The second part of a Harry Potter/The Dark Is Rising series crossover.
Consider this a birthday present--or rather, a gift in honour of--Will
Stanton, who according to "The Dark Is Rising" was born on December
21st. Happy birthday, Will!

Oh, and just for clarification, any speech within italics indictes telepathy
or a mental conversation.

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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With a disgusted grunt, Hermione slammed her Arithmancy textbook
shut.

Neville, sitting across the library table from her, started and almost
fell out of his chair.

"Sorry," she muttered automatically. Ever since the lecture that morning,
she'd been having a horrible time concentrating on any of her normal
schoolwork. In class, she didn't worry much, because the rest of her
classmates were even more distracted than normal. The teachers didn't
notice that she wasn't raising her hand quite so often--they were too
busy trying to keep the class focused on the lesson.

Compared to them, Hermione was her usual attentive, studious self.

Here, in the peaceful library with no one but Neville around, she had
hoped to get some serious reading done. Yet no matter how hard she
tried, she couldn't stay focused. Her mind kept drifting back to the
strange, frighteningly blank expression on Harry's face, and Professor
Stanton's even stranger lecture.

It made sense to her, the connection between Muggle Studies and
Defence Against the Dark Arts, but she still found it disconcerting.
Lumping almost everyone you knew outside of Hogwarts into one
big group labeled 'Muggle' was still difficult, even after four years as
a witch. And to hear someone, who wasn't even a wizard--or at
least said he wasn't--speak about Muggles in such candid terms
was very unnerving.

Funny, that. She could endure Malfoy's daily taunts of 'Mudblood'
without a second thought, but she couldn't stomach a critical analysis
of the weaknesses in the non-wizarding world.

It was nearly time for bed, anyway. No point in wasting more time in
the library tonight.

She gathered up her books, and Neville hastily followed suit.

"Are you going back?" he asked.

"I suppose," she said, pushing her hair back from her face. "It doesn't
look like I'll be getting much more done tonight."

He closed the open notebook that lay before him on the table. "Would
you look over the notes for Potions with me before class tomorrow?
Maybe I'll remember more if you help me with it."

"All right," she agreed, not really hearing him. The two of them pushed
in their chairs and headed for the door.

Hermione stopped short just inside the door to the corridor, nearly
causing Neville to run into her. Two people were talking in hushed
tones right outside the library, but the slight echo in the stone
corridors allowed her to hear their conversation clearly.

Recognizing one of the voices, she immediately shoved Neville back
into the library, barricading the door with her body.

"Oh, dear!" she exclaimed, trying to keep her voice low so Madam
Pince wouldn't hear her. "I think I left my favourite quill on one of the
bookshelves in the back. Neville, would you go and find it for me?"

Neville, ever ready to oblige the girl whose patient tutoring kept him
on the near side of passing, nodded and hurried back to look for the
missing quill.

Hermione watched him dart away, then pushed the door open just
enough to keep it from squeaking. The quill in question was tucked
safely in her pocket, as usual, but she had two important reasons for
sending Neville off on a fool's errand.

"If it isn't the living legend--Will Stanton himself."

Snape's voice was unmistakable--Reason Number One. The frigid
formality in it was also unmistakable--Reason Number Two.

She peered through the crack in the door. Despite the dim light and her
awkward position, she could see both of the teachers as they stood in
the corridor.

"Good evening, Professor Snape." Professor Stanton nodded courteously.

Snape did not return the greeting. "Is there a reason why you are still
here?"

"It's been quite a while since I spent this much time in the world of
magic," came the calm reply. "I've missed it very much. And pleasant
company is always appreciated--I also miss the companionship of
like-minded individuals."

"'Like-minded individuals'?" Snape repeated mockingly. Though her
poor vantage point didn't allow her to see his face clearly, Hermione
could almost hear his eyebrows raise. "You must be a bigger ass than
I ever thought, imagining you'll find 'like-minded individuals' here. This
is a school for wizardry, in case you've forgotten during your little
sojourn among the Muggles."

"I doubt I could forget something like that so easily."

Hermione shivered. Listening to the two dark-robed professors talk
was like watching two towering pillars of ice, both equally frozen and
remote. Snape's voice, as sour as curdled milk, seemed to battle with
Professor Stanton's even, disinterested responses. She shivered again,
and pulled her robes closer to her body.

Then, without warning, everything was silent. Snape's lips still moved,
but she couldn't hear anything--it was like watching television with the
sound muted. Even the noise of other people walking down distant
corridors had disappeared.

For a sick moment, she was certain she had gone deaf.

I'm terribly sorry you have to witness this, Miss Granger, said a
quiet voice, cutting through the silence--and speaking inside her mind.

Hermione's head snapped up to stare at Professor Stanton. It had to
be his voice, but she hadn't seen his lips move. Even now, he was still
apparently listening to Snape, who from his tightly-controlled gestures
and burning glare was well into a lengthy diatribe.

What's going on? Who are you? she asked, frightened at the intrusion
into her head.

A friend, I hope, he answered, sounding apologetic. I spoke with
Mr Potter earlier today, during the lecture, and he mentioned
your name as a potential contact. I had wished to speak with
you alone, but unfortunately, it seems that these will be the only
circumstances under which we can meet.

That's all right, she replied with what she hoped was nonchalance,
as if strange professors speaking directly into her mind and the minds
of her close friends was an everyday occurrence. I know what it's
like to have problems dealing with Snape.

Professor Snape, he corrected gently, making Hermione blush.
Your Potions Master and I tend to have...differing opinions on
certain subjects. But what I said was true. I do enjoy being in
the company of like-minded individuals--those who valiantly
serve the cause of the Light, often at great cost to themselves.
And you, Miss Granger, have proved yourself on more than one
occasion to be equal to the task.

This time, Hermione's blush was due to embarrassed and bewildered
pride. Thank you very much, sir.

Not at all. Professor Stanton sighed. Before you ask me the reason
for this meeting, I should tell you that I am not here to reiterate
everything you've heard before. You know the dangers you face
well enough. I am here to remind you of something you might have
forgotten. Both Mr Potter and Headmaster Dumbledore asked me
if I would be willing to do so...perhaps they thought it would be
easier if an unfamiliar face....

His voice trailed off, leaving the thought hanging.

What is it? Is something the matter? Hermione prompted.

Your parents, Miss Granger.

Hermione bit her lip to keep from crying out. What about my parents?
What's wrong? she asked cautiously.

Nothing, for the moment, he said. But what if that were not the
case? Would you be able to accept the fact that your parents,
average Muggles whose only contact with magic is through you,
are in constant danger?

The logical part of Hermione's brain idly wondered how Dumbledore
could know so much without directly asking her--perhaps the rumour
that he was clairvoyant really was true? She hadn't mentioned anything
to Harry or Ron.

The rest of her brain, however, watched her soul shrivel up into a little
ball, trembling as the worries locked away in the back of her mind burst
free and flooded her body.

Professor Stanton paused, as if searching for the right words, and
then continued. You, I fear, are the only one whose family is truly
vulnerable. And I would rather have you consider this now, when
you have time to think about it and prepare for the possibility,
than to leave you in ignorance and force you to make a horrible
choice.

Hermione felt hot tears welling up, and her eyes stung with the effort
of keeping them from falling.

I know, she said miserably. Ever since second year, I've worried
about them. I prayed that they'd be all right, that they'd be safe
because they were Muggles and didn't have anything to do with
magic. But I've always told myself to stop being silly, that Ron
and Neville and everyone else was worried about their families,
too, and...and....

She couldn't finish the sentence. Two tears tricked down her face,
and she angrily wiped them away with the back of her hand.

It is not silly, Miss Granger. Things are different with your other
friends, Professor Stanton said sharply. Mr Weasley's parents and
siblings are well-versed in magic, able to defend themselves. Mr
Potter has no such worries...though I know he would give nearly
anything to have a family to worry about. Mr Longbottom's
grandmother is a most...formidable lady, and she has lived
through enough family crises to understand the risks. That is
why I am offering you, and you alone, a choice.

She blinked rapidly, fighting her tears and vainly trying to digest
all the information at once. Wh-what? she stammered.

The wizarding world needs people like you. Brilliant, energetic,
fiercely dedicated--a welcome contrast to the stuffy old relics
who vainly cling to the past. But you certainly can't stay focused
on your studies if you are constantly worrying about the safety
of your family. So, if you will trust me, I swear that I will do
everything within my power to safeguard your parents' lives.

Hermione couldn't believe her ears. You'd protect my parents?
Make sure that You-Know-Who and the Death Eaters don't
hurt them?

If you will permit me. His gentle voice slipped into the same speech
pattern he had used for his lecture, pedantic and slightly ironical. The
Death Eaters, for all their power, tend to restrict themselves to
the established methods and practices of the wizarding world.
Completely expected, of course, considering their opinions about
everything remotely non-magical, but it does limit their options.
There are other means of protection and defence, more ancient than
the oldest spells, which they would not find so easy to overcome.

Really? Like what? Hermione asked, her intellectual curiosity piqued
by the topic of old, unstudied magic.

Professor Stanton didn't seem to hear her--or if he did, he chose to
ignore the question. All I ask in return is that you never lose your
desire to learn, to expand your knowledge. Only in that way,
through new ideas, will we ever triumph in the battle that should
have been won long ago.

It seemed too good to be true. Then again, receiving an owl-delivered
letter of acceptance to a school for witchcraft and wizardry had also
seemed too good to be true.

If Harry trusts you, then I trust you,she replied, her heart soaring.

Excellent, Professor Stanton said, sounding very satisfied. I will keep
you informed on any action I may take concerning your parents.
They need never know about any of this...unless you choose to tell
them.

Hermione didn't know what to say. "Thank you" was certainly not
enough, but what else was there to say? Nothing appropriate came
immediately to mind.

She decided to avoid all flowery phrases entirely, and ask the question
that had been bothering her ever since that morning's lecture. Something
told her that Professor Stanton would prefer it that way, whether he
answered her or not. If I may ask, sir...who are you? I mean, if it's
all right for me to know.

He chuckled quietly. If you truly want more answers, I recommend
the book Ancient Legends of the British Isles--tenth bookcase on your
left, second shelf from the top. It is rather dry, and not the most
comprehensive of explanations, but will be more than enough...until
I see you again.

You will be coming back, then? Back to Hogwarts? she asked eagerly.

Yes, Miss Granger, with any luck I will. Now, give me a few minutes
to finish this discussion with Professor Snape, and then you and Mr
Longbottom can head back to your dormitory. I don't think either of
you would want to run into him in his current state.

"Are you listening to me, Stanton?"

Snape's voice returned, the sudden jolt back to reality as unexpected as a
douse of ice water.

"Of course," Professor Stanton said, blinking slightly. Hermione wondered
if the abrupt return to normal speech was as jarring for him as it had been
for her.

"The little parlour trick you performed today in lecture may have
impressed the students, but not me. And as a result, you've added to
my normal coursework--today's lesson was a disaster, thanks to you."

Hermione winced, remembering Neville's botched attempt at making the
Pep Potion assigned for the day's class. Snape had forced him to drink
the nasty-looking liquid, and Neville had only stopped belching blue and
green bubbles shortly before dinner. No one else had come close to
duplicating the mixture Snape had assigned, not even Hermione.
Predictably, the Potions Master had dismissed them with double
homework, and had left Neville in his unfortunate condition.

Professor Stanton, undaunted by the accusation, coolly maintained eye
contact with Snape. "I wasn't trying to impress anyone. I was merely
emphasising a fact...one that both young and experienced minds would
do well to remember."

The complete lack of irony or sarcasm in the response only seemed to
anger Snape even more. "Leave this place, Stanton. There is nothing
for you here," he choked out.

"You act as if I came in search of something," Professor Stanton said.
"I did not. I have no interest in interfering with the normal workings of
this school. However, we do happen to be on the same side--and the
sooner you come to accept that, the better off we all will be."

Snape's jaw tightened, but he did not respond.

Professor Stanton bowed slightly, his cloak brushing the stone floor. "If
you will excuse me, I have a meeting with Headmaster Dumbledore in
a few moments. Good night, Professor Snape."

Hermione didn't wait to hear the Potion Master's reply. She ran lightly
through the maze of bookshelves, counting under her breath until she
reached the tenth one. A breathless moment later, she had retrived the
desired book and dashed up to Madam Pince's desk.

"Can I have this one, please?" she said, thrusting the book under the
librarian's nose.

Madam Pince gave her an odd look, but duly stamped the book and
waved her away. Hermione felt a tap on her shoulder, and turned around
to see Neville standing there, frowning puzzledly.

"I couldn't find it, Her--"

"Never mind," she said quickly, interrupting him and propelling him
toward the exit with her free hand. "Let's head back."

Neville found himself being dragged back to the Gryffindor tower
so quickly that his toes barely touched the floor.

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Gramarye
gramarye@postmaster.co.uk
http://gramarye.freehosting.net/
December 21st, 2001