"Well, that's quite a Lumos," Hermione understated with something approaching aplomb.

Harry quickly incanted his Parseltongue version of Nox and watched as the brilliant blast of light dissolved.

"It looks better indoors," Ron saw fit to declare. "I mean, it was just the same, but it's only when you see it melting walls that you really get the full impact."

"Or when it flings you backwards into a wall," Harry added as he waved a hand to indicate the Devon countryside. "You can see why Severus decided I ought to practice out here instead of at home."

Hermione, Harry noticed, didn't react to that last word, though she did stiffen a bit as Snape walked over from where he had been talking to Draco. That worried Harry, at least until he understood it. She wasn't so much resentful now as remorseful. "Professor? Thank you for Portkeying us all out here so we could see what Harry can really do now. I . . ." She straightened her posture a bit. "I really am sorry I didn't realise there was a perfectly valid explanation for everything."

Snape looked down at her, his black robes billowing in the breeze, but in the end, he didn't reply to her apology. Harry didn't like that, but it did fit his attitude towards her. He'd refused to side-along Apparate her and Ron out to Devon, had said when he was explaining his plan to Harry that it would put him rather closer to Miss Granger than he cared to be. Harry had worried that a Portkey might open up Devon to intruders, but his father said that a Portkey into a location protected by Fidelius would only work for people who already knew the secret.

Earlier that day, Snape had taken Ron and Hermione up to the headmaster's office so they could be told by the Secret Keeper himself that there was a cottage hidden out in Devon.

And now here they all were, supposedly allies, but Snape was still furious with Hermione. Harry could tell, and so could she, obviously. He saw her give a tiny sigh as the Potions Master ignored her apology and shifted into full teaching mode.

"As you have seen," he began, "Harry's wanded spells these days are vastly amplified. Indeed, far beyond what he intends, quite often with catastrophic results. He knows not to use his wand except, perhaps, when he is under attack."

"Wandless," Ron breathed, glancing at Hermione. "You were right about that!"

The girl lifted her chin as though she was still not really speaking to one Ronald Weasley.

"Harry," Snape directed, "demonstrate another wanded spell so that your house mates have a better idea of just what catastrophic might mean."

"All right," Harry agreed, pausing to think for a moment. "Um, maybe you should all move back a tad," he urged, motioning. He knew by then that his Incendio produced an explosion, not a spark, so he pointed his wand away from Snape's little cottage, and at a rock in the area of meadow that previous practice had rendered devoid of any grass to burn.

Ron flinched as the spell took effect, but Hermione merely nodded as though expecting it.

Harry swayed on his feet, then remembering that his father had told him to be honest about his weaknesses, admitted, "I get tired really easily doing wanded magic, now. I think that was why I fainted over that first Lumos, Ron. I didn't know how to turn it off, so it drained me way past what was safe."

"Yeah, you should have seen him after he cast the Basilisk," Draco added. "So it's not just extended spells that can wipe him out. Extreme kinds of magic can do it as well."

"Harry . . . cast . . . a . . . Basilisk . . ." Hermione echoed, swallowing.

Glaring a bit at Draco for mentioning it, especially in front of someone who had been petrified by one once, Harry nodded. "That's Serpensortia for me. Well, wanded. Without a wand I cast a normal viper." And then, when Hermione still looked horrified, he went on, "I won't do it again. I only did it that once because I wanted to see what would happen. Good thing I still had enough energy left for a couple more wanded spells that night."

"Gryffindor recklessness," Snape drawled.

"You're a fine one to complain about it," Harry murmured, repressing a smile as he explained to his friends, "Severus made me Stupefy the Basilisk so he could collect scales and venom to brew with!"

"One doesn't have much chance to acquire such items off a living specimen." Snape lightly shrugged, just as casual as Draco had been, when on the night in question, he'd practically rubbed his hands together with glee, he'd been so excited!

"Turns out a wanded Stupefy causes a coma so deep it's practically death," Harry added.

"Which was just as well in the circumstances," Snape allowed. "But I never requested you incant something as daft as Serpensortia in the first place. That was reckless in the extreme, Harry." He turned his attention to Ron and Hermione. "You can see why I'd like him to have some friends close by his side when he resumes classes, though seeing as the two of you are Gryffindors as well . . ." He let the comment hang in the air.

"We'll keep him safe, Professor," Hermione assured the Potions Master, threatening Harry with a stern look.

"Yeah," Ron promised as well, "even if we have to take his wand away."

"No, we can't do that," Hermione declared. "He's supposed to keep his wandless magic a secret, I suppose? So that's why you tried to Accio his wand that night. You thought it would stop him." Nodding briskly, she turned to Harry. "So, you have to hold your wand but make sure you don't incant through it. Is that difficult?"

Harry nodded too. "You would not believe how much," he moaned. "I sometimes cast wanded spells by accident out here, though they're not usually fully-wanded, if that makes sense. I can make most of the energy flow through my hand and out my fingers, but once in a while a little spark gets misfired through my wand and the spell comes out stronger than I intend."

"At this point," Snape informed her, "errors on his part are actually quite rare. It is only when he is not paying attention that they tend to occur. So your role in helping him will also consist of making sure he is fully focussed on the task at hand when he is using magic, be it in class or to defend himself in the corridors."

"Yes, sir," Hermione answered, clearly taking the admonition seriously. "Could I watch the two of you practice duelling for a while, so I get a sense of how Harry is managing?"

"The three of us," Harry corrected. "Draco too, I mean. And it's not exactly duelling. It's more like me defending from all angles while they both take their best shots."

"Well that won't do," Hermione declared. "You have to practice offensive spells."

"Are you volunteering for target practice?" Harry wryly asked.

"Ron and I are both volunteering," the girl insisted, even though Ron was shaking his head no. Actually, it was more like no, no way, no effing way, but that hardly deterred Hermione. "We need to simulate a battle. All four of us will attack you. You concentrate on defending yourself and taking us out. Because defence alone isn't going to end a battle, Harry."

"I might accidentally melt your face off or something if a spell misfires!"

"You'll be concentrating. You won't let slip into wanded, and certainly not fully-wanded." Having said that, though, Hermione appeared to reconsider. "Maybe to start you could do without your wand, just as a safety precaution."

Harry cast her a doubtful look. "No, my father wants me to--"

"Miss Granger's suggestion is sound," Snape interrupted. "You have had enough practice with defence exclusively, but neither do we want accidents."

With that, the four of them moved to surround Harry, though Ron, he noticed, joined in only reluctantly. Resigned, Harry pocketed his wand and stretched out his hands to opposite sides as though to ward everyone off at once. Good thing, he thought, that he'd got quite used to taking lightning-fast glances at his crest to orient his language. With four opponents hexing him at once, he definitely hadn't time to really gaze at the snake image.

He managed to block everything they could throw at him, though his concentration faltered when Draco silently slipped away, only to return on his broom, tossing hexes down from above. A stream of silver light catching him unawares, Harry failed to deflect the Rictusempra and found himself collapsed on the ground, laughing uncontrollably as hundreds of phantom fingers sought out his most ticklish places.

"Finite Incantatem!" Snape roared, and then before Harry could so much as stand up straight, his father was hurling Diffindo at him.

Harry countered it with a hastily constructed shield, but his focus was off and a partial hex filtered through to split apart the sleeve covering his right arm, and the skin beneath. "Shite!" he yelped, expecting Snape to call a halt. He always had before when Harry was hurt. This, though, was more than practice. It was a mock battle, and the way Snape was raising his wand again reminded Harry that in battle, his enemies wouldn't stop when he was down; that was when they would attack all the more fiercely.

He got a decent block up before another Diffindo could rupture some other part of him, then gritted his teeth and cast his version of Furnunculus at his father and a quick Expelliarmus at Hermione who was sneaking up on him from behind.

"Enough," Snape pronounced, approaching.

Wincing at the ugly boils that now covered his father's face and hands, the boy glanced down at his crest and murmured, "Go away boils," as he pointed one hand toward Snape. And then, in miserable tones, "I'm sorry, sir--"

"It is no matter," the man said, though he frowned. "It concerns me that you did not fight back until you were injured, Harry."

"Well, I didn't want to hurt any of you!" Harry exclaimed. "Besides, I'm sort of in the habit of just blocking. You know." He clenched his teeth as Snape applied a healing charm to his arm, and at Hermione's look said, "I'm not very good at those."

"No-one's very good at self-healing, I don't think," the girl murmured as she walked closer to examine the results of Snape's spell. "And now you have another huge bruise." She cast reparo on his sleeve for him.

"Severus has a potion to make that go away too," Harry said defensively.

"But drinking it too often isn't a good idea. Yes, Harry, I understand. I do understand now, all right?"

"Yeah, all right."

Hermione took her wand back then. "I'm relieved at least to hear that your combat spells aren't all as long as the counteraccio you used against the professor. I was a bit concerned."

"Oh, that." Harry thought back. "Hmm. Well, I have several versions of some spells. I could have just said stay put, but I was actually pretty worried that wouldn't work against Severus, especially doing it wandlessly, so I used the strongest one I've found: you stay put right where you are."

Ron whistled in through his teeth; Harry wasn't sure why. Was Ron excited that Harry could best Snape?

The Potions Master must have thought that was the case, for he flared his nostrils in irritation as his gaze raked the red-haired boy up and down. "Given my son's probable future," he scathed, "I certainly hope he can defeat me. Voldemort, you understand, is far stronger than am I."

Ron nodded, looking shamefaced; Hermione looked up with interest at hearing Snape say Voldemort, but didn't remark on it, instead saying, "Again. Are you ready, Harry?"

Harry glanced at his father, correctly reading the look in his eyes. "Don't bother asking," he sighed. "My enemies won't."

And with that, they began again.

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They didn't stop until after dark, expressly so that Ron and Hermione could realise just how much the lack of a snake image affected Harry's powers. "So you've got to be there to cast Lumos for him," Draco finished explaining as they sat inside Snape's small cottage. "He can't cast it for himself once it gets too dark for him to see the crest, or Sals. Though it seems like if he's holding Sals he has a bit of an edge. Seeing her is better, though."

"I could just go around with a permanent Lumos on," Harry suggested. "Oh, wait, that's no good."

"Yes, fingers glowing in the dark would be just a bit conspicuous," Hermione wryly observed.

Severus, who was at the table conjuring food from one of the charmed boxes he'd left there since Christmas, stopped for a moment as though having a hard time not laughing out loud.

"Wandless Lumos will pretty much reveal my secret," Harry agreed. "And wanded Lumos is definitely out."

"Unless you want to melt somebody's face off," Ron added. "You never know when you might meet a Slytherin around the corner--"

"Harry's a Slytherin," Draco pointed out in a hard tone. "And make no mistake, he's going to show himself one. He may be going back to live in Gryffindor, but he's going to eat at the Slytherin table sometimes and spend time in their common room, and he's not going to 'melt their faces off,'" he sneered, "unless he's cornered and he really can't help it!"

"Well, of course he's not," Ron laughed. "Lighten up, Malfoy."

"You're not really going to brave their common room, though," Hermione commented. "Are you?"

"Yeah." Harry swallowed, sort of hating this part. Well, not hating it, but hating having to discuss it with his friends. "This crest isn't just some badge to help me with my casting," he gruffly admitted. "I told you before, I am both. I'm both inside, Hermione. Besides, my father is Head of Slytherin. I'm not about to . . . uh, disown that, not with my words or my behaviour or anything."

By then, Snape was pulling votives from the box and transfiguring them into extra chairs, but Harry could tell he was listening. For that matter though, when did his father not listen to everything going on around him?

"You might not be safe in their common room, mate," Ron pointed out. "Look, don't get me wrong. I'm used to the Slytherin thing, now. I didn't even say a word about your crest, did I? But there's a difference between . . . er, telling us loud and clear you're proud to be a Slytherin, and acting like you have a death wish. I mean, they'll kill you. Or try, anyway. And yeah, you held us off pretty well today, but we're not Slytherins--" At a snorting noise from Draco, Ron amended that to, "I mean, nobody here actually wants you dead--"

"About time you wised up to that," Draco mildly remarked.

Ron flushed a bit. "You won't be safe in their common room, though," he insisted. "Even with your special magic. They'll find a way around that."

"I do plan to accompany my son the first few times," Snape informed them, beckoning that the meal was ready. Draco didn't pull Hermione's chair out again, Harry noticed, but he did wait to sit down until after she had seated herself.

"How am I going to explain my absence from dinner?" Hermione thought to ask. "Ron can say he ate with all of you again, everybody's used to that because of all his detentions, but people will raise eyebrows if I claim I was invited down to dine two nights in a row."

Snape raised an eyebrow as he liberally peppered his endive salad. "Ah. I'm afraid I rather anticipated that difficulty and forestalled it by assigning you a detention for . . . now what did I write on the paperwork?" He levelled a hard look at the girl. "Oh yes. Abominable judgment that could have led to deteriorating staff-student relations, that was it. Of course I had to take points to make the whole thing look authentic. I'm sure you understand."

Hermione gritted her teeth. "How many points, sir?"

"A mere five hundred." Snape shrugged. "Don't look so outraged. Harry's had that many taken before."

"Five hundred?" Hermione gasped, laying aside her fork with such care that Harry suspected she'd been tempted to throw it. "I was only trying to do what was right for a friend!"

"True. That's where the abominable judgment part of the offence becomes significant. Think about it, Miss Granger. Had we not been able to satisfy the casewitch that Harry was in a perfectly good home, we would have faced the prospect of either his losing that home, or explaining about his magic, which would certainly have endangered his life, considering we have excellent reason to believe that not all Family Services staff would hold his secret in confidence!"

Hermione sighed, admitting, "It could all have turned out very badly."

"Yes, it could have," Snape agreed rather darkly.

Ron finally spoke up. "Five hundred points, Harry? Say something!"

Harry finished chewing his bite. "I love Gryffindor, you both know that. But . . . Severus is important to me too, and I can't get in the middle every time he takes points. Even unfair points," he added with a significant glance at his father.

Snape neatly speared a small red potato from the serving bowl. "So little subtlety," he lamented. "Though I appreciate the other sentiments. Just as well, I suppose, that I took a mere ten points. Yes, Mr Weasley, you heard me. Ten."

Hermione gave a weak laugh of relief, while Draco rolled his eyes and muttered, "Figures."

"Thanks," Harry said, laughing a little bit too.

"Well, there's a first," Draco drawled, apparently recovered. "Famous Harry Potter thanking the Potions Master for points from Gryffindor."

"Just Harry thanking his dad," Harry corrected. "Although it's not very nice to make everyone think five hundred just so we won't argue when it's ten."

"But you didn't argue regardless," Snape observed, and though his tone was cool, Harry could tell the man was pleased with him. Harry felt a little bit bad, then, that he'd pretty much assumed the headmaster would do something about the points in any case. Though, since Snape knew as much--he'd said so to Harry, hadn't he?--maybe this discussion had been staged so that Harry would have a chance to demonstrate his loyalty to Snape? Too Slytherin . . . Harry was just glad he'd passed the test, or whatever it had been.

"One thing I wanted to ask," Hermione changed the subject, "is how you knew so well how to block Harry's spells, sir. Except for that one, you hardly got hit at all. But as Harry's incanting in Parseltongue, you don't know what he's casting, so how do you know how to counter it?"

Snape favoured her with a sardonic look. "There is such a thing as a blocking spell which repels a wide range of hexes, Miss Granger. We don't teach them as they take a certain level of maturity to master."

"Bet Harry knows them, though," Ron suggested, pointing with his fork.

Harry saw Draco grimace at the lack of manners.

"Not magical maturity," Snape clarified. "Harry may have a prodigious amount of that, but he is still a boy."

Hermione was nodding as though she'd read things that confirmed what Snape was saying. "Speaking of that, though," she wondered out loud, "aren't the Underage-Magic-Detectors going to be working overtime tracking us down after all the casting we did out there?"

"I must admit, certain things will be simpler once Harry and Draco turn seventeen this summer. This property, however, is surrounded by enough safeguards that we should have no worries. Extremely common in pureblood families," Snape shrugged. "What parent wants to wait until their child is eleven to begin some instruction in magic?"

"Harry's not a pureblood!" Hermione objected.

"He's been adopted into a pure-blooded family, nonetheless," Snape returned, beginning to eat his portion of grilled chicken breast in mustard sauce.

"I was practicing magic for years before my letter came," Draco said in a slightly gloating tone.

"I was, too, Malfoy!" Ron put in, then at Harry's challenging stare, mumbled, "Well, some."

Hermione huffed a bit. "Turn this stupid fat rat yellow didn't work, as I recall."

"Because Scabbers wasn't really a rat, now was he?" griped Ron.

"Yes, what was it like having your lifelong pet turn out to be the Dark Lord's right-hand man?" Draco snootily asked.

"How do you know--"

"He knows a great deal, I dare say," Snape interjected. "And if you think about that, you'll know why. Now as I didn't arrange this dinner so that I could listen to adolescent bickering, perhaps we could discuss Harry's training."

"All right," Hermione said in a casual tone, before tossing out, "You seem extraordinarily capable of teaching defence, sir. Ah . . . have you ever thought of applying for the job?"

Snape narrowed his eyes. "You wouldn't by chance be referring to that old rumour that I want it, would you?"

"Rumour?" Harry asked, his interest picking up. Even Draco and Ron appeared to have forgotten their dispute.

"Misdirection," the Potions Master shrugged. "Voldemort had ordered me to secure that position with all possible speed so that I could instruct his initiates in Dark Arts under the cover of private tutelage in defence. I hardly wished to cooperate with that plan, though of course I had to look eager for it, and disgruntled each time the headmaster 'passed' me over."

"But now," Harry prompted, "wthout a double-role to play, you could take the job and make sure Hogwarts has an ace defence curriculum. I think you'd be really good teaching that."

"And you don't care for my instruction in Potions, I take it," Snape half-growled.

"Well . . ."

"I am a Potions Master. The other is incidental," Snape announced. "I am afraid you will have to somehow tolerate matters as they stand."

"Okay, Dad," Harry said without looking up.

Snape's nostrils flared as though he suspected a bit of manipulation in that answer, but when Harry said nothing more, the Potions Master went back to his meal, ignoring the students after that.

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One more week, Snape had said. One more week, and Harry would be going back to live in the Tower.

The prospect actually filled Harry with equal parts excitement and dread. It would be great to be with the Gryffindors again, but going back to classes meant going back to Potions, and he couldn't help but feel nervous at what that might be like. Especially since he'd been neglecting Potions quite a bit this year. He hated to admit it, but his father was probably right about his needing more sessions in the lab.

Well, he was supposed to seem a bit inept in classes, but Harry didn't want to look like a complete idiot, did he? With only one week left to prepare, his changed his routine a bit and rushed through his other lessons so that he could spend most of the day in Snape's private laboratory, practicing making the Potions he should have learned during the last two terms. Draco thought his sudden interest in brewing was a bit amusing, Harry could tell, but he was pretty good-natured about it, bringing in his books and studying in there so Harry wasn't brewing "unsupervised."

Severus, they knew, wouldn't approve of that at all.

Harry was simmering a wart-removal potion he was supposed to have mastered months earlier when the magic doorbell rang inside his head.

The Slytherin boy cast Tempus with his wand, the action almost a reflex, and raised an eyebrow when he saw that afternoon classes would just have started. "Not expecting anyone, are you? Well, I'll just go see, then."

Harry let him; if he left the potion now he'd have to start it completely over. In the next moment, though, Draco was calling in a voice which sounded distinctly off, "Harry. Maybe you should come help me with this."

Since Harry couldn't recall a time when Draco had asked for his help, it wasn't something he could ignore. He gave his wart-removal potion one last glance before reluctantly casting Evanesco over it. Better that than he let it sit unattended when it was approaching a volatile state. Grabbing a rag on his way out, he wiped his hands as he walked over to where Draco was standing. The other boy was staring at the door parchment, his silver eyes a bit wild with apprehension.

Dubby, the parchment simply read.

"Do you know a Dubby?" Harry asked.

"Um. Yeah." Draco cleared his throat, his hands moving nervously in a way that was really quite unlike him. "House-elf."

Harry blinked. The house-elves didn't tend to knock; they just popped in and out of places as needed. Though, come to think of it, they didn't usually treat Snape's quarters that way. In fact, the only house-elf he'd seen in his father's rooms had been a disembodied face in the Floo. Harry was almost sure that the elves had actually come in to repair the charred furniture and wall after his Lumos, but he was equally sure that they did the vast bulk of their magic from the outside. Maybe they had to be specially invited in because of the wards?

That still didn't explain why one was knocking, though.

"Malfoy house-elf," Draco croaked, and then several things at once came clear to Harry. Why the elf had to knock, for one, and why Draco looked a bit like he'd just been punched in the gut. "Ah . . . Harry. This'll sound a bit odd, quite likely, but can you find a way to see through the wall for me?"

"See through the wall," Harry repeated.

Draco ground his teeth. "Yes, Harry. That parchment's reliable for wizards, but Severus never said anything about it being able to read magical creatures."

"I can't see through walls. What about the enchanted picture frame?"

"Doesn't show sentient life," Draco muttered. "Not that Dubby's all that sentient, mind . . ."

They tried it, to no avail.

"I guess we'd better alert Severus, then," Harry announced, frowning. He hadn't forgotten how adamant Snape had been about not disturbing him in class, but surely this would count as an emergency! An envoy of Lucius Malfoy standing right outside their door? "He can't get through the wards, I don't think," Harry murmured, thinking his way through it. "But for all we know he's been sent here to kill us--"

Draco leaned both hands against the door then. "I highly doubt he's here to kill us. Well, you maybe," he amended. "My mother's heard me complain about you enough."

When Harry just stared at him, the Slytherin boy explained, "Dubby's my mother's house-elf, Potter. I mean, he's bonded exclusively to her, has been for years. Anniversary present," he spat. "Before that he belonged to Lucius but now he can't take orders from anybody but Narcissa Malfoy."

"So your mother . . . um, you don't think she would . . . " Harry wasn't quite sure how to phrase the question, but Draco had no trouble finishing it in bitter tones.

"No, my mother wouldn't send him here to kill me. You'd have to meet her to understand. She's the quintessential society wife, my mother is. She's never said a word against my father that I can recall, and when he announced a price on my head she probably just said, yes, dear with a vapid little smile, but she wouldn't take the initiative like this."

"But . . . if your father told her to send him here to kill you?"

"She'd just bat her eyes and say that it was up to him to rule the family, and that Dubby was terribly occupied finding her a hundred perfect tea roses or something."

"Uh, okay," Harry answered, not really understanding. "Let's call Severus now--"

Draco suddenly pounded a fist against the door, his whole face transforming into an ugly mask as he snarled, "What the fuck do you want with me, Grubby?"

"I don't think the wards let sound through--"

Still leaning on the door with one hand, Draco shot him an irritated glance. "Please. He's an elf, not a student! A Malfoy elf, and I'm a Malfoy, and I just directed that at him! You see why we need a better Magical Creatures teacher? You don't know anything!"

Sure enough, in the next moment a high, squeaky voice came through the walls. "Master Draco? Dubby's bringing a letter for you."

A letter? Draco mouthed at Harry. If anything, that news made him look even more worried.

"From whom?" Draco shouted, baring his teeth. Harry thought then that he was expecting it to be from Lucius.

"From Master Draco's mother," came the answer. "Can Dubby come in, Master Draco?"

"No, Slubby can't come in," Draco scathed. "Master Draco remembers you, you twisted little green lizard!"

"Dubby mustn't return to Wiltshire without delivering Mistress' letter--"

"Then attach it to an owl and get the fuck out of here!" Draco screamed.

"Mistress said to be putting it into Master Draco's hands--"

"Well, you can't!" Draco harshly retorted.

At that, they began to hear a rhythmic pounding on the door. Thud, thud, thud, the rhythm coming at slow, perfectly spaced intervals.

Draco snorted, then curled his lip in derision. "You think I give a shrivelfig if you bash your bloody head wide open on the door, Blubby? Go on, just go on!"

Thud, thud, thud.

"Draco, we can't just let him bang his head against the door--"

"Who says we can't?" Stepping back, Draco brushed his hands on his trousers as though even speaking to a house-elf had somehow sullied him. "I just wish we had some thumbscrews to lend the little shite!"

Thud, thud, thud.

Thud, thud, THUD.

"I'm firecalling Severus," Harry announced, shaking his head.

Draco sat down in a plush chair and tilted his head. "Yes, you do that," he said. "But by all means, take your time. I'm just going to sit here and enjoy a good listen."

"Draco, that's cruel!"

"Oh, shut up, Harry!" the Slytherin boy erupted. "You don't know what you're talking about! I grew up with that damned elf and I know what he's like. I hope he drops dead from massive head trauma!"

All at once the truth came clear for Harry. "Oh, God. Is he one of the elves who . . . um . . ."

Draco ignored the question, saying only, "Are you going to get Severus in here to help us? No rush, mind."

A bit worried about Draco's sudden bloodthirsty frame of mind, Harry kept one eye on him as he used the Floo and listened to the persistent thud, thud, thud filling the rooms to overflowing.

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As it turned out, Snape was in a preparation period and not with students. He came at once, frowning to see Draco listening to the noise as though it were the finest of concertos. Draco just gave a careless little shrug.

"Make him stop so I can talk to him," the Potions Master brusquely ordered after one glance at the parchment.

"He doesn't take orders from me, I'm afraid," the Slytherin boy announced as he affected a yawn.

"I think you'll find a Malfoy has some influence," Snape dryly returned.

Draco lifted his hand in an indolent wave, much as though he was lord of the manor. "I expect he'll stop when he passes out. Hmm, wonder just how long that might take?"

"Now, Draco."

"Oh, very well." With lazy grace, Draco pushed to his feet and went back to the door. "You've got a letter for me, have you, Scrubby?"

The pounding noise stopped at once and was replaced by a wobbly, drunken-sounding voice. "Can Dubby come in and deliver it now, Master Draco?"

Snape waved his wand several times, muttering, then Accio'd a vial from his office and sprinkled it at the base of the door before giving Draco a significant glance.

"Pass the letter across the threshold, Stubby!" the Slytherin boy bit out.

Dubby's voice grew positively frightened. "Dubby mustn't," he squeaked in a high, panicked tone. "Mistress said no! Said to put Mistress' letter into Master Draco's own hand--"

Swearing a bit, Snape at once set to work restoring the wards his potion had weakened.

Harry bit his lip. "It could be a trap, do you think?"

Thud, thud, thud, the noise began again, but this time Draco was in no mood to savour it. "Just get out of here, Tubby!" he screamed. "Tell my mother not to bother her pretty little self about me! Since she obviously loves Lucius better, I hope they rot in Azkaban together!"

Thud, thud, thud, the sound this time interspersed with words. "Dubby mustn't--- leave without--- delivering Mistress' letter---"

Snape growled something about being able to handle this one if he could handle Kreacher, then wand at the ready, instructed Draco, "Open the door."

Thud--

"Are you insane?" Draco demanded. "Like hell I'll open the door! What if he attacks Harry?"

Thud--

Snape began counting on his fingers. "One, house-elves have little offensive magic at their disposal. Two, Harry can almost certainly defend himself and if he can't I know enough Dark Arts to obliterate a house-elf. Three, I don't fancy a dent in the magic making my door masquerade as a wall! And four, as any Slytherin worthy of my house should figure out for himself, I'd like to see this message to determine if Lucius has a new plot afoot! Now, let him in!"

THUD--

"Fine," Draco muttered, pulling out his own wand. He cast Abrire, then yanked the door open so suddenly that the house-elf tumbled inside on mid-thud and lay sprawled at his feet. Draco slammed the door, in the same moment pulling back his foot to give the elf a vicious kick in the head.

"Draco, don't!" Harry yelled in dismay, but he was too late. Dubby flew across the room and hit the wall. Cloaks from the hooks above rained down on him as he lay in a pitiful heap, but then he crawled free of them and rose unsteadily to his feet, his little hands rubbing against his forehead which was bruised and sore from all those thuds. A slow trickle of greenish blood oozed from where he'd been kicked. Draco glanced toward it, his eyes sparking with satisfaction . . . and something worse.

"That's quite enough!" Snape roared.

"He's the one who helped with the wizard's beating--"

"I said, that is quite enough," Snape coldly interrupted.

Draco gave the Potions Master a disgusted glare, his hands clenched at his sides as he stood with his feet apart as though prepared for battle.

Clearing his throat, Harry laid a tentative hand on his brother's arm. He could feel muscles underneath the silk sleeve of Draco's shirt, muscles that were pulled taut, braided with tension. "It's not right to kick him," he softly said, only to hear Draco make a snarl deep in the back of his throat.

"I'm a Malfoy, in case it's slipped your mind! We aren't much for turning the other cheek and letting bygones be bygones! I give back as good as I get, and I owe this elf a right proper beating!"

"You may hate the house-elf but you will not assault him, not while you live under my roof!" Snape rebuked the Slytherin boy, his own gaze glacial.

"You mean if I kick him again I get to go live in Slytherin like I want?" Draco sneered.

"I'm hardly likely to reward you for outright defiance. Now, I believe there is the matter of a letter to attend to? Or would you rather indulge your rather Gryffindor recklessness, Draco, instead of concentrating on strategy?"

That certainly brought Draco up short. "I'm not like a Gryffindor," he snapped at Snape, before turning to the house-elf, who was by then cowering in the corner, hands covering his head. "Well? I thought you had a letter for me, Crubby!"

"Calm down, Draco," Snape advised. "And take no letter from his hand until I allow it. Come here, house-elf."

Dubby began rubbing trembling hands up and down his sticklike arms. "Dubby is obeying Mistress only," he protested a bit sullenly, shaking his head.

"You do what he says, you little twerp," Draco railed, "or I'll never take the fucking letter and you can spend the rest of eternity ironing your ears or something! Got that, Grubby? You do whatever he says! Shouldn't be so hard; that's what you're good at, isn't it, you filthy little vermin--"

"Draco, do calm down," Snape entreated, his voice not so much angry any longer as resigned.

Harry saw the Slytherin boy take a deep breath and hold it, presumably to prevent himself from bursting out into yet more insults and threats.

The house-elf hesitated for a moment more, then moved reluctantly to where Snape had pointed, standing still as the Potions Master fetched a piece of coal from his potions stores. Snape dropped it to the ground, then smashed it to powder with the heel of one booted foot. "Spread the coal in a circle around you," Snape instructed. "Use your hands, not magic, and leave no gap."

Dubby squeakily muttered as he did as he was told.

Snape began using his wand then, the tip of it blazing a strange dusky blue as he wove a net of spells around the elf. The Potions Master studied them for a moment, then apparently satisfied, nodded his head and allowed them to dissipate. Harry noticed that the spell seemed to have used up the coal. Certainly, Dubby no longer seemed bound by the former confines of the circle. Shaking himself all over rather like a wet dog, he wasted no time in scrambling away from all three wizards.

"He's still bonded to Narcissa alone, for what that's worth," Snape confirmed.

"I could have told you that," Draco snorted. "I did tell Harry that."

"If his bonds were changed once, they could have been again," Snape explained in an impatient tone. "And I will know if a creature beholden to Lucius Malfoy has entered my rooms!"

"Yes, sir," Draco muttered under his breath.

Snape ignored him, saying instead to Dubby, "Come here again, house-elf. Hold out the letter."

The house-elf crept forward by slow degrees, hunched over as though expecting Draco to kick him again. As Dubby extended the rolled parchment, Snape glanced over at Draco. "You've seen me examine correspondence arriving here enough, I dare say. Let's see what you've learned."

Furrowing his brow in concentration, Draco took the letter through the phalanx of spells Snape habitually used to verify a letter's sender and intentions. "Definitely from my mother," he finally pronounced. "It doesn't appear jinxed, or able to eavesdrop, or . . . well, it doesn't seem to contain latent magic in the least, actually."

Snape examined the letter himself, then nodded.

"Poisons," Harry suggested.

"The fact that the elf is touching it limits the range," Snape explained. "Not to mention that Narcissa's touch is all over the parchment."

"She even kissed it," Draco added, looking strangely vulnerable at the thought.

"Excellent detection," Snape praised him before turning to Harry. "And what is more, the dead tell no tales."

Harry understood that easily enough as a reference to Voldemort wanting Draco taken alive. And a hint that they had a rather big-eared audience.

"Yeah, well I'm still not touching it," Draco announced. "May I?"

Snape seemed to understand; he gave a sharp nod.

Sighing, Draco incanted Wingardium Leviosa and floated the letter out of Dubby's hand and onto a table where another spell made the scroll unroll. "My mother's writing," he murmured as he began to read. "Hmm."

"Draco?" Snape questioned.

The boy glanced up, his gaze a bit misted with emotion, though his words that rose to his lips were harsh. "Get rid of the little green-skinned shite so we can talk about it."

A high-voiced protest split the air. "Dubby must be waiting! Mistress said not to be leaving until Dubby had a reply to carry away!"

A malicious grin curling his lips, Draco drawled, "Well you won't get a reply, ever, Blubby, unless you play this our way! Yeah, yeah, I know you're Narcissa's elf, not mine, but you want that answer, don't you? So . . . why don't you just run along and find your long-lost cousin, eh? Yeah, you just go see how he's doing!"

Harry wouldn't have thought that a house-elf could pale, but mention of a cousin had Dubby's skin fading to a white-tinged green. "That one . . . here?"

Malice turned to pure recreation as Draco nodded. "Oh, yes. And such a disgrace he is. The way I hear it, he gets paid for his work!"

Dubby abruptly clapped his little palms over his ears and chanted, "Not true, not true, not true!"

Harry's eyes opened wide. "You don't mean--"

"Actually," Draco mused, smiling by then, "I don't think there's much work involved, at that. Yeah, Dobby mostly lolls around the kitchens stuffing his face and trying on new clothes--"

"Disgrace, disgrace, disgrace!" Dubby screamed, hopping up and down in his agitation.

"He's got an entire wardrobe stuffed full of clothes!" Draco gleefully reported. "Wizard's robes, mostly. I hear he steals them from the rooms he's supposed to be cleaning--"

A high-pitched wail split the air as a heavy silver candlestick flew through the air into Dubby's hand. He began whacking his own shins with it, each blow looking harsh enough to shatter bone.

"Stop taunting him, Draco!" Snape rebuked.

By then though, Harry had given up on Draco in favour of helping the poor elf directly. Kneeling down in front of Dubby, Harry snatched the candlestick and dropped it at his side, then grabbed both the elf's wrists and held on for dear life as the creature thrashed. "It's not true!" he yelled, not even knowing if Dubby could hear him through his own screams of anguish. "Dobby works really hard and he doesn't steal clothes and he hardly ever wears them, even! He goes around in that old pillowcase, all right?"

Dubby stilled. "Disgrace all the same," he muttered, and then eyeing Draco critically, asked, "Master Draco lied to Dubby?"

"Draco," Snape darkly warned, eyebrows drawn together in almost a straight line, "Get this situation under control, now. I mean it."

Clearly put out at having to give up his little game, Draco sneered, "Of course I lied, Slubby. How can you doubt that? You've got his word for everything. Honestly, would Harry Potter lie?"

Harry genuinely did think that Draco was trying to do as Snape had said, but in his anger, he'd miscalculated the effect of his words.

"Harry Potter!" the elf screeched. Quick as a flash, it had the candlestick again, only this time it was beaning Harry over the head with it. A horrible cracking noise echoed through the dungeon.

"That's it, the elf's dead!" Draco screamed, already lunging.

"Do I need to body-bind you to make you behave?" Snape didn't roar that time, but his words did carry.

Pulling himself up short, Draco frantically shook his head no.

Meanwhile, Harry had scrambled back, sort of crab-walking, to get away from the elf.

Dubby though, wasn't following up on his attack. His round eyes wet with tears, he had conjured a lit candle for the candlestick, and was methodically dripping hot wax on his toes, softly wincing and yelping with every drop. "Dubby attacked a wizard," he mournfully complained as though talking to himself. "Oh, bad bad Dubby. Evil wizard, but still, bad bad Dubby must be being punished--"

With an audible sigh expressing equal parts disgust and pity, Snape walked over and blew out the candle. "Firecall this Dobby," he said quietly to Harry before turning back to the elf. "You want Draco's answer to the letter," he reminded Dubby, who looked up, his ears quivering with his sadness. "You will have it if you do exactly as I say. You are to go to the kitchens with your cousin and stay there with him until we summon you back. Do not leave his side for an instant. And do not think to trick him. Dobby is loyal to the wizard you have just attacked and will do as he instructs."

Dubby flushed a deep green, though he muttered, "Bad wizard ruin perfectly good elf trick Master give him a sock--" He paused, grumbled, "Betrayer--" and promptly bit his own hand for having insulted a wizard.

By then Dobby had bounced into the room, his tiny form so swathed in clothes that he actually looked a bit fat. No fewer than eight knit hats were piled on his head, the precarious tower swaying as he eagerly rushed forward. "Harry Potter called for Dobby! How can Dobby be serving Harry Potter sir?" In the next instant Dobby evidently spotted Dubby, for he splayed himself in front of the boy, flinging his hands wide, and was quickly warning, "No harm shall come to Harry Potter!"

"Relax, your creepy little cousin came alone," Draco drawled.

Dobby looked left and right all the same, evidently expecting to see Lucius or Narcissa. His tones were still wary as he offered in greeting, "How is Master Draco?"

"Loyal to Harry Potter," Draco replied. Harry wasn't sure if he'd said it to ease Dobby's evident concerns in that regard --the last thing he needed was an overeager Dobby "protecting" him again-- or if the words were really intended for Dubby to take back to Malfoy Manor.

Either way, Dobby remained in his protective stance until Harry leaned down and tapped him on the shoulder. "He is, all right? Loyal, I mean."

Dobby cast Harry a rather incredulous look --actually, he looked as though he thought Harry was an idiot--, but he did drop his hands to his side as he only then got around to saying, "Hallo, Dubby."

Dubby looked his cousin up and down, his lips curling in disdain at the multitude of clothes Dobby wore. Nose in the air, he didn't deign to reply directly, preferring instead to say to the air, "Horrid, horrid, bad house-elf wearing clothes! And Harry Potter did lie!" His voice dropped to a mutter. "Bad, bad wizard tricking betters giving house-elves clothes--"

Harry knelt down again, though he couldn't help but remember how the position had got him soundly whacked with a candlestick just a moment before. "Dobby," he urged, "I need a favour. I want you to take your cousin down to the kitchens for us and entertain him there."

"That means," Snape clarified, "you keep him in your sights at all times. All times."

"Yeah, stick to him like glue and don't let him leave the kitchens at all," Harry added.

"As Harry Potter is wanting, yes, yes, Dobby is already doing all of it, every bit!" Without missing a beat, Dobby grabbed his cousin's arm and dragged him through the Floo.

"Are you all right?" Snape asked, gesturing at the way Harry was rubbing his head.

"Oh, sure," the boy passed it off. "I don't think he gave it his full strength. But ow, it's pretty sore."

Draco walked closer and gave it a good look. "Severus should have let me pummel the worthless little shite."

"Draco, your father can't hurt you any longer," Snape quietly pointed out. "And the incident involving the elf was years ago. You need to dismiss it from your mind. To let your anger unbalance you . . . it's a weakness you can ill afford."

Abruptly sitting down on the couch, Draco hung his head in his hands, the unrolled letter just a few inches from his hair as he sat there hunched over. "I know. Impulse control, all that." He glanced up slightly. "Call the bastard Lucius, though. You're my father in all but name, remember?"

"I remember."

The Slytherin boy nodded, but Harry noticed that he still didn't look toward the letter so close. "Um, should Severus and I give you some privacy to finish reading that?" he suggested.

Instead of discussing the matter, Draco shook his head, leaned over the letter slightly, and read out loud:

Dragon my treasure,

I have missed you terribly all through these past months. I know you may not believe that, my darling, but it is every bit true. Of course I found your behaviour beyond shocking, stealing that horrid boy's wand from your very own father and then running with it to Hogwarts to yield it to our Lord's greatest enemy. Those first few days, I hoped against hope that you would come to your senses and make your way back home. I understand why you could not, though; your father had taught you too well to fear his wrath.

I have stood with him publicly, our stance united against you, because quite frankly I can think of nothing else to do. You've turned your back on all that both our family lines stand for, a choice I find altogether perplexing. You have angered me, though not so much that I truly wish you ill. Yet I must act as though I care nothing if your father kills or tortures you; surely you can see as much? I have no Severus Snape to shelter me from the certain death sure to fall upon me should I defy your father. My magic is nothing to his. I thought it best that I stay alive for the day when I could be of some use to you.

That day has come, Dragon my treasure. I have long despaired that you have no longer any family to call your own, but I have realised recently that I was mistaken. Doubtless you believe that every last relation of ours has sided with your father? In the past days, however, it has come to mind that my great-uncle Walpurgis would have no issue with the choices you have made. Indeed, he might well be proud.

I know that you have pride as well, Dragon my treasure, but I will sacrifice my own to beg that you write to him. Just a friendly note, just enough to let him know that for all you've never even seen the man, you do consider him family. You never know when you may find it useful to have some. You need not dwell on your dispute with your father; I am certain Walpurgis must be well aware of all it. Write him something chatty about your classes, Dragon my treasure, something light and amiable so that if later you need his aid, you will already have established some rapport.

 

I miss you as I said, but I would far rather you were safe than near. Tell Severus that for keeping you safe against your father's many schemes, I thank him with all my heart.

"Unsigned," Draco added when he had finished.

"You have doubts?" Snape quietly intoned.

A long sigh lifted collapsed the boy's chest as he levitated the letter higher and whispered briefly at it. When the parchment gave no reaction, Draco sighed again. He let the letter settle back down to the table, then glanced up. "No, no doubts, Severus. It's not just in her hand; it sounds like her, sentence by sentence. And besides . . . Lucius doesn't even know she calls me Dragon my treasure. It was sort of . . ." Harry saw the other boy swallow. "Well, honestly, she only called me that after he would punish me, 'cause he used to call me Dragon sort of affectionately, but he'd withhold that whenever he was angry." Looking away from the both, the boy rasped, "That's her way of telling me that he's still out for my blood, I think. As if I doubted it."

"So then, the question becomes, what is Narcissa scheming towards," Snape mused.

"I thought it was a rather sweet letter, really--"

"Oh, you would, Potter!" Draco scathed. "You thought Steyne's letter was sweet too, didn't you? I don't believe for an instant that my mother is so worried I need family that she'd recommend Walpurgis Black of all people!"

Black . . . Harry knew, of course, that Draco's mother had been a Black, but he didn't often think about it. "So this Walpurgis was a relative of Sirius Black's?"

"Some relation, I'm sure," Draco muttered, his brow creasing in irritation. "Look, I don't know exactly what he is to my mother, even. She calls him her great-uncle but that's just for convenience. He's her grandfather's second cousin once removed's uncle or something just as complicated. Anyway, what matters now is whether I should write him. I don't like the feeling I get from the letter. My mother's got some plot brewing, sure as I'm sitting here."

Snape lowered himself into a chair and crossed leg over another as he lightly tapped his cheek with one long finger. "Just what do you know of this Walpurgis? I must confess, despite all the time I've spent in Malfoy Manor, I've never once heard the name arise."

"Well, it wouldn't." Draco levitated the letter over toward Snape. "We don't talk about him much. Too much shame involved. He's sort of a black sheep. Or, considering my family, maybe Walpurgis is a bit more of a white sheep. Though that doesn't really fit as he's a criminal through and through."

Feeling like an intruder into deep dark Slytherin secrets, Harry stopped hovering uncertainly and announced, "I think I'll go back to the lab and start my potion over--"

Draco's hand snaked out to grab Harry's wrist and yank him down next to him on the couch.

"Okay, I'll stay," Harry changed course.

Snape chuckled softly, but his humour died almost at once. "Walpurgis, Draco," he prompted. "Coherently, this time, if you would."

Nodding, Draco took a minute to assemble his thoughts. "Okay. The letter's right; I've never even seen him. All I know is he's some distant relative of my mother's and she used to see him when she was little. But the family cut him off because his ah, business practices came to light. Well, not to light, but we found out about them, I mean."

"Business practices?"

Draco gave Snape a sour look. "Do I have to go on? It's really quite tawdry and not very relevant."

"I think anything that illustrates just how great the divide between Walpurgis Black and your-- excuse me, Lucius Malfoy, is quite relevant. I'm trying to decide if you should write the man as your mother suggests."

"Oh, well the divide is more like an abyss, if that's what worrying you. Lucius can hardly stand Walpurgis' name to be mentioned, Severus. Because . . . well, you see, he's what we very politely call a blood traitor--"

"He married a Muggle?" Harry guessed.

Draco laughed. "Oh, it's worse than that. Much worse. He cooked up a plan ages ago to switch squib and Muggleborn babies at birth--"

"What?" Harry cried out, horrified.

"Just listen," Draco advised. "Walpurgis developed a highly complicated and very illegal charm that can sometimes identify a squib just hours after birth. Identifies Muggleborns, too. But it's not so reliable. Well, what I mean is, if the charm responds to the baby it's completely accurate, but most of the time it doesn't respond at all, see? Anyway, for apparently forever, Walpurgis has been discreetly offering his services to wizarding families. He'd swap out squibs, when he could find them, for babies guaranteed magical, all for a hefty charge. Well, when the family found out he was tainting bloodlines all over wizarding Britain with Muggle spawn, they cut him off completely. The way I hear, it wasn't any great loss. He'd stayed well out of the war, anyway, so he already had a big black mark against his name."

"Just how many children's lives did he ruin?" Harry demanded.

"How would I have any idea?" Draco haughtily inquired. "And besides, Harry, wouldn't you have been happier growing up in a magical family?"

"Yeah," Harry admitted, still frowning. "But why would purebloods agree to this? I mean, the parents had to know, right?"

"Oh, I'm sure good old Walpurgis didn't have many hard-core blood purists among his clientele," Draco drawled. "Though you must realise, Harry, that in such families as that, squibs are sometimes killed outright." He ignored Harry's gasp of horror. "At any rate, there are plenty of moderates who'd believe their own squib children are better off growing up Muggle. Why taunt the children with things they can never have? And in exchange, they got to take in some magical child who otherwise might have been persecuted and tormented in the Muggle world. My mother explained to me that that was how Walpurgis must have seen things, though of course she was careful afterwards to tell me how wrong he was to encourage people to corrupt their families with Muggleborn children, who of course weren't told their true origins and might end up marrying into pure-blooded lines."

"You really did grow up . . . steeped in this . . . um, philosophy, didn't you?"

Draco favoured him with a rather superior stare, but said, "Call it tripe, why don't you? If the boy with a Muggleborn mother can stand up to the Dark Lord when purebloods cower . . . well, I told you I knew then that blood wasn't everything."

"Yeah," Harry admitted, glancing over at Snape who seemed content to just listen for the moment. "So . . . this Walpurgis. Um, your family found out what he was doing. Why didn't they have him thrown in Azkaban? You did say it was illegal."

"Yes, swapping babies tends to be," Draco drawled. "Especially as the Muggle parents didn't know it was going on. I believe he used a fair amount of memory charms to pull that one off. And the identifying charm is illegal too, of course. Mostly because blood purists would love a tool like that. It's so inconvenient waiting a few years to see if a child manifests any magic. Far easier to know from the start so one can commit infanticide."

"Your family's sick," Harry pronounced.

Draco shook his head. "My family's here," he merely corrected. "Now, where was I? Oh yes, Azkaban. Well, Lucius hardly wanted it known that his wife's relative was going around tainting bloodlines like that. Not something that tends to get you into the Dark Lord's favour, besides the mere fact that the public scandal would put the Malfoy name into deep disrepute. So the family hushed it up, and tried to influence Walpurgis to close down shop--well really, it's quite vulgar to even indulge in commerce at all, don't you know--but as he never cared much what others thought to begin with, I don't know if he ever did stop swapping babies. This is all years and years ago, you understand. For all I know, he's tired of it by now."

Snape finally spoke again. "Who told you Walpurgis' story, Draco?"

The boy shrugged. "Lucius and Narcissa both, with a bit of grandparents and aunts and uncles chiming in about the shame, the shame . . . You see, they all knew. I guess it came out in a way nobody in the family could miss. Nobody who was alive then, I mean. But as for me, it was Christmastime, and Lucius was hosting his annual fête at the manor, and I'd been in the attic exploring my mother's old school books. I'd found a story book inscribed to her from your dear old Uncle Walpurgis, and I'd wandered down with it, innocently asking, Who's Walpurgis, Mother?"

Draco shuddered. "Lucius hit the roof. First it was how dare you befoul your tongue with that name, Draco? and then he rounded on my mother and it was, How could you keep anything his filthy hands once held? And it all got worse from there, with everybody chiming in bits and pieces about blood traitors and such, and all of them yelling at me until I ran upstairs to get away." He shrugged again, that time clearly defensive. "Well, I was only about six or so. My mother came upstairs after a while and explained it all again because I think she could tell I'd been confused by all I'd heard down in the parlour." He smiled a tiny bit in remembrance. "She gave me eggnog with lots of nutmeg."

The room fell silent for a while, until Draco offered, "I can't see why she'd want me to write to him now, though. I don't believe her reasons, that's all I know."

"I think you should do as she asks," Snape decided. "Narcissa's letter no doubt holds some deceit, but I suspect it is in aid of you. Walpurgis Black does not sound like the type of person Lucius would involve in any plot. Therefore, Narcissa's urging you towards him can have nothing to do with Lucius. And she is right that in the future it may prove useful to have him to turn to."

"Besides," Harry put in, "she said just to tell him about your classes. So you mention that your books are a bit dry and Transfiguration is up to studying associative blends. No matter what your mother's up to, neither she nor Walpurgis can put that to any use, can they?"

"I certainly don't see how," Draco murmured.

"Then write your letter and let me see it before we call the house-elf back." Snape stood up and shook out his robes. "And there will be no more assaults on him, verbal or otherwise, do you understand me?"

"Yeah, okay," Draco absentmindedly muttered. He was already summoning parchment so that he could write his response. Harry watched for a moment, and then deciding that Draco didn't need any help, he went to ask his father if he could supervise some brewing practice. Snape, however, told him to wait until his first Saturday detention, saying he could devote his full attention to Harry, then.

Harry thought that sounded all right, even if it had contained the word detention.

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

That night, Harry dreamed.

Draco was sitting on the couch in the living room, chewing the end of his quill as he thought about what to write on the parchment before him.

 

Then there's Care of Magical Creatures, Uncle Walpurgis. I don't like that class at all. The oaf who teaches it is a half-giant who thinks it's perfectly fine to endanger his students.

Suddenly sitting back, Draco appeared to take stock of what he had written. Shaking his head, he used a spell to obliterate the reference to Hagrid's race. Then he added,

 

Though a friend of mine did get to ride a hippogriff during that class. Actually, he wasn't a friend at the time; I thought he was a stuck up little prat. Seems like a long time ago now that I thought that. We get on great these days.

 

I think my favourite class of all has to be Potions. I've been doing a little research lately into kinship potions and I've found out they don't work at all the way I would have assumed.

The dream began whirling then, flinging him hither and yon in wildly oscillating circles that dizzied Harry. And then, another scene, this one in his own bedroom.

Draco was lying in bed, snuggled down into his blankets, just the top of his white-blond hair showing, the blankets muffling his words as he talked in his sleep, though Harry could make them out. "Not Puccini! Verdi, you Hufflepuff cretin," he was insisting in condescending tones. "Didn't they have music where you grew up? Honestly!"

The Slytherin boy thrashed a bit then, rearranging his blankets, his sleeping face emerging from the folds as he went on, "Lemon, lime, or lemon-lime, Pansy? I am so glad Bertie Botts has branched out into every-flavour gelato. Beans are a bit juvenile, don't you think?"

Harry woke up then, sitting straight up in bed, blinking until the haze in his mind cleared. Then, the only thought to occupy him was why on earth he had dreamed all that! The seer dream pattern, true, but filled with nothing but inconsequentials! So Draco had changed his mind about calling Hagrid a half-giant in the letter he'd written that day. Probably wise, considering that this Walpurgis Black fellow, for all his nasty baby-stealing tendencies, wasn't a blood purist by any means. He might not even be prejudiced against non-humans the way Draco was. But then the so-called future part of his dream . . . so Draco had dreams of his own, so what? Dreams of showing off to Hufflepuffs and going out for ice-cream with an ex-girlfriend!

Weren't his seer dreams supposed to be about things that mattered? This one certainly wasn't, which left Harry wondering if his father had been right all along, if all his recent seer dreams were made of nothing but his own subconscious playing with him.

Harry was rubbing his head, thinking about that, wincing slightly when he touched the spot where Dubby had hit him with the candlestick, when a noise from the bed across the small room had him looking up.

"Not Puccini! Verdi, you Hufflepuff cretin," Draco announced in a voice dripping with disdain, though his face was tangled in a mass of thick blankets. "Didn't they have music where you grew up? Honestly!"

As Draco began to thrash, flinging his bedclothes about to free his face, Harry thought uh-oh . . .

"Lemon, lime, or lemon-lime, Pansy?" Draco asked, his tones this time perfectly pleasant, if a trifle self-important. "I am so glad Bertie Botts has branched out into every-flavour gelato. Beans are a bit juvenile, don't you think?"

Harry's mouth fell open, but before he could react further, Draco was babbling on, something about the crème brûlée gelato looking far too much like the bread pudding flavor. Harry didn't want to hear it; he felt like he'd intruded too much already. That tone of voice the other boy had just used, as if so eager for Pansy Parkinson's good opinion . . . Harry hadn't even known Draco still had feelings for Pansy!

Be that as it may, he had to ask Draco something, and not about his love life.

Moving across the room, he shook the other boy by the shoulder to wake him up. "Draco. Draco!" he hissed. "Come on, Draco, wake up!"

Apparently dreaming repressed Draco's finely honed reflexes, for it took him a minute to surface. "Harry?" He pushed up on his elbows, frowning.

"Did you write Walpurgis Black that Hagrid was a half-giant?"

Draco ran his hands through his hair. "Of course I did, you know that! You read the letter, for Merlin's sake, you and Severus both, to make sure I wasn't saying anything anybody could use . . ." And then, in tones of dawning realisation, "Oh. That's odd. Well, I did mention that about Hagrid, actually, but then I thought it might not be too politic, considering, so I got rid of that bit--"

Sitting up straighter, Draco demanded in wry tones, "You've been dreaming again, haven't you? Have I mentioned that it's a bit much, living with a seer? Well, what does the future hold now, Harry? Don't be shy."

Harry shrugged as he perched there on the edge of Draco's bed. "Well, I did dream the future, but it already came true. I saw you dreaming about music and gelato just before you dreamed those things."

Draco's forehead furrowed. "Now you're dreaming other people's dreams? That's quite odd . . ."

"No, I didn't dream it, I saw you dream it," Harry tried to explain. "Never mind, it doesn't matter. You go back to sleep. Try the bread pudding flavor."

"Excuse me?"

"Never mind," Harry said again, sitting back on his own bed so that he could pull on the socks he'd somehow lost as he'd slept. That done, he headed towards the door.

"Oh, don't tell me you have to report your every bizarre dream to Severus," Draco lightly scathed. "Anyway, if that one already came true there's not much left to be said."

"I just need to talk to him, is all," Harry insisted, pausing at the door. "Good night."

Draco stared at him for a moment, before murmuring, "Well, all right. Good night."

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

"Harry?" Snape asked, drawing him into the room and over to his bed.

The boy swallowed. "Um, sorry to wake you. It's not an emergency or anything, but I did promise to come right away if I had any . . . er, brilliant ideas about my dreams."

Nodding slowly, Snape waited as the boy explained the dream he'd just had.

"And so?" he finally asked.

"Well, it's obvious, isn't it?" Harry rubbed his arms with his hands as he sat there, then gratefully took the throw his father draped about his shoulders.

"At least this time you've realised what socks are for," the Potions Master lightly gibed. "And Harry, I can certainly see the pattern for myself, but I'm interested to know your own conclusions before I state mine."

"Yeah." Harry could see the sense in that. "Well, I think the series has ended, that's all. The series of seer dreams," he clarified. "They were going in order at first, forwards in time. And then you woke me up in the middle of one and it somehow warped whatever magic had been sending me dreams, because these latest ones . . . uh, unadoption, the Owlery, this, I think they're in . . . er, backwards order."

"And your further conclusions?"

Harry bit his lip and drew the blanket a bit closer around himself as he sat facing his father. "Well, one, that the seer dreams have come to a close, I think. And two, and this is why I came in really, Dad . . ." Harry drew in a breath. "The last one dreamed has already come true. So if they're going in reverse, that means the Owlery is going to happen next."

Snape laid a hand on his knee as he sat there shivering. "The wards I prepared will let nothing so large as a human pass through the vast windows of the Owlery, Harry. Nor will Draco leave my rooms. You've seen him these past months. He chafes at every turn at the confinement, but has he even once broached my rules by leaving it?"

Since Harry couldn't in good conscience count the time Draco had merely stepped into the hallway in an effort to prove the wards trusted him, he shook his head.

"It will be all right, Harry," Snape assured the boy. "This last one was a true seer dream, past and future both without flaw. Can we say that about Lucius Malfoy wandering France yet speaking English, warning Muggleborns that Voldemort may soon attack?"

"That one's nothing but one big flaw from start to finish," Harry acknowledged.

"Perhaps the sequence of seer dreams is overtly closing because your magic has finally realised that your last few have been . . . hopelessly muddled."

"Yeah," Harry admitted, rubbing his head again. "That makes sense. I mean, maybe you waking me up that time muddled them, even. I mean . . . there hasn't been one since that made good sense, until tonight." Harry gave his father a wry look. "I know you aren't going to unadopt me, though I think it took a while for that to really sink in." He sighed. "Can I have a headache potion after all?"

Snape studied him rather intently in the dim light he'd spelled on after answering the door. "Certainly. In the bathroom, first shelf on the left. After what the elf did to you, I think the one in the thin blue bottle will best serve."

Harry paused on his way there. "Why not just label them?"

"I can't have either of you two miscreants knowing which one is my shampoo, can I now?"

Harry laughed, suddenly feeling much better.

About everything.

It was a feeling that wasn't destined to last.