The Other Side of the Mirror

by darkcyan

On his fifteenth birthday, Harry Potter begins to dream of someone disturbingly familiar. As the weeks pass, the dreams continue. What will happen when he returns to Hogwarts? And are these changes he's experiencing just puberty ... or something more? *ABANDONED*

14. Transformation

*sighs* I grovel at your feet in apology for how long this chapter has taken me. For one reason or another, I've been pretty much a big ball of stress and not-much-free-time since around the time the APs started (*thinks* early May?). I actually had to study for my APs this year; there were actually decently hard finals that I had to study for, several of my teachers decided that they'd give me one last project to remember them by . . .

And then I had to do housing information and physicals and crap for college . . . and then there was graduation . . . and all through this, when I had any spare time at all, I generally wasted it on my primary stress-reliever (reading fanfiction) instead of my secondary one (writing it).

*shakes head* Anyway. That's all over with now, so hopefully I can get back to my usual schedule. For those of you who have asked: I try to get a chapter of this story out about once every three weeks, though you can see how well that sometimes works out . . . *grimaces*

And for those of you who worried, no, I have not yet ascended to the Great Fanfiction Library in the Sky. ^^;; Sorry again for staying away so long.

*pauses* Have I forgotten anything?

Oh yeah. Harrypotterandhisassociatesdonotbelongtome.NeitherdoesSeveritus'challenge.

*deep breath* Please enjoy the chapter. Yes, to make up for its lateness, it is (literally) twice as long as usual. (*walks away muttering* Sheez, I write entirely too bloody much . . .)

And did I mention that this is where the interesting part of the story starts? *grins insanely* I'm going to have so much fun . . .
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~*~Transformation~*~
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"I thought you said you didn't possess any other un-Potter-like traits." Draco said, tone accusatory.

"No, I just said I didn't know of any others." Jamie shot back, looking innocent. He peered around. "Did Madam Pince notice? Probably not, considering that otherwise, she'd probably be over here giving us an earful already."

Draco looked out of the alcove in which the genealogy shelves were set, then strolled back over to the group. "Nope. She's currently being mobbed by quite a large group of first-years, so even if she did hear, it'll probably take her a while in getting back over here."

"Good." He turned his attention to his double. "Lucia?" The girl was still staring at the book. He waved his hand in front of her face. "If you're going to faint too, you might as well get it over with, while Madam Pince is still distracted."

"I'm not going to faint." She sounded vaguely annoyed, but when she raised her head, her eyes were confused. "What does this mean to me? . . . Our worlds are different in other ways, too, after all . . ."

"At this point--until you can return home and verify the information for yourself--I think it means either as much or as little as you want it to." Jamie shrugged. "If you want my input, it is my considered opinion that you look at least as much like a Snape as I do, so you're probably your Snape's daughter, even if the circumstances are different."

"Point." Lucia agreed, beginning to bite at a nail. "Still . . ." She looked towards the man still prone on the floor. "I've spent fourteen years thinking of Lucius Malfoy as my father, a little over four knowing it was James Potter instead . . . yet another change may take me a little time to adjust to."

"Mm. I think my ability to feel surprise broke a long time ago." Jamie voiced his earlier thought. "So I can't really sympathize all that well . . . why don't you go on back to Gryffindor? They'll probably be missing you. Draco and I will stay here to hold the fort until he wakes up."

She hesitated. ". . . All right." Turned, then turned back. "Make sure he's all right, okay? Even if I'm not ready to accept that he may be my father, he has been like a godfather to me for as long as I can remember."

Jamie nodded. "Don't worry. We've got it under control."

Her eyes focused through Draco. "Why is he here?"

Though it was an abrupt about-face from the previous topic of conversation--and the previous use of pronouns--there was little doubt as to who she was referring to. Jamie lifted his head proudly. "Draco and I are bonded."

"Oh."
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". . . And then Beth said 'That may be bad, but Lockhart was far worse'."

"Fine for her to say. She didn't even have detention with him, I bet. Four bloody hours of answering fan mail. Interspersed with comments about how he was sure I could understand what a 'burden' fame could be . . . so isn't it great that it had landed on such capable shoulders?" Pause. "His. Not necessarily mine."

The transition into consciousness was quick, but not without pain. Keeping his eyes closed and every muscle still relaxed, Snape sharpened his ears towards the conversation as he tried to recall what had sent him into this state.

"I'm not sure I know Beth . . . she's a seventh-year, right?"

"Beth Lestrange, yes. She's medium-tall, dirty-blondish hair and dark brown eyes. One of the quietest of us, but when she talks, everyone listens. And she rarely criticizes anyone . . . which is part of what made the whole Lockhart comment especially delicious." A pause. "Fan mail?"

The two voices were Harry--the native one--and Draco, but that still didn't give him much information about where he was . . . though it did prompt certain memories. Good God . . . the 'Boy-Who-Lived' is my son? was his first, rather incoherent thought. He never would have suspected.

Actually, this year he's been acting rather more like me. Getting himself made Slytherin, for crying out loud . . . not to mention his increased interest in Potions and in academia in general. But last year and the years before . . . pure Potter. So, how?

"Lestrange . . . the name sounds familiar . . ." There was a thoughtful frown in his voice. Eyes still closed, Snape wrestled with his feelings. I . . . I never would have believed it, but I want him as a son. Even though I doubt he'll want me as a father. Goodness knows I've never had any practice at it . . . Doubt crept in. We've actually been getting along, more or less, this year. He's certainly the only person I've ever talked to, even elliptically, about Lily (though I still claim either temporary insanity or illegal use of Veritaserum) . . . but. Is it enough to make up for our--most decidedly mutual--antipathy from before?

Sound of fist hitting hand. "That's right! They're Death Eaters. Voldemort mentioned them--said they're locked up Azkaban. Called them some of the most loyal of his bunch, for not trying to weasel out of their punishment."

"So that's why." Draco sounded enlightened. "She grew up in an orphanage--a Muggle one, but evidently a very good one. Since it's obvious that she's from a magical family--the Sorting Hat mentioned her parents, though it refused to actually say anything of use--and no one else ever mentions her parents--I had always wondered . . . but of course, they'd want her to have good opinions of Muggles, so she wouldn't follow in her parents' footsteps."

His voice took on a frowning tone lacking the thoughtful aspect of Jamie's earlier. "I don't think she knows, though . . ."

"Then we need to tell her. She deserves to know the truth." Jamie stated simply, then made a disgusted noise. "Maybe if Dumbledore had known I was a Snape, I would have gotten similarly preferential treatment. Or at least checked up on, every now and then."

Snape made a mental note to have a talk with the Headmaster. And opened his eyes. Polished wood ceiling, very high above him. Still the library, then. Although why he had been crammed into this rather uncomfortable little niche . . . he squeezed himself back out, standing and brushing (mostly) imaginary dust from his sleeves.

"Severus, you're awake!" Meet Draco Malfoy, Master of the Obvious.

"I think he realizes that." Jamie said in a sardonic tone, much like his own, as their eyes met, father to son, for the first time. He stood as well. "Shall we continue this somewhere more private? Say, the Survival room? I'll go on ahead." A smirk. "It would just destroy my reputation to be seen with 'slimy Slytherins' such as yourself." He buffed his fingertips on the front of his robes.

"Oh, like you're one to talk about slime, Mr. 'I-look-like-I-haven't-washed-my-hair-in-weeks'." Draco quipped.

The smirk disappeared for a brief moment, being replaced by an uncertain sort of expression, before the confident show returned as he flipped his ponytail back over his shoulder, a mischievous smile playing over his lips. "Well, now I know where I get it from."

With a wink in Snape's direction, he turned and meandered away from the alcove as if he hadn't a care in the world.

Draco waited a minute or so, then turned to his godfather. "All right, shall we go, Professor 'I-look-like-I-haven't-washed-my-hair-in-weeks'?"

"Not funny, Mr. Malfoy." Now, if only his lips weren't twitching. Purely a small muscle spasm, of course.
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"What are your intentions toward my son?"

Draco stifled a laugh, turning it into a hasty cough. When he answered, his voice was serious, though he couldn't keep his lips from twitching. "Entirely platonic, I assure you. Sheez, the number of people who think we have something going on, I swear . . ."

"I rather don't think that's what Professor Snape has in mind." Jamie noted from a bit further away (though his lips were also twitching), perched on a desk. He began to swing his legs, going on in a deceptively offhanded voice, "I think he meant something more along the lines of 'Are you planning on kidnapping him and turning him over to Voldemort, like the good little Malfoy-spawn you are?' "

"Harry . . ." The two native Slytherins growled as one.

Swing, swing. "Well? Wasn't it?"

Draco rolled his eyes and turned his attention back to his professor. "Why should I tell you anything? If I have turned to the Light side, you're still a Death Eater. And whether or not you're my godfather, that means that I can't trust you."

"You know, you just as good as admitted that you have turned."

"Shut up, Snape-spawn."

"So I guess it's a good thing for you that he is a spy. Traitor. Whatever."

"Shut up, Harry."

Jamie rolled his eyes, throwing his arms up into the air. "I give up. You two are acting too much like Gryffindors right now. You're both on the same side. Get over yourselves already."

"And Professor Snape? I appreciate the gesture, don't get me wrong, but I don't really need to be protected--especially not from Draco, of all people. I've spent over fourteen years" you'd be surprised to know how much over "without a father figure's protection; I think I can live without it now."

"I . . ." Snape looked like he was considering being angry, then abruptly deflated. ". . . I know. I'm not very good at this 'father' business, you know?"

Jamie's annoyance dissipated completely. It was obvious that he was trying, even if he wasn't necessarily doing a very good job. Or perhaps he was just doing too good a job--the number of people his age he had heard complaining about their parents, after all . . .

"Hey, you're alive and you care. That puts you one up on any other father-figure I've had so far." He shrugged. "Besides . . . what makes you think I'm any better at being a son?"

"I'm still willing to make a try, anyway . . . if you don't mind."

"I can think of few things I'd like more." There was disturbing moisture gathering at the corners of Snape's eyes, though he certainly couldn't come up with a reason why.

"Like Voldemort's head on a platter?"

"Mm . . . Appealing. Very appealing. But I think it would be a bit messy."

"And Harry isn't?" Draco ducked the swing directed towards him. "I know, I know. 'Shut up, Malfoy-spawn.' "

The faces under two nearly identical mops of greasy black hair grinned at him. "Precisely."
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"So when am I going to get to meet 'Harry Snape'?" Draco was the one perched on a desk, legs swinging, this time around. "You could be resorted, and then you'd be in Slytherin in the eyes of the world, too, instead of this sneaking-around-secretive business."

Jamie's eyes went unfocused. "You have no idea how appealing that idea is to me . . ." He hummed. "Unfortunately, at least until Voldemort is permanently defeated, 'Harry Snape' does not--can not--exist."

"What? Why not? You're not pulling an Evans and refusing to face reality, are you?"

Jamie snickered at the description. "No, Draco, I'm not 'pulling a Lucia'. But since this blockhead" he jerked a thumb in the direction of his father "is determined to continue spying, I refuse to do anything that might destroy his cover. Voldemort knows he doesn't have a son, so if I suddenly materialize, he'll be more suspicious than he was already--not a good thing--and accuse Professor Snape of lying--definitely not a good thing."

"Besides, there's only one person I could be the son of, due to an oddity of the Snape line--which means I could only be one person, the one people know as 'Harry Potter'. So as proof of his loyalty, he'd be forced to bring me in, though I don't think Voldemort would make him dispose of me himself. Poor Voldie's a little obsessed with killing me himself to be willing to delegate the responsibility."

"And finally, even if, by some huge stretch, Voldemort didn't figure out that I--that Harry Snape and Harry Potter--were the same person, he has already made his feelings abundantly clear on the subject: 'Better no heir than a tainted--in other words, part Muggle-born--one', I believe he said." He turned his head to look at Snape, silently requesting verification.

The Potions Master nodded. "Much as I hate to admit it, Harry is entirely correct. Telling the truth, at this point, is just too dangerous for everyone." A disturbed look came over his face. ". . . How much did you see, last night?"

"All of it, I think." Snape flinched, as if struck. "Unfortunately, I think it was probably pointless, as--if I remember and have conjectured correctly--he already knows. But, not knowing that . . . as you couldn't have, which is my fault for forgetting to tell anyone . . . you did what you could. And I don't blame you for it."

His eyes were entirely green, even the black rim having temporarily been driven away. "I don't blame you, and I sincerely doubt Blaise would have, either."

Draco sighed quietly. Just when I finally begin to think I've got a handle on everything that's going on . . .
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Jamie was not terribly surprised when Cho cornered him in the hall after classes the next morning--though he hadn't realized that she had learned his schedule that well. He went relatively willingly with her as she dragged him through the hall in the direction of--where else?--the Survival room.

"So . . . Professor Snape didn't look too beat up, I noticed . . ." She hinted.

Jamie laughed. "Nah . . . I made sure not to bruise him anywhere it would show."

Cho eyed him, waiting entirely too long before finally coming to the decision that he was joking. "Ha, ha." She stated dryly. A pause. Impatiently, "Well?"

"Tell me, Cho, who do I look like?"

She seemed to be giving careful consideration to this question. "Eh . . . I believe you look like Harry Potter, to me."

He resisted the urge to smack his forehead. Funny, Cho. Ah, well, it seemed like he'd have to hint a little more obviously before he broke down and just flat told her. Gathering himself up (who invented malnutrition, anyway? Whoever linked it to height should be shot . . .), he stuck his best sneer on his face and, in a disdainful voice, said "A point from Ravenclaw for your cheek, Miss Chang."

The obtuse girl started clapping. "Bravo, Harry! Truly, a masterful performance--that was Snape to the life! Why, you even almost looked . . . like . . . him . . ." Ah. The light had finally dawned. "You look like Snape." It was not a question.

"So I do." Jamie noted, leaning--well, really lounging--against the wall. "Odd, no?"

She walked up, reached over his shoulder, and (before he realized what she was planning on doing) yanked his ponytail, bringing them nose to nose. "Cut the crap, Potter. Why?"

Remind me never to get her seriously mad at me. "That's Snape, though I'd appreciate it if you didn't go around telling everyone."

Her grip loosened as her eyes widened, and with a toss of his head he freed his hair entirely. "Really? You're his son?!"

Jamie smirked. "Don't you just love the universe's sense of dramatic irony?"
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Draco was so close to solving the last problem in his Arithmancy homework set, he could taste it. Then, just as the inspiration arrived, it equally quickly departed as a smallish, ordinary-looking brown owl flew in through his window and deposited itself belligerently on his desk. Right in the middle of his homework papers--the ink on some of which, he might add, was still not quite dry.

"Hullo, Aurora." He sighed, resisting the urge to begin massaging his forehead. He could feel a headache coming on. He carefully untied the message. "Why don't you go on back up to the owlery and rest a bit. You know I don't usually need you to send answers, but just in case . . ."

She fluffed up her fingers, hooted softly, and flew back out, as he unfolded the single piece of paper with hands that--he was displeased to note--shook slightly despite all his efforts.

7:00. Joe's. Don't be late. ~L.

Joe's . . . a relatively neutral meeting place. So he's inclined to cut me some slack . . . either that or he feels his position is so strong that he can afford to give me some slight advantage. Draco couldn't quite decide whether this was a good thing or a bad one. After all, he had a few hidden advantages of his own, so he would be in a better position than his father expected . . . but he had no idea by how much.

The piece of paper would, of course, be a time-activated portkey; at least Draco couldn't see any reason why his father would depart from the established way of doing things at this point in the game. Especially since it had always worked quite well before. He carefully folded it back up and placed it in a very prominent position on top of a stack of books, where he'd be unlikely to absentmindedly forget it.

As if he could . . .

On second thought, that headache he had felt coming on was already here. Looking at the clock, he noted that he had a couple of hours left. Perfect: if there was one thing that his father had taught him that had stuck, it was that clothing did manner in some circumstances, and the way you dress could provide a certain advantage even if the other person knows what you are doing. And against his father he'd definitely need every advantage he could get.
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This was the first time he had seen his father through Lucifer's eyes as well as his own; it was amazing what a difference it made. His father looked tired, though he was doing a good job of hiding it. Worn out. It was . . . even with his additional sense of experience (he knew he had had it, even if he no longer remembered the exact experiences), it was scary to finally realize that his father was not some sort of immortal demigod; that he was just as human as anyone else. "Father."

"Son." The silver-haired man waved to the seat across from him. "Please, sit."

With a lithe grace that had been tirelessly taught, Draco flowed into the seat and picked up his menu. "I do not have permission to be other than at Hogwarts, you understand, so this meeting should be short. Before I am missed." Hopefully, before Harry came looking for him.

"A year ago, you would have said that as if it were a good thing . . . or, more likely, not considered it at all." An elegant raised eyebrow. "Three months ago, even. You have indeed changed."

Draco laughed softly. You have no idea how much, Father. "Indeed." He looked up. "The broiled salmon, I think, and a glass of water."

"The same." Lucius ordered, shortly.

When his water was brought back to him, he nodded slightly, said "Thank you", and sipped.

The eyebrow had lowered, but his father's eyes had only grown more piercing. "Indeed." He echoed softly. "I have received . . . news. News which I wish to discuss with you."

He's heard about the bonding! Even as his stomach tightened with sudden fear, Draco forced his face to remain calm as he sipped again, schooling his expression to one of pleasant patience.

"Our Lord has informed me of a very . . . disturbing rumour he heard from one of your fellow classmates. It seems that you have been bonded to the Potter boy . . .?" Though it was a statement, the way he trailed off made it a rather delicate question.

If he was going to break with his father, better it be done now. "Your Lord, father. Yes, your 'rumour' is indeed true." He lifted his chin, looked his father straight in the eyes, and congratulated himself for not flinching.

"So." The word was drawn out into a long hiss. "I had thought, upon hearing that Potter had become a Slytherin, that you had been intelligent and crafty enough to pretend to set aside your long feud and draw him over to our--" a deliberate pause "--excuse me, my side. But it seems that he has turned you instead." The disappointment in his eyes was real, and it hit Draco like a blow to the gut. What better proof that, despite everything that had come between the two, he still genuinely loved his father? "I never thought to see my heir become one of Dumbledore's lapdogs."

"I may not follow you anymore, Father, but until you disinherit me, I am still a Malfoy. And a Malfoy is no one's lapdog. I am on no one's 'side' but my own . . . and Harry's." A thought. "And, I suppose, the side of 'Good', whatever that means. I think it's more or less a null value, myself."

"I see." The disappointment had faded to a vague sadness. "You know what that means: now you will be targeted as much as, if not more so, than Potter, for the pain your death or torture would cause him. And however much I argue, I will most likely be one of the ones doing the targeting."

And there it was, the ultimatum. His last chance to back down, convince his father that he had been kidding and the informant had been lying. No. "And you ought to know what it means as well, Father: I will do my best not to kill you, out of some sense of filial respect, I suppose. But if it comes down to it, I will choose Harry over you; I am willing to defend him with my life if necessary, as I know he would be willing to defend me with his. Perhaps I shouldn't presume, but . . . don't cross me. You might be surprised at the result." The long knife resting, invisible, against his back pulsed briefly in time with his heartbeat.

Somehow, in the charged atmosphere that was causing waiters and other patrons alike to give their table a wide berth, all the food had been eaten. As one, the two of them stood, and in a move that was even more unexpected to Lucius than it had been to himself, Draco grabbed his father in a fierce hug.

Theirs had never been a terribly tactile family; nearly all the hugs he had received when he was young had been from his mother, and even those had gradually tapered off as he grew. But . . . just this once . . . he felt justified in indulging in this display of weakness.

His father's eyes were confused. "Why?"

Why had he? It was a hard question, until he realized that he already knew the answer. "Because . . . this probably will be the last chance I have. The moment we walk out the door, we'll be enemies, sworn to kill each other."

Tentatively, his father began to return the hug--which brought Draco to the abrupt realization that perhaps his father was no better at this sort of thing than he. "I suppose I can accept that." Lucius said softly. "I will regret killing you more than any other, I think."

"You may not be following the path I chose for you, and for that I can not pretend to be anything but disappointed. But you have shown me that you can forge your own path with the honor of a Malfoy. I am proud of you."

"Now that we've determined to kill each other, I suppose I shouldn't admit how good that makes me feel." Draco smirked, reluctantly releasing his father. "But then, since when have we Malfoys ever acted normal?"

"Too true, my son." An identical smirk on a nearly identical face. "All too true."

They shook hands, the hug now out of sight but still on their minds. Though being Malfoys, neither was willing to admit that, of course. "Until we meet again."

Lucius raised his hand in farewell, a goodbye that went beyond this momentary parting to encompass, as well, his sincere wish that they never would meet again. Because once they did, only one would walk away alive--a far more permanent parting than any earthly one.

Draco raised his hand as well, passively watching with hooded, sad eyes as his father blinked out of existence, and knowing that he, too, hoped that they would not meet again.
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"Happy Sixteenth." Jamie grinned as Draco blew out the candles. "I hope you'll excuse me for not getting you another gift, considering the way you inconsiderately insisted that I give my original gift to you ahead of time."

"Hmpf. You shouldn't have kept it to yourself even that long." Draco sniffed.

"You know, giving me the cold shoulder won't work too well. Just think, then then only person you'd be able to talk to would be Severus!"

"You say that like it's a bad thing." Severus gave Jamie the evil eye, to which the younger Snape simply retaliated with an extraordinarily realistic imitation of the Snape Smirk.

Meanwhile (hiding a smile at the good-natured bickering between father and son), Draco had been cutting the cake. He shoved plates in each of their directions and dug into his own piece with a vengeance. "Merlin, Sal! Which of the house elves made this beauty? D'you think Dumbledore would mind if I . . . borrowed . . . him?"

Snape took a cautious bite himself. "I'm afraid you're out of luck, Mr. Malfoy." He said in a mock-sorrowful tone. "You see, as faculty, I have precedence over a mere student, so I will be the one doing the borrowing."

Jamie, whose face and tips of his ears had been growing steadily redder, ducked his head and took a small bite of his own slice. "Damn. There's still a bit too much vanilla, and it's a bit crumblier than I expected . . ."

"You made the cake?" Both Slytherins wore more-or-less the same poleaxed expression, although it was Draco who had spoken. The blond shook his head a couple times, violently. "You can cook?!"

"It's a useful ability to have." Jamie shrugged. "Though I must admit, my specialty is more along the lines of breakfast foods. 'Specially pan-fried bacon." He couldn't help an inward grin at Draco's reaction. Or, more specifically, that part of him that was Lucifer. Salazar's 'abilities' in the kitchen had been notorious, to say the least.

Of course, what few people realized was that, while not a world-class cook, Salazar had been at least decent. He just had never really enjoyed cooking . . . and knew that if he admitted to being able to cook edible food, he'd be roped into doing so. So he'd faked disasters that put Neville during Potions class to shame.

A rather 'Slytherin' thing to do, he thought.

Noticing that they were still looking at him, he passed through deep red into fuschia. Searching for an excuse to get the attention away from himself, he finally said weakly, "What about your other presents, Luce'?"

The Look they both gave him showed that both knew exactly what he had done, and most likely why--they were Slytherin, after all--but it seemed that this time, they'd let it pass. "Right." Draco finally replied.

Severus nodded. "Mine is the . . ." he trailed off as he got a good look at the pile beside the bed. ". . . only one?"

Draco's mouth twisted. "News travels fast, it seems." Jamie laid a hand on his friend's arm--he knew all too well, after all, what it was like to be shunned because of events out of one's control. But Draco shrugged off the offered consolation, though the saddish look in his eyes remained. "Not that I've ever gotten all that many presents from my fellow Slytherins. We may be a group that puts a great deal of emphasis on solidarity, but deep down, most of us are pretty much loners, after all."

He turned to Severus. "You should be happy. Fewer presents means a shorter party, which means more study time for our test on Tuesday." He quipped, and moved over to pick up the rather large, unwieldy package. As he got a better look at it, his face slowly brightened. "Is this what I think it is?!"

Wrapping paper flew everywhere, and Jamie laughed. "It's like watching a five-year-old." He observed quietly.

"Just don't let Draco catch you making that comparison." Severus replied, just as quietly, but with a fond/amused light in his eyes that showed his agreement.

"Too late." The blond grumped halfheartedly as he held his newest acquisition up to the light. "Wow, Severus! A brand-new Ruby Flame?!" Over the summer he had (embarrassingly enough) managed to crash himself into a tree, badly damaging his old broom but managing to escape with little more than a few cuts and scrapes, himself. It was still flyable . . . barely. Needless to say, he had not been looking forward to trying to compete in Quidditch with it.

"No." Jamie answered dryly. "He bought one of the newest brooms on the market at a pawn shop." Severus watched the two interact, amused. "Oi! Watch where you're swinging that thing!"

Draco obligingly stopped, leaning against the broom with a very smug look on his face. "With this baby, I'll finally beat you to the snitch."

"Quite easily, considering that I'll be watching from the stands from now on. So you'll be competing against Lucia, probably, not me."

Draco pouted. "But that takes all the fun out of it! How could you quit Quidditch?!"

"I'm still just enough of a Gryffindor that I feel it's unfair for me to be on the Gryffindor Quidditch team when I'm rooting for the other side."

"Well, just because you're a Slytherin now, don't think you're getting my place." Draco hugged his broom possessively.

"Wouldn't dream of it." Jamie's lips twitched. His head jerked. "What's that?" A moment later, a black owl flew into the room through Draco's open window, deposited a small box, and flew back out.

Trepidation making his movements seem unnaturally stiff, Draco slowly opened the box, making an involuntary sound of surprise. "Father . . ."

Reverently, he began emptying the box of its contents, moving around the room and placing each item in an appropriate place. He shook his head. "He shouldn't have . . ." Figurines, clothing, a tiny toy broom, a book on runes that (Jamie was fairly sure) was not on any of the textbook lists, one that made Draco blush slightly. All the little sorts of things that personalized a room; the sort of thing that Jamie had never really had.

"He disowned you, didn't he." Otherwise, why would all these little things, the sort of thing that generally stayed at home while mostly only the necessities were brought to school, have been sent here?

"Not . . . precisely." A small blue blanket, slightly ragged around the edges, was picked up and placed, gently, folded, on the edge of the bed. "I am still legally a Malfoy . . . but we have agreed that, now that my changed allegiance is relatively common knowledge, it would be . . . unwise . . . for us to be around each other anymore."

He brushed off his hands and stood, turning around. "That's about it, I think. Interesting . . . there were several things hidden, in spots I could have sworn he didn't known about . . . but I think he still managed to find it all."

"Luce' . . ." Jamie reached, knowing his friend wasn't taking this all nearly as calmly as he seemed.

"It's nothing, Sal. I . . . I'm actually quite happy! I hadn't expected Father to be so considerate as to send me all my things . . . now that I have them here, it's almost like home!"

"Luce . . ."

"And on top of it, I have a brand new broom! With you out of the way, Slytherin is almost guaranteed to win the Quidditch Cup."

"Luce' . . . shut up. Are you even convincing yourself?"

The blond collapsed bonelessly to the floor, holding his head between his hands. "I didn't expect it to . . . hurt . . . this much." He admitted quietly, voice slightly muffled. "Everything has turned out for the best, in the long run . . . no one else has died . . . I should be happy. I shouldn't be wishing there was some other way . . ."

"He told me he was proud of me, you know . . . for standing up for my beliefs, even if they don't match his . . . proud that I was acting as a true Malfoy. And now, if I ever see him again, I'm supposed to kill him . . . or simply capture him, knowing that if I do he'll either be sent to Azkaban, Kissed, or find a way to talk his way out of it, escaping to continue to aid Voldemort."

"And what scares me the most is . . . I'd do it. For you, Harry, I'd be willing to kill my own father, or to send him to a fate worse than death. My father. What kind of monster am I?"

Jamie scooted over, tentatively putting his arm around Draco's shoulders and squeezing softly. "You're no more a monster than the rest of us around here, just a very loyal friend and son who's being forced to make a choice no one should have to make."

He laughed a little. "I'd say that I'd choose you over Uncle Vernon in a moment . . . but then, I'd choose a flobberworm over Uncle Vernon any day. Severus . . . would be a lot harder." He flicked a glance in the older man's direction. "But I think it would still be you . . . though I am extremely glad that I will probably never have to make that choice."

Another quick glance. "And I'll bet that Severus would be willing to stand as father to you, if you want that sort of figure back in your life, if you were to ask him."

The Potions Master nodded firmly. "With the greatest of pleasure. I'm already your godfather, after all."

Draco let out a shaky sigh, raising his head at last. No tears streaked his face, though it was slightly more pale than the norm. "Thank you . . . both of you. I hate to think how I would have coped if I had been alone . . ."

"You wouldn't have been for very long." Jamie replied promptly. "Because I would have felt the distress you were broadcasting, come found you, and knocked some sense into you then. Though I might not have thought to bring Severus along."

"So nothing much would have changed." Severus supplied, a bit more sharply than he had meant to, due to the fact that he still felt useless.

Draco shook his head. "Well, thank you anyway." He stood, stretched, and put on a smile that didn't look too faked. It was obvious that he was at least beginning to return to equilibrium. "Severus? Thanks for the offer, but I think I'll stay your godson for now."

He flipped his head, for once wishing he had hair as long as the other two. " 'Draco Snape' is just so not my style."
**
***
**
"Will you come with me to the Halloween Masquerade?"

Hermione looked up into her best friend's eyes and closed her book with a sigh. "I'm sorry, Ron, but . . ."

"I'm 'a day late and a dollar short' again, aren't I." Ron deflated into a chair across from her. "Phoo. Well, at least this time I didn't have to have it driven into my head that you really are a girl before it occurred to me to ask."

Hermione had to grin at that. "Hey, you're making progress! That's something . . ."

"Are you willing to tell me who you're going with, this time?" He asked, not really expecting a positive answer.

Unexpectedly, Hermione blushed. "Katie asked me. She and Alicia broke up--pretty badly too--just recently, and I walked in on her when she was still pretty distraught over it and . . . well . . ." She looked worried. "You don't hate me now, do you?"

Ron reached over to rap her on the head. "Are you kidding? It would take me a great deal more than that to hate you. You're my best friend." A profound look came over his face. "You're my best friend." He repeated slowly. "When I think about you, I think of you as a friend, not a girlfriend. And I think I have for a while now . . . so why haven't I noticed until now?"

Hermione smiled. "To tell the truth, I'm relieved . . . I really didn't want to break your heart, you know, because I'd do rather a lot to avoid causing you pain intentionally. I felt the same way, until I started noticing my attraction to Katie." The blush was back, though lighter.

"I think we got together because that was kind of what was expected of us. It's only natural that, being so close, at least two of the three of us would pair up. And--truthfully--even before Harry became so distant, can you really imagine either of us with him?"

A look appeared on Ron's face that was trapped somewhere between disgust and horror. "No. That's just . . . wrong, somehow. Even if I weren't 100% straight, Harry's just too . . ."

"Harry." Hermione finished in perfect accord, as if that word explained everything. And maybe it did. "So, if you believe in such things, we were almost 'destined' to be together . . . yet we're really not alike enough to stay together. But neither of us really realized that, so we kept on drifting apart (in the romantic sense of the word), without really acknowledging the fact that we had."

"So once we had it shoved in our face, it seemed like an abrupt change." Ron nodded. "Thou makest sense, as always."

"Why thank thee, kind sir." Hermione swept an imaginary curtsy.

". . . Just spare me the psychoanalysis, next time, okay?" He rubbed his forehead in mock pain. "You've given me a headache."

"I'll show you a headache!"
**
***
**
"This was in bad taste before, and it's in even worse taste now." Jamie pointed out, looking at himself in the mirror. Only the finishing touches to his costume were left.

When he and Draco had gotten together to start planning their costumes, Jamie had expected the other to come up with something more . . . like a pair of elven archers, perhaps--they were certainly both lithe enough to require very little adjustment. Or even their past selves, though no one else would get the reference. He had mentioned his previous idea in passing, meaning it to be a joke . . . and Draco had pounced, expanded the idea, and run with it.

"Don't look at it as a matter of taste." Draco smoothed his robe and fastened on the mask that was the last element of his costume. "Look at is an object lesson." Lucius Malfoy's somewhat deeper and even more aristocratic-sounding tones rang from behind the mask, slightly muffled, but still clearly understandable.

"I know." He cast one last glance over the facial illusion, checking it off carefully with his memory. He supposed, in the end, it was somehow fitting, Slytherin masquerading as his 'Heir'. He smoothed his robe as well, feeling unaccountably nervous. "Well? What are we waiting for?"
**
***
**
The Dining Hall of Hogwarts was a madhouse, the likes of which had not been seen since the spring of '84, when (in the sort of going-away present of which the Marauders would have been proud), Bill Weasley had set up an impromptu rave, which had left nearly every student fourth-year and up hung over (on lack of sleep, if nothing else) and the Dining Hall an absolute mess.

Needless to say, after getting over the initial shock (a matter of mere moments for one who had seen so much as he), Dumbledore had enjoyed himself immensely. There was just something about being around young people at their best, when they threw away all their worries and just acted young. Something special. Something that kept him in this job long past the time even he had expected to retire. It would take a great deal more than mere age to tear him away from his post now.

He panned the room, his slow observation making a certain, limited amount of sense out of the pandemonium, as he spotted costumes ranging from vampires to fairies, from (embarrassingly) himself to at least a dozen Harry Potters to one auburn-haired young man dressed in a colonial-style outfit who had come as Thomas Jefferson (or so he presumed). His unique position as Headmaster, and the extra power and ties to Hogwarts that position brought, as well as his own innate power, allowed him to see deeper than that, to touch the auras of each of these, his students.

There were many rumours and legends about his ability to see through Invisibility Cloaks even without such an aid as Moody's magical eye; it was only one of the abilities that made him seem nearly omnipotent in the eyes of the public . . . yet, like many 'truths' that have their basis in rumour, this one was not entirely so. He could not truly see through Invisibility Cloaks and other such disguises, but very few people even knew to disguise their auras as well, much less thought to. And the auras of his students and teachers were beacons to him, each shining with its own, infinitely beautiful, unique light.

Inwardly, he frowned. There were two auras missing. Draco Malfoy and Harry Potter. He was fairly sure the Malfoy child had not yet become a Death Eater (and, with luck, never would . . . but even he did not hold out much hope on that account), for surely Severus would have told him before now. Even if he had been rather distant, this last month or so--trying both to negotiate with the Ministry and run his personal Order of freedom fighters, each a monumental task on its own, had left him with less time or energy to spare on the school than he would have wished.

Still, even if the likelihood of Harry having been kidnapped was relatively small, the fact that it was those two missing, on the precise night they'd be least likely to be missed, was . . . disturbing.

The doors to the hall slammed open, and almost as if it had been spelled, silence quickly descended as every eye in the hall fixed itself on the two figures standing in the eerie wash of (even magically heightened) candlelight, on the unnaturally pale and rather deformed face of one and the instantly recognizable, handsome face of the other, as he slowly detached the equally recognizable mask from where it had hidden his mouth and nose and drew back his hood.

Not just Dumbledore's eyes, but his odd aura-sensing ability was tuned on the two figures in the doorway, and what the latter had to tell him was very interesting indeed. These two were the two missing, of course--Draco Malfoy as, unsurprisingly, his father (though the fact that he had chosen to show his father in the man's Death Eater persona, something that many knew or suspected, but few had the courage to actually accuse the elder Malfoy of, was quite surprising indeed), and Harry Potter as Lord Voldemort, in all his reborn 'glory'.

No, this was not what had Dumbledore temporarily doubting the truth of what he was seeing. That came from the way in which the two boys' auras seemed, at times, to meld into one, and at other times swirled around each other, entirely at ease simulating a single, larger whole. The way only the auras of two who had been bonded to one another would act. He eyed a rather morose Lily Potter. I think that you and I will be having a talk soon, Severus . . .
**
***
**
Stalking into the hall, Jamie was struck by a sudden feeling of stage fright. He didn't want to do this . . . neither of his personae had ever liked the spotlight. But . . . it was a lesson that needed to be learned. He pointed his wand at random, landing on a girl wearing nothing more than a bikini with a very short skirt and large, iridescent butterfly wings. "You. Who am I."

She quailed. "Y . . . You-Know-Who?"

He sneered, only partly faking. Voldemort was someone to be wary of, certainly--it would be sheer suicide to ignore someone with that much power at their disposal, after all--but the sheer terror displayed (by many others in the room as well as the butterfly girl) was . . . pitiful. "Wrong. Lucius? If you please?"

Draco swept a bow. "My pleasure, my Lord." He could almost feel his blond friend rolling his eyes, though the voice contained not even a hint of anything other than the most servile gratitude. He pointed his wand. "Tarantallegra."

Not even stopping to watch the reaction, Jamie turned again. This time, a middle-aged wizard in ornate robes--almost certainly some famous historical figure that Jamie had slept through. "You?" The other just backed away, shaking his head wordlessly. Isn't there anyone good around here? "Lucius?"

"Furnunculus." Draco had thoroughly mastered the art of sounding and acting bored when casting spells.

And so it went, as Jamie cut a swath through intimidated young people of (literally) all shapes and sizes, Draco tossing out a multitude of curses and charms, none painful but most exceedingly embarrassing (which was, in some ways, more important to such generally sheltered children as these Hogwarts students than mere physical pain, at least at this point in their lives). Nothing the application of a few judicious Finite Incantatums wouldn't cure.

Finally (as both had hoped would happen), someone snapped. A young woman in an elaborately wrapped toga with a tiny owl (a rather impressively lifelike illusion, that) perched on her shoulder rose slowly to her feet. "Voldemort."

Jamie inclined his head in her direction mockingly. "That's Lord Voldemort to you, little girl."

"Voldemort." She repeated, louder this time. "And whoever else you are, let me tell you, this is a very cruel joke, and I won't stand for it. One of our number was killed by him less than a week ago, and now you're . . . parading . . . like being that sort of murderer is something to be proud of." Her face had grown red by this time at the force of and feeling behind her outburst. "Whoever you are . . . you're disgusting."

Now that someone had finally stood up to him, there were growing murmurs of agreement from people too cowed to do anything when they risked being along. Jamie's sneer became more pronounced, a little more real and less pretend. "Ooh, I'm scared." He laughed. "Your disgust wounds me deeply, I assure you. So deeply, I think I'll just turn around and slink away, my tail between my legs."

Distantly, he noted that his stage fright had entirely faded away, now that he was deep into their little act. He laughed--closer to a cackle, to tell the truth--again, strolling forward. "You mean nothing to me, girl. Only power matters--and until you demonstrate that you have any worth dealing with, I won't even bother to notice you. Of course, if I ever figure out that you do have power worth dealing with, I'll probably kill you . . . but that's the way things go."

"Life doesn't care for your grief, your pain, your disgust . . . and neither do I. Life goes on until it stops . . . and it will still go on without you. Learn your lesson well now, little girl, before life teaches it to you in a more . . . painful fashion."

Her face had passed red and was approaching fuschia. "Leave. Whoever you are, just leave. Before I am tempted to deal with you myself."

He sniffed. "Remember what I said? You're not worth my time." He swept the room with his crimson gaze. "None of you are." He deliberately turned his back on the girl--he was almost certain she was Hermione, even more certain she was at least a Gryffindor. And Gryffindors just don't do dishonorable things like stabbing you in the back, at least not without a great deal more provocation. It was safe to turn his back as he stalked away.

Passing Draco, he turned his head only slightly. "Come, Lucius."

Another servile duck of his head. "Yes, my Lord."
**
***
**
"I agree with the girl in the toga. That was disgusting."

It was only one of many similar sentiments, but for some reason it was this particular voice that caught Ron's attention. He turned. "Enough to make me sorry I didn't say anything first. I mean, it's not like You-Know-Who was really here."

There was a black elf nodding along with his words--a dark elf might be the more appropriate way of stating things, considering that her hair was not flat black, but had bluish tints, and her skin was actually closer to charcoal grey.

"We don't know for sure." Her companion, a light elf that was different enough to seem like a photo negative with her porcelain skin and nearing silver-white hair, noted. "Though if he actually appeared, I suppose there would be some sort of alarm system that would be set off and alert the teachers. So it almost certainly was just a couple of students engaging in an extremely unfunny joke." She rubbed the bridge of her nose. "Regardless, he did bring up a couple of good points, even if the presentation was . . . less than optimal."

The dark elf turned to him. "You're Charlie Weasley, right? I'm afraid I don't know the Weasley family very well, but . . ."

Ron nodded, all out of proportion gratified by the fact that someone had recognized his 'costume'. "That's right. Who are you? I know you're an elf, but if Professor Binns ever covered any famous ones, I was probably asleep at the time."

The dark elf laughed. "Who isn't? You wouldn't have found us, in any case, as we're just generic elves. Call me . . . Shadow."

"And I'll be . . ." The light elf cocked her head. "Sunshine sounds just too sixties. Too hippyish. Sunny . . . hm. Ditto. How about Ray?" She sighed, quietly enough that neither of the other two noticed, as she came to the conclusion that no, neither of them had heard her last comment. Either that, or they were intentionally ignoring it . . .

"I like it." The dark elf--Shadow--enthused. "Ray and Shadow it is."

In a rare flash of something resembling insight, Ron looked from one to the other. "You're . . . together, aren't you? I'm sorry, I'm disturbing you . . ."

"Oh, not at all!" Shadow assured him blithely.

"We came together," Ray explained, focusing on assuaging the misinterpretation that Shadow had evidently either completely missed or ignored instead (again), "but we're only friends." A brief flash of . . . something . . . crossed her face. "So, if you want to hang around with people as strange as us" she winked "then feel free."

"Okay." Ron sighed in relief. "Just checking, 'cause, you see, the girl that I thought was my girlfriend but actually wasn't really is coming with another girl tonight and so . . ." A shrug ". . . I guess I'm kinda hyper-sensitized to that sort of thing right now."

"She just threw you over?" Shadow protested indignantly. "That b--"

Ray coughed delicately into one hand while covering her friend's mouth with the other. "We're sorry to hear that. I hope it wasn't a bad break up."

Ron blinked. "Oh, it wasn't a proper break up at all. I asked her, she said sorry, she was going with someone else, and somewhere along the line we realized that we weren't really boy-and-girlfriend anymore, if we even had been to begin with." He shrugged and grinned slightly. "Sadly lacking in mental and emotional anguish, I know, but . . ."

"Get off, P--Ray." Shadow finally freed herself of her friend's hand. "I'm glad to hear that."

Ron smiled. "So am I."

And Ray looked from her friend to the Weasley, shrugged slightly, and decided to wander off and find someone else to talk with. Considering how wrapped up in each other they looked about to become, it was almost certain that they wouldn't be terribly good company.

And it wasn't hard watching . . . Shadow get like this around someone, even if she hadn't really realized that that was what she was doing. Of course it wasn't. Not at all. Ray just didn't want to be a third wheel. That's all.

Really.
**
***
**
"So . . . d'you think they actually learned anything?"

Draco made a show of considering for a few moments. "I dunno, Sal. It's kinda hard to pay attention to a life lesson when you're busy shitting yourself from fright."

"Did they really think I was the real thing? I mean, some of them obviously understood--the Greek girl who finally stood up to us, for one. But really . . . if Voldemort couldn't get here any other day of the year, why on earth would he suddenly be capable of doing so just because of a masquerade ball? Furthermore, if he knew it was a masquerade, do they really think he'd be stupid enough to come as himself?"

Draco laughed. "I get your point. Most people are morons."

Jamie, however, had paused. "I take that last point back. That sounds like just exactly the sort of stupid crap Voldemort would come up with. 'Slytherin's Heir' my . . . foot."

Draco snorted his amusement. "Especially as there is not such beastie." A pause. ". . . Unless, of course, you're not telling me something?"

"Luce', dearest, I'm still getting over the shock of finding out that any of my spawnlings managed to procreate!" Despite the derogatory connotations, Jamie's tone when he referred to his 'spawnlings' was fond, if colored a bit by the shadow of a memory of past exasperation. "Obviously, my . . . descendants" he twitched; despite vague memories of a life of over two hundred years, there was still a bit of the fifteen-year-old boy around as well. Especially when he thought about the fact that he could be legitimately called his own descendant . . . "would have inherited a certain amount of power--I was pretty powerful, after all."

"Second only to Gryffindor." Draco murmured, a hint of a grin flickering across his face.

A sniff. "I still say he cheated. Somehow. But back to my point--I left a few things behind, not necessarily intentionally . . . my Chamber and Xia, for example . . . but no, I did not make any sort of specific preparations for an 'heir' to come in later years."

"Xia." Draco brightened. The basilisk had always been one of his favorites of Salazar's pets. "How about we ditch this joint and go visit her for a while? Not like anyone would miss us." After their sweeping exit, the two had quietly moved around and found themselves an empty balcony; they were still 'part of' the festivities, but it was rather unlikely than anyone would find them.

Jamie closed his eyes. "Remember second year, Draco?" He asked softly. Oh, my beloved pet . . . what have I done? Why is it that every time I encounter Voldemort, I end up losing someone important to me?

Draco winced. "It would be hard to forget, considering my father . . ." he trailed off. "Oh. The Chamber . . . Xia . . . Sal, you didn't . . .!"

Salazar angrily wiped away the tears gathering at the corners of his eyes as he turned away and focused his eyes on the beautiful night; the cold, uncaring stars. Xia . . . I'm so sorry . . .
**
***
**
Ron was having the time of his life. It was as if 'breaking up' with Hermione had freed a part of him that he hadn't realized was chained. Not that he had ever felt genuinely restrained by their relationship, such as it had been, even when it had been at its most . . . real.

But some part of him would have felt guilty about enjoying just being with another girl so much if he had still thought of himself as 'involved'. Once again, 'Mione, you prove just how much smarter than me you are . . .

"Anything specific behind that smile?" Shadow asked from beside him, as she walked further out into the garden and turned her face up to look at the stars.

"Nothing but cobwebs!" Ron replied proudly, and was rewarded by her giggle. "No, really, I was just thinking how lucky I am to have the friends I do." He moved closer to her, tilting his head upwards as well. "My ex-girlfriend, she's . . . a lot smarter than me. It's nice to know that she's almost certain to have the answer, even when I haven't a clue.

"My other best friend, he's . . . well, he's a lot more distant lately. Different. But . . . I know that if I were ever in serious trouble, he'd still be there to pull me out of it, even if we don't do homework and crack jokes and talk about Quidditch together anymore."

Shadow smiled wistfully. "That must be nice. Your ex-girlfriend . . . I used to have a friend like her, too. Of course, when I came here, she stayed back home, and there's really no way to keep in touch. Ray is wonderful; I don't know how I would have survived here without her, but . . . I just want to go home sometimes.

"Your other best friend reminds me of my brother . . ." she trailed off, hugging herself. Glad that he had transfigured his clothes into one of Charlie's outfits that included a jacket, and thinking that she was cold, Ron shrugged off his jacket and handed it to her. For a moment, she stared blankly, then smiled and put it on, though her eyes stayed sad. "He was older than me by nearly ten months, it turns out, though we thought it was a matter of weeks. We always celebrated our birthdays together, we went to the same school together, we got into and out of scrapes together . . . he wasn't just my brother, he was like a twin and a best friend all rolled up into one.

"I miss him. More than I ever thought possible . . ." She shivered again.

"Did he stay home too?"

"I . . ." Suddenly, she laughed. "Yes, you could say that!" And started laughing again. A harsh, bitter laugh, it caused goosebumps to rise all along Ron's arms, an uneasy feeling in the back of his head. Still she laughed, climbing higher until it became hysterical, until it was clear she couldn't stop. The sort of laughter Ron imagined Sirius might have laughed when standing in the middle of a destroyed street, knowing his life had just been demolished as surely as the road he stood on, knowing that the perpetrator would escape scot free.

She sank to her knees, still howling, rocking back and forth. "Shadow!" He called, trying to break her out of it. Reaching out, he paused for a moment. Should he really? Growing up in such a large family, sleeping in the same room with four other boys, he had practically ingrained in him a healthy amount of respect for other people's personal space--especially if given time in which to consider. Was this the right thing to do?

"Shadow!" What else could he do? Decision made, he took hold of her shoulders and shook her, hard. "Shadow, what happened?"

For a moment, her eyes met his. For a moment, they seemed to flash green, a shade of green he had seen only twice before. Her arms flashed out, gripping his so hard that even in the dim light, he could see her knuckles whiten, so hard he imagined he heard his bones grinding together. "He died." She whispered, grinning maniacally. "The curse was aimed at me, but he got in the way. And then he died. Oh, yeah, he's still home, all right. Six feet under!" And the laughter began again.

"Shadow . . ." He was overcome with the urge to commiserate with her loss, to try to convince her that everything would be all right, to take her into his arms and never let her go. None of that would help, right now, though. Again, more desperately, he shook her. "Shadow, snap out of it!"

Somehow, she had managed to bury her face against his chest, but he could still see her shoulders shaking, feel the vibrations. The sound was muffled, now, but she was still laughing. In the back of his mind, something clicked. "Harry!"

And just like that, the laughter stopped. Her head raised. Their eyes met. Hers widened. "Ron . . ."

It was the first time he could remember her actually saying his name. At first, she had referred to him consistently as 'Weasley'; more recently, especially after she helped him on a couple of projects, the 'Weasley' habit had been replaced by a subtle refusal to call him by any name at all.

"I'm here, Harry." He continued to speak, not entirely aware of what he was saying, only knowing that he was trying the hardest he knew how to comfort the girl kneeling in front of him.

For a moment, he thought he had gotten through to her. She seemed to be relaxing, the walls she had held close around her as long as he had known her finally beginning to fade. Then, suddenly, she was struggling to her feet. "Ron . . . no . . ." Her head shook, more and more rapidly. "No . . . this isn't right . . . this can't . . ."

Finally standing all the way, the jacket fell, forgotten, to the ground. "No!" Even before he could get to his feet, she had fled from the circle of light, disappearing into the dark.

"Harry! Harry, wait!"
**
***
**
Jamie didn't know what it was that directed Draco's attention down towards the couple in the garden below; for him, it had been the high-pitched, obviously hysterical laughter that rang through the night. He bent over the railing, trying to discern features.

Then . . . it happened again, the way it had once before, in Hogsmeade, when he had been standing on the other side of the street from the weapons shop. Only this time, he noticed it happening, the way his vision focused and seemed to zoom in on the pair standing . . . no, kneeling now . . . below.

A young, female dark elf; her features blended too well with the night--even with his better-than-usual night vision--for him to discern much more than that. It was from her that the laugh came, as she gripped the other's arms so tightly Jamie was mildly surprised that her fingernails had not drawn blood. The other--Charlie Weasley. Not one of the recognizable faces that Jamie had been expecting to recognize, for, though his job was a 'glamourous' one, and he was relatively adept at it, few students (especially at this age) paid enough specific attention to those sorts of affairs to create such a realistic facsimile.

And then the obvious answer came to him. Ron. Of course. As family, he'd know Charlie about as well as anyone, and Charlie's fame, the glamour of his position and his accomplishments, perhaps even in some small way his physical attractiveness--nothing on Earth could convince Ron that someday he would grow into the rest of his body . . . and that there was a certain charm to the way he looked even now--all the sorts of things that Ron wanted, or thought he wanted; everything that he felt overshadowed by. So for tonight, it was logical that he would step out of that shadow by becoming one of the ones who cast it.

"Any idea who the girl is?" Jamie idly asked Draco.

The blond boy's ears twitched. "No, nor the boy. It's hard restraining my curiosity, though . . ." And twitched again--this time, Jamie was certain he had not just imagined the phenomenon. "Of course, you wouldn't have that problem, considering that they're not wearing anything shiny." He added, insultingly.

"I'm mostly over that, you know." Was Jamie's dignified response. Yes, dignified. No, not sulky. Of course not. "Besides, at least I showed a response. You didn't . . . but then, you've always been something of a kleptomaniac, so I guess there wasn't much left to change."

Draco narrowed his eyes. "Sal . . ."

"Harry, wait!"

Hearing his birth-name, Jamie whirled just in time to see the dark elf dashing away from Charlie into the depths of the garden, and away from Hogwarts. "Harry?" That possibility had not even occurred to him. He sighed. "Luce, cover the fort. I'm going after Lucia . . . before she gets into any serious trouble." Blessing the increased strength, resilience, and reflexes he had gained through strenuous practice in Survival, as well as the memories of knowledge of other ways to react--tested in real battle environments--he flipped himself over the railing, landing relatively softly on the ground below, and took off after his wayward alternate.

Rolling his eyes, Draco grabbed a couple of the vines they had climbed up on and climbed back down that way--a slower, but far more dignified way to go. He strolled over to the Weasley--who was (he, like Jamie, had eventually come to the correct conclusion, even if it had taken him a bit longer to do so) another of the annoying clan, Jamie's former partner-in-crime--and peremptorily offered him a hand up.

"Don't worry about your little girlfriend. Sal's gone after her; he'll have her back in no time."

Weasley nodded reluctantly. "Okay." It was obvious that only then did he get a look at Draco's face. And unlike Jamie, who had switched almost immediately from Voldemort to his secondary costume, his former self, Draco was still Lucius-Malfoy-as-Death-Eater. "You!"

It seemed like he had just blinked; between one moment and the next he suddenly became aware that he was lying on the ground. And his jaw hurt, dammit! Receding sound prompted him to come to the conclusion--again correct--that the Weasley brat was stalking away; no doubt with an unbearably smug look on his face.

With a sigh (that made his jaw hurt more . . . grr . . .), he tucked his hands behind his head and opened his eyes, looking towards the stars glowing directly above him. Damn you, Salazar Slytherin. Why do you always take the easy job?
**
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**
Now Jamie was blessing Survival (and training earlier in life, courtesy of Dudley Dursley and Co.) for his stamina. If there was one thing to be said about Lucia, it was that she could run. He could sense the edge of a large majority of Hogwarts' defensive wards coming up very soon, and he was still only marginally closer to catching up with her.

And as if that wasn't enough, now she was speeding up . . .

He groaned and tried to pump an extra notch of speed into his legs; he really wanted to get back to Draco and the party, not dash through who knows what in the middle of the night chasing after a hysterical Gryffindor. Who was acting like a poster-child of the species, to his mind. Well, except for the whole 'running away' angle.

There went the wards . . . and suddenly, he was speeding up as well. He could feel a pull, a very noticeable one, that gave him that extra speed. Something had caught Lucia, and now it had caught him. And Jamie had a sneaking suspicion that that 'something' started with a V and had the initials T.M.R.

Of course . . . what would a year at Hogwarts be without a life-threatening encounter with the Scourge of the Wizarding World? He thought facetiously. But for once, this confrontation would actually be one of his own choosing . . . well, more than the previous ones had been, at any rate. The pull lessened as he finally caught up with Lucia, standing just behind her and taking deep breaths to get his breathing back to normal.

The dark elf turned. "Who are you, and what do you want with me?" She asked suspiciously.

He tossed a facetious salute. "Yo, Lucia."

"Jamie?!" Her eyes lit up, but then she sighed. "Why is it that every time I find myself doing something even I think is stupid, you're always around? Can't you let me be disgusted with myself in peace, for once?"

He grinned. "But where would be the fun in that?" Then jerked his head back the way they had come. "Now, what do you say we head back to the castle? Or at least get ourselves back inside the wards?"

Her eyes, which had previously been examining the toes of her shoes with every evidence of fascination, shot up to meet his, surprise and a certain healthy amount of worry in them. "We're outside Hogwarts' wards?!" Her hand reached out to grip his arm. "Yes! Let's go back in at once!"

But now it was he who was distracted, as a glint of light from the ground caught his eye. He bent down, unable to contain his curiosity, to pick it up. A . . . paper clip. Nearly brand new, too, considering the way it reflected even just the light of the quarter moon. He nodded. "Yeah . . . let's do."

The pull at his navel took him by surprise, and he could almost hear Draco's voice mocking him. Ooh, look, shiny! Let's pick it up!
**
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**
"Ah, Harry Potter. I was wondering how long it would take before you ventured outside the Hogwarts wards on one of your little . . . adventures." A voice he knew well . . . especially after having used it less than an hour previous. "And tonight . . . how fitting, that the child would die the same day as the parents, if separated by an unfortunate number of years."

Slowly standing, Jamie winced. He had forgotten how much being near Voldemort made his scar hurt. It was . . . bearable . . . but not by much. "Oh, I don't know. I rather prefer the symmetry to my killing you the same night I banished you." His eyes finally fully adjusted to the relatively dim light, he could see Voldemort sitting in a tall, ornate chair. Dark, of course--what in the room wasn't? Even the torches gave off less light than usual, and that with an eerie greenish cast reminiscent of the Killing Curse.

And, surprisingly, alone. "What, no back up? But who's going to clean up the mess that's all that will be left when I'm done with you?"

"Silencio." Voldemort pointed his wand in Jamie's direction and loosed the spell with a speed that caught his reflexes by surprise. He had seen it coming, a definite improvement from the beginning of the year, but he had not been able to move in time. So, sadly, he had to content himself with glaring murderously at the snake-faced monster--who, yes, was still as ugly as ever. And vowing to research into the possibility of wand- and/or incantation-less use of magic at the first opportunity.

The man formerly known as Tom Riddle leaned back into his chair with a contented sigh. "Yes, this is much more peaceful, is it not?" Then his eyes focused on Lucia. "You. Why is it that you were brought along as well? I specifically targeted the attraction spell towards Harry Potter."

Jamie closed his eyes. Was Voldemort a complete moron? Surely at least one of the students had mentioned the existence of an 'exchange student', a girl who looked almost exactly like Harry Potter? It wasn't that great a deductive leap to make.

And then the eyes traveled back to him. "Come to think of it . . . you have the black hair and the green eyes, but you're not Potter either."

Now the silencing spell came in handy, because he had a perfectly logical excuse to merely smirk in the Dark Lord's direction. After a moment's thought, he decided to add insult to injury and drew a cloak out of one of his capacious pockets, swirling it around his shoulders and mentally exchanging congratulations with himself over how well the illusions had remained attached to the cloak--he now looked, as he had earlier, like an exact duplicate of the . . . man . . . lounging in the throne across the room.

"It was you!" Lucia burst out, making as if to advance on him. "That was the most tasteless thing I have ever seen! Especially with Zabini less than a month dead."

Oh, honestly, Lucia, don't you think there are a few slightly more important things to be worrying about? He spared a brief thought wondering just how disturbing it would look as he rolled his (borrowed) bright scarlet eyes. Then smacked his forehead with one deathly pale hand as her anger evidently proved to be the last straw and caused her to lose control of her illusion.

This is one reason why he and Draco had chosen to attach their spells to the clothes they were wearing . . . though, to be fair, he didn't think Professor Flitwick had covered that particular use of charms in class yet. Oops. Voldemort's eyes narrowed. "Glamour . . . and a female Harry Potter?" Lucia's angry gaze transferred from Jamie to the Dark Lord, but she made no verbal reply. "Ah, you must be that new student that my people mentioned briefly . . . Evans, I believe?"

Congratulations, oh Discerning One, you win a prize! Being sarcastic was fun, but not nearly as fun as it would have been if he'd been able to utter the words aloud. There was just something about pissing Voldemort off . . .

Ah, well. Now that Lucia was outed, he might as well show himself as well. He detached the cloak, shoving it back into his pocket, and smiling slightly as he slid back into the familiar/unfamiliar form of a late-teens, early-20s Salazar Slytherin. Touching his forehead with his right forefinger, he snapped thumb and middle finger in his left and, with that trigger, his former self melted away as well. He threw in an elaborate--but obviously mocking--bow in the direction of the throne, for good measure.

"So, I was correct." Voldemort smirked. "What, Potter? No more banter or wordplay?"

Jamie rolled his eyes again. Oh, yeah, I've got plenty . . . however, there is the small problem of a silencing spell . . . And he was not fool enough to believe that Voldemort would take it off before challenging him to the inevitable duel. Hope, yes. Calculate a far better than even chance, yes. (What fool would give their opponent back their wand, if they really wanted to get rid of them that badly?) But depend on it? No.

He began cataloguing his person, subtly sliding his hands into his pockets. His wand was invisible, attached to his bracers--a feature that the man at the shop had neglected to mention (or perhaps never known in the first place), but that Salazar, as their creator, was intimately familiar with. But with this silencing spell still in full force, his wand was pretty much useless. Unless Voldemort let him close enough to shove it up that slit nose . . .

The two main apparatuses of the bracers, where his daggers should be, were still achingly empty. Too bad, too. It would relieve me of a great deal of frustration to shove one of them into the bastard's heart. And twist it. See if he can survive that. Other than that . . . a quill, a small jar of ink that he generally carried around with him and just refilled from from the larger jars stored in his trunk . . .

His questing fingers came across a cool glass object, recognizably a different size than his ink bottle, and for a moment, he froze. Oh, wait . . . that's right. He considered being annoyed at himself for forgetting to put the bottle up before now, but considering that it was the most useful object he had on him (assuming, as he did, the unlikeliness of him getting anywhere near Voldemort's nose with his wand), he supposed he'd forego the lecture for once.

If he remembered correctly, the small glass vial held a variation of the mythical Youth Potion, his father's latest 'detention' assignment for himself and Draco. An upper-level sixth-year potion, he had assigned it in 'commemoration' of the fact that the latest stunt he and Draco had pulled to ruin their own potion during actual class time had gone slightly awry and ended up spilling on him, as well as splashing both the perpetrators. It had been harmless, but Severus was still just annoyed enough ("Do you know how long it will take to clean the spots out of this robe? Couldn't you at least have had the decency to splash me with a dark-colored potion?! How many decent robes do you think I have?") that there had been no easy little 'Redo the potion we did in class--correctly, this time'; not this time.

His hand closed tightly around the bottle. There was no such thing as the Fountain of Youth of Muggle imagining--and wizarding as well, for despite their longer lifespans, they too eventually grew old . . . and were more often than not resistant to that change. This potion was not that well known--or perhaps the better way to put it would be 'not that well remembered'--and practically its only use was as a fairly common part of the sixth year Potions curriculum.

Instead of fixing a person's age, not letting them grow older; or returning them to a useful younger age (such as their twenties or thirties); this potion reverted everyone, regardless of their starting age, to somewhere between two and three years of age. Evidently, although becoming younger was a common wish, somehow, becoming a toddler did not hold quite the same allure. And to add to that, the potion not only had a relatively short life--it held its victim to toddler-hood for no more than about five years, and usually a significantly shorter period of time, before returning them, not to their original age, but to the age they would have been after that time passed, had they not taken the potion--but had a fairly simple antidote.

This antidote was generally taught just after the potion in question (in case any of the students got any . . . bright ideas), at the end of the sixth year curriculum, but was simple enough that even a average third-year potions student could brew it.

So, all in all, it was not a terribly useful potion. But having something smack you in the face when you're trying to cast a spell is rather distracting. And that was if the potion didn't work, for one reason or another. If it did . . . well, Voldemort would probably be a helpless child at least long enough for the two of them to escape. Jamie nodded firmly, no longer feeling nearly as helpless.

When he turned the majority of his attention back to the other people in the room, he was slightly surprised at how little time had passed. Voldemort had evidently decided that baiting a mute Harry Potter was no fun at all (and unmuting him would allow him to give as good as he got, also not terribly fun), and had subsequently turned his attention back to Lucia. She was getting more and more annoyed and angered, he more amused.

Jamie sighed (still silently, of course), reluctant to admit that he sympathized more with Voldemort than his sister-of-sorts in this particular argument . . . but then, he had proven many times over that he too had something of a knack for angering the black-haired Gryffindor. Although he was also getting a bit annoyed . . . now that he had a plan, he was ready to get the 'mortal combat' over with.

For whatever reason, Lucia looked like she too had reached the end of her patience. Her cheeks were a shade of magenta Jamie was used to seeing only on Ron those times his temper got the better of him as she drew her wand.

Voldemort laughed, head tilted back and mouth open, showing a multitude of teeth far too sharp to be human. "Oh, look! The little mouse has teeth!"

Note to self: try to find and capture Wormtail at some point. Jamie reminded himself as he kept a close eye on the Dark Lord, who was also drawing his wand. Not to point at Lucia, however, but to be brought straight to bear on Jamie himself. He experienced a brief moment of nervousness, trying to remember just how much protection Lucifer's abilities as Necromancer gave him against the Killing Curse. He was pretty sure he'd survive . . .

"Avada Kedavra!"

"Petrificus Totalus!"

And with all his might and aim, Jamie threw the glass bottle straight at Voldemort. I really hope that's one of the vials we forgot to put an Unbreakable Charm on . . .
**
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Rubbing his jaw--which, by the way, still hurt--Draco finally stood and began moving towards the doors leading back into the hall. This time, he made sure to remove mask and cloak and put them away before encountering anyone else--especially those who might have similar ideas to Weasley of appropriate ways to express their disgust at his and Harry's little . . . presentation.

Once inside, he milled around aimlessly, exchanging words only with those who bothered to speak with him first; even then speaking only briefly before moving on. Not to put too fine a point on it, he was bored. Although it was nice to not have to put up with being about the same height as most second years for once. Still . . . he hoped Harry would get back soon. Now that he had been reminded, he still wanted to revisit the Chamber; see how much had changed over the millennia.

Even though Xia . . . He shook away the painful thought. And not being a Parselmouth himself, he couldn't get in without Harry. Salazar had once spent a great deal of time and effort on trying to teach him Parseltongue, thinking it would be a useful thing for him to know--and a good way to communicate with almost no chance of anyone else being able to listen in. Unfortunately, Parseltongue was not simply a language, but an inborn gift--ordinary humans, even ordinary wizards, simply did not have the physical equipment necessary to make a large number of the sounds necessary to communicate in the language of the snakes.

As he recalled, they had both finally given up around the time Lucifer, in an effort to mimic Salazar's hissed 'Open', had instead achieved a muddled phrase approximately equivalent to 'Your mother sucks eggs'. Now, he could snicker. It had not been nearly as funny at the time.

"Mind if I ask what was so amusing?" He spun to find a red-haired woman whose familiar green eyes had her tentatively identified as Lily . . . oh, Potter, he supposed. She was looking vaguely cornered, most likely due to the presence of a . . . he blinked . . . human-sized bumblebee. With a long white beard. That was hovering next to her.

He shook his head. "An old memory. Rather embarrassing at the time, but . . ."

"Ah, yes. I know that sort of memory quite well." At the sound of the bumblebee's voice, Draco knew that his conjecture--Dumbledore--had been correct. I'm rather surprised that the man has enough of a sense of shame to be embarrassed by anything, though . . . Was his carefully unspoken thought. "Forgive an old man his memory, but . . . I am not sure I recognize your costume."

Draco swept an elegant bow. Seems like all that training Mother forced me through was useful for something, after all. Who would have thought? "Lucifer, at your service."

Lily had the look of someone who had just put together several obvious clues--in other words, she looked rather like she'd like to go find an abandoned corner in which she could smack herself, bang her head against the wall, or both. "Luce'?"

"The very same." He tipped an imaginary hat to her. "You know, there's something vaguely disturbing and almost hilariously ironic to the fact that you're currently in the body of someone whose legal last name is Potter."

She looked like she had just tasted something disgusting. "I did not need to think about that, thank you. So, this is where the nickname came from? What about Sal'?"

Draco grinned. "Pretty much. As for Sal', I'll let him tell you himself. Until then . . ." He pantomimed zipping his mouth, padlocking the zipper, and throwing away the key.

Lily had a very mutinous look on her face, but also knew enough of her student that she knew trying to convince him otherwise at this point in time would be futile and an utter waste of her time. Just as well, for Draco was no longer paying any attention to her or, indeed, to anything other than a growing pain in his head. Despite himself, he winced, bringing his hand up to cover the center of his forehead.

"Mr. Malfoy, what is wrong?" The bumblebee, if it was possible for such insects to show emotions, was looking vaguely worried.

Lily's worry was in no way a vague or hard-to-interpret thing. "Is . . . Mr. Potter . . .?" It was clear she was trying for her formerly usual venom in association with that name; equally clear that the only people she'd have fooled were first-year Hufflepuffs and Ronald Weasley.

That had not occurred to him, for some reason. He carefully sorted out the sensations. "Yeah, it's Harry's headache. Stupid ass, what has he gotten himself into now?"

This got him a considering look from the bumblebee. "It has been documented that Mr. Potter's scar tends to hurt when he is near to, or when Voldemort is feeling particularly vindictive."

"Harry is out somewhere confronting the Dark Lord? Without me?!" He clenched his fists and began unconsciously grinding his teeth. "He better get out of there alive . . . because when he gets back, I will have the pleasure of strangling him with my own bare hands."

Lily's lips twitched, despite her (still quite apparent) worry. "I believe he got the best of you last time . . ."

A malicious grin. "Ah, but this time he is in the wrong, and knows it. And he's just Gryffindor enough to let me have my way because he knows he deserves it." Cracking of knuckles. "Perhaps I should go visit Filch. Catch a few pointers before Sal' gets back."

A vision formed itself in his mind's eye; he froze as it grew to easy visibility. We aren't supposed to be able to see through each other's eyes like this . . . Was his only coherent thought as he watched Voldemort and the Evans girl emit curses from their wands, watched/felt Harry bring his hand out of his pocket, voiceless, and throw the glass bottle in the Dark Lord's general direction.

Watched as, somehow--is Evans' aim really that bad?--the three met at the exact same point. The jar--I guess it wasn't one of the ones with Unbreakable Charms on them . . . or can the Killing Curse break even that?--exploded. And at the point of impact, some sort of . . . hole was growing. His--no, Harry's--ponytail whipped forward; he could feel the wind sucking him toward the hole, but was able to resist fairly well.

Not so Evans, who had evidently been struck by something coming off the wall and was now flipping through the air directly toward the hole, nothing nearby to catch hold to and slow her passage. Draco knew what Harry was about to do a moment before he did it; knew what a foolish thing it was to do but also knew that he wouldn't be Harry or Salazar if he had not done it.

And to be truthful, he probably would have done the same in Harry's place. So all he could do was hang on to the vision and hope with all his might as Harry braced himself and caught Evans' hand as she came hurtling past; her shoes ending up only a couple of inches from the opening of the hole.

A laugh. "I don't think so, boy." And his/Harry's eyes whipped up to look at an unchanged, undisturbed Voldemort, still sitting on his throne. "This is just too . . . interesting a chance to get rid of you both." A wave of his wand, and one of the pavement stones lifted slowly, then came flying through the air to impact with considerable force against Harry's right side.

Harry doubled over, his grasp on Lucia's hand loosened--Doesn't hurt nearly as badly as the Smeltings stick--Draco thought he heard Harry think, half amused, half pained. In such a position, he was unable to stay properly braced against the now-gale-strength winds and slid ever closer.

Just as he was about to be swallowed, he raised his head and looked in the direction of Hogwarts. Still unconscious of anything but the vision he was wrapped up in, Draco did not notice himself turning to face Harry's direction. :I'm sorry, Draco.: Another heartbeat, and he was gone.

Back at Hogwarts, Draco screamed as his bond to Harry stretched . . . grew thinner . . . stretched further . . . but did not break. He reached out blindly, as if by doing so he could catch his distant bondmate's hand. "Nooooo!"
**
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He hit the ground with a thump, remaining doubled over for quite some time due to the pain in his side--he would not be surprised if he got at least a fractured rib out of this little . . . adventure--and, primarily, to the pain in his head, as the headache induced by his proximity to Voldemort faded but the agony as his bond came the closest to breaking it ever had quickly made up for such lost ground. And then some.

When even that had faded to a (barely) bearable throb, he reluctantly stood and took stock. I'm . . . alive. That was actually something of an accomplishment, considering that he had no idea what that hole was supposed to do. A quick look around established the fact that Lucia was nowhere near him; thus either she had moved on already, or the hole had done something entirely different to her.

Either way, there was really nothing he could do at this point. He slowly turned, meaning to go a full circle, but ending up stopping about halfway through. He smiled as he stared up at the castle, a few lights (but not many) still shining from some of its many windows. At least now I know where I am.

Walking instead of running or even jogging in deference to his sore right side, it took him a bit longer than he expected to reach the castle. Looking off to the side, he frowned briefly when he noticed Hagrid's hut had looked to have a candle flickering and smoke was definitely rising from the chimney. Everyone knew that Hagrid was away, though few knew where (Jamie suspected, but did not know for sure, that the half-giant was probably off contacting his mother's side of the family for Dumbledore), and that Ms. Figg preferred to keep rooms up in the castle proper; the cabin should have been abandoned.

Considering, Jamie finally shook his head. He was tired, sore, mute, and probably not thinking too well. Definitely not in any shape to confront possible trespassers if he didn't have to. Besides, he didn't think the wards would let in anyone actively hostile to Hogwarts--not without Dumbledore's knowledge and permission.

So he turned back, continued up the steps and into the Great Hall, now dark and deserted. Huh. Looks like I missed the rest of the party. Ah, well. Reaching a certain split in the corridor, he stood there thinking for a moment. Gryffindor Tower, or Draco's room?

Draco's room was closer. And if--as he suspected--the blond really had somehow been watching the disastrous scene through his eyes, he'd want to know what happened ASAP. Even if he did go up to Gryffindor Tower, Draco would probably come up there and drag him away the moment he realized that Jamie had returned. Besides, he really wasn't in the mood for the stifling heat of the Tower, anyway.

Reaching the familiar door, he touched the appropriate corner of the door (useful as Draco rarely remembered to tell him when he changed the password, which he did nearly every day; doubly useful as the silencing spell showed no signs of wearing off), walked in, shut the door, and kicked off his shoes without really thinking about it; solely on the force of habit. Rubbing his eyes, he walked the few more steps necessary and collapsed onto the bed.

. . . I wonder how much sleep I can get before Luce' wakes me and starts demanding answers . . .

Carefully rolling over to lie on his left side, he closed his eyes with a finality that said without words that there was no way they were going to open again until morning, reached one hand up to twine in the soft hair of his partner--a tactile comfort necessary to soothe from him some of the continued ache in his heart and mind at the terribly stretched state of their bond, and one that would, in addition, annoy said blond tremendously--and, with a small smile on his face, surrendered himself to oblivion.
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4 June 2003
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me3gogi, Elizara, rebma, Rokeon, Anon, DaBear, Rogue1615, AtieJen, xikum, izean, hp4dm, frizzy, Helena, Hana-chan, LadyBird, Dina (hah! no personalized response for you! ;P), Kateri, rosie, Canis Black, Sailor Hylia, momma-dar, Teiralun, Elssha, I Am The Bunny Slayer, Firehedgehog, ROGUE-sorceress, Carya, LeopardDance, Rebuky, Silver Angel, Crydwyn, myrhfire, Cho Chang, Fate's Child, Uh...., Mikee, Dragongirl, Dodo--Thank'ee kindly. ^^

Littletiger--*grins* And yes, Jamie and Lucia will reconcile eventually. I hope. Though by this point, I'm feeling like I'll probably be lucky if I manage to pull an "agree to disagree"-type truce out of them . . .

Sabrina--Yipe! I meant for him to go back and reassure the Marauders . . . but then I got distracted. Ah, well. At least he told Cho, so it'll probably make it back to them eventually. *sweatdrops*

atalante--I think I answered 1) fairly well in the chapter itself: somewhere between probably and perhaps, but not for quite a while yet. As for 2), well, as things go along, people will start finding out, and as they do, I'm going to do my best to show their reactions. *crosses fingers* Hopefully, I'll do them justice . . .

Barbara--As you probably figured out long before now, no, that's not what I meant by 'half the chapter'. What I meant is, *points upward* see this scene? It was meant to be at the end of chapter 13 (Halloween . . . chapter 13 . . . it's really too bad it didn't work out :P). And then, because I was so bloody determined to squeeze that scene into this chapter (dammit!), this chapter ended up being about twice its projected length. *hangs head* I swear, I should just stop planning things . . .

As for the spell: *takes deep breath* Okay, what I think happened is that Snape saw the baby, whose hair for whatever reason was spiky enough to indicate 'Potter' to him, and did not see any other features that screamed 'Snape'. Thus, he came to the conclusion that the child was a Potter (no, neither James nor Lily cast a glamour on him, as far as I know). Now, the importance to the spell is in the phrase 'his father, James Potter'. As far as everyone knew (including Snape), the two--'his father' and 'James Potter'--would be synonymous. However, when he started growing away from his Gryffindor-ness, he also opened himself, unconsciously, to that part of him that was Snape. When that happened, even though he still thought of James as his father, somehow the spell felt the change and started equating 'his father' to his real father, Snape. Thus, the gradual fading is due to the fact that, as Jamie grew closer to Snape, the 'his father/Severus Snape' part grew stronger and the 'James Potter' part faded away. *sighs* At least, I'm pretty sure that's what happened.

Voldie's not making Snape remarry because he knows that there is an irregularity in the Snape line (which has been referred to once or twice, but not really stressed) that makes a Snape experience 'true love', with the consequence that after that first love--in Sev's case, Lily--they are completely impotent/unable to love (in the 'Eros' sense of the word) anyone else. Thus, even if Voldemort did make Sev remarry, he wouldn't get any heirs out of the deal, so what's the point?

As to the posting schedule: What I try for is a chapter of Mirror every three week and a chapter of Coexistence every month, roughly, which means they do tend to alternate. Though, as you can see, that doesn't always happen . . .

darkhaven--Lucia and Jamie . . . confuse even me at times. I think it's that they want to get along, and at the base of things like each other fairly well, but their personalities are so different that when Lucia is being overly Gryffindor, or Jamie is being overly Slytherin, or one interprets the other as being such, their very basic disagreement over how the world works/ought to work comes to the forefront and they become, as you said, R/Hr on a bad day.

Do you mean the dream sequence? I'm not entirely certain why that vision came to Jamie when nothing else has; probably the fact that he was not only linked to Voldemort by the scar, but to Snape by blood, and Blaise by a sort of friendship (or at least friendliness) gave him the extra metaphysical 'push' necessary to see it. If you mean the conversation afterwards, that was Jamie trying to let Snape know he knew without letting Draco know (because he knew Snape would not know that it was safe for Draco to know), and Snape trying to figure out how much Jamie knew without telling Draco. *grin* Or something like that. Confused yet?

"Bring Me To Life" by Evanescence? I may have to see if I can find that some time . . . now you've gotten me curious . . .

Immortal TigerWolf--Somehow I can't really see dignified Professor McGonagall go spare. *snickers* If anything would do it, though, finding out that Harry Potter was a Slytherin (and Snape's son and bonded to a detestable Malfoy) would probably do it. Jamie will get his daggers long before McGonagall ever finds out, though. *snickers at inadvertent joke only I get . . . for now*

~Mary~--"So much for Jamie and him hooking up.": *smiles mysteriously*

I agree on Snape, though . . . *is saddened* I didn't want to do that to him . . . but . . . *sniffs* As you probably saw in this chapter, Sev' at least noticed the new nicknames, but even he still doesn't know the background story behind them. *evil smirk*

kymscrazy--I'm sorry to hear about your problems with ff.net. As of right now, this is the only place I'm posting this story. I keep telling myself I'll get a website of my own up someday, but . . .