Deep As You Go – Part III

by Mina

Warnings:  A bit of foul language, some sexual insinuation and situations, and the author's disturbing imagination, of course.

A/N:  This chapter is loathingly dedicated to Kristi, who makes me second-guess myself constantly in the hopes that I'll never fall into the Evil!Fanon characterisation trap.  If I start to slide into the abyss, please yank me out?

A/N II:  Since I've had some people try and tell me that my characterisations are OOC, I'm going to direct you to my little rant/essay on Harry Potter, which can be found at .  While I realise that "characterisation" is often a matter of interpretation—one which I am willing to discuss with open-minded people—I try to back things up with proof from the books.

23 February: Thanks to Aishuu for pointing out the formatting problem.  That's what I get for not checking things.  O.o

24 February: For some reason, FF.net won't accept certain HTML tags anymore.  This is the bare bones version…I hope.

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Breakfast was typically the most subdued of Hogwarts' meals, but it was by no means quiet or without incident.  Currently Hermione had her head buried in her Charms textbook and was ignoring the mini-food fight going on between siblings Ginny and Ron Weasley.  It didn't help that they were being cheered on by their classmates—even a few of the younger Slytherins were throwing caution to the wind to take up position behind the sibling of their choice, encouraging much trouncing and splattering.

"And a Slytherin/Gryffindor alliance was thought to be a good thing why?"

She smiled slightly as she pulled the book down and turned her gaze to Harry, who was staring morosely at his plate.  Her smile fell, eyebrows drawing together as she noticed that his food was untouched—he'd barely eaten the night before, too.  "What's wrong, Harry?"

He sighed, shaking his head.  "Nothing, Hermione.  I'm just…tired, that's all."

"Did the other boys in your dorm keep you up?"

"They had a lot of catching up to do.  They weren't that noisy after lights out, really, I just…couldn't sleep.  Nagi kept complaining that the bed was too cold," he added, hissing something briefly to the snake as she poked her head from his collar to look around.  When she'd gone back under the cloth, he looked over at Hermione, gifting her with a somewhat wry smile.  "Besides, I was eagerly anticipating my new schedule."

Hermione snorted, rolling her eyes.  "Yes, you were eagerly anticipating your new schedule—and have I mentioned that I'm considering changing my name to Aberforth?"

Harry's eyes widened.  "Really?  But…won't that confuse people if they don't know you?  I mean, taking on a boy's name all of a sudden…  Hermione, is there something you want to talk about?"

She closed her book with a snap and was considering hitting him over the head with it when Professor McGonagall came down the aisle holding a large stack of paper, calling her name.  She shot him a glare and whispered, "I'll get you later."  Rising to her feet, she hurried to meet her Head of House.  "Yes, Professor?"

"Ah, Miss Granger.  I was going to have Hollingsworth pass out the schedules for the sixth and seventh year students, but the Headmaster just informed me that the Head Girl asked to meet with him privately this morning before the Prefects' Meeting."  She peered at Hermione over her glasses, pencil-thin eyebrows drawing together.  "You do remember about the meeting, don't you?"

It was a struggle, but Hermione did her best to stifle a smile.  "Yes, Professor.  I take it that you would like me to hand out the schedules, then?"

"Yes.  If you would make certain that everyone gets their schedules"—she handed Hermione part of the stack—"and then hurry to the Prefects' Room…  Oh, where is Miss Weasley?  I want her to hand out the schedules to the first, second, and third years…"

This time Hermione did smile.  "I believe she's somewhere down there with Ron and Harry.  Colin's down there as well."

"Good.  He can help Miss Weasley, and if I can track down Mr. McDougal to hand out the schedules to the fourth and fifth years then—  What are…?"  She was staring over Hermione's head in obvious disapproval.  "Mr. Weasley!"

The papers came up to cover her sudden giggle fit as McGonagall stormed down the aisle to punish the food fighters.  Once she was under control again, Hermione set off to deliver the schedules.  If she hurried, she could return to her breakfast before being forced to sit through the Prefects' Meeting.  Maybe she'd get lucky and the Hufflepuffs and Ravenclaws would forget to show up.

Then again, Hermione couldn't remember the last time she and luck had been friends.

*          *          *

"So, explain this to me again, Blaise:  we no longer torment the Gryffindors?  In fact, in an abrupt and unprecedented breach of Slytherin policy, we are nice and we protect them?"

Digging thumbs into his temples to try and push away the painful pounding, Draco closed his eyes and waited for the Prefect to answer him.

"With the way that Hufflepuff and Ravenclaw Houses were behaving at the beginning of last year, we had to band together.  I mean, they traditionally hated us, you know, but then they began to go after the Gryffindors as well, simply because of Potter.  Believe me, it took the upperclassmen a while to warm up to the idea.  It started with the first and second years; they'd travel together to and from classes, watching each other's backs.  It caught on with the rest of us by Christmas though.  That's when the Patil twins had it out in the corridor, and Roger Davies nailed Granger and Parkinson when they were leaving the library.  We decided the best course of action after that was to imitate the first and second years, and it seemed to pay off.  Surprisingly, we even consider each other friends now."

"A frightening concept," Draco murmured.  Why couldn't they have explained this to him last night? Draco wondered.  It was bad enough that his head was hurting too bad to eat—now he had to try and process everything Blaise was saying with a headache and an empty stomach.  Coupled with the implications that his behaviour towards the Gryffindors would have to change…  He cracked an eye open to look over at Blaise, who was resting his chin on one hand, dark eyes watching Draco.  "So I can't be the petulant, swotty, rarely-articulate, just-plain-bad Slytherin anymore?"

Blaise smiled, a lock of black hair slipping into his face.  "Not unless you want me or Pansy to kick your ass.  Although, I have a feeling that Crabbe will be trying to pawn the boys' Prefect's position off to you at the soonest available opportunity—which means you would technically have the authority to challenge me.  He handled it fairly well, but—  Well, there was a lot of responsibility, and his odd gifts combined with the stress and the fighting…  I thought he was going to snap, actually."

Draco sighed and closed his eye again.  "So not only do I have to completely change my personality, I get to look forward to having extra responsibilities I didn't want dumped in my lap.  Oh joy, oh rapture."

Smacking him lightly on the arm, Blaise said, "Sound a little more enthusiastic.  At least you don't have to deal with the 'what gender are you today?' comments."

"I keep telling you that you should at least have permanently hexed your mother even if you didn't outright kill her for that."

Blaise shrugged.  "Why?  It wouldn't change the fact that my gender changes dependent on the water temperature my skin comes into contact with.  Besides, at this point in life, I'm rather used to it.  Now when I was a kid…"

Draco held up a hand.  "Can't handle flashbacks right now.  Still trying to process reality and the present."

"Aw, poor baby.  Uh-oh, looks like grumpy Snape is on the way with schedules…"

This time both silver eyes opened to watch Snape drift like black fog down the far side of the Slytherin table, ignoring the way some of the first years shrunk away from him.  There would be time later for them to learn that the Head of Slytherin could be as kind as he was cruel.  Draco noticed the stack of papers he clutched almost absently against his chest and felt his curiosity peak; he wondered which Houses he'd be sharing classes with now that Blaise had hinted at trouble.

Snape gave them what passed for a smile, arching an eyebrow when Draco whimpered and dug his thumbs deeper into his temples.  "Problems?"

"Noisy roommates, not enough sleep, and a brain that doesn't stop thinking when I want it to," said Draco.  "Other than that?  Nothing to report yet."

Snorting, Snape handed Blaise a part of the stack.  "Here are the fourth and fifth year students' schedules.  And just so you know, the professors are having a meeting at the same time as the Prefects' Meeting is being held."

Blaise's eyes widened in apprehension.  "But surely…you don't mean the Headmaster is going to be the only one present?"

To those unfamiliar with Snape, it would have seemed that the Head of Slytherin were being merciless and callous.  However, Draco and Blaise both realised that with his soft words, narrowed eyes, and tightened hands, that Snape was wishing them the best of luck.  "Granted, I was gone last year and everything I've heard has been second-hand accounts, but it seems to me that the Headmaster needs to see for himself what's been going on."

"Professor Sinistra did her best."  Blaise sighed, bowing his head over the stack of papers.  "I'll get on this right away, sir.  If you're looking for Nott, I think she was headed back to the common room."

Before Snape could make a disparaging remark about the seventh year girl disappearing at such an inopportune time, Draco held up his hands.  "I'll pass them out, if you'd like.  And then I'm going to head back to the common room to get my things together."

"Fine."  Snape handed him another part of the stack, a small smile crossing his thin lips.  "And just to give you both a heads up, it seems that Lupin and Black are going tag teach Defence this year."

Draco paled noticeably, not realising that Blaise was smiling at the news.  "What?"

Blaise laughed at his expression, rising to his feet.  "It's not as bad as it sounds, Draco.  Hurry and pass those out so we can get back to the common room, and I'll explain it to you, all right?"

Rising as well, Draco began to head down the length of the table, handing out schedules as he matched people and names.  There were only five students he wasn't able to find in the end, and without waiting for Blaise, he hurried out of the Great Hall for the Slytherin House dormitories in the hopes that they were there.

Rounding the corner into the hall where the House entrance was concealed, he suddenly found himself sprawled ungracefully on his backside, the schedules raining down around his head as he looked up at the unmoving wall that had caused his current position.  "Crabbe?"

Crabbe was smiling—and Draco felt his heart clench with dread.  Here it came, the loathed moment that Blaise had warned him of; the responsibility he didn't want and didn't need, not when he was already promised to the darkness in Harry Potter's soul.

"Draco—you'll take the Prefect's position, won't you?  I mean, you're more suited to it, we all discussed it and the guys agree, and Pansy said that you'd take it, so I was really hoping, you know…"  Crabbe rubbed at his temples, causing his glasses to slide askew.  "I can't take it anymore, you know?  All the fighting and arguing, and the hatred that sits there like blood pudding, coating their arms and faces, the chairs and table and walls…  And even Blaise and Granger can't make it go away, and they're smart and nice and stuff!"

The words poured forth in a rushed garble.  Draco scrambled to his knees, grabbing for the schedules as his mind tried to sort through Crabbe's guttural words that almost didn't sound like English.  "Why me, Crabbe?"  His words were laced with bitterness that he hadn't intended to come forth, and it showed in his eyes when he lifted his face to the boy that had been his physical protector for years beyond remembrance.  Not the brightest of souls, and often misguided by what seemed to be good intentions, Crabbe had always been there, whether Draco had wanted him there or not.

And now Crabbe was smiling, a gentle smile that seemed at odds with his brutish appearance, small hazel eyes behind thin wire frames filled with gratitude and faith.  "Because you have the gift, Draco, the Malfoy gift and the rusalki gift, and you can make it all right.  Because you can live through the venom, swim through the venom, and even though you might drown, you'll still be alive."

Eyes wide, breath coming in stuttering gasps, Draco stared at Crabbe in disbelief.  "What…?"  He swallowed the lump that had suddenly risen in his throat, shaking his head.  "Never mind.  Yeah, I'll take the Prefect's position, Crabbe.  Help me up, though; I need to hurry and get these schedules passed out and then run to the Prefects' Room, or I'll be late."

And then there were hands pulling him up, taking the schedules and pushing him back down the hall, a bag was thrown haphazardly about his neck, burden sawing against his back, and Draco was moving for the Prefects' Room in a daze.  Crabbe's gift had always been unreliable, but when he spoke, everyone in Slytherin House took heed of his words.

Everyone in Slytherin House knew the legend of the Malfoy line and their silver eyes.  But how had Crabbe known of his rusalki heritage when Draco himself hadn't known until last summer—and had had no contact with anyone other than his mother for a year?  And what, exactly, had Crabbe meant by 'gift'?

At that moment, 'curse' seemed a much more appropriate word.

*          *          *          *          *

Hermione was beginning to wonder if she should have suited up in plate mail before going to the Prefects' Meeting, especially if the Headmaster was going to be the only adult present to officiate.  Given the way the meetings had gone last year…yes, plate mail and a four-foot broadsword would probably have been a good idea.  At least she would have a chance at coming out marginally unscathed.

She rocked slightly from side to side in her chair, stilling only when her Slytherin counterpart, Blaise Zabini, touched her shoulder and gifted her with a raised ebon eyebrow.  She smiled sheepishly, folding her hands on the tabletop and glancing down at them while she waited for the other Prefects to arrive.

"Never let them know you're nervous," he murmured.

"Easy for you to say," said Hermione, casting him a slightly acidic look though her smile didn't falter.  "Diplomacy—and espionage—is a Slytherin trait.  I've always been as open as a book."

"Oh, you would have fit into Slytherin easily enough, Granger."  Blaise laughed, smile making his eyes light with amusement.  "Like nearly everyone else, you were simply put off by the political label."

"Ugh.  Blaise, did you just say what I think you just said?" asked Draco stumbled in through the Prefects' Room door, satchel askew around his neck.

Blaise smiled cheerfully as Draco slid into the seat beside him, holding his head in his hands and refusing to look up.  "Well, hello to you too, Draco.  I take it that Crabbe jumped at the chance to turn the Prefect's position over to you?"

"Jumped is rather a good choice of words," muttered Draco, removing his shoulder bag and dropping it to the floor.  "He was waiting for me at the House entrance after breakfast and I—quite literally—ran into him and he sent me to my backside.  I'm so glad there was no one there to witness my disgrace; I was a right mess.  Tell me, have the meetings really been that bad?  He was gibbering…it was English, I'm sure, but it sounded more like German…  It was near impossible to tell what he was saying, really."

Hermione snorted.  "I take it you haven't heard about the Inter-House War yet, then?"

"Inter-House War?"  Draco looked up at that, and Hermione noticed there were slight bruises underneath his eyes.  "What, like the old Gryffindor versus Slytherin rivalry?"

"Try Gryffindor and Slytherin versus everyone else," said Blaise wearily.  "Remember what I was saying at breakfast?  Oh, look out—here comes the big bad Head Girl herself."

Cho Chang, followed by what seemed to be an honour escort of the Ravenclaw Prefects, swept into the room, head high, sloe-eyed gaze firmly fixed on her chair at the table.  She took her seat without a word, the Ravenclaw Prefects fanning out around her and taking their seats in similar fashion.

Draco, Hermione noticed, was looking at them almost curiously.  "They're still wearing those yellow and black armbands?"

"Haven't taken them off since fourth year."  Blaise shrugged, absently touching a hand to the ebon fringe that had slipped into his eyes.  "Believe me…the Headmaster tried to get them to take them off last year, but they dug their heels in."

Ginny Weasley entered the room and slid into the seat beside Hermione, her lips pursed as she scrambled to put her papers together, a quill stuck at a jaunty angle behind her ear.  "Today's really going to suck."

Hermione blinked at her blunt statement.  "Why do you say that?"

"Because the Hufflepuff Prefects are plotting out in the hallway, which doesn't bode well for the meeting.  And I already had to pull two Ravenclaw third years off a Slytherin first year."  She craned her neck around Hermione to wrinkle her nose at Blaise.  "You might want to check on Hennessey Fitzpatrick after the meeting.  I sent her to Madam Pomfrey, but given the rebellious look she gifted me with, I'm not sure she'll go."

Blaise sighed, shaking his head.  "What did they hit her with?"

"Leg-Locker.  She seemed determined to hop her way to her classes, even if it made her late.  Alexander was going to follow her wherever she decided to go, so he might be a little late as well."

Draco nudged Blaise.  "Ah, now there's a curse that brings back memories.  Who's Alexander?"

"Morikawa, the fifth year Slytherin Prefect.  He's even more of a mother hen than Granger here."

Hermione rolled her eyes; trust a Slytherin to say 'mother hen' like it was a bad thing.  "I'm not a mother hen."

The Hufflepuffs, like the Ravenclaws, filed into the room en masse.   They were silent as they took their seats next to the Ravenclaws, casting hooded glances towards the Slytherins and Gryffindors.  Draco felt the urge to squirm under their disquieting looks but pushed it determinedly aside.  "Please don't tell me I'm the only one who feels like they're about to be dissected like a Potions' ingredient specimen."

"This is mild compared to last year, so far," said Hermione, waving Dean Thomas and Morgead McDougal over.  The two boys smiled stiltedly, taking seats next to Ginny.  "Last year we would already be at each other's throats before the Heads of House had even walked in the door."

Draco paled slightly.  "Lovely."

Blaise smiled.  "You could always run and make Crabbe take the position back.  However, you are doing his fragile mind a world of wonder by not making him sit through the insanity."

Draco shook his head, thinking back on Crabbe's cryptic words.  "No, I promised him I'd do this.  Besides, it can't be all that bad.  I survived Malfoy Manor and the pureblood parties, and I've made it this far, right?"

Hermione arched an eyebrow and Blaise gave him a half smile; neither made him feel comforted in the least.

The last few Prefects trickled into the room; the Head Boy, Nicholas Hollingsworth, who sat opposite of Cho Chang between the Gryffindors and Hufflepuffs, Morikawa and Lucrecia Herrington, who slid in beside Blaise.  Montague and Nott rounded out the Slytherins, while Elizabeth Blackwell taking a seat beside McDougal finished the Gryffindor numbers.  All of the Prefects were present—the only person missing was the Headmaster.

Never having been comfortable with tense silence, Draco smiled and said, "So, how was everyone's summer?"

He met with rolled eyes from the Slytherin side, snorts of amusement from the Gryffindors, titters of disbelief from the Hufflepuffs, and stony glares from the Ravenclaws.  His smile grew, eyes lidding so that only the pearl-grey of his irises were visible around the liquid black of pupil.  "That exciting, hmmm?  No entertaining family reunions, no insanely embarrassing moments, no correspondence between lovers?  Was Hogwarts really what boring while I was gone?"

"I'd be quiet if I were you, Death Eater's son," said Cho Chang, white-knuckled fists clenched on the tabletop.  The Prefect beside her, Padma Patil if Draco remembered her name correctly, placed a hand on the girl's shoulder and squeezed ever so slightly while she glared at Draco in reproach.

"Ah, good, good…it seems that everyone is here!"  Headmaster Dumbledore came bustling into the Prefects' Room to take position in the only empty seat.  It seemed as though he was completely oblivious to the fact that a fight could break out at any moment.  "Let's begin, shall we?  Now, I realise I'm not present at these meetings very often, so please forgive me if I bumble through things.  I believe it's customary for the Head Boy and Head Girl to open things up?"

Hollingsworth jumped to his feet before Cho could say anything, and he glared at her as if daring her to try and speak over him anyway.  She subsided into her seat with a scowl though, arms crossed over her chest.

"I believe that I speak for all of Gryffindor House and most of Slytherin House when I say that I was pleased to hear that Professors Lupin and Black would be returning this year to teach Defence Against the Dark Arts.  We appreciated their expertise when they filled in for Professor Snape last year, and I believe that we all could benefit from their expertise in another field as well."

"Letting them teach…you might as well have let the Dark Lord himself teach here!"

Hollingsworth glared at Cho while the hissed words left her lips, expression tightening.  "As everyone here knows, the Head Girl and I disagree on the appropriateness of this.  I also, however, wish to note that the rumours being spread amongst the younger students need to stop.  Professor Lupin has never attacked a student here, Professor Black never tried to kill Harry Potter, and neither one is working for the Dark Lord."

Cho smiled bitterly.  "How like a Gryffindor to paint only the silver lining and deny the blackened shadow."

"I'm afraid the matter of Professors Black and Lupin isn't up for debate."

All eyes turned to the Headmaster when he suddenly spoke.  Dumbledore was leaning on the tabletop on crossed arms, expression open and pleasant.  His eyes, however, were narrowed, and his gaze upon the Prefects was direct.  "You are, of course, free to owl home should you wish to leave.  However, I would like to think that you are more intelligent than to believe everything the Ministry tells you—everything that rumour and gossip tells you.  Sirius Black is no more a criminal than Professor McGonagall or I.  And as for the accusation that Professor Lupin is a werewolf…it's true, as all of you know.  However, there are many people here who will vouch for his abilities as a wizard and teacher, and the fact that the students are perfectly safe with him.  I know that certain people were less-than-thrilled to have them co-teaching Potions last year while Professor Snape was away on business for the school, but I believe they grew to recognise their competence and to respect their abilities as teachers, as our Head Boy has so graciously said.  Now that Professor Snape has returned, I feel that their abilities are better spent educating our students in the defensive applications of the Dark Arts."

"Sir…"  Ernie Macmillan, Hufflepuff's sixth year Prefect, squirmed in his seat, not meeting the Headmaster's gaze.  "Sir, I know that many of the first years are a little bit frightened after what happened last summer.  Apparently there was a rumour going around that, um…"

"Oh, just say it already, Ernie," snapped Hannah Abbot.  "Sir, apparently someone in the Ministry started the rumour that Professors Black and Lupin had something to do with the attack at Stonehenge, and there have been students at the school perpetuating that rumour.  Those of us that were there know better of course, but…"

Dumbledore nodded.  "Ah, I see, Miss Abbot.  Has anyone else noticed a similar trend?"

The Prefects began to whisper amongst their Houses, the end ones occasionally turning to a Prefect in the House beside them to confer.  After a moment, Blaise nodded, gesturing to the Slytherins.  "Similar in our House, except with a nastier overtone.  You know how some of our parents feel about the Hogwarts' professors—and yourself, Headmaster.  We have pretences that must be kept up outwardly, after all, even if our allegiances have shifted."

"Yes, I am a bit of a doddering old fool—and quite mad to boot," Dumbledore said with a smile.

"Our House might actually be worse than the Slytherins, I'm afraid," Hannah said softly after a moment, looking down at her hands.  "Because of the fact that Professor Black is Potter's godfather…"

Everyone looked up as Cho snorted.  "Oh, let's be completely honest, shall we?" said the Head Girl with a waspish drawl.  "Ravenclaw and Hufflepuff have been worse than the Slytherins since Cedric's death in the Triwizard Tournament.  In fact, we're probably the number one reason that the Gryffindors and Slytherins have been having such a terrible time of it, and the reason that so many first years are scared witless of Professors Black and Lupin.  We've even managed to out rate the Dark Lord and the Death Eaters in that respect."

Silence reigned, all of the Prefects except for the Gryffindors and Slytherins sheepishly staring at their hands or the tabletop with sudden interest.

"Interesting observations, Miss Chang.  Does anyone have anything to add on that subject?"

"Yeah."  Ginny Weasley's head snapped up, her brown eyes spearing each of the Ravenclaw and Hufflepuff Prefects in turn, from fifth year on up to seventh year; not even the Head Girl was spared.  "It's about time that you realise we can't keep fighting each other like this.  You want to blame someone, blame the Dark Lord for what's going on, for the attack at Stonehenge, for the Muggle deaths and the attacks on the half-bloods.  Even the Slytherins haven't been as nasty to the younger students as your two Houses have—and, if my Slytherin counterparts will forgive me—there's something really disturbing about that.  Understand that Slytherin and Gryffindor have been competing against one another since the founding of the school; we're used to taking guff from each other.  You've been cruel and nasty without provocation, and the only good that's come of it is that Slytherin and Gryffindor are learning to put some of their differences aside and work together."

"That easy for you to say!"  Terry Boot jumped to his feet, gesturing to the Ravenclaws and Hufflepuffs with a sweep of his arm.   "You know how long our Houses have been in the shadows of Gryffindor and Slytherin?  Your Houses have always fought for prestige, for the limelight, and we're left to be the bellboys and serving maids.  And Potter…"  His face quickly suffused with red, hands clenched and trembling at his sides.  "Potter is the one who led to the downfall of our Houses once again."

"Boot, quit talking like a Slytherin—that's our job."

Terry gaped like a fish, turning to the owner of the lazy drawl.  Draco was staring back at him impassively, eyelids at half-mast.  "I mean, really…doesn't this hatred of Potter get rather old after awhile?"

"Oh, like you're one to talk!  You've envied him since day one," Terry hissed.

One pale eyebrow rose, lips twisting into a faint smile.  "Envy?  Why would I envy someone who's completely insane and doesn't even know it yet?"

Chaos broke out at that point, Terry trying to scramble over the table, Cho grasping for the back of his robes, gesturing for help from the Hufflepuffs and Ravenclaws.  The Gryffindors had jumped to their feet as well, all except for Hermione who was staring at Draco with a completely dumfounded expression.

Dumbledore sat back and watched the debacle, seeming completely unfazed by the actions of the "best and brightest" of the school.  Hermione noticed this as well, and filed it away under her list of 'Disturbing Things to Analyse Later.'

She looked up in time to find Terry scrambling onto the table, down on all fours like a dog.  He stopped in front of Blaise and Draco, and as they were sitting beside Hermione, she couldn't help but feel as though she were the target of his hatred as well.  Expression almost blank except for the loathing in his eyes, he hissed, "And look at the best Slytherin has to offer.  A freak for their female Prefect—and a traitor for their male one.  Pickings getting a bit slim in the Serpent House?"

Blaise shrugged, unbothered by Terry's accusations.  "If Pansy or Millie or Morag were here in my place—if any of the Slytherin sixth year girls were here in my place—you'd be in a lot of pain right now, Boot.  Go sit down—you're being completely ridiculous."

"Not to mention the fact that you obviously haven't showered in a few days," added Draco with a smile.

Terry launched himself at the two with a howl, landing on the floor as they suddenly ducked to the side.  He struggled to his feet, trying to straighten his robes and renew his fighting attempts, but found that little Ginny Weasley—who was smiling up at him with her big brown eyes—was blocking his way.  "Hey, Terry?"

Her innocent voice made him pause for a moment, some of the red haze fading from his vision and mind.  "Uh…"

"Real articulate there.  Now, why don't you—settle—down!"

And, with that, miss innocent Ginny Weasley hauled back and nailed Terry in the nose with a well-aimed fist.

Terry fell like a tree to the floor, blood streaming down his face from a potentially broken nose.  Cho tsked and hurried to his side, pulling a handkerchief from her robe pockets to try and staunch the blood flow.

Ginny winced and shook her hand, a tear of pain rolling down one freckled cheek.  She was grinning though.  "Mum's gonna have a cat, but I've been wanting to do that for over a year," she murmured, turning to go back to her seat.

Blaise was grinning as well, and he turned to Hermione, nudging her shoulder again.  "You know, people with strong personalities are fascinating."

Hermione groaned and buried her face in her hands.  "Don't encourage her."

It was too late for that, though.  Ginny was being congratulated by her fellow fifth year Prefect, Colin Creevey, and by the fifth year Slytherin Prefects, Lucrecia Herrington and Alexander Morikawa.  "Definitely got the Weasley temper, that one," continued Blaise.  "Never cared much for Ron—no offence—but the twins were down right awe-inspiring."

"Come now, come now—everyone return to their seats, please.  Miss Chang, would you have someone escort Mr. Boot to the Infirmary to have that looked at?  Yes, thank you.  Now that we have such things out of our systems, lets try and discuss this a bit more calmly, shall we?"

Hermione bit her lip, glancing down the line of Gryffindor Prefects.  Dean was shaking his head and shrugging his shoulders; McDougal and Blackwell looked equally at a loss, and Ginny and Colin were deep in conversation.  Finding no help from that quarter, she turned to the Slytherins.  Blaise was clutching at Draco's arm, and to her surprise, the normally non-combatant and sarcastic blonde had risen to his feet and was sweeping the table with narrowed eyes.  "All of you—are fools."  His words were bitten off through clenched teeth, direct and precise in a manner and dialect that Hermione didn't recognise.

Cho's head jerked up, Hollingsworth's eyes widened, and similar reactions of varying strength occurred around the table.

"You've called me a traitor and Death Eater's son, a poisonous serpent, a spoilt prince of Slytherin House.  I've heard all the names before, and unlike years before, I can brush them off now.  Everyone knows about my father and mother, about my family's money and pureblood prestige.  I was a brat, cruel, arrogant—a child—and at least I can bloody well admit to my faults, Chang.  A traitor, though?"  He sneered contemptuously.   "How have I been a traitor?  I returned to Hogwarts because this is my home, my family…it's where I belong and the people I belong with.  I haven't sold my soul or my knowledge to the highest bidder, or to the darkest evil.  As ever, I remain true only to my friends, my House, and myself."  His eyes pinned Cho to her seat, sharp Malfoy silver, and had she been a creature affected by such a metal, she would have dropped dead.  "Can you say the same?"

So unusual, Hermione reflected, lips parted, eyes wide as she watched.  She'd never heard him speak so intelligently, so articulately before.  And his words weren't delivered to hurt or to cut down, but to prove something…to prove…  She shook her head, unsure what Draco was trying to prove.  Perhaps that he could be trusted, that he wasn't a carbon copy of his father?  She already knew as much from her talks with Pansy and Blaise.  Maybe, though, this was Draco's chance to prove himself to all of them, to the Ravenclaws, the Hufflepuffs, and the Headmaster.

To himself.

It was even more unusual to note her fellow Prefects' reactions.  Their eyes never wandered from Draco's face, tight and earnest, pale as snow with towhead hair escaping in wisps about his cheeks.  As if Draco had somehow ensnared them all with glamour, they watched him with unwavering eyes and listened to his words with unwavering attention.  Where had the snotty, bitter, hateful Draco Malfoy gone—and how had this stranger, weirdly desirable and daring in his words and actions, suddenly appeared in his place?

Draco snorted, tossing his head and breaking eye contact.  "I don't have time for this.  When you're all done being children, and you have decided to grow up and realise that we are facing a war not only for the lives of Muggles and wizards, but for the existence of our way of life and for magic itself, let me know."  Pulling away from Blaise, he grabbed his bag and stalked from the room without a glance back at the dumbstruck Prefects.

"What did he do?"  Cho's hands were shaking on the tabletop, her face pale and eyes wide as she shook off the effects of Draco's gaze.  "What did he do?"

"What he had to," said Blaise, rising to his feet as well.  The rest of the Slytherin Prefects followed suit, for once avoiding the Gryffindors' curious and questioning eyes.  "What no-one else could do."

When they had all filed from the room, silent and sombre, Dumbledore addressed the remaining students.  "I suggest you all prepare for your classes and think upon young Mr. Malfoy's words.  Barring his anger and disgust, he was correct; it is time to think beyond yourselves and beyond the barriers you have placed around people.  Our survival depends upon you, the brightest students, the best witches and wizards, and your ability to co-operate with one another.  And your ability to put hatred and prejudice aside to work towards a common goal:  continued existence."

His words in mind, Hermione rose and gathered her books and satchel, thoughts focused inward.  There had been a time, years ago, when she had often told herself 'things can't get any worse.'  She was past believing such a thing, but it would have been nice to have that blind faith again, to be able to believe that things could only get better from here on out.

She had told Harry that last year, the only time he had come close to crying.  When Ginny had lain in the hospital wing, still hovering somewhere between life and death, after Ron had told Harry that he had wished that Harry had died in Ginny's place, Hermione had told Harry that that would be as bad as things would get.  Things would get better because they couldn't get any worse.

And Harry's potential tears had become hysterical laughter, and she'd held him, rocking him like a mother until he'd laughed himself to sleep.  Since then, she'd never considered that as a comforting thought ever again.

Things were going to get worse—Harry was going to get worse—and she was afraid that she would be powerless to do anything.

*          *          *          *          *

"Sirius?"

"Hmmm?"

"Have you ever looked at yourself in the mirror and thought, 'Boy, I am easily entertained'?"

Frowning slightly, Sirius turned his head to look over his shoulder at Remus.  "Just what's that supposed to mean?"  Sprawled out across their bed with his eyes barely cracked open to reveal a pale sliver of blue, shirt open and baring his pale chest to the ceiling, it didn't seem likely that the black-haired man was going to move any time soon—despite Remus' odd question.

Remus sighed.  "Nothing.  Come on, lazy; you survived the professors' meeting, but we still have a class to get ready for."

Sirius wrinkled his nose, fingers trailing over his chest.  "It's first years.  It won't be that hard."

"It's first year Ravenclaws and Slytherins.  I wouldn't say that too soon, if I were you."

Sirius blanched, abruptly sitting up in a flap of loose fabric and hair.  "I thought Dumbledore was going to revise the schedules after last year's disastrous events."

"No.  He still seems convinced that these jumbled classes between all four Houses are for the best.  Though it will be interesting to hear what he has to say this evening after having to deal with the Prefects' Meeting."

Sirius was giving him puppy eyes, and Remus looked away with a smile.  "I'm not falling for it, Sirius.  Hurry up and finish getting dressed."

"But, Moony…"

Making his way to the bed, Remus clambering into Sirius' lap, straddling his legs, linking arms around his neck, fingers trailing through the soft, dark hair.  "Come on, there's plenty of time to be children later."  Smiling, he leaned forward and kissed Sirius' nose.  "We have to be responsible adults, now; these kids are counting on us to teach them things that might save their lives, you know."

"I know."  Sirius sighed, leaning forward until their foreheads touched.  "It's just, after last year…I'm worried about Harry, you know?  From what Dumbledore said, from what little he said in his letters, what Hermione said in hers…  I wish I could get my innocence proven so that we could be together, so he wouldn't have to return to those horrible excuses for relatives.  Can you imagine what it must be like for him, to return to a place where you're hated, not wanted…called names, verbally and emotionally abused…  It's a wonder he's still sane."

"I know, love.  But you survived Azkaban for twelve years; maybe it's in the Marauder genetics to survive through horrible events."

Sirius closed his eyes, swallowing.  "But even I didn't come out of there unscathed."

A loving kiss, fingers trailing through hair and over tense shoulders, Remus whispered, "It'll be all right, Sirius.  Somehow, it'll be all right."

They clung together for a few more heartbeats, until eventually Sirius pulled away with a rueful grin.  "Sorry.  Didn't mean to get all emotional and stuff."

"It's all right.  Now finish getting ready.  I'll meet you in the classroom, all right?"

Sirius watched him leave, his beloved, his best friend, his other half…he smiled, buttoning his shirt and tucking it into his trousers before going to the wardrobe to retrieve his robes.  Some days, Remus was the only thing keeping him going, keeping him from reverting to the young man who'd had his life abruptly torn from him fifteen years ago.  Some days Remus was the only thing keeping him anchored in reality, in the present rather than the past.

Some days, Remus seemed to be all he had to hold on to.

Did Harry have anyone like that? he wondered.  Did Harry have someone to hold onto always, someone that would follow him into hell if asked, someone that would follow him into hell even if he didn't ask?  Did Harry have anyone that loved him so completely that love seemed an almost inappropriate word—someone that he didn't even know was there sometimes?

Grabbing his wand and satchel from the desktop, Sirius glanced in the mirror and tipped his mirror-self a rakish wink before leaving to catch up with Remus.  Dwelling on dreary thoughts would have to wait until later.

*          *          *          *          *

Snape was going to kill someone.

He wasn't sure yet who exactly he was going to kill, but he was going to kill them—whoever they were—and he was going to make sure that their death was painful, prolonged, and messy.  After the disasters he'd heard had occurred last year, he'd begged—not something that he was proficient at by any means—to either have the classes return to Gryffindor/Slytherin and Hufflepuff/Ravenclaw or to teach the classes separately.  But had that happened?  No, it was still to be Gryffindor/Hufflepuff, Slytherin/Ravenclaw, and he was to make the best of it.  Didn't they realise that if Black and Lupin hadn't been able to handle things in a calm and logical manner, there was no way that he could?

There was a tic beginning to show just under his left eye, and the edges of the morning roster were crinkled and wet with sweat.  Not that any of the students would notice this, of course; no, they'd be more focused on the narrowed glare and the twisted sneer of disgust he was giving as he surveyed them clambering like monkeys into their seats.  The Hufflepuffs were earlier than usual and they clustered to the left side of the room in small groups, speaking in hushed voices that grated on his ears despite their lowered volume.  The Gryffindors were probably going to be a bit late, he thought; after all, if they stayed true to last year's plan as Blaise had outlined to him last night, they'd be walking the younger Slytherin students to Transfiguration before making their way to Potions.

The Hufflepuff Prefects entered, and their appearance made him wonder how the meeting had gone.  In his opinion, it had been a wise move on the part of the Heads of House to stick the Headmaster with the job of overseeing the first Prefects' Meeting of the new term; let him see what they'd had to deal with all of last year.  Not that he, personally, had had to deal with it yet—and he wasn't looking forward to having to deal with it every week now that he was back.

Pursing his lips, fingers drumming on his desktop, he wondered if he could persuade Professor Sinistra to continue playing Head of House during the meetings, like she had last year…

No, it would never work.  Sinistra, while an intelligent and quick-thinking woman, didn't have the patience to deal with the machinations of the students on a personal level for very long.  She would, no doubt, quickly grow frustrated and dump the role back into his lap without warning or a by your leave, so he might as well resign himself to the idea.

The first group of Gryffindor students entered the room, comprised of Finnigan, Thomas, Brown, and two other girls that he couldn't readily name but knew on sight.  They seemed to ignore the fact that the Hufflepuffs were plotting something, going to the other side of the room and setting up their Potions text, notes, and cauldrons without even looking the other way.  Interesting…

Weasley, Patil, Longbottom, and a few other Gryffindors followed soon after, Weasley holding his arm close to his body; it was easy for Snape to see him clutching his wand up his sleeve.  Had they run into trouble when escorting the younger students? he wondered.

Granger and Potter were the last to enter, making his class complete; forty students of two Houses that currently loathed each other.  He could smell disaster in the air already.

"To your seats, children!  Don't sit their gawking like simpletons, get to your places; I have no patience for dawdling today.  Open your textbooks to page fifteen and look over the two potions listed on the following pages, and their comparative properties.  You have ten minutes to read the text before we begin the practical lesson."

For once, in an unusual twist of events, the Gryffindors began to read without argument, without voiced complaint; even Granger seemed to be subdued in her seat beside Potter, fingers ghosting over the words, eyes downcast.  Fingers drumming on the edge of the podium again, Snape perused the class with narrowed eyes; this was going to be worse than he imagined.

The Gryffindors pushed their textbooks aside when their were done, facing the front of the classroom quietly while they waited for Snape to begin the lesson.  The Hufflepuffs, however, were whispering amongst themselves, occasionally shooting glances and jeers at the Gryffindors, and even at Snape himself.

Snape was not impressed—nor was he at all pleased.

"Finch-Fletchley, do you care to share what's so amusing?"

Finch-Fletchley shook his dark head, not bothering to hide his laughter.  "Not really, sir."

Sloe-eyes narrowed at the impudence.  "Ten points from Hufflepuff.  If everyone is done, then let's proceed with a review of the Dreamless Sleep Potion."

Maybe his lessons weren't the most entertaining or enjoyable, but Snape prided himself on the practicality of what he taught, as well as his ability to teach the mastery of such a difficult subject.  Even Longbottom seemed to be enjoying the lesson once it progressed, and though there were still a few flubs in the boy's mixture, the potion turned out fine and the cauldron remained in one piece.  He took five points from Gryffindor anyway; after all, Longbottom should have been able to brew the potion without any mistakes, given that it was a review.

"Now, are there any questions before we move on to the second potion?"

Snape wasn't surprised when he saw a hand rise from the Gryffindor section, but he was surprised to find that the pale, long-fingered hand belonged to Potter.  "Yes, Potter?"

"Sir, other than the fact that three-fourths of the ingredients are similar, is there actually any comparison between Polyjuice Potion and the Dreamless Sleep Potion?"

Lips pursed, Snape dropped his eyes to the textbook, refreshing himself with what  exactly the students had before them.  "As you already noted, Mr. Potter, the two potions share very similar ingredients.  And though their main application seems vastly different, the purpose of this exercise is to point out one thing."  He allowed himself to smirk as he glanced at the ebon-haired boy.  "Care to hazard a guess, Mr. Potter?"

"That, were the causative ingredients not used correctly, you might end up with the wrong potion, and therefore cause an undesired reaction?"

It was a struggle not to let his surprise show.  Eventually Snape settled for biting the inside of his cheek while he stared at the boy with narrowed eyes.  Potter had never shown an interest in Potions before, and though he always managed passing marks, he wasn't outstanding by any means.  Where had this knowledge of potions come from?  "Correct, Mr. Potter."

"How do you know all that, Potter?"

Finch-Fletchley had jumped to his feet, sending his stool clattering to the dungeon floor.  "For someone that barely manages passing marks, who barely made it through the O.W.L.s, you seem to suddenly know an awful lot.  Been doing some extracurricular reading in the Dark Arts, Potter?"

"Mr. Finch-Fletchley, return to your seat…now."

The cold, forbidding tone that Snape used had been known to cause first year students to dissolve into tears, but Finch-Fletchley was apparently unfazed—or he was quite stupid.

The other Hufflepuffs were slowly rising to their feet, and a few of the Gryffindors—notably Finnigan and Weasley—had jumped to their feet as well, preparing for a fight.

"You got a problem with Harry, Justin?" asked Weasley, making a rude gesture at the Hufflepuff boy.  "Why don't you take it up with us first."

"What, so he has to hide behind his friends now?" asked Susan Bones, fists on her hips, legs braced apart.  All sides were ready for a fight, and if Snape didn't do something soon, his classroom was going to be witness to the biggest brawl in Hogwarts history.

"All of you return to your seats now!"  Snape brought the flat of his hand down onto the podium, smirking when several of the students jumped, including Miss Bones who stumbled backwards over her stool and landed ungracefully on her back.  "I want one person from each group to go to my stores and retrieve the ingredients for the next potion.  If any fighting occurs…"  He left the rest unsaid, gifting them with a smile that promised many horrible things should they disobey him.  "Hurry up now, we haven't got all day."

He could tell that the tension was far from defused, but hopefully the students wouldn't be stupid enough to try anything again during the period.  Because if they did, he really wasn't sure that he could handle it.

*          *          *

Hermione placed her hand on Harry's shoulder, brow creased in worry.  "I'll go get the ingredients, all right?"

He smiled up at her and nodded.  "Sure, Hermione.  I'll just pull together the things we do have."

She tried to smile in return before turning away and heading for Snape's storage room, but she couldn't shake the niggling doubt and fear that were steadily worming their way into her mind and heart.  Something wasn't quite right with Harry, and it was more than the fact that he actually seemed to know more about Potions this year than she did.  Ron had told her about the unusual number of books that had been in Harry's trunk, how he had sat quietly on his bed all night reading, not joining in the conversation of the other boys in his dorm no matter how hard they tried to coax him.  Even the upcoming Quidditch tryouts to find replacements for the Gryffindor Keeper and Chaser didn't seem to hold his attention.  And though it was too early to draw conclusions, he'd been more withdrawn that usual, and he hadn't been eating…

Sighing, she dug through labelled bins until she had a small bag or phial of each of the ingredients, returning to her seat at Harry's side.  She had loved Ron for his loyalty, his eagerness to prove himself, his clumsy passion for things, and for being there for her when others had been too busy to be there.  But it didn't compare to what she felt for Harry; it was love, yes, but that seemed too simple a classification.  He was hers to protect, almost like a big sister cared for a little brother.  He was her darkness too, though, her demon counterpart who made her look at all sides when she only wanted to consider one, who questioned her in ways that few dared.  And she was his safe haven, the one who wouldn't question him if he asked her not to, the one who would fend off the outside world for him if required.  And as he had slowly closed himself off from everyone over the last two years, she had been the only one to challenge him to keep fighting, to keep living.

…Maybe, though, she had challenged him too far.

"What's the sad look for, Hermione?"

She smiled, shaking her head as she put the ingredients down at took her place at his side.  "Just…just thinking, that's all."

He smiled in return, and she felt the dread and fear rise again.  She loved him so very, very much…and she had a feeling that he was already too far beyond her reach.

*          *          *

Harry smiled as he watched the potion brew, fingers absently drifting to his collar to trace over Nagi's head.  She snuffled in contentment and his smile grew.

"Now, as you should all know from reading the text, we can't actually complete the Polyjuice Potion in one day.  However, at this stage, I can tell whether you've brewed it correctly or not.  This would also be the stage at which you could easily disrupt the potion and mess things up, brewing something other than Polyjuice."

Snape was prowling up and down the tables, and to Harry's surprise, the man's soft, acidic comments were actually comforting to listen to as he deducted points from both Houses, and doled out epithets such as 'moron' and 'imbecile' with regularity.  It seemed odd to think, but he had actually missed Snape last year.  At least Snape's unwavering hatred, unwavering nastiness, were as regular as day and night.  Snape never did anything particularly surprising, never suddenly changed in character; he was predictable, and therefore he was comfortable to depend on.

"Doing some extracurricular reading?"

Harry smiled as he looked up into Snape's sour expression.  "Only a little."

Snape snorted and rolled his eyes.  "You understand how much this pains me."

Harry's smile grew.  "What was that, sir?"

"You brewed it correctly.  Congratulations.  I won't flunk you…yet."

It was as close as he would ever get to something resembling praise from Snape.  "Thank you, sir."

Once he had moved down the table, Hermione poked him in the side.  "Did Snape just compliment you?"

"No, I believe that's what they call complimenting without actually complimenting."

Hermione sighed, pillowing her head on her hands.  "That made absolutely no sense, Harry."

"It doesn't have to."

He waited for Hermione to try and argue with him, and was surprised when she subsided quietly in her seat, waiting for Professor Snape to finish his rounds.  Glancing at her from the corner of his eye, he spotted the sad expression from earlier and wondered if he was the cause.  Was his mask slipping further?

"For sixth year students, today's lesson was abysmal.  I expect you to have the next two chapters read by next class and be prepared to brew the Truth Aura Potion.  We'll spend the entire period on it, so we'll be testing it at the end.  Make certain you understand the procedure thoroughly."

"But, sir, Truth Aura Potion is considered a Dark Arts potion."  Hannah Abbot raised her hand tentatively, eyes darting wildly about.  "Do you have permission from the Headmaster to teach us that?"

Harry bowed his head to hide his face; it was funny how the Hufflepuffs and Ravenclaws could be so outspoken against the Dark Arts and against Gryffindor and Slytherin House.   They seemed so certain that they would somehow be able to bring about the fall of the Dark Lord with a wiggle of their fingers, and were completely unwilling to learn to fight fire with fire.  If they were left to run Hogwarts, the school would fall to Voldemort in less than a day.

"Rest your simple mind, Miss Abbot.  The Headmaster does indeed know that we will be studying and preparing the potion.  In fact, fifth through seventh years will be learning many 'Dark Arts' potions, as you so eloquently put it."

"What's the point?" asked Justin.  "Isn't St. Potter going to wave his wand and kill the Dark Lord for us?  Why should we have to debase ourselves with learning such things?"

"Are you scared, Justin?"  Harry spoke softly, raising his head to stare at the Hufflepuff boy with a disquieting smile.  "Are you afraid that if you learn about the Dark Arts you'll be tempted to use them?"

Justin seemed taken aback by his question.  "What…?"

"Because they are tempting, Justin.  Nearly every spell, nearly every potion we classify as 'Dark Arts' is there because it's a two-edged sword, because it has no clear use for good or evil or neutral means.  It takes willpower not to use them for selfish reasons.  Do you lack willpower, Justin?  Is that why you're scared?"

Harry wasn't even sure why he'd begun speaking.  Nagi had woken up, and he could feel her rubbing against his neck, sensing the eagerness that had risen in him to cause pain, cause anguish…cause chaos.  "Brother," she hissed; he could hear the worry in her voice.  "Brother!"

Laughing, laughing…falling into the black void that existed in his soul, that welcomed him with warmth and promised shelter…  He chuckled, shaking his head.  "What, no answer?"

Justin was shaking with anger.  "You're nuts, Potter."

"Maybe."  Harry shrugged as he rose to his feet, gesturing to the rest of the Gryffindor sixth years with a sweep of his arm.  "But at least they're not afraid to do this.  Does that make them evil?  No—no, it doesn't.  It makes them practical.  At least we've acknowledged the fact that sometimes you have to do things you don't like in order to survive."

"Like kill?"

Justin's question threw him off balance, and he visibly stumbled backwards, clutching at the table.  He hadn't expected that…he should have expected it, but he hadn't.

"Is killing one of the things you've learned to do in order to survive?"

Harry shook his head, eyes wide.  "I…"  He smiled faintly, head shaking again.  Wasn't that what they'd wanted, what they'd expected?  Hadn't he "killed" their Dark Lord at the tender age of one year old?  Hadn't he been the cause of Cedric Diggory's death, of the Minister's death, of countless, nameless Muggles and half-bloods and purebloods alike?  Kill…  Yes, he'd learned to kill in order to survive.  Wasn't that what people had been saying for years, that he was their consummate killer?  Not to his face, of course; no, no—that wouldn't be proper.

"Stop it!"  Hermione jumped to her feet and raced in front of Harry, holding her arms out.  "This is stupid, Justin.  Just let it go."

"Let it go?  Granger, he's going to kill us all!"

"Harry doesn't want to kill anyone!  Why doesn't anyone understand that?"

"Which means that you'll probably be the first to go, Granger.  His closest, most beloved friend…he'll probably kill you with his own hands."

A gasp escaped Harry's lips, and the world around him seemed to be slipping away.  Killer he was, yes, but he was discriminating—only the people who got in his way died, only the people who dared to challenge him.  He wouldn't kill Hermione…he'd never kill Hermione.  She was his protector, his friend, his sister, his mother…he couldn't kill Hermione!  How dare Justin suggest such a thing.  But Hermione…dead…

"How dare you!"  Hermione lashed out, slapping Justin across the face with a crack that echoed through the sudden silence of the dungeon.  Ron and Dean were on their feet as well, ready to jump in at a moment's notice.  "How dare you say such things to him?"

"It's called self-preservation, Granger," spat Justin, rubbing at the blood that had welled on his lip when her fingernails had caught there.  "And if you're protecting him, then you're no better than he is."

And then Justin punched Hermione in the face, sending the girl crumpling to the floor without a sound, and everything became crystal clear to Harry as he leapt forward, wrapping hands around Justin's throat as he sent them both crashing into one of the tables and to the floor.

He couldn't explain it, really.  It was as if a haze had settled over his vision, a ringing in his ears drowning out the sounds of spells, screaming, beakers and phials shattering, cauldrons clanging, and furniture clattering to the floor.  His hands were moving as if they had a mind of their own, raised fist crashing into Justin's face, arm blocking his windpipe.  Hands not his own scrabbled at his back, his chest, his face…pinches, scratches, ineffective blows.  He paid them no mind, focused solely on Justin and the thought of making him hurt like Harry had been hurt when he watched Hermione fall.

His throat hurt like he'd been yelling, but he was certain that he hadn't been; in fact, if anything, he was whispering…whispering to Justin all of the things he was going to do to him, all of the things he was going to make him feel and regret for having cut Hermione down first with his words and then with his fists.

And then something hit him—a spell, he guessed, and his consciousness crumpled into the darkness—and he smiled once again.  There was no more fear in the darkness; he would fall and drown with open arms.

*          *          *

Snape surveyed the wreck that had been his classroom moments before, hand shaking as he returned his wand to his waist.  Students were sobbing, bleeding, yelling…  The shaking hand rose to run through his hair, his mind struggling with what to do.  "Mr. Thomas, Miss Abbot, please take the injured students up to the Infirmary.  I suggest you take Mr. Finch-Fletchley first.  I'll take care of Mr. Potter myself."

In the wake of such a frightening incident, students put their differences aside to help each other from the dungeon to the hospital wing, though many of the Gryffindor students paused to look back at Harry with troubled expressions.  Not that Snape blamed them in the least; Harry's words, expression, and actions had frightened at least ten years life from him.

Making his way through the wreckage, Snape sighed as Granger struggled to her feet to make the few, tottering steps to Potter's side before she collapsed again.

"Oh, Harry…"

Kneeling beside her, Snape lifted her chin to get a better look at her face.  A nasty black eye, possible cheek damage…the eye was already nearly swelled shut, but she was crying as if she didn't even realise her injury.  "What on earth are you crying for, Miss Granger?"

Her body shook with another shudder as she pulled her face away, gathering Harry's body in her arms.  "He doesn't know how, so I have to cry for him."  And her sobs continued, tears soaking into the ebon-hair.  "It's all right, Harry…it'll be all right…"

Allowing her a few more moments of grief, Snape contemplated what his next move would have to be.  Potter wasn't stable, that much was certain, but Granger was typically calm and levelheaded.  And, grudgingly, her devotion to him was admirable—and, perhaps, the only thing keeping him from snapping completely.

"Hurry to the Infirmary and get your face looked at, Miss Granger.  I'll take Potter there myself."

She looked up at him, expression fierce as she hugged Harry more tightly, tears streaming down her red cheeks.  "If you hurt him any more…"

Had the situation been less sombre, he would have been amused at her gumption, and have taken points for her cheek.  Instead, he said, "I won't hurt him, Miss Granger.  I wouldn't dare."

Reluctantly she released her hold of the unconscious boy, bending forward to place a chaste kiss to his forehead.  She struggled to her feet, wobbling and favouring her ankle.  "Will I be able to see him later?"

He'd never seen her vulnerable, never seen her fierce.  There were so many things he'd never seen before that he was suddenly seeing today, and he wasn't enjoying the experience.  "I can't make any promises, but I'll try."

She nodded and tottered from the room, pausing in the doorway to regain her balance, casting a final sad look over her shoulder, and then she was gone—leaving Snape alone with the pupil he had cursed to keep him from killing a fellow student.

"What on earth happened to you, Potter?"  Wand in hand, he murmured the body levitation charm and left the room, Potter floating behind him, a bloody, black and white, smiling form that made him shudder with loathing every time he looked back.  After a few moments, he forced himself not to look back again.

Fearing a student wasn't healthy—especially if the student was Harry Potter.

*          *          *          *          *

"You know, I get the feeling that missing a year was a really bad idea," said Draco as he slid into his seat next to Pansy, eyeing their tag team of professors dubiously.  He enjoyed Defence Against the Dark Arts as a field of study well enough, but he'd never much enjoyed the class as taught at Hogwarts.

She gave him a thin smile in return; the green and silver ribbons that wove through her hair were gently trailing over her cheek.  "The sad part is, we actually started to enjoy their teaching last year, and Longbottom only destroyed half the normal number of cauldrons.  This means I might actually put forth effort in Defence class now, you realise."

Draco couldn't help but smile at her dry, defeatist tone.  "Heaven forbid Pansy should study—and enjoy class, to boot."

"Not that I was thrilled to have an Azkaban escapee and a werewolf teaching me, you know, but they do seem to know what they're talking about.  And both of them have that quality…um…it's French…"

"Je ne se quoi?"

"Yes, that."  She shifted in her seat as the Gryffindors began to file into the room, smiling briefly at Hermione when the girl took a seat beside her.

Draco at first passed a cursory glance over Hermione and looked away.  But then he took a startled second look once vision and brain caught up and connected.  "That's quite the shiner Granger has there.  Not to mention the fact that she looks like someone put her through the wringer."  He scanned the rest of the Gryffindors as they filed in; they all looked like they'd been through the wringer.

Pansy craned her head, trying to get a better look; it was hard given that Hermione was bent close to her desk, studiously avoiding anyone's gaze—even her fellow Gryffindors.  "Whoa…"

"What class did they just have?"

"Potions."  She winced, tugging on one of her dark braids.  "With the Hufflepuffs."

Taking all of this in, Draco watched as the rest of the sixth year students filed in and took their seats, and he noted with interest that Ron cast Hermione a worried glance but hurried to take a seat next to Neville, of all people.  Hermione didn't seem to notice this though; in fact, as he watched her closely, it was as if she had tuned them all out.

Lupin and Black were stirring at the front of the classroom, gathering together a bunch of various objects and lining them up on the desk.  He realised that class was due to start any minute, and with a last cursory glance around the room, he saw that Harry hadn't shown up yet.  "So where's Potter?"

Pansy was startled when he nudged her shoulder, having drifted off to staring out in the space somewhere near Hermione's head.  "What?"

Expression not betraying his thoughts, Draco let himself take in his cousin's appearance.  That's what he was forcing himself to do for now, until he adjusted to the new circumstances:  take everything in without betraying any reaction.  Pansy's cheeks were flushed, her eyes wide before she dropped her gaze to stare down at her hands, one of which was knotted in her robe while the other plucked ineffectually at the hem of her skirt.  He'd known Pansy a very long time, and he knew with certainty what her actions indicated:  embarrassment and subterfuge.  She knew that Draco had caught her doing something she wouldn't normally be caught doing, but she was trying to keep him from thinking about it by giving other signals of nervousness and boredom.  And he wondered, though he would keep his thoughts to himself for the moment, what exactly had held her interest—so much so that she had been caught in a very un-Slytherin moment.

"I was asking if you knew where Potter is.  Looks like our professors are ready to start, and the local Boy Wonder isn't here yet."

"Don't call him that," she said almost absently, a frown creasing her forehead.  Hazarding a look up at the professors, who seemed to be occupied with going through a large trunk, she leaned over and tapped Hermione on the shoulder.  "Hey, Hermione!"

Hermione jumped with a muffled yelp, turning wide-eyed to Pansy.  Yes, it was most definitely a black eye:  puffy, colourful, and nearly swollen shut with only the barest hint of brown iris and ebon pupil visible.  "What?"  She was snappy, but both Draco and Pansy brushed it off; if they'd been startled and found sporting a shiner, they probably would have reacted the same way, after all.

"Where's Harry at?"

She was chewing her lip, head bowing forward without intention so that her fringe shadowed her face and hid her eyes.  "Professor Snape…well, Professor Snape was going to take him to the Infirmary, and afterwards I imagine he's going to have to talk to Professor Dumbledore once he comes around.  I don't think they'll expel him, but he's probably going to have detention for quite some time."

Pansy gaped openly, while Draco wondered what on earth Harry could have done between breakfast and Defence to warrant potential expulsion.  "What the—"

"All right everyone, let's get things started!"

Conversation and thoughts disrupted by Black's declaration, Draco turned to face the front of the room with a scowl he didn't bother to conceal.

You weren't supposed to go beyond me yet, Harry.  I followed you down…but you've gone farther, haven't you?  I'll follow you farther down if I have to… no one should have to drown alone.

*          *          *          *          *

The first thing that registered was pain.

A sound somewhere between a keen and a hiss escaped chapped and bloodied lips, eyelids drawing tightly shut to ward out potential light.  He hurt everywhere:  arms, legs, back, face, chest…even his feet seemed to hurt, and he couldn't remember what had happened that put him in such a state.

"I see you've decided to return to the realm of reality, Mr. Potter."

He recognised the Headmaster's voice, and found himself wondering at the sad, dull tone.  Had something bad happened again?  The bitter, acrid smell of medication, of bandages and poultices and salves…he was in the Infirmary, he was certain.  And every time he'd ended up in the Infirmary, it had been because of Bad Things happening.

Cautiously he opened one eye, fingers moving to rub at his forehead, callused tips tracing over the burning indent of the strangely shaped curse scar.  "Sir?"

Dumbledore was watching him with a shuttered expression, and Harry felt his chest tighten.  He'd seen that expression on the Headmaster's face before, but never directed at him.  Pulling his fingers back, wincing as he touched his cheek, his lips, he finally held the hand up before him:  the long, pale fingers were covered with the flaky red-brown of dried blood, knuckles swollen, bruised blue and black…  Slowly he closed his hand into a fist, forcing aside the urge to wince again as pain flared.  So, it had finally happened.  He'd been pushed too far, and he'd snapped.  Inwardly he smiled; too bad he couldn't really remember.  It would have been amusing to run through the scene in his head after the fact.

"I'm afraid that a very serious incident occurred in your Potions' class this morning, young Harry.  Would you care to relate what happened to me?"

Like dying stars, pain burst and blossomed while Harry struggled into an upright slouch, giving him a better view of the Headmaster and the Infirmary.  Glancing off to his left, he could see the supine form half-hidden behind the bed curtains.  He recognised the shoes, scuffed oxfords with little yellow and black tassels:  Justin Finch-Fletchley.  Memories stirred and boiled like a potion left too long on the flame, bubbling and bursting.  Justin had questioned him, accused him…and then he'd attacked Hermione—something that was unforgivable.

The Headmaster wouldn't care about that, though.  No, Dumbledore wouldn't understand.  He was a great wizard, a great man, but horribly narrow minded in some ways.  For so many years he'd trained Harry, manipulated Harry…and Harry had never been able to fit his mould.

In the end, if he was to be honest with himself, Harry hadn't wanted to fit his mould.

"Nothing I could say, sir, would excuse the fact that I attacked another student."

"I'm told that you were provoked, that Mr. Finch-Fletchley attacked Miss Granger, and it was only after that that you became physically involved."

He bowed his head, eyes dropping to his hands.  Nagi chose that moment to slide from his sleeve, pooling into his lap in a ripple of banded green and black.  Her tongue flickered against his skin, wide eyes watching him, testing him.  "Was that what happened?" he asked her, not caring that Dumbledore couldn't understand what he was saying.  "Didn't I attack Justin after he hit Hermione?"

Nagi's head swayed from side to side.  "Yes, brother, yes.  But you wanted to hurt him—wanted to hunt him.  You baited him, drew him to you, and when he stepped through the noose, you pulled it taut and attacked.  Like a pit viper you were, waiting until he had invaded your territory, threatened what was yours, before striking."

"Harry?"

He looked up then, letting the bloody fingers slide over the raised ridges of Nagi's scales.  "Yes, sir.  But I think I may have…gone a little overboard."

Dumbledore nodded, blue eyes cloudier than usual.  "Perhaps.  Madam Pomfrey says that the young man will heal up just fine, but you did hurt him quite badly.  You broke several bones and caused quite a bit of blood to flow, young Harry."  It seemed to Harry that he hesitated for a moment before raising his hand and placing it on Harry's shoulder.  "The burdens we have placed on your shoulders are weighty, I know, and the expectations that people have for you are great.  But you still have friends and family to share the burdens with.  Don't forget about them."

Forget about them?  What an odd thing to say.  Harry couldn't forget about his friends, his family…it would have been easier to forget about himself.  They were the reason for his continued existence after all, the reason he continued to live even though life was a greater burden than the wizarding world's expectations.  Forget his mother and father, who were imprinted in his skin, his blood, his heart and soul…forget about Hermione and Ron and the Weasleys, who had somehow managed to hold him together for the first time in memory…  No, he couldn't forget about them—but he would spare them the burden of his reality.  "I expect that I'm in quite a bit of trouble."

"Yes, I'm afraid that you are.  The Heads of House and I will meet later this evening to discuss your punishment in detail, but I think it's safe to say that you'll be spending quite a bit of time serving detention.  I can't guarantee that it won't interfere with Quidditch for you."

Detention—so he wasn't going to be expelled, despite the fact that he'd come close to killing Justin.  For a moment he found the idea odd, but then he rationalised; Dumbledore didn't want to alienate him any further than he already had.  After all, hadn't alienation been the reason Tom Riddle had become Lord Voldemort?  And wouldn't that just take the wind from Dumbledore's sails, if all of his actions and inactions were for naught and Harry became the successor to their dreaded Dark Lord Voldemort. 

He was grinning inwardly, his eyes fluttering closed and head bowing to make sure that his expression, should it slip, went unseen.  "I understand."

"Good.  I suggest that you return to your dormitory and get cleaned up; your classmates are currently at lunch, though I believe you have a free period?"

Harry nodded, gathering Nagi to him, coiling her over his neck, feeling comforted when her heavy weight settled against his skin.  "I have Ancient Runes before dinner, and Astronomy later tonight."

"Ancient Runes—such a fascinating, complex study.  Well, I'd best be off.  After dinner and our guests' arrival, things will probably be a bit hectic.  I should go and make sure that everything's ready."

"Guests?"

Dumbledore smiled at last, hand disappearing up his sleeve as he removed it from Harry's shoulder.  "Yes, we're going to have some long-term visitors from Japan this year helping Professor Flitwick and Professor Ansuz teach some new and exciting things.  They're supposed to be arriving during dinner this evening."

Blinking, Harry managed to muster a smile.  "That'll be great.  We haven't had visitors since my fourth year."

"My thoughts exactly, young Harry.  I'm hoping that their visit will not only boost moral in the school, I'm hoping it will enliven discussion and a desire for learning in the students.  After this morning's Prefects' Meeting…  Well, that's neither here nor there, now.  Get along, Harry; you might have a free period coming up, but there's no telling how long the line is for the bathing room.  Teenagers seem to be possessed by the urge to bathe at the oddest of times…"

Swinging his feet over the bed, Harry rose, tottering unsteadily for a moment until he found his balance.  "Thank you, Headmaster."

"Just…be careful, Harry.  Dark times are upon us, terrible times…"  The Headmaster sighed, shoulders slumping.  "Accursed times they are, and we need you, my boy."

"Yes, sir."

He placed one foot in front of the other in a mechanised walk, not noticing his surroundings in the least, trusting his feet to guide him back to Gryffindor House.  Coming back to Hogwarts was a mistake; he should have stayed in Little Whinging and continued his studies without getting involved with people again.

"Brother…the venom within you stirs."

Sighing, Harry turned his head to smile at Nagi.  "I know."

"Why now?  Are you just reaching your maturation, then?  Haven't you always been a serpent like I?"

He mulled over her question as he drifted up the stairs like so much directionless smoke.  "Always?  I don't know.  Dumbledore said that my serpentine affinity came from Lord Voldemort, that it wasn't in my blood to begin with."

It was odd how it often seemed as thought he could "see" Nagi making faces.  Currently, had she a human face, she would have been rolling her eyes, lips pressed in a taut line.  "Serpent blood is serpent blood; it doesn't transfer like power.  The Silver Serpent knows that, he does.  He has the serpent blood as well, though it is different from yours; not dark, not venomous…no, it's not the same as yours, but it's serpent blood nonetheless."

He stumbled, toes dragging over the lip of the step, nearly sending him crashing to his knees.  His eyes were wide, breath coming in erratic puffs.  "Silver Serpent?"  The serpent from his dreams, who'd perplexed and vexed him…  How had Nagi known about the Silver Serpent, though?  He didn't remember telling her about his dream.

"You called him your rival when we saw him weeks earlier.  The Silver Serpent who saw me, who spoke to me as a brother much as you had—he smelled of the cold and wet, and appeared to be carved all of pale lines and angles."

Pieces slowly slipped into place as he pulled himself together again, straightening and making his feet start forward.  Malfoy—Nagi was talking about Draco Malfoy.  "So, Malfoy…he's like me?"

"Yes…and no.  Not like you, not like me, but very similar.  We are Snakes, brother, and he is…Other.  Serpent, like us, but not Snake like us."

Confused, tired, and sore beyond belief, Harry sighed when he reached the portrait of the Fat Lady.  It was only lunch time an he wanted nothing more than to crawl into bed, close his eyes, and forget—forget about the talk with Dumbledore, the returning memories of Potions class—forget about his entire life.

"What on earth happened to you?"

He sighed again at the nosy question from the portrait guardian.  "Nothing important.  Futhork."

The Fat Lady sniffed.  "Fine."

He stepped through the portrait hole after she swung aside, feeling as though a sudden weight had dropped onto his shoulders.  He stumbled again, falling to his hands and knees in front of one of the crimson couches.  Nagi slithered from his shoulders to coil on the rich carpeting in front of him, rising up to touch his nose with hers.  "Brother?"

Heavy…it was so heavy, so painful.  His forehead touched the couch as he leaned forward, trying not to pant.  It would be so easy to finish everything now, to perform some gallantly stupid Final Strike and take out Lord Voldemort, ending everything for himself as well.  The pain would be gone at last, as well as the burning sensation of so many eyes watching him, so many expectations riding his shoulders.  It would be so very, very easy…

Too easy.

This was probably what Voldemort wanted, what they all wanted, to see him grovelling on his knees like a frightened child.  But he wasn't frightened, he wasn't scared—Voldemort was the one who was scared.  He'd tried to kill Harry as a child, after all; for the simple reason of a drunken prophecy and potential similarities between a grown man and a newborn boy, if what Dumbledore had told him last year was true.  He wasn't scared at all—not of Voldemort and his Death Eaters, at least.

"Brother…  Why do you fight so hard?  Why do you struggle against yourself?"

Nagi's words were a quiet hiss, but they seemed horribly loud.  He shuddered, closing his eyes.  "Because I'm frightened."

"Of what?"

He smiled, glasses biting into his nose as he leaned forward a little bit more.  The pain felt welcome.  "Of myself."

"Strange.  It's strange that you're afraid of yourself.  Should a snake fear its venom?"

He had no answer to that.  Mustering strength, mustering will, Harry pulled himself back onto his feet, gathering Nagi up once again.  The steps up to his dormitory seemed steeper than usual.  And it also seemed as though they had multiplied, given that it took him twice the amount of time it should have to reach the door.  Continuing his silence, he placed Nagi on his bed and rummaged through his trunk for a clean change of clothes, heading for the Gryffindor bathroom.  Maybe he'd be able to put things into perspective once again after he'd washed the blood from his skin.

*          *          *          *          *

Rumours flew fast in Hogwarts, and by the time lunch was over, everyone in the school had heard about the confrontation in Potions between Harry Potter and Justin Finch-Fletchley, and the disaster area the dungeon had become.  Potions classes for the rest of the day had been cancelled, which had pleased the third year students immensely.  Everyone else, though, seemed to be affected by an air of sobriety that was disturbing; it was only the second day of school, after all, and such dark and melancholy thoughts didn't suite the normally boisterous halls of Hogwarts.

The Slytherin table was the most subdued of all, yearmates clustering together, whispering conversations that tried to piece together what had actually happened.  The sixth years had switched positions with the seventh years, sitting even more apart from their Housemates at the end of the table closest to the double doors of the Great Hall.

"Hermione said that when she stopped by after Defence, he'd already been released by the Headmaster and Madam Pomfrey.  Finch-Fletchley's going to make a full recovery—a pity, really—but he won't be up and about for a few days."

Draco scowled, shoulders hunched as Pansy related what she'd found out.  "But we still don't know for sure what happened in Potions to set all this off?"

Blaise shook his head.  "I haven't been able to track down Professor Snape yet, and Granger wouldn't relate anything further to Pansy.  She seemed troubled…and scared."

Millicent Bulstrode, who'd been sitting quietly throughout the entire discussion, suddenly spoke.  "Can you blame her?  To watch someone as quiet and gentle-seeming as Potter nearly kill a fellow student?"

Draco snorted.  "Potter isn't quiet and gentle."

"Ah, but we're not blind to him like the rest of the school, Malfoy," said Millie, a faint smile creasing her broad and blockish features.

"She has a point."  Pansy turned to look through the Hufflepuffs to the Gryffindor table, frowning when she saw Hermione sitting apart from the rest of the sixth years.  "But I think someone else has begun to catch on as well."

Draco's eyes narrowed.  "Despite her bloodline, she is intelligent.  And from what I've seen for myself and heard from the rest of you, she's the one closest to him right now."

Pansy smiled, sharing a look with Blaise and Millie.  "I think we need to write this down; my dear cousin just admitted that Hermione is intelligent."

"Wait, we'll also need his signature and a seal of authentication or it won't be valid in court."  Blaise was struggling not to laugh, especially when Draco's scowl returned.

"Yes, you're all a bunch of comedians, aren't you?"

"Oh, loosen up a bit, Malfoy," said Millie.  "You haven't even been back at school two days and you're worse than you were the last week of fourth year."

He tensed with her mention of fourth year, gaze dropping to the tabletop and the messy plate of half-eaten food before him.  True, he hadn't made any plans yet as far as dealing with Harry went, but these sudden things that had been thrown in his path…  He brushed at a wisp of hair that was curling against his cheek, biting his bottom lip.  His fellow sixth years were being remarkably understanding and open about his concerns about Potter—and he wasn't quite sure what to make of it.  He'd heard their stories, and the stories of the younger students as well, but it was so hard for him to conceive of such a sudden shift in thought and allegiance.

"You look troubled."

"Do I?"  He looked up at Pansy, gifting her with his once-trademark sneer.

She wasn't fooled, however.  "I've known you too long to buy that look, Draco—or that tone of voice."

A contest of sorts ensued, Malfoy silver and murky blue locked, conveying silent words, silent thoughts, silent emotions.  Draco eventually looked away, giving Pansy the victory.

"There was a time when you wouldn't have acceded so easily."

He smiled faintly, not lifting his gaze from knotted hands.  "There was a time when I knew what the hell was going on."

*          *          *          *          *

Free of blood, sweat, and dirt, Harry Potter entered the Study of Ancient Runes classroom with an unusual sense of trepidation.  Nagi was once again concealed beneath his robes, a welcome, comforting weight against the suspicious stares and accusing faces that greeted his entrance.

Did they want him to apologise, to say that it had been a 'heat of the moment' incident, that it would never happen again?  Most likely that was what they wanted; they seemed to like being lied to.

The only reason he was even taking the class was because of his abysmal score on the O.W.L.s—Hermione had suggested that if he took an advanced class and passed with high enough marks, as well as pulling up his marks in his other classes, he might be able to regain some ground in the next two years before he was required to take his N.E.W.T.s.  He knew next to nothing about Ancient Runes, and though his interest in his studies had grown to a near obsession over the summer, he hadn't done more than take a cursory glance at his new textbook.

A mixed class of fifth through seventh years from all Houses sat scattered about the room.  The room itself seemed to be an odd cross between Professor Trelawney's hidden attic of shadows, incense, and colour and the Charms classroom's narrow windows and tiered desks.  Two-person tables littered the room with no seeming order, curtains of rich blue and green framed the high and narrow windows, and various charts that made absolutely no sense to him lined the walls.  There was even some sort of incense hanging in the air as well, but unlike Trelawney's room, it seemed…lighter, more inviting, with a tang of citrus and vanilla.

"I suggest that you sit with either the Gryffindors or the Slytherins…but given the way your House is currently watching you, you'd most likely be safer with us."

Nagi hissed at his sudden movement when he whirled to face the owner of the voice, relaxing when he realised that it was Blaise.  He smiled faintly when the only response was an arched an eyebrow and a gesture towards one of the nearby empty desks.  Nodding, Harry set his books down and slid into the seat, ducking his head to hazard a better look around the room.  Yes, Blaise's assessment had been spot on; even his own Housemates were looking at him as though he'd grown horns.  What had they expected—to have him sit by and do nothing while Justin verbally and physically tore Hermione down?  No wonder Slytherin House had taken pity on them last year.

"So what made you suddenly decide to take Ancient Runes?"

Harry snorted, looking over at Blaise from the corner of his eye; the Slytherin boy was tracing a finger over the embossed runes on the cover of their textbook.  "I didn't really have a choice.  You know that rumour about the Golden Boy flunking his O.W.L.s?  It's true."

"Really?  Guess I owe Pansy ten galleons then; she said you'd flunk completely.  I said that you'd at least pass the Defence practicum."

"No such luck.  So Hermione had to scramble and put together a class course for this year that might save me from complete and utter ridicule—and help me pass my N.E.W.T.s next year.  I have to pull my marks up in all my other classes, plus pull a passing mark in an advanced class.  Ancient Runes was the only one that sounded even halfway decent."

"Oh, come now, Potter, Arithmancy's not that hard.  Just because you have to be able to add and subtract without taking your shoes off…  On second thought, I guess it's a good thing you didn't take Arithmancy.  I'd hate to see the state of the students if you did have to take your shoes off."

Harry rolled his eyes.  "Very funny, Pansy."

Pansy was smirking as she slid into the seat in front of them, dropping her books with a loud thud.  "Well, I do try.  Now, did my ears deceive me, or did I hear that you owe me money, Blaise darling?"

It was impossible not to laugh at Blaise's expression as he glanced furtively around the room and reached into his robe, dropping a silk pouch onto Pansy's books with a sigh.  Pansy, for her part, giggled and grabbed up the pouch, rubbing it against her cheek briefly before dropping it somewhere inside her jumper.

"So how hard is this class going to be?" asked Harry after a moment, opening his textbook cover.  'How ancient witches and wizards used the runes to guide their lives.'

"Despite what the books says, most of what we cover is how people have twisted the use of the runes through the ages.  Runes weren't originally used to predict crops or weather or anything like that; they're the first alphabet of the Western world.  At that time, our ancestors didn't have writing of any sort, so the runes probably seemed "magical" once the system had been worked out."

"Most of what we cover is Norse interpretation versus the British interpretation," added Pansy with a sigh.  "It's not the most interesting of classes, but it beats History of Magic by a long shot."

Looking decidedly unkempt, Draco raced into the room and slid into the seat beside Pansy, scraping hair out of his eyes.  His expression was hunted as he looked back over his shoulder, quickly turning back to face his desk.

Pansy frowned, placing a hand on his shoulder.  "Draco?"

"She knows I'm back!"

Blaise, Pansy, and Harry all shared a confused look.  "Draco, everyone knows you're back," said Blaise.  "It's not like it's a big secret."

"But you know what she's like, Blaise.  And…she knows!"

Had Draco not seemed so utterly desperate, Harry would have been tempted to laugh.  Instead he nudged Blaise's arm.  "Is Professor Ansuz really that bad?"

"Well…"

"She's nuts!  She's completely and utterly bonkers!  I don't understand why Dumbledore allows her to continue teaching as she should have been locked up in St. Mungos years ago."

Sighing, Pansy tightened her hold on Draco's shoulder.  "Come on, Draco, everyone's watching.  We don't want them to think that Slytherin has a local nutcase as well.  No insult meant, Harry."

Harry shrugged, a wry smile twisting his lips.  "None taken.  One local freak is enough for the entire school, I think."

"Good day, class, good day!"

A blur of green and gold bounced past their desks, skidding to a halt and whirling around.  Wide, mismatched eyes of brown and green found and focused on Draco, and a squeal of delight slipped from red-painted lips as the woman darted forward again.  Her hands grasped Draco's, lips trembling.  "Oh, my dear, dear boy…I thought you were gone from us forever."

Draco gave Professor Ansuz a watery smile, attempting to pull his hands back.  "Well, you know what they say about bad knuts…"

Professor Ansuz's smile grew, and she looked about the room.  "Yes, yes…everyone else has returned as well, a few new faces too, and…Harry Potter."

Harry dropped his book onto the desktop with a sudden crack, wincing when all eyes suddenly focused on him.  So much for being able to keep a low profile, he thought, looking up to give the woman a smile equal to Draco's.  "Um, hello, Professor."

Her eyes had narrowed, lips pursing, though she continued to clutch at Draco's hands, which were rapidly turning blue.  "Thurisaz, I name you, and Laguz, as well.  Hagalaz.  Isa.  You are not what we think you are, young Harry Potter, are you?"

She set Draco's hands back on his desk, her finger drifting over the back of his hand briefly before she walked to the front of the room to stand at the podium.  "Today, class, we will be going over a review of the Nordic pronunciation of the runes and their basic meaning.  I'm giving you free reign, so you can do this in small groups, if you'd like; if you have any questions, feel free to ask me."

With that dismissal, students became boisterous once again, though a few were still casting wary glances

in Harry's direction.  He ignored them, focused more on Pansy and Blaise, who were hovering over Draco.

"What'd she do, Draco?  What did she say?"

Draco was staring at the back of his hand, eyes downcast and lips pursed.  "Say?  She didn't say anything.  She traced the rune 'Gebo' on my hand—and I have no idea why."

"Well, at least she was more pleasant to you then she was to Harry.  I don't think I've heard so many potentially ill-omened runes strung together before," said Blaise, looking over at Harry.

Harry flipped to the index of his textbook, and taking careful, precise notes of what he found, wrote down the meanings of the four runes Professor Ansuz had named him by.

No one questioned why he suddenly began to laugh a few minutes later.  Most of the students were doing their best to ignore him, being of the frame of mind that if they ignored him, they wouldn't encourage him, and therefore he would stop.

The three Slytherin students sitting near him, and the Professor at the front of the classroom, watched with dread, though, as the Boy Who Lived began to piece together what some had deemed his fate.

*          *          *          *          *

Most people wouldn't have thought to look for trouble in the library.  However, of late, Harry seemed to have a sixth sense when it came to looking for trouble.

Draco was seated in the far corner away from the windows, huddled in his seat with his knees drawn up, hair falling forward in a parody of icicles to cover the book he was reading.  If anyone understood change it was Harry, but watching the Malfoy heir made Harry question what he knew of change.

He'd watched the other boy in class earlier, had noted the way his pale hand would trace the quill across parchment in long lines for capital letters, how it was scrawl sideways when a word ended with an 's'.  Sometimes Draco would reach up as if to run his fingers through his hair, but as a hair tie confined it, they'd catch at the nape of his neck.  Then he would scowl and hastily pull his hand away, as if afraid of being caught doing something so normal.  And the other thing that Harry had noticed was that Draco wasn't wearing his Hogwarts uniform underneath his robe; he was wearing an outfit similar to the one Harry had seen him in that day in Diagon Alley.

There was only about a half-hour until dinner was due to start, and the guests that the Headmaster had mentioned would be arriving.  Harry was too restless, however, to return to the dormitory and the inevitable questions that would be waiting for him.  And he was now more curious then ever about the changes that had been wrought in his rival.

Pulling a chair from the library table, and settling himself in it backwards, he smiled.  "So…learn any neat Dark Arts spells while you were away?"

Draco arched an eyebrow, but didn't look up from his book.  Apparently he'd been aware of Harry for quite a while.  "Are you attempting to start a conversation with me, Potter?  Notice I say "attempt," because if that's indeed what you're doing, you're not very good at it."

Harry sighed, pillowing his chin in his hands.  True, this was probably a stupid thing to be doing, but his whole day seemed to be littered with stupid things.  No harm in adding one more, in his opinion.  "Actually, I'm bored, and for some reason a little voice in my head said 'Hey, talk to Malfoy—it could be fun.'"

"Potter, I really didn't want to know about the little voices in your head.  You know, they have people that you can talk to for that sort of thing, trained medi-wizards that can help you figure out which voices to listen to and which ones to tune out.  I would suggest tuning out all of them, but that's my opinion on the matter."

"Are you insinuating I'm nutters?"

"No.  You insinuated that quite well on your own, though words and actions."

"Oh, sod off, Malfoy."

"Hey, you're the one who started this farce of a conversation.  Why am I the one who has to sod off?" Draco asked, finally glancing up from his book with a slightly affronted expression.

"Because…"

"Because Harry Potter said so?  Hell, Potter, if I did everything you told me to do—or everything you thought about telling me to do—I'd be very, very dead."

"Very, very dead?  Is that possible?"

"In your case, yes.  …And I can't believe we're even talking about this."

"Er… Well…"   Harry pursed his lips, looking up towards the library ceiling.  It was quite dusty, he decided—definitely in need of a good cleaning.  "So, the weather's been odd lately, don't you think?"

Draco slammed the book shut, making Harry jump and earning a glare from Madam Pince.  "Potter?" he said tightly.

"Yes?"

"You hate me."

"Well…yeah?"

"Could you please hate me a little less vocally?  If you want someone to talk to, go ask Pansy about her new bridal robe catalogues."

Harry blinked.  "Bridal…catalogues?  Is there something you're trying to tell me, Malfoy?"

"Yes.  You're an annoying, babbling git, who reminds me of my cousin right now.  Go away, Potter—go…go play with your own species."

"You are my species," said Harry dryly.

Draco spun to face him, book clutched to his chest.  His eyes were frosted with silver, colour in his pale cheeks.  "Potter, I'm about as far from your species as one can get and still look human," he spat.  "Now, if you don't mind, I have a Potions chapter to finish reading.  Good day."

Harry watched him go with a faint smile, eyes narrowed to pricks of ebon and emerald.  Still easy to rile, that was for sure, but there was something more to him now, something darker, more powerful, lurking beneath the depths of snotty, Slytherin attitude.

Rising to his feet, Harry tucked his hands into his pockets and began to whistle, ignoring the glare Madam Pince was giving him.  Dinner promised to be very interesting.

*          *          *          *          *

No one was very surprised when Hermione accosted Harry outside of the Great Hall doors—except for Harry, that is.

He yelped when she grabbed hold of the back of his collar, pulling him into the shadowy corner.  "Hey, Hermione, leggo!"

"I'm not letting go until we've talked, Harry!"

"Fine, fine!  But you're hurting Nagi."

That seemed to do the trick.  Hermione released her death grip, smiling apologetically when Nagi poked her nose out from Harry's collar with a dismayed hiss.  "Sorry, Nagi."

Nagi dipped her head after a moment and ducked back into Harry's robes.  When she was gone, Hermione resumed her scowl, placing her hands on her hips.  "What is going on with you?"

"What do you mean?"

"I'm serious, Harry!  Ron and the others…you should have heard some of the things they were saying at lunch.  You've got most of the school in a dither, not to mention frightened out of their wits."

"Good.  Maybe they'll think twice before pulling stupid pranks like that."

"Harry, someone could get hurt!"

He smiled sadly, raising his hand to cup her cheek, thumb tracing over the bruise beneath her swollen eyes; she still hadn't gone to the Infirmary to have Madam Pomfrey take care of the injury.  "Someone did get hurt, Hermione."

His words seemed to bring her up short, her mouth working while she struggled to find words.  Eventually she gave up, dropping her head.  "I'm just…just worried.  About you, about Ron, about Gryffindor House, about Slytherin House…  Things shouldn't start like this.  I feel lost; I can't find the answers to this in a book."

"I know."

"And you shouldn't have to…to…"

He didn't care who was watching, what they thought.  He leaned forward and kissed her temple, smoothing her flyaway hair back.  "I know.  But I do."

So many meanings conveyed in so few words.  Hermione looked up with tears in her eyes, clutching at his sleeve.  "Are you sure?"

Fingers sliding down her face, he grasped her hand, squeezing lightly.  "Not completely, but I'm fairly sure."

She sighed, rubbing at her eyes.  "All right, then.  Just…don't completely shut me out, all right?  And talk to Ron?  I thought that you two had things worked out, but you scared him today.  You scared all of us today."

"And just think—I've got nothing on Lord Voldemort."

She shivered at his smile, but allowed him to draw her into the Great Hall.  Had she not gotten to know the Slytherin sixth years as well as she had, she would have called him Slytherin in that instant.  As it was, all she knew was that he frightened her despite how much she loved him.

*          *          *

"You do realise that this could be seen as a revolution?  And not even a very good one at that."

Pansy rolled her eyes.  "Oh, come on, Draco.  You think that the goody-goody Gryffindors are going to let him sit over there after today?  He'd be better off over here."

"You just want an excuse to get Hermione over here."

She scowled, punching him none too gently in the arm.  "Millie and Morag are great friends, but they're too busy chatting it up with the seventh years.  Is it too much to ask for some decent conversation at dinner time?"

Draco nudged Blaise.  "Come on, help me out here.  Tell Pansy she can't invite Granger and Potter over for dinner."

Blaise shrugged.  "Why not?  They sat over here several times last year."

Draco let his head smack against the tabletop.  "Whatever happened to hating Gryffindors on general principal?  I just don't understand how hundreds of years of tradition could be thrown out in one year."

"Oh, like you're one to talk, cousin of mine.  You've been trying to screw Hogwarts tradition from the get go.  Aren't you the one who offered his hand in friendship to Harry on the first day of school?"

Draco was glad that they couldn't see the blush that raced across his cheeks.  "And he shot me down famously."

"Well, you never did take rejection well.  No wonder you're still harbouring a grudge against him.  It's not like he turned down your marriage proposal."

"Pansy!"

She laughed, doing what few dared and ruffling his hair.  "Lighten up.  I think you'll like them if you give them a chance.  Both of them can be decidedly Slytherin at times."

"There was a time when such words would have been an insult, not a complement."

"Let her have her way, Draco.  Dinner will be much more pleasant if you do," said Blaise, plucking at a piece of lint on his sleeve.

Sighing in defeat, Draco waved his hand.  "Fine, whatever you want, Pansy."

Pansy grinned.  "My favourite words."  She jumped up from the table and raced for the entryway, snagging Harry and Hermione as they entered.

"For the record, I protested this," said Draco when they had claimed seats next to Pansy.

Hermione smiled, managing to look pretty despite the colours that blossomed on her face.  "Duly noted, Malfoy.  In fact, if you hadn't, I would have wondered if your time away hadn't changed you beyond recognition."

He smiled tightly.  "Oh, it changed me.  Apparently it changed everyone."

The sound of McGonagall chiming her spoon against her goblet halted further conversation as all eyes turned to the head table.  The Headmaster rose to his feet, and clapped his hands, spreading them in a gesture that commanded attention.

"For the first time in many years, Hogwarts will be hosting a number of foreign instructors to aid in teaching you about the magical practises of other lands.  Three of our guests will be arriving momentarily.  Now, I wish for you to be courteous and to give them a warm welcome.  Our countries and magical practises are very different, but we share similar goals and concerns.

"Those of you in Advanced Charms and Advanced Ancient Runes will be spending the most time with our guests, however everyone will have a chance to meet them and experience their tutelage."

The doors of the Great Hall flew open, a cold wind racing through the aisles as what appeared to be fog poured forth.   Amidst cries of surprise, all heads turned, craning about for a position that would give them a clear view of what was going on.  To their dismay, a large fox with what appeared to be nine tales bounded into the room and down the aisle between the Gryffindor and Hufflepuff tables.  It was shockingly gold in colour, like the perfect iridescence of newly minted galleons, with black points on its muzzle and ears, and a white tail tip.

Draco paled at the sight, hands clutching at his sleeves.  "No…  Oh, no…"

Harry looked at him quizzically, wondering what could have the normally cool and collected boy so upset.  "What's your problem, Malfoy?"

"That's my problem," said Draco, pointing to the fox with a shaky finger.  "Because if she's here, that means that the twins are here too."

The fog grew thicker as the fox neared the head table, until suddenly the fox disappeared with another rush of cold wind and a heavy, unfamiliar sweet scent that lingered in the air, and a tall, golden figure with ears and tail rose in its place, bowing before the Headmaster.

"I take it you know, um, her."  Harry couldn't take his eyes off the woman—if it was, indeed, a woman—when she turned with a brilliant smile to look out over the students.  What an unusual outfit, varying shades of green and gold…billowing pants with a knee-length, sleeveless tunic, wrapped with a wide sash of emerald silk at the waist…  The gold embroidery was a perfect match for her eyes and hair, he thought with a faint smile.

He was brought out of his reverie when Draco flicked his ear.  "Nice to see even you aren't immune to the charms of the kitsune."

"The what?" asked Harry, nursing his ear with a grimace.  He kept his gaze away from the woman, though, waiting for Draco to answer.

"Kitsune, the fox-seeming messengers of the Japanese kami Inari.  Yanagi no Sei is the oldest of the kitsune I met while I was over there, and she's also the…well, strangest."

"She's awfully beautiful," said Blaise with a sigh.

Draco snorted, pushing Blaise's arm aside so that his chin hit the tabletop.  "'She' can also change gender at will.  I wouldn't get too attached there."

Blaise rubbed his chin, glaring.  "Well, we already have something in common then, don't we?"

"Don't be a prat.  And if she's here, that means that trouble will follow.  Even the clan hated it when she'd pay a visit."  Draco's expression tightened.  "If she's going to be one of the teachers, then we're really in trouble."

In the wake of such a flamboyant entrance, the entrance of their other two guests almost went unnoticed.  Dressed nearly identical in ceremonial kimono, long black hair trailing down their backs unconfined, they seemed to be the kitsune's antithesis, clad in sombre greys and blues.  Draco sighed, pillowing his chin on his hand in mimicry of the position he'd shaken Blaise from.  "And as I predicted, the twins are here as well.  My hell is now complete."

"So how do you know all these people, Draco darling?"  Pansy was smiling tightly, the corners of her eyes pinched.  Her expression was mirrored on Hermione and Harry's faces as well.

"I was unfortunate enough to have Yanagi no Sei as one of my teachers.  As for the twins…they're distant cousins on my mother's side.  I was unfortunate enough to have them for teachers as well.  I'd thought I'd escaped them in coming back to Hogwarts…apparently I wasn't that lucky."

"Ah, yes, yes, now that our guests are here—students, if I might have the pleasure of regaining your attention?  Yes, I realise this is all quite exciting, but stick with me for a few moments more.  The first of our lovely guests is Yanagi no Sei, a representative of the Fushimi Temple School who will be helping Professor Sprout and Professor Snape upon occasion, though hi…um, her main purpose in visiting Hogwarts is to learn about the Western practise of magic.  Yukito and Yumiko Umiryuu will be here throughout most of the year assisting Professor Flitwick and Professor Ansuz in teaching Eastern magics to their students.  I want you all to make them feel welcome."

By the time he was done speaking, the twins had reached the raised table, and turned to face the students.  Faces painted and powdered nearly identical with kohl, rice powder, crimson stain, and strange traceries of silver, they smiled and bowed as one.

"And now…let us eat!"

"As if anyone will want to eat after that," grumbled Hermione as roast beef and gravy appeared on her plate with a clap of the Headmaster's hands.

Harry smiled, glancing past her head to the raised table.  He watched as the three guests were invited to fill in vacant places at the table, the strange kitsune sitting next to his godfather and Remus with a flirtatious flick of her tail.  He turned back to his plate, pushing his potatoes around with his fork.  Maybe he didn't feel like eating physical food, but he certainly had food for thought.

*          *          *          *          *

"I'm sorry that you have to deal with such a thing on your first night here."

"It's not a problem," said Yukito with a faint smile.  "After all, we're here to learn as much as we can about your school and your magic."

Dumbledore beamed.  "Good, good.  Your accent is remarkably clear."

"We've had a few decades to practise," said Yumiko, smile mirroring her brother's.

"I must admit, the appearance of your companion was quite startling.  I never thought to see a kitsune here in Britain."

"Well, Yanagi figured that the tanuki are allowed to migrate without restriction, so why shouldn't she be able to visit?  This is strictly for research purposes, you understand; Britain isn't the best of places for the kitsune to be."

"I rather like it here, though."

Up close, Yanagi no Sei was very intimidating.  Dumbledore guessed that she would be nearly as tall as Hagrid, though there was definitely nothing stocky or awkward about her.  No, she seemed to be grace incarnate, long, lithe lines of flesh and hair the colour of gold.  True, her ears and tail would take some getting used to, but he had spent several years working with non-human sapients.  Most of them weren't so…sexual, though.

Yumiko—he thought—spoke rapidly to the kitsune in Japanese, her expression tight.  After a moment, the kitsune sighed, a hand trailing through her hair.  "Fine.  I shall leave the details to you.  But I want to know everything, hmmm?"  She smiled, finger flicking over each twin's nose in turn before she turned and sauntered down the hall.

"If I may be so impolite as to ask, what was that all about?"

"Yanagi is different from the kinds of magical creatures you are used to dealing with.  She hasn't quite…settled into the ley lines of this land yet, and we feel it would be better if she were to retire to our rooms until after this meeting.  The fewer disruptions, the better, yes?"

"I see."

They reached the Faculty Room without interruption, and like a true gentleman, Dumbledore held the door for them.  They shared a smile as they slid past him and found themselves the centre of attention of nearly two-dozen pairs of eyes.

"Feel free to find an empty seat and watch the proceedings.  I'm sure this won't take long."

The twins smiled and nodded, taking seats beside the sour looking man in all black.

"I'm not sure sitting beside me is a good idea."

"Oh?  And why is that?" asked Yukito.

"Because it puts you in the line of fire."

*          *          *

The boy—or maybe it was the girl, he couldn't tell; they were both extremely androgynous and nearly identical—didn't seem the least bit bothered by his words.  Or maybe they really didn't understand English very well.  Smiling thinly, Snape raised his hand to point off to his right.  "You see that man over there?

Yukito—he thought that was the boy's name anyway—nodded.

"He hates me.  Of course, the feeling's mutual.  And what we're about to discuss is going to make him very, very angry, and I'm going to be the object upon which he'll take his anger out."

"Family should resolve such differences without violence.  A brother is a very important thing, although not nearly as important as a mother."

"We're not brothers."

Yukito smiled.  "But you are family."

"We've been in denial for almost thirty years.  Why ruin a perfectly good thing?"

"It was my understanding that your people are currently facing a crisis.  Wouldn't it be…prudent, then, to put such misunderstandings aside to better serve your common goal?"

"A zebra can't change its stripes."

The smile grew.  "We don't have "zebras" where I come from, so I wouldn't know if it can change its stripes or not.  But a snake can shed its skin—often for the better.  And is that not the symbol of the House you are patron to?"

Snape faltered slightly, brows drawing together.  "I've never heard it referred to as 'patronage'.  I'm more like their surrogate parent while they're at school."

"And yet you are their teacher as well, someone whose mannerisms as well as actions they look up to.  You are greater than a parent in that respect—and you should behave accordingly."

Mouth working, Snape realised that he'd just been rebuked by a foreign youngster—and he couldn't come up with a retort.  Giving the boy a sour look, he snapped his mouth shut and turned to the Headmaster.

"If I could have everyone's attention?  Good, let's begin."

"Albus, what is this all about?" asked Remus, laying a hand on Sirius' arm.  "Harry wasn't in class today, and the rumours—"

"—are true."  Dumbledore's face was grave, and for once he looked every bit his one hundred and fifty seven years of age.  "Severus, if you would please relate what happened?"

He could have cursed the Headmaster for putting him on the spot like that.  Scowling, he adjusted the cuff of his sleeve and began.  "I first noticed the change in Potter when the Headmaster asked me to retrieve him from his relatives' home two weeks ago.  Forgive my slander, but the boy has always come across as the typical Gryffindor:  brash, brave to the point of stupidity, and possessed of a singular lack of interest in learning.  What I discovered, though, was a boy nearly obsessed with his studies and suddenly possessed of a…sense of humour."

"Everyone that's not you has a sense of humour.  What was different?"

He glared at Sirius for the interruption but managed to refrain from an acidic retort.  "He's cynical, and his sense of humour wouldn't be out of place in a morgue.  He finds things humorous that shouldn't be, is amused by others' pain, and has shown a decidedly nasty streak when it comes to protecting his friends."

"Justin Finch-Fletchley, a sixth year of Hufflepuff House, will be remaining in the Infirmary for the next two days.  Our young Mr. Potter attacked him during Potions class.  Now, as I understand, the attack was provoked.  However, the extent of Harry's actions was uncalled for."

Snape nodded.  "That was my conclusion—once things had returned to being rational, at least.  And I think Potter knows that as well, but at the time…I believe at the time of the attack he faded out of reality, not unlike what you hear happens to a berserker in the middle of a battle.  He was focused solely on hurting Finch-Fletchley—nothing else mattered."

"So how did you stop him?"

Remus again, keeping a tight hold of Sirius he noted.  Not that Sirius looked like he wanted to attack Snape; no, for once, Sirius looked like he was at a complete loss for what to do.  Snape smiled.  "I had to use Stupefy to knock him out, and it wasn't easy.  Up until the very end, every hex or charm that went his way seemed to dissipate—even the flying furniture managed to avoid hitting him.  It was like Potter had managed to set up an actual physical manifestation of a shield without wand, without incantations, and without concentration.  And from what Madam Pomfrey said, the curse didn't keep him out for long; he woke up barely a half hour later, and with the amount of will I put behind that curse, he should have been out at least most of the day."

Silence filled the room, along with sharp looks and grave murmuring as professors turned to one another for answers, and finding only more questions.

"I take it then the purpose of this meeting is to mete out a suitable punishment to Mr. Potter then?"  McGonagall spoke up after a few moments, clearly troubled; she continued to reach up to pat her bun, though there wasn't a hair out of place.

Dumbledore's smile was troubled.  "That—and something more, I'm afraid."

"More?"  Snape almost didn't recognise his own voice.  But Dumbledore's words had surprised him; he hadn't mentioned anything about there being "more" to discuss.  "Sir, what more could we have to discuss at this point?"

Spreading his hands, Dumbledore turned to encompass the entire room with his gesture.  "My dear ladies and good sirs, I fear that we may soon be facing a crisis greater than Lord Voldemort.  Nature, as we all know well, abhors a vacuum, and if we rid ourselves of Lord Voldemort, we have to ask ourselves the terrible question:  what may rise to take his place?"

Snape paled, hands clenching.  Glancing around, he found that he wasn't the only one startled by the Headmaster's words—or implication.

Sirius managed to find his voice.  "Surely you're not saying…that Harry…"

"What I have said is what we already know.  Now it is up to us to fill in the blanks and prepare for what will come."

*          *          *

"You are roaming late."

Draco flinched, slowly turning around; he should have expected that they'd come looking for him at the soonest opportunity.  "I'm a Prefect, and I was one of the ones who drew tonight's rounds for the lower levels.  I didn't expect to see the two of you out and about, though."

Yukito smiled.  "We were curious."

"Aren't you always."

Grabbing her twin's arm, laughter filling the corridor, Yumiko flashed him a toothy smile.  "And you are sharp-toothed as ever, cousin.  So far your native land seems welcoming on the outside, but we don't trust what lies underneath."

"You're not the only one," grumbled Draco.

"It seems there is a boy here almost like you, but with deadly venom in his veins.  Even his teachers fear him."  Matching sets of sloe eyes searched his face for answers.

"Potter."

"Yes, that was the name they mentioned.  It seems they think he is beginning to learn things he shouldn't, to know things he shouldn't.  They fear him…because he shows powers he shouldn't have, powers they don't understand.  They loathe him—some of them—because he has the potential to become greater than the one they already fear."

"They wanted to ask our opinion of his magic."  Yukito was unusually solemn, and it made Draco's proverbial hair stand on end.  "They wonder if they can counter their Lord Voldemort using the Eastern magics—ultimately they wonder if they can counter this boy using the Eastern magics."

"They don't understand!"  Draco's eyes flashed, hands clenching as he glared at the twins, though it wasn't really them he was angry with.  "This…this isn't about Eastern magics versus Western magics, or anything as mundane as that.  There's something seriously wrong here, something that I've known about for a very long time, and I'm probably the only one who has a chance of fixing it."

"Then why did you wait so long?"  Yukito's voice was soft, his lips creased in a smile of understanding.  "Surely if you've known of this boy's plight for a long time, you could have done something earlier."

"I couldn't.  He couldn't even admit to himself that he had a problem.  What chance did I have of convincing him that he was a walking powder keg if he didn't know it, hmmm?"

"Cousin, please calm yourself.  You're beginning to broadcast, and the children will wake with nightmares."  Yumiko laid a hand on Draco's arm, squeezing gently.  "I do not touch you lightly, and I do not ask this favour lightly either:  Stop playing games, stop hiding in shadows, and help the child before it's too late.  Our clans were not meant to fight their Dark Lord, nor will we; he is the only one they will have to defend them when the time comes for the final battle."

"You ask the impossible."

"Nothing is impossible."  Yukito placed his hand atop Yumiko's, sloe eyes piercing Draco to the core.  "Wasn't this why you came to us originally?  Wasn't this why you embraced your heritage with open arms, why you threw yourself into the elemental and enchantment studies with a fervour we've never seen before?"

Draco bowed his head, pale hair obscuring his face.  "Yes."

"Blood-kin we are, and clan-kin as well, but mind readers we are not.  Your heart should be an open book to ones such as ourselves, yet we cannot understand why you hesitate, why you are afraid.  Do you hate this boy so much that you would see him not only destroy himself, but everyone around him?"

He knew that if he were to look up they would be giving him identical accusing glares; unlike the rest of the clan, the twins didn't stand upon proper ceremony, and didn't care that it was rude to make direct eye contact.  "What do you want me to do?"

"To do?  Why, fulfil your purpose, of course.  You are a child of Benten, and you should act accordingly.  Save that child from himself whatever way you can."

"And if I have to hurt him to save him?"

"Then you must."

"And if I'm killed in saving him?"

"Such sacrifices are acceptable.  Yin cannot exist without Yang, but they must be in balance; one cannot overpower the other."

"But nature abhors a vacuum."

Eyes cold and calculating, smiles reminiscent of a shark, she said, "Then make sure he fills the right one."

Draco sighed, leaning against the cold cinder wall, letting his head hit the bricks; the pain was welcome in his confusion.  "I take it then that my time is limited.  Someone's going to try and push things?"

"The Headmaster, if we read him correctly."  Yukito's expression was thoughtful.  "He'll use the boy to defuse Voldemort, and then cast him aside.  If he rises up to fill Voldemort's place, he seems to have no qualms about bringing him down as well.  I gathered that he is fond of the boy, but he thinks that he does this for the good of the magic community and the…what's the term your people use to describe those without magic?"

"Muggles."

"Yes, Muggles.  But, as that saying you are so fond of goes 'the road to hell is paved with good intentions', and that is how I see your Headmaster right now; a man blinded to what he must do because he can't see what's before him."

"So my time is limited—I don't have long to try and keep Potter from becoming Dark Lord Junior."

"I think, cousin, if he were to fall completely into the Darkness, he would make your Lord Voldemort seem like the kami Jizo."

…Jizo liked children…hell, Jizo, if you left gifts of food or dolls at the way posts and his shrines, liked everyone.  Draco closed his eyes, swallowing the lump in his throat.  "I was afraid you'd say that."