Not truly a crossover--more along the lines of "character borrowing".
It's probably better if you've read both Susan Cooper's The Dark Is
Rising series and the Harry Potter series to get a better grasp of the
story. I originally planned this as a one-shot story, but due to sudden
creative outpouring, I think it would work better divided into parts.

As for the time period...this tale would potentially take place
sometime during the events in Goblet of Fire, early in the school
year.

Standard disclaimers apply. Harry Potter, all related characters, and
various media incarnations are copyright of the very talented J. K.
Rowling, Scholastic, and other international companies involved in
its creation and distribution. Will Stanton and "The Dark Is Rising"
series are both copyright of the wonderful Susan Cooper.

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Town and Gown
By: Gramarye

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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 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 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 occurences 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 learnt 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 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
rumour 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
gramarye@postmaster.co.uk
http://gramarye.freehosting.net/
December 20th, 2001