*hides* I'm reallyreallyreally sorry this chapter is so late. It's a little longer than usual, but not enough to justify how much longer it took me to finish . . . somehow, I managed to only get writer's block when I was sitting at the computer.

*sigh*

Well, I hope it's worth the wait. Should be an interesting twist or two, at least. ^_^

We all know by now that Andrea Pucey (and a couple of other random Slytherins) are the only people that belong to me. I trust you'll be able to tell the difference.

~*~Initiation~*~

". . . you know how little he has 'imposed' on us, on the whole. In fact, except for when he's helping Andrea, he's hardly ever here at all. Yet, as I'm sure Draco would agree, he seems a lot happier. More at ease. Like he doesn't need to consistently re-affirm his place here so long as he knows he has one." Pansy finished her report. "Maybe I'm being unduly sentimental, but I don't think we should take that from him."

"So all six of you are in agreement. Harry Potter should stay." Vincent Avery noted. Vince was a sixth-year, oddly not a prefect, but retained his position on the Council by virtue of his keen mind and his position as Chris' second-in-command. "Are there any who disagree with this decision, or have something else to add?"

A small girl stepped forward. At just barely twelve, she was already every inch a Slytherin and on her way to becoming just as tenacious as her older brother, former Slytherin Adrian Pucey, had been. "I don't think I would be anywhere near as good at my schoolwork without Harry's help. He doesn't just give me the answers, though--he makes me work for them."

She paused. "Just like Sev'rus does. He's a genuinely good and sweet person, and he's also very Slytherin. I think he belongs here."

"He doesn't call attention to himself." Second-year Malcolm Braddock added. "The times he's been here, I've hardly noticed his presence. He doesn't yearn for the spotlight the way most of those . . . Gryffindors do. I agree with Andrea--I think he belongs with us too."

"He still has some of those stupid Gryffindor prejudices cluttering up his head." Honor Wright, a third-year, added. She still looked back on the time when she first met Harry Potter with a certain amount of patronizing amusement--he had openly gawked at her until she asked sharply if he had really thought that all Slytherins were White, in the purest sense of the word.

As much as and perhaps even more so than the other Houses, Slytherin judged by who a person was, not what she was. Certainly, there were still very few Muggle-born Slytherins . . . but not just because of Salazar Slytherin's supposed prejudices. For some reason, most of the truly ambitious Muggles were not at all magical; of those that were, most again tended to be so focused on their ambition in the Muggle world that they never even considered attending Hogwarts.

Honor's main ambition was to bring better schools of magic to South Africa, the homeland of her grandparents, who had been mostly self-taught and had moved here to England in hopes that their children would gain a more comprehensive magical education than they had had available to them. Headmistress Wright--she had always thought that that had a nice sound to it.

And then, for Potter to gawk at her merely because of the color of her skin . . . "Still, he is intelligent enough to know when--and for the most part why--he's made such a major mistake, and to correct his behaviour. Give him a few years, and we'll have him completely converted." That remark generated a brief flurry of laughter and, from the less restrained members of the group, a couple of "Right on!"s.

"He's a kindred spirit." Beth Lestrange, the other seventh-year prefect, noted quietly. The room fell completely silent immediately, as all attention focused on her, for she was one of the few who rarely ever shared her views, even within the smaller environment of the Council. In a House-wide discussion, as this was, her intervention was practically unheard of.

She shrugged uncomfortably at all the attention. "I don't care what people say about the family Harry is living with; it's obvious that he doesn't think of those Muggles as 'home'." A straight gaze that panned the room, directly connecting to each pair of eyes at least once.

"You all know me; you know that I live at an orphanage over the summer." She paused. "The orphanage is nice enough, but I think of Hogwarts, and Slytherin, as my only true home. Drawing from his reaction when we first initiated him, as well as his shift in attitude over the past few weeks, it is obvious--to me, at least--that he feels the same way."

She sank back into her chair, almost, one would think, exhausted by the excessive amount of talking she had just done, more than she had contributed to at least the last ten meetings combined. She waved a hand. "I agree with Pansy: perhaps it's unduly sentimental of me, but I don't want to tear that away from him."

From his position in one of the largest chairs in the Lair, his undeclared 'throne' as the Slytherin Head Boy, Chris Flint nodded his respect to Beth and, as she had previously, panned the room with his gaze. "It seems that we are more or less in accord. There is only one question left to answer." He pinned Draco with his eyes. "You are sure that he has not told anyone?"

Out of respect, Draco stood in front of the chair instead of attempting to find or conjure up a seat. "Almost certain. He has made no mention of it to Snape, or, for that matter, anyone, in my presence . . . and frankly, if he had told at all, I think we'd know by now."

Chris considered that statement for a moment, before nodding his agreement. "Indeed." Yes, if Snape knew that they had initiated--even, at this point, first stage only--a Gryffindor, much less the 'Boy-Who-Lived', he would surely have come around questioning their mental competence in the most acidic of tones by now. And if another student knew, soon enough the whole school would--none but Slytherin would be capable of hiding such a deliciously scandalous secret. Not even Slytherin, when it was a secret that didn't directly pertain to their House.

"Still," he sighed, "unquestioning obedience to an authority figure? Not a very Slytherin quality." Draco's face gained an angry cast as he opened his mouth and then, belatedly, closed it. "You have something you would like to add?"

"With all due respect, I don't think Harry thought about it in that way." Draco's eyes remained angry at the perceived slight to his friend.

"It is true, you do know our newest recruit best," Chris mused.

"Heck, just the fact that he's capable of prompting Draco Malfoy to turn Hufflepuff on us is proof enough to me!" An unidentified voice from the center of the crowd, prompting more laughter, in tone distinctly agreeing with the speaker.

Unruffled by the interruption (though, if you looked close enough, you might catch the hint of a smile) Vincent Avery leaned forward in his chair, set right to the side and a bit behind Chris'. "So how would you interpret Harry's actions--or, more precisely, lack thereof--over the past several weeks?"

"Some of it may, perhaps, have been that he felt it was not his place." Now that Draco had been called upon to explain his side of the story, he calmed considerably. "I think most of his decision to remain quiet, however, had to do with the simple fact that he's intelligent to know that Severus would never believe him. I mean . . . would you?"

Chris barked a laugh. "When you put it that way . . . no. I wouldn't." His eyes pierced Draco. "So, what do you think the 'Boy-Who-Lived' would think if he realized that he was still being tested over these past few weeks?"

Draco considered. "Knowing Harry . . . I think he'd laugh. And say something along the lines of 'Slytherins. I should have known.' "
**
***
**
Someone was watching him. Jamie scanned the Great Hall, looking for the presence he had sensed. Finally, his eyes landed on a familiar face, one of his new friends of sorts--Andrea Pucey, one of the five first-year Slytherins, who he was currently helping tutor in Transfiguration and Charms. She tilted her head slightly in the direction of the door. 'Could you come tutor me tonight?', the gesture meant.

He nodded just as (hopefully) unnoticeably, both a confirmation that he had noticed her and a affirmation that he was free and willing. She smiled demurely and turned back to her dinner; the sensation of being watched vanished.

"So, what are you going to do?"

"Huh?" He looked up, belatedly realizing that the question had been directed towards him and that, in his abstractedness, he had failed to keep track of the conversation. He had no idea what Lucia was talking about. Not, he admitted, that it's not nice that she's speaking to me again, whatever the reason. "Sorry, I was a bit out of it."

Lucia rolled her eyes good-naturedly. "I was just wondering what you were planning on going to the Masquerade as. Parvati and I have been throwing around ideas since the notice went up; I just thought contacting a new source might give us some better ideas."

Jamie shrugged. He really had not given the Halloween party much thought at all, beyond figuring that he and Draco would probably arrange complementary costumes. Correction--Draco would arrange the costumes for both of them, as the blond had a very low (and probably justifiable) opinion of Jamie's fashion sense.

His eyes unfocused as he stared out across the hall. Who would he be? A deliciously evil idea occurred to him, one that he discarded almost immediately. Still, he let the smirk curl his lips. "Perhaps I'll come as Voldemort."
**
***
**
As was his custom, after dinner Snape made his way down through the dungeons to the Serpent's Lair, as Slytherin "Tower" had been called since long before anyone still alive--and all the ghosts that could be persuaded to talk--could remember. Although he had the list, by which he could easily pinpoint the location of any student--except the few seventh-years who had found ways around the spell, of course--he preferred in most cases to just check in every now and then.

It allowed him to see what was going on and if anyone needed his help. Certainly Slytherins were generally the shyest about asking for help, even when they knew they needed it.

At the door, he expected about the usual when it opened--most of the standard chairs filled, but a few empty and none of the extra "emergency" chairs called up; a couple people on the floor merely because they found that environment more conducive to whatever it was they were doing at that point. Conversation, in some cases heavy, but very little chatter, and nearly all of the speaking done in low voices, adding up to only a mild background noise instead of the dull roar more common in other Houses.

What he found was very different. Near complete silence and almost no one was actually doing anything. All the extra chairs were out, and only a few remained unfilled. Chris Flint stepped forward. "Sir. We've been waiting for you."

If the setting hadn't been enough, that would have clued Snape into the fact that Something Different was going on. By standing policy, everyone referred to each other by first name--up to and including himself. In a world that for the most part frowned heavily on Slytherin, it created of the Lair a sanctuary, one desperately needed by nearly every Slytherin at one point or another.

Chris only ever called him 'sir' when something unusual, an extremely formal, ceremonial occasion, was in the works. But what? There were so few choices, and most seemed patently absurd. "Mr. Flint." Whatever was happening, he would wing it the best he knew how until someone clued him in.

He looked around and realized with a shock that not most, but all of the Slytherins were here, each sitting in his or her own chair, strictly ranked by both year and status (it was, after all, a ceremonial occasion). All--with one exception. "Where is Miss Pucey?"

"Fetching our guest of honor." The torch light glinted strangely off his dark eyes. "We are holding a Final Initiation tonight."

Shock! That had been one of the (supposedly) ludicrous possibilities he had discarded. Even the first stage of initiation, the trial period, almost never came to pass--the Sorting Hat was pretty good at figuring out where to place people the first time, and initiation was only for those outside Slytherin who possessed all those qualities.

Of the few who made it through the first stage, even fewer were actually inducted, as the entirety of Slytherin House observed and judged their behaviour after having been let in on a few of the secrets; judged to determine whether or not they were truly fit.

That this entire process had been carried through, for probably the first time in hundreds of years, without his knowledge . . . "I see." He said weakly, mechanically moving forward to take the foremost chair, turned to face the rest of the House, as was his right and duty as Head. As if on cue, Chris turned and sank into his own place, at the head of the seventh-year line.

In the mean time, he was cycling through his mind every student of the other three houses he could remember, searching for the one that was Slytherin enough to make it this far. There were a couple in Ravenclaw that he had always thought would do moderately well in Slytherin--the youngest Flint scion, third-year Rebecca, for example.

But in both cases, their love of learning greatly overshadowed their more Slytherin qualities; they were both quite happy where they were. And initiation was a voluntary process on both sides of the equation--the applicant had to wish for that change. Frankly, he could think of no one who qualified.

The door opened, and in the sudden silence he could hear footsteps approaching. No voices, though; no clue as to who this mysterious applicant might be. Then they rounded the corner, Andrea first, looking solemnly dignified, then the applicant, still pulling a Slytherin robe--they must keep one hidden near the entrance for him to use--over a green sweater and extremely baggy Muggle jeans.

The black hair, shining greasily in the torchlight, emerged first, as Snape got this uncomfortable feeling at the pit of his stomach. He had had no clue that this was going to happen . . . but somehow, now that it had, he was not at all surprised. Then the heartbreakingly familiar emerald eyes, no longer hidden by those ugly old glasses, set into the not-so-familiar vaguely heart-shaped face, longer and thinner and paler than it had been in years past.

No, somehow he was not at all surprised.

Potter looked around, eyes taking in everything calmly. Then, he spoke. "Somehow, I don't think we'll be studying tonight, Andrea." Rich with enough hinted sarcasm to prompt spurts of muffled laughter here and there.

"I have brought him." Andrea told Chris and, in a surprisingly elegant fashion, bowed.

"Thank you." The girl moved back and took her seat--she was, not surprisingly, the highest in status in first year. "Applicant, step forth."

All traces of kidding gone, with a certain amount of hesitation in his step ('is he talking about me?'), Potter walked forward, until he stood between Snape and Flint.

Snape cleared his throat. "Through sacred tradition, you come before us because you have been deemed worthy of wearing the Serpent's Crest. Do you wish to join Salazar Slytherin's House? If you refuse, no harm shall come to you; your memory of this event will be wiped and you will be sent away free."

Beginning softly, Potter's words slowly gained in volume, but the absolute conviction behind them remained the same. "With all my heart, I wish to join the House of Salazar Slytherin."
**
***
**
"Lee'll be gone next year." It was an extremely random ejaculation, having absolutely nothing to do with the previous conversation.

Then again, this was Ron talking. Hermione, as one of his best friends for more than four years now, was rather used to it. "And?" She tried to elegantly raise one eyebrow, but had the sinking feeling that she had failed miserably.

Ron's brief bout of snickering might have had something to do with that impression . . .

He quickly regained his composure in order to answer her query. "With Lee gone, who will be Quidditch commentator? It's got to be a Gryffindor--it's tradition!"

"Probably because no one else is loudmouthed enough to want the job." Hermione grinned. "It's not like Lee's a very good commentator, though."

"What do you mean?! He's great!"

Hermione snorted. "He might be if he could keep his attention on the game, instead of insulting Slytherin or extolling the virtues of Harry's Firebolt . . . I mean, I have House pride and all, and I admit it's nice hearing Slytherin get verbally mauled for a change, but enough is enough!" She crossed her arms. "Face it. Even I could be a better commentator than Lee."

Ron laughed out loud. "You? 'Mione, you don't know anything about Quidditch. You'd be awful!"

Now her pride had been insulted. "Well, if I don't know anything about Quidditch, I suppose I should learn before the tryouts next year, hm?" She snapped her book shut and stood, scoping out the common room.

Katie. Perfect. Projecting more assurance than she felt, she headed across the room in the direction of the Chaser in question. I'll show you, Ronald Weasley.

Just watch. I'll be the best damn commentator this school has ever had.
**
***
**
Jamie was now beginning to understand why so few people (he presumed) had successfully transferred into Slytherin. By the end of the endless rounds of questions on practically every subject under the sun, he was beginning to feel as if he had been pulled through a wringer.

No. Strike the 'beginning'.

In fact, it took him nearly a minute to realize that the questioning period was over with . . . the silence stretched until finally he looked over at Snape. The man looked amused. Jamie considered being offended, before deciding that he was just way too exhausted.

Snape nodded slowly. "You have been judged Slytherin by your words."

Chris continued. "You have been judged Slytherin by your actions."

"In heart and in mind, we judge you Slytherin. Will any object?" Snape looked around, meeting the eyes of every person in the silent crowd. "Very well."

Although he tried valiantly, Jamie could feel himself sagging visibly. Are we done yet?

"It only remains for you to become the blood of Slytherin." In a softer voice, something of an aside, Snape explained, "Most who come here are from primarily Slytherin families. Those who are not, are bound to the house with a stock of Slytherin blood we keep on hand."

"For those being initiated, as you are, however, there is a third choice--you may choose one Slytherin to be bound to, presuming that he or she also agrees."

Jamie tried to consider. One possibility presented itself to him, but . . . "With all due respect, Professor, right now I don't think I could decide my way out of a wet paper bag." He knew what he wanted to do, what he instinctively felt was the right thing to do, but he also knew that, as tired as he was, he was in no condition to be properly considering the advantages and drawbacks of such an action.

Amazingly, this admission drew no censure, but instead startled a slow smile out of Professor Snape. "You know your limits and are not afraid to admit them. You have come a long way from the Gryffindor childling I first knew."

That Gryffindor had been more than half of his own invention; Jamie had always felt that Snape's concept of him was very different from he himself. Still, it was hardly polite to say so, so he kept his mouth shut and his face (hopefully) blank.

"You have until tomorrow evening to decide."
**
***
**
Despite his exhaustion, Jamie found that he could not sleep. He kept turning the idea over in his head, trying to find faults even though he knew he was tired enough that even the most glaring of them could quite easily pass him by.

And then there were his roommates. They had seen him come in later than usual; Ron at least must have realized that he had more or less disappeared right after supper.

Having lived among them, Jamie did not, unlike many Slytherins, fall into the trap of believing that being Gryffindor necessitated being unobservant. And considering how long he had been disappearing for one reason or another, even the most unobservant of Gryffindors would surely soon figure out that something was going on.

Yet another thing to worry about. He turned over to look out the window, then got up and walked over to get a better view. The moon was out of view; nearly half-full if he remembered correctly. It was hard to see any but the brightest of the stars. Still, he stood there, indulging in the chance to think of nothing at all in particular.

He was seized with a sudden restlessness; somehow just standing at the window was no longer enough. Besides . . . the room, as it and the rest of Gryffindor Tower often did, was beginning to make him feel stifled, uncomfortable. He'd be happier outside, in the cool night air.

He padded over to his trunk, opening and digging through to the place where he ordinarily hid his Invisibility Cloak--after such a history of after-hours wandering, that particular spot was more or less hardwired into his brain. It was there, but . . . different.

Now frowning, he drew it out. Instead of being folded up neatly, it was wrapped in ordinary brown paper (as far as he could tell from what little light he had and, more telling, the feel). He drew his wand and whispered "Lumos." As if in response to his tone, the light that appeared was dim. He stored that in the back of his mind for later--could, perhaps, other spells be modified in a similar fashion?

Indeed, the Cloak (or, at least, that was what he assumed it was) was wrapped in brown paper and tied with a bit of string, a note attached to the top.

Mr. Potter-- the note read.

I have returned to you your father's cloak. Perhaps you should refrain, from now on, from leaving it lying where anyone might be able to stumble across it.

Unsigned, of course. But, no longer a first year, Jamie had enough experience to recognize the Headmaster's writing--the man had certainly taken no effort at all to hide it. He closed his eyes, resisting the urge to bang his head against the wall, when he realized that he had left the Cloak lying in the room where the Mirror of Erised had resided on the first night of school . . . and not even noticed until now.

Neatly unwrapping it, he threw the cloak over his shoulders and crushed the paper into a ball, to be disposed of in the nearest trash can. Meanwhile, he shook his head sadly. And I was calling Gryffindors the oblivious ones . . .
**
***
**
He finally stopped walking out near the center of the Quidditch pitch; stopped walking, lay down, and gazed up at the stars. The restlessness disappeared and his mental exhaustion seeped away as he relaxed in mind and body. He yawned.

Soon enough, though, not content with relaxation, his mind began reluctantly to work again. He summoned up everything he could recall about blood bonds. The worst hurdle, in his mind, was the fact that if one died, the other would share his fate.

Considering that, the way things were going, he and Draco seemed almost guaranteed to end up on the wrong side of the war, bonding with the blond Slytherin would be a Bad Idea the likes of which the world had never seen before.

So why did it seem so right?

He sighed. Yes, he was definitely still too tired to be thinking about this, if he couldn't come up with anything better, or even manage to convince himself of the utter foolishness of this plan. It wasn't as if he even knew if Draco would be amenable . . .

Why did he care what Draco thought of the idea? He knew it was a stupid one. And he wasn't going to do it. Period. End of story. That's that. And his stupid intuitive-feeling of rightness could just take a long walk off a short pier for all he cared.

He needed to get his mind off this. Casting his eyes around for ideas, the Quidditch field mimicked his mind quite adroitly--blank. Then, they fell on the shadow cast by the feeble light of the moon. A human shadow; his own. For some reason, this triggered thoughts of that conversation he had held with his two totems. He had gained control of the bat transformation . . . but what of the dragon?

With much the same sort of concentration he had applied in the early days of their (his, Parvati, and Draco's) attempts at transformation, he carefully envisioned the dragon, branded as it had been into his memory.

This was no slow, exhausting change--probably just as well, considering his current reserves--much like his first full transformation, there was just the concentration, and then

Pop!

He stretched his wings, so much larger than the ones he possessed as a bat. A bit more stiff as well, but the rest of him made up for that small problem. With feelings of exultation that completely swept away his previous enervation, he launched himself into the air, taking flight as naturally as if he had been born with such wings on his back.

It was only after two or three loops that he realized he was no longer alone. "Hello." He greeted mildly, in a bell-like voice with strangely sibilant undertones.

The silvery dragon snaked its head in his direction, its body language conveying startlement. Could it be that the other dragon had not seen? Of course--my black skin blends in with the darkness a lot better. Especially at this time of night, with so few lights on.

"Hello . . . where are you?" The voice sounded . . . familiar, though the bell-like/sibilant qualities were quite different than any other voice he had ever heard before.

He landed on the Quidditch pitch and informed the other dragon of his location, still secondarily working on where it was he had heard that voice before.

Perhaps it was the way the dim moonlight glinted familiarly off pale scales that finally tipped him off. "Draco?!"

Again, the double-take, this time conveying a hearty amount of wariness as well. "Who . . . Harry?!"

Silence, as the two dragons stared.
**
***
**
"You really did well tonight. Even Snape was impressed."

Jamie smiled a properly draconic smile, full of sharp teeth. "Thanks." Then he sighed, reminded even more forcefully of the decision that lay before him . . . the decision he had already decided, some part of his mind snapped.

"Have you made your decision about the final step?" Draco asked. ". . . if, that is, you don't mind telling me . . ." Uncertainly.

Silence. ". . . I'll probably bond some of the stock blood." Defeatedly. "It's the only intelligent thing to do, after all. Besides, it's not like I don't already have Slytherin's blood flowing through my veins."

"So why didn't you say so?"

"Unnecessary information--the fewer people know, the better for my peace of mind. Enough swarm me already just as the 'Boy-Who-Lived'."

"I can accept that." The silvery head nodded. ". . . But why not the bond? The chances a person gets in his life to have one . . . sure, you can choose to be bonded to your wife when you get married, but that's different. Circumstances have to be just right for a proper friendship bond to form." Draco sounded almost envious.

Jamie rested his head on his paws. "True. And as far as I'm concerned, circumstances aren't. Right, that is. Consider: there is only one person I can think of who I'd be willing to bond with. Yet . . ." A sigh. "Knowing how great the chances would be that he and I would end up on opposite sides of the battle . . ."

A quickly indrawn breath. "Maybe . . . maybe that chance is not quite as great as you suspect. Perhaps he is just very used to obeying the dictates of someone who is, and he's finding the habit hard to break."

Even in the nearly nonexistent light, their eyes caught and held. "In that case . . ."

". . . Perhaps I would consider it after all."
**
***
**
"I don't think I would have liked her."

Snape looked up from his desk. "Liked whom?"

"Your wife. She sounds like a very stupid woman."

The Potions Master's ordinary, slightly discomforting stare quickly gained an acidity unparalleled by any glare Jamie had ever before had directed towards him. "Li--my wife was the brightest, gentlest, most beautiful, most wonderful woman in the world. And don't you dare ever think otherwise."

No, he's not at all biased . . . "If she's so wonderful, then why on earth did she give you up? I mean, sure, you're not a modern-day Adonis, but if all she had cared about was looks, I doubt you would have been married in the first place. So if she was smart enough to recognize a good deal when she saw it, why did she leave?"

"Mr. Potter, you seem to be under the mistaken impression that I'm a prize worth being won. I'm not sure exactly what it is that has caused you to have this delusion, but . . ."

"You're intelligent, crafty, loyal . . . so honest it sometimes scares me, even if you're also one of the best people I know at twisting the truth to mean what you want people to think you're saying . . ." He grinned. "What's there not to like?"

Snape looked pointedly down and to his left. His left forearm, to be exact. "My wife was Muggle-born."

I think you should shut up now, Jamie. Before you dig yourself into an even deeper hole.
**
***
**
"What did you do to Severus?" Draco whispered to him as the rest of the students began filing in.

"Insulted his wife and complimented him--bringing up bad associations in the bargain." Jamie whispered back.

Draco blinked. "He's married?"

Though the blond had enough sense not to get any louder than their current whisper, even in his surprise, Jamie still made a shushing motion. "Not anymore. It was a long time ago." He bit his lip. "I probably shouldn't have mentioned it."

Draco tilted his head to the side briefly, a sort of half nod. At once, it conveyed the sense that no, he probably shouldn't have . . . but in this case he was safe; Draco wouldn't tell anyone.

Jamie searched for another topic. Hm . . . ah! "Siberian Ice. You?"

Draco's eyebrows raised. "The same. Strange . . . though it certainly fits you better than silver, I somehow can't see a black Siberian Ice. You'd think that any blacks would have been eliminated from the line for purely survival purposes."

"So I'm a throwback and special." Jamie shrugged. "What else is new?"

"You act as if nothing normal has ever happened to you."

"Has it?" Jamie considered, gazing off into the distance. "Of course, my life is so crazy that I really have no standards to judge how normal parts of it are."

Draco shook his head. "To think I once envied you . . . I think I'll keep my nice, relatively normal little life, thank you!"

Jamie grinned evilly. "Keep a normal life after getting involved with me? You're dreaming, my friend."

Their mouths snapped shut in unison as Snape came over to test their Veritaserum--now the pure clear color it was meant to be. Involuntarily, they leaned forward in anticipation as the Potions Master first stirred it a bit, then brought a spoonful up to eye-level to examine more closely.

"Well, what did you expect me to say?" He seemed torn between annoyance and pride. "It's perfect, of course." They sighed in relief. "You may go ahead and begin the second part of today's lesson."

They looked from each other to the cauldron and back.

A long pause.

"Duel?"

"All right."
**
***
**
"They're at it again." Cho observed.

Lucia rolled her eyes. "What is it with boys and sharp objects?"

Cho grinned. "Who's the one with the broadsword?"

Sniff. "Details, details. Besides, your glaive is sharp, too."

The other girl's smile widened. "I think I agree with you. Details, details. Anyway, do you want to go first, or should I?"

"Why don't you?"

"All right." Cho closed her eyes and scrunched up her face briefly in concentration. "Okay. Ready."

Two drops--a light dose, which is all they were starting with--were administered. "What's your name?"

"Cho." The concentration was still there.

"How old are you?"

"Older than you."

Lucia blinked. That was not the right answer. She was supposed to give a number!

Oh. Because of the lighter dosage, Cho probably had enough presence of mind--especially considering how hard she was concentrating--to give an answer that, while still truthful (Cho being a sixth year and her only in fifth, she could hardly not be older than Lucia), gave no real information.

"I did it." Cho whispered. "I wasn't quite sure I could."

"Good job!" Lucia patted her on the back. "Now, lets up the stakes." She dropped in one more drop--three drops was the maximum recommended dosage, and all they were dealing with today.

"What is your name?"

"Cho Li Chang."

"How old are you?"

"Sixteen years, nine months, fifteen days--"

"That's good enough." Lucia said hastily. "Stop."

Now, what else could she ask? Ah. "Why did you think I was talking about Malfoy last Wednesday when he and Jamie were fighting?"

Cho's eyes flew wide open and she blushed. Not deeply, but noticeably. "I was watching him, not Harry." She muttered. "He has a much more beautiful style of movement; flowing subtly instead of flashing the way Harry tends to do." Her eyes pled with Lucia to stop her.

"That's enough." Lucia bit her lip. She hadn't meant to raise such a sensitive issue. "I'm sorry . . . I . . ."

"I didn't think you meant to embarrass me. You're not like that." Cho's face was clear--she was telling the whole truth, not even trying to hold anything back.

"Yeah . . ." Still feeling vaguely ashamed (and, deep inside, just a bit disgusted--how could anyone like Malfoy like that? Now, Cho might have made a good pairing with her brother, if he wasn't already three-quarters of the way in love with Hermione . . . and dead . . . but Malfoy? No.), she moved away. "I'll . . . go get the antidote now."
**
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**
"What is your name?"

"Draco."

Hm . . .

"What is your numerical age?"

Draco looked frustrated. "Fifteen."

Jamie nodded to himself. So the specific question worked; Veritaserum did not necessarily constrain you to speak the full truth, if you worked hard enough, but when asked a question with that specific an answer, you couldn't circumlocute.

"Did you mean what you said last night?"

"I said many things yesterday evening, some of which I meant and some of which I didn't." Frustration smoothed away; Draco looked smug now instead.

Jamie sighed. How could he phrase this? "The last time that you and I met last night, we conversed. Did you mean what you said then?"

The blond seemed to give up; perhaps he could see how much his answer meant to Jamie. "Yes. I meant every word. You . . ." Abruptly, with the greatest of effort, he shut his mouth.

"I what?" Jamie asked, puzzled. What had Draco been about to say?

"You mean too much to me for me to ever willingly lie to you."
**
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**
Only as she felt the drops of serum slide down her throat did it occur to Lucia that this was not a bright idea. In fact, it was so far beyond being a good idea, she didn't know if the words for so bad an idea existed. She had too much she had to hide.

"I'll try not to make you reveal any more of your secrets than you have to." Cho said. "I know you have a lot of them . . . but I've decided I can wait until you're ready to tell me. There's only one thing I have to know."

She turned harsher, suddenly. "Do you mean any harm to this school or any of its inhabitants?"

That, at least, was a question that Lucia could answer both simply and truthfully. "No. Hogwarts is like a second home to me." Indeed, recently it had proved a great deal more hospitable than Malfoy Manor tended to be. Especially when Father was home.

Cho relaxed. "There's a lot more that I'd like to know about you, but that's all I really needed to know." She popped her neck. "Now, on to the boring questions. What is your name?"

She wasn't prepared. She could feel the serum in her veins, forcing her towards the truth . . . and how funny it was, that this one question, perhaps the simplest of all, could create such fear within her.

She tried her hardest to fight it; had she been prepared she might have been able to circumvent the question slightly, the way Cho had, but with her innate honesty joining forces with the Veritaserum and her unpreparedness, there was no hope.

"Henrietta Lucia Malfoy, Harry Potter."
**
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**
With Draco about to ask his first question, Jamie raised his finger slightly, requesting a bit more time.

"What are you doing?"

"Trying to convince myself that a name is just a word that you are called and that you will answer to."

"I think there's more to a name than that, but that's one basic definition, I suppose." Draco answered, now even more curious.

Jamie relaxed. "Okay. I'm ready. Shoot."

"What is your name?"

The skin around his eyes tightened a bit, perhaps. Still, there were no outward signs of any major struggle. After no more than a moment's silence, Jamie answered, voice slightly flat. "Boy."

Draco blinked. "Who calls you that?"

"My aunt and my uncle." Now there were more signs of struggle, almost as if admitting that much disturbed him far more than being called 'Boy'.

"Why?"

More struggle. "They don't like me very much." His knuckles were white and he nearly stuttered. "Can . . . we please . . . move on . . .?"

Draco was shaken; he hadn't known it was possible to ask questions like that when under the influence of Veritaserum. "Right." He cleared his throat. "How old are you?"

"Fifteen and three months as of Halloween." He didn't even bother to try and fight that one.

What else? Something that had puzzled Draco since its mention. "Who is Padfoot?"

Sudden rigidity. "My godfather."

"You have a godfather?" A chopping motion. "Ignore that; it was a rhetorical question. Who is your godfather?"

An expression that looked like it would have been a smirk if Jamie hadn't been so ill-at-ease. "Padfoot." Then, relief. "Professor . . . Snape."

Draco turned and found the aforementioned man standing right behind him. By the time he turned back, Jamie's face had gained something of a whimsical smile. "Isn't there . . . something . . . you wanted to . . . ask me?"

Evidently, this was a private joke between the two--Snape came closer to smiling than he almost ever did in a public situation. "All right, Mr. Potter. I'll bite. When did you steal from my stock and what?"

The whimsical smile broadened into an outright grin. "I have never stolen anything from your private stores, Professor."

"Then . . ."

"Please . . . don't ask . . ." Jamie interrupted. "I did have something to do with both situations, and I don't want to bring your wrath down on the ones who actually did the deed."

"Who?" Unyielding.

Jamie's eyes were screwed shut, his mouth a firm line. "Friends . . . of mine." Came out through gritted teeth.

"Potter . . ."

"Don't . . . punish . . . them? Please?" He was visibly weakening.

Snape rolled his eyes. "I doubt there's much I could do now anyway. Now, tell me the name of the friend that stole from my stores."

"Names, sir." Jamie finally gave up. "Hermione stole the boomslang skin in second year--I admit, I was the one who threw the firework into Draco's cauldron to distract you."

"I had wondered . . ." Draco chimed in with Snape.

"And Dobby stole the gillyweed. He overheard Crouch staging a conversation about its possible use and knew that I had no idea how to accomplish the task. So he stole it because he wanted to help me."

"Dobby? My old house elf?" Draco ejaculated. "I knew we had lost him--Father was mad about it for weeks--but I didn't realize it was to Hogwarts."

"After I tricked your father into freeing Dobby, he decided to stay here at Hogwarts--Professor Dumbledore agreed to pay him."

"You tricked Lucius Malfoy?" Snape shook his head. "Draco . . . any doubts I had are gone. I've never met anyone more fit to be a Slytherin who wasn't one already."

"Extremely good job in circumventing the Veritaserum as long as you did." He nodded. "You probably ought to go on to the three-drop dosage now."

Draco and Jamie shared a secretive smile. "That would be rather hard, Professor." Draco answered, knowing that Jamie, with the Veritaserum still flowing through his veins, had a hard time speaking when it didn't apply directly to a question asked.

Frankly, he was amazed that Jamie could speak at all. In retrospect, he realized he probably could have, had it occurred to him to try. But it would have taken him even more effort than it had taken Jamie, he thought. He might not have managed it.

"Considering . . ." Jamie croaked, ". . . that we . . . started . . . at three drops."
**
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**
Draco Malfoy sat in his chair and thought about life. His, to be specific.

When exactly had he changed, decided that he didn't want to serve Voldemort after all? He knew that Harry Potter was at the center of it all somehow--when was he not? Perhaps it had begun that first night back at Hogwarts; for some reason Harry's comments about his dependence on his father than night had struck him more deeply than ever before.

And further, when he got to know the other boy better, there was Harry's dauntless independence--something that, in hindsight, Draco realized had been an integral part of his personality for as long as they had known each other.

Oh, for the longest time he had passed it off as the combined arrogance of being both Gryffindor and the Boy-Who-Lived. Except he hadn't been arrogant; had in fact been quite unsure of himself at times. But even then, extremely rare were the times that Harry had ever gone to an adult for help the way Draco would have.

Of course, if the Gryffindor in question was able, under a three-drop dose of Veritaserum, to convince himself that his name was "Boy", then most likely he had become that independent out of necessity. Not that that made Draco respect him any less.

So, with such an example and a willingness to follow that example, while Draco still sent regular letters home, he also began to leave certain things out. After seeing Harry's independence for what it was, he realized that that was what he really wanted. He no longer wished to bow down to anyone. Not Dumbledore--even though at least the old man's reign rested relatively lightly on his subjects--not his father, and certainly not Voldemort. Besides, blood and fire and rampant destruction weren't really his thing, anyway.

The others began filing in, and Draco could feel his stomach clench in a whirlwind mixture of excitement, anticipation, and fear. He had always wished to share in that bond with someone that, to all accounts, was as close as or even closer than marriage, but despaired of ever finding a friend that close.

But . . . what if Harry didn't feel the same way? He had said nothing more on the subject after Draco's highly embarrassing admission under the influence of Veritaserum, and although he hadn't seemed disgusted or anything like that, he also hadn't said anything . . .

Gah. That boy was going to drive him crazy. He really had no clue why he wanted to bond him . . . except for the fact that it felt right. Not that they weren't close already--Draco had never had a closer friend, and sometime his depth of feeling for the pseudo-Gryffindor scared him--but there were some times when it just didn't feel close enough.

"Have you made your decision?" Snape's voice snapped Draco back into the real world, and as he looked at Harry his heart practically stopped. What if . . .

"I have." The raven-haired boy replied calmly. "I wish to take the third option and bond Draco Malfoy."

Snape stiffened, and Draco wondered why, even as his heart took flight from sheer elation. If Snape was a loyal Death Eater, he ought to jump at the perfect chance to exert a great deal of influence over the Boy-Who-Lived through his bond to a potential Death Eater--he couldn't know about Draco's change of heart, after all.

But . . . and here he considered the idea seriously for the first time . . . what if the rumours going around were true, and Snape really was a traitor to the Death Eater cause? If that was the case, he would most likely not want Harry within twenty miles of Draco--again, because he didn't know that Draco was no longer loyal to his father or Voldemort. The blond Slytherin held no doubt in his mind that, godfather or not, Snape's love for him would not keep him from doing what was right, nor would he blindly believe good of his godson.

If he refused, there were quite a few Slytherins who would pass that information on to their parents, and there would no longer be any doubt in the minds of several Death Eaters--and thus, Voldemort himself--that Snape was a traitor and a spy.

Yet, if he was a spy, and said yes, for all he knew he could be signing the death warrant of the one person (some people said, and many believed) who could defeat Voldemort for good. It was a no-win situation for the Slytherin Head of House.

Snape glanced out over the assembly, aware, Draco was sure, that he had paused almost too long. People were beginning to draw conclusions . . . conclusions that, if he was planning on returning to his position as spy (if, that is, he was a spy in the first place, a circumstance that seemed more and more likely, even purely from a logical point of view), could very well be fatal.

Their eyes met.
**
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**
You know, Snape acknowledged ruefully, I really ought to have seen this coming. One glance at Potter was enough to show that the boy was determined; it would be Draco or no one--they had become too close.

That could only be a good thing, if Draco had only come to his senses. Unfortunately, Draco's allegiance was something that only a mind-reader could figure out. Snape had tried, all these years, to help liberate Draco from his father's influence . . . but subtly. Too subtly, he was afraid . . . but had he been any more open about it, Lucius would surely have caught on. Yet . . . something in his godson's eyes just now . . .

All he could do now was hope that Potter had accomplished what he had been unable to; or hope that the bond would pull Draco towards the Light instead of dragging Potter down into the Dark. "Very well. Draco Malfoy, come forward."

They stood there, perhaps two steps away from each other, turned with their entire attention on him. Two children, making a decision most adults shied away from.

"Harry James Potter, do you wish to join with Draco Anton Malfoy, to be bonded to each other with the strongest possible bonds of friendship, unbreakable even by death?"

"With all my heart, I do."

"Draco Anton Malfoy, do you wish to join with Harry James Potter, to be bonded to each other with the strongest possible bonds of friendship, unbreakable even by death?"

"There is nothing in the world I want more."

They were watching each other now, gazes so intense they could almost be seen. Chris stepped forward, holding a dagger that he handed over to Snape. A silver blade studded with emeralds, it had been used for such ceremonial occasions in Slytherin for hundreds of years.

In turn, Snape handed the dagger to the one who had requested the bond--Potter. If he's Slytherin now, that mean's I'll have to start referring to him as Harry . . . "To show your devotion and solidify the bond, you must each cut yourselves, and commingle your blood."

Potter accepted the knife and the instruction without comment; indeed, they both seemed to have gone into a state of mute acceptance, almost as if they had done this before . . .

A whimsical smile appeared on Potter's face. In a flash of torch light, the knife came down.

Right across the underside of his wrist.
**
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**
Jamie handed the knife to Draco, squinting through the pain. He knew the more accepted way of doing things was a simple, barely skin-deep cut across the palm . . . but what sort of dinky bond would that form? No, although he had no real logic to his certainty, he knew that only the deepest of bonds--the exchange of lifeblood--would suffice for Draco and himself.

If, that is, Draco managed to pull himself together before Jamie died of blood loss. Currently, the blond was staring at Jamie's wrist in some sort of horrified shock. Finally, and so slowly it seemed, he shook himself and, with a steady hand that seemed paler than usual, slit his own wrist.

They clasped hands, wrist touching bloody wrist, and the moment the blood from the two cuts merged, Jamie felt the flow of power almost unbearably strong. From Draco's wide eyes, he knew that the other boy could feel the same. But where? Where was this power surge coming from?

And as the shock threw the two apart and Jamie looked down at his completely healed wrist, he remembered/knew.

Oh. I guess I was wrong . . . I'm not Slytherin's heir after all . . .

He looked at Draco and saw a man with hair more yellow and eyes more green, a man who had been known then as Lucifer de la Rossi, and saw in that man/boy's eyes the same knowledge that had flowed back along with that surge of power when their bond had been reaffirmed for the first time in thousands of years.

I'm Salazar Slytherin him-bloody-self.
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20 February 2003
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ROUGE-sorceress, floramorada, Dina, Lady Lightning, me, sk8reagle, Charley, frizzy--Thanx!

Creamy Mimi--It's coming together more . . . as you see, Snape just almost slipped in this chapter . . . sadly, I keep getting sidetracked, so everyone seems to be shaping up to be almost as oblivious as I would be, if I were the the one in that situation. -_-;;

Kimdalia--But . . . but . . . I'm too busy to write two chapters a day! I have to spend my requisite hours lurking and wishing other fanfic writers would update twice a day, after all . . . Anyway, thanx.

Simone of the Zordiac--I had originally planned in a lot of nicknames . . . so I've got them in stock. I just haven't found a good place yet . . . so who knows, they may not be used after all.

Hm . . . I had ideas for their costumes, and now I think I have different, even better ones. (Just in case the chapter threw you off, no, not Voldemort.) I didn't know that about Parvati . . . of course, practically the only Hindi names I know are the three highest gods. Parvati and Lucia will have similarly themed costumes, but I haven't quite decided what yet.

I think both Vampire!Snape and Bat!Snape are rather overdone . . . fun, but overdone. Vampire strikes me as more likely for the regular series; I seriously doubt my Snape will be either one.

Well, Dumbledore complaining about never getting socks could just be Dumbledore being Dumbledore. Still . . . fine. Helping Mrs. Weasley knit the Weasley sweaters, then. ^_^ Jamie was waiting for (my) Draco's birthday to give him the dagger, but whether he'll still wait after this . . . I don't really know. I guess we'll just have to wait and see.

Teardrop--Thank you for the compliment. Yeah, my English teachers too . . . go figure. Maybe they think we are actually as intelligent as we're trying to sound?

darkhaven--To a certain extent, expectations (especially my own . . .) drive me to do better, yes. After that, they just make me want to curl up in my bed, pull the covers over my head, and hide until it all goes away.

What does Simon R. Green write? The name sounds vaguely familiar . . . I've got all but the newest book by Robert Jordan ^^ --he's another of my favorite authors . . . and he writes such deliciously long books . . .

J/S/R came from . . . er . . . I'm not sure, actually. It was just one of those crazy little plot twists that bounced into my head out of nowhere, at which point I stared at it in fascinated horror for a while, shrugged, and said Why not?

I get the dismal feeling that the Veritaserum class was a dismal flop . . . it didn't turn out at all the way I planned it . . . :( And no, not Jamie/Cho. Still nothing has been even hinted at for Jamie . . . I think this chapter has given a rather big hint (sledgehammer, anyone?) about Cho, though.

DaBear--Eventually. Soon. One of the two, at least. ^_^;;

tima--I like all the Pern books, but I'd have to say that Masterharper of Pern is probably my favorite. All the Weyrs is good (*runs off and bawls*), and I like the Harper Hall trilogy, too. I hope this update was quickly enough . . . *flinches*

Silver Angel--Merlin! Not Christmas . . . do you know how long it would take me to get there?! The Masquerade Ball and its illusions will play one rather important part, which will be a catalyst for lots of other interesting things . . . but on it's own, it's mostly just an amusing side bit.

Katy999--Have you read the first part of Ch.18 (of MoM) yet? ^^ No, I've never read Barbra Hambly. Yes, there is going to be some slash . . . tho' with the way things have been working out, it may be a long time from now before anything really romantic gets done.

Saavik--Birthday, maybe (for Draco's present). Um . . . Jamie and Sirius are really not all that close. It's quite possible the subject won't even come up . . . at least not for quite a while. I hope you enjoyed the Veritaserum section.

IceWind--Heh heh. Sorry about the no H/D . . . my resolution has really been strained on that one, but it really wouldn't work . . . I think this chapter might have sorta showed why. Kinda?

I hope you liked the dragon scene, even if it wasn't elaborated all that well. The sequel to Song in the Silence is pretty good, tho' I like Song a bit better.

Don't kill Lucia! She's . . . er . . . really not all that bad, you know. Just . . . a bit overly Gryffindor, is all . . . Anyway, did the more Harry/Draco scenes cheer you up some? And I'm glad you like my on things.

Sabrina--No! Don't neglect your homework because of me! *goes into guilt trip mode* Well . . . I'm glad you liked it . . . but school is important too, you know. How depressing . . .

Do-Op--Slyth!Lily is an interesting perspective, but in this at least I tend to follow commonly accepted pseudo-canon--both Lily and James in Gryffindor. I was aiming more towards interpretation 1). Yeah, a lot of the time seems to be an excuse for people to let their PWP instincts run wild. Sad, really. But fear not--I don't think I could write believable NC-17 if I tried. And I'm not planning to.

Sorry--Remus might be bi, but I think he's still very much in love with James and Sirius, so it's something of a moot point. Same with James--his marriage to Lily was not one based on love of that sort.

Yes, I really liked that quote . . . although it's a sad statement about me that when I first looked at the other one I immediately started critiquing it. (I'd take out that adjective there . . .) Although I have my doubts . . . I mean, really. Dumbledore telling anyone everything? As if.

I haven't read all of Slytherin Rising, but enough to know that it is a very great compliment.

Solus Nox--Me, I'd probably still be screaming. ^^ I can sympathize about high school, seeing as I'm still in it. And counting down the hours until graduation, some days . . . sadly, high school is not my main problem. Even with no life to speak of, I somehow manage to have so much to do that I almost never just sit down and write. (. . . and I'm not just talking about homework . . .)

Rose Yami Hikari--About the blackout--that will be explained eventually, but just now I think Jamie has his mind on other things. (in other words . . . I keep forgetting to try and find a place to insert it. ^_^;;) I hope you liked the dragon transformation this chapter, even if he hasn't started breathing ice at anyone yet.

Mystic Shadow--the bracers and especially the dagger will be coming along very soon . . . like the first scene of next chapter. Currently. I hope. (Subject to sudden radical changes if I forget all about this conversation . . .) But it will be dealt with soon story-wise.

I'll try to remember to have a chapter ready in time for finals :P Studying? What's that?

Quilynn--The complexity comes from my always coming up with new tangents to bounce off onto, then coming back and tying up the occasional previous-tangent-loose-end when I actually remember. Who needs an outline? ^_^;; Jamie will give Draco the dagger Sometime Soon. Gee, lots of people seem eager for that particular scene . . .

Arizosa--I guess you're right . . . I'll go dig out my heavy coat now. *pauses* Waitasecond. I live in Texas. I don't have a heavy coat. Chikuso!

Carrie--Probably not the entire house, unfortunately, though given how attached I get to my characters, it's going to really hurt to decide who to send to Voldemort. :( Hope this definitively answered the Draco question, at least.

~Mary~--ff.net is always doing something . . . *sigh* Well, I'm glad you managed to find my story again. I know how you feel about Lucia . . . it's hard to believe now that originally I was going to make her the main character. Jamie pretty much screwed that thought over . . . *plea to the gods* Why can't I control my characters?!

I hope you liked the Veritaserum section . . . didn't turn out at all how I planned. Oh well. And don't stymie your evil laughter just because it's cliché! Do you know how many clichés this story is using? And I'm barely even started.

One word: amazon.co.uk. I've pre-ordered Order of the Phoenix, too. ^_^!! No reading the American version for me! I'm ordering straight from the source. And would you believe, it's actually cheaper this way--even counting shipping? *wide grin* I can't wait until June . . .

I've more or less sworn never to write a story that's H/G. I don't know why I dislike it so much, but I do. I don't have quite as much against H/Hr, but Jamie just really doesn't fit well enough with any of his old friends for that to really work in this story.

. . . Besides, where's the fun in making Harry straight? :)

Annoyance value aside, when the going really gets tough, Rei is always there for Usagi. (Perhaps one of the reasons I like reading Usagi/Rei . . .) I think that's the main reason I stuck her in Hufflepuff. So, how did you like Heart? How much of the revised version have you read?

Anonymous--Jamie and Parvati?! O.o That just really doesn't fit. Really. As to his orientation . . . well, I know it's unrealistic, but nearly every character I write has a basically bi personality. I try to match people up according to personality (or random whim . . .) instead of, necessarily, gender. That said, probabilities right now are extremely high that Jamie will end up with another guy. *shrugs* Well . . . at least Lucia will be straight . . .

atalante--I think this chapter has shown Snape how much Jamie has changed . . . it's a pity that I couldn't use any of your ideas (although originally I had planned something along those lines), but this is just how it worked out.

You may not write like a native, but I had no problem understanding you. I wish I knew either Japanese or German (the two languages I have studied, Japanese for nearly two years and German for four) as well as you know English. :( I guess that's what comes of being too lazy to get off my butt and learn it myself in so ethnocentric a country as the US . . .