Argh. It took me way too long to do this chapter, and it's not even really up to my usual standards . . . blah. Not that it's shorter than usual, but . . . (shutting up before I manage to totally prejudice everyone against it)

Let this be a lesson to you people who have yet to experience the joys of college: It is both harder and easier than high school. The work is harder, but there's more time to do it in. You'll probably get to the point where you think you're coping pretty well with this whole college thing.

And then you turn around and wake up one day and realize that you're approaching the two-month anniversary of the last time you posted a chapter. But you still don't work on it as much as you ought to because, well, there's so much else that seems to come up whenever you think about sitting down and working on it, and then those few times you actually do sit down to work on it, your brain refuses to work with you.

*shrugs* Or maybe it's just me.

(translation: I'm really sorry for the lateness of this chapter. It'll never happen again. I hope . . .)

Blah blah Harry Potter blah blah Severitus' challenge blah blah blah not belonging to me.
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~*~More Multidimensional Goodness~*~
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It seemed at the same time an eternity and almost no time at all between when Blaise returned to his silent vigil over his professor's body and when he finally stood again, all the tears wept that he would cry . . . tonight.

Each movement slow and tired, he commenced dragging Snape over to where the other two bodies rested; whatever he did to them, he would be doing to them all. Burning seemed like the best choice, yet he needed to have some proof to bring back home.

What would Harry say? She might not be a Gryffindor, but he knew, with a sinking feeling in his heart, that she would have done something to save her father if she had been in his situation; how could she not blame him for having let Severus die?

How could he not blame himself? He had been there; he could have done something . . . anything . . . It was a sad statement of affairs that the stranger, the one Voldemort had called 'Harry Potter', had done more than Blaise himself.

He felt like lashing out, like blasting something with the force of his anger at his inaction. If being Slytherin means I'm always going to be the last one standing after everyone else has died . . . "Screw that." He hissed.

With, perhaps, more force than necessary, he let Snape's body drop on the two already intertwined.

"Bloody . . .!" A new . . . and familiar voice bit out. "Was that really necessary?!"

And, as if rising from the grave--oh, right, that's what he was doing . . .--the stranger sat up, pushing Voldemort off him and sliding out from under the small part of Severus that had landed on one of his outstretched legs. As he stood, one hand was futilely brushing at his robes, while the other rubbed thoughtfully around the center of his chest. "That hurt." He groused.

And Blaise, deciding faintly that he had been Slytherin and adult enough tonight already, thankyouverymuch, did a very childish and undignified thing.

He screamed.

"Aah! Zombie!!!"
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"She's lying."

Hermione looked up from her Arithmancy book and raised an eyebrow. "Who?"

"Parvati." He made a frustrated noise, burying his head in his hands, his fingers clutching lightly at his scalp. "I just know it. You saw her and Harry, Hermione, they were practically inseparable! And then when we ask, she acts like she bloody doesn't care!"

". . ." Hermione looked at Ron with renewed respect. ". . . so you do use that brain of yours for something other than chess. You're right. But why . . ."

". . . For some reason, she doesn't want us to know that she's worried."

"Maybe she's investigating, but doesn't want us to know about it?" Hermione hazarded, feeling like she ought to provide at least one of the possible answers in this conversation, seeing as she was generally the acknowledged brains of the operation. "Or knows us well enough to know that if we did know, we'd insist on interfering."

The two shared a sheepish grin. "Well . . . she'd be right about that." Ron admitted, trying to suppress his smile.

He had almost succeeded when a voice coming from near the exit into the hall intruded. "Mr. Weasley? Miss Granger? Could I have a moment of your time?"

Both jumped up. "Professor Lupin!" Immediately Hermione bent back down, gathering her (mostly unused this time around) papers into an untidy stack. "Just a minute, let me put this stuff up."

"Come on over, Professor, have a seat." Ron invited, belatedly remembering the courtesy his mother had tried so hard to instill in all her children. "We'd be happy to talk with you."

"No, no . . . I was actually thinking somewhere a bit more private. Would you mind returning with me to my rooms and talking there?" He cast the two a conspiratorial glance . . . until he realized they weren't sharing in it and, in fact, it seemed to have gone completely over their heads. What is this?

"Um . . . sure." Ron shrugged, and shoved together his own (far smaller) stack. "Just let me put this stuff back in my room . . ."

Less than five minutes later, they were well away from the Gryffindor common room; the two students somewhat excited--this would be their first time to see where Remus lived now, after all. Despite Harry's closeness to their former teacher, they had never really had all that much contact with him, except when Harry was also involved. And he hadn't been lately.

"I haven't seen you two very much lately." Remus noted. "Busy studying for the OWLS already?"

"It's never too early to get started." Hermione protested, somewhat defensively.

"Not that again . . .!" Ron protested, half-seriously--he probably wouldn't have even bothered to protest any more, he was so used to it, except for the fact that it was a surefire way to mildly provoke Hermione. And that was always fun.

Sure enough, Hermione obligingly swatted at him, and he disobligingly ducked. Remus watched the interplay with laughing eyes. "This sounds like an argument you've had before."

"Oh, millions of times." They assured him in unison.

"Ah, I remember back when Lily and--James were much the same way . . . they truly despised each other for the longest time, but even afterwards they still kept up with a couple of the same old arguments for old times' sake. Do I scent romance in the air?" He teased gently.

"Oh, does romance have a unique scent to were--hey!" Ron had flicked Hermione, who seemed on the verge of retaliating.

"I'm afraid not." Ron continued urbanely, completely as if he were not at the same time trying to duck Hermione's retaliatory flicks. "The only time the girl I like ever gave me a second look was at the Halloween party, when we were both disguised. And as soon as she figured out who I was, she ran away."

"Don't worry, Ron. She'll figure out what a good thing she's missing out on eventually." Hermione seemed to be trying to reassure him, but the attempt fell flat. Or she would, if she were here . . . where is she? Where are they?

He smiled slightly. "Well, at least one of us succeeded in getting a proper girlfriend."

Remus' eyebrows raised as Hermione slowly flushed. "Yeah . . . um, Katie and I have been going out for a while now. Katie Bell, from the Quidditch team, you know her, right?"

"Fairly talented student, though I got the idea that Defense was neither her best nor her favorite subject. A habitual procrastinator--it seemed like she was always trying to finish her Transfiguration assignments during my class when she thought I wasn't looking."

Hermione tried to hide her grin. "Ooh . . . thank you, Professor Lupin! I've been wanting something to hold over her head for a long time now. Just because I keep forgetting all those Quidditch moves . . . who cares about the Wonky Faint, anyway?" A pause, in which she looked at Ron expectantly.

"That's Wronski Feint!" He cried, injured. "And you claim to be trying to learn about Quidditch!"

Almost against his will, Remus found laughter bubbling in his throat again. Hearing the two argue made him feel young and foolish again. There was a comfortable pause in the conversation as they turned another corner and started up another set of stairs.

The silence was finally broken by Ron, who spoke with the air of one who had suppressed he curiosity for as long as he could, but could do so no longer. "Soo . . . what's lesbian sex like?"

"Ron!" Hermione, scandalized. "There's more to a relationship than sex, you know!"

Deliberately innocently, now, "Oh, there is? What?"

"Honestly!" The red-faced girl huffed. "So, are you just trying to get into her pants?"

Now it was Ron who turned red. "No! I feel a . . . a connection. She means something to me. It's not just . . . I'd never . . ." As a grand finale to his nearly incomprehensible spluttering, he pulled out that age-old excuse. ". . . but that's different!"

In as quiet a voice as he could--as much so as not to disturb such a fascinating argument as out of any concern for secrecy--Remus muttered the password to his rooms, gently shooing the two students in as their argument seemed to bid fair to continue as loudly as before.

"Professor Lupin, can I smack him? Please?" Hermione turned entreating eyes towards him.

"Ooh, someone's going to get bitch-slapped! Can I watch?!" Sirius, overflowing with nervous energy for various reasons, not the least of which being the fact that he was practically sequestered in these rooms, literally bounded over, even in human form exuding, for the moment, an aura similar to an overgrown puppy.

Seized with a sudden mischievous urge, Remus suppressed a sudden grin and suggested in an intentionally bland voice, "Why don't you help? You are uniquely suited to the role, after all . . ."

Sirius' eyes narrowed, though behind the slitted lids they still glinted with good humour. "Is that your way of calling me your bitch?"

Remus looked around innocently. "You said it, not I . . ."

With a roar, Sirius pounced, bowling Remus, even with the added strength that came from being a werewolf, completely over. For a couple of minutes they wrestled like little children on the playground, as the two students looked on, all arguments forgotten as they tried to figure out what had caused both adults to go so entirely mad.

". . . Do you get the feeling we missed something?"
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"What are you doing here, Sirius?"

Ron elbowed Hermione. "Not that we're not happy to see you or anything."

The bushy-haired girl looked flustered. "Oh, right, of course. Still, isn't it dangerous? What if someone sees you?"

"I almost never leave Remus' rooms." Sirius sighed, as if this was something he had repeated far too many times, shooting a mutinous look in the direction of the aforementioned werewolf. "And when I do, it's always in my Animagus form."

"So, how long have you been around?" Ron inserted cheerfully. He knew Hermione; if she was not quickly distracted she'd go into full tirade mode; then he didn't know anyone (except maybe his mother) capable of stopping her.

Evidently, it was still the wrong thing to say. Remus and Sirius exchanged significant glances. "Why, Sirius has been here since before the beginning of school. Didn't Harry tell you?"

Both shook their heads slowly. "We haven't . . . talked much lately."

Remus looked uncomfortable. "Maybe it just slipped his mind . . ."

"He remembered well enough to bring the other Harry to meet us." Sirius pointed out, smiling.

Remus whapped him. "Idiot! I'm trying to make them feel better about the situation, not worse!"

"He told Harry about you, Sirius?!" Hermione seemed about to work herself up into a righteous rage once again; this time Ron didn't particularly blame her. "That's a serious security risk! Who knows who she could have told?!"

"Hey, that's unnecessary." Ron protested. "Sure, he shouldn't have told her, but Harry's not the sort to go blabbing secrets everywhere. I'm sure Sirius' secret is perfectly safe with her."

"Hmph." Was Hermione's only response, though the eagle-eyed gaze she directed his way assured him that it was only through the greatest of self-control that she was refraining from making some comment on the blindness of 'love'.

Another exchange of looks heavy in significance. "You mean . . . you seriously . . . you don't know about her?" Sirius finally asked, incredulous.

"Know what?"

He shook his head. "Never mind. It's not my secret to tell."

Wrong answer. Ron's eyes narrowed. "This better not have anything to do with her disappearance."

"We actually wanted to know if you had any ideas about their disappearances. Either of them."

Ron began nervously gnawing at his nail. "Um . . . I think it's been determined that I was the last one to see Harry-the-girl. Except maybe Harry."

"We think he went after her when she ran away during the party." Hermione added.

"Though the git that dressed up as Lucius Malfoy called him 'Sal'." Ron fumed, fists clenched to the point of being white-knuckled. "I just wish I could do the same to his slimy son."

"From what I've been able to gather from his incoherent mutterings on the subject, he punched the Lucius Malfoy guy in the jaw, hard enough to knock him to the ground." Hermione explained as aside to the two men.

"Oh, good show!" Sirius grinned, pounding Ron on the back. "The father's just as much of a bastard as the son--or more so, considering how many more years he's had to practice."

Remus grinned toothily. "Ah, yes . . . did you know he's responsible for the suggestion of much of the anti-so-called-'Dark-Creatures' legislation? I wouldn't mind clawing his eyes out too much myself."

"It's a good strategy." Hermione mused thoughtfully. "After all, if there are all these humanoid groups who are reviled and oppressed by the Ministry, then wouldn't they be more likely to go to Voldemort, if only because he claims to be trying to stop it?"

The three guys stared at her for a moment. "What?" Flustered again. "I'm not saying I agree, in fact I find it absolutely criminal! But you can't deny that it's probably quite effective."

Remus eyed her suspiciously, but then seemed to think better of whatever he had been about to say. ". . . back to Harry. You really have no idea where he's gone? I had thought that, as his best friends, you might know something . . ."

"Only as much as we've told you."

"So . . . about this deep dark secret of Evans' . . ." Ron inserted, a deliberately innocent look on his face.

Repeating what had been said before, Sirius shook his head. "It's not my secret to tell."
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Pansy fumed. " 'Not my secret to tell'." She mimicked in a singsong voice. "Why the hell not, I'd like to know? It's not like he's murdered someone."

"Well, to be fair, we don't know that for sure." Cho pointed out.

". . . oh, please. Who would he have killed and why?" Parvati scoffed. "The only people who have gone missing recently are the Harrys and Zabini. And we know he didn't kill Zabini, wouldn't kill Harry Potter, and he doesn't really seem the type to kill Harry."

Pansy seemed to be considering this seriously. "Well, she is a Gryffindor . . . but rather more tolerable than some."

"Not too surprising. Look at how she grew up." Cho pointed out. "I think she actually expected to be in Slytherin when she first got here."

Pansy wrinkled her nose. "That would not have done at all. Still . . . must've been an interesting sight to see, a Malfoy sorted into Gryffindor. She must have gotten a lot of flak from the goody-two-shoes." A slanted glance. "Present company excepted."

"She did." Parvati said quietly. "I got the impression that Hermione and her brother were her only real friends. Oh, they came around eventually . . . even we Gryffindors aren't completely inflexible . . . but it took a while." Seeing Pansy beginning to look superior (more so than usual . . .), she speared her with a Look. ". . . And how would you Slytherins have acted if, say, Harry Potter had been sorted into Slytherin in first year?"

Pansy's lips twitched. ". . . Probably not too well." She admitted.

"If your latest round of Gryffindor vs. Slytherin posturing is quite over yet . . .?" The two looked at the older girl with a certain amount of surprise. "Might we get back to the point?"

"I think we've pretty much run the murder option into the ground." Parvati offered dryly. "So what else could be bad enough for Dumbledore to be after him?" She mused. "Becoming a Death Eater?"

"Dr--Malfoy wouldn't do that!" Cho protested, looking upset.

Pansy shifted. "He probably would have. But he hasn't and he won't. He's actually a bit of a persona non grata among certain circles now because of that." She looked around, leaning in. "If this gets out, I'll have to hunt you down, but I heard that his father was this far" her fingers approximated an inch "from disowning him. Rumor goes that he told his father off and absolutely refused to serve the Dark Lord."

She straightened, voice returning to normal. "Then again, rumor also has it that they hugged . . . so who knows what and how much of the rumor is actual truth?"

"What's wrong with hugging?" Parvati asked, puzzled. True, if her father tried to hug her, she'd probably do her best to stab him with the first sharp object she could find . . . of course, that was beside the point, since right now the only things he'd be hugging were the Dementors.

Pansy raised an eyebrow and explained in the slow voice one uses towards a very small child, "Aside from the fact that they had probably either announced or at the very least tacitly acknowledged their intentions to kill each other next time they met . . .--assuming that the rest of the rumor is true--Malfoys just don't do hugging."
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With the ease that marked it as a deeply ingrained habit, James reached into his pocket for his keys, tossed them up, caught them, jangled them around a bit and finally inserted one into the keyhole in the door, motioning her inside with a greatly overdone bow.

She accepted the gesture with a nearly as overdone curtsey--hampered only really because she was still in the semi-'Elvish' costume, if not the minor facial and bodily shifts that went along with it, and thus was not wearing anything remotely resembling a skirt.

"Nicely done." He applauded. "Yes, you certainly were raised in a high-class pureblood household, weren't you? Primarily Slytherin, I think you said . . ." He cocked his head slightly. "Curtsey again, would you?"

Confused, slightly suspicious, but seeing no logical reason to refuse the request, she repeated her previous movements.

"Ahah! As I thought . . . there's a hint of the French methodology in your bow . . . so you must truly be a Lestrange. Am I right?"

Harry blinked. ". . ."

James smiled slightly. "A suggestion, Harry--that is your real first name, right?--next time you're attempting to masquerade as something you are not, either get rid of the mannerisms or try to come up with a name that will fit. The only Evans I've ever known was Muggle-born, through and through; there's no possibility that you could be both an Evans and know high wizarding society as well as you appear to."

He winked suddenly. "But I can understand wanting to get away from your family. My . . . well, that's not important, is it? . . . anyway, this can just remain our little secret. Evans."

". . . thank you?" Severus . . . even Lucius Malfoy! . . . were both far easier to understand than this strange man. More likable . . . perhaps and certainly not. But definitely less confusing.

Buoyantly. "But I was right, wasn't I? You are a Lestrange, aren't you? I promise, I won't tell anyone . . ."
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". . . shut up."

". . . thought I . . . zombie . . ." The stranger half gasped, half chortled, still rolling on the ground. Still: meaning he had been at it already for significantly over five minutes (it had been six since the point it occurred to Blaise to first look at his watch). He was getting, to put things mildly, slightly sick of it.

"Shut up."

". . . oh . . ." Good, he finally seemed to be getting a handle on himself. ". . . I'm going to have to tell Luce' that one."

Blaise's ears burned. "Shut. Up."

With no (read: absolutely no) warning, as soon as he gained his feet the stranger suddenly whipped off his shirt, craning his neck downward.

The redness moved from Blaise's ears to his entire face. "What the hell do you think you're doing?"

"Language." The stranger admonished absentmindedly as he tilted his head. "Oh, great. Another bloody scar. That's all I needed." And, indeed, Blaise thought he could mark four or five nearly invisible white lines here and there on the exposed torso and a rather nasty looking knot just above the right elbow in addition to the angry red vaguely S-shaped mark a bit below the base of his throat that had captured the stranger's full attention. "What is it with me and ruddy lightning bolts? Fate?"

". . ." Blaise opened and closed his mouth several times, his cheeks only beginning to return to their original color. ". . . just exactly who are you?"

He stuck out his hand. "Harry James Potter. Pleased to meet you." His lips twitched slightly, as if the sound of his name amused him.

"Potter?" Blaise blinked. Come to think of it, that was what Voldemort had called him . . . he thought. Things had been a bit hectic just then. "Any relation to James Potter?"

A sweep of his hand. "Erh . . . the closest would be . . . adoptive son? Something like that, at any rate. Why, isn't there another one of me running around here somewhere? Or did Harry Potter die on Halloween 1981 here."

That date struck a chord in Blaise somehow. ". . . wait, isn't that when . . .?"

"Voldemort came after the Potters, killed James and Lily Potter--" Harry Potter explained tiredly, as if this was something he'd heard or said thousands of times before, finally heading to put his shirt back on.

"No, wait! You've got it all wrong!" Blaise interrupted. "That night the Dark Lord went after the Snapes, tried to kill Lily Snape first but Harry got in the way of the curse accidentally and it rebounded--" He stopped, not entirely sure why, until he noticed the very . . . complete silence from the other person.

Finally, there was a shuddering breath from underneath the shirt that Harry had paused in the very act of pulling on, and he brought it the rest of the way down, revealing a very pale face to the world. "You mean . . . Lily . . . is still alive?"
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Draco was pacing.

It seemed like all he ever did, these days. Yes, Severus was very good about discreetly gathering up and bringing him his assignments so that he wouldn't get behind (this assuming that he'd ever get back to Hogwarts, which seemed increasingly unlikely, given that, as far as Severus could tell, the Headmaster was being just as obstinately wrong as ever) . . . but there was so little else to do that he finished them up almost as soon as he brought them.

Which returned him to being bored, which led to his otherwise unoccupied mind finding things to occupy itself with, which led to him worrying rather more than was either necessary or useful . . . which state caused him to pace. Frequently.

To the point where Severus, who had a rather bad pacing habit himself at times, had more than once offered to go find a Muggle tranquilizer gun; Draco had regained a portion of Lucifer's partial immunity to most common mind-altering charms and potions--a characteristic that Necromancers (especially the more powerful of the lot, as Lucifer had been) shared with the dead they raised, and thus the more common wizarding calming variants would have little to no effect on him.

Harry was exceedingly shocked by something. And considering that this was the boy who had taken the news that he had been fathered by the same man who had absolutely hated him--and who he had hated practically as absolutely back--for the first four years they had known each other, as if it were hardly more newsworthy than a comment about the weather . . .

Damn it. How dare Sal get into a mess like this without leaving him any way to come in and pull the stubborn bastard back out again? They had never had to deal with any of this alternate-universe or whatever it was that was happening sort of crap in their other life . . .

Forget being drunk the first time we bonded. I must have been drunk and higher than the moon to even consider bonding with Harry Potter. Was I bloody nuts? I knew how screwy and . . . adventurous, for lack of a better word . . . his life is.

But despite his harsh words and thoughts, Draco knew he'd rather be embroiled in this mess than have never rediscovered Harry and their relationship with one another. He wouldn't change one moment of it for the world.

Except maybe the part where Weasley punched him in the jaw.

Yeah, and that's all Sal's fault too. Hmph.

The pop of displaced air and sudden presence of that unique Necromantic potential alerted Draco to Severus' arrival . . . an exceedingly unhappy Severus, this. Growling, even.

"What happened?"

"Those . . ." he looked as if he were trying and failing--a rare thing, that--to come up with an epithet scathing enough ". . . girls waylaid me again."

Draco raised an eyebrow. This was the first he'd heard of anything. "Oh, really? I suppose they want to run their fingers through your luxurious" sudden coughing fit "raven locks?"

He was rewarded by seeing Severus' face contort into the most speaking expression of complete and utter disgust he had ever witnessed. "Merlin, no. It's Patil, Parkinson, and Chang--they want to know where you are."

Wow. Draco mused. He must be really pissed, to be calling Pansy 'Parkinson' like that . . .

"Have you . . .?"

"Of course I haven't said anything, you foolish boy." Severus cut him off irritably, running his fingers through his hair.

And pulling out a small brown sparrow. He dumped the bird in Draco's hand. "I know you've always wanted a pet. Here."

The sparrow cocked its small head, chirped quietly, and hopped forward a bit, gazing at Draco with liquid black eyes. He fell in love with it at first sight.

"Now . . . don't you have anything better to do?" Severus was already turning away towards his own work area; Draco suspected that there would most likely be no Necromantic lessons tonight. Glancing at the rigid back, he also understandably decided that any quips about 'birds' nests' in relation to Severus' hair would not be worth the retribution they'd bring upon him.

Oh, but the temptation . . .

Quietly, still carefully holding the ordinary little bird, he left the room.

Outside, he looked down at the little sparrow once again. "Well, I guess it's just you and me now, eh?"

The bird merely chirped (exceedingly cutely, not that he'd admit that to anyone . . .) in reply.
**
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Traitor.

Ssisster?! The head of the snake on Harry's dagger reared up, shock in its hissing voice.

Filthy mudbloodss. Blood traitorss to my masster's causse ...

Blaise stared. "Is that . . . moving . . .?"

Harry stiffened, looking about the clearing with narrowed eyes. Nagini? He hissed.

Filthy sserpent . . . Masster trussts her but I do not, oh no . . . The voice continued, grumbling darkly.

Ssisster! What hass happened to you?

Brother hass returned . . . thinkss I will welcome him with open armss . . . he hass betrayed too. Filthy, filthy blood traitorss . . .

Eyes narrowed still further, he bent down and began roughly searching Voldemort's body, a slightly wrinkled nose the only outward indication he gave of his disgust. Whoever had slit the bastard's throat--well, Blaise, obviously--had done almost too good a job of it.

And there it was, stained with blood . . . though he almost didn't recognize it, so different did it seem. The ebony snake's head rose slightly, and it pinned Jamie with its malevolent ruby eyes.

A flash of brilliant white light, tinted only very slightly green, and the dagger was ripped from his hand, finally clattering to a halt on the ground nearly ten feet away. Ssorry, Masster . . . his dagger hissed quietly. But . . . sshe wass about to sstrike . . . oh ssisster . . .

Licking slightly dry lips, Jamie stood unsteadily. No apologiess necesssary. You jusst ssaved my life. It had never even occurred to him that the dagger might attack him. Much more cautiously, now, he walked over and picked the dagger up, gingerly, once again. Nothing. I think you sstunned her. Just in case, he whispered the most powerful stunning spell he knew before sliding it into the sheathe and turning his attention (at last) back to Blaise.

A Blaise whose white face stood out clearly even against the indifferent contrast with his reddish-blonde hair. He, too, licked his lips; swallowed convulsively. "So . . ." Finally, slightly breathlessly. ". . . you're a Parselmouth too, eh?"
**
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When James went to check in on his mysterious young guest in the middle of the night, he was momentarily disconcerted to see that she was not in her room. Then, sadness swept in. Serve me right, actually trusting a Lestrange . . . or whatever she is. He remembered the look in her eyes, of shock and horror when she first saw his maimed face . . .

. . . but neither could he put from his mind how quickly those hated emotions were shunted away, how nice she had seemed, just a Hogwarts student stranded out in the middle of nowhere, another Gryffindor childling with the misfortune to be born into the wrong family. Sirius . . . this time I was wrong.

As he often did when he woke up late at night, James made his way towards the garage, slightly favoring his right knee. The motorcycle . . . wasn't Sirius, but sometimes . . . occasionally, it helped a little, to be close to that which Siri had poured so much care into in life.

"I remember you from somewhere . . . I think I've seen you in a dream." A soft voice . . . her voice. "One of those dreams I've never told anyone--who would I have told? Father would probably have flown completely off the handle if I had admitted to ever dreaming about a Muggle contraption. Even if you did fly, in my dream . . ."

James' steps, which had quickened when he first heard the girl's voice in even the general vicinity of his beloved motorcycle, slowed to a complete stop. How could she know that it can fly? . . . Just a dream. It was just a crazy dream of hers.

". . . I remember Jamie saying something about how Sirius used to have a motorcycle. I wonder if that's what you are." A pause that seemed troubled--not that James noticed, preoccupied as he was with trying to bring his heart rate down to normal. Sirius? How can she know about him? ". . . but that would mean . . . no, Sirius can't be dead." Fiercely. "I won't let him."

James raised an eyebrow, leaned against the doorframe, looking into the dark garage and vague, slightly darker silhouettes, and drawled, "That'd be a bit hard, considering it has been a bit over fourteen years since he died . . ." He pushed off the wall. "Though I admit what interests me most is your odd belief that he's somehow alive."

She muttered something, of which 'tradeoff' was the only word he caught. Then looked up, and for a moment he could almost see her eyes--weren't they green? Like his son's?--glowing. "Who else is dead here?"

"Huh?"

"You're alive. But Sirius is dead. Who else died?"

"A lot of people died back then. Voldemort was at the height of his powers . . . all you had to do was be in the wrong place at the wrong time and he'd kill you. If you dared to actively resist him . . ."

"Lucius Malfoy?" Her eyes were glowing, slightly, he decided, as he could have sworn he saw them narrow.

"No . . . he's still alive. Was in Azkaban for a number of years, but he escaped a couple of years ago."

"Huh. Pity." She stood. "Severus Snape? Remus Lupin?"

He snapped. "You think it's funny, don't you. What, did you come here just to throw my greatest failures back in my face? Get out!"

"That's not it at all." The silhouette stepped forward. "I truly don't know. What happened to them?"

"You don't know? No one doesn't know . . . as I learned quite well, then. What is your game?"

"This is not a game! I want to know!"

"Well, we don't always get what we want, now do we? Go back to your Death Eater parents . . . whichever they are."

"My father wants to kill me, my mother I'm pretty sure is dead, I don't even know who my stepmother is, my older brother died for me and I kidnapped my brand new half-brother." She flipped her head. "Yeah, that would be real good for my health."

Okay, hard to argue with that one. "Just . . . leave."

"Not until you tell me. At least tell me whether they're alive or dead!"

"Why do you care?"

"Because I do." An expression that approached a sneer. "And even if you weren't throwing me out, I hardly see how the why' could possibly be any of your business."

They were nearly nose to nose now, and James raised his hand, clenched so tightly that his knuckles were nearly white. Unafraid, Lucia continued to stare him down. It wouldn't be the first time she found herself on the wrong end of someone's fist.

Then, nearly as suddenly, all the anger seemed to drain out of him; as he lowered his hand, he seemed nothing other than tired. Exhausted. "They're both dead." He said quietly, tonelessly. Looking toward her with eyes that might have been accusing if they weren't so . . . dead.

"It's what you wanted to make me admit, isn't it? Well there you go. I've admitted it. They're both dead."

"And . . . it's all my fault."
**
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**
"Can you keep a secret?"

"One would certainly hope so, considering the life occupation I was on the verge of taking up."

"Okay. Point." He glanced over his shoulder. "Do you trust me?"

"Well, let's see." Ticking points off on his fingers. "The only think I know about you is your name; you're a Parselmouth; you were obviously on terms with Voldemort, if not good terms; you're either extremely delusional, lying for no purpose I can see, or actually from some sort of alternate universe--which is a bit more weirdness than I feel like handling right now, thank you . . ."

A twisted expression, an almost defeated shrug. "Sure, I'll trust you. Why not? I owe you for saving my life, after all."

Searching his face, the odd other Harry seemed satisfied enough with what he found. He began to back away slowly, face going oddly blank. "Once I finish, I want you to climb onto my back."

Huh? Blaise was tempted to say. Almost did, actually, having decided for the night that there was almost no use in even trying to do the properly Slytherin thing--which would in this case have been to cooly raise an eyebrow and wait until the other broke and elucidated further.

Harry raised his arms to the sky and, in one of those odd coincidences that seemed made-for-TV, the moon briefly illuminated him fully as he somehow . . . unfurled himself.

And as Blaise stared in awe and not a little fear at the huge dragon, so black he seemed to suck in the little light around them, it occurred to him . . .

Oh. So that's what he meant by 'climb onto his back' . . .
**
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**
"It's hard, you know? Sitting here . . . waiting. It seems like I'm always waiting these days. Waiting for Severus to get back with my newest load of homework . . . waiting for someone to find out where I've been stashed away and come after me or Severus or both . . ."

". . . waiting for Harry to get his scrawny ass back here, where he belongs . . ."

". . . waiting for Father to wake me up one day and inform me that it's all been nothing but an extremely odd and beautiful dream . . ."

"Ouch!" He sucked on his thumb, glaring halfheartedly at the sparrow. "Whainell was that for?" The little brown bird just cocked her head, though he would swear it was practically exuding smugness from every pore.

Did birds even have pores? That sounded like just the sort of random crap Sal' would probably know.

And there he was, his thoughts having returned full-circle to his bondmate once again. Damn it. This sort of brooding was not healthy, or even in any way helpful. Now, if he thought his worrying was likely to bring Harry back home . . . but no, Harry would return when he was good and ready. Or, alternatively, just as spontaneously as he had disappeared. When the Boy-With-Entirely-Too-Much-Luck was involved, very few things could be taken for granted.

He let his head fall into his hands. "Everything is so surreal these days . . . it's hard to believe it's not all just a dream. It's hard, reminding myself that this is the truth, that I must not withdraw into my old habits, the so-called normality. I need Harry around, to remind me that, as fantastic as it seems, this really is my life now."

The bird tilted its head and chirped softly . . . encouragingly, Draco liked to think. "So you're saying I shouldn't give up? You're right, of course. He'll be back . . . someday . . ."

The sparrow trilled softly.

Draco smiled, and stroked a finger along the tiny bird's head. "You know, he'd be calling me a half-wit, right now, having a deep meaningful discussion with a bird." Indignant chirp.

Yes, Draco decided, he was most definitely anthropomorphizing the little avian a bit too much. "No offense meant." He apologized anyway. "You're a very nice bird, and obviously quite smart as well." It preened. "Not to mention that I think you're quite cute. Although, were you ever to tell anyone about that, I'd have to deny it roundly and then probably hunt you down and kill you." He grinned.

The sparrow turned its nose up, pointedly turning away, and fluffed its feathers out. "Oh yeah? You think you can take me? Huh? Wanna bet?"

Then, as his brain finally caught up with the absurdities his mouth had been uttering, he began to laugh.

Amazing, how good it felt.
**
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**
". . . So, a dragon Animagus, eh?"

"No, I'm the errant prince of a race of dragons with the ability to shapechange into human form at will."

"Really? Cool!"

Jamie only just barely managed to refrain from rolling his eyes.

"But anyway, that must have been hard to explain to the Ministry."

A Look.

"Oh, I see, you're unregistered too? Extra cool!"

Why did I think this was a workable idea again? A longer Look.

"Right, shutting up." They reached the main entrance to the Great Hall and, working together, managed to push one of the huge doors open far enough for both to scuttle through. "Um . . . can we talk about something, though? I kinda really need to keep my mind occupied right now." In order to keep it from wandering to who--or rather what--I'm carrying in my arms right now . . .

Jamie could understand that on some level . . . yet in other ways he couldn't. He could remember quite clearly, as if it had been yesterday, the debilitating disbelief when he first really realized that Cedric was dead, that he was never coming back. At first, there was the shock of hearing the killing curse and seeing him struck down, but in the next moment Cedric had been relegated to the sidelines of his mind as he found himself having to focus on his own survival.

It was only after everything, as he lay in the hospital wing pondering Dumbledore's remarks to Severus--the hated Snape, then--and Fudge's complete, inexcusable stupidity that the full import of what had happened finally hit.

How much worse must it be for Blaise, who was faced with the death of, not just a random fellow student that he liked well enough but didn't really know, but someone who had been a mentor and probably even something of a father to him? He couldn't really see Severus having an appreciably different relationship to his Slytherins here than in Jamie's own universe, and that was how he had always struck Jamie, those few chances he had had to see Severus and the other Slytherins interact.

With himself, it was different, of course. There, the parental relationship was a real one . . . but so newly discovered that it was also far more tenuous than the established Head-Slytherin relationship he had with all his other students. They had hated each other for so long that, despite the fact that they didn't any more, neither was quite sure how to quantify this new relationship.

Jamie had precious little experience with love of the paternal sort--of much of any sort, really--Salazar even less. And he had the sinking feeling that Severus had about as much an idea as to how to be a 'real father' as he did love for a certain snake-faced man, despite the fact that he was essentially a second father to practically every Slytherin who had ever come under his care. But . . . they were managing, somehow.

And given how much he had just realized he truly missed his Severus, even knowing he was alive and well somewhere in the multiverse . . . how much more heartrending must it be for Blaise, who was being quite firmly confronted with the fact that this Severus would never return, when even the thought of losing Severus was almost more than Jamie could bear?

Blaise sighed. "Okay, no help from your quarter . . ."

Jamie looked up, dragged forcibly from his thoughts. "Wha? Oh, sorry. Got caught up in my thoughts." Another pause, though this one not nearly as long. "Knock knock."

Now it was Blaise's turn to Look at Jamie. "Knock knock?!" He asked incredulously.

"You're supposed to say 'who's there' now." Jamie noted. "It's a Muggle thing."

Blaise sighed. "Who's there . . ."

After a while with (again . . .) no response, he turned his head to look at the odd stranger accompanying him. Curious in spite of himself, Blaise repeated, "Who's there?"

"Um . . . would you believe I never learned the punchline?"

Blaise laughed.
**
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8 November 2003
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Aah! The dagger is possessed by the spirit of Mrs. Black! Run away! :D

JadedAngel8, Sele, Ghost Whisper, ReddAlice, I Am The Bunny Slayer, ennui2, Arizosa, Allyanna, Saerry Snape (and Atra, Bryvend, Saerwy, and Amelie), semirhage, loralee1, Shadow Adams, Kateri1, Creamy Mimi, Artemisu, Cor-chan, Crydwyn, Tourmaline, Palantiriell, Lexie, Saavik13, twilight witch--Thanx!

Ookla the Mok--Yes, there is method to my madness. I wouldn't swear as to exactly how much . . . Lucia revisited her home universe in order to tie up a few loose ends and realize a few things about herself. As to these other two . . . things should begin becoming clearer soon.

I have had this part of the plot planned, more or less, since the absolute beginning of the story (tho' a few things changed along the way . . .). It's after they return to Jamie's home universe that I might start having trouble justifying their continued existence. Oh well, I suppose there's always Voldemort to slay . . .

As to the Sirius and James thing . . . well . . . sorta. In a way. Except not really.

Jenna--Um . . . a little more clarification, please?

ZSlyth--Nope! Just a few too many CS classes (and a mom who likes CS-y classes) for my own good. ^^

TheGOOD!damnit!Muse--*blushes* Yes, I plan to go at least part-time professional someday (ie. I don't think I'll be enough of another instant J.K. Rowling to be able to survive without a day job . . .) Course, it would help if I was actually interested in writing anything other than me lovely HP stories. ^^;;

*pokes basket* Oooh . . . what sorta goodies? :D

salytah--The likeness thing is explained a little bit, though I don't ever go into gory detail in the story itself. Basically, Snape showed up at Harry's christening and cast a spell along the lines of May you always look like your father, James Potter. So for a long time he looks like James Potter, but eventually, as the spell aged, the his father' part started gaining control. Especially once he started having a relatively decent relationship with said father.

Does that help?

Periwinkle Blue--*grins* That would be telling.

Dragona 2007--Yeah, a lot of people seem to be having had a certain amount of trouble with the time/universe changes. Your suggestion is a good one . . . I may see if I can work something out. Thanks. :)