College apps are evil. It's not the paperwork--while I find filling out my name, birthday, social security number, ethnic identity (human!), etcetera ad nauseum rather boring, I don't have too much of a problem with it.

It's those essays! ARGH! Tell us all about your life in 500 words or less. I can't say anything worth saying in 500 words or less! It's impossible! It's less than a page!

And don't even get me started on 250 words or less . . .

Anyway. As you ought to know by now, this chapter, much like the others, is considerably more than 500 words (*thinks about having to try to write a chapter that length* *tries to think about writing anything other than a poem that length* *ACK!s and runs to hide under the bed*).

Within this much-longer-than-500-words,-thank-you! chapter, there are a variety of characters. With no exception at this time, I believe, they all belong to J.K. Rowling. I've just tweaked (and doubled) a few of them. One of the more warped plot points is due solely to the creative genius of Severitus--this being an answer to the aptly named Severitus' Challenge.

And now, on to the next installment of Questions that Demand Answers:

Q4: Three days a week? Is that possible?
A4: I think so. Tell me if I've missed anything:
Monday Arithmancy Herbology (w/Ravenclaw)
Tuesday Transfiguration Survival
Wednesday Charms Survival
Thursday DADA Survival
Friday Potions (w/Slytherin) History of Magic

Astronomy Monday nights
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~*~An Unlikely Partnership~*~
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Tuesday morning dawned bright and early, and Harry learned something new about his twin. Lucia, it seemed, was a morning person. Dragged out of bed at an absolutely ungodly hour, Harry found that for once, he was actually wide awake by the time his first class of the day came around.

In this case, the first class of the day was Transfiguration. McGonagall seemed not to have changed at all over the summer, and he slipped easily back into his usual routine in that class, with one major exception--Harry was actually making a point to pay more than minimal attention this year. Combined with his extra studying over the summer--even though Transfiguration, like Charms, had been next to impossible for him to practice--he found that he could now do the assignments with nearly as much ease as Hermione.

Lucia, though, seemed to have about as much trouble as he had had in previous years--she could do the assignments, and well, but usually not until the second or third try. His new adeptness with Transfiguration earned him a word of praise from McGonagall and a point to Gryffindor. It felt good, he realized. There was a great deal of personal satisfaction in knowing that he had this ability. It was even a rather addictive feeling, much as the learning itself had become.

Hermione congratulated him in whispers when McGonagall wasn't looking. He accepted her approving comments with a shy grin. A grin that fell away as class ended and they packed up to go to lunch. He knew quite well what was coming up next.

The first Survival class.

Lucia asked, still smiling. She had come back from her talk with Snape the previous night with a smile on her face and only just barely in time for them to hurry up to the Astronomy tower for the night's lesson. Despite his only half-joking inquiries, she refused to say anything about the interview other than the fact that Snape had been told.

Which reminded Harry that he needed to go by the library and see if it had any books on the process to becoming an Animagus. Lucia was right; if he wanted to be ready in time for her first transformation in this world, he would have to study, and hard.

As if he didn't have enough on his plate already.
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Welcome, all, to your first class in Survival. Snape stood at the front of the room, imposing as always. Here, you will learn many things. The subtle art of potionmaking, specifically those potions that are useful in battle situations. Charms and hexes that can be used both for defense and for offense. Specific ways to defend yourself from a variety of Dark creatures that you may or may not encounter. Various physical ways to defend yourself, in case the time should ever arise when you are left wandless.

He had been pacing during his speech, a speech that was every bit as mesmerising as the one he delivered to first year Potions students every year. Now he stopped. In short, I will teach you to survive.

I will throw you into situations the like of which few, if any, of you have ever encountered before, and I will expect you to find your way out. I will be twice as harsh as any other professor you are ever likely to encounter. You will go out into the world after my class and know that just about anything the world can throw at you, you can deal with.

You will curse my name long and loud. I guarantee it. His cold black eyes made contact with every single other person in the room. Cho was there, and Justin Finch-Fletchly. Parvati was the only other fifth-year Gryffindor in the group, but both the Weasley twins were there--for once, acting serious--as well as Fred's girlfriend, Angelina. Draco Malfoy was there, for once unaccompanied by his dual shadow, Crabbe and Goyle. There were a couple of fourth-year Hufflepuffs, a sprinkling of Ravenclaws, and only one other Slytherin. Blaise Zabini, Harry thought his name was.

Any who wish to leave now may, with no consequence other than the biddings of your conscience. Again he looked around. Several stirred uneasily, but no one moved. In less than a minute, I will put up a barrier around this classroom. Only Survival students will be able to come through this barrier. Once the barrier is up, although you will retain the memories of each lesson, you will be unable to speak of, write about, gesture about, or in any other way communicate to any non-Survival student any of the specifics of this class.

An immediate storm of protest. This is because I will be hard on you; on all of you. You all have families, some of which I am sure would protest if they were to find out exactly how I am treating their precious baby children. If you have a problem with my teaching methods, tell me to my face instead of running to hide behind your parents. He looked around, and sneered. Any others having second thoughts?

One of the Ravenclaws stood and walked out silently. The Hufflepuffs were pale, but they remained. Good. It is . . . heartening . . . to see that not all of you so-called students are completely lacking in courage. Some of you may even see this class through. Now follow me.

He turned and, with quick steps, exited the room. Feeling a certain amount of trepidation, all the remaining students followed, until they clustered behind him right outside the door. The more observant of you may have noticed that there is no portrait guarding the entrance to this room. It has a different, and far more effective guarding system.

He stepped up, placed one hand flat against a panel of the wall that stood out slightly from the rest and glowed a very faint green. In a clear voice, he pronounced the words, Tom Riddle. The door to the classroom, which had shut as the last student left, reopened. I advise none of the rest of you to attempt this using my password, as the door will open only under the correct combination of password, aural signature--read through the palm--and voice.

Each of you will now come up and key yourselves in. Simply place your palm to the panel and say the word or words you have chosen as your password twice. As you do this, I will place upon each of you the spell that forbids you from communication about this class in specific terms outside this room. Once that has been done, you will reenter the room and wait. This is your last chance to back out.

No one moved. Finally, sharing a glance, Harry and Lucia stepped forward together. Harry stayed back just a bit, allowing Lucia to go first. She stepped up, placed her hand firmly against the panel, and spoke. Her voice cracked. She cleared her throat and tried again. This time, her voice remained steady.

A look at Snape showed that he was glaring intently at her, muttering words under his breath. The silencing' spell, Harry assumed. Just as Snape stopped muttering, she shuddered and the door opened. Without even looking back, she walked through the door, head held high.

Harry licked his lips. Ever since Snape had mentioned passwords, he had been trying to come up with a good one. Now, he thought he had a perfect one.

He was, after all, the latest and one of the strongest reasons why Harry felt the need to fight Voldemort--which this class would undeniably help him to prepare for. He said quietly, mouth dry. Behind him, there was a muffled gasp or two.

A shudder passed through him. Snape had finished the spell. Like Lucia before him, he continued on into the classroom without another word.

Behind him, a breathy voice, one he did not recognize. Ah. One of the Hufflepuffs, no doubt. The door closed behind him, and he looked in astonishment upon a much-changed room.

The desks they had sat in before were no longer there. Instead, large bubbles--the size of two people, easily--of varying colors sat on the floor or floated just above it. There was no sign of Lucia.

Just as he was beginning to worry, he noticed one of the bubbles edging in his direction. Before he could dodge, it swept forward and engulfed him.

He fell deep, beginning to lose consciousness, knowing only that he was surrounded by green, deep, beautiful, comforting emerald green.
**
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The world was tinted green. That was his first thought when he woke up. After only a moment, he came to the conclusion that it looked that way because he was now, somehow, trapped within the bubble that had pursued him earlier. There was no sign of any of the other students, only Snape sitting calmly at a desk that had not been there when he re-entered the room.

Not for the first time, Harry began to entertain thoughts that not all, perhaps, was quite . . . normal . . . with this room--even by Hogwarts standards. Noting Snape's relaxed posture, he decided that whatever these bubbles were, they were evidently an exercised planned by him, not any sort of malicious plot.

Although tempted to sit back, relax, and wait until the time when Snape saw fit to extend to them more instructions, he doubted that that was the point. Most likely, this was something of an evaluation exercise--something to show him how each of them reacted to an unexpected and possibly hostile situation.

He stood and stretched out his hand to touch the skin of the bubble. It felt rubbery and was cool to the touch. Possible, then, that a fire spell could burn it away . . . but what if the entire bubble caught on fire? He could be burned alive!

Perhaps a more thorough examination could make more sense out of this puzzle.
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Snape leaned back in his chair, enjoying the relaxation of body, at least, if not of mind. In his hands--seemingly innocuous and blank papers from the view of the rest of the room--he held miniature progress reports on each of his students.

The Ravenclaws had all come to the conclusion that this was merely a test, and there was nothing threatening about the situation, so they were content to sit back and wait. Of course, what they had figured out was the truth, but not all of it--while this was a test, it was meant to be taken at face value.

The Hufflepuffs had each chosen a venue--magic or physical force--and were exerting themselves to break through with all their might and determination.

The Slytherins--both Draco and Blaise--seemed to have come to the same conclusions as the Ravenclaws, but were accustomed enough to thinking around corners that they knew there was a catch somewhere. So while they sat and waited, they were also on alert for any hint of change.

The Gryffindors were a bit more varied. Miss Patil seemed to be trying to divine the answer to her current problem using a pendant she had taken from around her neck, both Weasleys were alternating throwing hexes and curses (of the obscene variety) at the walls. Miss Evans was cool, collected, and seemed to be working her way up through every curse she knew, in order.

Harry Potter was the surprise. At first, he had sat there, and Snape had been wondering if the boy had actually paused enough to put the sort of thought into his predicament that the Slytherins and Ravenclaws had. But then, he stood and began to . . . explore the bubble. Almost as if he was looking, analytically, for a weak point.

For the first time, Snape truly appreciated why the Sorting Hat had tried to put Potter into Slytherin. His manner of approaching the problem was entirely unlike that of the rest of the Gryffindors.

After exploring all he could, Potter sat, leaned back against the wall of the bubble, and closed his eyes.

Everyone else seemed to have either settled down or settled into a rhythm. Snape smirked, and made a small motion with his wand. Time for part two of the exercise.
**
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Had he not forced himself into such a state of calmness, Harry would never have even felt the movement. As it was, he did, and he also felt a shudder that ran through the skin of his bubble as it joined with something. He opened his eyes. And closed them again. Go away, Malfoy. He said quietly. I don't feel like dealing with you right now.

Believe me, sarcastically, I am equally as enthused at the prospect of being around you for any long period of time as you are, Potter.

Despite the thickness of the bubble, through which it seemed little to no sound ought to be possible, Snape's words were clear as day. These will be your partners for quite a while. Your first lesson is to learn to work together. Until you do, there will be no way for you to exit my little . . . experiment. If you miss supper . . . well, I suppose that's your problem. I will see you tomorrow.

With that, Snape walked out, leaving Harry and Draco to stare after him in undisguised horror.
**
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I loathe you, Potter.

The feeling is returned in spades, Malfoy. They were the only two left in the classroom. The first pair had been Justin Finch-Fletchly and Parvati. Harry had taken time from their arguments to gloat about the fact that one of the first out had been a Gryffindor.

Around the time they were exhaustively insulting each others' ancestry practically back to the Stone Age, Blaise Zabini and one of the Ravenclaws had succeeded. Then it was Malfoy's turn to gloat.

Lucia and Cho had come out not long after, causing Harry to sigh enviously. What he would have given to be paired with either one . . .

Pining after the pretty little Ravenclaw? Malfoy sniped.

Harry was startled enough to give a completely true answer. Of course not! She's a friend, is all. And I was just thinking it would have been nice to be paired in this with someone who I can actually stand to be around.

Perhaps that's why you're sitting now, hm? The conversation, as all their conversations inevitably did, degenerated from there.
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What exactly did he mean by work together'? Harry mused some time later. Seeing Malfoy opening his mouth for another snide remark, he added hurridly. I mean . . . do we actually have to mean it?

Malfoy closed his mouth, a curious look on his face. I'm surprised, Potter. That was almost . . . Slytherin of you.

Harry pursed his lips, then finally decided to take the statement as the compliment it had been meant as. Thank you.

This unexpected comment surprised Malfoy into a genuine laugh. For a moment, and only a moment, his face was transformed. Careful, Potter, or I might start liking you.

Would that truly be such a bad thing? Harry asked. It's not like I don't already have more enemies than I can handle. He raised an eyebrow. I'm still not thrilled with your comments at dinner day before yesterday. And you never did answer my question.

Malfoy's eyebrow raised too, in perfect mimicry. Was this a question you asked before or after you punched me?

Harry blushed. I'm sorry about punching you. I mean, what you said . . . about Cedric and everything else . . . was uncalled for, but still no reason for me to react physically. I was distracted and you just made me so mad . . . I really ought to learn to hold my temper better.

Well, with Weasley as your only role model, I'm surprised you haven't hauled off and hit me long before now. Malfoy snorted. Surely you've guessed that I've been trying to provoke you into just that sort of action for over four years now. He narrowed his eyes. And then, when I finally manage it, I get taken to task for my words, and you barely even get a slap on your wrist.

I do seem to get all the luck, don't I. Harry said casually. Perhaps its because everyone's so damn obsessed with how famous and special and wonderful I am. The Boy-Who-Lived' can do no wrong, after all. He ended bitterly. Honestly. I am so tired of all that crap.

You seem to be happy enough to soak it up to me. Malfoy sounded disbelieving. Who wouldn't want to be famous?

Malfoy. For once in your life put our mutual antipathy aside and answer me this. When have I ever wallowed in my fame? As to your second question: I don't want to be famous. I'm on public display and people think they have the right to know everything about me.

The poor pathetic orphan boy. Don't you feel so sad for me? What if Hermione really had been my girlfriend last year, or if I had been seriously seeing anyone else, for that matter? Can you honestly say you don't think that the intense scrutiny they'd be put under would drive them away? He shook his head. And frankly, the sort of person who wouldn't be driven away, the sort who would thrive in that environment, is exactly the sort of person I wouldn't want to be with.

But why am I bothering to tell you this, anyway? You hate me and I hate you and there's no chance that either of us is ever going to understand the other. Harry turned his back on Malfoy, staring out into the room, dimming in shades of emerald green.

He sighed, resting his forehead against the still-cool rubbery substance. And it's not like I even deserve my fame. My mother died for me, that's all. There's nothing special about me.

Now that is pure hogwash. Malfoy snorted. I don't know what sort of idiot told you that, but it is so untrue it's not even funny. Love can be a powerful charm, death provides great power, and death for love, it is true, can create quite a powerful charm. But nothing strong enough to reflect a Killing Curse back upon its author.

Honestly, Potter! He barked. Are you so wrapped up in your own little world that it never occured to you that you are not the only infant child whose mother died for him? In all those other cases, the children too died, and some of them were children of witches quite as powerful as I've heard your mother was.

Harry had turned back around, regarding the blond boy with something approximating surprise. Malfoy shook his head. As much as I am loath to admit it, Potter, there is something special about you. Not your mother. You.

Harry remembered, suddenly, that the Headmaster had never told him just exactly why it was that Voldemort had come after him in the first place. Somehow, he couldn't help but feel that the two were somehow connected. But why would Dumbledore lie to me . . .?

Dumbledore told you that . . . that nonsense about your mother? Malfoy squeaked, looking utterly taken aback. Despite his House affiliation, the Slytherin held nothing but respect toward their aged Headmaster.

Harry had sunken into his memories; suddenly another fragment brought his head up. His eyes blazed with a fury that surprised Malfoy. And Hagrid . . . he told me that all evil wizards came from Slytherin. There's not a single witch or wizard who went bad who wasn't in Slytherin', he said. Malfoy found himself having a hard time refraining from backing away as the other boy literally growled.

Not that I appreciate the slur on my house, or anything, but what has you so riled up? It took a false start, but he finally got the question out of his tight throat.

Wormtail. He was one of the Marauders, which means he was in Gryffindor. I'm sure of it. The emerald fire in his eyes was even more pronounced now. Then, suddenly, it all died out. Tiredly, Harry shook his head. I just wish I knew why. Did Hagrid honestly not know any better? Is, or was, Dumbledore trying to manipulate me? But if so, then into what?

What could he gain by lying to me like that, even if by implication and by proxy? Harry rested his head in his hands. If Hagrid hadn't badmouthed Slytherin, I might not have resisted so hard when the Sorting Hat suggested I go there. Then again, I might have still, because of the impression you made on me.

So I suppose we can list that as a possible benefit: for some reason, he may have really wanted me to be in Gryffindor. But what would my House affiliation have had to do with anything?

If you had come to Slytherin, you most definitely would not have become such good friends with Granger and Weasley. Malfoy offered, intrigued in spite of himself by the problem Harry presented.

Ron, no. I love him dearly, but he's too blinded, at times, by House and family reputations to see through to the truth of things. Hermione, though . . . she's Muggle-born, so she would not have grown up with the stigma against Slytherin. There still would have been a chance for us to be friends, if not a very good one.

There would have been no doubt in anyone's mind that you truly were the Heir to Slytherin. Malfoy joked weakly.

Harry's eyes opened wide. I wonder . . . He shook his head. Do you think Gryffindor's sword would still have come to me if I hadn't been in Gryffindor?

Gryffindor's sword? Malfoy leaned forward. I thought that was just a legend. You found it?

Pulled it out of the Sorting Hat, actually. Kinda makes you wonder what else the thing is hiding, doesn't it?

I'd say it would have been very unlikely. You might have ended up with someone else's weapon, though. After all, if Gryffindor had one, it only makes sense that the other three would as well.

Malfoy could see from the look in Harry's eyes that the other boy had an idea . . . and he wasn't sharing. Damn it! Since when has he become so hard to read? Finally, he broke down and asked. You have an idea. Care to share? Okay, so maybe asked was a bit strong of a word in this situation.

Harry shook his head, paused, then nodded. I'm not going to tell you yet; I may just be blowing smoke. I need to find a good geneology chart, then I can tell you for sure.

They probably have something like that in the library. Malfoy offered. You're going to bring me along, of course?

I wouldn't dare try otherwise. Harry grinned. So . . . do you think we can give this working together thing a try after all? He held out his hand.

Malfoy had a brief flashback to when he had made that exact same gesture and been rudely rebuffed. Through his recent conversation, he now knew exactly where he had gone wrong. For someone who was not a Hufflepuff, Harry Potter possessed an amazing store of loyalty toward his friends. Because of this, he truly didn't care who was and was not the right sort' of person to make friends with. It was a strangely liberating concept.

For a moment, and only a moment, Malfoy considered refusing. It would serve Potter right, after all, for refusing him those years ago. But . . . he had been willing to try to be friends with Potter those years ago; deep inside had anything really changed?

Besides, the mystery was just too much to resist.

Potter, he saw, had begun to lower his hand, those emerald eyes darkening slightly with disappointment--or was that just a trick of the fading light. His hand shot out and caught the other's by the wrist, for only a moment. He then clasped hands firmly with his once-arch-nemesis. Why not?
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I can't believe it. This is just the sort of sadistic thing I'd expect of Snape. Cho muttered, looking at her plate. Harry and Malfoy. Honestly. The dark-haired Ravenclaw had been adopted as an honorary Gryffindor for the evening by her Survival classmates and was eating supper with them.

Lucia felt rather more irritated than she expected. This wasn't her Draco, after all. Even from what little exposure she had had to the boy, she could tell that much. Still . . . no matter what his attitude, this was her brother they were talking about. What's wrong with that?

You have got to be kidding.' Cho's look seemed to say. Oh, nothing much. Just the fact that the two of them have been at each others' throats constantly practically since they got off the Hogwarts Express first year. She sighed. Just watch. They probably won't come out for another week, around the time that they have to be brought out or risk starvation and dehydration to the point of nearing death. That or one or both of their dead bodies will be dragged out of there at some point.

You're being too pessimistic. Lucia chided. Ja--Harry will pull through. He always does somehow, and besides, he and Malfoy are more alike than they think. She had to suppress a wince at referring to her oniisan (even if he wasn't) in so cold a manner. But it was true. Jamie and oniisan--and thus, most likely this Draco as well--were more alike than she and oniisan had ever been.

I could start a betting pool. Fred suggested perkily. Lucia, Cho, Parvati, Angelina, and even George--his own twin!--glared. or not. He added weakly.
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From the high table, Snape also watched. He had made a note of which teams had gotten out soon enough to arrive at dinner on time, which had come in a bit late, and which--precisely two--had not yet come. The next morning he would go check the observational papers in the room itself in order to find out exact times.

The two remaining were the ones he had fully expected would have the most trouble in working together. Although the pairing itself had come as something of a surprise to him.

The bubbles had been magically programmed' to pair up two people who would work best with each other, with a stipulation that they not be of the same house unless there was no pairing that even closely approached their effectiveness.

The only pair that had remained in-House, in fact, came as a bit of a surprise, including as it did one of the Weasley twins . . . but not the other. Fred Weasley and Angelina Johnson. George had ended up with a fellow seventh-year Ravenclaw.

But of all the people that Snape had privately expected would make a good team, the combination of Draco Malfoy and Harry Potter had never occured to him. He hoped they wouldn't hurt each other too badly; having to haul students up to the hospital wing on the second day of school would not endear him to Poppy.

Then again, who knows? Perhaps the bubbles had made a good choice and the two of them could learn to work together.

. . . Nah.
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At that very moment, the two fifth-year students in question, having been freed from their emerald bubble, were quite happily insulting each other in any and every way possible on the way to the library. Both had agreed that they were far more interested in proving or disproving Harry's secret theory, just now, than in food.

Why won't you tell me? Draco attempted his best whining tone.

Are you trying to be annoying?

An innocent tone. You noticed?

Harry snorted. I don't see what you're trying to accomplish. You know I'm not going to tell you.

But if I annoy you enough, Draco pointed out with impeccable logic, you might drop a hint or two.

Silence.

Why bother, when you will learn soon enough? They passed by the gargoyle that guarded the Headmaster's office. Oh, right. Just a second. Harry grabbed an only slightly crumpled piece of paper and a pen out of his pocket. He scribbled a message, then used his wand to stick the note to the gargoyle's nose.

What's that. Is it a Muggle artifact? Draco's eyes had caught on the pen. But, if it's not magical, then how does it make the ink appear like that?

It's a ballpoint pen. Harry explained easily. I don't usually use them because quills don't leak nearly as much, and the quill ink had a Fast-Dry charm added to it, but in this case I really didn't want to bother. He gave the pen to Draco. Here. You can have it. My cousin has a million and a half and he's lost most of them. I can snitch another later.

Draco shook it, peering into the little hole that the nib' of the pen had withdrawn into. Wicked. How does it work?

He looked around and added quickly, Not that I really care, of course. It's just some stupid Muggle thing.

Though his eyes laughed at Draco's sad attempt at recovery, Harry managed to school his mouth to an expression of remarkable gravity. Of course.
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At the desk, the two boys asked Madam Pince where they could find geneological references. Malfoy here is trying to prove to me that he truly is pureblooded. Harry lied with a straight face.

Draco elbowed him, then came up with an innocent face of his own. I already know that Potter's mother was a dirty mudblood, but since he's insulting my lineage, I'm going to prove to him that even the Potters weren't pureblooded. A sneer. He's just a mutt.

Although the librarian still seemed a bit startled at these two people, out of all the students, showing up together, she was put more or less at ease by their customary feuding demeanor. She made a point to express doubts that this was a worthy endeavor to spend time on, but eventually capitulated and showed them to a shelf situated in a dusty, more-or-less unused corner of the library. The books are self-updating, and rather fragile. She warned, before returning to the desk.

So are you going to tell me what you're searching for? Draco asked, idly pickin one of the first M' volumes off the shelf and flipping through, looking for his last name.

Harry motioned him closer. I'm searching for . . . something. If you find it, I'm sure you'll figure it out. You're pretty intelligent most of the time.
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Why are you doing this with me? Why not with Granger or Weasley?

Do you want the short answer or the long one? I'm doing this because Hermione and Ron are so wrapped up in each other just now that, though they love me dearly, they'd probably be terribly unhappy if I tried to separate them or distract them from each other.

That's why not them. But why me? I still loathe you, you know.

Harry turned his head from where he was flipping through one of the books, trying to figure out if his mother had ever had any wizarding blood. Do you? He asked quietly. I don't know, to tell you the truth. Because you were there. Because you were willing to take my hand. Because I think you're as curious about this as I am, despite our previous animosity.

A sigh. Because I can't help but trust you, not any more. Not now that you look so much like . . . him.



A hooded glare. If you tell this to anyone, I will torture you so dreadfully that you will be begging me to cast the Cruciatus on me. I mean it. Draco gulped. Him. Lucia--Harry Evans' brother.

I never met him, but I dreamed of him and the other Harry. He looked . . . you two looked more alike, once I saw his face, than Harry Evans and I do. For the month before coming back to Hogwarts, I dreamed about the two of them nearly every night, and I thought they were nothing more than a dream.

And then Evans appeared yesterday. Draco breathed. Whoa. That must have been seriously weird. He paused, knowing that he wouldn't like the answer, but finally found he could not restrain himself. And . . . her brother?

Her father is a Death Eater. Harry said abruptly. The black band around his irises seemed to have widened. Draco blinked at this seeming non sequitor. A chill ran down his spine. In what other ways were he and his doppelganger the same? Sunday night, after spending the summer away, he returned home.

He had found out over the summer that . . . that she had thrown her lot in with the side of the Light. Draco got the feeling that there was more to the tale than that, but he knew better than to ask. When he came back, he was prepared to kill her.

His own daughter?! Draco yelped. It was unbelievable.

She was adopted. But yes, his own daughter. Harry's voice grew more and more monotonous, his eyes colder. He used the Killing Curse on her. A lengthy pause, as Draco's eyes widened impossibly, And her brother jumped in the way.

Surely . . . Draco's voice was no more than a whisper. He swallowed. A person can stop casting the Killing Curse, turn it away from the target. Surely he stopped in time . . .?

He laughed. Coldly. His son, his heir, once it was proven that he was no longer loyal to his father and the ideals his father espoused, meant less than nothing to him. In fact, I think he found his son's death rather useful. After all, it hurt Lucia quite deeply.

My father would never do that . . . Draco whispered, trying hard to pretend that his voice didn't sound like he was trying to convince himself. His father wasn't like the father of his doppelganger. His father would never do that. Not to him. His head shot up when, belatedly, he realized what he had just admitted.

I already know. Harry said calmly in the face of that wild-eyed look. Interesting, these coincidences, is it not?

He croaked, surprised. He knew of the reputation his father . . . face it, his entire family . . . had, but Harry had said that as if he had had proof. Surely his father would not have been so careless . . .

Oh, I'd suspected for quite a long time. Harry said casually. Since second year at least. But I didn't know for sure until the Third Task last year. Inwardly, he flinched, at the mention of that disastrous event. Your father was there, you know. Licking Voldemort's newly reborn boots just like the rest of the Death Eater scum.

Of course, when I returned, Fudge refused to believe me. Draco snorted at the mention of the incompetent and blind Minister of Magic, and Harry smiled approvingly. Dumbledore, of course, already knew.

What doesn't he? Draco sighed.

Now Harry sounded amused. Just in case you were curious, your fathers looked identical as well.

My father would not do that to me. Draco only just barely refrained from yelling, remembering just in time that this was a library.

Harry's eyes had returned mostly to normal, the black now just a very thin edge along the rim of his irises. I truly hope so, Draco. For your sake.
**
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**
Potter, look at this! Draco shoved the book toward the black-haired boy, an insanely gleeful grin on his face. You and Severus, you're like long-lost cousins.

I'd hate to see how he treats the rest of the family, then. Harry grumbled sourly, looking at the page Draco had pointed out. There it was. Jeanne Potter, a girl with four brothers who had all been married and had children that carried on the Potter name, had married Octavius Snape, about seventeen generations back. Thank goodness, that was the only connection.

Ooh, do that again. Draco breathed, eyes wide. You look just like Severus when you do that.

Glare. Do what? Harry ground out slowly.

Act all snarky. The blond boy grinned.

Harry turned back to his book. Why was Malfoy in such a happy mood all of a sudden, anyway?

Draco had to remind himself that it was not fitting for a young man--especially a scion of such an esteemed family--to giggle. He'd be able to tease Potter for ages with this information!
**
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I found it. Harry sounded unbearably smug.

Found what? What you were looking for? Would you let me in on the secret now? Draco's voice was sharply irritated.

No. But I'm well on my way now. I've finally found my mother's family.

Potter, your mother was a mudblood.

Malfoy, don't you dare ever use that word in relation to my mother ever again. And no, she wasn't. Here. Proof. Harry shoved the book over.

Indeed, it seemed that Lily Potter's maternal great-grandmother had been a Squib who married into and lived the life of a Muggle.

Potter. Look at your father's name. It's doing something . . . weird.

Harry snatched the book back. There, connected to the name Lily Evans by a straight line, James Potter seemed to be blurring into and out of focus. The name below the two of the, on the other hand--Harry Potter--remained perfectly steady. It seemed almost as if the book was trying and failing to replace James Potter with another name.

But for the life of him, Harry could not tell what that other name was.
**
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**
Draco's voice was unsteady. Potter. You're right. I do believe I do know what you were searching for now.

His eyes, Slytherin green, were eerily intent.

Draco placed the book on the desk. That is, I think that being of direct descent from both Gryffindor and Slytherin (though God only knows how that particular combination happened) qualifies.

Try all four. Harry's voice seemed unusually subdued as he placed the book that contained the magical side of his mother's family on the desk beside the Potter book.

His eyes raised to meet Draco's. So now I know.

Now all I want to know is . . . why?
**
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End Notes: Yes, Jamie is powerful. No, I'm not going to be so incredibly cliche as to make him the Heir to all four founders. I'm just going to be a little cliche.

I'm sure you've all figured out by now what name James Potter' was trying to change in to. Poor Harry(s) won't for a while yet, though. *grin*

Creamy Mimi, Littletiger, Kawatta, AtieJen--Thanx ^_^

AussieGirl--I know. *evil grin*

Dynast's Girl--See! It is possible! . . . I think. I hope I haven't missed any of the major classes . . .

Hana-chan--I rather like the werewolf twist myself. ^_^ Besides, I had to have some excuse to make Jamie (and a few others . . .) an Animagus. *wink* So I thought, why not use the old worn out one and just adapt it a bit?

I don't care that supposedly J.K. Rowling said that Harry wouldn't be an Animagus. It's just too cool a concept for him not to be one. This is fanfiction, after all. So there.

gwendolyn-flight--Did you get my review? I liked your story.

I'm glad you like my Potter-to-Snape transformation. I got rather tired of the suddenly I'm x inches taller, my hair is extremely long, and even though I had a shower five minutes ago, my hair is already greasy'. I also got tired of people constantly going Harry you've changed! You look exactly like Snape! (except your eyes are still green) So I've tried to cut down on or mask both of those.

At least Draco's comments can be written off to the fact that, while he may be kinda-sorta-not-really-yet-but-moving-in-that-direction friends with Jamie, he is also more than willing to seize upon even a chance resemblance as long as it provides him with good fodder to tease Jamie with.

14 September 2002