Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter or any member of the Harry Potter universe. They belong to the estimable JK Rowling and I am infinitely grateful for her letting us borrow them to play with a bit.

Chapter Nine: Nobody's on Nobody's Side

Zivra wondered idly if the surly potions master realised what an effect his commandment would have on her. Or how terribly revolting the whole process would be. She stared at the mass of ugly swirls and now crisscrossed scars that marked her chest in the mirror a moment before smiling in whimsical amusement. Well, I wouldn't shag me now, that's for certain.

Brusquely, her moment of irreverence past, she gathered the two vials in one hand and buttoned the Victorian blouse she wore with the other. Frowning, she shrugged into her standard brown robes and glanced about for her class scarf. It was the first Quidditch game of the season, Gryffindor v Slytherin, and wild hippogriffs could not have kept her away. Safely tucking the vials into a pocket of her robes, mentally chiding herself to be sure and stop by the potion's laboratory later, she spotted the knitted scarf hiding behind one of her newly installed bookcases. Fondly dusting it off, it was a treasured remnant of her own carefree days at Hogwarts- however brief they were, she slung it over her arm as she strode from her quarters.

In the grand foyer, Zivra found herself nearly knocked over by a Gryffindor rushing toward the Quidditch pitch. Raising an eyebrow she eyed the student for a moment before the girl broke the silence.

"Professor Callistas," Hermione intoned, bowing her head slightly in acknowledgement. When Zivra returned the gesture, Hermione hurried to broach the issue on her mind, but was distracted by the scarf hanging on her Professor. "I didn't realise you had gone to Hogwarts."

Zivra motioned for the girl to walk with her out to the stands. Wrapping the length of wool loosely around her neck, after all it was after all nearing the end of October, and spoke to the young Gryffindor next to her. "I was only here for my seventh year, in order to take the NEWTs."

Hermione assimilated the information and filed it away under 'Things to Puzzle Over Later'. Moving on to the real issue, she said "Might I ask you a question Professor?"

"I believe you just did Ms. Granger."

Hermione blushed before continuing on, "I was wondering- I mean Professor McGonagall told me that you have some books that might help me with a project."

"Did she now? And what, pray tell, is the topic of this project?"

"The role Hugh de Payens' work in formulating modern defence theory. It's for my DADA class. I mentioned the assignment to Professor McGonagall and she said that you were a descendent of de Payens- and therefore might have some information the library did not."

Zivra made a mental note to have a talk with the Transfiguration professor about her discussions of other staff's personal lives with students. In the meantime, Ms. Granger looked much like she was wishing she had not asked such a question. Pushing thoughts Minerva McGonagall aside, she appraised the student next to her. "Quite possibly, however, some of my manuscripts are of such a nature and value that you would be able to handle them only in my presence, and others not at all." When Hermione began furiously nodding her head in assent Zivra smiled, a student honestly interested in learning was rare. Feeling slightly generous, she said "I was planning on setting an end of term paper for my class, around seven feet, I assume that your defence paper is of similar demands?"

"Around five and half feet."

Zivra rolled her eyes. Some professors had no clue how to handle students. "If you clear it with Professor Forasen, I will accept a joint paper on the subject."

Hermione smiled brightly in return and Zivra felt compelled to point out, "I personally would require that at least half of the essay be devoted to de Payens' involvement in the Crusades and the effect this had on the Middle Ages and later the Renaissance." When Hermione looked undeterred, Zivra simply nodded. Hermione opened her mouth to say something else but was drowned out by the roar of the crowd in the Quidditch stands. The game had already begun.

Shooing Granger off to the Gryffindor stands, Zivra mounted the steps to the faculty seats. At the top, she noticed that unless she wished to stand throughout the match, she was going to have to sit next to the previously discussed Defence professor- a professor who was currently sitting indecently close to a slightly annoyed Severus Snape. Zivra smirked as she eyed the couple, by her estimation, Professor Snape didn't stand a chance. She wished the other professor the best of the luck. She could barely stand to be around the man as it was, and really couldn't understand the mentality that was leading the blonde- but to each his or own, she supposed.

Just then, the man looked up to see Zivra making her way toward the empty space. He raised an eyebrow at her house scarf, but waited until a lull in the game to lean forward enough to ask with barely disguised bite, "Playing the favourite are we?"

Zivra raised an eyebrow in reply as she lifted the ends of the garment and shook it at him, "House loyalty dies hard."

"Don't I know it," the Defence professor- Desdemona, Zivra thought her name was- put in. She lifted the ends of her own silver and blue scarf, "Ravenclaw must be in my blood, I hear that may have a chance for the cup this year."

"Doubtful," Snape added, "that honour will go to Slytherin."

"One can always hope," the defence professor sighed.

Snape and Zivra exchanged a knowing look before Zivra responded with ill-disguised humour, "Perhaps Hufflepuff would have been your better choice- to hope when hope is futile is certainly not a Ravenclaw trait."

"And you think your way is better?" Desdemona replied.

"Yes," Snape defended, "we Slytherins are astute enough to resign ourselves to the inevitable, and not foster foolish fancies."

Zivra gave him a nod in acknowledgement of his statement before returning her attention to the game.

Dessie was growling under her breath. Who had thought that surrounding herself with Slytherins could be such a bad idea? The green and silver draped around the person next to her was maliciously taunting her, she just knew it. It didn't help that Snape, to her other side, was smugly watching the Slytherin chasers score goal after goal. Gods forbid that Slytherin actually win, the both of them would be insufferable. Not that she had any intention of spending more time than she needed in the company of the History of Magic professor, but she certainly intended to spend much more time than necessary in the company of the man sitting next to her.

Suddenly, a roar from the far side of the stands brought her eyes upwards. Shielding them from the bright sunlight, a red and gold blur could be seen in a steep dive on the far side of the field. The breath of the man next to her caught for a moment as a flash of green intersected the other blur, but the exultant cheer that soon rose from the mass of red and gold clad students across the stands belied his hope. Gryffindor had won. Realising she felt a bit smug about it, she quickly wiped the smile off her face and settled for an expression more suitable to the dourness of the occasion.

Snape was congratulating Professor McGonagall in clipped tones even while the other professor was accepting a bone-crushing hug from Hagrid.

"Perhaps next time Severus," the older witch said, obviously mouthing courtesies she had said many times over the past few years.

"Yes, perhaps." He was nearly to the stairwell before Dessie realised he had left her. As she hurried after him, her plan forefront on her mind, she could have sworn she saw the History of Magic professor give her a surreptitious wink.

How very odd.

Snape, stride lengthening as he wove his away around the mass of students celebrating (or bemoaning) the game's outcome, became aware of someone following him almost the moment he left the faculty's stand. Deliberately lengthening his stride, he could have sworn he heard a muttered curse as his shadow fought to keep up with him. He smiled- or at least made the curling of his lips that meant he had a rather devious, cruel, or simply mean-spirited idea on his mind. Nearly leaping up the stairs, he wound his way down to the dungeons. He was certain of it now. Not only was someone following them, but they were serious about. He turned a corner, then spun on one heel, lying in wait for the unfortunate individual who had chosen to infringe on his perfectly loathsome mood following the end of the Quidditch game.

Said individual's reaction to running headlong into the Potion's Master was certainly gratifying.

"Is there some reason you have chosen to stalk me this afternoon Mr. Malfoy, other than an obvious desire for a detention?" he drawled as Draco fought back a very unmanly squeak.

"Professor Snape," Draco mumbled as he pulled his robes in tightly around himself, "could I have a moment of your time?"

Snape rolled his eyes, "You may have any number of moments." The younger man was simply looking at him, "Was there a problem?"

"Might we go somewhere a bit less…?" Draco trailed off looking for the correct word.

With an ill-disguised grimace Snape led the way to his office. Once there, he brusquely motioned Draco toward his desk- a desk that lacked multiple chairs for a reason- before sliding behind it himself. Steepling his fingers in front of him, he snapped, "We're alone now, I hope this is worth my time."

"You're aware about this party my father is planning on Halloween?"

"Yes."

"Do you know who isn't invited?"

"Draco, I'm sure that this information seemed pertinent at the time, it is however-"

"The Lestrange side."

Snape's jaw snapped shut. "Continue."

Draco closed his eyes briefly before taking the plunge- and a chance, "This Christmas, Blaise, Dugald, Adrian and I are supposed to take the Mark at Malfoy Manor."

"What?" Snape stood so quickly his chair fell over behind him. "Sit," he growled. Draco sat without thinking, but was glad to find a chair behind him as he did so. "Alright," Snape was breathing deeply through his nostrils, "from the beginning Mr. Malfoy."

So Draco told him of meeting Blaise in the hallway and of the subsequent discussion. He also told of his own theories involving why four students were taking the Mark before graduation. When he had finished, Snape was staring off into a space just over his right shoulder.

"And you think your father may be making his move?"

"He's already been sentenced to Azkaban once, he got out of it, but he can't afford to waste time anymore." Draco stared his head of house in the eye without blinking, "The last battle is coming and my father plans to lead it."

"And why come to me with this information Mr. Malfoy?" Snape sighed.

"Because once the die are cast, I'm not sure my father is going to come out on top. I want to make sure you're behind me should they come up snake eyes."

Snape contemplated the young man in front of him for a long moment. "You know how it works Mr. Malfoy- a Slytherin cannot help another without at least three good reasons."

Draco pressed his face into his hands for a second before looking up, "One- I have been faithfully bringing you information since I was a first year, you're going to need that more and more as the end approaches."

Snape blinked twice, slowly, before replying, "Point conceded."

"Two- should the Dark Lord's plans go awry, you'll need someone with power to help you. Do you think my father would? I will."

Snape snarled before conceding that point.

"Three- Everyone knows you don't follow a faction because you don't agree with either the Lestranges or my father on how things should be happening. Neither do I. In fact, despite how little I know of your beliefs, experience and rumour tells me that we might have closer views than people might think. Given time, having me as someone to second you will pay off."

Snape regarded Draco silently before conceding. He gave the boy the reassurances he was seeking before sending him off to the common room. Once the door had closed firmly behind him, Snape leaned against the back, an ill-used and rusty laugh exploding from his chest. Imagine the only child of the Malfoy family- son of the Dark Lord's second in command- telling Severus Snape- spy and traitor- that they had views in common. The whole idea would be funny if it weren't so damn ironic.

"Bloody hell," Snape groaned, pressing the heel of his hands to his temples, "Why can't things be simple?"

Draco ignored the people lingering around the common room as he made his way toward his dorm. He absently shed his Quidditch robes and drew the curtains shut on his bed.

He'd planted the seed. His information said he was correct. His plans were in motion. It was only now to wait and see where events led.

Draco stayed awake a long while, staring into the deep black nothing.

A/N: The title of this chapter is from the musical 'Chess', the lyric is: Everybody's playing the game/ but nobody's rules are the same/ nobody's on nobody's side
Fitting, I thought, and a theme that will continue throughout.