WEAK EXCUSE

PLEA FOR FORGIVENESS

DISCLAIMER

Did I forget anything? :P Enjoy!

Note (2/19): This is a test reload, with lots of pretty asterisks that'll hopefully confuse the new line break system ... if this works, I'll get the rest of the chapters reloaded as soon as possible. (2/22: Thanks to Ookla the Mok who pointed out a scene change I had missed. Also, all other chapters are now officially reuploaded)
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~*~Variations on a Theme~*~
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". . . Canary Creams?" Jamie hazarded, then blinked as the gargoyle moved out of the way.

He sensed Blaise come up to stand beside him, then heard the other boy's voice, the good-natured teasing tone not entirely forced. "What, so now you're the Marauder's Map in human form, too?"

A barked laugh, though not entirely devoid of amusement. "Oh, I wish!" A pause. ". . . Hey, how come you know about the Marauder's Map?"

"Are you kidding?" Some animation was returning. "I'm Harry's best friend! If I've heard the story once, I've heard it a thousand times. How Professor Remus gave it to her for her eleventh birthday, wishing her many successful pranks in her years at Hogwarts, and how he added that he expected at least a few to be directed at her greasy git of an old man." A full grin had formed, his muddy hazel eyes directed somewhere far off as he reminisced.

But slowly, that elusive smile faded away. "And how Severus chased him off the property, yelling threats about sabotaging the next month's batch of Wolfsbane . . . not that he did, or ever would have, of course . . ."

In the dim lighting of the hallway, something that looked suspiciously like tears glinted in Blaise's eyes; Jamie turned his head away, uncomfortable and helpless. "I'm sorry." He finally offered quietly, knowing of no other way to console the other boy. "If I hadn't allowed myself to get carried away with my verbal sparring with Voldemort . . ."

Blaise snorted. "He still would have died, just a few minutes earlier. He was about to kill him when you arrived, since I had already tried and failed."

"First time?" Jamie asked. "Yeah, the first few times, you really have to mean it. Then, after time, like any other curse, as you get practice, you get better at it and can start throwing it around like it was nothing." There had been a time when he had gloried in the dark power of that curse . . . Slytherin's reputation in this day and age, while greatly overblown and highly falsified, was not entirely undeserved. What the legends failed to recognize, though, was that it had been a stage that he had eventually grown out of.

". . . He wanted me to kill him." A sound that wavered between a laugh and a sob. "And all I could think was, if I couldn't even do this, how would I ever be able to kill people who looked at me with fear, who didn't want to die? And what kind of spy would I make if I couldn't? And how Harry would never forgive me for killing her father. Even if she said she did, our friendship would never be the same . . ."

He raised his head to look directly at Jamie. "If anyone's fault, this is mine. I'm the one who was supposed to kill him, and before that, I'm the one who got rid of you so that we could go along our way . . . if only I had listened to you . . ."

"Voldemort would still be at large." Jamie felt it necessary to point out. "And I know you'd rather have Severus be still alive and Voldemort still at large than this . . . so would I, in your place, and I don't know Severus nearly as well as you do, and would hazard to guess that I actually hate Voldemort more . . . but . . ."

". . . is one life saved really worth all the lives that would have been lost?" Blaise finished the thought. "I . . . oh, how I want to say 'yes' . . ."

Jamie smiled sadly, feeling the weight of every one of Salazar's years. I've had a great deal longer to wrestle with that question . . . and the 'right' answer never gets any easier, not really.

Silence stole around them both.

Finally, noticing that, insofar as unmoving stone could, the gargoyle was beginning to look decidedly impatient, Jamie bumped his arm against Blaise's--encouragingly, or so he hoped--and nodded towards the open stairway. An equally short nod was all the acknowledgment he received from Blaise before the reddish-blond began the climb--carefully, with neither arm free to catch himself should he unexpectedly lose his balance.

"They should be along any time now, Lily." A soothing voice, growing in volume as they approached. Caught utterly off guard, Jamie lurched, nearly falling. Oh crap . . . how am I going to do this? I can't face her! What will I say?!

Blaise risked a glance backwards. "All right, Harry?"

And that, oddly enough, steadied him. Not quite enough, however, to where he was willing to risk his voice; he settled for a nod.

They rounded the last stair into the office that was terribly familiar to Jamie: there, the Sorting Hat; there, the cabinet in which the Pensieve had been half-hidden; there, the glass case in which Gryffindor's sword had rested after he pulled it out of the Hat in second year (and how livid must God' have been, when he realized just who it was that had used his sword so handily?) . . . though it did not rest there now; the box had been elongated to hold a rather elegant bronzed polearm. He suppressed the urge to raise an eyebrow. . . . Ravenclaw?

Dumbledore had turned upon their entrance, bearing suggesting a cheery greeting (and, of course, the accompanying sherbet lemon) . . . a cheery greeting which never materialized, as he got his first good look at exactly who (and what) had entered his office. In another time and place, Jamie might have derived a good deal of ever-so-slightly malicious satisfaction (well-hidden, of course) at surprising the seemingly unflappable Headmaster.

Off to the side, there was a choked sob; he turned his head, already knowing what--who--he would see.

Red.

Vibrant, dark red. If the Weasley shade brought to mind an oranged variation on the fire-engine shade, this shade was far more reminiscent of a deep, undoubtedly expensive, wine.

Gently, Blaise's burden was passed to the woman who seemed to have appeared straight out of his dreams of the Mirror of Erised--he had them, not often, but occasionally--or a color version of the ghost that often haunted his nightmares. She sank to her knees, hands that seemed determined to shake no matter how she tried to calm them tracing the dead man's features desperately, as if that motion could somehow bring life miraculously back into them.

Feeling guiltier and more helpless than ever, he tore his eyes away, inevitably moving on to the only other person in the room.

Somehow, he thought that sherbet lemons were now quite the last thing on this man's mind. Not surprising, considering that he was being confronted by two teenaged boy, rather heavily spattered in places with blood, carrying a corpse each, one of which covered in the aforementioned blood; the other perhaps the cleanest of the four of them.

"Have you made sure he is dead?" The Headmaster asked, gaze coldly assessing the body in Jamie's arms.

"He's been stabbed and had his throat slit. If that didn't kill him, I don't know what will." The Slytherin replied, a ghost of flippancy to his tone.

Those blue eyes rose to rest on the boy himself. "And who are you? I do not believe I have had the honor."

Jamie's lips curled into something that could perhaps be loosely interpreted as a smile. "Not surprising, as I am a bit . . . displaced, you could say . . . at the moment. My name is Harry Potter." Faintly amused, he watched Dumbledore's face closely; first the disbelief, then the speculation, lastly the calculation as he reached a conclusion most likely not far from the truth.

"The son of . . . James Potter?"

An affimative inclination of the head. "Or so most of the world believes." The truth is far more strange. He lifted both shoulders in a gesture that bore a passing resemblance to a shrug. "Is there a place I could perhaps put . . . this?"

Dumbledore gestured and a large mat appeared, upon which Jamie placed the rapidly stiffening body posthaste, shaking the feeling back into his arms. He watched as the venerable old man knelt, evidently searching for something . . . and he also had a sneaking suspicion as to what.

So softly he barely even mouthed the word, he renewed the stunning spell on said dagger. Dying a quick and painful death was only just below dying a long and painful death on his list of Things He'd Rather Prefer Not To Do Just Now If It's Quite All Right With You.

"Did you perhaps happen to see an . . . artifact on him? A long black dagger?"

Jamie endeavored to be as clueless as possible, while at the same time unobtrusively (or so he hoped) stepping on Blaise's foot. "I'm afraid not, Headmaster. Was it important?"

As quickly as that, the familiar shield snapped back into place. "Why, not at all. I was just . . . curious, as it was an artifact Voldemort had been rumoured to carry around with him everywhere."

"Maybe he forgot it today." Blaise suggested with a mostly straight face. Jamie relaxed imperceptibly. Good. He's decided to cover for me. Though I'm sure now I'll have twice as much explaining to do the next time he gets me alone . . .

Dumbledore cast him a level Look before seeming to shake the entire situation off. "Ah, well. If it didn't melt into nothingness, I'm sure the Aurors will find it eventually." He reached into his desk, pulling out a small glass bowl. "Sherbet lemon?"

"My pleasure." Jamie returned genially, reaching in to pick one up only moments after Dumbledore himself. Shooting Jamie looks that plainly indicated he was beginning to think the stranger was as batty as Dumbledore, Blaise too reluctantly reached into the bowl.

Jamie popped his into his mouth and sucked on it contemplatively, finding new complexities to an old sweet. "So, Professor . . . just out of curiosity, when did you start lacing your sherbet lemons with a mild truth serum?"

The venerable man affected a shocked look. "Why, whatever gave you that idea?"

Over a hundred years as a Potions Master sensitizes one to things like that . . . "I see you didn't deny it outright, so it must be true."

That brought a raised eyebrow. "Might you be a Slytherin, by chance, Mr. Potter? I see that your robe is unmarked . . ."

"Ah, this? It was part of my costume for the Halloween Ball a couple of days ago . . . I was displaced shortly afterward with no real chance to change." Suppressing a grin, he pulled the cloak out of his pocket and swirled it on. Voldemort's somewhat higher voice continued. "In exceedingly bad taste, but it seemed oddly appropriate nonetheless."

"A quite accurate costume . . . I hazard to guess that you have previous acquaintance with him . . .?"

"Most likely between two and three meetings more than your own Harry." Jamie smirked. "He's in the odd habit of making an attempt on my life every year or so . . ."

Blaise snorted quietly. "Ah, assassination attempts . . . a particularly banal aspect of everyday life."

A grin at that. "Well, y'know. Been there, done that, got the T-shirt . . ."

Blank looks.

Jamie sighed. "Never mind. I suppose it's a muggle thing."

Blaise looked at him curiously. "Wait a second. Not only are you certainly Slytherin enough to be one, but I know for a fact that the Potters are a pureblood family, one of the older ones even, if not one of the most uptight. You can't be Muggleborn."

"Okay, correction number one: there are Muggleborns in Slytherin, you know. I can think of at least two." He considered. "Although, come to think of it, that may not be true in this world, considering that Voldemort said . . . is it true that Draco is at Durmstrang?"

Blaise tilted his head. "Draco? The name sounds very vaguely familiar, but . . ."

"Draco Malfoy?" Jamie offered. "He came to Hogwarts with me . . ." And the thought that he was not around in this world gave him an unreasoning sense of desolation. He clung to the bond, reassuring himself with the fact that somewhere, Draco did still exist for him . . . he was sleeping, now, he thought, but the mere presence was a great comfort.

Blaise nodded, comprehending finally. "I remember. I met him once or twice when we were children. But the entire family . . . emigrated, I guess? to some great estate of theirs on the Continent. France, probably. Anyway, that happened when we were about six, so it was quite a while ago. Haven't heard from him since." He raised an eyebrow. "You're friends with him? A muggle Potter?"

Jamie laced his fingers behind his head, remembering that first afternoon, and the days following it; the delicate dance of what to say and what to avoid at all costs, of somehow both great trust and no trust at all. "Let's say . . . it's complicated." He fisted both hands and placed them on his hips. "Thank you, by the way, for reminding me of my original intent. Yes, there are actually muggleborns in Slytherin, but I am not one of them."

"Then why the 'muggle thing'?" Blaise asked, frustrated. "How do you know about it if you're not muggleborn?"

"Because I thought I was for the first eleven years of my life." He gestured vaguely. "You remember, that whole thing where my parents died that Halloween night . . ."

Blaise was suddenly looking very carefully between Jamie and Lily, and the dimensional traveler could almost see the light dawning in his eyes. "You got foisted off on Petunia?!"

A slight smirk. "And her husband and ickle Duddykins. Yes, it was quite as horrific as I'm sure it sounds."

Another puzzled look. "Why didn't the Potters take you in, then? Surely they're not all dead where you come from . . ."

"Well, as it turns out, that wouldn't have worked as everyone thought necessary. But no one knew that at the time, so if they're not . . ." He turned to Dumbledore and nodded slightly. "Congratulations, sir. You're even more of a bastard than I gave you credit for. Are you sure you weren't a Slytherin?"

"Quite sure." The elderly man replied benignly, just like that sidestepping the rest of the implications of those statements.

"Oi! Was that a slur on my House?" Blaise eyed him suspiciously.

Jamie shrugged, a light grin on his face. "I lived in Gryffindor. It's a habit."
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"You have been dreadfully hard to track down recently, my child."

Surprisingly, it was Ron who first heard the voice, and who subsequently dragged Hermione into an alcove off to the side of the hall where, hopefully, they would remain unnoticed.

She elbowed him and pointed towards the ground, where she had quickly scrawled the words 'I don't suppose you have the Invisibility Cloak?' in some sort of palely glowing script, floating a couple inches above the ground. They were close enough that he could just shake his head and she got the idea.

"I thought it . . . wise . . . to remove from you just such a temptation as this." The second voice was familiar as the first, though even at his angriest (something the Golden Trio had certainly had a certain amount of experience with), neither had ever heard Professor Snape's voice with quite as glacial a tone.

"Severus, Severus . . . why are you doing this?" Dumbledore's voice dripped with what seemed to be genuine sorrow. "You know this is for the good of the school . . ."

"I know nothing of the sort." Professor Snape replied, suddenly sounding nothing more than tired. "Draco is the same boy he has always been, no more a danger to the school than he's ever been; and almost certainly much less."

The two eavesdroppers exchanged significant looks, and did their best to lean closer, Hermione even going so far as to peek out at the two arguing adults. They could care less for Malfoy in and of himself, but clues about one of the missing students could possibly lead to clues about all of them. This was the first lead of any sort they had found, significant or not.

"Why do you defend him so, Severus? I had thought you more loyal than this . . ."

"I am loyal, but not only to you." Was that a hint of hurt? Surely not. "He is my godson, my Slytherin, friendship-bonded to my--to someone almost equally important to me, and in the right. Four good reasons for me to protect him with whatever resources I have at my disposal when only one would have done."

In her peeking glance, Hermione had noticed a distinct inability to move on the part of her Potions Professor. Gryffindor she might be, and he Slytherin, but there was still something ultimately wrong with this situation in her eyes; she muttered the strongest countercharm that came to mind before getting pulled back fully into the alcove by a somewhat agitated Ron.

"He is possessed by Salazar Slytherin and a Necromancer besides. You saw him as clearly as I, Severus. He has simply blinded you with his lies."

Giving in at last, Ron joined Hermione in peeking around the corner at the two combatants; this last shocking bit of information just too . . . well, shocking . . . to pass up on learning as much as he possibly could.

"Careful, Professor." There was something resembling the old contemptuous sneer in the Potions Master's voice; Ron and Hermione exchanged another, surprised glance -- they had never heard their professor speak to the headmaster in anything less than a respectful manner (unless, of course, he was angry near to frothing at the mouth, which was also a relatively common occurrence), much less this contempt so blatant that even the two relatively dense Gryffindors could identify it. "Your prejudice is showing."

He tapped his watch and disappeared.

And watching the Headmaster's face assume an expression that, on anyone else, they would have been seriously tempted to identify as 'livid', Ron and Hermione made haste to follow their Potions Professor's example.
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"Albus finally cornered me." The elder man ran fingers through his hair.

"Bad?" Draco asked, already wincing.

A mirthless smile. "He had me. But then his bonds somehow . . . broke, and he didn't realize in time to reapply them before I could get away. But it was a very close thing."

Hidden beneath the desk, both Draco's hands were fisted so tightly their knuckles were completely white. "Why do you persist in returning, Severus? Why don't you stay here? I know you have luck fully as potent as Sal's, but it'll still run out someday!"

"If I left, who would teach all the rest of those dunderheads Potions?" Severus pointed out with impeccable logic. "Besides, I still think that, somehow, deep in his heart, it does Dumbledore good to have Slytherin shoved in his face occasionally. He has this deplorable habit of only noticing us whenever someone has been caught with his fingers in the metaphorical cookie jar."

"Well, to be scrupulously fair about it . . . does he ever notice the other two houses at all? Lord knows there have been days when I don't . . ." And Rowena used to be my second-favorite drinking buddy. Damn, but that girl could hold her liquor.

Snape considered this. "Well, he pays attention when someone dies. But at least he doesn't think they're all only a few steps away (at best) from the slippery slope into being devils' spawn."

"Devil's spawn, eh? Wow, that brings back memories . . ."

A raised eyebrow.

"Come on. My parents were foolish -- or stupid, or drunk, or some combination thereof -- enough to name me Lucifer. What else would you expect?"
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"What did you do to her?"

Pansy examined the hand on her arm as if it were some particularly disgusting variant of slime. "Boot, I suggest you remove that hand if you plan on keeping it attached to the rest of your body." Said appendage was quickly withdrawn. She turned to leave, only to find that her fellow fifth-year had outmaneuvered her and was now standing squarely in front of her exit.

She Looked at him.

And was pleased to see that, at least briefly, he quailed . . . more surprisingly, he actually rallied, and demonstrated that fact by crossing his arms and appearing even more mulish. Intelligent Gryffindors, Slytherins with soft spots, and now stubborn Ravenclaws? What next, an honest-to-Merlin sneaky Hufflepuff?! She sighed. I so do not have time for this. "Yes, Boot?"

"What did you do to her?" He repeated, voice quavering only the slightest bit.

Pansy smiled sweetly. "Oh, I'm sorry Boot. Was that your pet squirrel I was torturing the other day?"

That turned him a gratifyingly pale shade, yet he still refused to move. "No, I'm talking about Cho. I know you've been sneaking around with her, and now she's gone. What did you do to her, you stinky Slytherin?!"

Trust a Ravenclaw to pick exactly the wrong time to stick his nose out of his book and be observant for once. "Well, if you know that, then you 'know' I've also been hanging around the Patil twin with more courage than brains. Not that either of them has much of either." She tossed her hair, a calculated gesture, and smirked. "A bit of advice, Boot. Don't believe just every rumor you hear." She stepped forward. "If I may?"

He was left just unbalanced enough that he even willingly stepped out of the way, and she sailed on, safe in the belief that at least that particular diversion had been dealt with.
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"We really need to stop meeting like this."

Parvati blinked. Did that really sound like what I think it sounded like . . .?

Pansy waved her hand. "Yes, yes, double entendre. Get over it. I'm serious."

The return to the Slytherin's typical brusque tone restored the situation to status quo in Parvati's mind, in addition to reminding her just why she had been so annoyed with said Slytherin only moments before. "Why?" She spat. "Afraid that hanging around with the Patil with little courage and fewer brains will ruin your precious reputation?"

For a moment, Pansy was shocked into an . . . almost apologetic . . . expression. That moment passed quickly, however, as she said lightly, "And here I thought eavesdropping was supposed to be a Slytherin trait. Nice turn of phrase, by the way; I may have to borrow that." An intensification of the glare directed at her from the angry--and hurt?--Gryffindor convinced her that she wasn't buying it.

With a sigh, she found a seat, near enough to the other girl where she wouldn't feel like she was yelling, but hopefully far enough away that Parvati wouldn't feel like her personal space was being impinged on. "Yes, I am afraid it will ruin my 'precious reputation'. You seem to have forgotten the stakes we're playing at, Parvati. If anyone notices us acting strange and investigates, we could get in serious trouble. Draco could get in serious trouble."

"If it were just me . . . well, I'm sure I'd catch a lot of flak from my housemates about befriending a Gryffindor, but this seems to be the year for that sort of thing. I'd deal." She tried her hardest to look Parvati in the eye, to impress the Gryffindor with her sincerity, but Parvati just wasn't cooperating.

She reached over and poked the other girl. "Come on now. You're the smartest and most courageous Gryffindor I know."

Parvati looked at her for the first time, and Pansy found herself disproportionately relieved at the humour she could now see blossoming in the other's dark eyes. "Why do I get the feeling that that's still an insult?"
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Henrietta Lucia Malfoy . . . Snape . . . well, whoever she was, she was a Gryffindor, and pretty damn proud of it. At no point did she believe any of the slurs on the Headmaster's name were anything even closely resembling the truth (though she had relented enough to admit, privately, that he probably thought he was telling the truth . . . Jamie may have changed a lot from the Gryffindor he had once been, but he still couldn't lie worth crap).

Still, finding herself in front of said gargoyle statue, she admitted that it seemed a bit . . . cliché? . . . to be coming to the Headmaster now. Understandable, yes--she'd have done the same in James Potter's place. Where else to go, when a situation seemed too odd to otherwise be believed? But, regardless, just a bit cliché.

She allowed her feet to be shunted into autopilot on the walk up the winding staircase behind the gargoyle; it was, after all, a path said feet had traced many a time before. Though that freed more of her consciousness up for thought, she thought on nothing in particular, content to drift for the moment.

What will come, will come. She thought she remembered the Headmaster himself saying that at one point.

"Ah, Mr. Potter." The familiar voice began, as soon as James entered the room and a bit before Lucia came within the scope of sight as well. "Yet another parent-teacher conference? I don't recall getting the request for one . . . though, of course, I'm quite happy to lend out my office anyway."

Good old Dumbledore. As Lucia rounded the last corner and came into sight, James began, "Not precisely, Headmaster . . ."

"Ah!" The old man looked exactly the way she remembered, his eyes lit up in that familiar look he had whenever he just figured out a particularly challenging problem. "Yet another stray, instead. Well, that was going to be my second guess." His smile warmed her as he held out a small box. "Sherbet lemon, my dear?"

She found a smile of her own to answer his as she came further forward. "I'd love one." The sherbet lemons, too, she had missed.

"This is Harriet Lestrange, Headmaster." James said. "I found her wandering around just outside Godric's Hollow, and since she claimed to be a student here . . ."

That penetrating gaze. "What year are you in? I admit, I don't immediately recognize the name."

"Fifth, sir." As always, she felt compelled to expand on her answers. "I'm in Gryffindor."

"A Lestrange in Gryffindor . . . I'm sure I would recall that." The twinkle. "My memory hasn't gone quite that far." He smiled encouragingly at her. "Might you know why I have no memory of you as a student here? A stranded time traveler, perhaps?"

She blinked. "Do you have many of those?"

"Why, one came through just last week." Dumbledore assured her blithely. "I take it that you aren't?"

A quick shake of the head. "I seriously doubt it. No more than perhaps a few days." Hesitantly. "I think I may have fallen into an alternate dimension, though . . ."

James eyed her. "So that's your explanation?" He turned to the benign old man. "She was raving earlier, something about me being dead and . . ." a pained look ". . . Sirius, Remus, and Severus being alive . . ."

"Is that true?" Dumbledore asked.

"Yes." Lucia replied without hesitation. "As far as I know--and in both worlds I've been to recently, in fact--all three of them are alive and quite well. Sirius has started gaining a decent amount of weight, finally; Remus, I personally think, has never been better (except, of course, just before and after a full moon), and Unc--Fa--Se--" She stuttered to a stop. Merlin, this is confusing. "Professor Snape," she finally settled on, "is the same as ever. Still a snarky bastard with a heart of gold who's badly in need of some decent vacation and a liberal dose of shampoo."

That surprised a chuckle out of James. "Same old Severus indeed." He smiled reminiscently. "What subject does he teach? Where?"

Dumbledore examined her. "So, you're related to the late Severus Snape?"

"Potions, here at Hogwarts." Lucia answered the easier question first. "Erh. Yeah. He's my brother's godfather, and I'm pretty sure he's my biological father, too . . ."

James' eyes widened. "Don't tell me," he said, resigned, "you're another Harry Potter."

She raised an eyebrow. "Why yes, in fact, though I wasn't raised to the position. What brought you to jump to that conclusion?"

The sound of the gargoyle at the foot of the stairs coming as close to slamming as said animated piece of stone could distracted all three; James and Dumbledore exchanged rueful glances at the heavy footfalls--not quite stomps--that followed.

"Professor Dumbledore!" A strident voice proclaimed, even before the owner of the voice came within range of sight. "You will never believe what that Potter boy has gotten up to now!"

Lucia watched in interest as Professor McGonagall dragged this world's iteration of Harry Potter into the room. Literally dragged, as she watched, bemused. She hadn't seen Professor McGonagall agitated enough to drag someone around by their ears since a particularly spectacular prank executed by Fred and George in their sixth year.

The first thing that struck her was the scarf he wore around his neck. Although it was getting towards chilly enough outside that said scarf was not wholly impractical, unless he lived in the dungeons (please, not a Harry Potter in Slytherin in truth . . . she got enough of that from Jamie as it was . . .) the castle was, in general, well enough heated that it was also not really necessary.

The second was, of course, the face, the general build . . . with the exception of the scarf, the Hufflepuff badge displayed prominently on his robes (Hufflepuff?!), and the much shorter hair, he and Jamie could have passed as twins.

Another Harry Potter with, unless I miss my guess, Severus Snape as his father? Isn't that against some fairly hefty odds, somehow?

Well, that and the cheeky grin on his face. Jamie had grown much too serious of late. Said grin only brightened as he caught sight of her. "Hullo, fair lady. I do not believe I've seen you before." He attempted a bow; an attempt that came to a speedy demise as McGonagall's continued hold on his ear kept him from moving his head to the proper extent. Unfazed, he just shrugged and rolled his eyes.

For her part, Lucia fought the irresistible bubble of mirth that was rising in her throat; yet another similarity to the Weasley twins--they, too, had always been able to make her laugh. "I'm, er . . . new to the area." She explained, once she had regained control.

He held out a hand. "Laurence Potter, Hufflepuff, mischief-maker extraordinaire. Call me Harry."

Lucia blinked. Okay, I really don't quite follow that train of logic . . .

Laurence--Harry--whatever, seemed to misinterpret her puzzled silence. "Don't blame me. The Laurence was my biological father's idea."

"Severus Snape?"

He nodded. "Not that it's any big secret, or anything . . . so what is your name? I don't think you've said."

She flashed a wry grin. "I have so many names, at this point, it's not even funny . . . I think currently I'm being labeled as 'Harriet Lestrange'. Well, at least the Harry part rarely ever changes."

"Lestrange? Funny, that name sounds familiar . . ."

"A married couple, two of the Dark Lord's more fervent supporters. Got thrown into Azkaban in late 1981 after torturing the Longbottoms into insanity with the Cruciatus Curse." Lucia supplied. She remembered the bedtime stories Father would tell Draco, snug in the next bed over, about how life under his Master in the height of his glory had been . . .

It had seemed nice, then; a world where Father would be even more powerful and rich than he was now, where he wouldn't be under constant, if unprovable suspicion . . . a world in which he might be powerful enough finally that he would be willing to acknowledge the fact that he had a daughter as well as a son . . .

The Lestranges had often figured prominently in his stories; though they were indubitably unstable and probably completely insane now, they had once been two of the Dark Lord's more loyal, intelligent, and creative members (which, she had come to realize, was not necessarily a good thing. Especially not where their victims were concerned--whether they were of the opposition variety, the innocent bystander variety, or the Death Eating variety. The last because intrigue was practically their favorite hobby, equal at least to the better-known spots of Muggle-torture).

Harry squinted. "Longbottom? I know Neville . . . so that's why he lives with his grandmother."

"You didn't know?" Oh, curse you and your big fat mouth yet again, Henrietta M--well, whoever you are. Damn, I hate it when Jamie is right . . . "I'm really not supposed to know either . . . at least, I'm pretty sure my father is technically an undisclosable source of information."

"Your father? So you are a Lestrange?" James jumped in on the conversation, quite startling Lucia at least.

Faced with a bald, yes or no question, she couldn't find it in herself to lie. "No, I'm not."

"So who are you?" Dumbledore this time.

It would be so much better to leave them with whatever safe little story they thought up on their own--that's what Jamie would do, no doubt. On a whim, she did another small curtsey as she introduced herself--correctly, this time. "Henrietta Lucia Malfoy, adopted daughter of Lucius and Narc--"

However, the lovely introduction was wasted as she came to a grinding halt with the realization that there were now four wands pointed at her in deadly seriousness.

"What?"
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There was a reason Draco taught Severus in the most barren room in the house, and specially warded it. Necromancers, with their increased sensitivity to the dead, were also more sensitive to the living. And amateur necromancers were especially sensitive; a certain amount of tolerance came only with time. Thus, the profusion of plant life outside and the little bird elsewhere in the house, while only creating a not-entirely unpleasant heat across his skin like a mild sunburn, probably scalded Severus.

He counted himself incredibly lucky that he had chosen as his student a man with so many and so well-crafted mental walls; it had been initially a problem as he'd had to convince Severus to lower the great bulk of them in the first place before any progress could be made, but now it also enabled him to return to the incredibly life-rich Hogwarts--hell, even the castle itself had taken on something resembling a life of its own--without feeling subjectively as if he were being burnt alive.

Speaking of a certain brighter-than-average life source . . .

"She's doing it again."

Draco, dragged out of his musings, discovered the exact same thing a moment before Severus' dry comment disturbed the silence of the room. He turned and bent down in one smooth motion, picking up the bird with the ease of long practice (this was only the fourth time this session she had tried something similar, after all . . .), depositing it outside the door, and shutting said door quite firmly.

What he didn't quite understand was how the door always seemed to have opened again, when he could swear that it was shut firmly. There is definitely something strange about that bird . . .
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Lesson over, Draco returned to his room in a somewhat less than optimal mood. He glided over to the bird, now sitting docilely at his desk as innocently as if she had never left. Pinning her with a stern glare, he picked her up and looked her in the eyes. "You know," he remarked idly, "most birds--especially those with brains as small as yours should be--would give up after the first or second try, and never darken the area again."

He paced over to the door and shut it firmly. "Now, imagine my surprise when, not only did you not give up within the first couple days, but you seem to have become even more inventive about it. Five times today--and the lessons really aren't that long to begin with."

An attempt at an innocent look--for a bird, she did a pretty good job of it. But Draco was not having any of it. "I don't think so, bird." He put her down and drew his wand. "Who are you and what do you want? We can do this the hard way, or . . ."

The bird grew, morphing into a human shape.

A distinctly recognizable human shape.

In a single dizzying moment which he later marked off as shock, it occurred to him that now he knew why those liquid dark eyes had seemed so very familiar.

Great, so the girl I've only been majorly crushing on since, I don't know, forever? has been sleeping in or near my bed, watching my every move, since when?! Good job, Luce, you moron . . .

She remained in that seated position, head bowed and studying her hands as if they were the most fascinating things on Earth. ". . . I'm sorry."

He just shook his head, hoping that would clear at least a few of the cobwebs, wand and hand fallen forgotten to his side. "Cho, why?"

An abortive head movement, as if she had been about to look up, then reconsidered. "I . . . it began when we got together. We wanted to see if we could figure out where you had been hidden away, and why--none of us really believed you had done something bad enough to warrant being hidden so thoroughly . . ."

"Thanks." He said dryly, hiding the fact that he was actually truly ever so slightly touched. Faith in the goodness of a Malfoy. The world is coming to an end for sure, now . . . "Who is we?"

"Oh. Right. Parvati, Pansy and I."

Draco's eyes widened. "Pansy!" He blurted, surprise taking control of his tongue. "Pansy working with a Gryffindor . . . I'm sorry I missed the fireworks. They must have been spectacular."

She looked up at that, smiling a bit shyly. "I'm kind of nervous . . . I just hope they haven't killed each other without me there to keep the peace."

"Don't worry." He assured her blithely. "I'm sure if so, Pansy will hide the body away so securely you'll never know."

A raised eyebrow. "That's supposed to be encouraging?"

A smirk. "Back to what you said--Pansy, I can understand. She and I practically grew up joined at the hip, after all. But Patil? She and I don't even like each other, as far as I was aware."

Cho snorted. "Well, she may not like you, but she has enough sense to believe you didn't do whatever the Headmaster thinks you did, too. And really, she's in it because she knows that if anyone knows where Harry--either or both--is, you will."

Draco laughed, short and humorless. "Oh, I did exactly what Dumbledore thinks I did. He was there. He saw it. As for Harry . . ." A helpless shrug. "You ought to know by now, just from observing me. Yes, I have my bond to Harry. All it tells me is that he is very far away--too far, farther than he's ever been before--but otherwise alive and well and, for the most part, reasonably happy."

"I'm happy to hear that much, at least." Cho smiled slightly. "He's a great person, you know."

Draco smiled fondly. "Always has been. Even when I hated him, I could see that . . . just never admit it to anyone, including myself. He's truly unique."

"And . . . the other Harry? Harry Evans?"

"My supposed sister? I haven't a clue . . . if she's in the same place as Harry, he'll look out for her, but there's no guarantee that they're anywhere near each other." It's looking out for her that got him into this mess to begin with, the damfool . . .

"Draco? Is something going on in there?" Severus' voice at the door. "I thought I heard your voice . . ."

He snorted. "Just talking to myself, Severus. Nothing to worry about."

Silence descended, and stayed for five minutes or so. "He's incredibly light on his feet," Draco explained, "so it's hard to tell whether he's gone or not. I think it's a safe bet that he lost interest and left, though." Another pause, this one not nearly so long before it was again broken. "You saw me naked."

A blush flared, immediate and painfully red, on her face. "I was not!" She protested. "You always get dressed in the bathroom."

"The fact that you noticed that does not reassure me."

"I can't help but see you when you just spontaneously enter the room like that! I always looked away as soon as I could . . ."

"Sure you did." He drawled, amused.

"You do look awful cute in your nightrobes, though . . ." She mused, subsequently clapping her hands across her face, the blush (which had begun to subside) springing back to its full previous glory. "I did not just say that."

"Yes you did." Draco replied promptly. (He was a Malfoy. Annoying people was what he did. For that matter, it was what the de la Rossis did, too . . .)

The door opened. "What, may I ask, is going on?" Severus asked, deceptively quietly. "The last time I looked, Draco, you did not possess the ability to mimic the female voice quite that--"

Said speech--delivered in the typical Snape tone generally reserved for complete incompetents and Potters--came to a screeching halt as the Potion Master finally processed the visual data of the scene in front of him. Data including one violently blushing sixth-year Ravenclaw that most definitely did not belong in said scene.

"Miss Chang. I suppose I should have known."
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17 February 2004
19 February 2004
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^_^, Cor-chan, Kateri1, Jaded Angel8, Sele, Draconias, ennui deMorte, Holy-Demon, Jedi Buttercup, Beth Weasley, Amirathis, shelleykids, Arizosa, Lokia Raven Riddle, l[LiSa PiCe'A PePeRoNi PiZzA]l, HAZZAGRIFF, Laughing Cat, Stratagemini, mortadella, Raclswt, Ezmerelda, Rabble, Meggplant, Agnei Smith, Butterflypersona, cosmocat--Thank you so very much for reading and not giving up hope . . .

ReflectionsOfReality--If it's not too many plotlines, it's too many main characters ... actually, never mind, I think I have both in this story. :P

Think I can get away with blaming it on a short attention span? ^^;;

Saerry Snape--No, I admit I don't have quite as motley a crew as yours. :P I do have muses, but they're both rather quiet. Tend to prefer to let me muddle through on my own. ^^

ReddAlice--I'm sure there are some plotworthy points in here ... somewhere ... XD Seriously, we're climbing back out of the rut now, even if it doesn't seem like it.