Lord of Shadows Arc, Book One: Prince of Darkness

So, I had two people review the last chapter here: Wren and Sak. Wren is now a member of my yahoo group. Sak I believe will be ever faithful in reviewing, so that's fine. Everyone else seems to think that "Oh, if I just sign up for her list, I don't have to day anything!"
Well, PFFFFT to you! :P :b :P :b
C'mon guys! I want to know what I'm doing right, what I'm doing wrong, and what I'm doing mediocre on! RElly, when I hit writings stall, I go look at my reviews to fire me back up!

God, I'm pathetic. . . reduced to begging for reviews like a cheap whore for little rock o' crack. . .jeeezuz . . .*sigh*

On the other hand, thank you Wren and Sak for reviewing. SAK, you never leave your email, so I don't know how to reply to your reviews, something I actually do (Ask Wren or anyone on my list. . .). So, how can I respond to ya? ^_^

Anyway, I'm a little behindpostposting here, so I'll be posting 9 in just a bit. . .
here's 8 for ya:

*~*~*~*~*~*

Chapter 8: The Space Between (Gryffindor and Slytherin)
See disclaimers and notes previous chapters
_______________________________________________

From: Lion at New Moon

I don’t think any one expected to have to choose sides so quickly. I’ve always felt bad for those Slytherin first-years who got caught in the middle of everything. They were, with the exception of Silversman, not at all ready to make a choice. But, circumstances dictated against our wishes, and they were thrown into the fray at a time when all the old established rules between the Houses were changing.

But then, the world was changing, the extent to which we were not yet aware. But everyone could feel it coming, like the scent of a storm brewing. And the sight of storm clouds on the high seas can make unlikely allies of anyone.

_________________________

The days of September passed by in something akin to their usual fashion. The students involved in the plans with Harry and Draco found that theiass ass assignments usually had something to do with the ritual. For instance, in Potions, Harry and Draco found themselves assigned to make one of the potions needed for the ritual-- Hermione and Blaise got the other.

Harry was no longer taking History of Magic, and had opted out of Divination and Astronomy. This opened his schedule up to help Professor Lupin teach the first years, and to stop by Professor McGonagall’s room to help with Neville’s tutoring.

All the students directly involved with the ritual, and in addition Blaise and Hermione, began attending additional tutoring sessions on the subjects Harry and Draco had been studying over the summer-- Angelology, Jewish Magical Systems, and Kabbalistic Classification Schemes. Because their additional studies coincided so well with their regular studies, these extra tutoring sessions ended up counting as additional review and study times.

In between classes, Harry and Draco found time for Quidditch practice, leading the Applied Defense Association (the new incarnation of the old DA), music lessons, and, of first importance, snogs in empty hallways, classrooms, or even unoccupied wardrobes. It became progressively harder for them to abstain from moving beyond deep kisses and intimate caresses, but always in Harry’s mind was the knowledge that going too far, too fast, would kill Draco as surely as abandoning him altogether would.

The students at Hogwarts were very surprised the first morning they came down to breakfast to see Harry and Draco not only sitting next to each other, but touching each other constantly. Rumours flew through the school, some completely absurd, others plausible but wrong, and still others close to the truth. In the end, Harry spoke to the entirety of Gryffindor one night when a meeting had been called in the common room. Calmly, he told them about what had happened over the summer, and once over their initial surprise and disbelief, they were quite supportive. This was fortunate, since a few days later, a note was delivered to the Seventh Year Gryffindor Prefects.

Gryffindor House


Ladies and Gentlemen,
In light of recent revelations and events, the Malfoy Faction of Slytherin House seeks a cessation of hostilities with the House of Gryffindor, with the hope of a possible future alliance. We realise the negative history in our past relations, however, we still hope that you would be amenable to our proposal.

If you are willing to consider such a shift in relations, please inform us as to when and where we can meet.

Sincerely yours,,

-Blaise Zabini
-Pansy Parkinson, Prefect
-Graham Pritchard
-Todd Silversman

This note was the cause of another Gryffindor House meeting. The first question asked was,

"Why didn’t Malfoy sign?"

Harry thought about it.

"He probably doesn’t know about this. Besides, he’s sort of already made an alliance with Gryffindor, hasn’t he?"

"True," said Dean. "Do you think we can trust those others?"

"I do," said Hermione. "Zabini isn’t all that bad-- I’ve been paired with him in Potions and he’s been very nice the whole time. I’m not sure about Parkinson or Pritchard, but I think we all remember Silversman."

A chuckle passed through the assembled students as they remembered the Sorting a few weeks earlier.

"Well, I’ve heard through various people that Pritchard’s not bad-- several Ravenclaws I know talk with him, and they say he’s all right." Dennis Creevy said this, eager to add something to the discussion.

Harry nodded.

"I think Parkinson would be fine, as well. From what Draco says, she’s rebelling against her parents because they wanted to arrange her marriage. Apparently, she fancies herself as something of a feminist, and finds the notion of arranged marriages highly offensive."

Hermione "hmphed" at this, disappointed that she had anything in common with Pansy Parkinson.

"So," said Seamus, still uneasy at the thought, "do you think we should meet with them?"

Ron scowled, instinctive dislike of Slytherins and necessity battling within.

"They could be very useful," he said. His comment was met with surprised silence. "Well, they could! We all know this is about more than just Malfoy being with Harry. This is about what side they’ll be on when it . . . all comes together. I’d rather have Zabini and Silversman on our side than on the other. And we could use some Slytherins this Hallowe’en."

"But how do we know we can trust them?" Ginny asked, her prefect badge shining merrily on her robes. "They are Slytherins, after all."

"We can at least meet with them," Hermione said. "We can ask them how we can trust them then. They may come up with some way of proving themselves. And if they don’t, we can always insist on a binding. Silversman may be clever, but he isn’t cleverer than me, and I’ve got several years on him."

Ron grinned at the steel in Hermione’s voice.

"So, we meet with them then?" he asked the house in general. There was a general murmur of assent, with no disagreement.

"Who, exactly, will meet with them?" Neville asked.

All eyes turned to Harry, but he shook his head.

"I’ve got enough going on, I can’t be directly involved with inter-house politics. I think the prefects should meet with them, since they’re already in a position of authority. I’ll support whatever they decide. Though," he added, "I do hope this can be worked out."

The prefects arranged a meeting and, to the surprise of everyone involved, were able to come to an accord. The terms of the agreement were written out, and the six Gryffindor Prefects and the four Sytherins each signed, and Hermione charmed the parchment so that the agreement would be binding to all parties involved. The September Accord, as paper came to be called, was posted in the Gryffindor common room, so that all members of the House could see the terms and conditions binding both Houses. Word of this spectacular success was kept very quiet, but even the Hufflepuffs noticed a change in the usual rivalry. Gryffindor students were now standing up for a few Slytherins, and seemed especially protective of Malfoy. The Accord worked so well that by the first week in October, the "Malfoy Faction" and even Professor Snape had begun to unintentionally drop their guard over Draco.


*~*~*~*~*

Todd Silversman grinned to himself as he entered the dungeons. Thanks to his Head of House, he had been allowed to stay late in the library, where there were so many interesting books to read. Now he was making his way ponderously down the halls, arms laden with a pile of books so tall he had to peer around them to see where he was going. In his pocket was the pass signed by Professor Snape, allowing him to be out later than usual.

Entering the Slytherin Common room, he gratefully spied a table and put the books on it, rubbing his fatigued arms. Turning around, he noticed that the room was rather quiet for the time of night. Waking farther into the room, he saw that everyone seemed to have fallen asleep while studying, or having conversations. Concerned, he saw that by each student was an empty goblet, purple liquid staining the surfaces around them. Todd approached the sleeping Blaise, and shook his shoulder, trying to wake him, but nothing happened. Todd’s nose began twitching as a smell that could only be described as off reached him. Leaning forward, he found it came from the liquid that had spilled on the desk when Blaise had fallen asleep, knocking the goblet over. Sniffing again, he realised it smelled like. . . punch, but with something added. . .

With a start, Todd drew back. Someone had laced the punch with a very strong sleeping potion, one that couldn’t be detected when the punch was cold. But now that the puddles were warming, he could smell it. But why would anyone do that?

Carefully, he stepped over sleeping bodies into the hall that led to the dorms, passing the still chilled bowl of punch as he did so. As he neared the hall, he heard faint sounds-- like grunting-- coming from what seemed to be the sixth-year dorms. Quietly, he crept down the hall, until he reached the door. It wasn’t quite closed all the way, and he carefully kept himself in the shadows as he peered inside. There on the floor was a blond head surrounded by several feet.

"You should never have turned your back on the Dark Lord, Malfoy!" someone growled, and then Todd saw a foot lift and kick Draco in the stomach. Draco whimpered a bit, but Todd saw him bite his lip refusing to call out.

That was all the young Slytherin needed to see. Carefully, lest he be heard, he crept back down the hallway, across the common room, and out the door. There, he broke into a run and made his way to the closest help he could think of.

In no time he stood in front of another door, pounding his fists on it as hard as he could.

"Professor Snape! Professor Snape!" he cried. "Please, Sir! It’s an emergency!" The sound of the door opening was accompanied by a growl.

"What is it, Silversman?" The Potions Profr lor looked grumpier than usual.

"Please, Sir!" Todd exclaimed. "Someone poisoned the punch with a really strong sleeping potion, and now they’re beating Malfoy! I saw them!"

This got Snape’s attention, and he pulled the startled student through the door.

"Why weren’t you affected?" he asked, as he began writing quickly on a piece of parchment.

"I only just got back from the Library. I saw everyone was asleep, and thought it odd. Then I noticed the smell from the warming puddles of punch that had spilled when everyone fell asleep. And then I went down the hall, and peeked into the sixth-year dorm, and I saw Malfoy’s head on the floor surrounded by feet. And someone said he’d regret turning his back on the ‘Dark Lord’ and then kicked him in the stomach."

Snape finished writing and thrust the paper at Todd.

"Idiots," he growled under his breath, as he opened up a cabinet and pulled out several vials of assorted potions. "Silversman, what I just gave you is an emergency pass. Go to the Headmaster’s office-- the password is ‘Digestive Biscuits’-- and tell him what you told me. If you pass Filch on the way, tell him I need his assistance in the Slytherin rooms. After you go to Dumbledore, go to the infirmary and tell Madam Pomfrey we’ll need a bed ready-- unless the Headmaster gives you other instructions. Do you understand?"

"Yes, Sir." Todd said.

"Then go-- the pass gives you permission to run."

Nodding once, Todd sped out the door, flying up stairways and down halls to reach the Headmaster’s office. Rounding a corner, he passed Filch, slowing down briefly to wave his pass in the air and pant,

"Professor Snape needs you in the Slytherin rooms, Sir!"

Filch was surprised to hear this-- the Potions master never asked for help-- but he’d seen the pass, and decided to make his way down to the dungeons just in case.

Todd was almost at the Headmaster’s office, when he turned the last corner and ran into the very man he was looking for, accompanied by the Gryffindor Head of House.

"Mr. Silversman," Dumbledore said kindly, helping the boy back to his feet. "What has you running about the halls so late?"

Todd waved the pass at him, too out of breath to speak coherently at first.

"Slytherin dorms. . . Professor Snape. . . they spiked the punch with sleeping potion. . . beating Malfoy. . ."

Dumbledore’s expression turned grave.

"Professor McGonagall, would you please go fetch Mr. Potter, Mr. Weasley, and Miss Granger, and then bring them to meet me in the Slytherin rooms?"

"Of course, Headmaster," she said, turning and walking swiftly away.

Dumbledore turned back to the young Slytherin.

"I thank you for coming to me," he said. "If you would, please, go to the infirmary and inform Madam Pomfrey that we’ll need two beds ready."

"Two?" Todd wasn’t sure he heard right. The twinkle returned briefly to Dumbledore’s eyes.

"Two, Mr. Silversman. Are you all right now?"

"Yes, Sir." Todd drew himself up.

"Good," said the Headmaster. "Then I’ll join Professor Snape. Thank you again, Mr. Silversman."

Todd nodded in acknowledgement, then sped off to the infirmary. There, he helped Madam Pomfrey set up two beds, and even helped set up various healing potions, a bowl of warm water, and several clean bandages. Then they sat down to wait. Madam Pomfrey would usually have sent students back to their rooms, but considering the circumstances, she decided to keep this one with her until other teachers arrived.

They didn’t have to wait long before the door opened again, and Harry walked in, Draco cradled gently in his arms. Madam Pomfrey rose from her seat and helped Harry lower Draco into the bed. Behind Harry came Professors McGonagall and Dumbledore, their faces awash with concern. As soon as they had Draco settled on the bed, the nurse ran a quick diagnostic spell. Multiple injuries showed up, accompanied with an assortment of numbers and words.

"Well," she said, "considering what was done to him, he should be worse off than he is. He’s got multiple broken bones, including several ribs, one of which punctured the lung, which explains the blood he’s been coughing up. There are also a few severe contusions. However, aside from that, there is not nearly the amount of internal bleeding that I would expect, given the other damage inflicted. Has someone already tried to heal him?" She looked at Dumbledore in question.

He shook his head.

"No, Poppy, not yet. But, it may be there is another explanation for this." The headmaster reached down and pulled on the silver chain around Draco’s neck. Out came a small vial of what appeared to be blood. "There is a protection charm in this vial," he said. "It could not keep young Malfoy from being attacked, but it could keep him from sustaining life-threatening injury."

The nurse bent to examine the vial.

"Such a powerful charm is rare, Albus. Who else contributed to it? They may be able to heal him. . ."

Dumbledore turned to Harry.

"It was Mr. Potter here, when he decided to help Mr. Malfoy."

Madam Pomfrey’s eyes grew wide, as did Todd’s. He hadn’t known Harry had placed a protection charm on Draco. Harry’s eyes also widened.

"What do you mean, heal him?" he asked shakily.

The teachers looked at each other, and Dumbledore explained.

"Harry, the charm you placed in this vial is unusually strong. Ordinarily, it would keep the bearer from death, but it wouldn’t keep them from any injury. For instance, if someone impaled the bearer with a sword, they would still bleed quite a bit, they simply wouldn’t die." Harry nodded, and Todd listened with fascination. "But, this charm has mitigated Draco’s injuries, one might say, partly healing them as soon as they happened."

"Incredible," Todd whispered. "I’ve never heard or read of such a thing. . ."

"Mr. Silversman is correct, Harry." the headmaster continued. "That your charm did this means that you yourself should have the ability to heal Draco completely, which is something beyond even the most skilled medi-witch, which we have in Madam Pomfrey. It is a rare gift, and one to be treasured."

Harry licked his lips, bit the lower one, and nodded.

"What do I do?" he asked. The teachers smiled at the determination in his voice, and Professor McGonagall pulled up a chair.

"Take a seat, Harry," said Madam Pomfrey. "I’ll guide you through." Harry sat, and rested his hands on Draco’s torso, instinctively feeling they should go there.

"Very good," she said approvingly. "Now close your eyes, and think about Draco." Harry complied, and his face relaxed into a small smile.

"Do you see him in your mind?" she asked. "See him whole, and healthy. See him at his best. . . and when you have this image fixed in your mind, I want you to notice your feelings. What do you feel for Draco, Harry?"

Harry’s mouth widened into a happy, lazy grin.

"It’s nice, whatever it is," he said. "I’ve never felt this with anyone before. It’s like. . . my blood gets all warm, and I just want to wrap myself around him. . . or him around me. . . I’d do anything to see him smile. . ."

Madam Pomfrey allowed herself a tight smile.

"That’s excellent, Harry. Take that image, and hold it before your eyes, then open them up, still keeping that image with you." Harry’s eyes fluttered open, looking unfocused at Draco. The nurse continued. "Now take that feeling and let it flow down your arms. . . send it into Draco to help him feel better."

As Todd and the teachers watched, a golden light seemed to form around Harry’s hands, which then spread to envelop Draco. The latter sighed in relief as the pain disappeared from his body. Then, before all their eyes, they watched the bones shift on their own, and knit back together. Several minutes passed as the golden light did its work. Finally, the last of the bruises faded and Draco opened his eyes, saying only one word.

"Harry."

The one so addressed smiled, his eyes focusing once more.

"You’re all right, Draco," he said.

Madam Pomfrey turned to Todd.

"You’ve just seen something very rare, Mr. Silversman," she said. "Such healings are only possible when a very powerful witch or wizard loves the person they’re healing. Often, the healer will take on the injuries of the victim in the process. That this didn’t happen can only mean one thing."

"What?" Todd was nothing if not dreadfully curious.

Madam Pomfrey smiled.

"It means that Mr. Malfoy loves him just as much."

Todd blinked, trying to figure out how that would work, as she pushed over the other bed they had prepared.

"I assume, Headmaster, that Potter will be staying with Malfoy for the night?"

The headmaster smiled.

"If you don’t mind, Poppy. They’ve both had an exhausting evening. And now," the headmaster turned toward Todd, "I think we should leave these two alone for the night. Come along, Mr. Silversman, you’ve done excellent work this evening. I’m sure Professor Snape is very proud of you." They turned to leave, but right as they reached the doors, Dumbledore turned back.

"Ah, I nearly forgot!" he exclaimed. "We need some Pepper-up potion, Poppy. Half of Slytherin was dosed with a stiff amount of sleeping potion and we need something to bring them around."

"Of course, Headmaster," she said, closing the curtains around Draco and Harry’s bed. "Are any of the students able to help with the situation?" She brought over the requested bottle.

"I am pleased to say that the sixth year Gryffindor Prefects have been very helpful in that regard," he replied, taking the bottle. He then thanked her, and left with McGonagall and Todd in tow.


Inside the curtain, neither Harry nor Draco noticed Dumbledore’s absence. Harry now lay on the bed next to Draco’s, not an inch of space between the two. He was leaning over the division, feasting on Draco’s mouth for all he was worth. Every once in a while, he would pull back to look the other in the eyes, relishing the light he saw shining out of them. Gently, he caressed Draco’s cheek.

"I think," he said hesitantly, "I think I love you."

Draco smiled.

"That’s a relief," he quipped. "I’m glad I’m not the only one."

"Who loves you?" Harry pecked him on the nose. "You egotistical prat!"

Draco smirked.

"Idiot," he said affectionately. "I meant, I’m glad I’m not the only one of us who loves the other."

Harry’s eyes widened as the meaning of his words sank in.

"You . . . you mean . . . you. . ."

"You really are an idiot," laughed Draco, pulling him down for another kiss.

Harry moaned as their tongues danced and caressed. He decided he really didn’t mind being called an idiot, if kisses like this came with it. No, he really didn’t mind at all.

*~*~*~*~*

Early the next morning, before the house elves were even thinking about serving breakfast, Severus Snape stopped by the infirmary. He’d heard that Potter had been able to heal Draco, but hadn’t seen the boy since finding him on the floor in the circle of his dorm-mates, and he had to see the results for himself. He had to see if Potter truly had been able to use his mother’s gift.

Silently, he pulled aside the curtains surrounding the beds. Potter was laying half on top of Draco, who had his arms wrapped around the other boy’s frame. Snape watched Draco’s breathing, relieved to find it even and relaxed. Looking closer, it seemed Draco was smiling in his sleep. In fact . . . he was smirking, the brat!

"If Harry wakes up," Draco whispered, "he’s going to think he’s caught in some bizarre nightmare."

Snape frowned, not catching Draco’s meaning.

"You’re smiling, Uncle Sev’rus," Draco said, smiling himself and absently running his hands through Harry’s hair.

"Hmph." The professor carefully rearranged his features into their customary scowl. "Not a word to anyone. I plan on being very angry with half of our House later this morning, and if word gets out that I was smiling only a few hours before, it’ll ruin everything."

"I’ll keep it secret," Draco smirked. "Why are you here so early?"

"The last I saw of you, you were spitting up blood, couldn’t stand, and half of your fingers were going in the wrong direction. I had to make sure you were all right." Snape made sure that his scowl didn’t falter this time-- Potter might wake at any moment, and it wouldn’t do to be caught.

Draco frowned.

"You didn’t hear that Harry healed me?" He couldn’t believe the headmaster wouldn’t have told him.

"Of course I heard," the Professor replied impatiently. "But I had to see for myself."

Harry stirred in his sleep, and both were silent until they were sure he’d settled back into sleep.

"What’s going to happen to those who did this?" Draco asked.

Snape sighed, rubbing the bridge of his nose.

"As you know, they’re all children of Death Eaters. I wrote some angry letters this morning, complaining that they should teach their children more self-restraint if they wish to keep their affiliations secret. I also told them I’d do everything possible to prevent their expulsion, but I couldn’t guarantee anything. Of course, Dumbledore won’t expel them, he’s knows they wouldn’t live very long after such a thing . . .we haven’t decided yet what will happen. Usually, expulsion would be automatic after an event like this, but it would draw attention that their parents wouldn’t want. You can imagine how hazardous the ride back to London can be once that occurs."

"Yes," Draco’s voice was shadowed. Snape continued.

"I’ve been exchanging owls and fire-calls all night. I’ve told the Dark Lord that in order to stay here without suspicion, I’ll have to pretend to be beyond rage, and I also told him what I plan to do. I’ve received quite a bit of support for what I’m going to do, but I think I can tell you I won’t be pretending. . . but as for the children themselves . . . we haven’t decided yet."

Draco nodded, burying his nose in Harry’s hair as he thought.

"What if I invoke the right of Primae Sacerficationis?" Draco asked.

Snape nodded.

"That’s exactly what your father suggested."

Draco looked shocked, his finger’s tightening in Harry’s hair.

"My…father wrote to you?"

The older man pulled out a piece of parchment, reading softly.

"Severus,

I am appalled by this evening’s activities by the children of Crabbe, Goyle, Bulstrode, Nott, et al. While I appreciate their fervour for our Lord, I feel it imperative that they learn to think their actions through. In the real world, ill-considered actions have un-considered consequences. Not that I agree with Draco’s decision, not in the least. But I can say, aside from that disagreement, he has otherwise made me proud. The decision was well thought through, and his deception was complete to the end. In any other matter, I would say that he were a true Slytherin, and a true Malfoy.

Because of this, it might be wise to remind him of his rights as Primae Sacerficationis should your efforts be successful. The students must learn their place, and above all, must learn to think all their actions through.

Yours,

Lucius Malfoy"

Snape folded the parchment back up, tucking it into a pocket of his robes. Draco blinked back tears, having easily caught the message his father had written for him. The Professor gently cleared his throat.

"I’m going to leave, now, you need your rest."

"Thank you, Professor," Draco whispered. "For everything." Snape nodded in acknowledgment, then left.

Harry raised his head once Snape was gone, kissing Draco’s temple.

"You know," he said softly, "I was lying here, listening to that enlightening conversation, and I realised something." He kissed Draco’s cheek tenderly. "Everyone always goes on and on about the differences between Gryffindor and Slytherin, but aside from the importance of bloodline, there’s only one difference in character."

Draco smiled, nuzzling Harry’s neck.

"What is that difference?"

Harry rested his cheek on Draco’s chest.

"That Gryffindors like to believe that they think of others first, and Slytherins like to believe that they think of themselves first. Of course, they’re all suffering from self-delusion. . ."

Draco frowned at Harry.

"What about all that ‘Gryffindors are noble and courageous’ and ‘Slytherins are cunning and sly’ talk?"

"Think about it, Draco. If you put a Gryffindor in the right situation, he’ll be just as clever and sly. And really, in as far as cleverness goes, it certainly doesn’t apply to all Slytherins. Likewise, if you put a Slytherin in the right circumstances, he’ll go all noble and brave on you. It’s what they think the motive is that’s the difference."

"It frightens me that you may have a point. . ." Draco shifted on to his side to face Harry. "All right, then what about that whole "All Dark wizards and witches come from Slytherin’ and the ‘Gryffindors always save the day’ thing?"

Harry grinned.

"It’s wrong is what it is," he said. "Voldemort wasn’t a Slytherin."

"What do you mean he wasn’t a Slytherin?" Draco asked, shocked down to his very core.

Harry looked almost sad.

"Tom Riddle’s father was a Muggle, and Slytherin only takes pure-bloods. Don’t tell me you didn’t know. . ."

"I didn’t. . ." Draco looked almost as though the bottom had fallen out of the universe. "You-Know-Who is a Mudblood?!"

Harry nodded.

"So he can’t have been a Slytherin. . ." Draco’s voice drifted off in thought for a moment. "I very much doubt that he was Hufflepuff, though it would be amusing. . ."

Harry chuckled at the thought, agreeing as Draco continued.

"And Ravenclaws usually aren’t leaders, they’re too involved with their books and theories. . . which leaves. . ."

Harry gently touched Draco’s cheek.

"Which leaves Gryffindor."

Draco thought about this for a moment, then pushed Harry over on to his back, and rolled to lie on top of him. He sighed, his breath stirring the hairs on Harry’s neck.

"I can’t believe my parents were going to have me marry a Mudblood," he said. "What were they thinking?"

"Is that really the most horrifying aspect of the idea?" Harry asked, incredulous.

"Of course not!" Draco said, pulling back a bit. "But it’s so very un-Malfoy-ish. How are we supposed to keep the bloodline pure if something like that came in? I mean, if I were going to marry a mixed blood, it would be Granger, for sure."

"You’re joking, right?" Harry couldn’t keep the laughter out of his voice.

"Have you seen her recently?" Draco asked, eyebrows raised. "Ron doesn't know how lucky he is. She’s smart, powerful, and is developing quite nicely."

"Draco!" Harry gasped, but the other pretended to ignore him.

"I mean, she’s got a great figure, firm buttocks, those cute, pert breasts. . ."

"Are you trying to make me jealous?" Harry asked, looking at Draco askance.

"Why, is it working?" grinned Draco.

Harry grinned back.

"You prat!" He pulled Draco down for a kiss. "Don’t say any of that around Ron, though, he may feel threatened."

Draco pulled a face.

"I don’t plan on repeating that to anyone, Potter, and neither should you." He then bent down for another kiss, and they soon both forgot what they’d been talking about.

*~*~*~*~*


As the Great Hall filled, the students were concerned to see Professor Snape standing at the Head of the Slytherin table, arms crossed over his chest, sneering at the world. The other houses were quiet, not wishing for that sneer to turn in their direction. They very quickly noticed that while they were served breakfast, the Slytherin students were sitting with nothing before them, waiting.

The Hall was soon filled, but for a few students, and the Professor began a speech that would last in infamy.

"Never, in all my years, have I ever been ashamed of the House of Slytherin. Never! Until last night."

His black gaze swept over the table, boring into the heads of his students.

"Last night, some of you conspired to drug your house-mates, and to seriously injure another, simply because of a decision he’d made about his own life. Some are completely innocent in this matter, and they will not be joining us this morning. The rest of you, sitting here, either actively conspired in this matter, or let it continue. This is completely unacceptable in a Slytherin. We do not turn on each other! No matter what our differences!

"Some of you will claim neutrality in this affair, but I will say this only once-- these were your house-mates! There is no neutrality when it comes to them! I know what the dispute is here. And when you go beyond these walls, you will learn very quickly that in that matter, there is no neutrality anywhere. I will not tell you which side to choose, that is not my place. But I will say, that while under this roof, while in my House, you will always choose the House above your own more petty differences! Do you understand?"

There were small, timid nods all down the table.

"Good. Now, you must realise, that turning on your house-mates does not go without consequences. Therefore," he pointed his wand at the hourglass holding the Slytherin points. A murmured charm, and all but fifty of jewels disappeared, reappearing in the tops of the other House’s hourglasses. A gasp swept through the Hall.

Snape turned back to the students at his table. "You cannot earn any points for Slytherin until you have earned every last point back from the other Houses. This will be accomplished by doing members of those Houses favours. They are free to reward you with points, or not-- it will be their decision. Only after you have retrieved every point, may you start earning House points again. Quidditch scores will not count until then, though their points against us will. Understood?"

More nods, and someone whimpered,

"We’ll never get any points if we have to rely on Gryffindors to give us any . . ."

Snape smirked evilly.

"That’s true, isn’t it?" He drew breath, and continued. "You will note that you still have fifty points. They break down as such: Ten points each to Parkinson, Zabini, and Pritchard, for keeping everyone in order last night, and twenty to Silversman for his assistance. But, before you think I’m doing you a favour," here he turned to the Gryffindor table, "fifteen points each to Hermione Granger and Ronald Weasley, for their gracious assistance last night, and thirty to Potter for his." The Hall sat stunned as sixty points fell to the bottom of the Gryffindor hourglass.

"Now, we will sit here, without breakfast, without leaving, until I have the names of all those involved with this plot." He turned back to the hall at large.

"There will be no Potions classes today, though I do expect some of the N.E.W.T. level students to stop by to work on their projects." He turned back to his table.

"Your other Professors are aware that you may be absent today, and I’m sure they’ll allow you to . . . make up for the work you’ll miss. . ." He sneered once more. "That is all I have to say, at the moment." He summoned a chair from the staff table, and sat staring darkly at his table.

The other Houses gradually recovered from their shock. Eating their breakfasts quietly, they murmured among each other, trying to make sense of what they had just seen. The Ravenclaws were calculating odds, the Hufflepuffs sat dumbfounded, and the Gryffindors. . . the Gryffindors grinned. They couldn’t wait to tell Harry.

*~*~*~*~*

Harry and Draco had finished their breakfasts, pretending to listen as Madam Pomfrey lectured them. She had decided that since she had both of them in the same place at once, she’d take advantage of this chance and make sure they were informed about safe sex. It was tedious, as she’d started with a blood test and confirmed that both were completely clean-- no surprise, since both were virgins-- but now she felt she had to teach them anyway, just to be sure.

It was especially tedious since the so-called "Malfoy-faction" was sitting on beds across from them, eating their own breakfasts and smirking the whole time. She was just finishing up when the doors to the infirmary opened up to admit a shell-shocked looking Ron and a troubled Hermione.

"Ron?" Harry started to get out of the bed, but settled when Ron waved him back.

"I think Snape’s finally snapped," he said in awe. "He gave us points, Harry. . ."

Harry re-settled next to Draco.

"He did?" He couldn’t help but smile as Draco’s hand found his under the sheets.

Ron nodded, sitting down next to Hermione, who’d sat next to Blaise.

"Yeah. . . fifteen each to Hermione and me, and thirty to you . . ."

Harry blinked. He’d received points from Professor Snape?

"That’s not all," added Hermione. "The only points Slytherin has left are the fifty Zabini, Parkinson, Pritchard and Silversman earned. He took the rest away, and divided them among the other houses. He said that the Slytherins will have to retrieve all the points back from the other Houses before they can earn more points for Slytherin. Quidditch scores won’t count for them until then, though they will count against them. And it’s the students of the Houses who return the points. . ." She looked at Draco. "I’ve never seen him so furious. . ."

Draco frowned.

"So, he’s effectively pulled us out of running for the House Cup?" he asked.

Ron nodded.

"Looks like it. . ."

Draco bit his lip, troubled. He had never seen any of this coming, and now. . .

"It isn’t your fault, you know." Draco looked up to see Pansy standing next to the bed, hands on her hips. "Don’t go all Gryffindorish and start blaming yourself for things you had no control over. It’s not your fault they decided to betray House loyalty just to try to look good for that misogynist pig."

Harry chuckled at her description of Voldemort.

"She’s right, you know," he added. "You did what you had to do-- a Slytherin motivation if there ever was one. If they can’t understand that, then maybe they should be re-sorted."

"Except now, there’s not a single House that would accept them," said Blaise wryly.

Their musings were interrupted by the flutter of bright green wings. A parrot flew in through an open window and landed before Harry, a thick roll of parchment tied to its legs, and squawked,

"Sixty-nine is the luckiest number of all! Ca-awk!" The Slytherins couldn’t maintain their façades of worldliness in the face of such an improbable thing, and fell to gaping.

"Ah," Harry said, "the twins have finally written back to me." He pulled the roll open. "Oh! And with pictures. Excellent!"

Draco leaned over his shoulder, biting the inside of his cheek.

"What exactly did you ask them for?" he said, trying hard not to ogle the pictures, which were, incidentally, moving.

"I thought I should ask them for some more. . . practical advice concerning your birthday. Don’t want to mess up and hurt you, after all. . . oh, that looks like fun. . ."

Draco leaned back, suppressing a smirk at Ron’s long suffering face.

"Do you think I could ask them a few questions?"

Harry smiled, folding the papers and tucking them deep in his bag by the bed.

"’Course, just give them to Fellatio here to deliver."

Blaise guffawed at this, while Pansy tried to look outraged and Todd snickered. Hermione and Ron just sighed, rolling their eyes.

"Excuse me," Draco said, choking back laughter. "What did you call that bird?"

Harry grinned.

"Well, Fred wanted to call him Fellow, and George wanted to call him Horatio, so they compromised by combining the name into Fell-atio."

Draco decided not to say anything more, and quickly wrote his questions for the bird to deliver. Still sniggering, he tied his note to its leg, trying not to burst out laughing when the bird commented,

"Is it hot in here or is it just you?"

Finally, the twine was tied, and the bird left, parting with,

"It’s not you, baby, it’s me."

At this Draco finally lost it and collapsed against Harry, laughter pouring out of his mouth.

Harry decided right then that he’d have to find a dirty-talking parrot to give Draco as a gift one day-- he looked so lovely with his face lit up like that.

The merriment was disrupted as the doors opened once more, this time with Dumbledore entering.

"Good morning, everyone," he said. "It seems you are feeling better, Mr. Malfoy?"

"Yes, Sir." Draco smiled, briefly squeezing Harry’s hand in gratitude. "Harry did a good job."

"Good, good. . . Professor Snape tells me you were considering invoking the right of Primae Sacerficationis?" This got Hermione and Todd’s attention, both knew that such an action was very rare nowadays.

Draco nodded tersely.

"We both know what would happen if we followed the usual route and they were expelled. I think that would be a terrible waste—I would rather try to salvage something, if that’s possible."

Dumbledore smiled, pulling some parchment out of his robes.

"I have the necessary forms with me, just fill them out and your rights will be granted."

"Thank you, Professor." Draco said, reaching for a quill and ink on the bedside table.

Harry turned to Hermione.

"What’s Primae Sacerficationis?" He asked.

"It’s a primitive form of victim’s rights," she answered. "At least in theory. In practice, it’s sort of a formalized system of vengeance. It can only be used in certain circumstances, and there are special rules that apply to it . . . it isn’t used much anymore, since most crimes have standard and accepted sentences."

Harry nodded. "What does Draco get out of this?" he asked. It was Todd who answered this time.

"He gets to decide their punishment-- the time, place, and manner of his choosing. Or, if he wished, he could sign those rights over to another. He can choose almost anything, as long as the punishment is not worse than the crime."

Draco finished signing the papers, and handed them back to Dumbledore.

"I’m not sure what to do with them," he said. "But for now, they’re off the Quidditch team, and they’ll have detention with Filch twice a week until I say otherwise. . ."

Dumbledore nodded gravely. "I believe the first action has already been taken by your Head of House, so that will not be counted under your actions taken." He sighed wearily. "A troubling business, all of this," he said sadly.

"In the meantime, I’ll show you to your new rooms," he said. "We had planned for them to be a gift to you on your birthday, but now I think it would be better for you to move in a bit early. . .though Mr. Potter will have to remain in his dormitory until then . ."

"New rooms?" Draco didn’t know whether to be happy that he had his very own rooms now, or sad that he’d be leaving his House.

"I’ll close the curtains to let the two of you get dressed," the headmaster smiled.

Harry smiled. It had concerned him, how he and Draco were going to work things out after the bonding, but it seemed now he hadn’t been alone in those concerns. He wondered how it would be decorated-- he really didn’t feel like living out the rest of his days at Hogwarts in a silver-green Slytherin den, not did he particularly want any more of the red-gold Gryffindor style. He shrugged and turned to Draco, noticing that his eyes too were deep in thought.

"I hope it’s not some red and gold Gryffindor monstrosity," Draco muttered under his breath. "I’d probably kill myself. . .oh well, at least my clothes are clean. . ."

Harry sniggered at this, and grinned when Draco blushed, realising he’d spoken his thoughts aloud.

"Come on," he said. "Let’s go see this potential catastrophe." Draco sighed, nodded his assent, and, arm in arm, they left the infirmary, and their friends behind them.


From: The Prodigal Dragon

Those really were interesting times, weren’t they? Strange, that a bunch of school children should be more "in touch" with the times than those who supposedly worked "in the world". But in a way, we were all much closer to the situation than they were-- myself and Harry being at the centre, our friends the inner most circle. . . I knew lines would be drawn early on, but the severity of the break surprised even me.

But, I am nothing if not a creature of politics, and I knew that the sooner the lines were drawn, the sooner I could lure people over to our side. I think Voldemort was surprised, in the end, at how few of our generation fled to his banner. What he never understood was that when he lost me, the propaganda wars were effectively over. All Harry had to do was smile with me on his arm, and the children of even the dev devoted Death Eaters would eventually come running.

Voldemort may have had fear and reputation on his side, but we had Harry’s power, Weasley’s strategy, Blaise’s cunning, Granger’s and Silversman’s intelligence, and me to make it all look pretty. The poor bastard never stood a chance.