*blinks* Okay, first let me clear something up that has evidently worried far too many of you. That rant last chapter was meant to be a mimicry of the sort of note I might have written if I were actually planning to discontinue the story. But I'm not!

You hear that? No abrupt discontinuation for you! You'll be saddled with me for a looong time yet, methinks.

After that, the next topic I feel I ought to address is the timing. I know I said three weeks, but that's because I'm stupid; I ought to know by now that the only thing I seem to be able to do with deadlines is break them. -_- I do aim at getting chapters to this story out roughly every three weeks (though that may be extended once I hit college this August . . . it's hard to tell yet how great my workload will be), but I don't always make it. Generally I start feeling guilty enough after the three weeks that if I don't make the three-week deadline, it's out within a month . . . but that's not always guaranteeable, either. Especially when I persist at getting struck with writer's "sit-down-at-the-computer-and-suddenly-be-unable-to-string-together-a-single-coherent-thought" at inconvenient moments.

Despite that, thank you all for sticking with me, and I hope you enjoy this chapter as much as you have all the ones before it.

Oh, and Harry Potter et al. does not belong to me. I own Professor Ortega, though!
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~*~Daggers and Mirrors~*~
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**
"Mr. Riddle, would you care to explain to me what it is you are doing kneeling outside a girl's bathroom at . . ." The auburn-haired man checked his watch, ". . . approximately one in the morning?"

"No?"

The professor then caught sight of the body lying prone on the floor beside the Slytherin prefect. "Or perhaps why you've been experimenting with Duplication Charms when you know that you are not supposed to be practicing such magic outside of class?"

Tom blinked, but still managed to catch the opportunity and run with it. "But professor, I am only striving to improve my magical knowledge." Looking innocent. "After all, I feel like I have so much to catch up on, even now . . ." He trailed off, betting that, as they always did, Dumbledore would take the bait.

Sure enough, the man's face softened. "I know it's been hard for you, Tom, growing up in an entirely Muggle environment, but it also gives you a very valuable perspective that not many other wizards understand. Besides, you are the top of your class--I hardly think you need to study any more than you are already."

Tom flashed a quick, insincere smile, ducking his head to acknowledge the complement. Top of my class is not enough . . . not for a half-blood in Slytherin. You old fool. "Yes sir." A deliberate pause. "I . . . there seems to be something wrong with . . . it." Remember, Dumbledore thinks Harry's just a clone . . . "I was hoping that Professor Ortega would be able to tell me what went wrong."

"Well then." The auburn-haired Transfiguration professor clapped his hands, batty expression once more adorning his face. "The least I can do is help you. Especially as you're not supposed to be using magic in the corridors . . ." Had he . . .? Yes, Tom concluded, carefully hiding his expression of disgust, Dumbledore had, in fact, winked at him. "Mobilicorpus."

All right, Harry, please don't wake up before we get to Ortega's office . . .
**
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Arturius Ortega, Professor of Charms for the previous thirty years and Head of Slytherin for nearly as long propped his chin on his folded hands. "I see you've been experimenting again, Tom. If this is supposed to be a Duplication Charm, it is surprisingly shoddy effort . . . for you especially."

The black-haired prefect shot a look at the door before turning his attention back to the nearly identical figure decorating the couch. "It's not. He's not. His name is Harry Potter, and I think he comes from the future."

Ortega raised an eyebrow. "If I didn't know you, Tom, I'd be seriously tempted to accuse you of lying. How would this 'Harry Potter' person have suddenly appeared from the future . . . and, for that matter, how do you know for certain it's the future he's from?"

Tom shrugged, shifting Harry's feet so that he could sit on the couch as well. "I don't know how or why he appeared--just that he showed up in my bed at some point late last night or early this morning."

Ortega's lips twitched. That would have been an interesting scene to be a fly on the wall during.

"As for him being from the future . . . well, I don't have any definite proof, but I know he's not from now, and he seemed to recognize my name, so it makes more sense that he would be from the future than the past."

The student in question stirred, then sat bolt upright. "Lucifer, you moron!" Shook his head.

"What year is this?" Tom inserted swiftly.

"199--bloody hell, Riddle, would you stop doing that?!"

Tom smirked.

"Might I ask what you're doing here?" Ortega interjected smoothly, after overcoming his brief moment of shock at seeing the boy awake. With his green eyes open, he now looked even more like Tom.

Harry winced, and rubbed his forehead. "Getting a headache, evidently . . . bloody stupid Lucifer . . . going off and indulging in some bloody stupid light show the moment I'm not around . . . going to get himself expelled . . ."

"Lucifer is his friend, presumably a fellow fifth-year, and the Slytherin prefect that supposedly inhabits my room in 199--what year did you say?"

"Oh, shut up." Harry grumbled.

"He's a Gryffindor, can you believe it?" Tom noted to his Charms professor. "Of course, being a Potter, he could hardly be anything else, but still . . . the Sorting Hat wasn't sniffing anything funny the day you put it on, was it?" The latter part addressed to Harry.

A tired smirk. "No, I'm just too stubborn for its tastes." Then he suddenly jumped to his feet. "The Sorting Hat. That's it! My god, I can't believe I didn't think of it before . . . stupid, stupid, stupid . . ."

"Think of what?"

Harry shot a glance at the professor. "Nothing, really. Just . . . I forgot about something until just now." A brief nod. "Nice to meet you, professor; thanks for dragging me someplace a bit more comfortable, Riddle, and sorry for collapsing on you like that. Now, if you will excuse me?" He slipped out the door.

Slytherin student and Head of House exchanged Looks.

"Follow him?"

"Of course."
**
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"In the name of Slytherin, I request entrance into thy chambers, O guardian."

The gargoyle moved to the side, and Jamie grinned triumphantly. Thank goodness we programmed that in . . . I doubt Headmaster Dippet has the same penchant as Dumbledore for making the password some obscure Muggle sweet.

He hummed softly as he ascended the stairs to the Headmaster's chambers. It was so obvious, he couldn't believe he hadn't thought of it. After all, he had pulled Gryffindor's sword out of the hat himself; how had it never occurred to him that he might have--and, indeed, had--hidden his daggers in the same place.

Speaking of Gryffindor . . . he tilted his head upward. Sure enough, there he was, the top portrait on the wall--the first Headmaster of Hogwarts. "Hey, God', fancy meeting you here!"

"Salazar?!" The portrait sounded shocked. "What the hell are you doing here? We kicked you out, you sorry bastard!"

Now whistling cheerfully, Jamie flipped Gryffindor's portrait a certain finger. "I've come to retrieve my daggers. And it's the 1940s now, you know. I think any restraining order has long since died an unmourned death."

"I know very well what year it is." His arch-nemesis muttered, sounding vaguely sulky. "I'm a portrait, not deaf and blind." Jamie walked over and picked up the Sorting Hat. "What I want to know is what you are doing here, when I know damn well you only survived me by a year or two at most."

"I was just absolutely devastated by your loss." Jamie murmured, making sure to add in a noticeably mocking lilt. Practically shoving Gryffindor's face in it, in fact--wanted to make sure the man caught on, as Gryffindors are notorious for ignoring or not noticing subtleties. Never let it be said that they didn't learn from the best.

There was actually more truth than he would have expected to those words. Despite being enemies, they had originally been friends, if never terribly good ones: he had felt closer to Lucifer the day they met for the first time than he ever felt towards Gryffindor. But the fact remained that they had fought with each other, as well as against; that sort of shared experience could hardly not create a bond of sorts.

Striving, as always, to have the last word, as he shoved the Sorting Hat onto his head for--what was it now? The third time? Fourth?--he added, "And it's called reincarnation. Dumbass."
**
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**
When they came upon the open passage to the Headmaster's office, professor and student exchanged another Look. "This Harry Potter certainly knows his way around." Tom admitted. "Getting into the Headmaster's office without knowing the password . . . that's pretty impressive."

"A bit too impressive for my peace of mind." Ortega mused sourly. "We still don't know what it is that he's after."

"Answer me, you flea-bitten mongrel!" Came a roar from upstairs within the office itself. The two Slytherins sped up.

"Oh, calm down, God'. Remember, the doctors warned you about your high blood pressure . . . all this excitement isn't at all good for you."

"I remember no such thing!"

"Ah, yes, your memory's going . . . yet another sign of old age."

A gusty sigh. "Oh, never mind. Why do I even bother trying to beat you at this sort of word game?"

The two reached the doorway just in time to watch Harry take two medium-length silver daggers out of the hat and slide them into what appeared to be forest-green dragonhide bracers. With a twist of his wrists, the daggers abruptly disappeared. "Because you're a Gryffindor. You practically live off lost causes."

"Er . . . aren't you a Gryffindor too, Harry?" Tom asked uncertainly. God is a Gryffindor? Aw, crap . . .

The black-haired time-traveller seemed to become entirely engrossed in brushing invisible lint off his sleeves. "That's . . . different." He muttered.

There was a crow of laughter. "You? In Gryffindor?! Wait'll I tell Helga and Rowena about this . . ."

"You just had to go off and give him ammunition, didn't you." Harry pinned Tom with a betrayed look. "Now I'll never hear the end of it."

Helga and Rowena? Oh . . . God must be short for Godric. Tom found himself feeling distinctly relieved that he was not, after all, engaging in an unanticipated religious experience. Especially one in which God was a short-tempered Gryffindor with a bad memory and high blood pressure. "Sorry?"

". . . Are you sure the Sorting Hat didn't break? From being forced to have something like you wearing it?"

Harry rolled his eyes. "Actually, I think it rather took to me. I would have gone to Slytherin, but I outstubborned it."

A brief silence. ". . . now, that I suppose I can see. But why? You know the Hat is not supposed to be influenced by students like that."

All of a sudden, Harry seemed to find something very interesting about his toes. "Well . . . I could have gone pretty much either way, at that point . . . you know the Potters, God', they can't help being Gryffindor."

The portrait hooted. "You? A Potter?! Oh, this just keeps getting better! Still, I would have expected your base nature to overcome such paltry genealogical problems. Why did you want to be in Gryffindor, anyway?"

Harry perched himself on the headmaster's desk, ignoring a squawk from the portrait that sounded like an indictment of Slytherins and their general disregard for authority. Swinging his legs, the thud of his heels hitting the desk behind him set up a steady, soft beat. "Despite being born to magical parents, I was raised for ten of the first eleven years of my life with my Muggle relatives--don't you dare say anything, God'."

"I wasn't going to!" Gryffindor protested. "I still think it's hilariously funny that you're a Potter, were raised as a Muggle, and ended up in Gryffindor (even if it raises questions about the quality of my house now . . .), but I was going to show some self-restraint and not say anything."

Harry raised an eyebrow. "I wasn't aware you knew the word 'self-restraint', much less how to apply it."

More grumbling about insolent Slytherins too enthralled by the so-called sharpness of their wit to know when to shut up.

"That can be a Gryffindor trait, too, you know. At least Slytherins are more likely to have any wit worth speaking of." A pause. Crabbe and Goyle? "Okay, most of the time."

"Soo . . . are you ever going to tell my why you wanted to be in Gryffindor enough to override the Hat's inclination?"

"I was getting there . . ." Harry replied defensively. "How would you say the rest of the school looks on Slytherin these days, Godric?" His tone and the lapse in his use of the portrait's irreverent nickname showed his seriousness.

"Dark bastards, just like you." Came the cheerful reply.

Harry rubbed his forehead. "I'll let that pass. This time. Well, imagine about fifty years from now; there's no war consuming the world, Muggle and Wizarding alike, but a new Dark Lord has arisen--one that attended this very school as a Slytherin." He smiled mirthlessly. "And enter myself, a clueless eleven-year-old, effectively Muggle-born in all but blood, determined to be strong and to prove myself, so that I would not be forced out of this wonderful world I had only just entered . . . and the man who introduces me to the Wizarding world feeds me some line about how all Dark wizards come from Slytherin."

"Plus, there's also the fact that one of the first Wizarding children I ran into, a Malfoy, was extolling the virtues of Slytherin" A mutter from Gryffindor to the tune of 'no wonder' "while his attitude reminded me greatly of my spoiled Muggle cousin--who is up there alongside Voldemort as one of the people I hate most."

"All right, in that case I suppose I can see why even you would be reluctant to join Slytherin."

"Who?" Tom interrupted, a chill running down his back.

Harry sent him a shuttered glance. "No one. Forget about it."

"No, you said Voldemort, didn't you?"

Harry's gaze was no longer shuttered, but cold, an icy glare that sent chills down Tom's spine once again. "Who else did you think ascended to the position of Dark Lord, Tom Marvolo Riddle?" He knows!

Professor Ortega looked from one to the other; from the mysterious stranger who claimed to be a Gryffindor, yet acted far too Slytherin, to the student he had taught for going on five years . . . although, judging from his reaction to what seemed like an innocuous statement, perhaps he knew his Slytherin no better than the stranger.

Slytherins like puzzles, though not quite as fervently as the more scholarly Ravenclaws; yet their definite preference is for puzzles that have a solution. This was most definitely a puzzle, but for the life of him, he could not solve the puzzle these two students presented.

And, being a Slytherin, that inability annoyed the holy hell out of him.

"I take it you're not a fan of . . . him, then, are you?" Tom prodded cautiously.

A sneer. "Hardly." And there was that pause again, the same sort of pause Tom had just used. ". . . he is the reason that, other than my Muggle relations" and here, a look like he had just swallowed something exceedingly nasty "if I dare even dignify them with such a word, my father is the only family I have left."

The boy straightened, and for a moment there was a sense of power, on the order of that possessed by his fellow instructor, Albus Dumbledore, that wafted around him. "But mark my words, Tom. I will defeat . . . him, someday. I've escaped from . . . him with my life five times already, but a time will come when he is the one to fall." He ran left thumb along right gauntlet, musingly, though his eyes never left Tom's. "And that time is coming. Soon, I think."

With the motion, a memory returned to Ortega's mind. "What happened to those daggers I saw? Are they invisible now?"

The boy's face lightened enormously; not only was his curiosity going to be satisfied, but it seemed he had defused what had the potential to be quite an explosive situation, as well. In a lightning-quick movement, Harry flicked his left hand, and one of the daggers slid into visibility as the hilt fell into his palm. "In a manner of speaking. It's one of the advantages of these gauntlets."

He offered the dagger to Ortega, politely hilt-first. "Sorry I ran out of the room so quickly earlier, but I've been looking for these for quite some time, and that comment of Riddle's finally shook the memory loose. I don't believe we've been introduced?"

Engrossed as he was in examining the dagger he had been handed, he replied with no more than an absent "Arturius Ortega, Charms." It was, as it had seemed from far-off, silver--though Ortega had no doubt that the silver had been alloyed to create a stronger material; the imprints in the green dragon-hide wrapping the hilt spoke of long use, yet there was not a scratch he could see on the oddly scalloped blades themselves. And, on the pommel, a silver serpent so intricately carved that it almost looked real.

Of course, that illusion was aided by the fact that it had just raised its head and hissed at him, flicking out a small silver tongue and glaring at him with tiny eyes of sparkling emerald. "Stop that." Harry's voice said, annoyed, as he tapped the serpent on the head . . . admonishingly, it seemed. "Sorry, they're not too good with strangers, and they're set to recognize only those of the Slytherin bloodline." Now that was something he never thought he'd catch himself saying . . . made it sound like he was the paternal figure of a Chinese dynasty or something.

"Oh? You're actually descended . . ." Gryffindor interrupted. "Well, I suppose you do look somewhat alike. Still, who would have thought . . . and a Potter . . ."

Harry cast his eyes upwards. "Oh, shut it, why don't you? I'm descended from you, too, in case you were interested."

"Oh, ew . . ." Silence. Then, hopefully, "Hey, does that mean that I can disown you?"
**
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"Draco? Come on, Draco, wake up . . ."

Snape regarded the still-comatose boy with a large dose of exasperation. Exasperation that soon turned to contemplation as he finally had an idea. "Lucifer!" He barked. "Get up now!"

Well, it provoked a reaction, if not the one he had been aiming for, he admitted as he fell backwards after a large object--relatively soft, so he was forced to tentatively identify it as a pillow--smacked him in the face. Hard. "Salazar Rafael Slytherin, if you don't stop bothering me and let me sleep, I swear I'll--" He stopped around the time Snape finally tore the pillow away from his face. "Erm . . . hi Severus?"

Reluctant amusement. "You know, don't you, that if Voldemort found out that the boy he's been trying to kill for so long is Slytherin . . . reborn, I assume? . . . he'd have a heart attack."

Mischievous grin. "Sounds like it's worth a try, then." Sudden collection, as he realized just what he'd admitted. "Ah . . . I mean . . . I have no idea what you're talking about?"

Snape folded his arms. "That theory might have held more weight if not for the . . . display you engaged in in front of the Headmaster and I two nights ago."

"Two nights? Bugger. I had really forgotten how much that sort of thing takes out of me. Well, that and the fact that Sal' always had a knack for jolting me awake the next morning, whether I was ready or not."

He sighed. "You're not going to let me get out of this with excuses, are you?" Snape didn't even bother to shake his head; a slowly raised eyebrow conveyed all the meaning he needed. "Pity. But I suppose you would have found out eventually."

Draco sighed, straightened into a more proper sitting position on the bed, and held out his head. "Hello. Lucifer Bryn de la Rossi, Necromantic Master, Charms professor at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, and bonded partner to Salazar Slytherin for" a brief flash of humor "a hundred forty-seven years and counting. Well, minus a few minor details such as that thousand-year break and a reincarnation or two."

Eyebrow twitch. "A few minor details, yes . . ." Heavy, of course, with sarcasm. Then a double-take. "You were a teacher here?"

Blithely. "Of course. What, you thought we started the school and then just sat on our hands and let some other poor fools teach? Hardly." His gaze grew thoughtful. "Helga taught Herbology--most teachers of that subject are former Hufflepuffs, I think. Something about its down-to-earth nature, I think . . . Rowena, of course, taught Arithmancy." A roll of his eyes. "Being the Headmaster, Godric didn't teach much of anything--though he cheerfully substituted in just about everything--except Sal's class." An evil grin, as if recalling a decidedly delicious memory.

"And Slytherin . . .?"

Draco grinned, an expression so essentially Draco that he couldn't help but smile back. It helped soothe his fears that, in gaining this mythological figure, he had somehow lost his godson. "Why, Sal' taught Potions, of course. What else?"
**
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"Where was it?"

Lucia paced down yet another long corridor in the dungeons, only halfway aware of the fact that Severus, holding baby Ryuu, was still following her.

"What?"

Lucia whirled, just barely holding herself back from snapping. It was not, after all, that unreasonable a question. She rubbed at her eyes, willing away the fatigue that was finally creeping up on her. "The Mirror. That's how Jamie found me, so hopefully I can use it to get back." To return to my new friends, to the people that need me . . . I can't think of anything other than that that would be my deepest desire.

She had her friends here, too . . . but it wasn't the same. Here she had had her brother, and had been so wrapped up in him that the friendships she had formed had never been nearly as deep or meaningful as the ones she had formed, all unknowingly, even in so short a time, in that other universe.

Yet . . . did the people in the other universe truly need her, or was she only flattering herself? She was a mediocre student, and (in part due to the disorientation and her brother's recent death) an even worse friend. Parvati, she knew, liked her well enough; she was perhaps even her best friend, as she had been to Lucia. But did she need her? Probably not.

But I need her . . . and Ron . . . and Jamie . . . and Sirius who is godfather to me in ways Severus could never be . . . and Remus untainted by that constant burden of grief and self-hatred that mine gains whenever he sees me . . . I need that world, even if that world doesn't need me.

Perhaps it was selfish of her, to so lightly dismiss the duty she had to this, the place she had been born. It most likely needed her just as much--or as little--as Jamie's home world. But here she was dead, to all but Severus.

Time had passed, and life had moved on. Without her.
**
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"Good afternoon, class." Professor Snape sighed wearily, from the desk at which he sat. "As you can see, we are missing three of our number, and are likely to continue in that situation for quite some time yet."

Four, if one counted Blaise Zabini, but the class had had time, if not much, to get used to that loss. Five, counting the Ravenclaw girl who had been Blaise's partner; she had dropped out and subsequently had her memory wiped only a class period or two after Blaise's death had become public knowledge.

"I heard Harry Potter got kidnapped by You-Know-Who!" Parvati heard the whisper behind her, and suppressed the urge to do something drastic to the person responsible--which grew as that remark elicited several shocked gasps and scandalized giggles.

"No way!" Someone else asserted. "If that was the case, he would have kicked You-Know-Who's butt and he'd be back already. He's Harry Potter, after all."

"Well, I heard" Parvati suppressed a groan at the interruption of yet a third voice, "that Harry Evans got kidnapped by a dragon, and taken away to a remote tower with lots of defenses set up by an evil sorceress, and Harry Potter left to rescue her."

Obviously Muggle-born . . . and a bit too fond of fairy-tales.

A breathy "No way!", a "Wicked!", and a few "Oh, isn't he so bra~ave?"s later, Parvati gave in and, with quiet dignity, began hitting her head against the desk.

"Ah, Miss Patil! So good to see we have a volunteer." Parvati lifted her head to stare at Professor Snape, wondering as she shook off the disorientation just exactly what it was that she had just been volunteered for. "This works out quite well. You shall partner Miss Chang for the duration, until our errant students see fit to return. Bronze and goldenrod are close enough hues that you should have few compatibility problems, as well."

She just stared at him. "Well, what are you waiting for, girl? Get up and move over there already. You're holding up class." This jolted her into action, and she shifted over to settle into a new desk, beside the Chinese girl she really knew very little of. Sixth-year and Ravenclaw . . . and she had been Harry's partner.

Harry . . . she resisted the urge to crumple around the pain in her heart, as she had already done entirely too many times in the mere days since the interdimensional traveler's disappearance. I hope you made it back to where you belong . . . and I hope you're happy, as you could not be here.

But oh, how I miss you . . . and I think I always will.

"I miss her too." The Ravenclaw at her side murmured, and her head shot up. Could Cho read minds? As if hearing this thought as well, Cho looked briefly amused, shaking her head. "No, I didn't read your mind. You were just looking so bereaved . . . and I remember you were close to her."

She looked down at her hands. "The way you looked . . . reminded me of the way I felt . . . a little bit after Cedric . . ." She screwed up her face, literally forcing out the last word, "died." Then Parvati was caught in that liquidy brown gaze as Cho looked up again. "Were you and she . . ."

"No." It was Parvati's turn to look away. "If it had been my choice . . . but no. I was . . . a friend to her. A good one, I hope. But never anything more." No matter how much I might have wished . . . Then she looked back, sharply. "But Harry is not dead. I would know it if she were."

"Then . . . why are you taking her disappearance so hard?"

"Because I think I know where she's gone . . . and though she's not dead, she might as well be; where she has gone I cannot follow . . . and I doubt she will ever return."
**
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**
Draco knitted his fingers behind his head, leaned back against the pillows, and sighed; a sound of pure frustration. Where is he? Well, considering the fact that he was staring straight at a clock that showed a time indicating the fact that it was either the middle of the night (hah!) or the middle of the afternoon class--and, seeing as it was Tuesday (unless he had lost more days than he thought while he was unconscious), he knew Severus would be teaching--that answer was intuitively obvious.

Still . . . he was getting tired of lying around awake waiting for his godfather to return. He'd get up and search himself . . . if he didn't know for a fact that at this stage of his recovery, he'd get approximately three steps away from the bed before falling flat on his face. Always on his face; he had never managed to fall back onto the bed.

And before he found a master to apprentice himself to, he had had very little control over his power . . . so he had ended up letting it out in uncontrolled bursts--much like that one in the Chamber, except with even less control--at far more frequent intervals than he cared to remember.

Speaking of apprentices . . . turning his eyes away from the unhelpful clock and up towards the (equally unhelpful, if not more so) ceiling, he pondered what he had seen in his godfather's face that night. He was amazed that he had not picked up on it beforehand . . . or, even if he had missed it somehow, Sal'--who was almost as adept in the matter as he himself was--had not recognized the signs either.

Severus Snape had the latent potential to become a moderately powerful Necromancer. Well, he thought, with an bit of an inward giggle, of course! After all, at least half the school is already of the opinion that he is undead, so why shouldn't he be able to raise them?

He had not realized he was smiling until a familiar voice asked, "And what has you in such a good mood all of a sudden?"

The smile vanished. We need to have a long talk about it, he and I . . . but now is not the time. "I'll tell you later. Where am I?" For the chamber he found himself in was one entirely unfamiliar to him--which ruled out most of the places he had expected to be brought.

"Ah. That." Snape sank into a chair a fair distance from the bed, steepling his fingers as he pondered. "The Headmaster, I'm afraid, is still under the erroneous impression that you are being possessed by Salazar Slytherin somehow. Nothing I can say has shaken that belief--especially now that I believe he is beginning to lose his trust in me as a result of my . . . spiriting you away."

He indicated the room. "This is one of my more obscure cabins, inherited from a little-known distant relation of my mother, a man that I never did like much the few times I met him. That, combined with the fact that it is situated in the wilds (such as they are) of Vermont, will keep him from suspecting that I am hiding you here."

"I'm in hiding? But . . . surely we could . . ."

Snape rubbed his forehead. "Albus Dumbledore is a great man, Draco, but he has his faults. One of them is an implacable hatred of the Dark Arts--for he believes that, without the Dark Arts, Dark Lords and the like would cease to rise. Thus, even if we were able to prove to him that you are not Salazar Slytherin, he would be after you because you are a Necromancer, and he will expect you to be planning on returning Necromancy to the world for your own nefarious purposes."

Draco sighed, looking once more towards the ceiling. "I have been considering it, especially now that I think I can recall enough of the spells to actually be able to teach it to anyone. Not for nefarious purposes, necessarily . . . with any Art, there is good you can do with Necromancy as well, you know." A frown. "Yet . . . it has probably become lost for a reason . . . so do I have any right to try and resurrect it?" He turned his eyes back to his professor. "What do you think, Severus? In a way, it's your decision too."

Snape blinked. "I appreciate that you regard my views as worth incorporating in your decision, but . . . how do you figure that?"

With great effort, Draco propped himself into a sitting position. "Because, Severus, I can see in you great latent potential to become a Necromancer. Thus, if I decide to pass on my Art, you will be the first I pass it to."
**
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**
Watching his goddaughter growling--the third time she had done so since they started this search--Snape felt it was his duty to offer a suggestion . . . for the good of her blood pressure, if nothing else! "Why not ask the Headmaster? I'm sure he knows where the Mirror is, as I've never known him to not know where something in the castle is."

"I'm sure it was around here somewhere . . ." Catching a second wind (or perhaps third or fourth), Lucia paced onward down yet another corridor. "No, that's all right. I'll figure this out somehow."

"You'd figure it out faster if Dumbledore--"

"No." She snapped. "I . . . sorry, I didn't mean to be rude. But . . . he's not involved in this matter, and I don't see why he should be. This is just something I have to do."

She strode up to the next door and opened it, peeking inside. "No--wait! I remember this room." A slightly misty smile made its way to her face. "This is the boggart room. See that trunk over there? In the other universe, at least, there was a boggart hidden there." She looked down at her hands. "We never did figure out why our lighting spell flashed that way . . . or how our Patroni became temporarily so powerful that we were able to somehow banish the boggart with that alone . . ."

Snape's eyebrows raised. Not that it wasn't impressive, but . . . "Why were you using your Patronus in the first place? I was given to understand that, like Lupin, the boggart shifted to the moon for you."

"It still does." She confirmed. "But Jamie isn't a werewolf . . . so when the boggart shifted its attention to him it became a dementor. And we both . . . panicked, I guess." She closed the door again, a moody--and somehow sad--expression on her face. "I dreamed about Jamie for most of the summer, you know? I never mentioned it because I never thought it was really worth mentioning. I mean, a Harry Potter that's a guy? Much less one who grew up in almost exactly the opposite way I did? Seemed just like a random, 'normal' dream to me." Shadow of a grin. "Which I guess should have clued me in on the fact that something was going on."

"It was really great at first, you know? I thought, here was someone who would understand what I've been through, literally like no one else--he had been through most of the same situations, after all. I think he felt that way too . . . we got along perfectly at first . . . but then, somehow, everything fell apart."

She shook her head, pushed away from the door, and started walking down the corridor once more. "We started fighting. Not physically, but arguing. Suddenly, it seemed like we could never agree on anything--and felt we needed to broadcast our disagreements to the entirety of Gryffindor Tower. I love him dearly, but most of the time I just can't stand Jamie anymore."

"I just don't understand him at all. He's a Gryffindor, but he acts so much like a Slytherin that he might as well be one! Furthermore, he and Draco were arch-rivals for the first four years of their schooling, and then poof! Out of the blue he just happens to inform me that the two of them are bonded!"

"Draco's alive?" Snape felt almost dizzy at the thought. "In that other world, he's alive?!"

"Of course. After all, there he was an only child since Father and Mother didn't adopt me, so he absorbed all of Father's teachings and was such a good little Jr. Death Eater that Father never saw any need to kill him." She tilted her head. "He's awful, Severus, only a little better than Weasley--though oddly enough, I think Jamie's actually loosening him up a bit. And I don't think he's going to go Death Eater anymore."

"That was the hardest part." She admitted softly, after a long pause, in which the only sound that could be heard was the rustling of cloth and the soft clomp of their shoes against the stone floor. "Everyone . . . nearly everyone else was more or less the same, but Oniisan . . . every time I looked at him, I couldn't help resenting the fact that he was alive and my brother . . ."

All the vitality seemed to drain out of her; she pushed open the latest door halfheartedly and only glanced in before going to shut it once more. Halfway there, her eyes widened and she swung the door back open. "This is it!"

She rushed in and Snape, feeling an unfamiliar, cold weight in his heart, followed more slowly after. I can't keep her here . . . not only would she never forgive me, but if it got out that she was alive again, she'd be in great danger from her father as well as Voldemort. Especially if he were ever to figure out who stole Angelus away. His eyes blurred, briefly. I can't keep her here . . . no matter how much I wish I could.

As his eyes cleared, they lay upon an unexpectedly familiar sight. "You never told me it was the Mirror of Erised."

She looked back, half a step away from turning to face the mirror. "What else would it have been?"

Now he began to seriously believe that perhaps it had all been a spectacularly unamusing dream after all. "Erised shows only desire, not truth, Harry. It is not and never has been an active mirror. How could you use it to travel between worlds?"

A brief, mirthless smile. "How could I retrieve the Philosopher's Stone? Because that was my deepest, most heartfelt desire. I know the cases are different, but the theory is the same. My greatest wish is to return to the universe that has wormed its way subtly into my heart; if I try hard enough, the mirror will grant to me that wish."

She turned to look at the mirror and, curious, Snape stepped up behind her. For a moment, he looked upon himself and saw little Ryuu in one arm, the other slung around a broadly grinning Harry who actually did, on further consideration, look quite a bit like himself. Leaning against Harry on the other side was Draco and standing a bit behind him, smiling just as happily as her daughter, stood his former wife. That odd blurring sensation began again, as he saw that desire, acknowledged it as a true one, and also finally acknowledged the fact that it would never come to be. But perhaps he could regain that fantastical contentment, just a bit, by raising Ryuu the way he wished he could have raised Harry.

At that point, that desire lost its hold on him as anything more than just a bit of a bittersweet dream, and slowly the mirror silvered, then focused again on an entirely different scene.

"What is Jamie doing in the Headmaster's office?" Lucia muttered to herself.

His attention focused on the two teenaged black-haired denizens of said office, and for a moment he wondered just which was which. Oddly, it was the resemblances to himself that clued him in to the identity of the longer-haired one; not just hair color by any means, but the way he held himself, tiny mannerisms that seemed entirely familiar. "Arguing, it seems."

An incredulous glance back at him; whether for his dryly flippant remark, or the fact that he too could see the scene, he was not entirely sure. "The long-haired one, I believe, is your 'Jamie', correct? Do you recognize the other?"

Wand was drawn by the stranger; 'Jamie' simply somehow pulled a silver dagger from what looked like a pair of gauntlets.

A flash of green light from the stranger, and Snape suddenly realized that a few of the mannerisms of the stranger had been oddly familiar as well . . . and why. "It couldn't be . . ." He breathed.

Lucia had placed her hands against the glass now, as if she truly believed that she could push through. "Tom Riddle?!"
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"I'm descended from Slytherin too, you know."

"Yes, Riddle, I do know. Or would you prefer Voldemort?"

A muffled sound--that's right, Professor Ortega was still in the room.

"I plan to further his aims once I'm out of school . . . I will have great power, but if you were to rule by my side, we would be literally unstoppable."

Jamie was now using one of his daggers to pick at his nails. "Mmhm. Most likely." You know jack squat about my aims, friend.

"So . . . as a sign of our partnership, I think you ought to give me one of those daggers. Two daggers, two heirs . . . it must be an omen."

Sighing, Jamie slid the dagger back into its sheath. "Riddle, where were you when I got to the part where you killed my family and I would rather kill myself than ever join you?"

A slight cough. "I think that last part was more implied than anything." Professor Ortega pointed out calmly.

Tom's face twisted in rage. "Are you denying me?"

Jamie blinked. "Give me a second to think about it. Yes. I do believe I am. Why stop now, after all?"

Quickly--not quite as fast as Jamie could do it, but still quite impressive as these things go--Tom had drawn his wand and pointed it at Jamie's heart. Good thing I loaded these things with just about every curse-deflection charm that existed . . . Jamie, in retaliation, merely redrew one of his daggers.

The Slytherin fifth-year's face was a sight to behold in a twisted sort of way, as he snarled, "If you will not join me, then I will destroy you!"

Jamie snorted. "Been there, done that. Never quite worked the way you wanted it to." A winning smile. "I do believe I'm still here, after all."

A shadowy parody of a grin. "If at first you don't succeed, try, try again. And I will, Harry Potter." Now Jamie realized just how deadly a mistake he might very well have made. "I'll keep trying . . . but since you mentioned that your father is the only member of your family I left alive, let's start with him, shall we not? I wonder if you'll have such luck facing me if that father of yours dies?"

All logic flew out the window. It no longer mattered to Jamie whether the 'father' in question was James Potter or Severus Snape, only that Voldemort was threatening the life of people he cared for . . . again. "Don't you dare." He hissed. "One more reason to rid the world of your presence, Riddle. That's all I need."

"Not if I dispose of you first! Avada Kedavra!"
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"Jamieeee!"

Under Snape's astonished eyes and Lucia's hands, the surface of the mirror began to ripple, first a little, then violently enough that he could no longer make out any part of the scene it still seemed to be showing.

And--as if time had slowed down--her hands were sinking into that glimmering silvery material; her hands, her arms . . . inch by inch, the mirror sucked in yet more.

A brilliant flash of light.

When he recovered his vision, the mirror had returned to its matte silver appearance, and Snape was alone in the room.
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Worst case scenario: one of the portraits gets singed. Hope it's Godric's. The anger still boiled at Riddle beneath the surface, but both Salazar and, to a certain extent, Jamie had a great deal of practice at hiding their emotions; despite the anger he was able to wait patiently as the green light rushed in his direction.

There. As he had hoped but not quite dared expect, he was able to bend that light, collect it until it swirled sinuously around the blade of his dagger much in the same way the ashes of Xia had surrounded Draco. He felt pressure at the back of his mind as the spell struggled to get free; Salazar had found that, though spells weren't technically alive, they tended to take on certain characteristics of their castors--and this curse was imbued with a great deal of Riddle's malice towards Jamie. It strained to get free, eagerly anticipating stealing someone's life.

Not today. He smirked at Riddle while the majority of his mind was concentrated on trying to form the energy still surrounding his dagger into something useful.

"Jamie!" His head shot up as, for a moment, he thought he saw Lucia, hanging there in the air, hands pressed against some invisible surface. Just a moment, and then it was gone.

"Avada Kedavr--" He cursed himself as he heard Riddle's chant; he should have known better than to let himself get distracted by a patently false apparition in the middle of a duel; however unconventional a duel it was. Unable to think of anything better, he loosened his second dagger, sending it flying to strike and dig into the wall only an inch away from Riddle's head, hoping it would startle him into dropping that final syllable.

No such luck. The other boy flinched, but all that did was aim the spell towards his head instead of heart. Still enough to possibly kill him. He raised the dagger, suddenly unsure. This much had been tested before, but not trying to control and harness two Killing Curses at once . . . I need to get out of here!

The green light, instead of driving straight for his head, started spreading out into some odd parody of a shield about a foot in front of the dagger. No longer under any sort of control, the first curse struck out and attached to the second, feeding it; strengthening it as it continued to stretch.

It flashed brilliantly white, unbelievably bright; Jamie, unable to do anything else any more, simply succumbed, falling into the white until there was nothing else.
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He's gone. Triumph surged through Tom, triumph that doubled as he caught sight, once again, of the dagger, still quivering in the wall beside his head. "Hah. Looks like I get one of them after all." He applied a smirk of his own. "That's what the bastard gets, trying to defy me."

He gently stroked the snake's head. But you will obey me, won't you?

Green emerald eyes blinked once, slowly. You are of the line of my masster. I judge you worthy.

Satisfied, he yanked the dagger from the wall. As soon as his hand wrapped around it, though, it began to change. The silvery metal darkened to deepest obsidian; the snake's eyes shifted from emerald to ruby; only the forest-green dragonhide remained the same. Yess. The snake hissed, the sound now somehow more ominous. You are worthy.

He wrapped it gently in his cloak for now; a sheath of some sort would have to be found soon. His eyes narrowed as a sound impinged itself on his concentration and he turned towards the door; he had forgotten completely that his Head was still here . . . "Stupefy." He told the man's back as he attempted to open the door and make his escape.

Then, kneeling beside his now-prone body, "Enervate." He smiled down at his instructor; a relatively gentle smile as he was genuinely fond of his Head of House and Voldemort had once again receded, leaving only Tom Riddle for the moment. "I'm sorry, Professor Ortega, but you know too much." He placed his wand to the man's temple, and his Charms professor's eyes widened, seeing Tom Riddle as exactly what he was for the first time.

"Obliviate!"
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Another familiar scene. Jamie drifted, seating himself at the Slytherin table without really thinking about it; it was home and he would take this chance while he had it, before with the coming of daylight he would have to once again pretend.

"You can't apparate into or out of Hogwarts!" He could almost hear Hermione, scolding him and Ron over their latest high flights of imagination and speculation. His bond to Draco was still a constant ache, but he realized that, however little they had talked or even seen each other recently, he missed Ron and Hermione, too. They had been his first friends and were still some of his best, despite the new distance between them.

He looked around the Great Hall, a small smile on his face. Well, for being unable to apparate around Hogwarts, he seemed to have done a pretty fair job of it. Then his smile slipped away as his hand brushed against the empty gauntlet.

How could he have been so stupid, leaving one of his daggers with Riddle like that? No wonder the bastard was so powerful, with one of his daggers there to enhance his power and help him.

And that comment. "Let's start with him, shall we not? I wonder if you'll have such luck facing me if that father of yours dies?"

And, from much farther back in time, another memory, another comment made by an older Voldemort as he gloated from the back of Quirrell's head. "I killed your father first and he put up a courageous fight . . . but your mother needn't have died . . ."

His mother needn't have died, but his father did have to. Because, speaking of Severus Snape, he had told Voldemort that his father was the only family he had left . . . but as Harry Potter, his father, to Voldemort, would have been James Potter. And Voldemort now believed that if he were to kill Jamie's father, he would take away whatever it was that helped him to defeat or avoid death at his hands so many times.

It was all his fault.

His parents' deaths . . . all of it.

In the darkness of the Great Hall at Hogwarts, Harry Potter threw his head back and began to laugh.
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21 July 2003
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aussie girl, Kateri, rainyday88, silver, Burning Light, Creamy Mimi, MistWalker, Carya, LuridIvy, petunia812002, myrhfire, socorro, semirhage, darkhaven, t.a.g, anon, ^_^, Stephalopolis, Crydwyn, Keri, Ookla the Mok, Jackie Potter, GShans, LeopardDance, Saavik, amythest, anir, SpaceVixon, Alena, raven of the night, Saerry Snape, Kimdalia, Megs, SNHP Killer J.D--Thanx. ^^

Artemisu--I'm not sure whether it'll be dye, a spell or potion, or some sort of obscure adoption-legality-thingy, but Angelus/Ryuu will look more like Severus; he doesn't want anyone--especially Lucius--to learn who Ryuu is and possibly take him away. At this point in history, Xia is still locked up behind the big statue; Jamie could have let her out and warned her, but he had other things on his mind at the time.

And while I'd like to keep Xia alive, in this story I'm actually working to keep the timeline straight, so every action must have a logical reaction that can be explained away in canon. I like creating AUs, but I've found that finding odd reasons like this while still working to keep the timeline "canon" has its rewards as well. ^^

Canis Black--No, that's not particularly important to the storyline. Jamie was right when he guessed Hermione--I thought that having her come as Athena was something she'd be likely to do. ^^ But no, as Athena she really has no more application to the story that I know of, though she'll still show up as Hermione from time to time.

~Mary~--As you might have guessed from this chapter, the Draco situation is going to get worse before it gets better. And Jamie and Lucia will have their own problems to face for a while yet before they finally return. *rubs hands together* I can't wait. :D

Shadow--In answer to your question: Both. The way I see it, the major branching point is when Narcissa happens to pass by and picks Lucia up off the Dursleys' doorstep, adopting her into the family. Thus, everything before then is pretty much the same. (At least with this story, I'm going with the time-as-tree, rather than river, theory, so Jamie appeared before the two timelines branched away from each other.)

Do-Op--As you saw, Jamie left long before TMR ever got around to opening the Chamber/killing Myrtle, so the subject never came up. Yes, he probably would have tried to stop it if he had been around--he may have turned Slytherin (literally! :P) but there's still a certain amount of the old Harry left in him. Frankly, I can see Salazar as being a bit of a Gryffindor at times, too--brave when necessary; he just tends to use his head more.

I don't know that I firmly dislike any of the characters. Well, other than the obvious: Fudge, Umbridge . . . :P Ron really pisses me off at times, but on the whole I just can't quite dislike him. Most of the time. Besides, it tickled my fancy to be able to claim--with a certain amount of truth, even!--that this story is Harry/Ron. ^^

As for your long, drawn-out theory . . . I just happen to have a weakness for those sorts of things. I'd love to hear it. ^^

Kat19--"Lily" at the party was Severus. I thought I had dropped enough clues to make that obvious . . . but, judging from the number of people who had problems, evidently not. -_-;; Oh well. Severus' "My son?" comment was meant to be an indication that he had just figured out that, no, Draco wasn't possessed by Slytherin (obviously), but Jamie had a very definite connection. As I said earlier, Harry is in the past of both his and Lucia's reality, since at that point, the two haven't branched away from each other yet.

Lady Cinnibar--I don't think that Snape and Harry are related in canon. I'd probably have a heart attack if they were. However, shortly after I started reading HP fanfiction by the droves, and had it driven into my head that there was more to life than Gryffindor, I just happened to stumble across a Severitus challenge fic. With my new view that Snape (and Malfoy, and Slytherin, etc.) might be something more than the evil greasy bastards Rowling paints them as, I fell in love with the idea.

Like Slytherin!Harry, and AU-street-brat!Harry, Severitus-challenge!Harry is a cliche that, by now, has been overused way too much. Still, I couldn't resist putting my own mark on the idea . . . because, however cliche it is, however extremely unlikely, I just . . . like it.

Now that I've made you suffer through my rant/pitiful attempt at justification, I'm happy to hear that, despite the fact that there are parts of this story you don't like, there are also parts that you like enough to keep coming back for more. :)