous name who decided to go and take the most important position on their team. However, understanding this didn't stop Harry from being tempted to go back to Hogwarts and beg Ron and Hermione to find another way to locate Malfoy, but Harry Potter didn't quit. Not when Voldemort repeatedly tried to kill him and not when the Kenmare Kestrels refused to believe that he could play Quidditch.

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

Ron woke up long before anyone else the next morning. He couldn't quite pin down what woke him up, although he suspected a combination of the sun playing across his face and the nerves that had so stubbornly hindered his attempts to fall asleep in the first place. From the very beginning he had begged Madam Hooch not to make him teach a class. Not that flying lessons was a particularly difficult subject, especially since the students would have a handle on the basics by now, but Ron simply could not see himself as a teacher. He hadn't even made a good prefect.

In her defense, Madam Hooch had not backed out on her promise, even though McGonagall had urged her to make Ron teach. It wasn't her fault a bludger had broken free of its box while she was cleaning the broomshead and hit her so sharply on the head that she was unconscious for the better part of the weekend, despite Madam Pomfrey's best efforts. Still, Ron couldn't help but wish she had been paying a little less attention to the dust and a little more to the balls. Harry alone had shown him sympathy afterwards. In fact, they'd stayed up far later than they should have last night after Harry's practice with the Kestrels, joking and complaining about their Quidditch troubles.

Ron made a great show of moving quietly around the room so he wouldn't wake Harry and Michael and changed his pillow to the opposite side of his bed so the sun wouldn't be able to make such easy work of him, writing off the annoyed sighs of his roommates as the outward manifestations of their dreams.

Breakfast was a speedy affair; no sooner had Ron stepped into the Great Hall than his already queasy senses were accosted by the sight and sound of whatever the house elves had prepared. He only narrowly avoided becoming acutely reacquainted with last night's dinner.

Outside, he retrieved the school brooms from the shed and arranged them on the grass so that the students would have enough space to take off when the time came. When he finished he grabbed his own broom and flew once around the castle, hoping to relieve some of his nerves, but he only managed to make himself feel sick to his stomach again.

Gradually, his students began to filter out on to the grounds. Some looked excited and others disappointed: apparently they'd been hoping that Madame Hooch's injury would be cause enough to call off the class. Ron was feeling the same way.

His stomach did a back flip when the bell rang, but he gathered together as many nerves as he could and stammered, "I suppose you all know why Madame Hooch isn't here. My name is Ro- Professor Weasley." It was such a strange thing to say that he was surprised that he didn't stumble over it more. "I'll be teaching this class until she recovers."

This was going to be a long day.

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

"As I'm sure you're aware, Professor Lucia is currently attending an international conference on submarines," Sydney said, addressing a class of fourth year Muggle Studies students. "My name is Professor Bristow and I'll be filling in for him over the next couple of days."

She took role, struggling not to laugh whenever her eyes feel on the display cases scattered around the room, which were filled with such random artifacts as toothbrushes and wind chimes. Sydney had an equally difficult time preventing herself from sneering whenever her eyes fell on Hermione in her seat at the back of the room. The Wizards had decided that if one of them had been present, Michael wouldn't have had nearly as much trouble with Professor Binns in his History of Magic lesson, which, somewhere along the line, progressed to the idea that Sydney couldn't teach a Muggle Studies class without someone there to help if she ran into trouble, as though she couldn't handle teaching a class about technology she'd been using her entire life.

Role completed, Sydney said, "Professor Lucia's lesson plan indicates that you have been studying Muggle cooking techniques. Mr. Kemler, will you please name four Muggle devices used for cooking."

She had been hoping to put that student of the spot ever since he walked in the room. He had been staring at her hungrily the entire time, as though he could see right through her robes, which, she was disturbed to know, might actually be the case. Now, however, she was enjoying watching him squirm. It seemed that, aside from not being entirely familiar with the information she'd requested, Kemler, like most of the class, noticed that she hadn't consulted the seating chart before calling his name. It was one of the advantages of having a photographic memory and Sydney occasionally enjoyed using it to frighten and intimidate others.

"Um...there's the...uh...stove," Kemler stammered, counting on his fingers, "oven, micrawove..."

"Microwave," Sydney corrected.

"Microwave, right," Kemler continued. "Refrigerator? No that's different...um..."

"Toaster," Sydney prompted.

"Oh," Kemler replied.

Sydney made sorting out which device cooks which way a team effort, but it still took several minutes. After that, she had them divide into pairs and disperse themselves to the several working kitchen appliances around the room, where they would attempt to cook with the recipes and ingredients waiting for them.

As they set to work, Sydney added, "Anyone who uses magic will automatically receive no credit," then smirked as she saw several people sadly sneak their wands back into their pockets.

Sydney wandered around the room answering questions as they arose, but mostly the students were able to fend for themselves, having already braved a multitude of Potions classes.

When the class came back together an hour later she had them all sample each other's dishes while they discussed their efforts. Most of the food was either over or under cooked. One confused pair even managed to make a loaf of bread that was both.

"What do you think?" Sydney asked, after they'd had some time to ponder the experience.

"It's different from potion making," one girl said insightfully. "There's no counting a specific amount of an ingredient or stirring the mixture a certain number of times."

"That's true," Sydney agreed, "there's a lot more estimation and guesswork involved in cooking. Would you say that makes it easier than potion making?"

There was a general nod of assent throughout the class.

"I suppose you all think you're adequate potion makers?"

There was some hesitation, but most people nodded again.

"So if Muggle cooking is simple compared to Potions class, then why didn't your dishes come out right?"

"This was just our first try, ma'am," one student pointed out.

"True," Sydney admitted, "but how did your first try at Potion making go? Did your Potion do what it was supposed to?"

The general consent among the class was that, while their first Potion class had gone horribly, as Snape had still been a professor at the time, their Potions did still mostly act as they were supposed to as long as they followed the directions to the letter.

Sydney picked an oddly shaped mass of dough off a tray and said, "This used to be a cookie."

She hit it hard against the edge of the teacher's desk. The cookie did not break. In fact, the impact left a small indentation in the wood.

"It's not anymore. This isn't even food anymore. I'm sure the pair that made these would like to argue that these were cookies when they took them out of the oven and that they followed the recipe carefully, and I would be inclined to believe them. However, something clearly happened here. Determining exactly what it was might be even harder than in Potions, because cooking is not an exact science. Recipes often have to be modified based on the appliance used to cook them, or the elevation at which they are made, and occasionally even the weather that day."

Most students looked like they wished she would stop comparing cooking to Potions and get on with telling them how to cook better, but Sydney had another idea.

"I've got a question for all of you. Obviously, you're all interested in Muggles or else you wouldn't be here, but I wonder if your respect for Muggles has increased since you started taking this class."

Sydney looked past the confused stares of the students and smirked when she saw Hermione flipping quickly through her copy of the course syllabus.

When no answer to her question seemed forthcoming, Sydney said, "I promise, no matter what you say, Professor Lucia won't hear about it."

Several students shook their heads and a few others nodded. The rest seemed undecided.

"Alright, why?" Sydney prompted. "If you think they're a dirty backwater society that's still living in the Dark Ages then say so, but be prepared to back it up."

"I think Muggles deserve our respect," one student chimed in finally. "I think it's brilliant what they've achieved without Magic."

"If they were enlightened enough to deserve our respect then they'd know about Magic," someone else retorted.

"They only don't know about Magic because we don't let them; it's like we're limiting their technology."

"Most Muggles have a general idea about how a lot of their most common technology works, so they can fix it if it breaks."

"Magic doesn't break- that makes is superior."

"I'd like to hear you explain how Magic works!"

"Hold it!" Sydney exclaimed. "I'm glad you're all getting into this debate, but personal attacks will not be tolerated, so please keep your arguments on a general level. Now, anyone, would you say Wizards or Muggles are the dominant species on the planet?"

"Wizards," several people answered at once, the rest nodded in agreement.

"But Muggles outnumber Wizards by over a hundred thousand to one," Sydney pointed out.

"We're more powerful," one student replied.

"Are you referring to weapons, technology, or intellect?" Sydney asked.

"All of them," he replied with a shrug.

"Let's start with weapons, then, they're probably the easiest," Sydney said, flipping through the class notes. "What is the scope of the most powerful destructive spell that you know of?

"I've heard of streets or buildings being blown up, nothing bigger than that."

Several other students seemed to agree, so Sydney said, "I see you haven't studied atomic bombs, but they are capable of destroying entire cities and rendering the area uninhabitable for years."

"We could make spells that powerful, but Wizards are mostly mixed in with Muggles. The Muggles would die too."

"Very true," Sydney agreed, "but now who's limiting whose technology."

"Oh."

"Muggles face a similar quandary, you know," Sydney said. "Enough countries possess nuclear weapons to ensure that no matter who starts a nuclear war, all the countries involved are almost guaranteed to be destroyed. A nuclear war big enough could end all life on Earth. As a result, no nuclear bomb has been dropped on enemy soil in over fifty years. So I ask you, is the more enlightened race the one that has large scale weapons but doesn't use them, or the one that had none at all?"

Several students looked like they were about to argue, but then closed their mouths.

"Shall we move on to technology, then?" Sydney felt sure that her thesis would not stand up under serious scrutiny, but, miraculously, no one objected, so she continued, "What about transportation?"

"We've got them there," a student exclaimed. "Muggles spend hours getting places, but we've got three different ways to travel instantaneously."

"That's true for short distances, but Apparating is only safe within a few hundred miles, and you have to know where you're going. It's easy to get lost using Floo powder if you don't know what you're doing, and the Ministry doesn't allow unauthorized portkeys."

"The Ministry uses Muggle cars sometime!" someone else burst out.

"An interesting point," Sydney replied. "Wizards didn't invent cars, but some still use them, despite the fact that they are inferior to magical forms of transportation."

"It's better than walking when we're in places inhabited by Muggles."

"What about space travel?" Sydney asked. "I haven't heard of any wizard ever traveling to space, have you?"

There was a resounding no.

"Muggles have sent manned missions to the moon and robotic probes to the outer reaches of the solar system," Sydney pointed out, "yet Wizards only get as close to the stars as telescopes allow."

Again the class was silenced.

"If that wasn't a tie I believe it was rather close to one," Sydney said. She paused for a moment to wait for objections. There was none, so she continued, "On to intellect then?"

It seemed that this was the topic the class had been waiting for: several students burst out at once.

"Our understanding of the universe is better."

"Magic is everywhere, but Muggles aren't smart enough to see it."

"We don't let them!"

"We have Seers who can predict the future and time turners that let us repeat the past, Muggles can't say that."

"But can Wizards say that they understand the present?" Sydney asked.

"Sure we do!"

"Muggles have spent centuries studying the forces of the universe, Wizards have spent millennia studying how to ignore them," Sydney continued, "but if you knew the forces you were manipulating when you caused an object to levitate or what chemically happens to a person when he or she drinks a potion, wouldn't your magic be more efficient?"

In truth, the students did not know. Wizards were professionals at manipulating Magic, but the exact nature of magic had always remained a great mystery. However, Sydney's point made sense.

"You do all realize that at one point Wizards were dying out," Sydney continued, hoping that Ron's lecture on the subject had been correct. "We would be extinct if we hadn't started marrying Muggles. Even now our numbers might not be sustainable. I would like you to consider the idea that Wizards and Muggles have a much more symbiotic relationship that you might have guessed. Muggles ensure the longevity of our race while we protect them from magical creatures and events against which they have no defense. We focus on the past and future while they see the present."

At that point, the bell rang to dismiss the class, so Sydney let them leave, noting with satisfaction that they were still discussing the finer points of her thesis. However, her cheery feeling evaporated when she noticed that Hermione had already ducked out. This frustrated Sydney immensely, for she had started the entire debate for Hermione's benefit, hoping she might take a hint and notice that Sydney was unsatisfied with her treatment by the three Wizards. Apparently, Hermione wasn't nearly as smart as she liked people to think.

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

Hermione's timing was unfortunate, she hadn't managed to skip out of Sydney's Muggle Studies class early enough to avoid the rush of students leaving their final class, so she was in the company of a mass of students, all talking loudly, excited with finally being released from the hours of lectures. All hope of locating her quarry quickly and easily was lost as Hermione was enveloped in the mass of people. Finally, she spied Ron a few meters away, a head taller than anyone in his immediate vicinity- his red hair like a signal beacon against the other students. She forced her way over to him, a difficult task despite the limited authority that the position of substitute charms teacher lent. She managed to catch up to Ron and touched his elbow to get his attention before pulling him to the side of the hallway.

"Hi, what's up?" he asked as soon as they were clear.

He looked windswept and a little sunburned from his day out on the grounds and Hermione noticed that he was opening and closing his right hand uncomfortably, so she took it and began messaging it gently as she replied, "I'll tell you in a minute. Do you know where Harry is?"

"He shouldn't be hard to spot," Ron replied as he began combing the crowd.

"Really?" Hermione asked, "How's that?"

"You didn't see him at lunch today," Ron replied with a smirk. "He was so annoyed. I thought you said you were going to meet us there. What happened?"

"I was helping Sydney with Muggle Studies. That's what I need to talk to you about," Hermione said.

"Ah, there he is," Ron exclaimed, pointing a little ways down the hall.

Now that Hermione saw Harry she couldn't believe she'd missed him. He was like a large rock in a shallow stream, all the people around him were scrambling to get out of his way, which gave him about a meter's space on either side. Harry looked like he was trying to alternate between ignoring the problem and acting congenial enough to encourage people to stop dodging out of his path like he had some kind of disease, but she knew him enough to suspect he would rather that the ground swallowed him up than force him to continue to be the source of so much attention.

"What'd he do to deserve that?" Hermione asked.

"He punished a couple bullies during morning break," Ron replied. "It was brilliant, I'll bet they still don't know what happened to them."

"So people have been doing this to him all day?" Hermione continued.

"Yep," Ron said, laughing.

"Ron!" Hermione exclaimed.

"I mean, poor man!" Ron jested as Harry approached shouting range and Hermione called him over

Harry looked happy to be among people who weren't liable to drop down and grovel at his feet at random intervals and chose to ignore how much wider of a radius people were giving their group now that he'd joined it.

"So, Hermione, we're all here now, what's up" Ron prompted.

"We have to talk," Hermione replied.

"That so?" Ron said. "About anything in particular?"

"I'll tell you when we get to our common room," Hermione said.

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

Sydney was too annoyed to track down Hermione and set her straight, so she found Michael instead, holed up in the library as usual, studying a large history book.

"Do you have plans?" she asked.

Michael shrugged and nodded at his book.

"Good," Sydney said, dragging him out of the library.

When they stopped in front of the wall containing the door the Room of Requirement, Michael was initially worried that Sydney was going to force him to resume their search for Rambaldi artifacts, but then the door appeared and they stepped into the room containing the aids to various kinds of combat. At that point, Michael was terrified. They were usually well matched in most kinds of fights, but considering Sydney's current mood, Michael didn't stand a chance. He wouldn't have been the least bit surprised to turn around and discover Sydney coming at him with the long sword that was sheathed in the corner.

Sydney tossed Michael as set of protective gear designed for kick boxing and they began suiting up. The room had provided clothes suitable for their endeavor, but they didn't use them since they wouldn't have a chance to change out of their robes if they ever found themselves in a real hand to hand fight.

Sydney landed the first punch, a sharp hit to Michael's chest that knocked the wind out of him. She gave him a minute to recover then came at him again, this time hitting him in the stomach. This, at least, he was ready for, and he tried to return the favor, aiming for her shoulder, but she deflected the punch easily.

Over the next few minutes, Sydney systematically pummeled Michael, allowing him only two additional chances to hit her back: the first she dodged and during the second she forced him to jump away at exactly the same moment, making his punch into more of a tap.

"What, afraid to hit me?" Sydney slurred around her mouth guard, "'cause I can take it, you know."

"It's not that," Michael replied, "you're boxing too well, I-"

"Is it because I'm a girl, then?" Sydney demanded, "because I thought we already worked that out, and I swear, if you don't start trying soon you're going to wish you had."

"Are you mad about something?" Michael asked.

Either Michael let his guard down a little too long or Sydney chose the violent answer to his stupid question: a moment later, Sydney's gloved fist connected with his jaw and he was knocked to the ground.

Sydney didn't apologize, but she did kneel down next to him.

"How was class?" Michael asked, feeling his tender jaw as well as he could with his gloved hand.

"Good," Sydney replied, spitting out her mouth guard. "The students seemed to like the lesson alright."

"What's wrong, then?" Michael pressed.

"Hermione," Sydney said. "Well, actually it's all three of them, but mostly Hermione."

"Really?" Michael asked. "They've always been really kind to me, considering."

"Considering what?" Sydney demanded.

"This is their world," Michael said, "they know it, we don't, and even in spite of that, they're still respectful towards us."

"Don't kid yourself," Sydney sneered, slipping into a passable imitation of Hermione's bookish voice. "We're really glad to have you here, Sydney, but right now the Wizards and I have something really important to discuss, so if you'll just bugger off we'll give you the abridged version later."

"When has Hermione ever told you to bugger off?" Michael asked, bemused.

"And you," Sydney retorted. "You're not helping things at all. You heard why McGonagall wanted you to teach History of Magic, it's so she could get the usual teacher used to the idea of being fired. She's taking advantage of our situation."

"Our goals aren't mutually exclusive," Michael said. "I needed a subject to teach and History of Magic is what I got. I don't have a problem with the fact that I'm also helping Professor McGonagall. Besides, between the two of us, we're getting a pretty good idea of how these Wizards work."

"I've seen how those three act around each other; they always speak slower when we're around, like we're some lower life form that they don't want to offend," Sydney continued, ignoring Michael's point. "I had a debate today in one of my Muggle Studies classes, we decided that Wizards and Muggles are symbiotic, but then Hermione left before I could discuss it with her. I tried to bring it up subtly, and she completely missed it. And, you'd think that she, out of everyone, would know how to behave around us, seeing as she's Muggle born and all."

"She also happens to be a genius," Michael pointed out. "Maybe she knows the full extent of the difficulties of transitioning to the Wizarding world and is trying to protect us from them."

"I don't want to be protected," Sydney replied.

"Well, kicking my ass across the floor isn't going to change their behavior," Michael said.

"Good point."

Sydney ripped off her gear and left abruptly. It took a moment before Michael realized that Sydney's current state of mind could spell a considerable amount of danger for the Wizards and he took off after her.

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

"... and then they decided that Wizards and Muggles are symbiotic," Hermione finished.

"I'd have to agree," Ron said. Harry nodded.

"So do I, but I think Sydney was trying to make a point about her and Michael," Hermione said.

"She doesn't think we're being symbiotic as a team?" Ron asked. 'But we need them, otherwise they wouldn't be here. They just happen to need us a bit more at the momen- Oh, hi Sydney and Michael."

Sydney practically growled as she watched their confused expressions melt into pleasant smiles.

"What is your problem with us?" she demanded, dispensing with a greeting.

"We don't have a problem with you," Hermione stammered, her confused look returning.

"Don't give me that," Sydney spat impatiently. "And don't think I haven't noticed."

"Noticed what?" Harry replied a split second before Hermione stepped on his foot.

Sydney rounded on him. "Plenty, like the way you always change the subject when we come into a room?"

"Why would we do that?" Harry retorted.

"Maybe because you don't want us to hear what you're talking about!" Sydney offered sarcastically.

"And I suppose everything we say is automatically your business!" Harry exclaimed.

"We're your teammates; we can't hide things from each other!" Sydney yelled.

"If it's something important then we'll tell you!" Harry said.

"And who gets to decide that?"

"We do!" Harry exploded, practically snorting in his rage.

"Then what were you talking about when we came in a minute ago?" Sydney demanded.

"We were talking about you!" Harry exclaimed.

"And you don't think we need to discuss that!" Sydney said.

"We are!" Harry yelled.

"Fine," Sydney yelled. "What are we doing here? Why aren't we working on finding the Death Eaters? It's been more than two weeks and we don't even have a plan."

"We're going to find Malfoy at a Quidditch Match, how is that not a plan?" Harry demanded.

"Because we haven't decided what we're going to do there!" Sydney exclaimed. "We don't even have tickets to the game!"

"It's more of a plan than we've ever had before!" Harry spat.

"Why did you ask us here?" Sydney demanded again. "What are we supposed to be? Your cannon fodder?"

"We di- of course not, we need your help," Harry exclaimed. "Why else?"

Seething, Sydney pulled out her wand and pointed it squarely at the bridge of Harry's nose. Fear flashed behind his eyes, but reason caught up with him a second later and he crossed his arms and stared at her dully.

"This," Sydney said, shaking her wand but not lowering it, "these," she grabbed a handful of robe at her thigh and lifted it slightly, "it's all not helping. We can act British, we can act like Wizards, we can teach any of the classes you want us to, but we're not accomplishing anything, so why don't we come up with a way to finish this so we can get on with out lives."

"Don't you understand?" Harry asked. "That's why we need you. You're not just extra fighters. We've never had a plan before, there's never been time. Usually battles come to us, so we fight and hope that not too many people get hurt in the process, but along the way the victories kept getting narrower and narrower. Last time, if it hadn't been for..." Harry cut himself off and restarted. "Now we have an advantage and we don't know what to do with it, but this is what you do, so we need you to come up with our plans, like you did when you said we should be apprentices instead of substitute teachers."

"And you won't keep ignoring us?" Sydney prompted.

"We never ignored-" Harry started, but Sydney glared at him and he corrected himself, saying, "No, we won't ignore you."

"Alright," Sydney replied, finally lowering her wand.

"Alright," Harry repeated.

Heaving sighs of relief, Ron, Hermione, and Michael returned from the corners they'd retreated to at the beginning of the row.

"Is that everything?" Hermione asked hopefully.

Michael nodded, but Sydney replied, "Not quite."

Harry, Ron, and Hermione winced but nodded for her to continue.

"We can't you treat us like you treat each other?"

"How do you..." Ron started.

"Don't start with that again," Sydney muttered. "And I don't quite mean how you treat each other, because I've never seen a closer group of friends than you three, but you're so polite and formal, you practically bow when you see us. You don't even do that to Professor McGonagall."

"We were just trying to be respectful to you," Harry tried uncertainly, glancing sideways at Ron and Hermione, who nodded.

"We just wanted to make sure you don't feel inferior here," Hermione added.

"Well, it didn't work," Sydney said. "What you're doing is as much discrimination as if you made us sleep in a different room from you."

Harry and Ron winced simultaneously, several unfortunate acronyms already floating through their heads, and Hermione quailed.

"But we don't..." Ron started.

"No," Sydney snapped, "you make us share rooms with you because you assume that if 'something happened,' as you put it, we wouldn't be able to defend ourselves."

"What do you want us to do?" Harry asked, his mind reeling.

"Remember that you asked us here, because if you think that we can't handle what's coming then we might as well go home now," Sydney replied. "You also need to know that it is our job to blend in here, but if you don't help us and treat us like equals then our cover could be blown. Then there's the fact that we don't like being put on a pedestal or treated like we have substandard intelligence."

Harry, Ron, and Hermione glanced at each other and then at Michael. When he didn't add anything, Harry said, "Alright."

"That's it?" Sydney demanded. "Just 'alright'?"

"Sorry, too," Ron added.

"What?" Sydney asked. She'd expected this to take a lot more effort, in fact, she'd expected the wizards to deny that they'd done anything that could be considered discrimination.

"We'll try to make those changes," Hermione explained. "Hopefully most of it hasn't become habit yet.

"That easy?" Sydney asked, giving them a suspicious look.

"I don't know about easy," Ron replied.

"You modified your entire way of life to join a fight you didn't even know about. It's the least we can do to treat you how you want to be treated," Harry explained.

Hermione added, "I suppose the trouble was-"

"Don't bother with excuses!" Sydney snapped, feeling her suspicions were about to be proven right after all.

"Alright, sorry," Hermione said, cringing. "I just thought you might like an explanation."

Sydney sighed. "Continue."

"For most of the past year the three of us have been alone together, looking for the Horcruxes. I guess we just got used to either giving orders or taking them when other people were involved, so when you came along we weren't sure how to treat someone of equal rank. Then there's the fact that you're Muggles."

Sydney, who up until that moment had looked satisfied with Hermione's explanation, became immediately agitated again, demanding, "What does that have to do with it?"

Hermione winced and continued, "A lot more than you might realize. We knew how Squibs and Muggles tend to be treated, I've had to take some of it myself because I'm Muggle born, so we wanted to make sure that you would get the respect you deserve, at least from us. Apparently that was the wrong way to go."

"It was thoughtful of you to try, I suppose," Sydney admitted. "You need to understand, it's not easy for us to live here with you and blend in with your world."

"What do you mean?" Harry asked. "You always seem so at ease with it all, like nothing ever surprises you."

"We were trained to play along with any situation we come across in the field," Sydney explained. "We're good actors, nothing more."

"Your world was completely alien to us when we got here," Michael added.

"Not only are we Muggles, we're American," Sydney said. "And things are different here. We're trying to help you, but I guess we just need a little more help from you first, so volunteer information, tell us where you think we're slipping up."

"Anything we can do," Harry offered.

"We've actually been hoping that you'd come to us with something like this. We didn't like being so formal around you all the time," Hermione said.

"But we didn't want to assume you wanted us to stop," Harry added.

"The truth is, Harry and I were both outcasts when we lived among Muggles, he more than I," Hermione said. "We weren't sure how to act around you."

"We didn't want to mess it up, because you're so important to us," Harry finished, "so we played it safe."

"Do you want to reopen the room assignment question?" Ron offered.

"No," Sydney admitted. "I think we got it right the first time."

"Are we okay, then?" Harry asked.

"One last thing," Sydney said. "Where were you the morning of the day before yesterday?"

"We were here," Hermione replied, eyebrow arching.

"Well, what were you doing?" Sydney pressed. "You obviously weren't researching, or planning, or even teaching. I was trying to come up with a plan and it would have been helpful to have you around."

"Well, sorry," Harry said, "but we were celebrating."

"Celebrating?" Sydney asked. "What could you possibly have to celebrate?"

"It was Hermione's birthday," Ron said quietly.

"Oh," Sydney sighed. She seemed to battle with herself for a moment, then said, "Happy Birthday."

Despite the assurances of the wizards, Sydney still didn't quite believe that they would make such a dramatic shift of behavior so quickly, but her fears were quickly proven groundless.

The very next morning at breakfast, Hermione asked Sydney if she wanted to be 'observed' in Muggle Studies class again and Sydney politely declined. Then they got into a very interesting discussion about why Muggles and Wizards remain in separate societies. After that, they had some form of debate whenever they got the chance.

Michael also experienced a marked increase in the friendliness of the Wizards, the most dramatic example of which occurred a few days later when he returned to the dormitory after a day of teaching and found Ron sitting in the middle of what looked like about half the books in the library, along with quite a few maps of structures that looked very similar to the Quidditch pitch. Nearly every surface in the small room was covered, including all three beds and Ron's knees, upon which rested an order form for tickets to a Quidditch game.

"What happened to you?" Ron asked, looking up at Michael, who was covered head to foot in chalk dust.

"Dramatic recreation on the Goblin revolt of 1612," Michael replied, forcing back the urge to dust himself off. "Those first years are fun."

"Speak for yourself," Ron muttered, leaning forward to turn a page in the book in front of him.

"Um, Ron?" Michael said uncomfortably.

"Yeah?" Ron replied.

"Could you help me out here?"

"What?" Ron asked, looking up at him. "Oh, right, sorry."

Ron lifted up several books, looking for his wand and finally located it in a stack of papers to his right. He twirled it thoughtfully for a moment, then pointed it at Michael. Almost immediately, the chalk dust disappeared.

"Thanks," Michael said, glancing down at his robes.

"No problem," Ron replied. "I've never been very good a cleaning spells, though, did I miss anywhere?"

"I don't think so," Michael said, turning around to let Ron see if there was any dust left on his back.

"Do you need help with this?" Michael asked as he gazed around at the sea of books, guessing that Ron was attempting to buy tickets to the Quidditch game that would give them the best view of the game and the people in the stands.

"Not unless you've got some advice that Hermione and Sydney haven't already given me," Ron replied, shoving a book away and picking up another.

"Probably not," Michael replied as he looked around quizzically. He usually took his History of Magic book with him to his lessons, but now it looked like there was no place to put it.

"May I leave this here?" Michael asked, locating a likely spot on the floor near the door.

"Stop!" Ron commanded suddenly, nearly causing Michael to jump and drop the book in that place anyway. "Don't put that there!"

"Why not?" Michael gasped, his heart pounding.

"It's against the nature of the universe!" Ron declared.

"Where can I put it then?" Michael asked, suspecting that Ron was not to be believed in this matter.

"Oh, just anywhere," Ron replied, "but not there!"

However, a strange glint in Ron's eye gave him away, and Michael tossed the book defiantly in the exact place Ron had forbidden him to, then made his way back to the common room, observing no tears in the fabric of time or space. It was strange, but to Michael, being on the butt end of a joke finally solidified his full inclusion to the group.

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

In the locker room before his fifth Quidditch practice with the Kestrals, Harry was still being ignored. If anything, the team had been treating him progressively worse since he refused to take a hint and give up. Harry had even tried to strike up a friendly conversation with the other players about their common interest, Quidditch, but they just huffed and walked away.

Harry wasn't sure how much longer he could stand being treated like this, and he was feeling inspired by Sydney's abrupt confrontation of him, Ron, and Hermione.

Harry stood and, steeling himself up, said to the room at large, "Listen, I know we didn't get off to a very good start, but I think I have a good idea of what you lot think of me and I think this has gone far enough. So I want you to know that I tried out for this position just like everyone else that wanted it and I didn't ask to be given the starting spot. I also didn't buy this broom so that I'd be better than the rest of you. It was a gift I got when I was thirteen and often happens to help make me better than the seeker I'm playing against. I want to win this game as much as you do. We're all on the same side here. It'd probably help if we start acting like it."

Harry sat down to watch their reactions. Some looked blasphemed at the nerve of him while others seemed genuinely impressed. At any rate, practice showed a marked decrease in jeers directed at Harry and an increase in optimism about the approaching game.

The center piece of it all was when the reserve Seeker called Harry over and respectfully pointed out a flaw in his technique that no on had ever mentioned before. Harry returned the favor by talking him through the finer points of the sloth grip roll, something that had been causing the other seeker trouble. By the time practice was over, Harry finally allowed himself to think that he might just be able to pull this mission off.

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

"Have a look at this," Michael said, giving Sydney a copy of Hogwarts: A History.

Sydney blinked as the book was suddenly dropped on top of the one she was already reading. She did as he requested, but the text was exceedingly small, and she suspected that even if she read the indicated pages, she still wouldn't know what Michael was going on about.

Finally, Michael took pity on her and indicated a specific paragraph, saying, "The groundskeeper at Hogwarts is also known as the 'Keeper of the Keys,' but no one knows what the name refers to anymore."

Sydney suddenly became very interested in what the book had to say. "The Groundskeeper has a shack at the edge of the forbidden forest where he keeps his supplies," Sydney read. "Let's go check it out."

They walked up to the door of the decrepit groundskeeper's hut and knocked. It looked like it had once caught fire and had only been partly repaired. When there was no answer, Sydney tried using the key they'd found, observing happily that this was one of the only places in all of Hogwarts that used a lock. However, the key didn't fit, so she pulled out her lock picking tools and forced their way inside.

What they found inside made them very happy they'd knocked first, for, some time between when Hogwarts: A History was published and the present date, the hut had ceased to be a storage closet and become someone's house instead. It seemed that this person was also exceedingly huge; everything remaining in the house was much larger than it ought to be. However, the place also looked abandoned; a thin layer of dust covered all the charred furniture.

"We should still have a look around," Sydney said.

"Just try not to disturb anything," Michael agreed.

They spent almost an hour searching the hut, looking for anything sporting Rambaldi's eye or a keyhole, but soon it became too dark to continue, and they didn't dare to light a lantern because they were certain that they weren't supposed to be there and it would give them away.

Their search had been relatively thorough, and the fact that they hadn't found anything filled Sydney with mixed emotions. However, as soon as they stepped outside and the door locked behind them, Sydney yelped.

"We didn't check out here!"

They were suddenly engaged in a made race against the fading light. Just as it seemed they would have to give up again, Sydney found a loose brick that must have been knocked partway out when the chimney was added to the hut. She pulled it free and grimaced but reached hopefully into the gap. When she felt only dirt and cobwebs within she pulled her hand out and examined the brick instead.

"What'd you find?" Michael asked.

Awestruck, Sydney lifted the brick to the remaining light so Michael could see the keyhole in one side.

Sydney and Michael strode through the castle, heading towards the Room of Requirement, the only place in the entire castle where they could have guaranteed privacy. They opened the door on a barren room containing only a table and two chairs that also happened to boast a very reassuring bolt in the door.

They sat down at the table and Sydney opened the brick. There was a tightly rolled piece of heavy paper inside which she extracted and opened carefully.

It read:

If mysteries you wish to sight

Seek the one too quick to fight.

"That's it?" Michael demanded. "A riddle?"

Sydney flipped the paper over, looking for more but finding nothing.

"Who do you suppose this 'one too quick to fight' is?"

"I don't know," Michael sighed. "There must be a hundred people here who fit that description."

"But whoever it is must have been around at the same time as Rambaldi," Sydney pointed out. "That narrows it down a bit."

"A ghost maybe?" Michael suggested.

"Or a picture," Sydney replied.

"There are over a thousand pictures in this castle," Michael said.

"I know."

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

The Wednesday before the match, Ron and Hermione found Harry in the library.

"Are you coming down to dinner?" Ron asked.

"I'm not hungry," Harry replied, not looking up from his book. "You go on without me."

"Harry!" Hermione exclaimed, snapping his book shut. "This past week you've spent all your time either on a broomstick or here with your nose stuck in Quidditch Through the Ages, and by my count, none of it eating or sleeping. You know it doesn't help when you do this to yourself. Just take a break a minute."

"Yeah," Ron interjected. "You're spending more time in the library than Hermione."

Hermione shot him a look, but didn't argue.

"But I can't," Harry said. "Our entire mission relies on my ability to pull this off, and I'm not sure I can."

"Well, what makes you think that?" Ron asked. "In all the games you've played, I've only seen one time when you didn't catch the snitch and that wasn't your fault. Besides, you've come under fire plenty of times before, and you've never let the idea that you couldn't do it stop you."

"This time it's different," Harry replied. "This isn't an ordinary Quidditch game, and whenever I've come up against something similar to this I just happened to be there, I was never anticipating it two weeks beforehand."

"Except for the Triwizard Tournament," Hermione pointed out.

"Except for the Triwizard Tournament," Harry conceded, "where, as I recall, I nearly died."

"And which you spent nearly every second for the better part of the year stressing over," Hermione countered.

"Fine, I'll go down to dinner," Harry said, moving to get up.

"While you're at it," Hermione said, "you might want to have a look at this." She offered him the advanced Defense Against the Dark Arts book she'd been holding.

"Professor Caden's been working up a nice head cold all week, and he looks like he might want to take the next two days off," Ron explained. "It's the perfect thing to get your mind off Quidditch."

"Oh, fine, I'll have a look at it after dinner," Harry sighed, not wanting to lose another argument with them.

Aside from his students wanting to know more about Harry's encounter with Voldemort than the skills that saved him, Harry's experience as a substitute teacher went relatively well, better, at least, than his miserable first few attempts. By the time the last class ended on Thursday he had given up trying to ignore their requests for him to recount his former battles, but he learned to incorporate teaching the subject matter into his stories, making Friday very productive. Ginny even came up to him after class and said that she'd learned more from him in an hour than from Professor Caden all year, and she hadn't even realized any of it until class was over. Harry tried to look gratified, but Ginny had reminded him that there were less than thirty hours between him and the Quidditch game that could put an end to their entire mission. He immediately excused himself and spent the rest of the evening on a broomstick chasing the snitch. He stayed out until it was too dark to see and he had to use Accio to find it.