Trading Places

Title: Trading Spaces 21

Rating: M or “R”, for those of you who prefer the olden days.
Pairing: H/D, Hr/Sn. (slash, m/m – you’ve been fairly warned, if you’re offended, you wanted to be.

A/N’s: No gratuities this time, sorry. But you guys were right, they were getting lengthy, and I suppose not every review (no matter how grateful I am for them) necessitates a response. Anybody who would like a response, please feel free to email me, or indicate that in your review, and I promise one!
Summary: A new arrival! And some revenge! And some snakes!

Title of this chapter: Hush

Yeah, I know, I didn’t name any other chapters, and now they’re all going to get jealous and accuse me of playing favorites. My solution? For you to play favorites! Leave a review containing your favorite chapter, why, and a few fave lines from it. I will add up the votes, and everyone who chose the winning chapter will get sent the next chapter first. Scout’s honor!

Oh, also, some of you are looking for Snape/Hermione smut. Email me a vote (as described above), and you can have the NC-17 version, if you’re of age. grin

References: Doodle quote – Joss Whedon

To my Betas: Please do not be offended that I have posted this without hearing back from all of you. I just wanted to give everyone a Christmas Surprise, and I won’t have time to post after today but before Christmas. I would still like you to send me your revised copies, as I intend to replace the chapter with the fully edited version once you are finished!

SSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS

“MY PAGES ARE SINGED!” Sheldon fumed outside the Potions classroom. “This is unacceptable!”

The hall around him was eerily silent. Most of the students were holed up in their houses, pondering the weird happenings of the past few days and their connection to the Death Eater raid, news of which has spread like wildfire throughout the school.

“Poor, poor Rune. Killed trying to protect an evil colleague. It’s all my fault,” The book sniffed miserably. “If I wasn’t so darn good at being evil, she wouldn’t have been tempted.” Sheldon straightened his spine. What was he doing? Moping? Evil does not mope! Evil takes action!

“That’s it! I’ve had it, Moldy Wart! You’re done! You hear me? DONE!”

“Well, sssstick a fork in him and stop shouting then,” Snippy snickered, slithering into view.

“You’re going to defeat the Dark Lord? You?” Snarky scoffed. “Funny, you don’t look like a four-eyed scarred Gryffindor.”

“Yeah, Harry’sssss going to be the one to defeat Voldemort. Everyone knows that.”

“What? Says who?” Sheldon demanded. “Why?”

“Only Harry can defeat Voldemort. About a dozen prophecies and the candy man. Because it’s Destiny.” Snippy thought about it for a minute before adding, “So there.”

“Fine, if it’s Destiny, it’s Destiny.” Sheldon decided. “And I’ll help him.”

SSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS

Harry stood in front of the mirror in his bathroom. His skin had taken on an inhuman bluish pallor. Dark smudges under his eyes attested to the sleep he had not gotten. Yet the effect was nearly ethereal. Perhaps it was the glow that seemed to be emanating from inside him. Not enough to startle, just to shine. He was dressed in black leather dragon-hide pants, a gift from Charlie Weasley two Christmas’ back. He wore a deep, hunter green sweater that made his eyes seem deeper and brighter.

Slowly he left the room. His movements languorous and easy, concealing the tightly leashed fury that had been burning in his chest, since he had read Draco’s words last night.

“Harry, man, how arrrre you?” It was Haze, apparently just hanging out in the middle of the floor.

“Fine. Are you lost?”

“No, just indecisive.” Haze screwed up his face. “I was going to paint a welcome sign for the new mascot. But I need a snack.” He glanced heavily down both sides of the hallway. “Don’t know which way to go now – the sign or the snack.”

“Snack,” Harry replied. “Take it with you.”

“Right! Like, to go, man. Brilliant.” Haze beamed at him. Then a look of concern crossed his little face. “You ok, Harry? You seem . . . different. It’s almost like . . . woah . . . like your aura changed, man.”

“I’m fine.”

“Dude, where’s Draco?” Haze asked, a thought occurring to him.

“What? Why?”

“How long have you been away from your Symmetrius, man?”

“How did you – never mind. Everything’s fine. Don’t worry,” Harry tried to sound calming.

“Well, where are you off to, my glowy dude? You look like you could use a little sleep . . . or a little herb . . . “ Haze suggested.

“First, the room of requirement.” Harry turned, heading off once more. He smirked to himself, “Then Gryffindor Tower.”

Haze nodded grimly to himself. He had to find Draco. Now.

SSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS

Harry entered to room of requirement, finding it contained everything he needed. As always. The room was filled with Boggarts in cages. And in the center, the sword of Gryffindor lay shining on a small altar. He picked up the blade and it seemed to gleam brighter. His eyes flashing green fire he pulled the sword from its sheath and it sang.

“Open,” he whispered. The cages complied and he was faced with thirty Lucius Malfoys. “Bring it on.”

He moved forward with a newfound grace. His movements seemed choreographed as he danced through his enemies. His sword arced through the air, the steel gleaming and whistling, as he slashed. As he defeated each Lucius, the boggarts took on the form of Voldemort. His dark grin widened. He knew he could defeat them all with a simple, “Ridiculus!” but he wanted the practice. He wanted the release.

Suddenly the boggart in front of him changed shape. It became Harry Potter. But this Harry Potter carried a sense of power and darkness unknown. Harry took a deep breath as he faced his worst fear. He gripped the sword tighter in his hand. He plunged the sword into the Dark Harry’s chest, then he murmured, “I don’t care.”

“RIDICULUS!” He shouted. They all became little Hazes smoking hookahs. He laughed, a cavernous rumbling sound that started deep in his chest and rolled out like thunder.

“What’s so funny, Hero?”

“Me,” Harry replied in an amused tone as he turned to face the blond who had just entered.

“Care to elaborate?” Draco leaned against the closed door. He was dressed in black from head to toe, making his skin shine like porcelain, his hair glow like moonlight, and his deep gray eyes seemed to swirl like turbulent clouds before a storm at sea. His legs were clad in tight , soft black leather

“No,” Harry smirked, stepping closer. “How’d you find me?”

“We’re Symmetrius, you can’t hide from me,” Draco wet his lips, taking in the prowling Harry as he closed in.

“Really? Because I thought a little badger told you.” Harry raked his eyes over Draco’s body. “That’s ok, I’m glad you’re here.”

“Are you?” Draco attempted a bored tone, still salty about Harry’s earlier dismissal of his offer. If Haze hadn’t explained about Symmetrius partners being too far apart for too long or during times of extreme emotional distress, he would have left Harry to stew in his own juices until he begged Draco to pay attention to him again. He smirked sinfully at the thought. The things he would make Potter beg for.

“Mmm-hmmm.” Harry leaned over Draco, bracing his forearms on either side of his head.

“Yeah, well. I can’t stay long,” Draco sighed. “I just came because Haze informed me that the golden boy was in trouble again.”

“Aw, you came to rescue me,” Harry whispered, his eyes like emerald icicles. “Isn’t that sweet?”

“I am very seldom ‘sweet’, Potter.”

“Really?” Harry brushed his lips briefly across Draco’s. “I beg to differ.”

“That’s something you better get used to,” Draco smirked.

“Differing?” Harry asked lazily leaning his full weight forward.

“Begging.” Draco’s eyes heated, and he shoved Harry away from him.

“Oh, I don’t think so,” Harry whispered dangerously. He pressed forward, setting his forearm against Draco’s throat and pushing him back against the door. He kissed him deeply, thoroughly. Harry invaded Draco’s space and his mouth with a ruthless passion edged in ice. Harry seemed simultaneously in control and detached. Draco was lost, caught up in the whirlwind that was Harry Potter. Helplessly attracted and turned on, he also felt that there was something wrong. Harry was emanating cold as if he were one of the Hogwart’s ghosts. Draco was left gasping for breath, his lungs on fire.

Draco shoved Harry away from him again. “I appreciate your enthusiasm and interest, Potter. However, I’m not really in the mood. Maybe some other time?”

“Hush.” Harry pushed Draco back against the wall once more. Slowly, he leaned in and thoroughly kissed him again, asking, “You think you could deny me?”

Draco lifted his chin arrogantly, staring down at Harry with centuries of aristocratic sneering requisite with the Malfoy upbringing, but did not speak.

Harry was beginning to feel warmer now, and some of his rage had dissipated. But every time he looked at Draco’s pale face, he remembered what Draco really wanted from him, and how foolish Harry had been to think he wanted anything more. Harry brushed his lips over Draco’s mouth, once, twice, ever so slowly, repeating the gesture until he could feel the blond tremble and lean into the kiss.

“Say it,” Harry whispered, an edge of frozen fury lacing his words.

“I want you,” Draco breathed, his voice rebellious, reckless and irreverent.

“That’s what I thought,” Harry smirked, stepping back.

“What do you think you’re doing?” Draco demanded, his voice low and rimmed with suspicion.

“What you told me to.” Harry smiled, backing away from Draco and toward the door. He raised a brow, his eyes filled with a wild kind of freedom that would make Draco distinctly nervous after the door had shut behind the young Gryffindor. “Whatever I want.”

SSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS

“I’m sorry, what’s your name again lil’ fella?” Hagrid peered down at the tiny eaglet before him on the train step.

“Hushishana.”

Hagrid screwed his face up, ready to attempt the name once more.

“Hush. You can call me Hush,” the bird said, imperiously. “If it’s easier for you.”

“Thank you,” Hagrid smiled warmly. “Hush.”

“So, are you to take me to my post?”

“Huh?”

“My post – my , er, House, as it were?”

“Certainly. The other Mascots are coming to walk us up to the castle. They’ll be here any minute.”

“Very well, then.” The bird fluttered up to Hagrid’s shoulder. “I must say, I like your beard. Reminds me of home.”

“Thanks.” Hagrid beamed at him. “I think.”

“Will you two stop talking and move a little faster!” Griff-gruff’s voice could be heard just before the mascots came into sight on the path. Snippy and Snarky’s reply was inaudible, but their snickering was clear.

The four finally came to a stop in front of the train. They peered up at Hagrid’s shoulder, where the little bird was looking down at them imperiously.

“We welcome you to Hogwarts,” Griff-gruff stated formally.

“Thank you.” The bird nodded regally.

“Griff, this is Hush, Hush this is Griff-gruff from Gryffindor House,” Hagrid pointed to each mascot in turn. “And Snippy and Snarky from Slytherin.” Snippy and Snarky were still snickering too hard to extend a greeting. “And Hazelheart, from Hufflepuff.”

“Hey there, tiny feathered dude.” Haze was holding a hand painted sign that read: Welcome to Hogwarts, man!

“Hey there,” the bird replied solemnly. Then he flittered over to his trunk and removed two chocolate frogs, which he tossed to the snakes.

“Thanksssss,” they hissed, looking up with new interest.

“There’s only one way to deal with parsel snakes. Keep their mouths so full they can’t talk,” the eaglet sighed. The snakes glared at him, their mouths full of chocolate frog.

“I like you.” Griff-gruff grinned. “A lot.”

“I know,” Hush grinned. “Everybody does.”

SSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS

“Hey man, you got those jelly beans I asked for? The muggle ones?” Haze peeked his head cautiously around Draco’s door.

“That depends,” Draco grinned. He was sprawled in his window seat, one leg raised and folded on the seat, the other stretched out in front of him. His black shirt was unbuttoned, hanging open over his dragon-hide pants. In one hand, he twirled a large snifter of brandy. His white blond hair hanging rather rakishly in his eyes, he drawled, “Have you brought me what I asked for?”

“Of course, man. I got the stuff right here,” Haze smiled and sauntered into the room.

“Mmmmm,” Draco smelled the package Haze handed him and grinned briefly. He placed the five-bound bag of fruit-flavored jelly bellies on the table in front of Haze, dismissively. “That’ll do.”

Draco set his brandy down to open a small box on the low table in front of him. In it were cherry cigarette rolling papers. He looked up to see Haze making himself comfortable on the plush carpet across the table from him. He frowned. “And what do you think you’re doing?”

“Just settling in, man,” Haze grinned. “You really shouldn’t do this alone.”

“I assure you, I can handle myself.”

Haze stared back at him for a second looking vaguely hurt. Draco gritted his teeth. There was an unfamiliar tug at his heart when he looked at the little furry fellow. And he had immediately responded to Draco’s spur of the moment request. Plus, he felt more concerned about all the mascots now. It had never occurred to him that they could be hurt, were mortal. Haze slowly began to climb to his feet.

“Alright!” Draco snapped. “You can stay, but the first time I find anything green and sticky . . . “

“Chill, my dude. I have a feeling we’ll both be a little more mellow in a moment or two.” Haze looked at him for a moment. “Then we can talk about your problem.”

“What problem? Who said anything about a problem?”

Haze shook his head and sighed, just staring at him.

“Too vehement, huh?”

Haze nodded sagely. Draco leaned back on his seat, lighting his cherry smoke with one hand, before grasping his brandy snifter. The blond inhaled deeply. “So, if you’re so wise, what do you think my problem is?”

“Hush. Relax for a second.” Haze leaned back taking a cherry cigarette for himself and lighting it. He exhaled slowly, finally stating, “That’s not what I do, dude. I help you figure ‘em out, not come up with them.”

“I’ll tell you what my problem is. Same bloody problem I’ve had since my first year. Goddamn Harry f#king Potter.”

“I’m feeling a lot of anger from you, man.” Haze inhaled again. “You’re aura’s all red.”

“Are you sure it’s not the cherry smoke filling the room?” Draco smiled and sipped his brandy. His whole body was beginning to feel warm and fuzzy, a giddy floating sensation, like being covered in soap bubbles.

“What’s up with you and Harry, man? Is it the Symmetrius thing? Or the other thing?”

“Symmetrius, of course. What other thing?” Draco waved his hand, in irritation, his jaw set in a tight line.

“Yeah, man . . . that must be, like, intense.” Haze didn’t waste his time addressing the denial.

“It is.” Draco exhaled smoothly, talking as if without thought. “Of course it is. It’s always been intense. We’ve hated each other since . . . since we met . . . everything we do is . . . fierce and deep and important in some ineffable way.” Draco narrowed his eyes at Haze, “And now you’re going to give me some platitude of hate and love being opposite sides of a thin knut, right?”

“Love? You’re the only one mentioning love, dude.” The badger sat back for a moment, inhaling deeply. He gestured as he held his breath and gritted out, “But the opposite of hate is not love, it’s indifference, man.”

“I’ve heard that somewhere before,” Draco mused. “Or something rather like it . . .”

Haze puffed on his smoke for a minute or two. He examined Draco with heavy eyes. “Sal told me that once, man.”

“Sal?”

“Slytherin.”

“Bloody hell.” Draco took a deep drink of brandy.

“Yeah, we use to hang out some times, on the sly, you know. He was flashy on the outside, but really secretive if you got to know him.”

“How could you get to know him if he’s really secretive?” Draco speculated.

“Yeah, I know, man! That was the hard part.” Haze blew a smoke ring at Draco. “But I asked him one day, why he hated Godric so much, when they used to be best mates. And that’s what he said.”

“Harry and I were never best mates,” Draco pointed out.

“Didn’t say you were, dude. Just said you’re not indifferent.”

“I’m not.” Draco heaved a deep sigh, his lips curved in a sardonic twist. “I’m a simple man. I’m a Malfoy. So when I see something I want, I need to have it, and have it now. I want what I want, and I bloody well want it when I ask for it.”

“So, your problem is you asked for something and someone didn’t give it to you, like everyone else does. And that makes you angry.” Haze bobbed his head. “Makes sense. What was it?”

“Huh?” Malfoy’s eyes were lost in the depths of his brandy, smoke clouding his vision.

“What was it that you wanted?”

“Goddamn Harry f#king Potter,” he drawled softly.

SSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS

“Pardon me, but may I inquire as to what you are doing?” An imperious voice sounded over Sheldon’s head.

Sheldon shrieked, jumping up from his covers spread wide position. Then, spotting the small, fluffy eaglet perched on the door jam, peering down at him, he frowned, “You shouldn’t interrupt a warrior in the middle of practice, you could be hurt.”

“Me? Be hurt by . . . did you say ‘warrior’?” Hush frowned, speculatively. “You’re a book.”

“No, I’m not.”

“Yes,” the bird paused for emphasis, fluffing his downy feathers. “You are.”

“No, I’m-“

“Yes, yes, you are.”

“No – “

The bird’s look was enough to interrupt the book.

“I mean, I’m not just any book.” Sheldon puffed out his pages. “I am Sheldon –“

“Of the blackest magic,” Hush rolled his eyes; he should have guessed sooner. “Ever.”

“Series,” Sheldon finished, looking pleased. “I see you’ve heard of me. I’m evil.”

“Yes, I know,” the bird murmured in an amused tone. “But I say, get back to what you were talking about earlier. If you’re a warrior, who are you fighting?”

“Oldie-Mort,” Sheldon snapped defensively.

“I am sorry to inform you, most evil of literature,” Hush stated gravely, folding his tiny wings over his puffed up chest. “But only Harry Potter can defeat Lord Voldemort. The prophecies-- ”

“Yeah, yeah, yeah. Destiny and all that rot. But it doesn’t say that Harry has to do it alone.” Sheldon pointed out, sniffing indignantly, though he was mildly appeased by his flattery.

“That’s true,” the bird conceded. “And have you a plan, Blackest Magic? Ever?”

“I do.” Sheldon grinned widely.

“What is it?”

“A secret,” he mused, suddenly suspicious. “Just who are you, anyway?”

“Hush.”

“I won’t! I demand to know who you are!”

“My name is Hush. I’m the new mascot of Ravenclaw!” He explained impatiently.

“Oh, good to meet you. I’m the mascot of –“

“Evil, yes, I know.” The bird sighed. “Tell me your plan.”

“Why should I?”

“Because I’m the only one who will listen.” The bird folded its wings over his chest.

“Good point,” Sheldon agreed. The bird was obviously wicked smart, having known right away that Sheldon was the mascot of evil. Carefully he explained his plan as the bird listened carefully. Quickly, he finished with, “And then, I jump open to page 117.”

“Well . . . that’s just . . .”

“Just what?” Sheldon asked eagerly.

“Brilliant,” the bird grinned, a plan forming behind his tiny face. “You, my evil friend, are bloody brilliant.”

SSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS

Hermione slowly entered Snape’s office. “Severus?”

“Hermione,” his warm voice sounded from his chair by the fire. Quickly she shut the door behind her, moving to stand in front of him.

Hermione bit her lip, slowly nudging the carpet with the toe of her shoe, a wicked glint in her cinnamon eyes. “You summoned me . . . Professor?”

“I did, indeed.” His eyes filled with heat as he narrowed them at her. “Miss Granger.”

Her lips curved in a carnal smile, images of his body braced above her as she trembled in his arms dancing in her head. “What can I do for you?”

“We are to attend a party,” he responded grimly, his face draining of warmth.

“A party?”

Wordlessly, he presented the invitation, quickly whisking it away from her before she could memorize the details.

“At Malfoys?” She was puzzled. “Shouldn’t he be furious with you, still? Or is ruining each other’s evil plots considered a practical joke in the Death Eater tradition?”

Snape’s lips twitched in amusement. “No, it’s not a practical joke.”

“Well, could I have a clue, here, Sherlock?”

“Who?”

“Never mind.” She crossed her arms over her chest, pursing her lips and falling into Top Student Mode. “Wouldn’t they just summon you to a Death Eater meeting if they wanted to kill you? I mean, if the Dark Lord is displeased with you, shouldn’t you be getting an ‘off with his head’ speech or something?”

“Not necessarily.” Snape stared at her. “I’d hardly attend one of those, would I?”

“Granted.” She frowned again, thinking it over. Why would Malfoy be trying to socialize now? “So, it’s a trap.”

“Maybe,” Snape reached out suddenly, pulling her against his body. “Or Lucius is planning a little retaliatory practical joke of his own.”

“You said Death Eaters don’t do that.”

“I know. I lied.” He smiled. “I don’t think you’ll be needed for this little event.”

“My name was on the invitation.”

“He just wants to pull the joke off in front of you so I’ll be more humiliated,” Snape explained. “It’ll be better for me, if you stay here.”

“Are you sure?” She asked hesitantly.

“Yes.” He stated firmly, before leaning down to kiss her breathless.

She broke away, blinking up at him innocently. “I should go, so you can get ready.”

“Hush,” he whispered. “I’m not leaving until six. That’s hours from now.”

“My mistake,” she murmured, kissing him back before he recognized the glint in her eyes. Six o’clock it is, then.

A few hours later, Hermione was languidly tangled in her sheets, her naked body barely covered. She watched silently as Severus left the room, pretending to be asleep. When he closed the bedroom door behind himself, she quickly jumped to her feet, pulling on her clothes, and then crouching by the door. When she heard the outer door shut, she hurried into that room, careful to let the latch shut, before sneaking out into the hallway.

She waited behind a bush for him to prepare to Apparate, a heady feeling of déjà vu washing over her. When he pointed his wand at himself, she threw herself at him, knocking him to the ground as they both Apparated. They appeared in the drawing room of Malfoy mansion helplessly tangled together on the floor.

“Really, Severus, for a man who claims not to be an exhibitionist,” Lucius smirked. “I certainly find you in plenty of compromising situations. Even in my own home.”

Snape quickly recovered, pulling Hermione to her feet and protectively behind him. “My apologies, Lucius. I know how easily offended you can be.”

“Please, join me in the living room,” Lucius sneered. “You can take a moment or two to . . . freshen up, if you wish.”

As the blond swept out of the room, Hermione waited until she was sure he was gone, then turned to Severus, a disgruntled expression on her face.

“What in the bloody hell do you think you’re doing here?” He managed to thunder softly.

“Oh, it’s just a practical joke. It’s not dangerous. Stay here. I’ll be back.” She mimicked his deep voice. “I’ve been in your classes for how many years, and that’s the line you thought would fool me?”

“Godammit, Hermione!” He should have known that was too easy. He had just been distracted by . . . well, her.

“If you think I’m going to let you go in there, by yourself, now that they might know that we’re spies,” She started out hotly.

Snape put a finger over her lips, panic in his eyes.

“Hush,” Lucius drawled, stepping back into the room, a triumphant smile on his face. “They might be listening.”

SSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS

Harry entered the Gryffindor Common Room, automatically scanning for an arrogant blonde. Instead, he found a red-head.

“Harry!” Ron gently disentangled himself from his girlfriend, Mab.

“Hey, Ron,” Harry wanted to smile, but couldn’t quite muster enough warmth for the expression.

“Good to see you back where you belong,” Ron grinned, clasping his shoulder in a brotherly manner.

“Don’t get too excited,” warned Seamus, approaching his fellow seventh years. “He’s probably here looking for Malfoy.”

“Leave it alone, mate,” Ron said in a soft, but firm tone.

“You got something to say, Finnegan?” Harry stepped forward. He was tense, angry and honestly, itching for a fight. His bluish pallor and strange glow were still evident.

“Yeah I do.” Seamus’s eyes glittered with resentment. “I think you’ve been spending too much time in Slytherin, mate. You seem to have forgotten where your loyalties should lie.”

“Is that a fact?” Harry asked, dangerously.

“Yeah, it is. You and Malfoy – well, don’t think we don’t know what’s going on.”

“Not that it’s any of your business, but what exactly do you think is going on?” Harry demanded, heatedly.

“Well, maybe we don’t know what’s going on, but we know something’s going on!”

“We? We? Who’s this we?” Harry looked at Ron, who was looking distinctly uncomfortable and refused to meet his eyes. “Ron, are you part of this ‘we’?”

“No, of course not, Harry!” Ron was quick to defend himself, but he obviously was holding something back. He was also growing increasingly aware of the attention they were receiving from the rest of the room. “Here, now. This isn’t the place for – “

“Shut up, Ron,” Harry said calmly, his eyes narrowing in on Seamus. “And you – keep in mind that the Royal ‘we’ is reserved for Royalty, Editors and people with tape worms. So you need to learn to speak for yourself.”

“He’s a Death Eater, Harry!” Seamus cried. “How could you – you – fraternize with the people who killed your par . . . .”

“Yesss?” Harry hissed, his eyes flashing again. Seamus looked down, mulishly silent. “Go ahead. Finish your sentence. Pretend you have the right to remind me who killed my parents. Maybe I’ve forgotten.”

“Maybe you have.” And that’s when holy hell broke loose.

Harry slugged Seamus, hard, in the jaw almost before he finished his sentence. The Irish boy went down, still conscious but gripping his throbbing face in a state of shock. “Get up, Finnegan.”

“Harry – “

“I said, get up.” Harry raised his hand, palm up, toward Seamus and the other boy was lifted to his feet. “Immobilis!”

Harry was getting paler and paler, the cold emanating off him in waves that the entire Common Room could feel. Seamus stared at Harry wide-eyed, unable to move.

“Apparently, you don’t know who you’re talking to, Finnegan.” Harry whispered, stepping closer to the terrified boy. “I’ve seen things your nightmares would be scared of. I have access to power and curses you couldn’t cast in your wildest dreams.” Harry lowered his voice. “So, maybe you should be careful not to piss me off.”

“H-harry –“

“Don’t. Don’t say one bloody word,” Harry whispered. Suddenly his wand was in his hand, poised to strike. His breath came in harsh pants. Seamus’s mouth was drawn in a tight line, still angry, but too afraid to speak. Harry’s eyes dared him, begged him to give him an excuse, any excuse.

A warm hand closed over Harry’s fingers around his wand. Harry exhaled, his mind-clouding fury dissipating. His eyes finally focused on Seamus, and he swallowed hard, before waving his hand. “Finite Incantatum.”

Seamus slumped to the floor, Dean Thomas running to his side. Harry turned slowly. Draco stood behind him, his face inscrutable, his long white fingers clenched around Harry’s fist.

“Harry?” Ron asked hesitantly, his eyes flickering between the blond and his friend.

Harry shook off Draco’s hand, turned and walked out of the Common Room. Without a moment’s hesitation, Draco followed.

Draco found Harry in the hallway outside of the Slytherin Dungeons, his hands and forehead braced on the wall. He leapt back, his wand suddenly in his hands. “Expelliarmus!”

“Serpensortia!” Draco responded reactively. Instead of new snake being shot out of his wand though, Snippy and Snarky shot into the air.

“Woooohoooo!” Snippy landed with a sliding flourish that was only slightly diminished in dignity by Snarky landing on him a moment later.

“Where are we? What’s going on?” Snarky demanded.

Snippy mumbled something, shoving his coils upwards in an attempt to free himself from his friend’s weight.

“Oh, sssssorry about that,” Snarky sheepishly moved over.

“How did you do that?” Snippy inquired, suspiciously eyeing the two wizards, standing there as if dumbstruck.

“I have no earthly idea, but I will endeavor never to do it again,” murmured Draco.

Harry cast a look at him out of the corner on his eye. “Piss off, Malfoy.”

“Well, hallo to you, too, Potter. How are we doing? Myself, quite fine, quite fine. Thanks for asking,” Draco spoke breezily. “So, what have you been up to? Threaten to kill any Gryffindors lately? I see that Slytherin has done wonders for your extracurricular activities.”

The snakes grinned in anticipation. They weren’t sure what fluke of magic or destiny had caused them to fulfill Draco’s spell, but they were happy to be in on the action. Slowly, they slithered backwards towards the wall, heads cocked to listen.

Harry’s jaw worked furiously as he turned, leaning back against the wall and folding his arms over his chest to regard the flippant blond with darkly flashing eyes.

Draco stepped forward, hissing, “What in the bloody hell has gotten into you?”

“Just you, it would seem.”

“Look, Hero, you want to express your inner angst by killing ants and making out with me, I’m not going to stop you.” Draco said, harshly. “But you need to keep your head on straight.”

“Why? Is your boss about to kill me? Again?”

“Not you, us. Look, Hero. I don’t know why you can’t put two and two together, but we’re Symmetrius.” Draco gripped his chin in his hand. “We’re connected now. For life. Whether we hate each other or – or are friends, or not. And it also means, when you face Voldemort, so do I.” Harry tried to jerk away, but Draco held on tightly. “So I need to figure out what in the bleedin’ hell has made you go off the deep end, before you kill us both.”

For a second, Draco thought that Harry was going to start yelling again. While Draco had been upstairs with Haze, he had suddenly felt as if a cool breeze had swept through the too warm room. And then he could feel him. Harry. Somewhere downstairs, Harry was talking to someone. And he was angry. Draco recognized the power emanating from Harry all the way through Gryffindor as if it were his father’s voice ringing through Malfoy Manor. It called to him, its power irresistible, drawing him towards Harry. But the chill in Harry’s eyes had heated to something else now as he regarded Draco.

Harry uncrossed his arms, tilting his head at an angle, a too familiar smirk crossing his lips. “Are you afraid, Draco?”

“Of Voldemort? Only in the ‘damn, that guy’s creepy when he’s sitting on my sofa’, sort of way.”

“Are you afraid of me?”

“No.”

“Seamus was.”

“Yes.”

“Why aren’t you afraid?”

“I’m a Malfoy.”

Harry narrowed his eyes at him, a look of revelation crossing his eyes. “I can’t hurt you.”

“No,” Draco sighed. Harry could read his thoughts at will now. “You can’t. And I can’t hurt you.”

You did, Harry’s mind cried, but Harry shrugged the feeling off. “I don’t get you, Malfoy.”

“How’s that?”

“Isn’t this what you wanted?”

“For you to kill Finnegan in the Common Room? I can’t say I stayed up at night wishing for it or anything . . .”

“You think I’m the next Voldemort. That’s what you want from me.” Harry said dully. “It’s not just that everyone thinks I’m going off the deep end. In a morbidly fascinated sort of way, that’s what they want. That’s what you want.”

“Who told you that?”

Harry snorted. “You did.”

“Did not.”

“I can’t believe you just said that,” Harry almost smiled at the childish response. “I read it in your diary – and so help me, Malfoy, if you gasp in indignation, I’ll call you a girl for the rest of your life.”

“How did you get it?”

“It showed up on my bed.”

“You expect me to believe that my journal got up and walked to your bedroom.”

“Maybe it was following your instincts,” Harry snorted derisively. “It was yours. There were . . . sketches.”

“And how does that prove anything?”

Harry stared at Draco for a moment. “Accio scroll-book.” A thick stack of bound scrolls appeared, with a Slytherin green cover, which was covered with drawings. In the center was a large, embossed ‘D. Malfoy’. Harry presented it, raising his brows.

“So? I do doodle. You do doodle, you do doodle, too!” Draco exhaled, exasperatedly.

“So what? Are you going to tell me that you didn’t mean it? That I misunderstood what you wrote?” Harry’s voice took on a sneering quality that Draco had never heard him use before. “That you’ve changed your mind?”

“Yeah, I changed my mind, Hero. Right after you lost yours.” Draco crossed his arms over his chest, his face the picture of frustration. “I don’t know how to get through to you!”

“I’m just trying to give you what you want,” Harry said, his lips almost pouting. “The power that you—“

“Shut up, Hero,” Draco growled, grabbing the front of Harry’s shirt, jerking him against his body, and covering his mouth with a demanding kiss. “I know what I want from you. And it has nothing to do with power.”

Harry was about to respond when Fawkes appeared, gliding down the hall towards him. Fawkes landed on Harry’s shoulder, affectionately nipping at his ear a second, before insistently tugging at his shirt. Draco quirked a brow.

Harry frowned. “Summons.”

The snakes exchanged a look. “Ding-dong, candy man calling!”

“From Dumbledore?” Draco asked, recognizing the fiery bird. “He sends Fawkes to get you?”

“Only when it’s really important.” Harry started down the hallway.

“How important?” Draco asked, following him, a feeling of dread in his stomach.

“Deadly.”