*curls into a tiny ball* I'm really really really sorry I haven't gotten the review answers posted for the last chapter yet. And this chapter doesn't have them either, since I assumed you'd rather go ahead and have the chapter, instead of having to wait the extra couple of days it would take if I had to get around to answering the reviews first.

So, let it be said: Manymanymany thank yous to everyone who has reviewed this story, especially those of you who took the time and effort to leave me long reviews; but even the short ones have a disturbing ability to make my day. ^^;;

I will get the review answers out for both these chapters. Before Chapter 14 comes out. I promise.

So . . . out more-or-less on time for once, perhaps the only chapter I had planned out from beginning to end . . . that finally got so long that I ended up cutting it off in the middle. *sighs*

Btw, Harry Potter and Severitus' Challenge still don't belong to me. Just in case you were wondering.
**
***
~*~Death and Life~*~
***
**
"Ah, ever-faithful Severus." Was there mockery in that sibilant voice? "Did you miss me, my pet?"

The Potion Master's head was bowed, the longish greasy strands hiding his face from view (Is that why he keeps it long all the time?) "Of course, my Lord. I wished to come to you straight-away, but the old fool would have been suspicious. It is probably just as well, as, since the boy didn't see me among your ranks, he--and the old fool--believe me to be on their side." Such delicate contempt, so incredibly well crafted. "And I didn't want to come after that without your summoning me--it seemed presumptuous of me."

An ominous pause--of course, bringing up Harry Potter, even so obliquely, was never the brightest idea. Even before that particular incident, mention of the Potter family had the ability to set him off like little else. "You thought. You know I frown upon independent thinking in my followers--yet the conclusion you drew was not to think--which I cannot help but approve of." A somewhat sibilant laugh. "Ah, but I have missed your little paradoxes, my pet. It is really too bad that I will never have a son of yours in my ranks. I am sure he would have proved just as amusing as his father."

"I am sorry, my Lord, that I was so unwise as to fall for that mudblood." His voice sounded stifled, stilted. "I was young . . . and, unfortunately, I am a Snape . . ."

"And your first love is also your last. I know my history, pet. It is presumptuous of you to try to teach me."

"Of course. I am sorry, my Lord."

A dismissive wave. "Forgiven. At least the lowborn bitch is dead. Better no heir than a tainted one, after all."

His voice was most definitely stilted, and his shoulders tense, now. "Indeed, my Lord."

"And my other little assignment? You have brought the child, have you not?"

"As you commanded, my Lord." He regained his feet in one fluid motion. "I have brought Blaise Zabini to you."

"Excellent." A gesture, and out of the surrounding shadows a new figure stepped forward. "I heard from your uncle that you might be interested in being . . . shall we say? . . . an inside student source at Hogwarts."

Blaise opened his mouth, but no sound came out. His mouth closed again, and he sighed. "I'm sorry, Professor Snape. I can't." A shaky step forward, raising his chin defiantly. "I hate you, Voldemort, and everything you stand for. I would rather die than follow you."

"So be it." As Voldemort's face cleared, it seemed almost--for a moment, no more--that the pale visage conveyed a sense of sorrow . . . no, only of disappointment. "Pet? You know the punishment for traitors."

Snape closed his eyes for a moment. "Please, my Lord. He was my student . . . my Slytherin . . ."

"Are you saying that you are more loyal to your students than you are to me?" Threat had threaded its way into the seemingly innocent question.

Snape's eyes snapped back open, blank. "No, my Lord. I am loyal." He swallowed. "My foremost loyalty is to you. Only you."

"Then . . .?" A sense of impatience.

Blaise had turned to face Snape, and now nodded, slowly, once. Snape licked his lips.

"Avada Kedavra."

**

"Snape!" he shouted. "Severus Snape!"

"Snape has been cleared by this council," said Crouch coldly. "He has been vouched for by Albus Dumbledore."

"No!" shouted Karkaroff, straining at the chains which bound him to the chair. "I assure you! Severus Snape is a Death Eater!"

Dumbledore had got to his feet. "I have given evidence already on this matter," he said calmly. "Severus Snape was indeed a Death Eater. However, he rejoined our side before Lord Voldemort's downfall and turned spy for us, at great personal risk. He is now no more a Death Eater than I am."

**

". . . don't see what there is to fuss about, Igor."

"Severus, you cannot pretend this isn't happening!" Karkaroff's voice sounded anxious and hushed, as though keen not to be overheard. "It's been getting clearer and clearer for months, I am becoming seriously concerned, I can't deny it--"

"Then flee," said Snape's voice curtly. "Flee, and I will make your excuses. I, however, am remaining at Hogwarts."

**

He had reached the largest gap of all, and he stood surveying it with his blank, red eyes, as though he could see people standing there.

"And here we have six missing Death Eaters . . . three dead in my service. One, to cowardly to return . . . he will pay. One, who I believe has left me for ever . . . he will be killed, of course . . . and one, who remains my most faithful servant, and who has already re-entered my service."
**
***
**
He bolted upright, wiping his sweating face with shaking hands, trying to regain his composure. What was that?

He was certainly no stranger to vivid dreams. But even his dreams of Cedric had gradually faded away to nothing within a week of his return to Hogwarts; the dreams of Lucia had, not surprisingly, stopped the night after he rescued her from her world. Which meant that his sleep had been almost entirely peaceful--not even normal dreams, most nights--for over a month; nearly a month and a half.

So what was this? And why now?

In sudden decision, he vaulted to his feet. He had to know if this had been a mere dream, a true vision, or a premonition. "One, who I believe has left me for ever . . ." Voldemort's voice rang in his head, suddenly, a flash from the latter part of his dream, which had, itself, been the return of a memory.

Karkaroff had fled.

But if Voldemort knew that Snape was the traitor, then why had he seemed so willing to let the Potions Master back into the fold? It didn't make sense . . . unless he was trying to trap Snape, to lure him into a false sense of security.

Unfortunately, it would work. After having killed Blaise--assuming that it was a true vision, as he desperately hoped it wasn't--there was no way Snape wouldn't stop spying. Otherwise, he'd think Blaise's death had been in vain; he'd continue to bring in what information he could, no matter what the expense to himself.

Worried enough that he neglected even to bring his Invisibility Cloak along, he ghosted down the hall at top speed, headed for the one small section of Hogwarts that had become his true second home. The door opened at his touch to the well-hidden fingerprint-identifier in the lower left-hand corner, and he made his way with the ease of familiarity to the fifth-year boys' dorm.

Only once inside did he finally crumble, sitting gingerly on the empty bed, beginning to rock back and forth, the occasional tear slipping, unnoticed, down his cheeks. Tears for Blaise, a boy he had never known well; who would never have the chance to sleep on this bed again. Tears for Slytherin, which had lost one who was friendly to all, enemy to few; which still slept, unknowing of the tragedy that had befallen one of its own. Tears for Professor Snape, who had been forced to kill a child he would have died to protect, in the name of the greater good but probably futilely; it was doubtful that Voldemort would trust his arrant minion again so easily.

And perhaps--just perhaps--a few tears for himself, for the constant loss that seemed to dog his life, always tearing away those who dared associate with him. Just perhaps, a few tears for the fact that now, he never would have a chance to get to know the Slytherin boy who had proven to have the courage of a hundred Gryffindors.
**
***
**
Hands clenched convulsively; eyes squeezed tighter shut before opening to gaze, bewildered, out into the dark room. "Sal?"

He could still feel it. Sorrow and guilt and compassion and pity; a maelstrom of emotions blasted him over the bond--and it would have to be a blast; the bond did not allow them to share ever waking though or, indeed, any thoughts at all, and the only times they had ever picked up emotions from each other had always been when the feelings were particularly strong.

Their bond had changed slightly--not surprising, considering the multitude of small differences there were between Salazar and Harry, between himself as Lucifer and as Draco--but not appreciably, in this case. Not that he thought as two different people, though there were occasional times when he experienced a strange sense of dichotomy.

Enough of that. He threw off his covers in a single movement that spoke of suppressed violence and stood, wiping the last of the sleep from his eyes as he yawned. If Sal were that much of an emotional wreck, he'd need him nearby, whether or not the stubborn Gryffindor/Slytherin would admit it.

As he drifted through the halls, he passed beside a well-known faded plaque. Probably not a bad idea, actually . . . He rapped on the stretch of stone wall to the right, hoping his House Head was in and not out searching the halls for unsuspecting Gryffindors. Finally, it slid open, revealing the Professor wearing black robes that seemed somewhat more ornate than usual, a haunted look on his face. One that quickly faded to neutrality. "Draco? What is it?" He stepped back. "Do you want to come in?"

He shook his head. "No. I just thought you might be of help . . . it's Sa--Harry. He's . . . really upset by something, though I can't tell what." Draco licked his lips. "And I think he's down in the Lair."

Snape tossed something to a nearby table--something Draco hadn't even noticed him holding until then. Something that looked a great deal like some sort of mask, made of a silvery shade of material. His heart stopped. So that's why he's wearing better robes than usual. A tiny voice at the back of his head quipped. He recognized the mask; he had seen his father's more than once, after all.

I'm bringing a Death Eater to Harry Potter, after having informed him that he's not exactly in the most aware state. This would be such a bad idea . . . so why do I still trust Severus? He's my godfather, but that doesn't exactly mean much when my father would surely have chosen someone whose ideals matched up with his own . . .

Then again, he's had plenty of time to do something before now. I suppose I just have to hope that he won't do anything this time, either. For his sake as well . . . considering how much more viciously Sal tends to react when he's extremely upset . . .

He shook his head. "Follow me."

Snape did as he was bid. "Is it the bond?"

A curt nod. Draco found himself speeding up, though the feelings hadn't increased in intensity as far as he could tell. Perhaps it was just that, by outpacing his Potions professor, he somehow thought he could outpace the realization that Snape truly was a Death Eater, too. He supposed he had always kind of known . . . but knowing and having the point driven home so clearly were two entirely different things.

The door to the fifth-year boys dorm was ajar, most definite proof of the state Jamie had been in when he passed this way. Normally, he would never forget to pay attention to such a large detail as that. He crept forward, cautiously, motioning to Snape to stay back. "Sal?" He called softly. "Sali, what's wrong?"

"Don't call me Sali." Muffled, but with an undertone of humour that relaxed Draco considerably. He wasn't too far gone, then. "I had a dream . . . a vision . . . that Blaise died."

There was some sort of muffled exclamation from behind him, but, for the moment, Draco ignored his godfather. "It was just a dream, Harry." As his eyes adjusted to the room, he became suddenly uncertain when he noted that Jamie was the only occupant of the bed that had belonged to Blaise these last four years. "He's probably just off going to the restroom. Or wandering the halls in search of mischief to perpetrate." He settled down on the bed beside Jamie; began rubbing his hand in slow circles along the other's back.

"You may not have noticed--in fact, I'm almost certain you haven't--but Blaise has always been one of the most ingenious pranksters. I'm just generally the one who ends up taking the fall for him, because he has this unique ability to blend into the background, while I usually end up in the spotlight."

"It's your hair, I think." Jamie noted, deadpan, as he leaned against Draco with a sigh. "But it wasn't just a dream, Luce." His attention was drawn away, towards the door, where he pinned the professor standing there with a penetrating gaze. "Was it, Professor Snape?"

"No." He whispered bleakly. "No, it wasn't."

"No one will find out from me." Jamie said, and Draco got the feeling that he was being left out of the conversation completely now. "But in the end, it won't change anything. He already knows . . . so he'll keep on testing you . . . until you give up and prove him right."

"But what else can I do? This is my penance . . . heavier than ever, now."

"Just don't forget that there are people who will miss you when you die." Jamie stood and drifted out of the room. "Probably more than you suspect."

When, not if. Even if he didn't understand the latter part of the conversation, to Draco, that part was the scariest of all.
**
***
**
Cho flipped through the book, fascinated. A guide to becoming an Animagus . . . she wondered where Parvati had found it. At least, she assumed it was Parvati. It could have been Lucia . . . but for some reason, that didn't really seem right.

Especially since she couldn't see Lucia as a dog, a bat, or a fox, whereas she could quite easily see loyal Parvati a Labrador; Jamie could be a bat, and the only person she could possibly see as a fox was Draco.

She wanted to do this too, she realized, despite the sacrifice necessary. After all, if the ultimate spoiled brat, Draco Malfoy, could go for two nights with very little sleep and three days with very little food, how hard could it be? And . . . well, her speech earlier that evening had been mostly impromptu, but there had been more than kernels of truth hidden within. This could be an important tool in the upcoming war, so if she really wanted to help, this would be an excellent chance to prove her determination.

She wondered what she would be? And flipped the last page to a blank one. Strangely, at least half the book was populated by blank pages. Nonplussed, she glared at the pages thoughtfully. If the previous page had been on finishing the process--and it had--what else could possibly be left to say?

As she watched, overly ornate black letters began to fade onto the page: The Marauders' FAQ

She blinked. Alright, Cho. Bedtime for you . . . Rubbed her eyes. No, the letters were still there. Who were 'the Marauders', anyway?

Well? Which are you? The bat, the fox, or the dog? The lettering was red this time.

Her eyebrows twitched; she brought her quill and ink out and, carefully, wrote, 'None of them. I haven't gotten around to it yet. I do have a few guesses, though . . .'

Let's hear them, then. Better than boredom, at any rate. Dark blue.

'I think the dog is a Gryffindor fifth-year, Parvati Patil.'

Patil? The dark blue lettering was still in control. Sounds familiar. I think I know her dad. He's an asshole.

Padfoot . . . A burnished gold remonstrated. Sorry, continue?

'The fox is--I'm almost certain--a Slytherin fifth-year, Draco Malfoy.'

Now he's an asshole. The gold snapped onto the page. His father, I mean--I assume his father is Lucius Malfoy, at least?--my dad works with him.

What year is this? Pale green faded onto the page, almost shyly.

'. . . October 1995'

Dude . . . it took nearly twenty years for someone to find this thing? The blue lettering was back. That clinches it. You hid it too well, Prongs.

Sorry. The red lettering. Not my fault that no one ever looks up anything in the Transfiguration section of the library anymore . . . anyway, who do you think the bat is?

'Oh, right . . . a Gryffindor fifth-year, Harry Potter.'

The book was blank of any new converse for a full minute, maybe even two.

That is just . . . so wrong. The gold. On so many levels.

I wouldn't do that . . . The red. What on Earth could have possibly possessed me . . .?

Hey, kid? The blue. Could you bring me Prongsie's older self? I've got a bone or two I'd like to pick with him . . .

'How can I do that when I don't know who Prongs is?'

James Potter. The gold, red, and blue seemed to practically fall over themselves in their haste to answer.

'Oh.' Damn it . . . how can I put this delicately. 'I can't. He's . . . um . . . he's dead. Has been for nearly fourteen years.'

Holy shit. The red--or was it James Potter? Or Prongs?--whispered. How?

So the Ravenclaw sixth-year found herself explaining the recent history of the world--especially as pertained to a certain scar-headed boy--to a book. You know, this ought to feel a lot weirder than it does. She mused.

There was only one interruption, and that from the pale green--odd that; it was generally the quietest of the group. Wait. Back up a second. Did you say Lily Potter? As in Lily Evans?

'Yeah . . . I think so . . .'

Oh. Um . . . no. I may hate Snape, but steal away his girlfriend?! The red was darker than usual, seeming almost offended. No. Especially since it's Lily. She's like a sister to me. . . . well, maybe more like a distant cousin. We don't really interact that much. But me and her together? There must be some mistake.

Really. The gold. Honestly, Prongs, of all the girls to pick from to throw us over for . . .

She's not even that pretty. The blue.

Oh, like you're one to judge . . . The pale green. I'm the straight member of the group, remember? And I can assure you, she's a whole lot prettier than any of you weirdos.

Oi, Wormtail! That's cold! The blue protested. You know you love us . . .

Of course I do. The same way I love my bratty little six-year-old cousin.

This was beginning to get out of hand. 'Okay, wait a second. So you're trying to tell me that Lily Potter was actually Snape's girlfriend, and James Potter was part of a threesome with the gold ink'

Remus Lupin. The gold offered helpfully.

'. . . with Professor Lupin and--'

Ooh, I was a teacher? Cool. I wonder in what? The gold, getting sidetracked again.

Probably Herbology. It's your best subject, after all. The pale green offered.

Sirius Black. The blue sprang in, the only one of the three to actually answer her tacit query. She felt a thrill of fear, but reminded herself that he was only a color of ink on a page; he couldn't get at her from here.

'--a mass murderer who is the only wizard ever to escape Azkaban?'

WHAT?! All four chorused.

She could feel a headache coming on.
**
***
**
Jamie struggled his way down from Gryffindor Tower towards the Great Hall for breakfast. The remainder of his sleep the previous night had been deep and dreamless, but not especially restful. And considering what the first part of his night had been like, that was small comfort at best. If I was an acknowledged Slytherin, I could have spent the night there . . . but no . . . He sighed. The Headmaster had to know by now . . . if only because Snape would have told him . . . which meant he had a wonderful death announcement to listen to over breakfast. Just bloody wonderful.

"You look beat." Ron's eyes ran over him assessingly. "Is everything all right?"

What do you think? He ignored the sniping, choosing instead to smile at how solicitous his friend could be, despite how drastically they had grown apart over the last month or so. "Not really. I had a hard night."

"Was it . . ." his voice dropped. ". . . the scar?"

Jamie rubbed the aforementioned disfigurement, assenting with a small nod and a sigh. "Wasn't as bad as I would have expected. No real torture, and only one person died." Despite his effort at control, he could feel his voice drop, his face become more drawn, at that last pronouncement.

"Who?" Ron's gaze snapped away to survey the hallway and, as they entered it, the Great Hall, presumably searching to see if he could find the missing face.

"I'll tell you after breakfast if Dumbledore doesn't."

"Harry!" He stopped and turned, motioning Ron to go on without him.

"Cho?" Sure enough, the dark-haired Ravenclaw was approaching him, not his counterpart--who was nowhere in sight.

"I . . . found something out last night that I think you ought to know . . ." She seemed rather antsy.

"After breakfast?" He suggested. "Since we've all been called to eat together for once, it could be something important." Well, he damn well knew it was. But she didn't particularly need to know that.

"All right." She assented, hesitantly. "Survival room?"

"That works. I'll see you then."
**
***
**
The Great Hall was awash with noise. If he tried, Jamie could pick out about four different conversations just in his immediate vicinity . . . not surprisingly, one focus of all the conversations was just exactly why they were all down here for breakfast at one time.

Up at the Head table, Snape looked exhausted--probably didn't get even as much sleep as I did. And almost certainly not as peaceful--and Dumbledore was tapping his spoon against his goblet in an effort to gain everyone's attention. Finally, everyone had either gotten a clue or been forcibly shushed by his or her neighbors, and the entire hall--including most of the teachers--looked towards their Headmaster for an explanation.

The venerable man's gaze panned over the crowd. "I'm sure you all wish to know why it was you were assembled here like this." He began softly. "At the end of last year, I informed you all that Voldemort had risen again. I'm not sure how many of you--or how many of your parents--believed my statements, but that doesn't make them any less true."

"Last night, tragedy struck Hogwarts once again, much like it did at the end of last year. Last night, Blaise Zabini was murdered by Voldemort." The expected murmurs.

"I don't remember him . . . do you?" Ron was whispering to Hermione, and Harry suppressed the sudden hot burst of anger towards his friends. This scene was hard enough as it was.

"Blaise had that sly cunning characteristic of Slytherin that was responsible for many a shift in hair color or other odd occurrences; an ability to blend into the background that often allowed him to escape unscathed. Unfortunately, he was unable to escape this situation."

"Wasn't he that boy in our Potions class with the reddish-blonde hair?" Hermione frowned, concentrating. "He may have been in my Ancient Runes class, too . . ."

"Oh, right!" Ron perked up. "Now I remember. The one who looked like a girl!"

Jamie resisted the urge to bang his head against the table. Had he really been this oblivious once? He looked over to the Slytherin table to see them all looking pale, but composed. Of course, none of them would cry, as the Hufflepuffs had for Cedric's death.

But what other people might pass off as not caring, Jamie knew was simply pure determination to show weakness in front of other people. There would probably be many wet pillows tonight in Slytherin . . . but everyone knew effective Drying Charms; no one would be forced into a situation where he or she felt shamed.

"Let Blaise's death prove to us that none of us will escape from this war unscathed; that standing together now is perhaps more important than ever. He raised his goblet. "To Blaise Zabini."

"To Blaise." The Slytherins' voices rang out, strong and true; even if they had disliked Blaise, even if they had plans to become Death Eaters themselves, and because of that felt his death worthless, Slytherin stands together. And he stood with them.

It wasn't supposed to be this way. My House was supposed to be another house, as like and as different from the other Houses as they were from each other. Not this ostracism . . . where did I fail? Is it . . . are people truly so afraid, so contemptuous of those of us who are truthful enough to admit to our ambitions, even if we don't even know exactly what those ambitions are? Where did I fail?

"To Blaise." Most of Ravenclaw, some scattered Hufflepuffs, and even fewer Gryffindors responded, though he saw mulish looks on many faces. He could just imagine the comparisons this would draw to Cedric's death . . . unfavorable ones, especially from those who hadn't known Blaise; those who thought of Slytherin (as Jamie once had) as the Dark House.

The silence stretched; the tension mounted; none of those still seated rose to their feet. Jamie began tapping his foot--intentionally loudly--just because he could. For once, the odd acoustics of Hogwarts worked in his favor, as the still fairly quiet sound was caught up and echoed from one end of the hall to the other.

He could feel a certain pair of eyes on him and looked up to catch Draco's gaze, briefly amused before he retreated back into the loss that every Slytherin felt.

As he had expected, either the silence or the never-ending tapping finally drove someone to action of a sort. One of the Gryffindors off to his left muttered, and he turned. "Yes? You said something . . ." He searched for a name. She was either a sixth or seventh-year, and not part of the Quidditch team, so he didn't know her very well. What was it again? "Patricia?"

The girl in question sighed loudly. "I just said, I don't know what all the fuss is about. He was just a Slytherin, after all."

Immediate outrage from the entirety of the House in question; Snape had pushed his chair back and looked about ready to come down and do something to the girl personally. Strangle her, perhaps . . . Head and House, he speared them all with an unequivocal glare. I will deal with this. Stay out of it. Luckily (for them), they seemed to understand his unspoken command.

"Just another Slytherin, hm? Perhaps." He began laconically. "Tell me, Patricia, what would you do if you came face to face with Voldemort?"

She flinched, but not much. "I'd kill him." She glared, obviously not seeing his point.

"Oh, really? How? Would you" he brought out his wand and flourished it in her direction "tickle him to death, perhaps?" He tapped his chin. "Or, I know! If you just happened to be near a cliff, you could hit him with the Jelly-Legs Curse, and he might be caught off balance enough to fall off, thus saving you the trouble of killing him yourself." Another show of consideration. "You know, with all that black he wears and how skeletal he looked last time I saw him, he could almost pass as a Dementor." Pregnant pause. "You do know the Patronus Charm, don't you?"

She had been growing redder and redder under his onslaught, but that seemed to be the final straw. The famed Gryffindor temper was allowed free reign. "I'd use the Killing Curse on him, you idiot!"

"A Gryffindor? Use the Killing Curse?! Do my ears deceive me?!" Jamie affected far greater surprise than he actually felt; let it drop away. "Well, for one thing, if you learned anything from Professor Crouch last year, you should at least have learned that using the Killing Curse takes a great deal more than just knowing the words. I doubt you could even have killed one of Crouch's spiders." He held up a hand, seeing her about to explode again. "Even if, by some stroke of luck, you cast the curse, it might very well not work. After all, he has some of my blood in him now . . . and it's never been proved that I'm not just flat immune to that particular curse."

He popped his neck idly. "So what would you do?"

Her scowl was almost as bad as Professor Snape's . . . on a good day, that is. "Well . . . if nothing else worked . . ." her chin rose ". . . I'd die an honorable and glorious death."

Scattered clapping greeted that announcement, even as Jamie did his best to resist rolling his eyes. Glorious my ass. "And a Slytherin? What do you think Zabini did, being 'just another Slytherin, after all'?"

Patricia snorted. "Probably tried to run, and when that didn't work, went down on his knees to plead for his pitiful little life." She looked like she dearly wished there was a place to spit.

Where did I go wrong? "Well, there's where you made your mistake then." He announced with assumed perkiness. "Because, you see, Blaise was just a bit too Gryffindor about dying for my peace of mind. Had he acted stereotypically Slytherin, he'd probably be sitting here with us, right now." His gaze panned the hall. "This particular Slytherin's last words were 'I hate you, Voldemort, and all you stand for. I would rather die than serve you.' "

"Despite all your talk, I rather doubt you'd have the courage to do the same. And until you know you do--until you have--I would appreciate your not deriding someone, whatever his House, for being brave enough to refuse to compromise his beliefs . . . for being courageous enough to die for those beliefs."

He placed his goblet back down on the table. And left.
**
***
**
He didn't make it far; right outside the Great Hall he had to stop and lean against the wall, trying to quell the shaking--caused by a combination of his (usually better-hidden) nervousness at public speaking and the still near-murderous rage that had overtaken him at that girl's comment. He knew she probably hadn't meant as much by it as he had construed; Gryffindors hated and derided Slytherins, Slytherins hated or were contemptuous of and took every chance to belittle Gryffindors. It was the way the world worked.

He rubbed a hand across his face, obscurely pleased at no longer having to try to avoid the unwieldy pair of glasses that had been a part of his life for so long. Which reminded him . . . he never had figured out why his vision had so suddenly fixed itself. Unless . . .

'there may be certain . . . changes . . . that happen right away. Don't worry, it's nothing drastic--not enough for most people to even notice.' The bat had told him . . . why had he never made the connection before now? It was so obvious! Still . . . I disagree with his definitions . . . 'nothing drastic' indeed.

But how would his bat side or his dragon side affect his sight? After all, (if he remembered his third grade science correctly) bats didn't even use their eyes to 'see'. They used some sort of . . . he squeezed his eyes shut, trying to recall the ancient memory . . . echolocation? Making weird noises that bounced off objects, which were reconstructed by the ears into a sort of radar-like sight.

Of course! That even explained why he had been so dizzy in Herbology that one day--why his sight had returned to its previous state after he put on the earmuffs. Experimentally, he placed his hands over his ears. He was prepared for the dizziness this time, riding it through with much less trouble; when he reopened his eyes, sure enough, everything was fuzzy again.

. . . But not quite as fuzzy as he remembered it being. So his sight was gradually improving on its own, too? He shook his head, baffled, then became aware of a dark, human-shaped blob off to his left that had probably been trying to capture his attention for quite some time. Abashed, he lowered his hands, leaned against the wall to counteract the dizziness (even slighter this time), and breathed a small sigh of relief as his sight gradually refocused, revealing the dark shape to be Cho.

There was a hint of something in her eyes . . . pity? No, sympathy came closer, he finally decided. He cocked his head slightly, acknowledging her and waiting for her to speak.

"It was a vision, wasn't it?" She asked. He nodded. "I had figured as much. You know, there are a couple of people sitting in there trying to convince people that you know what happened because you were there--evidently, they think you're the Dark Lord's new right-hand man."

Jamie rolled his eyes and, levering himself away from the wall, began walking in the general direction of the Survival room. After a moment, Cho followed. "I'm not surprised . . . it's not that much less provocation than they had in second year, after all."

"Second year? What happened . . ." Her expression cleared. "Oh, right. Your second year." She looked down at her feet. "Would you hate me very much if I admitted that . . . for a time . . . I actually believed the rumors?"

A snort. "Practically the only people who didn't believe the rumors were Ron and Hermione. They knew me. You didn't, other than 'that skinny black-haired Gryffindor Seeker'. Besides, looking back, I actually think the situation turned out one of the better ways it could have. I mean, would it really have done anyone any good if people had refused to listen to 'evidence' and declared I could do no wrong simply because I was the 'Boy-Who-Lived'? What if I really had gone bad?"

Cho looked unconvinced. "Maybe . . . I still shouldn't have, though. I mean, there was no proof. We Ravenclaws live for proof. I should have known better."

Jamie laughed outright. "There may have been no outright proof, but people have been convicted on a lot less circumstantial evidence than there was against me." He shook his head. "But we're off on a pretty large tangent now, aren't we? What was it that you wanted to talk to me about before breakfast?"

"Oh." She looked startled. "That's right. Listen . . . it wasn't really all that important. I mean, yeah, it's probably something you ought to know at some point, but . . . it's also kinda trivial. I feel silly bringing this up just after someone died . . ."

He shook his head. "I know this sounds callous, but . . . he's not going to be the last. Cedric was the first, he's the second . . . sooner or later there will be another. And we'll never be able to do anything useful, much less defeat Voldemort, if we let every death crush us completely." Cho, he noticed, still looked unconvinced. He sighed, then admitted quietly, "I'll probably cry myself to sleep tonight--or come down with insomnia and spend a restless night trying to figure out why I'm not crying yet. But during the day, there are things to be done. Besides mourning."

"Like telling off upstart Gryffindors?" A smile was beginning to form again on Cho's face. "Oh, nothing against your House, Harry . . . but I thoroughly enjoyed watching you put Patricia Horne down. Especially since I'll be able to use it against her mercilessly in Herbology."

"Careful, Cho. You're beginning to sound almost Slytherin." Jamie, in response to his friend's mood, had also begun to lighten up. "You're supposed to be too concerned with studying to pay attention to little things like petty vindictiveness, remember?"

"Oh, shut up, you." The dark-haired girl swung in his general direction--missing, of course, but he ducked in an exaggerated fashion anyway.

". . . And here we've gotten sidetracked again. Cedric." He absentmindedly let them both into the room. "So spill. I could use something to distract me at this point."

"Does this look familiar to you?" She pulled out a small leather-bound journal. "Have you ever looked in the back?"

He nodded slowly, puzzled after the first thrill of adrenaline at seeing someone not himself, Draco, or Parvati in control of the book subsided. "All the rest of the pages are blank."

Her lips twisted. "Sort of. If you leave it open long enough, a title, The Marauders' FAQ, appears. And then these four . . . presences start talking to you." She leaned forward. "Did you know that, when they were in school, your father was involved with Professor Lupin and . . ." her voice lowered even further ". . . Black."

"As a matter of fact, I did." He nodded. "Although it came as just as great a surprise to me. And it is nice to have the information confirmed by the source, so to speak."

"But . . . how . . . why would your father even associate with that . . . that Death Eater! And how can you be so calm about it? He's the reason your parents are dead!" She suddenly closed her mouth. "Oh no . . . you did know that before, didn't you?"

"Found out in my third year." He eyed the book in her hands. "Wait a . . . you didn't tell them that, did you?" She nodded. "Crud. Oh, give it here." He dug through his bag for quill and ink. "The first blank page, right?" Another nod.

'Padfoot?' He wrote on the blank page.

He's sulking. Pale green ink informed him. "I never did find out the green ink's name." Cho commented. "Blue is Black, gold is Professor Lupin, and red is your father."

'Well, could you get him out of it, Wormtail? I need to speak to him.'

What do you want? Dark blue ink flowed slowly, almost reluctantly, onto the page.

'Ignore what Cho told you last night. You were accused of murder, and sentenced to life in Azkaban, but you were innocent.'

"What?!" The Ravenclaw exclaimed.

"Just what I said. He was framed. My parents switched their Secret Keeper to Peter Pettigrew--the fourth Marauder, known as Wormtail--at the last minute, telling no one, not even Dumbledore. But Wormtail betrayed them. And then he faked his own death, blowing up the street behind him so that Sirius would be accused of all those Muggles' murders as well as his own."

How do I know you're not lying now? Who are you?

'I'm Harry Potter. I suppose you'd be calling me Prongs, Jr. if my father were still alive . . . and you weren't constantly on the run. You are still my godfather.'

I suppose that's better than nothing. I still can't believe that Prongs threw us over for Lily . . .

I still can't believe I had the gall. The red inserted. I mean, being Gryffindor and brave is one thing. Stealing that crazy slimeball's girlfriend, in addition to being foul play, is just plain suicide.

'Wait a second. My mother was Snape's girlfriend?'

"That was the other part of what I was going to tell you." Cho said quietly. "You just got involved in the conversation before I had the chance to."

. . . Yeah. Where have you been? It's, like, only the scandal of the century.

'Mm. Methinks it was covered up pretty well, considering I was told--or certainly given to understand--that my parents were madly in love with each other.'

Madly in love, I'll grant . . . Red.

Aw, Prongsie, you say the sweetest things. Blue and gold . . . Jamie could almost hear the purr. He shut the book quickly. I mean, knowing his father had been in a relationship with two of his best friends is one thing. Having it shoved in his face . . . made him realized that he was not quite as well-adjusted to the idea than he'd thought.

And his mum and Snape . . . he didn't know whether to start laughing at himself or go bang his head against the wall. All this time, the woman he had been resenting--pretty virulently, too--for hurting Snape had been his mother. Talk about irony . . .

He paused. There was . . . something . . . tickling the back of his mind. Some scrap of . . . intuition, he supposed, that indicated that there was more to this discovery than just laughing at the irony. What was he missing? What had he forgotten?

Tentatively, aware of Cho's eyes on him, he thought back to the first time Snape had mentioned his wife--who he had married right out of school; that had been it, right after his comment about Fred and Angelina. Knowing that Snape and his mother had been together during school, who else could his wife have been? Now, what had the annoying man said?

". . . her remarrying a few days later, giving her new husband a child a little more than nine months after that . . ."

Of course. Why hadn't he seen it before? There had been so many clues: Voldemort's reference to Snape's "Mudblood wife" who was dead only the last in a long line, many of which were slips by the man himself. That in itself should have clued him in on the connection between his mother and his Potions professor.

A little over nine months later . . . Now that brought up even more interesting speculation. "Cho? Do you have a mirror?"

"Yes . . ." She dug into her bag, eventually pulling out a small Muggle compact that she handed to Jamie. He looked at himself, truly looked, for the first time in quite a while. How could he have missed this, too? Maybe it had been his straight and normal-sized nose that had misled him--certainly nothing like the beak that protruded from Snape's face, or the face which was certainly not vintage Snape . . . but even less was it Potter-like.

Perhaps it was because he looked a great deal more like Aurelius Snape--who had been an acquaintance more than a friend, and not even a very close one--than Aurelius' many-times-great grandson. Or perhaps it was the sheer number of times Draco had remarked on his resemblance to the Slytherin Head of House, getting him into the habit of dismissing it as a mixture of common features inherited from that one connection between the Potter and Snape lines many years back and just Draco being himself, and doing what he did best: annoy Jamie.

He congratulated himself on the calm with which he was taking what ought to, by all rights, be an event of earthshaking magnitude. Maybe it was because this was just another event in a long line of changes and shocks . . . maybe his 'surprised' module had simply worn out. Or broken down completely. But then . . . no matter how much sense it makes . . . I don't know for certain that what I've deduced is the truth.

But then, as Salazar his father had acted much in the same manner as Tom Riddle Sr.--except he had accused his wife of being a witch; she had barely escaped with either her life or the life of her unborn child. Was it any wonder that Salazar had wanted to restrict Muggle-born children at Hogwarts, knowing firsthand what the worst of Muggles could do? Still, the point was, neither as Jamie/Harry nor as Salazar had he had much of a father-figure, much less the real thing, to speak of. So was it any wonder that the prospect of having one at last didn't have quite as great an impact as he would have expected?

Especially since Snape should have figured it out. Certainly he'd heard of overdue babies before? And he had probably been a week or two overdue at the most. Postulating that Snape had figured the situation, he couldn't really see the Potions Master keeping it a secret from him. Before this year, perhaps--the loathing had been mutual; he was sure of that. But now . . . now, he had been beginning to think of the older man as some odd form of a friend, and he liked to think that Snape had returned the favour. There would be no real reason anymore to hide this information--which led to the startling conclusion that Snape had not known.

Which led to the possibility that he was only hallucinating. He could see it now, as clearly as if it were a newspaper headline: . . . come to think of it, it had been. If such a paltry thing as a little pain in his scar was enough to cause him to hallucinate (as, certainly, quite a large number of people had seemed to believe, the previous year), then he thought the deaths of Cedric and Blaise, having some odd female twin from another universe popping in to say hello, becoming a dual Animagus, and being initiated into the House that he had been violently opposed to before this year was definitely enough to drive him off the deep end.

He grinned, and became aware that Cho had evidently had enough of looking at him oddly, and now had something approaching worry on her face. "I was just thinking about a certain reporter . . ."

Well, you know, Potter . . . or whatever your name is . . . there's only one way to find out. And you aren't going to be chicken, now are you? Giving himself pep talks, he noted, was definitely not one of his strong points. "Cho, could you go find Draco for me? Tell him to get Professor Snape and meet me in the Library."

"You're not going to do anything to him, are you? I mean, he is a professor, even if he's not a very fair one . . . and just because he used to be in love with your mother, I'm sure he didn't hurt her or anything . . ."

"Calm down, Cho!" Jamie held his hands up in surrender. "I promise, I'm not going to punch Professor Snape's lights out. Besides, even if I was contemplating a move that criminally stupid, do you really think I'd be utterly moronic enough to try to do it in the Library?"

"Point." She relaxed. "All right. You will tell me what this is about eventually, won't you?"

"I will."
**
***
**
"How much alike are we?"

Lucia jumped nearly a foot in the air and only barely stifled a shriek at the unexpected voice. "Jamie! What are you doing here?"

He shrugged. "Last time I looked, I was still in Gryffindor." He deliberately panned the Gryffindor common room with his gaze, though there was a quirky smile on his face that reminded her uncomfortably of how Draco--her Draco--had looked when laughing at a private joke no one else knew, much less understood. "So? How much alike are we?"

"I'm having a hard time thinking of a person I am less like." She returned, slightly sharply. "Why? Does that question have any particular point?"

He shrugged lightly. "There's . . . I just happened across some rather interesting information that I was about to go see if I could conclusively confirm or deny. If you think you're genetically of the same parentage as me, you might want to come with me. But if you're going to be stubborn and Gryffindor about it, I promise I won't miss your presence all that much." His temper seemed rather shorter than usual. "So? Are you coming?"

'Genetically of the same parentage'? What in the world? I'm the daughter of James and Lily Potter, the same as he is. She rolled her eyes. Oh, well. If I don't go with him, my curiosity will probably kill me. I'm sure he wouldn't see fit to tell me the results after he figured whatever it is out. "Sure."

At last, a smile graced his face. "Good. It will be nice to have you there. We . . . don't talk the way we used to. Or do anything together, really."

"We're just too different." Lucia acknowledged with a sigh. "We rub each other the wrong way even worse than Hermione and Ron--at least they seem to have worked out their problems fairly well."

He nodded. "Yeah. It was hard, watching them argue like that. Kinda makes me sympathize with anyone who was caught in the middle of one of our arguments."

She winced. "Come to think of it . . . but of course, usually by the time we are arguing, I'm so mad at you that I'm in no condition to be thinking about the well-being of anyone else's eardrums."

"That's a . . . unique way of putting it. But I agree--I'm usually pretty focused on the cause of my problems, that is, you."

"Oh, that's a boost to my self-esteem." But she was laughing; for some reason, they were both in a laid-back--or distracted--enough mood that it seemed a major argument had been avoided. This time around. "So, where is it that we are going to find this mysterious information of yours?"

A surprised look that she was sure was mostly faked. "The Library, of course."

"I knew it! You're turning into Hermione on me!"

"Why you . . ."
**
***
**
"Interesting group you have assembled here, Potter."

"I try my best, Malfoy." Jamie smiled sweetly at his bonded. "If you really want to, you can leave now." Draco gave him a 'Yeah, Right' Look so strong even a three-year-old could have interpreted it. "That's what I thought. Let's go."

He led the way--now that he knew it--back to the genealogical niche of the library and, once there, pulled down one of the middle 'S' volumes.

"Er . . . 'Potter' starts with a 'P', you know."

"Yes dear. Shut up. If you're really that bored, why don't you look yourself up? I'm still interested in finding out just exactly how 'pure' your blood is."

Lucia snickered. "Still . . . what are you looking up, Jamie?"

"And why am I even here?" Snape sighed, rubbing his forehead. "I do have papers to grade . . . I swear, Potter, if this is a hoax of some kind . . ."

"You'll string me up by my toenails and let Filch polish up on his torturing skills . . . with Draco sitting in the crowd taking notes." Jamie answered absently, flipping a page. "No, Professor, this is not a hoax. Call it more . . . I'm investigating a hunch of mine, and I thought the three of you would be interested."

He finally stopped, laying the book on the table. "Well, well. Looks like I was right after all." He pointed near the bottom of a page marked Snape, to three entries in particular: Severus Snape, connected by a straight horizontal line to Lily Evans (div.) (dec.), and from the centre of that line down to a third: Harry Potter.

With a whimsical smile, Jamie turned to his Potions professor. To his father. It was the first time he had allowed himself to think the tag outright, and it sounded rather better than he had expected it to, despite the state of unnatural calm he still seemed to be in. "Congratulations, Professor. It's a boy." His eyes met Lucia's, and he cocked his head. "And a girl, too, I suspect."

A muffled thump. He turned back to a sight he certainly had never expected.

Professor Snape had fainted.
**
***
22 April 2003
***
**
Anon, DaBear, Katy999, Silver Angel, Teigra, Saavik, LeopardDance, Kayla Darklighter, Mikee, izean, I Am The Bunny Slayer, Stephanie, Helena, PReattea, AquiLa--Thanx.

t.a.g--Sankyuu. Oh, at this point I only have ~7 or 8 planned. A couple more may sneak in . . . :P

Arizosa--I really have no clue when that particular bit of information will come out . . . *shrugs* I'll figure something out eventually.

Hana-chan--Pansy's role: I'm not sure entirely. She will probably end up with someone important, but her role is one of the few that I haven't quite figured out ahead of time yet. Parvati and Lucia: Oh, Parvati would follow Lucia back to her world in a heartbeat, I think. If she thought she'd be allowed to. Unfortunately, she won't be given a chance to. Draco: I think he's been subconsciously suspecting something ever since that first scene in the library. I also think he's shoving the information into the back of his mind as 'something-to-think-about-later'. Severitus' Challenge: I just can't really see Snape as having known all along and not done something. And, too, I take positive delight in twisting cliches when I can.

darkhaven--Not Snape, I don't think. :P Just another three or four people . . . Parvati; Padma's the Ravenclaw that I've barely even mentioned. Sal's daggers are the equivalent of Gryffindor's sword--special. I suppose they could eventually be reproduced, since presumably Sal' made them in the first place . . . but then, that may be part of the (large amount of) information/memory that Jamie has lost. As for the Harry/Pansy angle . . . you'll just have to wait and see.

Mystic Shadow--The long ones are always the best. ^^ Even if they do take longer to respond to . . .

Harry and Draco will start remembering things here and there, but I don't know that they'll ever remember everything. *sighs* I've been trying my best to keep them from going ultra-super-powered on me . . . I'm glad it's actually been working. ^^ Likewise, I'm really happy that the reaffirmation of the bond turned out the way it did. And that you liked it.

Now, as for your questions: 1. You'll see. Probably in Chapter 15. *anticipatory evil grin* 2. Um . . . yeah? I think so? *curses horrible memory* 3. Oh, that. *slightly embarrassed* That was just Jamie tacking a note on the statue telling Dumbledore that he did want to switch into the first year of Arithmancy after all, before he forgot about it completely. Sorry, it wasn't meant to be quite that mysterious . . . -_-;; 4. Yes, and if by the rest of the school' you were referring to Slyherin, there's already a couple that have a few suspicions. If you just meant everyone suspecting something is up with Jamie and Draco . . . the majority of them will stay in blissful ignorance for quite some time, I think. 5. Mm . . . he's got a pretty well-developed sense of irony, so I think he actually thinks it's a pretty good joke, most of the time. Disgusted, on the whole, though. 6. We~ell . . . not everyone. *whistles innocently* The book is not quite finished making its rounds, though.

EriEka127--Eh . . . like a lot of stuff in the HP world, it's not technically possible. Let's just call it selective reincarnation', shall we?

Melon--Well, actually, I've revised that view. You see, I've found that I do like Dark!Harry fics--ie., fics in which Harry becomes a Dark Wizard and/or learns Dark Magic, but is able to keep his basic personality more-or-less whole. I just don't like Dark-as-something-inherently-Evil!Harry (or just flat Evil!Harry) fics. And yes, there are some exceptions . . . with me, it seems like there always are . . . ^^;; Glad you liked the Animagus forms and as far as keeping writing' is concerned . . . I'm trying! -_-;;

Quilynn--Sorry I worried you! I'm trying my hardest to show that they're kinda a balance of both . . . but as with most sets of (even metaphorical) scales, they sometimes kinda slide one way or the other. But that's all that is--Jamie and Draco may change some, but they'll stay Jamie and Draco at heart.

icediamond--*tilts head* Really? I don't think I've ever had a sibling pair reading my fic before . . . unless my brother and I count . . . (which we shouldn't, since I rarely go back and reread, and he reads it only when I'm bouncing arounding the house shouting the Hallelujah chorus at the top of my lungs because I finally got a chapter up or just broke some major barrier review-wise. *sweatdrops* Anyway.)

It's great that this fic is having that sort of effect on you . . . I know I have to go back sometimes, to make absolutely sure I haven't dropped any important sub-threads . . .

As for Jamie's costume: You shall see next chapter. *groans* I still can't believe it took that long to get around to Halloween. Forty-two pages . . . Sweet Merlin . . . Yes, I have a rather screwy sense of humour, myself. ^^ And I do my best to let it loose on any cliche I encounter . . . because there are some that I just can't bear not using . . . but also can't bear using in their original, unaltered state. So I just screw them up enough to keep me interested, let them loose, and hope . . .

The books: Yes and yes. Have you read the third one (Elven . . . bred?) yet? ^^! ^^! ^^! (in other words . . . in case you hadn't guessed . . . yes, I like them. But then, Mercedes Lackey is the Goddess of Writing to me; I don't think she's written anything I haven't liked yet.)

~Mary~--Jamie/Parvati? o.O 'Vati may be somewhat more accepting of Jamie's Slytherin-ness than Lucia, but I still can't see her being willing to touch him romantically with a ten-foot pole. Besides, she's too busy indulging in hopeless unrequited love for Lucia (who hasn't a clue) to even look in his direction. No, that was just me abruptly changing scenes the way I always do. Sorry I worried you. ^^;;

And, as you can see, I've finally gotten around to doing the review responses . . . though these'll be out earlier than' chapter 14 by only about 5 minutes . . . *hangs head* Oh well. I tried! Most people, I find, aren't around when Jamie and Draco are acting civilly towards one another, much less when they're relaxed enough to call each other by nicknames, so the people to notice would come from a very select group . . . Sev' gets a . . . hint, I suppose you could call it . . . in the middle of 14, but everyone else is pretty much clueless.

Don't worry about your Texan coming through. I'll understand you, even if no one else does. ;P Just don't start treating ya'll' as singular. *winces*

Simone of the Zordiac--As for finding out: well, that's probably self-evident by this point. So you guessed right in that the books did come in on the situation, just not who. The child that is his, of course . . . but poor Sev didn't know that at that point. ;)

The eye question: I've seen this brought up before, how other than Harry and his mother, the only other person with verifiably green eyes is Tom Riddle (before he became his snake-faced red-eyed Voldemort incarnation), and in fact, very few other eye colors are mentioned. Thus, I took creative liberty and decided that green eyes would be a sign of Slytherin blood--though obviously not the only once, considering that Lily had them and both Sev and James didn't--so Salazar, being progenitor of that line, would have had them as well.

The daggers: Are coming. I promise. Currently slated to appear in chapter 15; I don't think I'll come up with enough extra scenes to push them back to 16 . . . though I've given up promising on that score. -_-;;

Parvati: Is somewhat more observant than Lucia, though I think part of Lucia's problem is that she is homesick, her brother died less than two months ago, she's in a completely different place, and just when she thinks she's figured everything out, something else throws her for a loop. I think once she starts adjusting, she'll be better. I don't think Parvati knows that Jamie is a Slytherin, just that she was remarking on how much like one he is, so that, for all intents and purposes . . .

Albus: My guess is that he was away; he explains a little in 14 when he realizes just how out of touch with certain elements of the school he's become. So we won't get his reaction at the time, but . . . well, read that part in 14, and you'll know what I mean.

Animagi: If I remember correctly, Cho's primary form will be a peregrine falcon. (No, sorry, I'm not telling you any more than that. *evil grin*) The book will definitely be making its rounds, at least touching on all four houses. Hm . . . it's not part of the major plot, but yes, I can see Cho passing on the Animagus knowledge to certain other members of her house . . . though obviously not Terry.