Ah, finished at last! Sorry for the wait.

No, not the story, of course! Just the chapter. The story will continue on for a looonnngggg time. I mean, the most interesting part doesn't even start happening until Halloween or so . . .

Oops. I should'na said that. *waves hand in mystical movement* You did not just hear that. Er . . . read it . . . you know what I mean.

Please please please tell me if you think I'm pulling Draco and/or Sev's feelings towards Jamie more toward the benevolent spectrum too too fast . . . I'm trying hard to keep them in character.

Harry & Co. belong to J. K. Rowling. Personally, I'm just as glad. After all, if I owned them, I'd have to start doing respectable things with them. And I'd have to cut down on reading fanfiction and start spending most of my time writing instead. What, you say I should do that anyway? ^_^;;

Severitus' Challenge belongs to, you guessed it, Severitus. Hasn't really made itself too evident as of yet, but we'll get there eventually.
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~*~Wednesday~*~
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After careful consideration, Harry had decided not to tell anyone else of the information he and Draco had uncovered. Except Lucia, of course--she had a right to know, since she was also Harry Potter and, presumably, also the child of James Potter and Lily Evans-Potter. He was, however, quite comfortable with the thought of keeping the rest of his friends and acquaintances (and, for that matter, outright strangers) in the dark. He wasn't particularly enamoured of the idea of them seeing him as any more special' than they already did.

Now that he had the information, though, he had no idea what to do with it. He was descended from all four founders. All right, so what did that mean? It could, he supposed, mean that he was the heir to one of them.

Or perhaps, he had the possibility within him to be the heir to more than just one; that he'd have a choice--which could explain why it seemed that Dumbledore had tried so hard to get him into Gryffindor. It was possible that the Headmaster had hoped that, if he was in Gryffindor, he would turn out to be that man's heir.

Then again, the only other heir he could possibly see himself being was Slytherin's . . . and that spot was already taken by Voldemort, was it not?

He turned over in bed, shifting his blank gaze toward the curtains instead of, as previously, toward the ceiling. So, what conclusions could he draw from all this?

Obviously, he should see if there was any information on the heirs to each of the four houses. And that means, Harry informed himself, using his best Hermione imitation, a trip to the library.

His eyes closed. Despite the fact that the room seemed warmer than usual--almost uncomfortably so, in fact--he knew that sleep would come as soon as he stopped trying to hold it away.

Tomorrow.
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Harry stumbled out of the Charms classroom, holding up and being held up by Lucia, both his abdomen and his entire lower face aching. What is this, Pick-On-Harry Day? He gasped.

I suppose so. Lucia was hardly in any better condition. I must admit, though, I never thought that I would ever meet anyone as ticklish as I am.

Obviously neither had the rest of our classmates. Harry replied wryly.

They had learned the Tickle Charm in Charms that morning. When turned loose to practice on each other, the rest of the fifth-year Gryffindors had quickly found that, while on most of the others the charm would result in twitches and embarrassed giggles, on the Harrys it would send them to the ground in paroxysms in short order.

Harry took quick stock of himself. I bruised my left elbow again, and I bashed my right leg against a desk. There'll probably be a nice large bruise there in a day or two. How about you?

I think I landed on my hip wrong at one point, no more than that, though. Lucia cast a searching look at her twin. So it's been happening to you, too? All the accidents?

Since my birthday--the day I dreamed of you for the first time. He replied quietly. He chuckled suddenly. At first, I wondered if it was all some elaborate plot of Voldemort's. Especially after I fell down the stairs for, oh, about the fourth time.

You fell down an entire flight of stairs? Lucia sounded mildly impressed. I admit I haven't gone quite that far yet. I've been able to keep my accident proneness under control for the most part--probably because of the extra training my other years in Survival. Balance and awareness of our surroundings was very important at times.

She frowned. Look, I'm sorry you got stuck with oni--with Malfoy. We never did this when I took it. She tilted her head. I've been meaning to ask, how did it go? It certainly took you long enough that Fred was about to start taking bets on whose dead body would be dragged out first.

Grin. I bet Angelina shot that idea down really quickly.

Matching grin. Better than that. Poor little Freddy found himself on the receiving end of glares from not only Angelina, but also Parvati, Cho, myself, and even George. He shut up quite fast.

I can't imagine why. Harry murmured, eyes dancing and almost wholly green. Well, after insulting each other on any and every point possible, we finally . . . wore down, I guess, and agreed to a truce. I'm beginning to think that he may be more like your oniisan than I gave him credit for.

You missed supper. Dare I hope you got something from the kitchens?

Harry paused. Considered. No, I don't believe I did. Completely slipped my mind. But that reminds me, Lucia . . . I found out something last night. Something that may or may not be important.



We . . . that is, I, and by extrapolation you as well . . . are descendants of all four Founders. That is why we survived the Killing Curse at fifteen months old.

And . . .

Dumbledore lied to me. He purposefully manipulated events to make certain that I got placed in Gryffindor. Really, after considering events, he couldn't help but admire the man's cunning. Things had, after all, worked out exactly as the Headmaster wished--as far as his Sorting was concerned, at least.

The Headmaster wouldn't do that. Lucia stepped away, and her mouth firmed with a determination that approached anger. For the first time, Harry saw for himself the expansion of the black in the eyes that were so like his own, as the black rims swelled to swallow up more than half of the green. He's not like that, Jamie. You must just be misinterpreting his actions or something.

Oh, I'm quite sure. It was a rather impressive manipulation, I admit--after all, I didn't even discover that I had been manipulated until just last night. Still . . .

Lucia held her hand up. I refuse to listen to you malign the Headmaster anymore. Come talk to me again when you've regained your senses. Honestly, Jamie . . . I'm beginning to think that Malfoy is rubbing off on you. She turned and walked away.

Malfoy. Not her oniisan, but Malfoy. Harry found that word choice . . . interesting, to say the least. It showed that she was learning to separate the two in her mind, which was most definitely a good thing . . . but he feared it was at the expense of casting Malfoy as (dare he admit that such a thing was possible?) worse than reality.

He shook his head. Honestly, indeed. She ought to know that he didn't lie, that he would not lie to her especially, and certainly not about anything as important as this.

Turning himself, he walked off. Perhaps back at Gryffindor Tower he could find some more reasonable people to talk to. First, though, he needed to cool off.
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Hermione, can you help me with my Herbology homework? That essay that's due next Monday . . .

I'm not going to let you copy me . . . She returned without a thought, most of her intellect still focused on her Ancient Runes assignment.

That's not what I asked. Ron flared. All I wanted to know is if you could answer a few simple questions for me, or direct me toward someplace that I can find the answer myself. Just because you're smarter than me doesn't necessarily mean that I don't have a brain myself!

That's hardly evident, considering how often you use it. Hermione sniped back. She hated it when people interrupted her when she was in the middle of something. We have OWLs this year, so I suggest you learn to find things for yourself, since you obviously haven't yet. Even Harry spends more time in the library than you.

So I'm not a know-it-all brainiac! At least I know more than just books! Honestly, Hermione, do you even have a life?

As a matter of fact, I do. She had abandoned her work for the nonce and now stood over Ron, glaring. And I like my life just fine, thank you, unlike certain people I know who seem to have inferiority complexes that make them incapable of even carrying on coherent interactions with other people.

And there you go again with the big words! Ron, too, stood. Although he was several inches taller at the very least, the two of them managed to preserve the illusion of standing nose to nose, eye to eye. We all know that you're the most intelligent person to hit Hogwarts since Rowena Ravenclaw herself! Must you constantly shove it in my face?

Oh, Ron, I'm so sorry, she sneered. For actually being proud of the fact that I have a brain. I know you like your girls all looks and no substance, but I have a news flash for you--we're not all like that.

He threw his hands up in the air. That's not what I meant at all! You're just jumping to conclusions the way you always do.

Maybe I wouldn't jump to them so quickly if you didn't make them so easy to be jumped at. Hermione suggested, all false sweetness.

How cute, a lovers' spat. The two started, turning to face Ginny. They had been unaware that anyone else was in the common room. The red-haired girl rolled her eyes. Honestly. When will the two of you grow up? She walked on past and up the stairs to her dorm room.

Ron and Hermione silently watched the youngest Weasley's departure before, as one, sinking to the couch. Neither quite had the energy or attention available to contest her calling them lovers'. They had both gotten too used to the little hinting comments to pay them much attention anymore; this did not, however, mean that they had lost any of their annoyance factor.

What were we arguing about again? Ron asked, sounding the slightest bit lost. Oh, right. You accused me of intent to plagiarize when all I wanted to do was ask a simple question. He concluded, a certain amount of his previous anger reentering his voice.

Hermione sighed. I really didn't necessarily mean it quite that harshly. I was just concentrating, and you especially ought to know by now how I get when I concentrate.

Well, I suppose I'm sorry too. Ron gazed into the fire. It was mean of me to say all that about your being a know-it-all and rubbing it in our faces all the time. Because you really don't all that much. He sighed. What a stupid argument all around. Why do we argue so much anyway? I mean, we're friends, right? And friends don't argue. He winced as his traitorous mind dredged up memories of the Triwizard Tournament the previous year. . . . all that much.

I think. Hermione had a studious, thoughtful look on her face. I think that our arguments are a plot contrivance.

A what? Certain terms--such as the aforementioned plagiarism'--had over time leaked into Ron's vocabulary--he wasn't stupid, after all, so much as unmotivated--but there were many times when he still had no idea what Hermione was talking about. This was one of them.

A plot contrivance. Hermione looked proud of herself. Imagine, for a moment, that our lives were all part of this story. Written in a book, or made into a movie.

Come on. Who would be the main character? The villain? Where's the plot? Ron, now that he understood, was highly skeptical.

Harry, of course, and You-Know-Who. And the plot is the epic confrontations' between the two of them. Hermione replied.

Ron considered. You know . . . that makes a disturbing amount of sense. So anyway, you were saying, plot contrivance?

Yes. It's a set character action or scene that happens when there's nothing much interesting going on with the rest of the story.

I think I should be insulted. Ron frowned.

Oh, come on. It's not like we're really just a story. I was just throwing out a theory. Hermione grinned. Besides, even if this were just a story, there's no reason for you to be insulted. The Hero's Trusty Sidekick is a quite respectable position, after all.

Ron snorted. And that's all I am. A follower. Not as smart as you, not as special as Harry, not as interesting as the twins, not as perfect as Percy . . .

. . . an even worse Seeker than Draco Malfoy . . . A new, familiar voice interrupted.

. . . an even worse Seeker than Malfoy . . . Ron continued, then turned and glared.

Harry's face grinned at him. Then he noticed the scar. Oh. It's the other one.

And what do you know? He asked, eyes narrowed. I wouldn't want to be Seeker anyway. I'd much rather be Chaser.

Evans' grin widened. Just playing with you. She ruffled his hair and sauntered off in the same direction as Ginny Weasley had before. At the stairs, though, she stopped and turned. Draco Malfoy's probably a better Chaser than you, too. Before he could retort in any way, she blew them a sardonic kiss and ascended out of sight.

That girl creeps me out. Ron shivered. She's just too . . . Harry. Only not.

Hermione nodded. I get the feeling that she knows more than she's telling. Did you notice how she knew how to get around, first off? She shouldn't be so familiar with Hogwarts, not after living in Japan for fourteen years.

She doesn't have an accent either. Ron pointed out. You'd think that, after living there for so long, she'd sound Japanese . . . or foreign, at least. But she doesn't. He frowned. And . . . did you see her in Herbology on Monday? She looked like she was trying to glare holes through the back of my head. And I'd never met her before!

She has backed down somewhat, though. Hermione pointed out.

Did you notice that both she and Harry fell behind after class? I'll bet that Harry talked to her and told her to tone it down.

Hermione blinked. No, in fact, I hadn't noticed that. You've been really keeping an eye on her, haven't you?

Ron nodded. Something just feels . . . off. I'd say she was trying to steal Harry's friendship from us, except for the fact that he had already pretty much drifted away even before she appeared. He tilted his head back to stare at the ceiling. Harry has changed, and I think it goes deeper than just his new interest in academia. He elbowed Hermione gently. After all, you manage to be a know-it-all and still be normal at the same time.

Did you know that he thought the Potions summer homework easy? Hermione asked suddenly. When he realized that I hadn't, he tried to gloss it over as a joke--trying to distract me--but I think he was telling the truth. Hermione frowned. It was doable, but still fairly challenging. . . . And I think--although I can't be sure--that he did his Potions essay before he started picking up all that extra knowledge. Like that, it should have been pretty near impossible. She nodded. There's definitely something different about Harry. At time, I get this feeling . . . like we've lost him.

Ron nodded. And I can't help but feel like it's somehow partly my fault. That, if I had only paid more attention to him these past two weeks while he was at the Burrow, he might not be so . . . distant.

I think it was a trend that started before he came to the Burrow. Hermione batted him lightly on the arm. We may have had something to do with it, but I think this is mostly just Harry. Maybe he's just growing up, like the rest of us.

Ron sighed. But why does growing up have to mean that he's growing away from us? Would you promise me something, 'Mione? Promise me that you won't leave me too?

Hermione smiled shyly. Only if you're willing to promise me the same thing. Best friends forever?

They shook on it.

Hi guys. Harry came in, threw himself down into a nearby chair, and closed his eyes. Ah. Much better.

What's wrong?

Harry made a noise of frustration. Lucia is just being bloody annoying. You'd think she'd trust me . . . He looked up, locked eyes with Ron and Hermione, then shook his head. Never mind.

What is it? Hermione asked. Is there some way we can help? She and Ron exchanged a look. They may have grown away from Harry, and perhaps that couldn't be helped . . . but they were still his friends, damn it!

I was just telling Lucia some . . . he hesitated . . . private . . . information that I had found out about her family. In the process, I let her know something else I just recently figured out--that the Headmaster lied to and manipulated us. She just completely blew it all out of proportion . . . He stopped when he noticed their glazed over eyes.

Abruptly, Hermione burst out laughing. Oh, Harry, that's better than the one about the summer Potions homework being easy! Really, Dumbledore, lie?

You haven't taken anything . . . funny . . . recently, have you? Ron asked cautiously.

Harry stood. That's it! Don't believe me if you don't want to. I really don't care. He stalked upstairs and a door could be heard slamming. A couple of minutes later, he stalked back through, muttering something on his way out through the portrait.

Ron looked at Hermione. Hermione looked at Ron. Then, in unison,

Did he really just say bloody Gryffindors'?!
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He had already flipped through most of the other records; most held little to nothing interesting. In many cases, despite having attended the same school for quite some time, the two people in each pair knew little to nothing of each other except--in the case of George Weasley especially--perhaps by reputation.

By far the most interesting up until now had been Evans and Chang. They had begun unaccountably nervous around each other, most likely on Evans' part because of her memories and on Chang's part because of Evans' uncanny resemblance to Potter. Yet it was Potter that eventually got them started talking, as they shared views on the boy who, it seemed, had had quite an impact on both their lives.

But now . . . now came what was practically guaranteed to be the most interesting of them all. Potter and Malfoy.

It started out in a fairly predictable fashion, although he was a bit surprised by a few of the insults they had chosen. Surely . . . he hadn't learned some of those words until he was half again their age, at least.

Engrossed as he was, he took little note of the door sliding open. It was, perhaps, a bit early--there was an hour yet before class began--but if a student chose to show up this early, that was his or her business. Without looking up, he made a private bet on it being one of the Ravenclaws.

Reading the conversation he began to admit, to himself, just a little bit, that perhaps Potter wasn't quite as much of a spoiled brat as he had always assumed him to be. Although with as intelligent and well-read of a friend he had in Miss Granger, he was rather surprised that the Boy-Who-Lived hadn't figured out that he was something special--even Snape, as much as he would have liked to, couldn't deny that--before now.

Still, that Dumbledore had been the one to mislead the boy so drastically . . . he made a mental note to do a little something mildly nasty to Hagrid. All Dark wizards coming from Slytherin, indeed. He would admit to most', but trying to claim all'--even without the solid proof of Pettigrew or Black, whichever of the two a person believed to have committed the crime Black had been arrested for--was a bit of a stretch. He snorted.

"So. Those are the written transcripts of the conversations we held last period, I assume."

Snape's head shot up. The unexpectedness of the comment, paired with its correctness and the depth of his concentration on Potter and Draco's conversation, conspired to make him lose--although only momentarily, mind you--his composure and his customary guard upon his tongue. "How did you . . .?" Of course, it didn't help that the speaker had not been one of the Ravenclaws, but the young Potter boy himself.

The smirk on the boy's face as he gazed at his teacher looked at once oddly familiar and not at all like James Potter. "I didn't. Until you just confirmed my guess, that is. But I was pretty sure--you had to have had some way of keeping tabs on us. Despite your demeanor, I doubt you would really let two of your students kill each other--not on your watch at least."

He sat up, tucking unruly hair once more behind his ear. "So, have you reached mine and Malfoy's yet?"

Snape glared at the boy repressively. Potter seemed to be trying to make Snape regret that he had ever even considered the idea that the boy could be anything less than repulsively annoying. "Do you think I would tell you . . . either way?"

A small shrug. "It was worth a try."
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Harry, knowing that he would get little to nothing more out of his Potions instructor even if he continued to press, turned his attention back to the Herbology assignment he had brought up here to work on. If that truly was his and Malfoy's transcript, Snape would soon reach--or would already have reached--the part in which he made a few . . . discoveries. When he got there, it would only be a matter of time before he confronted Harry about his words--it was unlikely that even the frigid Potions Master would be able to contain his curiosity indefinitely.

That, considering that Snape had displayed what seemed to be complete and total loyalty to the Headmaster . . . in recompense for being allowed a second chance, perhaps? . . . might prove to be an interesting scene.

It didn't take long, although the starting point was somewhat different than he had expected. So, Potter . . . care to enlighten me as to what this brilliant idea of your was?

Harry leaned back, gazing at his professor with hooded eyes. It is my postulation that Dumbledore wanted me placed in Gryffindor because he believed that I had it within me to become Gryffindor's Heir--the perfect person to strike down Slytherin's Heir, as Voldemort claims to be.

And . . . Snape drew the word out, pushing down the surprise. Gryffindor's Heir?! Either he's suffering from even greater delusions of grandeur than I thought, or . . . but it seems that he doesn't agree with what he assesses Dumbledore to be thinking. I wonder why? Surely it is every boy's wish to be capable of wielding as much power as the Heir to Gryffindor could. . . . you obviously don't believe that. Why?

Harry folded his hands, looked down at them for a moment, then vaulted to his feet, beginning to pace. Let me put it this way. Lucia was raised by the Malfoys, she's a werewolf--a Dark creature'--and she's still more of a Gryffindor than I am. He put his hand over his heart. Here . . . I like to think that here, I'm still something of a Gryffindor. But here? Now he pointed to his head.

Something has changed within me. I'm not sure as to exactly what triggered the change, why it happened, or even exactly what this change was. But I'm not pure Gryffindor anymore. I've grown up, out of that phase--and a phase is all it was.

He shook his head. I suppose, from my words there on paper, that you think I'm angry at Dumbledore for what I perceive as a betrayal. I was, but now I find that I admire him for it. A wry grin. I admire him for figuring out his goal, then refusing to let such small things as morals and absolute truth' stand in his way. A rather Slytherin trait, don't you think? So what does that make me, for admiring him for it?

Snape cocked an eyebrow. Rather more open-minded than three-quarters of the rest of the Hogwarts-taught English population. Dryly. And, I agree, decidedly un-Gryffindor. How could you possibly sympathize with The Enemy?

Harry raised his own eyebrow, in an exact mirror image of his teacher's action. Perhaps because . . . as I think you would agree . . . the only true enemy is Voldemort. His gaze lingered disturbingly long on Snape's covered left arm before moving slowly to his face. I'd say that, much like Death Eaters and just about any other Faceless Mass of Evil in history . . . Slytherins, once I take time to look, will be just people, too.

Narrowed eyes. Potter. You can't judge Death Eaters solely by what you know of me. There are many people who joined Voldemort because they are addicted to the power he offers, people who truly enjoy causing pain to others.

I don't like you all that much. Harry replied obliquely. I never have. But I have come to respect you. If someone such as you could join them, it only proves my point that not all are bad. I'm not trying to claim that all or even most of them have any good left in their hearts--if, that is, they had any good within them to begin with. Pseudo-Gryffindor that I am, even I'm not that stupid. But where there's one, there might be others . . . others who were not as brave as you, or who had more pressing reasons to remain where they were.

This time, his gaze lowered to his own left arm, his irises disturbingly almost entirely black. If I were given the choice between seeing all my loved ones destroyed and joining Voldemort, I know which one I'd choose. So how can I blame people who may very well have been given that precise choice?

His eyes closed, and he hung his head, defeated. I would have willingly died in Cedric's place. He whispered. I knew it. I knew Voldemort knew it. That's why Cedric died; Voldemort knew his death would cause me pain.

Voldemort is rather adept at seeking out a person's weak spots. Snape agreed quietly. He still remembered his own initiation . . . so clearly . . . and even moreso the events that had led up to it. It's one of the reasons he has gotten as far as he has.

So what do you do when he finds yours? How do you circumvent him?

A bitter twist to his lips. It depends. You can teach yourself not to care . . . or have the choice taken from you.

Silence fell. Considering Snape's words, Harry finally nodded, once, slowly. The silence remained, comfortable between the two, and it never even occurred to either of them to turn their attention toward something else.

Professor . . .? Did Lucia mention to you what your relationship to her was, back in your world?

Snape raised an eyebrow at the seemingly abrupt subject change. She did.

The black-haired boy bit his lip. Well, I was wondering . . . it had occurred to me that I'd kind of like to know an adult I could talk to like that, and I was wondering if you . . .

If I am not mistaken, you already have a godfather, Potter. Although I can sympathize with your wish to avoid talking to him. Dry and sarcastic, archetypical Snape.

The boy glared. Professor Snape, I would greatly appreciate it if you were to refrain from insulting my godfather while I can hear you. I know you have that stupid grudge going; you don't have to constantly shove it in my face. With the slur on his godfather, he had lost all evidence of nervousness. There is, however, a problem with going to him on this--the rest of the wizarding world still believes he's guilty of a crime he did not commit. Thus, if I contact him too often, I risk compromising his position to the authorities in question.

Abruptly glacial. I'm sure you would love to see him slammed back into Azkaban, but I do not agree in the least, and I won't let him be caught because of me.

It may be hard for you to believe this, Potter, but on the topic of the dementors, I fully agree with the Headmaster. I would not wish Azkaban on even my worst enemy.

Good to know. Potter's voice, exhibiting a certain amount of dryness of its own. My point is, the adult in question would need to be relatively easily accessible, and the fact is that my godfather is not. He shrugged. Forget it. I don't see why I even bothered to try. A pause. Actually, Remus is still around . . .

Perhaps you thought of me because you knew that the werewolf, upright Gryffindor that he is, would never understand how you could ever possibly even consider turn to Voldemort? Snape asked dryly. Harry froze. Oh, grow up, boy. Who would I tell? And why? And even if I bothered to try to tell, do you honestly think anyone would believe me?

He smirked. If only because I'm sure you'll regret having made the offer, Potter was giving him a look that said that he wasn't sure he wasn't regretting it already, . . . I'll at least consider it.
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Draco Malfoy, despite the restrictions that would be placed on him for taking this Survival class, remained firm in his feeling that it was the correct thing to do. It might come as something of a surprise--even to some of his fellow Slytherins--but he did not let his father do all his thinking for him.

Just, he admitted ruefully to himself--though he'd never admit it to anyone else--most of it. But the decision to take this class had been his alone--and while he had only had the one class period so far, he tended to think that he had made the correct decision.

Even if he had ended up paired with Potter, of all people.

He put his hand against the dimly glowing plate, stated his password, and entered the room. Fifteen minutes early. And stopped, trying to process the sight before him. Snape at his desk and Potter sitting on the floor. Okay, that wasn't too off the wall yet. What was? The fact that they weren't actively snarling at each other.

. . . I'll at least think about it. Snape had just finished saying.

The Boy-Who-Lived's face, which had held an expression comfortingly at least approximating its usual disgust, softened into, of all insane things, a smile. Thank you, Professor. That's all I ask.

Draco decided to interrupt before the scene had fully processed--otherwise, he would have been in great danger of fainting or doing something similarly undignified. Potter . . . Professor Snape . . . do my eyes deceive me or are the two of you acting in an almost--dare I say it?--congenial manner toward one another? He drawled.

Potter leaned back on his hands and smirked--a disturbingly Snape-like smirk, at that--before replying. Oh, I don't know. Stranger things have happened. After all, my own relationship with you can now be termed--loosely, I must admit--as congenial as well. He paused. Oh, stop standing there and come on inside, Malfoy. You're blocking the doorway.

Better me than you. At least this way anyone approaching won't turn and run screaming if they catch sight of me. Draco riposted, still coming on all the way inside despite that. He waved one hand dramatically in front of his nose. When was the last time you had a bath, anyway?

Harry had a deeply thoughtful look on his face. When I was about three, I think. He laughed at the horrified looks on both the Slytherins' faces. It seemed even Snape was more fastidious than he looked. Now a shower, on the other hand . . . I had one last night. He raised an eyebrow, one hand raising to fan out his admittedly somewhat greasy-looking hair. At least this is natural. Tell me, how many pounds of hair gel do you pour on your head every morning?

Snape considered interrupting. It wouldn't do for them to still be arguing when class started, after all. Then again, strangely enough, they actually seemed to be enjoying it. With a mental shrug, he decided to leave well enough alone. It was, after all, rather amusing to watch.

In a staggering reversal that Snape wasn't sure even the two boys understood, suddenly the two had turned to discussing schoolwork. It was quite an intellectual conversation, at that, one that he rather thought most students would have trouble following, despite the frequent breaks for insults to the intelligence (or lack thereof) of each other.

The subject finally found its way to Potions, a class that neither had had yet this year but that both seemed equally interested in. When his opinion was solicited to break up an argument, he found himself interceding on Potter's side, oddly enough . . . perhaps even odder, the fact that he found that he really didn't mind all that much. Certainly not as much as he should have.

If anyone had told him, even a month ago, that he would be agreeing with Potter about anything--with the possible exception of the merits of a certain Dark Lord both were somewhat acquainted with--he would have suggested that that person enroll themselves in St. Mungos. Quickly. Before they started having less fantastic and more dangerous delusions.

Then again, people change. And Potter definitely seemed to have changed more than his fair share over the past summer. So he continued on, in turn conversing and arguing amicably with the two fifth-year students.

And that was how the rest of the students, coming in for class, found them.
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From now on, Tuesday classes will generally be Charms based, Thursday Potions, and Wednesdays will concentrate on the more physical aspect of your training. Snape was trying his hardest to ignore the fact that most of the class had walked in just as he had been grudgingly admitting that, for a moron and a Gryffindor (wasn't that somehow redundant?), Potter not only actually had a brain, but was fairly adept at using it.

He had to admit, though, that the sight of all those dropped jaws and wide eyes was enough to appeal to a far more vestigial sense of humor than even he possessed. It took a stern effort to keep his lips from twitching, but he had managed. Somehow.

It is a little-known fact that Hogwarts has an armory of its own of strictly Muggle weaponry. He had again taken up his habit of pacing the front of the classroom. I will not be showing you where it is; I have, however, managed to negotiate the castle into allowing us access to it through this room on Wednesdays and by request otherwise.

Pace. A simple spell has been put on each and every weapon in the armory that will intensify the feelings of you natural inclinations as well as . . . other . . . effects. What this means, essentially, is that you will be quite powerfully attracted towards the weapon or weapons that you are most suited for. This is not, necessarily, the weapon you think of as your favorite', or the one that you think is the coolest'. This is the weapon you will be best suited to actually using, in an actual combat situation.

A knock sounded at the door. Snape looked even more bad-tempered than usual as he stalked over and pulled it open.

All the students, of course, craned their necks to see who was at the door. Harry, being near the front, had one of the best views. A girl with long red hair, identified after no more than a moment as the youngest of the Weasley clan, stood to the side of Professor McGonagall. Harry wondered what Ginny was doing there?

After a moment of hushed argument between the two teachers in which Ginny looked like she was trying very hard to disappear, Snape evidently capitulated, as Professor McGonagall turned and left--alone. It seems, Snape paused, looking from Ginny to the rest of the class, a familiar sour look on his face, that we have a new student.

From the wall, a small golden-yellow globe broke away. For the first time, Harry noticed that the wall was studded with small colored hemispheres, looking almost like precious gems with the way they caught the light. The globe drifted across the room, the target of all eyes, until it finally stopped, hovering over and then dropping into Ginny's unconsciously outstretched hands.

Parvati raised her hand. Um, Professor Snape? That globe . . . it's the same color as mine was yesterday, mine and Justin's.

Snape nodded. Very well. Miss Weasley, you are now paired with Miss Patil and Mr. Finch-Fletchly. Talk to them to get caught up on current events. Ginny went and sat down, and as quickly as that, Snape completely dismissed both the interruption Ginny had caused and the girl herself.

He walked over to the back wall, students clustering behind him, and, finding a particular space peculiarly free of the little gem/globe studs, knocked twice on the stretch of bare wall. Immediately, as if pushed away by some invisible force, the globes around that area shifted away and a large area of the wall--about right for a small to medium-sized doorway--simply . . . disappeared.

Stepping inside, the entire group was seized with an almost frantic need to be . . . somewhere else. Wherever it was that their weapons were currently.

In an amazingly short period of time, everyone had piled back out, oohing and aahing or suppressing feelings of superiority toward each others' weapons.

There was an amazing variety. Blaise, the other Slytherin, had gotten a set of four-pointed star-shaped shuriken. Harry had found himself attracted to a matched set of ever so slightly curved daggers, each with a scalloped edge that made the dagger look like it would hurt even more coming out than when it came in. Draco had also gotten a dagger, but only one, and one that was nearly twice as long as Harry's babies--almost long enough to qualify as a short sword.

The Hufflepuffs had all gotten blunt weapons of some sort: staves, gloves that looked like they had been reinforced to pack quite an additional punch, and, in Justin's case, a set of nunchaku. The Ravenclaws tended more towards weapons of the polearm variety: spears, naginata, and swallows. And the Gryffindors, to a person, had all gotten swords. The shape and size, of course, differed greatly, from the longswords of the Weasley twins and Angelina to the rapiers that Parvati and Ginny ended up with to Lucia's broadsword--a sword, moreover, that Harry was almost certain was identical in form to Gryffindor's.

Once everyone was situated, to a person they all turned to Snape. How was he going to manage to teach so many different weapons to so many different people, all at once? Snape merely smirked, clapped his hands together once, and uttered the words, First lesson.

Harry spiraled down into darkness.
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Greyness all around, and fog. Then, a voice out of the darkness, one that spoke gently with a timbre unlike any voice he had ever had even passing acquaintance with before. It spoke of correct posture, of the correct way to hold his two new daggers; it spoke of the need for vigilance at all times, for one never knew from which direction the next attack would come.

Harry followed the instructions, brought into something resembling a trance by the murmuring voice, listening nonetheless and taking in everything that was said.

And so it continued, for what seemed like days. Yet he did not grow hungry, nor thirsty, nor tired although his body became quickly exhausted by these unfamiliar demands upon it.

So it continued, until the voice pronounced him done and he was released.
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For some, they could have sworn days or months had passes. Others, mere hours. But all, by the time they surfaced, were sure more time had passed than the mere hour or so that both the clock and the relative height of the sun indicated.

Everyone shared the same dazed look, as if they had been tossed into a drier on the option spin dry' then strung out through a wringer. Even Lucia--who, Harry had assumed, had already known at least the basics in the weapon that had chosen her--seemed uncommonly exhausted.

Very good. Snape's tone was utterly unemotional. Still, it was greater praise than some of the students--even some of the seventh years--had ever received from the taciturn and unfairly prejudiced teacher. Now. You have a short essay--say, about a foot and a half long--due, say, next Tuesday on what you think the purpose is of any spells that have been placed on these weapons.

You may not take the weapons outside of this classroom. You may, however, come here outside of class time in order to more closely examine your weapons.

There was the expected grumbling about the essay assignment, but not quite as much as usual--only eighteen inches was, after all, rather lenient as far as Snape was concerned. Snape waited patiently (more or less) for the murmurs to die down. Class dismissed.

Harry grabbed his bag and stood almost immediately, though he swayed once he got to his feet. With care and not a little reluctance, he set down the two daggers. They would be here when he returned, after all. It wasn't like they were going anywhere.

He then headed toward the door. This class was interesting enough that his ordinary reaction would not, by any means, be to shoot for the outer world, desperate to get away.

But, the fact was, that exercise had taken from him a great deal of energy. He was hungry! From the rather pained looks on some of his classmates' faces, he got the idea that the feeling was mutual.

Despite his hurry, because of his reluctance to leave the daggers, he was still one of the last people to reach the door. Thus, not many people heard Snape when he called,

Harry turned, hoping that the growling in his stomach was not loud enough for Snape to hear. That would be embarrassing.

The Potions professor did not smile. Even his eyes did not. But his face softened, ever so slightly, into something a bit more benevolent than Harry was used to seeing. My door is open.
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Additional Note/Belated Disclaimer: For anyone who wondered, yes, Jamie's daggers are slightly adapted versions of David Eddings' Ulgo knives from his Belgariad and Mallorean. (Don't worry, I don't think he has any plans to disembowel anyone, wrap their guts around a bush at the edge of a cliff, and throw them off to see if their guts stretch or snap. *giggle* Sorry, but that's one of my favorite parts! Go Beldin!!) So their idea doesn't belong to me.

sadineye, IncubusSuccubus: Thanx and the next chapter will be out soonish, probably not as soon as you or I or anyone would wish. -_-

: Yup. Exactly. Not the Heir to all four, but most definitely a descendant thereof.

Hana-chan: As of the way the pairings are shaping up so far there will, unfortunately, be no Harry/Draco this time. Them being paired together in Survival is still very important to the story though. And they will be very good friends.

Vlana: I really really love alternate universe stories too!! Why do you think I'm writing one? ^_^ One of the best? *blushes* Aww . . .

Draco and Jamie will be good friends, of a certainty. Draco and Lucia will certainly become closer than they are right now, but probably not ever quite as close as D&J, or quite as close as she was to her Draco.

Shinigami: Of course Jamie will rub off on Draco.

. . . of course, Draco will also rub off on Jamie. ^_^ As for Sev . . . I think he may have consigned that tidbit to the back of his mind. As you saw in this chapter, though, he is a bit more inclined to be a bit more favorably inclined toward him.

gwendolyn-flight: Yes, using excessive amounts of detail is one of my faults . . . I just can't seem to help it. Except when writing research papers and essays for school, of course. ^_^;;

MistWalker: I've been trying to make Lucia more Gryffindorish at least, I'm so glad that I succeeded. As for Lucia being Sev's child . . . well, she and Jamie are identical (with the exception of their individual genders and the different scars). I think I'll leave it at that. ;)

As I said to Hana-chan, probably no Harry/Draco this time.

6 October 2002