Now or never, Harry told himself as Snape stopped in front of a portrait of a dark-haired, rather forbidding looking wizard. Salazar Slytherin himself, Harry presumed.

"We could have flooed in," Snape said, "but I thought you should know the passwords."

"Have you any plan to mention one?" asked the portrait in a bored tone.

Snape looked a bit irritated at that. "Brasilia." He shot a glance at Harry. "I wanted Albus to know I was serious about going abroad."

The painted wizard made a rather sarcastic gesture as the door he was covering swung silently open.

Three tunnels and two additional portraits later--Harry understood that Slytherins were paranoid but this was ridiculous--they found themselves walking into the Slytherin common room. It definitely hadn't been that complicated to reach it years before when Harry and Ron had quizzed Draco about the Heir of Slytherin. But then again, Draco had said that the hallways changed themselves around at times.

Well, it was no wonder Snape had mentioned flooing in. Who would want to go through all that each time they had to check on their house? Besides, Harry reasoned, with Slytherins, any delay might be lethal.

Though he had to admit, things in the common room didn't look as forbidding as he had expected. Probably that had a lot to do with the day in Hogsmeade. Candy wrappers were everywhere, thrown on the floor for the house-elves to tidy up, and several of the students lazing about on the couches were quite obviously drunk. Belladonna had her shirt half-unbuttoned and was snogging a tall, brown-haired boy as she sat on his lap.

Snape cleared his throat, but it had little effect since someone had charmed an odd-shaped rock to be putting out . . . well, rock music actually, though Harry didn't recognise the song. That was no wonder. He didn't listen to music where every third word was something you couldn't say in polite company.

The Potions Master pointed his wand and sent a stream of bluish lightning its way. It crackled for a second, sounding like popcorn, then fell silent.

Everyone slowly turned to stare at Snape in the doorway, Harry hovering slightly behind him.

"I wish to conduct a full meeting of the house at once," Snape announced, wand still in hand. "You will each summon those within your respective dormitories. Mr Torquay, I suggest you remove the lipstick from your earlobe."

And possibly the lips still wearing the lipstick, Harry thought as Belladonna untangled herself from the boy. He knew it was wrong to still be angry with her about the expulsion hearing; she'd been memory-charmed and thought she'd been telling the truth about Draco.

But Harry was angry anyway.

The moment Snape stopped speaking, the students scurried away to do his bidding. Really, it looked like they were pretty much in awe of him, which made some sense, Harry supposed. His father was an extremely powerful wizard, and he wasn't exactly known as the soul of patience. And too, Harry still remembered that claim from second year, that if Ron and Harry had been in Snape's house, he'd have sent them back home on the train. So Heads of House could evidently eject--if not expel--students exactly as they pleased.

Still though, Harry had expected to see a little more backbone . . .

But they're Slytherins, he reminded himself. It's like Nott said. Challenging Snape to his face is just stupid. They're going to pay lip service to whatever he says, then turn around and stab him--or more likely, me--in the back, first chance they get . . .

"No wonder Draco doesn't clean his room," Harry muttered when he and Snape were alone.

"Ah, well the elves clear away the mess daily."

"My point exactly. And what's this about your complaining we have lax supervision in the Tower? I've never seen anybody undressed like that in my common room!"

"She's a seventh-year," said Snape as though that explained everything.

Harry fell silent then, because Slytherins were starting to arrive. They fell into a semi-circle in front of Snape and Harry, the movement so unhesitating that Harry surmised his father must hold house meetings on a regular basis. That was an odd idea for him.

The students in front were first-years, judging from their height, not to mention the fact that their eyes were filled with a sort of awe when they looked at him. Harry wasn't sure if that was from hero-worship--though why he should be any Slytherin's hero was a good question--or if they were merely impressed that he could claim the fearsome Potions Master for a father.

The older gazes in the room were far more wary, sliding towards Harry and then away. Nobody would look him in the eyes for long, which made him wonder how much Legilimency Snape tended to use as part of house discipline. Of course Harry was no Legilimens, but he got the feeling that some of the students here might be wondering.

Nott was hanging towards the back, flanked by Goyle and Zabini. His gaze too was wary, though he gave a weak smile once when Harry glanced his way.

"You all know of my son Harry, of course," Snape began in a smooth voice, his hand coming to lightly rest on the boy's shoulder. "However, I suspect that very few of you really know him. Do you realise, for example, that when he first came to Hogwarts, he was very nearly sorted into Slytherin?"

Harry almost objected to his father disclosing that, but by then it was too late. And anyway, Snape's hand tightening on his shoulder warned him not to interfere with what his father wanted to say.

"Yes, that snake on his crest isn't there merely on account of the adoption," Snape went on, nodding at the slight hum of noise that had greeted his surprising pronouncement. "Harry Potter is Slytherin where it counts, at least in part. Now, I know that we have our differences with Gryffindor, but I also have full confidence that you will welcome my son into our house. To do otherwise would be less than Slytherin, to say the least, since Mr Potter's presence here could prove most advantageous to you. I shall expect you to include him in your study groups and social activities, of course, and I would like to mention that you might consider asking him to proofread your essays as I have found him to be quite proficient with spelling and grammar. In fact, he's been helping correct your submitted Potions essays for months now. You might find he has a better than average grasp, therefore, of the things that influence your marks."

Snape swept his dark gaze around the common room. "Of course it goes without saying that any offence against him will be considered an offence against me . . ." His black eyes began to glitter. "And I do not take kindly to offence, as I am sure you are aware."

A hush descended over the room as Snape stopped speaking. More and more gazes began to study Harry, some of them as contemptuous as before. Others, though, seemed to be assessing him in a new light, Nott included.

Erik Vanvelzeer was the first to speak, his voice tight with barely-leashed hostility. "Did you let him hear the passwords to get in, sir?"

"He's in Slytherin," Snape calmly countered, stepping away from Harry finally. "He has as much right to the passwords as you do. More, perhaps, if you consider that I set them. I'm hardly going to bar my own son from his house."

The Potions Master swung his gaze about the room. "Have any of the rest of you questions? No? Well, my door is open to you, as always. Now, I know you have spent the day carousing in Hogsmeade, but I still thought it would be apropos to have a little celebration this evening, to welcome Harry into Slytherin. And so . . ."

Snape waved his wand in some rather dramatic arcs, back and forth over a large, round table, his lips muttering spells.

When he stopped moving, a large cauldron sat in the centre of the table. It was filled with jagged shards of ice and bottles of butterbeer. Around the cauldron there were various platters of food.

Harry thought it would be a wasted effort considering the scene they'd walked into, but as it turned out, Snape did know his Slytherins. They descended on the food and drink at once, and in the general hubbub that ensued, Harry lost sight of his father. He wasn't nervous, though. He had no doubt that Snape was keeping track of him.

Thinking it would be best if he made himself at home--though really, he could hardly have felt less at ease--Harry made his way through the students thronging the table and grabbed a butterbeer for himself, along with something that resembled a chocolate éclair but with a lot more filling than usual. His foot was stepped on twice as he retreated through the crowd. The first time caught him off guard--and had been tentative enough that it could have been an accident, he supposed. But the second time was definite, and hard enough to make him wince. Well, Harry hardly wanted to start a brawl, but he also thought Snape wouldn't want him just taking treatment like that, so he gave as good as he got.

Turned out to be good advice for Slytherins as well as brothers; nobody tried to smash his foot again.

He was half-way through the gooey éclair when a tugging sensation caught his attention. He looked down to see a red-haired girl--a first-year, unless he missed his guess--pulling on his robes to get his attention. Relieved that somebody wanted to talk to him, Harry smiled at her. He'd been a bit worried that he'd pass the whole party as an outcast, which would really disappoint Snape, whose clearly wanted Harry interacting with his new house.

The girl looked left and right before she asked in a low voice, "Can you really talk to snakes?"

Right, that would all be rumour to her. Or maybe more like ancient history. "Sure," Harry answered, a little surprised when he heard how easily his answer came. Once, he'd found the talent dark and shameful, something to be hidden away whenever possible. Incanting all his spells in Parseltongue, though, had got him over that. "Do you like snakes?"

The girl nodded, her blue eyes big and solemn. "I'm Larissa."

Harry held out his hand. "Pleased to meet you, Larissa." He drew out Sals with his other hand and held her out. "This is Sals."

"Oooh, pretty," crooned Larissa. "You take her with you everywhere?"

"No, but she's afraid my owl will eat her so I take her with me most places." Harry laughed. "I've finally got a box fixed up so she should feel safe in there, but she's still a little nervous of Hedwig."

Larissa called a friend of hers over, and before Harry knew it, he was surrounded by a group of babbling first-years who wanted to know how to say their names in Parseltongue, of all things. They laughed at each other's terrible efforts to mimic Harry's hissing noises.

At one point, Harry caught Snape's sardonic gaze on him and understood the silent message in his father's eyes. Even after getting to know Draco and Snape, Harry had still thought that all Slytherins were somehow sinister at heart. Well, all other Slytherins. But these first-years were just children, full of energy and curiosity.

Innocents.

It made him realise how right Draco had been when he'd said that some of the Slytherins were worth saving.

"Come on over here, Potter," said Nott, appearing from nowhere at Harry's side. "We want to ask you something."

"But he was going to let me hold the snake!" complained Larissa, pouting.

"I'll let you next time," Harry promised, a little disturbed by the way Nott was glaring at the girl. She was just eleven or twelve, and acting her age.

Larissa looked set to argue, but when Harry nodded to underline his promise she said all right and bounded off towards the round table where she began gathering mounds and mounts of sweets into her hands.

Nott walked Harry over to where a contingent of older students was assembled. Fifth-years and up, he guessed.

"We can't help but notice that the Weasley girl is still playing Seeker for Gryffindor," began Zabini in a hard voice. "And since our own reserve Seeker isn't working out . . . You want to fit in here, Potter, you can start by showing us this is your house. Play for Slytherin."

"I'm not playing Quidditch at all," Harry said, shaking his head.

"You think your father approves of that attitude?" sneered Millicent Bulstrode. "You don't think he'd like to see you help Slytherin win?"

"I think he'd rather not see me fall off my broom from ten storeys up," Harry said, looking her in the eyes. "My magic isn't what it used to be, in case you hadn't noticed, and it's affected my flying."

"Oh."

That certainly took the wind out of their sails. All their sails, Harry noticed.

"Should have known you'd be as useless as always," Bulstrode finally muttered.

The group sort of dispersed then, and Harry was left alone with Nott. "So you need a broom that responds to Parseltongue, you think?"

"Haven't thought about it," said Harry. "Maybe I'm just out of practise."

"But you haven't been practising with the Gryffindors, either," pressed Nott.

"Too much else do to. Which reminds me . . ." Harry began to wind his way back to Snape. Nott followed for a moment but then evidently thought better of it. Once he reached his father, Harry gave him one of those work-with-me looks and said, "I think that potion has probably brewed long enough, Dad."

"Oh yes, most likely," Snape agreed, rising to his feet and nodding at the seventh-year he'd been speaking with. "As I said, Mr Torquay. I consider every apprentice application I receive. Owl me yours, and we will talk."

Flicking his wand, Snape sent off a shower of sparks which got everyone's attention. "Hogsmeade Saturdays and celebrations aside, the monitoring spells will inform me if anyone remains out of bed past one, ladies and gentlemen. I therefore suggest you retire forthwith."

With that, he was ushering Harry out.

"It's one in the morning already?" yawned Harry as they began the long, uphill walk to the Tower.

"Yes. I recommend you catch up on your sleep tomorrow, Harry."

"Can't. Homework."

"You won't do it well if you're overtired."

"Yeah, all right . . ." It seemed like there was something he needed to tell Snape, Harry thought. Oh. "Thanks for the party, Dad," he murmured, but the feeling didn't go away. So there was something else . . . "Oh, yeah. If anybody asks, I don't fly so well these days."

"Your broomstick skills are as finely honed as ever."

"Yeah, but they want me to play Slytherin Seeker and that's just not on." Harry chanced a glance up at Snape's dark gaze as they walked along.

"No, I don't imagine it would be," said Snape. "You needn't worry yourself so much about my approval, Harry. You won't lose it merely by being yourself. Even your Gryffindor self, if I make myself clear?"

"Yes." Harry smiled.

"That said, I would like you to become more a part of my own house, so do not hesitate to let me know when you would like me to accompany you to the common room once more."

"As long as you're there, they're going to put on an act though."

"There is little choice at present. Ah, here we are." Snape stopped in front of the Fat Lady's portrait. "Well, good-night then, Harry."

Harry told the Fat Lady the password. "'Night, Dad. Oh, would you tell Draco I'll be down to see him soon?"

Snape's dark eyes reflected satisfaction as he whirled away to return to his dungeons.

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Harry slept most of Sunday. Famished, he woke up in time to eat several helpings of everything served at dinner, then worked a few hours on his homework and slept again. In Monday morning Charms class, Flitwick assigned him a detention for skiving off class; Ron got one as well. Harry wasn't sure if they had Snape to thank for that; Flitwick wasn't usually so strict. But at least he hadn't taken points, so Harry decided it wasn't worth asking either one of them whose idea the detention was.

He couldn't see his family on Monday night because he ended up proofreading essays for Flitwick all evening. Well, that certainly cleared up whose doing the detention really was. One of the disadvantages of having your father on staff . . .

Another disadvantage was that your friends--Ron, in this case--didn't much appreciate getting caught in the middle when your father decided to make a point. Well, at least Ron hadn't been sent off with Filch for any truly nasty work. All he had to do was file papers without magic. Still, Ron grumbled about it the whole next day.

Hermione, of course, said it served him right for helping Harry miss a lesson.

All right, so no more skiving off classes.

Unless he had to, of course.

Harry brought his books to lunch on Tuesday and reviewed his Potions readings. He wasn't sure if his father would have the class re-brew Waldenholfer's Acuity Draught or he would stick to the schedule announced last week, but he wanted to be ready, either way. He sort of hoped they were just moving on to the next topic. He'd brewed the Acuity Draught twice on Saturday, after all, and the next potion in the text didn't require any charms to be cast. Harry thought he could do with the little break that represented.

Anaforarian base potion, he thought as he made his way down to the dungeons. Let's do that one today . . . And sure enough, they did. It was all Harry could do not to give his dad a big grin.

Class went well, with Harry earning five points for his correct answer about why the base potion would, if spilled, melt off fingers but not toes. For a moment, he wondered how the counters would apportion an odd number of points. Then Snape's intense questioning continued and he forgot all about it.

"You go on to dinner," he told his friends when class was over. "I think I'll eat with my family tonight."

Hermione and Ron went off, talking about the Prefect's meeting McGonagall had called for that evening.

Harry waited until the classroom door was closed, then walked to where Snape was shuffling through piles of submitted homework. "Do you have a lot to do? Because I was hoping you could walk me down now."

Snape glanced up, his dark eyes distracted. "I'll be along in a while, Harry. Have your friends escort you."

"They left."

"Ah." The Potions Master thought about that for a moment. "You may use my office Floo if you like. The powder is in the covered ivory cup on the mantle. Would you arrange dinner for the three of us? Ever since Saturday Draco has taken to ordering foods he knows I detest."

"Why don't you just send them back and order what you want?"

"I prefer not to give him the satisfaction." Snape grimaced. "In that vein, perhaps you'd better act as though I didn't ask you to see to this evening's repast."

"Don't worry." Harry headed off towards his father's office. "Draco won't suspect a thing."

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Draco wasn't in the living room or their bedroom, which struck Harry as a little odd until he realised the other boy must be brewing. Well, it was about time Draco did some homework, and it only stood to reason he'd start with the subject he liked best. Of course the sixth-year Potions class was bound to pose him some difficulties, since the emphasis was on charmed potions. Maybe Draco was working on the Anaforarian base potion, though. He could do that one . . .

The ingredients set out on the worktable in Snape's lab, however, didn't have anything to do with their assignment. Harry didn't even know what sort of potion would use them. "What are you working on?"

Draco glanced over his shoulder, then bent down to manually adjust the flame beneath his cauldron. "Personal experiment."

"Oh yeah?" Harry though it would be better if Draco was working on an actual assignment, but he supposed this was better than nothing. Maybe it would get the other boy interested in his schoolwork again, at least.

"Yeah," Draco drawled, mimicking Harry's tone. "Is that a problem for you?"

"No . . ."

"Then get out and just let me get on with it," shouted Draco. "You go make yourself useful. Set the menu or something!"

"Sure," said Harry, hiding a smile. He went out and ordered a nice chicken curry for the three of them.

It wasn't long before Draco wandered out of the lab. "Sorry," he said, though he didn't sound terribly apologetic. "I'm not in the best mood. Turns out brewing's a lot easier with a wand."

Harry smiled. "I thought it was pretty funny when we finally got to use wands in Potions class," he admitted. "After all that there will be no wand-waving in this class business."

"Oh, wonderful. Make me feel like a first-year, Harry."

"I wasn't trying--"

Draco cut him off. "I know. Can you do me a favour and not mention my experiment to Severus? He'll just yell at me that I should have been following the class outline he gave me."

Harry had a feeling Draco had been getting yelled at a lot. "All right. Though if he asks me outright I don't know as I can lie to him, Draco."

"Gryffindor."

"Slytherin."

"Ha, not any longer." Draco seemed to make an effort then, though, and shrug off his morose thoughts. "So how is it, being back in classes?"

"Oh, Aran's as useless as ever," said Harry, though he thought better than to complain about the Parseltongue thing. It was bad enough to have Snape sticking his nose into Harry's Charms class. He didn't need any more interference.

"Aran's class was the best place to get all your other homework done, though," Draco sighed. "Well, when he gave us bookwork. His would only take ten seconds."

"Yeah, but I'd still rather have a decent Defence programme in place here. I can't figure out what Dumbledore thinks he's doing!"

"Yeah. I wish Severus wanted the job. He'd be great."

It seemed odd to be having a normal conversation with Draco, Harry thought. The other boy didn't seem to be trying to provoke him at all. Draco's mood did worsen after Snape arrived and they all sat down to dinner, but even then, he didn't make a point of throwing insults around. He just went quiet, hardly saying anything, keeping his eyes on his plate.

He seemed to be using an awful lot of salt on his food.

Snape tried drawing Draco in as he and Harry discussed plans for the spring holiday, but Draco just didn't seem interested. After a while, Snape decided to just let him be.

Later, when Snape was walking him back, Harry decided it would be all right to ask the question that had been on his mind all evening. "Has Draco started working on his lines yet?"

Snape shook his head, his black hair swaying lankly. For one insane moment, Harry wondered if Draco might have been working on brewing a shampoo for their father. But no . . . Draco wouldn't be in the mood to do Snape any favours, would he? On the other hand, maybe Draco would whip up a shampoo as a deliberate insult.

But that didn't seem to fit his thoroughly subdued mood, either.

"Maybe you should give back his wand," Harry ventured as they made their way through the deserted corridors. "I mean, I understand you had to make a point, but you made it, don't you think?"

"Considering he continues to defy the punishment I set him? No, I don't think so."

Harry frowned. "I know, but taking his wand . . . that's really rough. I mean, I could manage without magic, but I grew up differently."

"I do wish you would stop calling it his wand," Severus said in a hard voice. "It is not his wand, Harry. In fact, he is not allowed to own a wand at this point. It is my wand. My grandfather's wand, and it is my choice what I do with it."

They walked down a long hall and turned a corner before Harry figured out what to reply. "I know. It's not his, but you were letting him use it . . ."

"Which means that should he choose to misuse it, I will be held to account for his actions." Snape sighed, rubbing the bridge of his nose as they walked along. "You must allow me to do as I think best for your brother, Harry. I won't countenance your interference."

"Yes, sir."

Snape gave him a look, but said nothing more.

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Harry managed to pop down for a brief visit on Thursday, though he might as well not have bothered. Snape was out somewhere--Draco either didn't know where or wasn't saying--and Draco was still caught up in his personal experiment, whatever that meant.

He was mincing clover blossoms when Harry walked in. Thinking of all the times he'd seen Draco do that with magic, Harry felt a little bad to see him working without now. "Here, I'll chop those for you," he said, coming alongside his brother and reaching for the knife.

"No thanks."

"Oh, come on--"

"No, Harry!" shouted Draco, swinging his whole body to the side to yank the knife out of Harry's reach.

"I just wanted to help," said Harry, a little hurt.

"Well, you can't."

"Why not?"

"Because you're . . ." Draco went red in the face, and blurted, "Because you're not a pureblood, all right? It's an experiment, I told you! You might mess it up!"

"That's ridiculous!"

"Yeah, well, deal with it," Draco rudely retorted, before shouldering Harry away from his work table. "Now if you don't mind, I've got some critical phases coming up, so it's not the best time to chit-chat."

Harry stood there, sort of dumbfounded for a minute, then turned away. "Fine. Enjoy your brewing."

"Oh, I will," drawled Draco. "I will."

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"That's it, everybody to bed," Hermione announced at eleven p.m. that night.

Groans and complaints greeted her pronouncement.

Hermione glanced around the common room. "None of that, now. It's not my idea to impose a set bedtime on us. McGonagall insisted on it at the prefects' meeting. Eleven on school nights, one a.m. on the weekend."

One a.m . . . Harry ground his teeth together. It wasn't enough that his father had to make extra sure that Flitwick punished him for skiving off class . . . now the man had to see to it that Harry went to bed on time, too!

Even if it meant interfering with Harry's entire house!

"Hermione, I need to finish my Herbology questions," Harry complained. "I'll be up after I do the last four."

"Oh, no. McGonagall said--"

"Wait," exclaimed Ron, his forehead wrinkling. "What did she say exactly? Tell the house. Well, you did tell the house, Hermione!"

"Yes, and I noticed you didn't make any effort to, Ronald!"

"Stop calling me Ronald like that!"

"Stop it, both of you," interrupted Harry. "Look, Ron's right. McGonagall said to tell us and you told us, so you're off the hook. She didn't say to enforce it, did she?"

"Well, no . . ."

"There you are, then." Harry turned back to his Herbology, winking at Ginny who had packed up her things to go to bed, but was now sitting back down.

"Harry, I'm sure she meant for us to actually go to bed!"

"Ha." Harry looked up. "In six years she hasn't cared how late we stay up. I'm sure she just wanted to be able to tell my father that she set a bedtime. He's in a snit that I stayed up all night."

"Oh." Hermione looked around at the common room, and shrugged. "Never mind, then."

Ron started laughing. "I bet McGonagall knows we're going to ignore it. I bet she'll tell Snape with a straight face that of course the Gryffindors have been given a bedtime, and all the while she'll be snickering behind his back."

"I think she just didn't need his interference," said Harry. Snape really had a nerve, in a way, insisting that Harry not interfere in Draco's discipline, when all the time he felt free to meddle in Harry's other house!

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During lunch on Friday, Harry started trying to figure out what to say to his father about the bedtime thing. They were all supposed to Floo to Grimmauld Place that evening, Apparating from there to Devon for their holiday. Harry wasn't so sure he wanted to start their time away together on a negative note. But on the other hand, he did want to get the matter settled.

Snape wasn't Head of Gryffindor, so in Harry's view, he ought to keep his opinions about what went on in the Tower to himself.

As it turned out, though, Draco had already ruined their holiday far more thoroughly than Harry possibly could.

Harry found out about it when he was on his way to Potions, his last class of the day.

A small noise startled him as he walked along with his friends, and there stood Dobby, hands on hips, his elf eyes wide. "Harry Potter must come at once!" Dobby screeched, stepping forward and grabbing Harry's hand.

"What? Wait, I have Potions next and I'm almost late--"

"Harry Potter must come!" insisted Dobby, his ears twitching in agitation, tugging on Harry's hand. "Now, now, now, Harry Potter!"

"All right, all right!" Harry shouted, then turned to his friends. "Look, just tell my father Dobby needed to talk to me, so he doesn't think I'm hurt or something."

"But skipping class again, Harry?" questioned Hermione. "Snape's class?"

Harry leaned close. Well, as close as he could with Dobby yanking on him. "Dobby here was helping us investigate the Owlery thing. My dad'll remember that and think I ought to talk with him."

"Oh. Well, if you're sure--"

"For Merlin's sake, Hermione! Don't you think Harry knows his father better than you do?"

"I said all right, didn't I, Ronald?" Hermione turned back to Harry. "But you aren't supposed to go anywhere alone--"

Harry thought of Dobby repelling Lucius Malfoy's spell that time, and smiled. "Elf-magic's pretty serious stuff. Dobby'll take good care of me."

"Well, if you're sure," Hermione said again.

"Harry Potter will be in the Tower!" Dobby screeched as he bounced up and down on his heels.

Just like that, quicker than the blink of an eye, Harry found himself up in his own dormitory, surrounded by hastily made beds.

Feeling like the breath had been knocked out of him, Harry sat down hard on his own bed and grabbed it to steady himself. It was a moment before he could speak; elf-Apparition was much more violent than the wizard kind. Though strangely enough, it was less nauseating.

"What's the meaning of this, Dobby?" he asked when he could talk. "Did you finally find out who it was that buried Draco's wand out on the grounds?"

"Dobby is not being concerned about Master Malfoy's wand!" The elf vigorously shook his head.

"He's Draco Snape, now," said Harry, thinking that the elves might not have heard the news. "He's my brother."

"Oooh, Harry Potter will be thinking twice on that when he is knowing what Master Malfoy has done!" exclaimed Dobby.

Harry sighed. What could Draco have done? He couldn't leave home, not without a wand. And the Floo was warded against him travelling anywhere alone. How bad could it be?

I would prefer not to underestimate Draco's ingenuity, he heard his father say inside his mind.

Harry suddenly had a bad, bad feeling. "What's he done?"

"That!"

Dobby snapped his fingers, and a glittering shower of pink sparks began to hover in the air. When it dissipated, a tray of fairy cakes remained. Elaborate fairy cakes; they looked as though they'd come from some incredibly upscale bakery.

"These was sitting out in the Slytherin common room!" shrieked Dobby. "They is from the kitchens! The Hogwarts kitchens!"

Noticing a plain parchment card on the tray, Harry stood up and reached out for it, only to be thrown back by a blast of energy that flared into life around the tray. "Ow!" he said, shaking his right hand.

"Dobby is getting it for Harry Potter! Harry Potter must not be poisoned!"

"Poisoned?"

"The fairy cakes is poisoned!" Dobby repeated, reaching for the card. He wouldn't let Harry touch it, however. Holding it close, he opened it so Harry could see the writing on the parchment.

"For my loyal Slytherins. You know who you are," Harry read out loud. "L. Malfoy."

"Yes, yes, yes!"

Harry sat down again. "All right, so Lucius sent fairy cakes to the conspirators to thank them . . . wait, they're poisoned. So what's he doing, trying to kill off anybody who knows he was involved in Pansy's death?"

"Master Malfoy senior is not sending fairy cakes to Slytherin!" shouted Dobby, more frantic than ever. "Master Malfoy junior is sending these!"

Harry felt like a shock wave had travelled through him. But then reason returned. "Oh, don't say that, Dobby. That's an awful thing to say! Look, I know you don't get on with Draco but really, it's a lot more likely that Lucius would be trying to poison students--"

"Harry Potter is not understanding!" Jumping up onto Harry's bed, Dobby grabbed both Harry's wrists and held on tight. "Master Malfoy asked the kitchens for fairy cakes! These fairy cakes! But they is poisoned now!"

"All right, slow down," said Harry, feeling like his brain needed a chance to catch up. First things first. "Is anybody hurt? Did anybody eat any of them?"

"No, no, no! Quilly was cleaning the dungeons and she was getting Dobby at once as soon as they arrived! The students was finishing their lunches in the Great Hall!"

Harry left aside, for the moment, the question of why this Quilly would have summoned another elf. Or why Dobby, for that matter. "Dobby," he asked, "if nobody's eaten the fairy cakes then what makes you so sure they're poisoned?"

Letting go of his wrists, Dobby drew himself up to his full height and glared. "Dobby was eating one."

"You said nobody had!"

"Dobby was thinking you meant the wizards and witches," said the elf, starting to hunch over, looking a little bit ashamed of his assumption, then. "Dobby did not know you was meaning house-elves. Dobby was forgetting Harry Potter's great kindness to house-elves--"

Harry reached out and patted the elf's hand. "That's okay, Dobby. Are you all right?"

"Oh yes, Harry Potter! Dobby sicked up twice but now is right as rain!"

Giving Dobby's hand one more pat, Harry murmured, "I'm sorry you were sick. Now, if Draco ordered a plate of fairy cakes like this, then I guess it looks awfully suspicious, but really, Dobby--"

Dobby waved the card he was still holding, though he kept it well away from Harry. "This is not Master Malfoy senior's writing! It is looking so similar that the students would not be noticing the difference! But Dobby is noticing! That is Master Malfoy junior's writing, Harry Potter! Dobby is knowing these things!"

Now Harry felt like he was the one who would sick up. He couldn't help but remember Draco's impulse control problem. Or his resentment of his house, these days. Or the personal experiment he'd been working on, the one he'd said not to tell their father about. What if he'd been brewing a poison?

Draco hadn't wanted to let Harry mince the clover, Harry suddenly remembered. It felt like something hard and heavy had portkeyed straight into his gut. Draco hadn't wanted Harry to help make that potion, and he'd said it was because Harry wasn't a pureblood . . . a claim Harry hadn't believed at the time.

He believed it even less, now.

What if Draco hadn't wanted help because he didn't want Harry implicated in the poisoning?

The whole plot was really too awful to believe, so Harry struggled against an overwhelming sense of evidence to gasp, "Draco can't get to the Slytherin common room, Dobby! I mean, he can't leave by the door and he definitely can't floo anywhere by himself! So how would he even deliver these?"

Dobby's voice grew hushed. "Quilly was seeing them arrive in the Slytherin common room Floo, Master Harry! And Master Malfoy can use the Floo to be sending food! Oooh, these past weeks he is asking for lots of food! Whole platters he doesn't touch, he floos back to us!"

And the Floo in Snape's quarters had a direct connection to the common room in his house, so he could reach his Slytherins quickly if there should be an emergency . . .

Harry slumped, but still struggled to find holes in the story. "But when Quilly saw the fairy cakes come through the Floo, she wouldn't know that wasn't Lucius' handwriting. She'd think they were from Lucius. And Lucius is a school governor and a Slytherin himself, so why wouldn't she just put the treats out on a table for the students to enjoy?"

Dobby began eyeing him strangely, his ears standing straight up. "Because the headmaster, he is being very strict about the food-testing rules, Harry Potter. Quilly would be having to pull out her teeth if she disobeyed!"

"What food-testing rules?"

"Aaaah." Dobby nodded sagely, his ears relaxing. "Harry Potter does not know."

"Know what?"

"Dobby must be telling Harry Potter if Harry Potter wants to know--" Dobby said as though talking to himself.

"Harry Potter wants to know!"

A single, definite nod, and then Dobby was disclosing, "All food is being food-tested, Harry Potter. It all goes through elf-hands before any wizards is ever seeing it. Because the headmaster is not wanting to lose his Potions Master, he is saying, and we is knowing that he means it, after the last time!"

"What last time?"

"The last time Harry Potter's father was poisoned," Dobby said in a whisper.

Snape had been poisoned? Well he'd always had enemies, hadn't he . . . "When was this?"

"On his birthday!" Dobby began shaking his head to and fro. "Oh, it was awful, Harry Potter!"

"His last birthday?"

Dobby nodded.

Early January, Snape had said, which meant . . . "Snape got poisoned this year, almost right after he adopted me?" And he never even mentioned it?

Dobby nodded again.

Well, at least that explained why the man had been skipping meals. Being poisoned wouldn't exactly make you want to eat, would it? "Who poisoned him? And how?"

"We is not knowing who, Harry Potter! We is only knowing how! Somebody was putting poison in the Potion Master's chocolate cauldron!"

"Chocolate cauldron?"

"Oh, yes, Harry Potter!" Dobby began bouncing on the balls of his feet again; Harry felt his queasiness surge as the bed jiggled under him. "Every year the headmaster, he is giving Harry Potter's father a chocolate cauldron at breakfast on his birthday! The Potions Master, he scowls, like this . . ." Dobby made an absolutely hideous face. " . . .and he waits for the headmaster to be teasing him about it, but then he eats it, every year. But this year it was poisoned and Harry Potter's father was spending the day in the hospital wing!"

"I never heard about any of this!"

Dobby shrugged. "Maybe Harry Potter's father is not wanting to worry him?"

Maybe, but Harry was still pretty upset and angry that such a thing could have happened. And even more angry, perhaps, that Severus had never mentioned it, not once. Not even when Harry had asked him why he was so reluctant to eat!

"Well how much was there to worry about? How bad off was Severus on his birthday?"

Dobby shuddered. "Oh, it was awful, Harry Potter. Dobby was hearing the whole story from the hospital-elves. The Potion Master's throat began to bleed and he began coughing up blood. And the headmaster, he was telling him before breakfast was even over to be seeing Madam Pomfrey. And Harry Potter's father, he was arguing, but then he went. And the hospital-elves saw blood streaming from his eyes and nose and Madam Pomfrey had to get some Blood Replenisher in him but his throat was scarring itself faster than she could be healing it and he could not swallow! And then Harry Potter's father fainted," the elf added in a hushed whisper. "And Madam Pomfrey did some spells that was not working, but then he woke up on his own and she was laughing and hugging him and saying he was a good Potions Master!"

Harry thought back to early January. Hadn't there been a night or two when Severus had had a bit of a scratchy throat and had seemed awfully tired and withdrawn? It would have been about the time Ron was doing his lines. Hmm, Ron must not have known about the poisoning attempt. Even as angry as he'd been, he'd surely have mentioned it.

"This was all kept from the students, I guess?" Harry asked, wondering if that was why it had been kept from him as well. But he wasn't just a student; he was the man's son!

Dobby nodded.

Harry glanced at the fairy cakes and tried to get his mind back onto their more immediate problem. Draco. "Who knows about these cakes being poisoned? Just you and Quilly?"

"Oh, no, Harry Potter--"

Harry wanted to hang his head in his hands and groan, because if the story was already out then Draco was as good as headed for Azkaban, wasn't he? Nobody would give him the benefit of the doubt, not after the whole wizarding world basically assumed he'd already got away with murder once.

Not that Draco deserves any benefit of the doubt, Harry thought darkly.

"Just Dobby is knowing," continued the elf. "Dobby is the only one."

Harry heard that through such a haze of fear, worry, and anger that it took a minute to sink in. "Wait. Just you? But Quilly saw the treats arrive! Oh, you mean she still thinks they were from Lucius?"

Dobby flushed, his skin going greener than usual. "Quilly gave the cakes to Dobby to food-test. And Dobby was knowing that they were from Master Malfoy junior, and Dobby is knowing he is Harry Potter's brother. And Dobby is remembering that Harry Potter was saying that his brother is being loyal to him. So Dobby is not wanting to break Harry Potter's heart, but Dobby must be knowing if the cakes are safe, so Dobby is going off alone to test them. And after Dobby is done being sick, Dobby comes straight to Harry Potter to ask, what should Dobby do?"

By the end, the elf was looking at him plaintively, his big eyes beseeching.

"I think you should come with me to tell my father, and we'll let him handle it," Harry said, quickly casting Tempus. "But he's still in class . . . well, I guess it's not an emergency at this point, so we can wait until he finishes. You're sure Quilly doesn't know any of this?"

Dobby's ears swayed as he shook his head. "Treats is coming all the time and Dobby is food-tasting them, Harry Potter."

"Well, I'm sure stuff comes by owl, but through the Floo? Quilly has to know it's warded, right? Not anybody can use that Floo . . ."

"Quilly knows that Master Malfoy senior is a school governor." Dobby shrugged. "Quilly will not be thinking twice about the Floo."

"All right . . ." Harry drew his eyebrows together and stared at Dobby. "You just said that treats come all the time and you food-test them. Is that why Quilly called you when she saw the food arrive?"

"Oh, yes." Dobby beamed Harry a wide smile. "Dobby is the only house-elf who is doing the food-testing." He threw his head back so proudly that one of his hats fell off. "The other elves is always calling Dobby for it."

Harry was glad Dobby seemed so happy about the matter. Maybe when it came to elf-duties, that one was some sort of honour? Though that was hard to imagine. "How'd you get assigned a job like that?"

Dobby leapt off the bed and spun around once in his obvious glee. "Dobby volunteered!"

Harry swallowed. "You volunteered? But Dobby . . ."

"Oh, do not worry, Harry Potter," said Dobby, smiling widely. "Dobby has only been poisoned three times counting today. And wizard poisons, they is not very harmful to elves. Dobby sicks up and then he is right as rain--"

"Would you stop saying that?" Harry asked, feeling a bit weak at the thought. "It's not right for you to be doing this, Dobby. Why on earth would you volunteer for such an awful job?"

Dobby jumped up on the bed again and sat down next to Harry, and looked at him with wide, serious eyes. "Because Dobby will do anything for Harry Potter. If anything happened to Harry Potter's father, Harry Potter would be unhappy. Dobby is knowing this." His voice took on a grumbling edge. "And Dobby is knowing that Harry Potter loves his brother also. So Dobby will be doing whatever Harry Potter is wanting, though Dobby thinks that Master Malfoy junior needs--"

"That'll be up to his father," Harry interrupted, just in case Dobby was about to bring up the awful wizard's beatings Draco had suffered at Lucius' hands.

"Yes, Harry Potter."

Harry cast Tempus again and wondered why time seemed to be slowing down. Nothing for it, though. Getting up, he started to pace the length of his room and back. That meant he had to pass next to the floating plate of fairy cakes. "Where was that before you summoned it here?"

"Dobby was putting it in a safe place."

Harry almost said to put it back there, but since he didn't want to risk anybody else seeing it, he supposed he probably shouldn't. So in the end he said nothing about that. He asked Dobby more about the poisonings and found out that after the chocolate cauldron incident, two untraceable owl-post packages addressed to Snape had arrived. Thanks to Dumbledore's food-testing rules, however, neither one had made it past Dobby.

Harry still felt bad about Dobby getting sick over and over, but if it kept Snape alive, he didn't feel he could put a stop to it. Besides, Dobby was so happy to help!

He decided he'd just be sure not to mention Dobby's new job to Hermione.

"Has anyone ever gone back for Draco's wand?" Harry asked after a while. "Wait, never mind. They wouldn't, not now. I guess everybody knows Draco was expelled and his wand confiscated. Sorry, I'm not thinking too well right now. I just can't believe Draco did a thing like this, trying to kill off his house mates! Even if it was just the ones who were working with Lucius against him!"

Even if it was just the ones who helped kill Pansy . . .

Harry could see him being angry, could see him wanting revenge. But murder?

Dobby jumped up and started pacing alongside Harry. "Dobby thinks he misspoke, Harry Potter. The cakes, they is poisoned and it is bad, bad, bad of Master Malfoy, but if he was trying to kill he would be using a stronger poison. This one will be making his house mates very, very sick."

Harry stopped pacing. "How sick?"

Dobby snapped his fingers and a book appeared in Harry's hand. Harry was so startled he almost dropped it. When he spotted a bookmark, he flipped it open to that page and started reading.

The blood drained from his face when he spotted clover blossoms on the list of ingredients for the potion. But that was nothing to how he felt when he read about the effects of this particular poison.

Dobby spoke very softly. "Harry Potter's father will be finished soon with his Advanced Potions class."

"What?" Harry looked up from his reading, grim-faced. "Oh. Can you Apparate us both into his office?" Then he remembered what that had been like. "Wait, give me a minute to get ready. I'll bring the book; can you bring the cakes?"

Harry took three big, bracing breaths, and then nodded, wincing this time as Dobby snapped his fingers.

------------------------------------------------------

Harry decided it was just as well he wasn't in Potions class that day. From what he could make out through the thick office door, Snape was in a terrible temper. Of course, that might be because he was a bit upset that Harry hadn't talked to him before leaving with Dobby.

Oh, who was he trying to fool? It was definitely because of Harry. Snape was picking on the Gryffindors even more than usual, and as the class drew to a close, began questioning Hermione so relentlessly about base potions that her voice started to waver. Probably he blamed Ron and Hermione for letting Harry go off, which was completely unfair since in the first place, they hadn't had much choice, and in the second, Hermione had done her level best to stop Harry.

"That will be all," Snape finally concluded in an ominous voice. "You are dismissed."

Ron and Hermione had evidently hung back to talk to Snape, mood or no mood, because the next thing Harry heard was, "Which part of dismissed overtaxed your feeble brains?" And then, in a slightly more reasonable tone, "Fine, fine, you're concerned about Harry. Well if you would leave I could begin to investigate his latest brainless stunt--"

"I'm right here, Dad," said Harry, stepping through the Potions office door, Dobby at his heels. "Hi Ron, Hermione. Sorry for leaving like that, but once Dobby decided to Apparate me I didn't have much way to stick around."

Hermione rushed to his side. "Are you all right?"

She was practically checking him over for bruises, Harry thought with a little irritation. "Yeah, fine. But I have to talk to my father, now. Family business."

"Oh . . . all right."

She looked awfully worried, so Harry gave her a smile. He couldn't help that it was strained, though. "Look, I might not see you again before we leave for the spring holiday, so I'll just say 'bye now."

Ron glanced at him and nodded. "Right. But you need anything, mate, you know where to find us."

"Oh, why would he need anything, Ronald? He'll be with his father!"

"You're just saying that in front of his father so he might forgive you someday for that stupid letter--"

Snape interrupted him. "As entertaining as your adolescent squabbles are, I get more than enough of that listening to my own sons, Miss Granger, Mr Weasley."

"Yes, sir," they both said in unison.

"Now if you don't mind, I believe Harry mentioned some family business?" As hints went, Snape's was more than pointed; it was razor-sharp. Ron and Hermione said a quick good-bye to Harry and left.

"Office," Snape announced without delay, marching in there and clearly expecting Harry and Dobby to follow. Once the door was closed he warded it thoroughly, then looked expectantly at his son. "Well? I presume you do have an adequate explanation for your absence throughout the afternoon session?" And then, in tones of astonishment, "What is a plate of fairy cakes doing in the middle of my desk?"

Harry collapsed into chair, feeling like he'd been carrying a hundred pounds up and down stairs. "That's my explanation. It's . . . oh, God. I don't know where to begin. But first off, whatever you do, don't eat one of those . . ." Harry shuddered. "Things."

Snape stepped towards the fairy cakes but didn't touch them. "For my loyal Slytherins . . ." A look of comprehension began dawning on his face. "That is not Lucius' writing. It is . . ." Snape practically staggered.

Harry knew the feeling. He held out the book he was still holding and said just one word. "Venetimorica."

Snape didn't need a book to know what that meant. He looked a more than a bit ill at the thought of that poison being distributed not merely by his son, but against his own house. Harry sighed, wishing he could say something to make it all better. "You were right about Draco's ingenuity."

Hmm, that probably hadn't helped.

Snape sat down behind the desk and stared blankly at the cakes, but Harry could see that he was trying to piece it all together. Or perhaps, come to grips with it. "I must admit, more context would be very . . . beneficial," he finally said.

"Dobby?"

Harry thought better than to explain it all himself. If Snape wanted the whole story, it was better for him to hear it directly from the source. Actually, Harry wished he didn't have to listen to the whole thing a second time. The more he thought about it, the sicker he felt. Never mind that he'd thought a time or two about sneaking into the Slytherin common room and playing some sort of prank on them. He'd never have done anything like this.

When Dobby's story was over, Snape looked more thunderously angry than Harry had ever seen. Which was really saying something, considering how angry Snape had got at him over the years. His eyes were a seething black beneath eyebrows stretched into a taut, thin line, and his lips were white with rage.

"And no-one knows any of this save you?" he rapped out. He'd been pacing for a while by then, but when he asked the question he stopped, fists at his side, and gazed fiercely down at Dobby.

Dobby had seen too many furious wizards in his time to take one lightly. "N . . . n . . . no-one except Quilly, but she is not knowing anything except I took the fairy cakes away to be food-testing them."

"It's all right, Dobby," Harry said in a soothing voice. "He's not angry at you."

Snape shot Harry an annoyed glance but didn't contradict him. "And normally if you investigated an item and it contained no poison, you would . . .?"

"Dobby would put it back for d-- d-- delivery, s-- s-- sir . . ."

Snape lapsed into thought. "Will Quilly remark upon it if the tray never reappears?"

Dobby got an odd look on his face, though he managed to shake his head no.

"What, Dobby? What?"

Looking apologetic then, Dobby whispered, "Quilly will not be noticing. The Slytherin rooms, they is always such a horrible filthy mess, Harry Potter, that the house-elves . . . er . . ."

"The house-elves what?" Snape barked.

"The house-elves is taking turns cleaning there," yelped Dobby. "Quilly will not be back there for another month!"

"Fine," said Snape in a short voice. "Say nothing about this matter, elf. Nothing. Ever. Not even to Harry Potter." Pausing, the Potions Master appeared to give that some thought. "Harry, perhaps it would be best if you told him the same."

Harry knelt down, grateful that Snape hadn't suggested forcibly binding Dobby to some sort of silencing spell. Or worse, Obliviate. He was actually surprised his father hadn't suggested that, but perhaps it didn't work on elves. "This has to be our secret, Dobby," Harry told him. "It's important."

Dobby gulped. "I was already telling no-one because I knew it would hurt Harry Potter."

"I know." Harry gave Dobby a swift hug. "You're a good friend."

Dobby's big eyes shined with tears. "But Master Malfoy, Harry Potter. If he is getting away with this, he will be doing it again and again, Dobby is thinking. He will break Harry Potter's heart!"

"No," interrupted Snape, his tone of voice one Harry had never heard from him before. Hard, cold, and utterly merciless. "Draco won't do this again. Draco won't do anything like this, ever again."

"What are you going to do to him?"

Snape ignored Harry's question in favour of waving for Dobby to leave. Sighing, Harry handed Dobby the book back. Snape didn't need it, and Harry didn't want to dwell on the details of that particular poison any longer.

With a final mournful look at Harry, the elf at last Disapparated.

"What are you going to do to Draco?" repeated Harry. "What else can you do? You've already taken his wand--"

"My wand!" snapped Snape. "And as for what I plan to do, I'm still considering the matter. But one thing is certain. You will not interfere."

"Dad--"

"Do you want to see your brother sent to Azkaban?"

"But Dobby won't tell anybody--"

"No doubt. He's loyal to you, but he's also quite correct. Draco will indeed do this again--or something worse--unless he's stopped now. So answer me! Do you want to see your brother sent to Azkaban?"

"No, of course not!" Harry took a step back, the look on Snape's face more unnerving than he would have thought possible.

"Then do not interfere!" Snape assessed his expression, then waved his wand to levitate the tray of fairy cakes. Once it had floated into the Floo, the Potions Master reached for the ivory cup on his mantle. "We'll go talk to Draco, now."

"And tell him what?"

Snape gave Harry a thin, menacing smile. "Oh, I'm in no mood to tell your brother anything at present. Let's see what he has to tell us, shall we?"

With that, he pulled Harry into the Floo with him and threw down the powder that would send them both hurtling home.

------------------------------------------------------

The shower was running when Harry and Snape arrived, which Harry counted quite a good thing since it would give him a chance to talk with his father.

"Why'd you bring those along?" he said, shuddering.

Snape deftly waved the tray over to the dining room table. "What would you suggest I do, leave them in my office so that students wandering in can help themselves to a tasty treat?"

Harry blanched even though the suggestion was absurd. "Your office is warded and besides, nobody's going to come asking for Potions help when there are no classes for a week!"

"Regardless, I'm hardly disposed to leave them unsupervised."

Harry could appreciate that. "Can't you just banish them to nowhere?"

"Oh, certainly I can," Snape mocked. "I do believe I've known that spell for some years, Harry. But I think they can perhaps be put to better use here. The card, however . . ." It abruptly vanished under the force of Snape's spell, though Harry had a feeling it had only gone as far as his father's bedroom or office. As the shower stopped running, Snape lowered his voice. "Follow my lead."

Harry waited for his father to say more, but the man just stared at him, one eyebrow lifted in challenge.

Harry finally gave it up. "What are you planning?"

"I told you, I wish to hear what your brother has to say."

"What does that mean, you want to trick him into lying to you? What?"

"Perhaps you would have to be more fully Slytherin to understand," murmured Snape. Whatever else he had been going to say was lost as Harry's bedroom door swung open and Draco emerged.

"So, are we off to Devon then?" he at once suggested. "I'm already packed--"

"Alas, Harry is not," Snape said, shaking his head. "But no matter. Tomorrow will be soon enough to depart." He took a pinch of powder and tossed it at the grate. "Whatever suits each one of us, I should think."

As the elf in the fire nodded and whisked himself away, Snape turned towards the table.

Harry knew the exact moment when Draco saw what was waiting for him there. The other boy's step faltered, his mouth falling open. He recovered quickly enough, however, and sauntered forward as though he hadn't a care in the world. "Where did you get those, Severus?" he asked, glancing at the fairy cakes as though confused. "Oh, did you fetch them from the kitchens, Harry?"

As terrible a liar as ever, Harry thought.

"I brought them," Snape tossed out. And he, Harry thought, was definitely not a terrible liar.

All those years working as a double-agent . . .

"They'd been delivered to the Slytherin common room," Snape went on, his tone almost absent-minded by then. "But the state of the room lately has rivalled your bedroom for slovenliness. I hear the elves actually fight with one another to avoid Slytherin, so I rather thought the students didn't deserve such a lovely treat."

When Draco said nothing, Harry suspected he was trying to work out how much of that he could believe. Or perhaps he was merely wondering what had happened to the card he'd forged.

"Mmm, asparagus quiche," Draco said as his food winked into existence. He began studiously avoiding looking at the centre of the table, Harry noticed. "What did you get, Harry? Meatloaf again?" Draco screwed up his features in disdain. "With wilted salad."

"It's not wilted." Harry pushed his fork against it to prove his point. The crisp Romaine made a crackling noise.

"Well it's not a proper starter, is it, coming with your main course like that."

Surprisingly enough, Draco didn't follow up that comment with scathing commentary on Harry's upbringing. Or perhaps it wasn't so surprising. Draco had apparently already vented his day's quota of viciousness, Harry thought darkly.

"Some of us have more important things than meals on our minds," he began, only to blink in shock when Snape kicked him under the table. At least it wasn't a hard kick, but still!

"What Harry means," the Potions Master smoothly inserted, "is that he's worried about his detention."

"Filch, huh?" Draco gave a mock shudder and poured himself a glass of sparkling water from the decanter that had appeared at his place. "What did you do?"

"Uh . . ."

"Oh come now," said Snape in a thoroughly pleasant voice. "You can tell your brother, surely. Or perhaps not, considering the dynamic between you two. No? Well, the fact of the matter is that Harry neglected to attend his Potions lesson today."

Draco almost choked on a bit of asparagus. "You skived off Severus' class?"

"I . . ." The warning look he got from Snape was enough to make him play along, as he'd been told. Though he had no clue where Snape thought this was going. "Yeah, actually I did."

After a few sips of water, Draco began to laugh softly. "The good act began to pall, did it?"

"I wasn't putting on any act!"

"Oh, sure you weren't. You just wanted me to look bad and you know it."

"You sure don't need my help to look bad, do you--" Harry abruptly stopped before he got kicked again.

"Harry does have a point," said Snape as he polished off the last of his salmon mousse. "If he's been putting on a good act, you've certainly done all you could to convince us you're not worthy of the name Snape, haven't you?"

Draco's glance flicked to the centre of the table, but other than that, he didn't give himself away. "I've just been in a bad mood. You get them too, you know. Even Harry wasn't the soul of cheer right after--"

"We're not discussing Harry at the moment," Snape quietly said. "Your behaviour is at issue now. Speaking of which, did you get any lines done today?"

Draco lifted his chin. "No, actually."

"I see. What about your assignments?"

That chin went up yet another notch. "Not a one."

"Pity. Too much more of this and your professors might not bother owling down their lesson schedules, you realise."

Draco shrugged. "I don't have professors. I'm expelled, remember? Anyway, I've been busy."

"I can't imagine with what," murmured Snape, his voice going silky. "Can you, Harry?"

"Uh . . . no?"

Draco shot Harry an alarmed glance at that. Was he perhaps worried Harry would mention the personal experiment he'd been working so hard on?

Their main courses arrived at that moment, though Harry of course still just had his meatloaf. Snape stopped questioning Draco then, and began discussing suggested improvements to his cottage in Devon.

When it was time for dessert, though, the conversation again became fraught with tension. As far as Harry could tell--which wasn't far--Snape had been trying to lull Draco into some state of relaxation, even to the point of implying that Harry was in trouble for skiving off class. But now, he went in for the kill.

Lovely confections appeared on the table as their dinner plates vanished. Crème brulée for Harry, a kiwi-laden slice of Pavlova for Snape, and chocolate-dipped cream puffs for Draco. Before anyone could so much as pick up a spoon or fork, however, Snape was waving his wand and banishing it all away, though he left the delicate dessert plates behind.

Or rather, he left Harry and Draco's plates behind. His own had vanished along with his Pavlova. "I don't know what the elves were thinking," he murmured as he tucked his wand away. "You know how seldom I eat dessert. But you two . . . well, I couldn't imagine you'd want those other confections when we already have these lovely fairy cakes."

For one stark moment, Draco's face drained of colour, and Harry was sure the boy would confess his awful deed. He must have decided, though, that he could still somehow escape unscathed. How he could think that was a mystery to Harry. The horrible poisoned cakes were sitting there right in front of him, an indictment if Harry had ever seen one.

Maybe he thought Snape didn't really know the truth about them. Though that was pretty unlikely, wasn't it? Maybe he was just figuring out what sort of story he could make up to explain them? Harry almost sighed out loud, wishing Draco would just accept the fact that he couldn't lie to save his life.

Snape deftly transfigured his fork into a large serving fork, and neatly transferred a fairy cake to Harry's plate, and then one to Draco's. Sitting back, he gestured rather expansively for them to begin.

Draco picked up his fork, slowly, his gaze darting between Snape and Harry and back.

Harry didn't know what to do, since follow my lead didn't really seem to cover the situation he was in now, but as Snape's eyes glittered with some sort of grim intent, he picked up his fork as well and started to poke at the aquamarine icing atop his fairy cake. His heart was pounding so hard he thought it would bruise his ribs, and he wanted nothing more than to throw his fork--at his father or brother, didn't matter which--but he managed, somehow, to merely look as though he was getting ready to eat his dessert.

Draco had stopped his frantic glances and was now simply staring aghast at Harry.

Proof, as if they needed it, that Draco was as guilty as they came.

And it was time to confess all, surely? That must be what Snape had been working towards . . . forcing a confession past Draco's reluctant lips. Because Draco certainly wasn't going to let Harry eat poison, was he? And not just any poison, but one as thoroughly nasty as Venetimorica? It wasn't lethal, but that didn't make it any less evil, not in Harry's book.

Or Dobby's, he thought with despair, because he could only toy with his food for so long. A horribly sick feeling rushed into his gut as he realised that Draco wasn't going to say anything, not anything!

To protect his own dirty little secret, he was going to stay silent while Harry ate a forkful of poison!

Harry lifted the fork up from the icing and brought it closer to his lips.

And finally--ha, about damned time, Harry thought--Draco broke.

"Don't eat that!" Draco suddenly shouted, his face splotchy with stress, his eyes almost as wide as Dobby's.

Almost ill with relief that Draco did think of someone besides himself, Harry wasted no time in dropping his fork onto his plate. He wanted to go sick up, and then he wanted to sleep for about three days straight.

"What's got into you, Draco?" asked Snape, his voice reflecting nothing but honest puzzlement. Well, not honest puzzlement, thought Harry rather caustically, but it sure did sound authentic. Harry was nearly fooled and he knew the truth! "Why shouldn't Harry eat his cake?"

"Uh . . ." Obviously thinking fast, Draco blurted, "Because he skived off your class, Severus. Really, you can't reward him for behaviour like that. And uh, I know I've been very ill-mannered lately, so to make things even I'll forego my own dessert as well."

The Slytherin boy leaned back, his features settling into something almost complacent. Harry knew two things then. Draco was almost convinced that Snape had no idea about the poison and he thought he'd come up with a pretty clever way to avoid anybody eating those cakes.

He wasn't counting on the fact that Snape could plot circles around him.

"Draco, I can't believe you'd even suggest such a thing," the Potions Master began to lecture. "Especially after all Harry suffered at the hands of his so-called family. I would never think of using food as a punishment, and I'm frankly astonished you would have to be told that."

Uh-oh, thought Harry. Here it comes.

"Harry, I absolutely insist you have that fairy cake," Snape blithely went on. "You'll have a detention for missing class, as I said, and that's an end to that matter. You enjoy your dessert as well, Draco."

His hand trembling slightly, Harry lifted his fork again. Really, this was getting to be too much, and he didn't care what Snape had said about following his lead, he was not going to poison himself to prove a point . . .

Poor Dobby . . .

Harry thought he'd never seen such a putrid colour as that horrible bluish-green icing as it came closer and closer to his lips.

Just when he thought he'd have to give the game away, Draco stood up and forcibly knocked the fork from Harry's grasp, sending it clattering across the floor.

Thank God, Harry thought, his stomach seeming to drop away from him in a way that made him think he might fall out of his chair. Thank Merlin . . . oh, thank whomever!

Snape shoved back his chair as he stood up, towering over the table like some wrathful demon. "What's got into you?"

Draco stammered. "Harry can't eat it, that's all!"

"And why not?"

Again, that shifty-eyed look as Draco struggled to explain his bizarre actions with anything but the stark, horrible truth. "The elves, that's why!" he gasped, clutching the table edge. "They've been awfully dodgy lately! Muttering, I mean. I . . . uh, have a lot of contact with them, you know, through the Floo, and well, I think they're trying to get Harry!"

"Get Harry," Snape repeated in tones of contempt. "And that would mean?"

"Well, hurt him, of course."

"I see," murmured the Potions Master. "Or no, perhaps I don't. If the elves are determined to get Harry, as you put it, then why on earth did you let him eat his elf-prepared meatloaf, Draco?"

That time, Draco was ready. "Well when elves want to get you," he drawled, "they always taint the desserts, Severus! Don't you know that? Oh! You don't have a house-elf, do you, so I suppose you can't be expected to know . . ."

Harry had to admit, that particular speech was almost believable.

"I find it hard to credit that the house-elves harbour a grudge against Harry," calmly countered Snape, "and even less likely that they would carry out said grudge by leaving tainted food in the wrong common room. They are in fact intelligent beings, Draco."

"Well he is a Slytherin as well--"

"If you believe that Hogwarts' elves don't know where Harry Potter spends the bulk of his time, then I will doubt you rank among the intelligent beings in our world." Snape let that settle in for a moment. "I strongly suggest you tell me the truth about these fairy cakes."

Come on, Draco, Harry almost said out loud as he sat there and watched the two standing wizards duel with words instead of spells.

Draco, it seemed, wasn't going down without a fight.

"Well maybe I had it wrong and they're not out to get Harry," the boy said, sweat beading on his brow. "But the elves are definitely up to no good . . . uh, you know, how you said you got those from the common room? Well really, Severus, if they're complaining about the whole house being so messy then why would they give us treats? I suppose they were trying to get Slytherin!" And then, switching to the offensive: "But since when do you just blindly trust random trays of food left lying about? I'm shocked at you, bringing home a thing like this!"

Snape narrowed his eyes as though he almost respected that last bit of strategy. "There's very little that I blindly trust, Draco. The elves, far from tainting food, are in fact testing all of it to be certain it's safe to eat."

Draco's expression hardened as though he knew then and there that he'd been found out. But still he soldiered on. "Well they're hardly going to test that plate of cakes if they're the ones who poisoned it, Severus."

"But I say they're not poisoned. Harry, go ahead and eat one--"

"Don't you dare, Harry!" screamed Draco, darting a hand into the pocket where he always kept his wand. Or Severus' spare wand, rather. He came up empty and muttered a particularly foul curse word.

"I'm not a Quaffle for the two of you to toss back and forth!" shouted Harry, thoroughly fed up with the pair of them.

"No, of course you're not," said Snape, laying a hand on Harry's shoulder.

Irritated beyond measure--and still more than a little nauseous--Harry shrugged it off. "Don't touch me, not after--- no."

"Look how you've upset your brother with all these nonsensical ramblings about tainted fairy cakes," Snape said, frowning. "Well, well. I suppose there's only one thing to do. Quite convenient having a potions laboratory . . . we'll just test these cakes, and then we'll know whether they're poisoned or not." He stared in challenge at Draco. "And if they are, well, you may rest assured I will find out exactly who has decided to endanger my students and my son!"

"Harry wasn't in any danger until you tried to stuff a poisoned cake past his teeth!" shouted Draco.

Stuff was a bit much, Harry thought. All Snape had done was cajole . . . though that had been bad enough.

"Well, let's just see if it's poisoned, shall we?"

Snape led the way into his private lab.

------------------------------------------------------

Harry couldn't imagine what testing for poison would prove, when all three of them knew perfectly well that the cakes were tainted, but he soon began to see what his father was up to.

The moment Snape pronounced the cakes poisoned with Venetimorica, he announced that the only responsible thing to do would be to brew the antidote, just in case any students had taken a cake to eat later.

"How can you tell it's Venetimorica?" asked Draco, shaking. "I thought poisons were a little bit harder to . . . uh, detect . . . And I didn't think there was an antidote--"

"Made a study of it, have you?"

"No, I just used to do a lot of reading before you charmed all the books shut!"

Snape gave Draco a rather nasty smile. "If you'd do your work I'd lift that spell. Now, for the antidote. The first thing we shall need is clover blossoms."

He opened the drawer where botanicals were normally kept, each in a vial charmed to keep it fresh, and raised an eyebrow. "How very interesting. I seem to be out of clover. Can you explain that, Draco?"

"No," snapped the boy.

"And I suppose it would be mere coincidence that I will certainly find myself missing considerable quantities of eel skin as well?"

"Am I to blame if you can't keep track of your stocks?"

"And powdered lignite?" pressed Snape, merciless. "And the sap of stunted hickory tree? And--"

"Shut up!" Draco screamed, his voice desperate.

Harry saw it then. Draco could ask the elves for food but not potion ingredients, so he hadn't found a way to restore the things he'd used. He couldn't even owl-order what he needed, not as long as his new vault was being held up by the goblins. He'd probably spent his all forty-four Galleons of his allowance that day in Hogsmeade . . . one more example of his lack of impulse control.

"Draco, just tell him the truth!" Harry shouted, his head aching from the amount of manipulation he'd witnessed in the past fifteen minutes. "I know you were brewing it! I saw you brewing it, for God's sake!"

Draco grabbed an empty flask and hurled it against the wall. "Fine, I was brewing it! Satisfied, Potter? I was brewing it but those damned fairy cakes are nothing to do with me! The elves must have stolen it, that's what happened, they stole my potion to frame me 'cause they're mad about my room too, I bet--"

"They don't even clean your room any longer! They don't give a flip if you live in a pigsty!"

"I've had enough of this," Snape suddenly announced. He touched the tip of his wand to the palm of his hands and murmured a spell, then reached inside his waistcoat pocket to pull out a folded sheet of parchment.

"Oh sweet Merlin," Draco thickly moaned, then quickly added, "The elves, you know, they can forge anything--"

"Interesting you should mention forgery," Snape mocked, his dark eyes glittering. "Illuminating, one might say. It might interest you to know, Draco, that when your teachers mark your homework, they have ways of knowing who has done the actual work involved. Or at least, who has done the writing. This card accompanied the fairy cakes, but you know that, don't you?"

Draco started shaking, his teeth audibly clicking together.

"It purports to be from Lucius Malfoy," Snape went right on. "But I rather doubt that. Don't you? Fairy cakes being . . . well, not at all Lucius' style. If he wished to reward his loyal Slytherins I think he'd send bank drafts. Even if he wished to poison them he'd come up with something a bit more refined than fairy cakes. But I know a little spell that will reveal the true author of this message."

Brandishing his wand, Snape swept it skyward in an arc that almost made him seem an avenging angel as he grated, "Quis vocaris!"

He struck the parchment, hard, and the ink forming the message all at once rushed towards the centre of the sheet to form a great messy splotch. But then the ink stain began moving outwards again, droplets separating themselves and drifting to become large letters.

Ten large letters in all.

DRACO SNAPE.

"Ah, so accurate," mocked Snape, his voice oozing menace. "Right down to your new name. My name too, as it happens. Do you think I want it splashed across the Prophet and the Quibbler, Draco?"

"That spell's a lie!" Draco shouted in desperation. "Harry, that's not a real spell! He's making you think I did it when I didn't--"

"First the elves are framing you and now Severus is?" Harry shook his head. "Draco, please just tell us the truth!"

"I am, Harry!"

Harry marched across the room to his brother and grabbed his shoulders to shake him. "Draco, we'll still love you!"

The Slytherin boy bared his teeth, looking like nothing so much as a trapped animal as he wrenched himself away. "I didn't do it, Harry, I swear, I didn't do it! It's the elves, all the elves--"

"The elves are constrained from harming Hogwarts' students as you well know," said Snape from across the room.

"Well then it's that one horrible elf!" Draco shouted, grabbing another flask though this time he didn't throw it. "That Nobby, or Snobby, or whatever his name is, that one Harry freed! He hates me and he's not constrained, now is he? He's not bound to Hogwarts! He gets paid, the nasty little green-eared shite!"

"You're the nasty little shite here!" Harry screamed, clenching both his hands. It was either that or hit Draco straight in the face, which was actually sounding better and better. "Don't you get it? Do you really think Dad found those in the common room like he said? Since when does Severus go there in the middle of the day? Dobby found out they were poisoned and he came and got me! He could have gone straight to Dumbledore. Hell, with Venetimorica in the icing he could have called in the Aurors, Draco! Dobby saved you!"

"He did not! He's in on it, I'm telling you--"

"That really is quite enough, Draco!" roared Snape. "I had hoped it wouldn't come to this but it seems you leave me no choice!"

The flask Draco had been holding abruptly slipped from his fingers to shatter against the floor.

Snape made a noise of positive disgust, then spoke in a more moderate voice. "You may know a great deal about potion-brewing, Draco, but you apparently know very little about how new formulations are developed. When I conduct my own experiments and a potion has an unintended side-effect, how do you think I determine where I went wrong?"

Clearly taken aback by the change in topic, Draco stammered, "You . . . you keep records, I would think . . ."

"Magical records."

Draco, Harry noticed, stopped breathing.

"Yes, that's right," continued Snape in a bored voice, though it was hued with fury. "I can go back to any point in time and watch myself brew. The walls are spelled to show me everything that happens in this room, should I care to ask. So Draco, shall I ask?"

"I . . . I . . . Well, I did brew some Venetimorica; I told you that," Draco weakly asserted.

"You tainted the fairy-cakes in here as well," said Snape with conviction. "Of course you did. The tools you would need are right here, and besides, you wouldn't risk contaminating another room if you could avoid it. The only question is, do you want Harry to see you doing it? Harry, the vanguard of the Light? Do you want him to watch you dropping poison onto confections that you will then proceed to send to children?"

Draco lurched backwards only to find himself up against a wall. "No," he thickly admitted.

Snape took several steps forward. "Then tell the truth!"

The Slytherin boy worked his jaw awkwardly, as though he'd forgotten how to form words. But finally he croaked, "I did it . . ."

"You did what?" Snape demanded, his voice still hard.

"Everything you said!" Evidently realizing that he had to be more specific, Draco recovered enough to stand up straighter against the wall. "I made the poison and applied it to the icing and then I sent the fairy cakes over to Slytherin, all right?"

"No, it's not all right. It's hideous," said Snape. "You're forgetting the card."

Draco shook. "I . . . I wrote it out in Lucius' hand, close as I could without magic, anyway."

"And?"

A whisper. A bare whisper. "I signed his name."

"The penalty for forgery is in fact five years in Azkaban," announced Snape. "Trying to poison children will at least double it."

"It's not like it was fatal!" rallied Draco. "For Merlin's sake, it was just Venetimorica, Severus! I wasn't going to kill anyone!"

"Just as well, since the penalty for that would be the Dementor's Kiss." Snape glared. "Draco, what you have done is very serious! I don't believe you have the faintest concept of that!"

"What . . ." Draco swallowed, his Adam's apple bobbing in his throat, his eyes huge once more. "What are you going to do?"

Snape's nostrils flared. "What do you think I'm going to do, Draco? This isn't a simple hex in a hallway." He backed away, shaking his head. "Go to bed, Draco. I have things to arrange."

"What things?"

Ignoring him, Snape turned to Harry. "You should go to bed as well. You're positively grey. Do you need a draught?"

While Harry shook his head, Draco shouted, "What about me? What about what I need?"

"I'll decide what you need," menaced Snape, and then he turned away and left. Harry heard the whoosh of the Floo.

Draco's teeth started clicking together again. "What . . . what is he going to do to me? Why . . . why did he need to leave?"

"No idea."

"He must have t- t- told you something--"

Draco looked about ready to faint, but Harry wasn't in the mood to care very much. Trying to blame Dobby . . . that was just beyond the pale. "No, he didn't."

"Harry, what am I going to do?"

"If I were you, I'd go to bed like Dad said." Harry shrugged then, and made his way back to their room.

Only to find it such a disgusting mess that he groaned out loud. The towels on the floor were definitely growing mould, he thought, shuddering. What was worse was that Draco had taken over Harry's bed, piling loads of his dirty clothes on it. Harry bundled them up and threw them onto Draco's bed, repressing an urge to fling them to the floor and stomp on them. Fetching pyjamas out of his trunk, he headed for the bathroom, which of course was even grottier than the bedroom had been. In fact, it ronked.

By that point, Harry didn't care what Snape had said about not doing magic for Draco, he wasn't going to have his shower in such disgusting conditions. He began casting Scourgify and Lavare, then with a critical glance at the loo, decided he'd better spread around a fair bit of Sanitare as well.

He wasn't cleaning up for Draco, anyway. He was doing it for his own benefit. And if Snape said one word about it, Harry would let him know exactly what he thought about that awful game with the fairy cakes!

Though come to think of it, he might let his father know that in any case!

A long, hot shower helped his headache ease up, but it didn't really calm him down. Harry's temper was still blazing when he shut the water off and towelled himself dry. He dragged in a deep breath and tried to bring his anger into some semblance of control. Another row tonight wasn't what he needed.

When he left the bathroom, Draco was already in bed, sitting up, his silver eyes glazed with fear. The room looked like he had at last made an attempt to tidy; there were piles here and there instead of things strewn everywhere.

For all that though, the floor was still a total mess. Harry snorted in derision and picked his way across the room to his bed.

"Harry--"

Harry shook his head as he got under his covers, and spoke without looking at his brother. "It's probably better if you don't talk to me right now, Draco. I might throttle you."

"But Harry--"

Draco stopped talking when Harry yanked his curtains closed.

But he didn't stop making noise. A low sob split the silence, then the sound of someone curling up into a little ball and thumping the blankets all around. Then another low sob, and another, the sound so pitiful that Harry wished he could go over there and offer his brother some comfort.

But he couldn't do that, he just couldn't. He'd been stretched too thin by the day's events and by Draco's long, horrible string of lies. He still felt flayed by the way Draco had accused Dobby.

Harry turned onto his side, away from his brother, wishing he'd taken the draught his father had offered. When the sound of Draco's crying got too painful to bear, Harry began wiping his mind clean of everything but fire. The cool damp of the room fell away from his awareness as he Occluded. He stopped smelling the slightly sour aroma rising from the heaps of dirty clothes in the room.

And finally, he stopped hearing Draco.

Lost inside a blaze of fire, Harry slowly drifted off to sleep.