Grmph, the underlining in this chapter should be strikethrough.

Derek was a right pain in the backside.

Daniel had roomed with Draco Malfoy for over two years now, and when his first impression of the Ravenclaw kid was that he was a self-centred snob, he knew exactly what he was talking about.

That evening, when he'd followed Hazel down into the Hufflepuff rooms, Derek had been waiting outside the door, a leather satchel over his shoulder, brown hair combed carefully, looking every inch the swot.

"Derek Quinn," he announced, holding a hand out.

Daniel shook his hand, then stuck his back in his pockets straight away. "Daniel," he said.

"Jolly good of Hazel to invite us down here, don't you think?" Quinn said, breezing through the door as soon as Hazel opened it.

"Not really," Daniel said. "She wanted the company."

"Slytherin," Quinn said, and that was that. That was his comeback. Daniel wasn't sure quite what he'd meant by it, to be honest.

"None of that down here, then," Hazel chided. "All of us are differing equal."

Quinn tossed her a slightly contemptuous look over his shoulder and made himself at home at the huge round table in the middle of the common room. "It's a nice room," he said generously. "Table takes up more room than it really ought to, I think. You could fit twice as many people around a collection of smaller ones."

Daniel tuned him out and wandered around the room. He'd seen three out of the four common rooms within a couple of days, and the differences were pretty interesting.

His own common room was easily the coolest, all glowing greens and calm greys, with an almost underwater feel to it. Classier than Daniel had been used to back home, easily. Just being down there made him feel a lot older and more sophisticated. Almost executive.

Gryffindor, from what he'd seen of it from his position on the floor just recently, had been quite scattershot and snug. He hadn't enjoyed his time there, but that was hardly the room's fault. He supposed that for Gryffindors it was homey, with comfy armchairs and little tables, all in fiery red and orange. Lively, perhaps.

Hufflepuff was something else entirely. Decorated in yellow and dark grey drapes, the room was completely round, and was solid and earthy where Slytherin was subtle and smooth, and Gryffindor was warm and bright. The couches and chairs were set up around the room in a way that invited openness. Even the passages down to the dormitories looked like continuations of the main room rather than ways out of it.

Maybe after the holidays he could talk Terry into giving him a look into Ravenclaw, just to finish the comparison. Fat chance he'd be asking Quinn. That boy was still prattling on about something, probably about the chairs being too tall or something. He reluctantly turned back to his fellow students, and started to listen again.

"It can be parted," Hazel was saying, as Quinn poked at the table. "Prefects deem how to set it each day. Mostly, it's preferred this way. Gives us a wholeness there lacks elsewhere."

"It's really nice in here," Daniel said, sitting in front of one of the fires. "Fine family fun."

Hazel beamed, but Quinn glanced at him suspiciously, and shifted in his seat.

"Which of you knows more about potions?" he asked, taking some parchment out of his satchel. "Sasha says Snape marks holiday homework for more strictly than regular homework."

"What's the topic?" Hazel asked.

"What is this, a study session?" Daniel asked at the exact same time.

"Can't but help to go over some rudiments," Hazel said. "Potions get right convoluted later down."

"We have to categorise this entire list of ingredients," Quinn said, sharpening his quill diligently. "And — "

Daniel thought maybe he'd have been less bored on his own in Slytherin, pairing his socks, or washing his hair. He leaned back against the wall and closed his eyes.

~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~

"Hey!"

"Hrmph," Daniel said, turning his face away from the annoying voice.

All that had done was point his ear at it, though. "Wake up!" it said.

"Here now, Derek. No need for hollering."

"Yeah," Daniel agreed muzzily. "No need."

"Well he's not allowed to stay here, is he?"

"Get out of my face," Daniel snapped, opening his eyes.

The boy scooted back, and rose to his feet. "If you'd actually slept in a bed, I'd say you got out the wrong side of it," he declared snottily.

"Oh, for — "

"Derek Quinn," Hazel said from where she was sitting at that huge round table. "Did you be raised in a barn?"

Hah. Quinn even flushed a little, at that.

"What time is it?" Daniel asked, dragging himself to his feet.

"Gone eleven," Hazel said. "May be improprietous all night, else you could stay."

"Wouldn't want to be improprietous," Daniel said, and headed to the door, ignoring Quinn completely. "Thanks for the invite, Hazel, but if it's just going to be schoolwork, count me out for next time."

"Well, on tomorrow we'll see," Hazel said, getting up to show him out. She was looking pretty sleepy, herself.

"Am I supposed to walk all the way up to the Tower by myself? This late?"

"Oh, grow up," Daniel tossed over his shoulder. "If you're too scared to walk around the castle at night, next time go back to your nice warm bed before the witching hour."

"The what?" they both said.

Daniel, standing out in the corridor by this time, peered in at them. "You know," he said. "When the permanent spells around the castle get antsy, and start to spit out the weird stuff. You've got to be on your guard if you're going to wander around at night."

"That's a load of tripe," Quinn said, not sounding entirely sure of himself. "I think I'd have been informed if that were the case."

"Good night, Hazel," Daniel said, and set off for Slytherin.

~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~

"I was thinking more about the Boggart," Daniel said, once he'd settled down to pretend to read his history book. Snape was steadily slicing what looked like a pile of super-long Flumps, and putting all the bits into a simmering cauldron.

"I was not aware such creatures featured so prominently in the Discords of the late nineteenth century," Snape said. He hadn't sounded annoyed about being disturbed though, so Daniel went right ahead with what was on his mind.

"Well, they pick a form by reading your mind, right? They find your greatest fear, and turn into it?"

"You know this, Livingstone," Snape said, taking up a glass rod and starting to stir with one hand, taking up his wand in the other and waving it silently over the top. "What is your point?"

"Well, you said that Occlumency is about blocking your mind."

That got Snape looking up, even if it was only a brief glance. "Indeed," he said.

"So would that work on a Boggart?" Daniel asked. "If you blocked it off from your mind and it couldn't find anything you were afraid of, would it appear just as itself?"

"A Boggart cannot be expelled from one's mind. The magics are not congruent," Snape said, not sounding quite as blunt that time, but his attention still fixed on his potion of something or other.

"What if you just blocked up the bits with your real fears in them?" Daniel said. "Leave the rest, like a little fear of sharks or spiders or whatever. Because if there's not much fear it doesn't have much strength, so it should be easier to beat. Right?"

"The logic is straightforward," Snape said. "I refuse to believe you need me to verify it."

Daniel huffed. "Fine," he said. "Is it possible to block the Boggart's access to parts of your mind, even if it isn't possible to get rid of it altogether?"

"If you wish to discuss Occlumency, you would do best to wait until neither of us have more important tasks in front of us."

"This is hardly important," Daniel grumbled, slumping forward over the bench and kicking at his stool. "It's not like we're going to colonise India again. All that global magic stuff has been sorted out by now."

Snape turned up the flame without a hitch in his stirring, black eyes intent on his work.

"Unless aliens can do magic, I guess," Daniel said. "Have we ever thought about going into space? Muggles are pretty defenceless when it comes to aliens and stuff. I hope there's some wizards at NASA, or the planet's doomed. We don't even have phasers yet."

"Be quiet," Snape said, still perfectly calm. "Read your textbook."

Well. If he was going to be like that. Daniel turned his attention to the formation of the Subcontinental Committee, and was soon drowning in names and dates and regulations enough to make his eyes bleed. He certainly wasn't going to read aloud, not with Snape in the room, and any notes he took would make it obvious how little he understood.

It wasn't like magic was actually different in other countries, people just organised it differently. It was dumb to have forbidden traditional Indian magic, in India, just because it was all mixed up with their gods and stuff. Why bother memorising the Seven Concessions of 1899 or listing the three fundamental reasons that British magic ultimately prevailed when it was plain as day that that Subcontinental Committee had their heads up their own rear ends and that was all there was to it?

"Having difficulties?" Snape said from somewhere nearby, jolting him out of his thoughts.

"It's dumb," Daniel said, looking up to see Snape out of his gloves, apparently finished brewing. "And it's boring."

"What is your assignment?"

Daniel shook his head, and the motion made his head start to ache. "Just an essay," he said. "Like always. When can we talk about … everything?"

"When you have shown me your plan for this essay, and I have judged it satisfactory," Snape declared, walking away again.

"That'll take forever," Daniel said, shoving his book away. "I haven't even done all the reading yet."

He got skewered, then. Maybe Snape had been storing up all his irritation, to use all at once.

"Whinging about your own failure to stay up to date with your studies will not avail you," Snape said sharply, whirling back to face him. "Your classwork is not currently at an adequate standard, and that will be remedied."

Yikes. "Can you at least answer my question about the Boggart? It's more like classwork than anything else. I did apologise to Hazel, and I spent time with her after. I even put up with that pissant Quinn all evening."

"No," Snape said. He didn't look as angry as he had a moment ago, even with how rude Daniel had been. Even so, Daniel wasn't going to risk arguing any further.

He hunched over his book, and kept reading.

~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~

"I don't remember."

"Look," Snape said, pointing at Daniel's own notes. His obvious restraint was making Daniel feel even dumber than it would if he'd just been scornful like usual. He hated it when people sat down with him and treated him like an idiot without giving him a way to leave.

"Okay, fine," he said, scribbling down that it had been Allan Octavian Hume who had lobbied the Ministry of Magic for an investigation into corruption in the Committee. He took a deep breath. "And they couldn't ignore it because he, uh — "

Snape just waited, like always. Daniel searched his notes for any earlier mentions of Hume. "Because he'd been part of the Muggle government?"

"He was a civil servant, yes," Snape said.

"But that makes him less impressive. I mean, a wizard working as a Muggle? The book made it sound like he didn't even go to Hogwarts. That doesn't sound like something that would impress the Ministry."

"The dual nature of his employment gave him a unique position, one of both knowledge and influence," Snape said, drumming his fingers thoughtfully on the table.

It was unfair how people could just come up with that stuff, basically off the top of their heads. It wasn't just adults, either. Granger did it all the time, and Terry got that way sometimes as well. Sometimes it didn't even sound like the same language as what Daniel spoke.

"So I just say that he had friends all over India, Muggles and wizards both, and obviously knew what he was talking about?"

Snape's eyes flickered down to his parchment. "Indeed," he said, after a moment's pause. Daniel knew what that meant. It meant Snape knew a better way of putting it, but wasn't going to say so. How very tactful of him.

"Why wouldn't a wizard go to Hogwarts, then? It's not like he had no money. Politicians are always rolling in it."

"Allan Hume was a squib, Livingstone," Snape said.

"Oh," Daniel said. That was pretty impressive, for a squib to do all that stuff. "Why doesn't it just say so?"

"This is a Ministry-sanctioned textbook."

"Oh," Daniel said. Then he understood. "They're embarrassed to have been shown up by a squib, so they just don't mention that he was one? That's stupid."

"The more things change," Snape said wryly. "What further points do you need to address?"

"I don't know," Daniel groaned. "Can I finish it later?"

"You have done quite well," Snape said. Daniel stared at him disbelievingly. "I recommend completing your draft now. Do I need to mention your remarkable aptitude for procrastination?"

"Apparently," Daniel muttered, dipping his quill in the inkwell.

~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~

Nothing sucked the life out of Livingstone like some quality time with his books. The boy brimming with conjecture about the applications of Occlumency and nonsense about extraterrestrial life was now slumped back in Snape's armchair, eyes half-closed and listless. Snape hadn't asked how the boy had slept, but he'd wager it hadn't been well.

"The question of using Occlumency against a Boggart is an interesting one," Snape said, feeling generous enough to open the conversation for him. "In the vast majority of cases, it is simpler and more effective to simply cast riddikulus."

"My question," Livingstone said stiffly, "was if the Occlumency would work."

"So it was," Snape said. "My answer is that I expect it to be possible. I do not know for certain."

Livingstone looked up at him, eyes suspicious. Snape didn't make a habit of admitting ignorance in any area, but the boy shouldn't be that surprised his knowledge wasn't exhaustive. Though considering Livingstone's general knowledge, most people must seem like geniuses.

"Have you not yet spoken to Lupin to arrange another lesson?" Snape asked.

"You're meant to be telling me stuff," Livingstone said, with a markedly childish pout.

No point in getting the child aggravated, Snape supposed, though his patience was starting to fade. "What is your question?"

"I want to know everything you know about my parents that could have led to this stupid thing," Livingstone said, gesturing vaguely at his own chest.

Very opportune, how their interests dovetailed so neatly. "May I see?" Snape said.

"I can't take it off," Livingstone said as though it were the most imbecilic thing Snape could possibly have said. "I told you that ages ago."

"It can do you no good to continue wearing it," Snape said, only to be interrupted by a surprisingly fervent Livingstone.

"You don't know that!" he cried, jerking upright in his seat. "For all you know, it's all that's keeping me alive!"

Snape stared at him. "What in the name of Zosimos makes you say that?" he asked, careful to convert his surprise to scorn on its way out. Irrationality was one thing, but a claim like that was sheer insanity.

"Who's Zosimos?" the boy asked, suddenly docile again, and rueful to boot. Utterly transparent.

"Do you retain any sentimental attachment to the item?" Snape asked.

"Nope," Livingstone said. If not for his outburst not one minute earlier, Snape might even have believed him.

"Take it out," Snape instructed, watching him closely.

He got a glare in return. "You said don't touch it," Livingstone said. "It'll warp my brain again if I do."

"Pull it up by the chain." Did he have to walk the wretched child through every thought process?

"I don't want to," Livingstone said, crossing his arms. "You said we'd be talking about my parents. Talking."

Undercurrents were starting to swirl in ominous ways. "You allowed me contact with it earlier in the year," Snape pointed out.

"Stuff changes," Livingstone said sourly.

Such profundity, from one so young. It appeared that the damned necklace had its tendrils into Livingstone yet again. Or still. Whether it was magic or simple psychology, Livingstone remained attached.

And fatigued, and out of sorts after being forced through that essay, after at least one night of disturbed sleep. Snape had perhaps been a little overconfident when it came to the boy's complaisance. It was time for simple facts, and the fact was that Livingstone had been deeply distressed to learn of the effects of the necklace, and presumably remained so.

"If you will refuse to so much as show me your necklace, Livingstone, I will be forced to conclude that it is again influencing your mind," he declared.

That didn't get to Livingstone the way Snape had expected it to. In fact, he saw a trace of a smirk dancing around the boy's lips. "Conclude what you like," he said. "It has nothing to do with our deal."

"That is incorrect," Snape said. Insolence from students was always infuriating, but combined with ingratitude it was intolerable. "You have requested information about your parents, as it relates to your necklace."

"I didn't say you'd be getting your hands on it again," Livingstone said. "I want you to explain what they were like so I can work things out for myself. You make me do that for everything else, so I don't see how you can start complaining now."

There were a great many things Livingstone did not see. Snape was tempted to begin listing them in minute detail. He settled for simmering openly, letting Livingstone come to his own conclusions.

The boy watched him, eyes a little wary, but not at all repentant.

"Livingstone," Snape said, laying his hands firmly on the table. "Why do you not want me to see your necklace?"

Livingstone's eyes narrowed, and his head tilted back a little. Snape watched as the boy wondered about Snape's motivations, and considered the possible answers he could give. It was good to see one of his Slytherins so thorough in his deliberations, and Livingstone was no exception. Of course, the boy was far too preoccupied with that to give serious thought to the question.

One step at a time, Snape reminded himself. One step at a time.

"It's not your business," Livingstone replied. "I can — it's fine."

He could what? If Livingstone was experimenting with the thing, Snape would tear his innards out and feed them to Lupin's damnable Grindylow. As if the boy hadn't caused enough trouble recently.

"My parents," Livingstone said, his voice a little unsteady. "You haven't answered my question yet, and if you're going back on the deal then so will I. I'll unapologise to Hazel, I'll do whatever the hell I want in the holidays, I'll rip up the goddamn homework, I'll — "

"I am your head of house, Livingstone," Snape said, nearing the end of his tether. "Everything you have promised as part of this deal, I am well within my rights to demand from you in such a capacity, without having to surrender any of my own time or information. It is you who will lose the most from the dissolution of our agreement, and I am frankly appalled that you cannot see this for yourself."

"Well I guess that's what you're for, isn't it," Livingstone said bitterly. "Here to show me how stupid I am, boss me around, act like you have a right to my personal possessions, my bedtime, my social life, my magic, my —"

With Livingstone about to blow his top, Snape took a moment to settle his own as firmly as possible before interrupting the tirade.

"You asked me, you thoughtless child. You requested my aid, and then agreed, under no duress, to a proposal I put to you. To shout at me in such a circumstance is near the height of stupidity, certainly."

Livingstone opened his mouth again, then shut it with a snap. He wasn't beyond all reason, it seemed. Nor suicidal.

"Fine," he said. "Whatever. I'm an idiot. I know that. Doesn't mean you can't do as you agreed and tell me about my parents. If you wanted to see the necklace so much, you should have included it in the deal. And that's that."

~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~

He hadn't meant to rave at Snape like that. But how hard could it really be to give him some damn facts about his parents, as promised. Daniel had been the model of studiousness or whatever that morning and afternoon, and all Snape could do is obsess over the one thing Daniel had under control.

And now Snape was sitting there staring, not bothering to even respond to the nice little speech Daniel had delivered. Daniel braced himself and stared at the stare, wondering what the man could possibly be thinking to produce that expression that was slightly amused, unsettled and smug all at once.

"You said my father wasn't any good at defending his mind," he said. It was the one fact he had, from back when Snape had been willing to share. He had a bit more information since then, from corners of his brain he'd had to fight into fitness. It would be educational to see if Snape would give him the same.

Snape nodded. "That is true," he said. "He was quick to see weakness in others, but utterly oblivious to his own."

Daniel had to remind himself to start breathing again. He had proper parents he knew heaps about. This was just information. If he was going to understand all the stuff he'd found in the necklace last night, he'd need as much of it as possible.

Snape was frowning again. "Do you remember when Mr. Nott asked your name in the hospital wing?" he asked.

Trying to railroad the conversation again? Well, just let him try. "Do you have any idea how Blaise Zabini knows my name?" he retorted.

That hit him, Daniel could tell. In fact, it made him properly angry. More angry than even when Daniel had been whinging at him just before. It didn't seem to be directed at Daniel, so he just waited for an answer.

"He has not attempted any further intimidation in that regard?" Snape asked.

"You still don't know who attacked either of us?" Daniel said, unable to stop himself from continuing the cycle of questions.

Snape's nostrils flared. Too far, then. "Did they look like me, then?" he asked, and wished he'd just asked a stupid one like that to begin with.

"Somewhat," Snape said. Daniel was surprised he'd let the subject change just like that. "You have many of your mother's features, though she was darker and more sturdily built."

"Was she fat?" Daniel asked, then could have kicked himself. He'd never really thought that his parents might be ugly, or short, or fat. Anyway, if she'd been fat, Snape would probably have just said so.

Snape snorted, then sneered. Seems like the doltish question had dragged him back to normal.

"She was not overweight, Livingstone," he said. "You are scrawny."

Yeah, he should definitely leave Snape room for more personal remarks. They cheered the man up no end. Probably because he was such a fine physical specimen himself.

Ha.

"What about my father, then?" Daniel asked, to keep the laughter down.

"Your father was as tall as the headmaster, and twice as broad," Snape said. "I am not in a position to know if there is still hope for you to reach his dimensions, since I met him as an adult."

It was going to be hard, now, to ask questions about which one had been more involved in the necklace without Snape getting all spiteful and unhelpful and maybe completely and utterly furious. He had a feeling any questions he had about Legilimency were going to be turned back on him as well. "Older than you, then," he said to fill the silence.

"Your mother was fourteen years older than I," Snape volunteered. Funny, how he was full to the brim of handy information now. Daniel started to suspect he was being softened up for something. "Your father was a little younger, but still far too old for me to have known at school."

"What was my mother like then?"

Snape waited for a long while before answering. Which just meant he was thinking of loads of stuff he didn't want Daniel to know. Daniel squashed his frustration, and waited.

"Intelligent," Snape said eventually. "Devious. Resolute."

"My father?"

A shorter wait, that time. "Fearless. Vigorous. … Creative."

That painted a pretty clear picture, in Daniel's mind at least. He did wonder, though, what had been going through Snape's head all that time that he'd decided he couldn't tell Daniel about.

"Neither of them anything like me, then," he said, trying to smile.

Snape made a meaningless kind of a noise. "One's upbringing has a profound impact on one's identity," he said abruptly.

"No kidding," Daniel said. "Well, with my parents who did the most of the plans? From the sound of it, my mother was more likely to. You know, this whole plan about distracting the Dark Lord and setting up their own deaths."

He wasn't fooling Snape by not mentioning the necklace, but he didn't care. They were at the part that mattered, and right then he didn't care what Snape thought of him.

"I expect it was very much a joint effort," Snape said. "Your parents were at their strongest together, and by the time I knew them, did very little alone."

They'd followed the Dark Lord, even been close to him. They'd probably pulled all kinds of crap in his name. But they'd loved each other, apparently, and their son, and turned on their old boss in the end.

The question burned at his gut for a long while before he could put words to it. Even as he asked it, he thought it might be one question too far.

"Why did they change their minds?"

~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~

It was possible, of course, that Livingstone didn't categorically know that Snape himself had been a Death Eater. Just as it was possible Idris and Adara Seaver had simultaneously had changes of heart and sought to atone, sacrificing themselves on the altar of goodness and light.

Either way, it had taken real nerve to ask a question like that. And the boy wasn't backing down afterwards, either.

"I do not know," Snape said. "I was not made privy."

Livingstone accepted that, looking simultaneously disappointed and relieved. "I think I should go to dinner," he said.

"Ten o'clock tomorrow, if you wish," Snape said. He would have to think over strategies to get Livingstone to open up about the necklace.

Livingstone sighed, and got to his feet, slinging his bag over his shoulder like it weighed a hundred pounds. "Thanks," he muttered as he got to the door. "See you later, I guess."

~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~

Daniel did more schoolwork over the next four days than he'd managed in the last two months. So much for a holiday. Snape was … helpful, he supposed, once Daniel got used to the casual disdain and the ridiculous words he used. He didn't harp on about the necklace any more, but Daniel could tell he thought about it.

It wasn't necessary, though. Since Daniel had fixed up all the parts of his mind it had affected, he'd thought maybe he could do something similar while actually listening. He'd tried first the night before the big talk with Snape, and it had been easy to feelthe way it edged into his thoughts, and stop it in its tracks. It had been odd, holding the pendant in his hand in absolute silence, but soothing at the same time.

It tempted him to try and push himself into the magic of the necklace. There wasn't much of a way in unless he let it into his mind to begin with, and he didn't want to do too much of that. Stopping it was easy enough, but he wasn't sure he'd be able to reverse any prolonged effect it had on him.

But he had to find a way to take it off, and that meant finding out everything he could about it. So he kept at it, deep into the night. Sometimes, when he was checking himself over to make sure it hadn't done anything to him, he got the strangest feeling that if he just turned his head quickly, or closed his eyes then opened them in a hurry, he'd find something new.

He wasn't sleeping all that well, but it wasn't too bad. He got a couple of hours during the day on Snape's say-so, and could usually manage a few every night as well. Waking up wasn't getting any easier, but he kept his wand close to hand and the terror faded quickly enough.

His biggest problem was how empty the castle was, and how empty it made him feel. He spent so much time with Snape not because he needed to get work done, or because the enjoyed hanging out with his head of house, but because if he didn't, he'd go mad from the isolation. He'd hang out with Hazel more, but Quinn was stuck to her like glue, and was completely insufferable, all the time.

By Christmas Eve he was counting down the days until school went back, but unlike every single other time in his life, he was wishing the time would pass more quickly. He didn't know how he was going to last a whole week after Christmas, not if things stayed as they were. He'd crack, surely.

On Christmas Eve he was having more trouble sleeping than usual. He'd been thinking unhappy thoughts about Christmas away from home, and what all his friends would be doing in the morning. The thought of Christmas alone was such a downer that he drew himself away from it, deep into his own mind. He threw himself wholeheartedly into nailing down that evasive haunting at the edges of his mind, just to be doing something.

He spent what felt like hours poking at walls, jumping at shadows, feinting and dodging his way around. No matter what he did, the feeling kept slipping away from him, like he was chasing his own tail. Then, on what he'd decided would be his last attempt, he drew almost all the way out of his mind, darted back in, and came face to face, or thought to thought, with … nothing.

He threw himself away from it in unthinking horror, his head only just missing the corner of the table he'd dragged up next to the couch. He slammed all kinds of walls up around his mind, watched the lamps glow dimly and listened to the crackle of the fire until his heart slowed down and his thoughts could settle.

Obliviate, he supposed. He hadn't thought he'd ever be able to find evidence of it. From what he'd heard, the spell was supposed to be a bit more subtle than just blanking out sections of the brain.

The thought of investigating further made him sick. It was horrible, and wrong, and he just couldn't face it. He'd just been getting comfortable in his own brain, however weird an idea that sounded, and finding concrete evidence of how damaged it was ripped away most of that security. He dragged himself back up onto the couch and lay back, exhausted enough to fall asleep without another thought.

~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~

The presents in a small pile by the fire staved off the worst of his panic when he first opened his eyes. But then, once he'd woken up fully, they pissed him off thoroughly. Christmas, alone. What he wouldn't give for just one phone call, right now.

With a sick jolt to his stomach, he realised that his parents hadn't known how to send him any presents. They'd only ever answered letters he'd given them. He hadn't been planning to stay at Hogwarts for holidays. Ever. He'd assumed they would understand when he had nothing for them, since they weren't supposed to be in contact with him, but he hadn't quite realised it worked the other way as well.

He forced all that out of his mind and went to sit by the five presents he had on the floor. He picked up the biggest one, about the size of a hatbox. The note on it read:

Hi Daniel.

I was going shopping for Christmas presents for everyone, and I got this before you without even thinking about how we've been lately. It made me realise how stupid this thing about Anthony and me is. Just because he's fighting with his friends doesn't mean I have to abandon all mine.

Don't worry about not getting anything for me, if you haven't. I haven't been any real kind of a friend to you. When we get back from holidays I'll tell Anthony that my friends are still my friends, and maybe we can talk again.

Merry Christmas

Turnip

The last couple of years, she'd given him things that were kind of in-jokes from school. This year, she'd given him an enormously tall, purple-and-silver wizard's hat, complete with crescent moons and wands with stars on the end. He stared at it for a moment, kind of in shock at the gaudiness of the thing, then put it up on a table and out of sight.

Mister Livingstone

Merry Thing. Home is alright, Ed says hey but the APs think you're a terrible influence and won't admit you exist. Hope you haven't had any more faints, I don't want you following me around everywhere again. Wouldn't want to make Draco too jealous.

Give Snape a trick cigar or something from me. Only don't say it's from me, I don't think I could bear the gratitude. Mostly just enjoy your present. Wait until I get back before you do stuff to it though.

Theodore Nott: SDM, KoW, MIA

P.S. I heard Pansy say Draco asked his father about inviting you to Christmas, but he wouldn't have any of it. Better be on your guard, who knows what he'll think of next.

Theo's present was a model Batmobile about a foot long, sleek, black, and awesome. Daniel had no idea how he might have found it, but it perked him up a little. Christmas couldn't be that bad with Batman. Maybe later he could get out some of his Transformers and see what kind of a party he could spell up. Theo couldn't be serious. He thought Daniel would wait to charm a Batmobile? Ridiculous.

Daniel,

Seamus thinks we shouldn't send this to you together, even though I'm over at his for Christmas and I didn't think to get you anything of my own. He thinks a joint gift makes us an old married couple. I told him I didn't remember any ceremony, but maybe we should get a third in just to guarantee that he's wrong.

He took it in totally the wrong way, and suggested Michael Corner. Help!

Merry Christmas, mate. I heard you're stuck at Hogwarts, what's up with that? You should have said something. I've already opened my house up to pond scum, a Slytherin isn't too steep a step down. Anything would be better than to be stuck with just him all the time. The more the merrier, y'know.

SEE WHAT I MEAN? I mean, yeah, Merry Christmas. Stay out of our marriage.

Seamus and Dean

Dean and Seamus and Dean

Daniel unwrapped the little box. It was a pack of cards, with the packaging loudly declaring they were Self-Shuffling! Unriggable! A Delight to Deal! Fun For All the Family!

Daniel wasn't sure what the point was of a pack of cards you couldn't rig, but liked the present anyway.

The next present's label just said I got you this, bitch, with nothing but the handwriting to give it away. Terry was terrible at presents. Daniel wasn't surprised to open this one and find a bag of fudge and a shiny green lollipop.

Draco's present didn't even have a note. Just Daniel's name, in Draco's handwriting. Having opened the rest, Daniel couldn't put it off any more. He unwrapped it carefully, all Theo's teasing about Draco making him far more flustered than he really should be.

Or maybe not. Draco had given him a slim pair of grey-green gloves, made out of an impossibly soft material. Tap all fingers together for fingerless, wrists for fingers back, Draco had scrawled on a scrap of parchment.

They were nice. Probably useful, too. But Daniel had a nasty suspicion they matched his eyes perfectly.