Chrysalis

by Elsa (elsapphire71 @yahoo.co.nz)

Rating: R

Fandom: Harry Potter

Category: Fantasy, Action/Adventure

Spoilers: Though GoF, AU

Disclaimer: Any recognisable characters belong to HRH J K Rowling, long may she reign (oh, and Warner owns them now, too). I am merely borrowing them for my own humble purposes and (it should go without saying) am making no money out of them.

Summary: Sequel to Taniwha. Draco is having the semi-traditional identity crisis. Rated R for adult situations (sorry - not sex)

Author's Note: Warning! Warning! This fanfic is from Draco's perspective. If you want to read Nice Things about Harry Potter then you'll have to read between the lines. (They are there, but Draco is hardly about to admit to anything good about ol' scarhead.)

Chapter One: Hot

It was hot outside the café. Draco had expected Munich to be cold — it had been cold the other times he had been here with his father... Draco decided to abandon that line of thought. He still jumped every time he saw a tall, platinum-haired man.

Maybe Germany really wasn't such a good choice, he thought sourly. Too many blondes. Still, it wasn't as bad as Durmstrang. The only good thing about that school had been the cold. The cold had been so glorious that Draco had actually been seeking detention just to get outside into that wonderful, wonderful snow and away from the fires and the morons and the Dark Lord's spies.

He fished an ice-cube out of his drink and chewed on it happily, enjoying the way his strong back teeth crunched it into slivers that cooled all the way down his throat and into his stomach.

Maybe he should go into Switzerland or Austria and up into the mountains, he mused. The clear, cold air would help him think better. It was so hard here in the lowlands: the heat and the muggy air stifled the mind dreadfully. He could probably get work in one of the better-class Muggle hotels, or help out as a skiing instructor. Skiing was something he'd learned at Durmstrang (probably the only decent thing he had learned there), and Draco had taken to it like a merman to water.

The owner of the cafe was tolerant of the slim blond boy sitting out front who talked to the tourists and gave impromptu English lessons or tours of Munich in exchange for a "donation" or a meal. One of the first Muggle terms Draco had learned was "backpacker", and he used it whenever anyone asked him who he was or why he was sitting outside a cafe in Germany. But sooner or later Michael, the owner, would start to wonder why this boy didn't move on like the rest of the backpackers. Sure, Draco knew he was decorative, but he wasn't foolish enough to expect that he could stay there for the rest of his life.

Another nasty line of thought: The rest of my life. What am I going to do with the rest of my life?

Oh well. There were always options. When you were on your own, you had to keep careful track of what options there were, and currently being a waiter in a Muggle restaurant looked, well, okay, humiliating to say the least. But humiliating with access to good food and up in the mountains where he could go skiing. And be free.

No Malfoy or Voldemort supporter would be seen dead in a Muggle establishment... well, correction, dead only after an Auror had caught him or her wearing black robes and a white mask whilst on a Muggle-baiting expedition. Draco wrinkled his pointy nose. Muggles weren't too bad once you got used to them. Actually, he'd found living in the Muggle world incredibly exciting. Sure, there'd been a few scrapes with the occasional man who had thought that he was far too pretty to be, ahem, alone, ahem, in a big city like Munich, but Draco had dealt with worse from Lucius' Death Eater friends and even some of the teachers at Durmstrang. All those men had found out that Draco was neither naive nor stupid, and there was steel under the soft exterior.

Draco readjusted his sunglasses. The sun really was hot today. He sipped cold water through a straw and rattled the ice cubes in the glass as he pondered his situation. Maybe he should consider leaving for Switzerland sooner rather than later. Not many people had wanted to talk to him today. Maybe he should take up that offer from Jules and Kris to travel with them in their van to —

A shadow announced a potential customer as a tall man settled into the seat next to him with a sigh.

"Mr Malfoy."

Draco nearly swallowed his straw.

"P- P- Professor..."

Snape. It was Snape.

Draco panicked, but quietly, not moving. His wand; where was his wand? If he used a binding spell on Snape maybe he'd have time to make a run for it. He could — no, he couldn't go with Jules and Kris, now. They could be tracked. Maybe that was how Snape had found him, and Draco liked Jules and Kris. If he was found travelling with Muggles a Death Eater like Snape wouldn't think twice about turning them into kebabs just to keep them quiet.

"Would you believe it was Sybill Trelawney who found you?"

Snape sounded quite relaxed. Draco decided to play along while he analysed his options. The trouble was, there didn't seem to be any options left. Just one big, yawning abyss where he was enslaved to that maniac Voldemort. Draco couldn't breathe for thinking about it. His vision swam. Snape must have hexed him...

"Breathe, Draco." Snape sounded concerned. Well, sure. If Draco asphyxiated before anyone could get a Dark Mark on him, Voldemort would be pissed. Draco started to giggle at the thought of Voldemort throwing a hissy fit and stamping his feet.

"Really, Draco. Calm down. I realise Trelawney isn't exactly the sort you would turn to for aid in finding a missing person, but I can assure you that —"

"You're telling me that Trelawney is a Death Eater?"

Snape jerked back. "Draco —"

"No, no. It's okay. I know all about how you serve You-Know-Who. It's just that I can't see Trelawney on the side of evil, unless the Dark Lord has a sudden need for light relief. No pun intended."

"Everysing okay, Draco?"

Draco stilled; controlled himself. Breathed deep. "Fine, thanks, Michael." No way was he going to let Snape harm someone who had been so kind. "This is Professor Snape — one of my old teachers."

"Ja?" Michael's eyebrows rose as he looked at the tall, lanky figure of Snape, who was dressed casually in Muggle clothing of Levi's and a light silk shirt. "Of what did you teach?"

"Chemistry and physics," Snape replied smoothly. "Draco did extremely well. I was greatly disappointed when he transferred to another school."

"Oh yes. Draco is a smart boy. I see that when he talks to customers. He is enjoying his holiday here in our beautiful city, I think."

Snape nodded. "Pleased to hear it. He worked hard at school, he deserves to relax and not worry about exams for a change. It's good he's making friends here, too."

"Oh yes. Draco has made many friends. Such a good-natured young man, and so polite."

Draco didn't like the way Snape's eyebrows shot up under the greasy curtain of hair hanging over his eyes. "Ye-ess," said Snape, carefully keeping his face expressionless. "Could I have a latte please? And some strudel. Draco, what would you like?"

"Uh — lemon sorbét?"

Michael left. Draco could run now, but Snape might... question... Michael about Draco's activities. Michael didn't know much, but that wouldn't stop a Death Eater from "asking."

"Voldemort's dead, by the way," Snape said conversationally, as if talking about the weather.

"What? When? How?"

"About a week ago. He annoyed my Grandmother."

"Of course," Draco said faintly. "Grandmothers have the worst tempers. I remember how Granny Malfoy used to hex me with boils when I annoyed one of her cats."

Snape smiled slightly, his coal-black eyes glinting with the genuine, non-malicious humour that Draco had been one of the few to witness. "A little bit like that, Mr Malfoy, yes. Would it help you to know that Voldemort won't be returning from where Grandmother has put him?"

"God, yes!" Draco blurted out, before trying to regain some of that Slytherin subtlety he'd tried to learn from watching his Head of House. "That is to say..."

"Relax, Mr Malfoy." Snape leaned back in his chair and crossed his long legs at the ankles, looking with every inch of his lean, black-clad body as if he were enjoying the sun. "Your enthusiasm does you credit."

What the hell was that supposed to mean? Snape wasn't exactly renowned for making statements that could be taken at face value. "Especially given whose son I am?" Draco hazarded shrewdly. He knew his guess was spot-on when Snape narrowed his eyes.

"Not quite how I would have phrased it, but your upbringing was fairly... adamant, shall we say, regarding the philosophical pre-eminence of a certain Mr Riddle."

"Lucius was rather keen on me learning my catechisms."

"Quite. I expect he had you memorise the answers before you could ride a broom. And 'Lucius'? Not 'Daddy Dearest'?"

Draco couldn't help grinning. He had always enjoyed his favourite professor's cynical sense of humour. Then he reminded himself that his 'favourite professor' had been one of Voldemort's most valuable servants and re-schooled his face back to neutrality. It saddened him. In the beginning he had been delighted that Snape had been a good, personal friend of his father's; midway through the Durmstrang school year, with the obscene glories of Voldemort's obscene philosophies spouted by every brainless Homo sapiens truant, it had hit him like a bludger to the chest. Severus Snape, role model of sarcasm and cool austerity, was the Enemy.

At the time it had hurt him so badly that Draco had refused to think about it. Because of his admiration of the man it had taken him that much longer to finally decide that no, it wasn't Draco who was wrong, it was the world around him. Only two nights after that terrible morning when he had realised Severus Snape could be wrong, he had gathered together a small bag of belongings, some Muggle money he'd always kept secret for some unthinkable emergency, his wand and broom, and then Draco Malfoy, heir to one of the richest and most powerful families in the magical community, had quietly left Durmstrang and the Wizarding world.

Now, confronted by the living, breathing reality of the man he had once admired so much, Draco was suddenly very, very tired. So Snape had come to take him back to his father... Well, it could have been worse. Avery, Nott, one or — he shuddered — both of the Parkinsons, or that pervert Macnair would have been an insult bordering on a challenge.

If his father had sent Severus Snape then that, at least, showed that he had some vestiges of respect for his runaway offspring.

Satisfying, after a twisted fashion.

Much as Draco wanted to sit here and eat lemon sorbét, he knew in his heart that it would be a kindness to Michael to go with Snape now to ward off any violence. "So. It's hot out here today. Should we get sunburn or get going?"

"So eager to leave Munich? I've always found it to be a most charming city."

Draco shrugged. "I'd rather get it over and done with."

There was a brief pause, then Snape pulled his chair closer to the table, the metal rasping on the concrete pavement, and propped his elbows on the wooden surface. "Draco. What exactly do you believe my purpose here to be?"

Draco flushed angrily. Did Snape have to pretend he was an idiot, too? "You don't need to play games, Professor. We both know my father sent you."

"Lucius?"

"How many fathers do I have?"

Snape blinked, his expression closing in on itself as he sat back. "Draco. Let me expressly assure you that Lucius Malfoy did not send me here. I am here for no-one else's benefit than your own."

"Let me guess... I was sorted into Slytherin so you have a moral duty to be my guardian angel. Please, Professor. Don't insult my intelligence."

"Don't you dare take that tone with me, young Mr Malfoy."

"S-sorry, sir," Draco stammered, reduced in a picosecond by that whiplash voice to the status of a first year caught putting the wrong ingredients into his neighbour's cauldron.

"Understand this: When you were sorted into Slytherin you were given into my custody. So yes, I have a moral duty to care for your welfare. I'm hardly a textbook example of a guardian angel, but I take my responsibilities seriously. I had heard of your disappearance. It concerned me. When Professor Trelawney reported seeing you I took the opportunity to track you down to verify and maintain your safety. No-one connected in the slightest with He-Who-Must-Be-Dead sent me. I came of my own volition. Am I clear?"

Draco wasn't sure. He so desperately wanted to be sure that Snape wasn't the enemy, but the idea of admitting the man was a friend made him feel ill with nerves.

Perhaps Snape sensed this and, in a strange move for him, took pity on the boy. "Draco," he said more softly, "I'm not a Death Eater. Once I was and it was a terrible, terrible mistake I'm still paying for. But I realised my mistake. I turned myself in to Dumbledore, who, instead of sending me to Azkaban as I deserved, enlisted me as a double agent instead. I've spent longer than you've been alive spying on people like Lucius Malfoy and his associates." He unbuttoned the cuff of his left shirt sleeve and began rolling it up. Draco watched, entranced. He'd seen the Dark Mark on other people, his father being the stand-out memory, and he couldn't believe that Severus Snape of all people would be so casually baring the sign of his nefarious allegiance in the hot sun outside a Muggle café.

Snape slowly rolled up the black silk.

Surely Voldemort hadn't branded his followers so high in the forearm, Draco thought. His father's Mark had been lower towards the wrist. It took a moment until he realised what Snape was really showing him.

The Dark Mark was gone. Draco reached out tentatively. When Snape didn't bite, he touched the skin. It was winter-pale and smooth, just like an ordinary arm. He prodded at the space where a skull with a snake should be. "There's nothing there," he said wonderingly.

Snape smiled and leaned back again, rolling his sleeve down. "Voldemort is gone," he said, carefully and quietly enunciating each word.

Lights were going off in front of Draco's eyes. "It's over?" he asked. "I don't have to...? I don't have to...?"

"You don't have to be anyone you don't want to be."

Draco shot him a look of pure astonishment. Yes. Those were the words he had been trying to find. "So I don't have to go with you?"

"No."

"You won't force me to go back to Hogwarts?"

"No. I will, however, attempt to reason with you as to why Hogwarts is a good place to be. Ah, thank you," he added to Michael, as the café owner brought out the latte and sorbét. "No, nothing else just yet. And I mean reason, Draco, not force," he began once they were alone again. "I think you've had enough of people beating the rules into you."

Draco didn't ask how he knew about that.

"Besides, it's terribly bad manners to abduct people," Snape added, sipping primly at his coffee.

"All right. I'll ask the obvious question: Why is Hogwarts a good place for me to be?"

"Two points to Slytherin, Mr Malfoy, for knowing the correct question. I will answer it in turn with a question of my own: When was the last time you saw your father?"

Draco looked away. As with any mention of Lucius the day clouded over. It should have made things cooler but instead he felt stifled. "I don't know," he muttered. "Not long enough."

"Do you think he would have stopped looking for you?"

"No."

"Do you think he will find you?"

"Yes." Quietly.

"Yes. Lucius is a very determined man when he sets his mind on something, and now that Voldemort is dead reclaiming you would be his pet project. As there are no students but most of the staff you can be protected at Hogwarts."

"Will you be there?"

Snape paused, then grimaced. "Damn. I forgot to add that there will be one student — Harry Potter has managed to remain over the summer."

"Lucius is starting to sound good..."

"Don't even joke about it, Draco." But Snape was smiling.

Draco sighed and picked at his sorbét. It really was very good. And Hogwarts should be cool, even at this time of year. "When do we leave?"

Chapter Two: Warm

Hogwarts wasn't much of an improvement on Munich weatherwise, Draco decided within moments of Portkeying to the gates flanked by statues of winged boars. Walking up the road alongside his former Potions master gave him a strange sense of déja vù at first, but the oppressive summer that smothered all of Europe up to and including Scotland soon made him concentrate on the more mundane feeling of needing a cold drink.

Snape seemed to have shrunk, or maybe it was just that he himself had shot up in the past year, Draco mused. Hopefully the latter — he hadn't wanted to be a weedy little shrimp like Potter all his life. Although he wasn't anywhere near as tall as Snape (and was unlikely ever to be), Draco estimated he now stood at least as tall as the man's chin. This minor satisfaction put a bounce into his step as they strode up the steps and through the wide-open main doors.

That small contentment dissolved as soon as they walked up the stairs from the Entrance Hall and entered the Great Hall. Damn. Why does the first person I see here have to be him?

Harry Potter was sitting at the end of one of the long tables, talking to a short-haired woman Draco had never seen before. Otherwise, the Hall was empty, a fact Draco didn't regret. Damn. Of all the people in the world, why did he have to run into Potter? Bad enough that he'd abandoned his birthright, the Malfoy name and — worst of all — the Malfoy fortune, but he wasn't quite ready to confront Potter over it. Potter must have been over the moon when he'd found out Draco had run away.

He edged a little closer to Snape, knowing that if there was one person in the world who hated Potter more than Draco did, it was Snape, and the man could strip paint from three furlongs with his sarcasm.

Potter looked up as they entered, and the woman, seeing that something had caught her friend's attention, looked around.

The most radiant smile lit up her face and the entire Hall as she stood and almost danced over towards Draco and Snape.

"You're back," she exclaimed. "You were gone forever!"

To Draco's amazement she rushed forwards and flung her arms around the Potions master. He stepped back, half expecting her to combust with the heat of Snape's displeasure.

The astonishments only kept piling up on each other as Snape hugged her back and kissed the top of her head. "Sorry, Helen, my love. But you get good coffee in Munich."

This Helen person snorted a most Snape-like snort of disgust. "You and your coffee. It tastes abominable."

"'Abominable'? Have you been practising new words?"

"Yes. Harry-chick's been helping me. I learned 'abominable' just for you."

Snape blinked slowly. "I'm flattered."

"Yes. Harry said you'd like that one. It's so good to see him again, Sev. Let's take him home with us."

Draco very carefully didn't snigger at the twin looks of horror from Snape and Potter.

"I'm afraid," Snape said cautiously, "that Mr Potter has important business on this side of the world. Besides," he added as Helen frowned and opened her mouth to argue, "he would want to bring his owl with him, and you and Hedwig are none too fond of each other."

"Oh."

Snape looked over her head and nodded as Potter mimed wiping his brow with relief.

"What about if I promise not to fight with Hedwig? After all, I'm a human now, so I can take the higher moral ground over an owl which is just an animal and incapable of the degree of introspection that separates we humans from animals."

Snape put his hands on her shoulders and held her at arms length. Not taking his eyes off her, he said: "Mr Potter, would you like to tell me just what she has been reading in the short time I have been gone?"

Potter shifted uncomfortably in his seat. "She found some of the books Hermione lent me, sir."

Before Snape could let loose the snarl he was preparing, Helen batted away his hands. "Are you trying to say that I can't read what I like? Are you censoring me? Fascist bully boy!"

With a ferocious glare at the squirming Harry, who looked like he wished he were at the top of the Astronomy Tower or even the middle of the Forbidden Forest, Snape grabbed Helen by the wrist and dragged her out a side door. There was one last: "Ow! My sovereign rights as an individual are being infringed! Harry! Call Amnesty International! Call the United Nations! Call Oprah Winfrey! Ow — get your hands off me, you, you... you infringer of human rights, you!"

As they disappeared out the door there was a yelp from Snape. "Humans, and by 'humans' I mean all hominids of different species, cultures and origins, humans don't bite!"

"Well, I only bite abominable fascist censors!"

The Great Hall resounded with the slam of the door.

Draco stared at it for a few long seconds. Talking to Scar-Head wasn't his ideal choice for information, but Draco's curiosity always had been greater than was good for him. "Who... or what was that?"

Potter straightened his glasses. "That was Helen. I only hope there's not about to be a divorce," he added worriedly. "They argue quite a lot."

It took a moment to sink in.

"Divorce? But... but... but that would mean Professor Snape got married. When did this happen?" And, unspoken, was the disappointment that he'd missed the wedding. Snape didn't have a family, so wouldn't he have wanted Draco to be the ring-bearer or some-such? Obviously Draco was too young to be Best Man — and as a student it would have been improper — but he'd have thought Snape would at least have told him that he was getting married. Maybe he wasn't as important to Snape as he'd thought. Maybe Snape had only ever been nice to him as part of his duties as a double agent; favouring Draco to make it look like he was a friend to Lucius Malfoy.

Maybe even Snape had never really cared for him.

That hurt so much he almost didn't notice that Potter was talking to him. "Sorry? What were you saying?"

Potter frowned, possibly at the idea of a Malfoy saying 'sorry.' Draco reflected that the Muggle world had taught him a few useful things, one of which being that an apology, even if insincere, was a useful tool.

"I was saying that they've only been married two weeks now, and spend all of their time either fighting or making-up."

"'Making-up'?"

Potter dared to give him a supercilious look. "'Making-up,' Malfoy. Think about it."

Draco did. Eeyew.

It was like thinking of your parents... Doing It. He shared a brief and unique look of complete understanding with Potter. "They are... um... discrete about it?"

"More discrete than their arguments, thank Merlin," Potter said with undisguised relief. "When they're mad at each other — about once every ten minutes on average — you can be up in Gryffindor Tower and hear them shouting from the dungeons. It's driving the other teachers crackers. Well, except for Professor Sprout. She goes out to the glasshouses and puts on her earmuffs. Even Headmaster Dumbledore got worried the first evening they were here for dinner when they started throwing food at each other." He grinned at the memory. "Prof. McGonagall told them to behave or she'd send them to bed without supper. Helen said that was okay with her if it meant she got to spend more time in bed with her husband... The look on old McGonagall's face at that was worth all the Galleons in Gringott's."

Snape in a food-fight? Oh, to think he'd missed seeing that. "They fight all the time except when they're making up?" Draco smirked. "Sounds like Professor Snape's found his soul mate."

Potter smiled. "You're probably right."

Draco sat down in the seat Helen had vacated and reached for the goblet of pumpkin juice that appeared at his elbow. "So. What's been happening? I hear Voldemort's finally turned in his wand for good."

Potter gave him an appraising look. "I'll swap you stories. Where have you been the last month or so?"

"Munich. Yourself?"

"New Zealand."

Draco wrinkled his brow, trying to recall what little exo-European geography he had learned. "Is that part of Scandinavia or Australia?"

A superior grin from Potter. Smug bastard. Draco held his tongue.

"Neither, although you were closer with 'Australia'. It's an island chain in the South Pacific Ocean. Not too bad, although it's winter there at the moment and pretty much all I saw was farmland and snow."

Sounded like paradise to Draco. "Munich's just the same as ever."

"I've never been." Potter sounded almost wistful. Draco relented and added some details about the city; starting with the heat and moving on to the old buildings he had visited, and then talking a little about some of the people he had met."

"Muggles?"

Draco shrugged. "Some of them are really nice. I was going to catch a lift up to Austria with a couple of them but Professor Snape said I should come here instead. They had this weird contraption called a 'van,' which is a sort of Muggle transport device that stops working every few miles. The van I saw could have been magic — some of the incantations Kris used to get it working again were pretty colourful. I never knew Muggles were so imaginative when it came to insults."

"So you got something out of your stay in the Muggle world, then?" Potter asked with a grin.

"Don't look so smug, Potter. I've never heard you say anything nice about your Muggle relatives."

"Only because there's nothing nice to say about them. I've met other Muggles who are really nice. Hermione's parents, for example."

Draco just knew he was waiting for him to say something about Mudbloods. "I thought they were dentists. You need a certain amount of sadism to be a dentist."

There. He'd said something nasty, but not directly about Granger. Potter'd have to change the subject now, Draco would bet his last Galleon — if he'd had any left — on it.

"So have you come back because of Voldemort?"

Yes. Damn, but I'm good. "No, I came back because the Professor asked me to."

"You never said why you left."

"No, I didn't, did I."

"So?"

Draco smiled inwardly. Potter was getting annoyed, but trying to keep his patience. It might be interesting to see just how far he could push Potter's patience before it snapped. Maybe later. "I suppose everyone thought I'd run off to join up with Voldemort."

"A lot of people did."

"And you?"

"I thought that if you were going to become a Death Eater you could've done that from Durmstrang. I was under the impression that it was a big machine set up to crank out junior Death Eaters."

"It is. Was." Draco shook his head. "Was while I was there, anyway. Now?" He shrugged. "They could be knitting socks for the poor people in Outer Mongolia for all I know."

"So why didn't you stay? I would've thought you'd be happy to be there."

Like he was going to give Harry Potter the satisfaction of knowing that he'd been right about Voldemort. Potter didn't need any extra food for his big fat ego, and Draco as a Slytherin would be damned before he let a Gryffindor feel like he was the moral majority. Draco only hoped he wasn't displaying any of the annoyance he felt. It looked like the competition was going to be over who lost their temper first. Ah, happy memories, he thought sourly, remembering how it had felt to be turned into a ferret and bounced around this very room. Well, there was no Mad-Eye Moody to protect the darling of the Wizarding world this time. "It was boring. And weren't you going to tell me what you got up to in New Zealand?" he drawled.

If he was annoyed by the deflection, Potter didn't show it. In his mind Draco reluctantly chalked him up one point. "Not much. Portkeyed down. Snape picked me up and drove me up to the mountains. I met some of his family, rode a pooka, met an elemental guardian of death who just happens to be Snape's great-great-and-then-some grandmother, learned to snowboard, saw a dead parrot get turned into a live, naked woman, and saw Voldemort get what was coming to him." He took a deep drink of pumpkin juice. "That's all."

Draco leaned forward eagerly, all thoughts of rivalry forgotten in his excitement.

"You learned to snowboard?"

It was bizarre, Draco mused later as he wandered up the stairs to Slytherin Tower in the company of Professor Snape and Helen — or should he be calling her Mrs Snape? — the way that two people who hated each other's guts could sit down and talk sports as if they were bosom buddies. For a short time he had actually found Potter's company enjoyable without needing to indulge in the familiar cut-and-thrust of their rivalry.

Living with Muggles has made me soft. But he didn't feel anger, and neither did he hear an echo of his father's voice in the thought. By easing up on the other boy he'd actually obtained some good information. Plus, without Weasley and the Granger Mudblood, Potter forgot his holier-than-thou attitude and became almost interesting. Draco had even found himself smiling and, after one of Potter's stories about Helen-the-kea, laughing out loud. By the time Snape and Helen had returned arm in arm he'd heard all about Potter's adventures among the colonials without having had to tell Potter the real reason he'd run away from Durmstrang.

Five minutes of being nice after years of being an absolute bastard had just paid off.

It wasn't often Draco had ventured up into Slytherin Tower. It was rumoured that Snape had living quarters up there, but had chosen to renovate rooms for himself in the Dungeons instead, a more fitting living area given his sombre disposition and the Dungeons' propinquity to his students and teaching laboratories. The Tower was, like all the towers of Hogwarts, airy and well-lit during the daytime. It was also warmer than the Dungeons, unfortunately. Draco was already beginning to sweat. He promised himself a nice, cold bath as soon as he was settled into his new rooms.

"Here we are," said Helen, bouncing through the wooden door Snape held open for her. "Home sweet home, although don't expect me to start cross-stitching any samplers with some motto that's so old it's got grey hairs on its grey hairs." She skipped into the centre of the room and spun around gracefully on the Turkish rug there, flinging her arms wide.

In that moment Draco could imagine her as a bird.

"Well, Draco-chick; don't just stand there gawping like a great gawper, come in!"

Yes, definitely a parrot. One of his mother's cousins had had one that swore like a hedge-wizard. Helen's insults needed work. Doubtless Snape would help with that. "Are these your rooms now, sir?" he asked Snape.

The Professor was cut off by his wife, who skipped over and took Draco by the hand and dragged him into the room. "Ours, Draco," she said firmly, her strange, dark-honey eyes glowing happily. "His and mine and yours, now, too. Isn't that wonderful?"

Draco looked askance at his Head of House, who shrugged. "Helen has decided to kidnap you. She tried to kidnap Potter..."

"Harry," interrupted Helen.

"... Potter; but the Headmaster, in his infinite wisdom, decided that it would be best for everyone involved if Potter stayed at Hogwarts."

Helen sniffed. "No wonder Rona doesn't like Dumbledore. He's selfish."

Rona... Rona... Oh yes, that was right. Potter had said something about Snape having a foster sister called Rona.

"And you are still learning what is and is not permissible in the human world. And," Snape added thoughtfully, as Helen threw Draco's bag onto the couch and sat down next to it with a sulky thump, "you would still be learning to regulate your caffeine intake. How many cups of chocolate have you had today?"

Helen folded her arms and glared at her husband, who was watching her mildly. "Less than yesterday."

"Given that yesterday you made yourself sick, strangely I find I am not reassured." He sighed and ushered Draco over to the couch. He then took a seat in an armchair opposite. "Well, Draco. Helen has decided that you should stay in the Slytherin Head of House's personal quarters with us. Merlin knows but there's enough space, but do you want somewhere a little more private? Hush, Helen. The boy's sixteen now. Let him make up his own mind."

Personal space would be nice, but Draco had had enough of being on his own. This was the first time he'd had a chance to spend much time with Professor Snape other than in the student-teacher role, and now that he was recovering from the almost shocking discovery that his favourite teacher was not, after all, the enemy, Draco wanted to make the most of the opportunity.

There were so many questions he wanted to ask the man. When had he decided to turn on Voldemort? Why? What had it been like to be a spy? What were his personal feeling on Lucius Malfoy?

And the most important question of all was: Did he think Draco was more than the sum of his parents?

Draco wondered where that thought had come from. What could Snape know about Draco that Draco didn't already know?

Something tickled at the back of his mind. It was that little sleeping voice which stirred sometimes, turned over, yawned, and said: What do you think you're doing, Draco? and would then go back to sleep.

Now that little voice had stirred again. It was saying that Professor Snape might be able to help with Draco's identity crisis (Oh for Merlin's sake. I'm having an identity crisis? That's such a cliché!).

Helen nudged his leg with her toe. "Please say you'll stay, Draco. Sev's told me so much about you and I'd love to get to know you."

She had such gentle sincerity in her voice that Draco, to his shame, had to blink back tears. He hoped Professor Snape hadn't notice his weakness. That there was someone who actually wanted to know him for himself rather than as the Malfoy heir was a novelty he hadn't known before he'd left Durmstrang.

To think he'd found acceptance among Muggles and some woman who up until recently had been an alpine parrot.

"Sir? Are you sure it wouldn't be an imposition?"

"It would make my wife very happy."

But would it make Snape happy? That fathomless black gaze held no invitation, only secrets. "Then if you don't mind I'd like to stay." Despite the stifling heat. Just to have Helen look at him and see someone real.

Snape smiled and Draco let out his breath in relief. Professor Snape had never bothered to hide his displeasure. A genuine smile from Snape was as good as a ticker-tape parade welcoming home a hero.

"Where shall I put my things?"

Chapter Three: "This Is My Husband"

Dinner that evening was an interesting affair. Draco had never seen a woman spit like a cat but when Professor Trelawney ventured too close to Snape Helen bared her teeth and hissed.

Trelawney backed away hurriedly, bangles jingling. Trailing scarves and the heavy scent of incense that still made Draco sneeze, the Divinations teacher scuttled away like a distressed stick-insect.

With a squeak of laughter Professor Flitwick slipped off his chair. Professors McGonagall and Vector hid smiles behind their hands and Sirius Black (Sirius Black! What is he doing here? ... And sitting next to Harry Potter of all people?) hooted with laughter.

Potter, Lupin, Professors Dumbledore and Sinistra, Madams Hooch and Pomfrey, as well as Hagrid (whom Draco had been avoiding), all very carefully did not laugh. Draco wondered if they knew something he didn't.

He found out as Helen Snape stood up to glare at Black.

"So you think it's funny when a woman defends her husband?" She planted her hands on her hips and her voice took on a silky tone she must have learned from said husband. "What about when a woman defends her brother, Mr Black? You must remember that one... unless you ended up too concussed to remember. I'm sure your nose remembers. Don't you think Rona taught me a few tricks?"

Black mumbled something about women defending Snape needing their heads read, and received two elbows in the ribs — one from Potter and one from the werewolf.

Helen rested her knuckles on the table and levelled a stare at Black over Dumbledore's silver-maned head. "Want to say that again, dog-breath? No? Lucky for you. Why don't you go outside and find a nice piece of road kill to eat — or maybe just to roll in. Dogs like you love rolling in stinky old dead hedgehogs — the older and the flatter and the mankier the better. Leave eating inside for the civilised humans."

That effectively silenced Black. And the rest of the table.

The "civilised humans" seemed to be preoccupied with finding their stomachs again; all of them barring Dumbledore and Snape (who had been calmly eating their lamb chops and garden salad through Helen's entire outburst) having turned a little green at the mention of road kill.

Helen sat down again, having made her point to her satisfaction. "Well," she said brightly to Draco. "Lamb chops. Isn't this nice. When I was a kea I was never allowed to eat sheep. Some of the other keas did, though. Nasty business."

"Oh?" asked Draco, ignoring Potter's warning head-shake. "Why?"

Potter glared at him.

"Well," said Helen, "some of the older black-beaks knew that in the winter there was good eating on a sheep. What they would do was fly onto the back of a sheep and hang on to the wool with their claws. Then they'd either drive the stupid mammal over a cliff or just wait until it exhausted itself and the old bird could start pulling the wool back over the kidneys. The fat layer over the kidney, you see, is especially tasty. So once you'd pulled the wool back you would need to start digging with your beak. It's a fairly quick business as sheep don't have very tough skin — not compared to a kea's beak, anyway," she added proudly. "So once you've dug through the first layer and found the nice, warm flesh it's all good pickings from there on in. I remember seeing sheep with their intestines pulled out in big pink loops. A bit like Professor McGonagall's spaghetti bolognase, I recall," she added contemplatively.

Professor McGonagall, whom Draco could have sworn wasn't listening, stood up and, claiming urgent business, hurried out of the Hall with one hand clamped over her mouth.

Helen continued, apparently oblivious to the change in dinner companions. "Keas being keas, as soon as they see something that looks like it could be fun in a game of tug-of-war, they immediately start pulling on it to see how far it can go. Ropes, shoelaces, balls of wool, intestines... it's like picking at a loose thread. Once you start you can't stop until you've reached the end. Or unravelled the entire jersey."

"Maman will knit me a new one," Snape said, unruffled. He helped himself to another piece of lamb and began to pour himself another cup of tea.

"Let me do that," purred Helen, taking the teapot from him. "More tea for you, too, Draco? Headmaster?" She poured more tea for Dumbledore, but Draco shook his head, knowing from experience that if he had too much tea he wouldn't be able to sleep. "Anyway. Where was I? Oh yes. Intestines. So once the intestines have been pulled out the sheep normally dies of shock or blood-loss or something. That's when all the young keas who've been watching Old Man Blackbeak deal to the woolly mammal come in and start to feast on the raw meat."

"And does this happen often?" queried Dumbledore. Someone down-table (Black?) groaned: "Headmaster..."

"Oh, no," said Helen sanctimoniously. "Usually only in winter. And not very often. The normal diet is roots and grasses and various fruits and other bits of trees. Insects, too. Sometimes some keas manage to dig out a baby bird that has its nest in a hole, but usually we don't eat much meat. And of course as soon as some human sees that his sheep has been eaten by keas he gets upset and puts down poison for the culprit. Forgetting, of course, that the keas' natural habitat has been greatly reduced by the sheep that were introduced to New Zealand in blatant disregard of the rights of the indigenous species. But I suppose all the farmer can see is that one of his flock has had its intestines pulled out through a hole in its back. It must be hard to see the grand scheme of things when an animal under your care is trailing its kidneys behind it. Speaking of which," she added brightly, "would you care for more kidneys, Professor Flitwick?"

The tiny professor shook his head, not daring to speak.

"But how come you never did this?" asked Draco. "I mean, if you were a bird you wouldn't have had any, um, moral compunctions that stop you from doing that kind of behaviour."

"I didn't. But by the time I was old enough to think abut that kind of behaviour I'd met Severus. Somehow he must have taught me that you shouldn't be mean to living creatures." She smiled adoringly at her husband. "He's very gentle and kind."

No-one, not even Sirius Black, dared so much as snicker.

Helen had made her point.

Draco thought he saw her smile as she picked up knife and fork again. "Well," she repeated with satisfaction. "Isn't this nice."

Trelawney made an appearance later over dessert, ostensibly to reassure Helen that she had absolutely no designs on the ex-kea's husband but, as Draco guessed, in reality to indulge in the sweet pavlova topped with fresh kiwifruit the house elves had whipped up in Helen's honour.

"You misunderstand my motivations," the Divinations teacher tried to explain mistily, eyes unfocussed behind her huge glasses. She still smelled of too much incense, and Draco's experiences with Muggles had taught him to recognise a particularly pungent herbal smell. No wonder the woman was always starving for sweets! And no wonder she had always seemed so out-of-it during Divinations. She was.

"I merely needed to brush past Severus' aura in order to ascertain what the astral planes have designated for his future," continued Trelawney, unphased by the suspicious way Helen crossed her arms. "We who are tuned into the higher planes of the spirit disdain what you more earthly types see as important. Mine is a lonely task," she added loftily, managing not to notice the way Vector rolled her eyes. Her mystical gaze did, however, become considerably sharper when Dumbledore served himself the next-to-last piece of pavlova, and, obviously trying not to appear greedy, she slipped the last piece onto her plate which was already overflowing with fruit, jelly, whipped cream and pavlova.

Helen scowled.

Draco wasn't feeling happy, either. He'd only had one piece to Trelawney's four. Oh well; the house elves had been well-warned about his new predilection for cold desserts, and a fresh dish of strawberry sorbét appeared at his elbow.

Trelawney continued, oblivious to Helen's narrowing stare. "Let me part the veil of mystery for you, my dear. The future reveals itself to my eye."

Dabbing at his mouth with a napkin, Snape frowned. "I think Helen is quite happy discovering the future for herself, thank you, Sybill."

He received a misty smile for his troubles. "Thank you, Severus, but I believe this is a matter to be discussed between women."

"Why?" snapped Helen. "Are you about to tell me I'm not going to have children, or something?"

Trelawney's mouth thinned. Draco had never thought her capable of malice, but maybe there was something in Helen's idea that she'd been interested in Snape. He didn't like the way the thin woman's eyes glittered. "These things should be discussed in private, my dear; but if it's any consolation a woman is so much more than breeding stock."

There was a brief scuffle that involved whipped cream.

Draco and Snape were quick enough to stop Helen from blacking Trelawney's eye, but somehow Draco doubted the Divinations teacher had foreseen how she would be wearing her own dessert.

Trelawney sat there, mouth opening and shutting silently as cream slid down her face. By some fluke, two round slices of kiwifruit lodged themselves behind her glasses, giving her a cartoonish look of surprise.

The first sound heard in the stunned silence was Snape's rusty laugh. "That's taking beauty therapy a little far, I think, Sybill. You should be able to buy something more appropriate in Hogsmeade."

"I..." Trelawney shook her head, sending the bowl and dessert-shrapnel flying. "How dare you?" she gasped. Her chair scaped on the flagstones as she pushed it back and stood. "You... you animal!"

"Animal I may be," Helen growled back, standing up to confront her tall opponent, "but at least I'm not a bitch. And how dare you imply that I won't be having any children?" Helen's voice rose shrilly "Do you have any idea what it's like to spend your life knowing that you have a mate, but still producing nothing but sterile eggs? Perhaps I was an animal, but I was a canny one and one with deep-felt emotions. And I remember what it was like, year after year, to yearn for a family and produce nothing but sterile imperfection. How dare you play on my emotions like that?" Helen was shaking, she was so upset.

Snape stood to wrap his arm around her shoulders, and she buried her head against his chest, still trembling. For a few heartbeats his heavy robes concealed her from the stunned diners. When she straightened she had to wipe her eyes but her face was calmer. She seemed to draw strength off her husband. "I'm sorry, Albus," she said in a meek voice. "I seem to be a little overwrought this evening."

Dumbledore reached out and took her hand. "Think nothing of it, my dear. It's only been a little over two weeks since Voldemort killed you for defending Harry, Chad, and Severus. And to think that you were immediately afterwards thrown into a human existence... it must have been terribly traumatic." His blue eyes twinkled kindly. "I think one of the heroes of Voldemort's defeat has earned the right to feel a little strained by all the excitement."

She smiled at him fondly. "You are kind. Severus chose well when he decided to work for you." She reached over and wiped a dollop of cream off his whiskers. "And Maman was right — you are a sweetie. See? You've been served up for dessert."

Dumbledore patted her hand. "I'll have the house elves send up some cocoa."

"With marshmallows?"

He raised his shaggy eyebrows in mock-surprise. "Is there any other kind?"

She was escorted out the door by Snape. Draco felt very uncomfortable sitting at the staff table without any supporters, so was pleased to see Snape return within seconds. "Draco, see Helen back up to Slytherin Tower. I'd best see Professor Trelawney home. Headmaster, I should see you soon about tomorrow's trial."

"Of course, Severus," said Dumbledore. "I'll be up in my rooms. You know the password."

Draco scampered out while Trelawney was still protesting that she didn't need any help, thank you very much.

Snape replied that it would be unmannerly if he didn't walk her back to her rooms.

Trelawney fluttered words of denial.

A familiar set line to his thin lips, Snape insisted.

Draco grinned to himself. He'd love to be an Animagus fly on the wall when the Professor got that daft bat alone. He took the stairs two at a time, and soon caught up to Helen, who was talking to one of the portraits.

"Hello," said Draco. "Professor Snape asked me to go back with you."

Helen smiled at him a little sadly. As she reached out to tuck a strand of his inclined-to-fluff hair back behind his ear, she said, "It's not necessary. I was just being silly in there. I'm not doing very well at this whole Homo sapiens lark."

The wizard in the painting tut-tutted sympathetically "Neither did I at first, my dear. But it gets easier."

Draco tucked his arm through hers and gave her his best grin. He'd practised it in the mirror until the mirror had told him it was perfect. "You weren't being silly at all. I'm just sorry we stopped you from punching out that ghastly creature. I bet she didn't look in her crystal ball and see that she'd end up wearing her own dessert."

Helen winced. "What she said..."

Draco gave her arm a squeeze. "I think she's made about two correct predictions in her entire life. She's just a big drama queen — I bet she knows she's just a big phoney and thinks that if she acts all mysterious then no-one will notice. A couple of years ago she kept predicting Potter's death. He doesn't look too bad for a dead person — maybe the embalming fluid they used on him was some extra-amazing stuff so he doesn't get too smelly now that he's a corpse."

Helen wrinkled her nose and laughed. "Ick. That's so disgusting. Poor Harry."

"Hey, you were the one who brought up road kill over dinner. The looks on their faces... I thought I was going to rupture myself trying not to laugh. Come on — didn't Dumbledore say he was going to send up some hot chocolate?"

"With marshmallows."

"All the more reason to get home."

Helen truly had a lovely smile. As they walked up the stairs Draco thought that at least he'd done something right today.

Had it really been such a long day? Draco was exhausted. So exhausted, in fact that he found himself dozing off on the couch while talking to Mrs Snape.

Mrs Snape... Helen... he'd never thought that the antisocial Potions master would marry. He'd seemed so involved with his work that it had verged on the impossible that he would ever settle down. But here, talking to the living, breathing reality of a Mrs Snape, Draco found it almost natural. Helen was so off-guard around Draco that he responded in kind and found himself warming to her like he'd never done with anyone else. He told her things that he'd never even told his own mother, like the invisible friends he'd made for himself when he was six... Helen had even asked what their names had been and if they'd liked chocolate. His mother would have sent him off for therapy.

So when he fell asleep it seemed the most natural thing in the world to cuddle up next to her and rest his head on her breast. She didn't object. In fact she put her arms around him and tucked him up close along her body so that he was perfectly comfortable.

Funny, Draco thought as he drifted through that strange place between sleep and consciousness, how he'd suddenly become very fascinated by women's bosoms in the last few years, and now that he was face to ... um... well, not face with them, he realised how hugely underrated they were as a pillow.

There was the quiet noise of the door opening and closing. Oh dear. I hope Professor Snape doesn't think I've got designs on his wife. Worse — I hope he doesn't tell me to move.

But Helen's fingers were gently sifting — preening, was the word that came to mind — through his hair and he felt like he was floating in a place where he didn't have to think and he certainly didn't have to worry. Everything was fine. Maybe he should wake up properly and say hello to Professor Snape?

No, he was still too far into sleep for that.

The world came to him in waves and bursts as he drifted. He became aware that Snape was crouched next to the couch and Helen was whispering to her husband.

"...asleep. He's had a long day, poor boy. Don't wake him."

"He has a bed, you know." Snape.

He heard Helen's chuckle resonate through her chest. What a nice sound. "I know, but I'm selfish. Tomorrow I'll ask Dumbledore if we can keep this one."

"You know you can't just take someone else's child."

"His parents are bad people. You told me about his father. Yuck. And his mother's appalling, from the little he's said about her."

"He said that?"

"No, and I doubt he would. He only mentioned a few things in passing but I'm not completely unaware of what makes up good and bad mothers. Narcissa is nothing like Rona and I'd do much better than her."

"Yes, you would, but it still doesn't mean we can keep him," Snape said patiently. "I talked to Trelawney."

And? Draco wondered.

"And?"

"And she's not going to bother you again. Not unless she wants some industrial-strength hallucinations. I threatened to spike her incense with sumotoad secretions."

"That was sweet of you."

She sounded completely sincere, too. How many women took sumotoad secretions as proof of their husband's undying love for them?

"Anything for my wife."

There was the noise of a brief kiss.

"Do you have to go away tomorrow?" Helen, sounding unhappy.

"Regretfully, yes. I give my evidence at the trial tomorrow morning."

"Then Draco and Harry and I will come into London with you."

"..."

"Don't give me that look, Severus. You're so smart I'm sure you can work out some sort of concealing spell or potion for me and the boys."

A strangulated pause. Then:

"That was below the belt."

Draco couldn't help laughing. Snape sounded so...

"Are you awake, Mr Malfoy?" Snape sounded a bit peeved, actually.

Was Draco awake? "M'n'gh."

"Hush, Sev. He's only half-awake." Helen was smoothing his hair again, and he dozed off to the sounds of Snape moving away and over to the bookshelf.

It could have been hours or minutes later that Draco rose again into that light doze and realised that Snape and Helen were talking again.

"... don't have to find out tonight. There's time to ..." said Snape's husky baritone.

"We do. I need to know for sure." That was Helen's voice, its tone firm with an undercurrent of desperation. Draco snuggled closer, wanting her to be happy.

"... to bed, first, then..."

"...comfortable... him sleep and say the spell quietly so that..."

"... and if the powder turns blue..."

"Which it just has... Helen, I believe congratulations are in order."

What was happening? Helen seemed to be crying; her chest was heaving under Draco's cheek. Bad news?

Draco opened one eye.

The room was dim. In the thin, amber light Snape was kneeling beside the couch and only because he was so close could Draco make out that his expression was absolutely blank. Slowly the man reached out, and placed his hand flat on Helen's lower abdomen.

There was a faint blue glitter that sparkled between his long, splayed fingers.

Pretty, thought Draco muzzily. The sparkles were hypnotic.

"Thus the emotional strain you've been under lately, my love. Your hormones are readjusting to cope with our baby."

Again that bitten-off sob from Helen. But this time Draco realised what it was: not grief, but joy.

Helen was pregnant.

He felt himself hugged tighter as she sought to express her boundless happiness, and she kissed the top of his head. "Severus...?"

"Yes." If Draco hadn't seen it he wouldn't have believed it. Snape's face, first so carefully blank, dissolved into a look so rapturous that he seemed to be transformed. "Yes," he said again, the eloquent Potions master seemingly incapable of any other word.

Draco found himself pushed further down the couch as Helen moved to make room for her husband. Snape squeezed in at the end of the couch, draping an arm around his wife to rest his hand on Draco's shoulder.

Wow. Draco was snuggled up next to a pregnant woman. He wasn't sure how he felt about that. It was really... strange. Weird. Kind of bizarre in an organic way.

And utterly amazing.

Wow.

Helen and Snape were going to have a baby.

Wow.

They were so happy. Why hadn't Snape kicked Draco off the couch and told him to bugger off to his own room? This business with Helen was none of Draco's business. Shouldn't Helen have pushed Draco away and started discussing the latest plans for a shopping spree extravaganza with her husband? They hadn't done that. Instead Helen had hugged him tighter as if she wanted to share her joy with him. Maybe she didn't want to wake him, but Draco would put Galleons on Snape's being able to levitate Draco away to where he was supposed to be without waking him.

At the edge of hearing was Helen's heartbeat. Snape's hand felt comfortable on his shoulder.

In fact Draco couldn't ever remember feeling so comfortable. No... comfortable wasn't quite the word. Safe didn't cover it either. Wanted? Nope; more than "wanted." Whatever the word was, Draco couldn't think of it. Maybe there was no word for how he felt. He simply knew that wherever he was, it was a good place to be.

As he finally fell into a deep sleep, he thought; Trelawney really sucks at prognostication.

Helen's pregnant.

Wow.

Chapter Four: The Dream

He must have been dressed in his night-clothes and put to bed at some stage of the evening. Or maybe he was still on the couch dreaming.

Whatever had happened, Draco felt like he was almost awake. He had had this dream before at Durmstrang, but never so strongly. It was a good dream, one that left him tired the next day but relieved at the same time, as if he had taken care of something during the night that needed to be done. It was a similar ticklish feeling to the one he got when that little voice at the back of his mind stirred and suggested something.

In the dream the night took on little bluish sparkles that limned edges and corners. Draco slipped into his robes and drifted through the door of his room into the main quarters.

The door out of Snape's quarters was warded, but it was a standard Slytherin ward that Draco knew. During the holidays Snape could afford to be lax.

This wasn't the first time Draco had been out in Hogwarts corridors after curfew. There was, as always, the danger of encountering a prowling Mrs Norris, or Peeves the poltergeist out on an ectoplasmic bender.

The little voice at the back of Draco's mind was wide awake now, and it sensed all these potential hindrances before they could become part of the dream. Draco glided through the corridors like a ghost.

Not even the ghosts noticed him.

Down from Slytherin Tower and then up again, up, up, up to the Astronomy Tower. The highest point in Hogwarts. During term-time this tower was a favourite place for romantic liaisons — or just good-old fashioned snog-fests. Given that Snape was probably the youngest member of the faculty, not to mention married, Draco couldn't see anyone complaining about being interrupted in their lust-a-thon. And if they did Draco could just tell them that this was his dream, and they should get the hell out of it. That had worked in the past at Durmstrang. And as nobody had mentioned anything the next day it was proof that these nocturnal excursions were mere vivid dreams.

All those stairs were hard work and only half-way up he'd come out in a light sweat, but at the top of the tower was his reward: that cold breeze Draco had been craving.

He drank it in like nectar.

The top of the wall up here wasn't low, but Draco was agile. He climbed up onto a ledge.

The night was pitch-black, it being only just after the new moon, but spread out below him was the Dark Forest. Draco never had found out where it ended. If he looked hard over at the lake he could see the waters rippling as the Giant Squid trawled for water cooled by the breeze. His eyes weren't focussing properly... there was a trick to it. What was it? Ah yes. A special way of blinking. A membrane moved from the inner corners of his eyes and back again, lubricating his eyeballs in some liquid that enhanced the starlight.

Up here only a few bats searching for moths ventured; most of the owls were home with their owners. There was a flash of white as a Snowy owl swooped after a mouse — after another blink Draco could see the mouse way, way down on the ground, and he felt a visceral thrill as the owl thrust forth talons and made her kill.

Smell was sharper, too. Chemicals wafting on moist night breezes took on new strengths. He flared his nostrils and the night almost overwhelmed him with sensation. He was becoming drunk on it. From far away was the scent of centaurs. Closer was the sweet musk of a unicorn stallion foraging on the edge of the forest. A stray eddy brought him the slightly sour musk of a carnivore — a hippogriff, by the backnote that hung in his throat. The memory it raised was even sourer... hadn't he scented this hippogriff before? <Slashing-talons-slicing-down-his-arm> Draco rolled back his upper lip and flexed his fingers like a cat's claws. That little voice said that another large carnivore was a challenge: one that Draco should meet some night.

Tonight?

Draco spread his arms wide, his robes falling back leaving his forearms bare. The wind stroked through the fine, blond hairs there. On the undersides of his arms it felt like silk. In that moment he felt as is he could leap from the tower and glide down and across the wide expanse that glittered beneath him. The wind would catch him and lift him up to the stars should he wish it.

Should I jump?

No, not tonight. Dreams take time to mature, said that voice. For tonight just feel the wind. Feel it sing through my fingers. Feel it caress my face. Feel its ebb and flow and know how it —

Then some rude bastard grabbed his robes and yanked him backwards.

Draco swore as he fell. He didn't have his wand with him (Idiot!) and had a brief vision of himself cracking his skull open on the flagstones. It would sound like a pot plant being dropped, it would... He'd heard that sound at Durmstrang the week before he'd left.

But someone caught him before he could dash his brains out.

Someone?

Green eyes, dorky glasses, stupid scar...

It was Potter, and he didn't manage to stop Draco from hitting the ground hard enough to wind himself. Draco woke to find himself gasping for breath. "What the fuck do you think you're playing at, Potter?" he snarled.

Potter, the great idiot, looked almost as angry as Draco felt. "What the fuck do you think you're playing at? I just saved your life, you great goiterous git."

"Like bollocks you did, Potty."

"No? So you weren't just about to throw yourself off the tallest tower in Hogwarts?"

"No, actually, I wasn't," Draco snapped out, managing to lever himself up onto his elbows. "So what — you think I'm suicidal?"

Potter pushed his glasses back up his nose — they'd been knocked sideways in the scuffle. "Well, yeah. Your parents hate you along with the rest of the wizarding world; you've got no money, and you can't throw around your family name anymore."

Draco kicked out at him. "Well, I'm still not a smarmy little Gryffindor who can't see the woods for the trees and thinks everything revolves around his personal gravitational field because he's just completed his life's work. In other words, I've still got things to do without a lot of stupid expectations weighing me down, while you have done your work and can be put out to pasture. The world doesn't need you anymore. If we're comparing relative suicidal tendencies here, by rights it should be me pulling you off ledges. Except I wouldn't."

Potter had gone a dangerous shade of red.

"Fuck you, Malfoy," he finally ground out. "If you're so deprived of basic human kindness that you can't recognise it when someone does you a favour, then you're a sadder human being than I thought. If you are a human being, of course, because I just saw you blink with a third eyelid. Just remember that if you do jump you'll be doing me a favour."

"Heaven forbid I should do you any favours."

"Keep that in mind next time you're feeling like topping yourself. Dickhead."

He pulled his invisibility cloak around him and disappeared.

Draco listened to Potter's feet stomping back down the stairs. He sat up and rubbed his elbows. There would be bruises there tomorrow. And around his throat where that idiot had jerked his robe tight around his neck.

But they were nothing compared to his racing thoughts.

It's not a dream. It's real. This... this whatever that is happening to me... it's real.

And then was the thought so icy it made him shiver: Was I really going to jump?

Am I suicidal? Am I crazy? Is there a part of me that wants to die?

For a moment he'd considered jumping from the parapet. It had seemed the most natural thing in the world. The thin night air would have held him, he'd been certain.

This dream, the one he'd enjoyed so much, wasn't a dream. It was real.

And it could kill him.

And what the hell was that "third eyelid" business? Draco tried to blink that special blink again, but the best he could achieve was going cross-eyed.

"Mr Malfoy."

Draco, despite being sixteen and a capable wizard even without his wand, couldn't help a small meep! of fright.

Out of the shadows glided the tall figure of the Potions master.

"Sleepwalking, Mr Malfoy?"

Draco scrambled to his feet. "I... I only came up for some cool air, sir. I wasn't going to... I mean I'd never..."

Snape waved him quiet. "I realise that, Draco. I, too, occasionally find the need for quiet reflection far away from the hustle-bustle down in the rest of the castle. But I, however, normally try not to wake up everyone in the process."

"Sir?"

Snape lifted one corner of his thin mouth in what could have been a smile. "Next time you decide to indulge in somnambulism, do us all a kindness and don't set off all the wards between Slytherin Tower and the Great Hall, hmm?"

"Oh."

"Oh, indeed. You can make your apologies tomorrow."

"Yes, sir. Sorry, sir. Um... is Potter..."

Snape's eyes narrowed disdainfully at the mention of the Gryffindor. "Headmaster Dumbledore has decided that as Potter's enemies are dead he is safe to wander Hogwarts at night should the inclination take him." By his icy tone it was clear how strongly Snape disapproved of this.

The breeze whispered through the crenellations of the parapet and tickled the fine hairs on the back of Draco's neck.

Come and play.

Draco wavered, then blinked to discover Snape's hooded gaze on him. The scrutiny was unnervingly intense; Snape seemed to be waiting for... something. A sign. An omen. A key to the future.

Whose future? Draco's?

The moment stretched and broke.

"Come," said Snape. "It's going to be a busy day tomorrow."

That busy day started early, down in the relative coolness of the Potions classroom.

"It's not Polyjuice Potion, is it?" said Harry Potter, doubtfully eyeing the smoking goblets, keeping a desk between him and Snape.

"No," Snape replied. "This is a variation of Morpholytic Familius. Polyjuice Potion lasts a mere hour... unless you muck up the potion and add a part of an animal instead of a human... say, a cat... in which case you end up in the infirmary for some time to your dismay and your teacher's amusement."

Draco wondered what that was about. Potter had gone bright red.

Snape continued. "This potion isn't taught at Hogwarts. It's not actually banned, as such, but it is regarded as one of the less savoury examples of the art."

He muttered a brief incantation. There was a small puff of yellow smoke, and condensation began to form on the goblets.

"Drink."

Draco shrugged as he caught Potter's eye. Potter hadn't said anything about last night, to everyone's relief. Draco didn't want Helen worrying, and if Snape had been bothered by what had happened, well, he hadn't said anything. Snape wasn't normally shy about expressing anger. Draco had been on the receiving end enough times to know that if Snape was pissed off then Draco would be the first to know about it.

Draco lifted the cup like a challenge, toasting Potter once, sardonically, before downing the contents in one swallow.

It was like ice, but not the way Draco craved.

Ice should be soothing, not this chilly twisting that crackled through veins and sinews. A colony of termites had taken up residence in his body and were busy reworking it to meet their own blueprints. Blinking through a mist of tears, he noticed that Potter was also doubled over, choking.

Tall as an oak, Snape watched them, the folds of his cloak drawn around him and his face showing only a mild, professional curiosity.

On the other hand, maybe this is his way of telling me I screwed up last night...

With a faint twang! that felt like his ears popping after a steep climb during Quidditch, only felt throughout his entire body, Draco's discomfort was gone.

He leaned on a desk, gasping.

"Hah," Potter said shortly, surprised and a little amused.

"Want to share the joke, Potter?"

"You look like a Weasley."

Horrified, Draco spelled a tabletop into a mirror. He stared into it with no small amount of dismay. His perfect skin was... "I've got freckles!"

"But you don't have red hair," Snape said silkily. "Perhaps Mr Potter would like to have a look at his own reflection?"

Draco looked up at his teacher. Then looked at Potter.

And grinned.

"What's so funny?" Glaring at Draco suspiciously, Potter looked down at his reflection. "Oh no! Malfoy, we look like brothers!"

"Worse," chortled Draco, wondering if Professor Snape had been making a joke or just trying to get some obscure message through. The former, he decided. "We're twins. We can write to Mrs Weasley and ask her to knit us jerseys — one with an aitch on it for you, and one with a dee for me!"

Potter groaned.

Assured that the potion would last until evening, Draco and Potter had parted company at the top of the stairs down to the Dungeons; Draco to look for Helen, and Potter to go and explain to anyone in the Great Hall that he was actually Harry Potter and there was a double running around who was actually Draco Malfoy.

Draco vowed to transfigure his Slytherin badge to a Gryffindor one at the earliest opportunity and tell people what he thought Harry Potter should have told them years ago... or what Draco Malfoy thought they needed to be told, which amounted to the same thing.

Smirking at the thought, he began the ascent to Slytherin Tower, only to be flattened by Peeves.

"Out of the way! Out of the way!" shouted the poltergeist gleefully. "VIP coming through — that'd be me, ex-blondie!"

Rattling suits of armour as he went, Peeves shot off down one of the corridors.

After dusting himself off, Draco looked up to see Helen running down the staircase. She stopped at Draco.

"Draco or Harry... have you seen a ghost with a bow-tie?" she panted.

"Peeves? What do you want him for?"

"We're playing hide-and-seek," she announced. "I'm It. Which way did he go?"

Before he could think, Draco pointed down the corridor. Then he remembered himself and gave himself a mental kick. "Wait..."

"No time!" shouted Helen, her voice Dopplering behind her as she sped off in pursuit of the poltergeist. "Sev wants to go in an hour, and I promised Peeves we'd play this morning!"

"But...!"

Helen shouldn't be playing with Peeves. He'd end up hurting her, or luring her over a balcony and then...

A cold hand settled on his shoulder. Draco turned to see the Bloody Baron. The grim Slytherin ghost gave Draco a solemn look of reassurance before floating off after Helen.

Whew. The Baron was the only one who could control Peeves. Snape must have set him to watch over his wife. As Draco watched, the Baron fluttered into invisibility, but Draco was in no doubt that the ghost would be watching over Helen Snape.

If Peeves set one incorporeal toe out of line he'd lose it.

From somewhere far away down the maze of hallways came a crash, followed by a whoop of triumph from Helen. "Found you!"

Well, he'd seen Helen. What to do now? Draco decided to wander into the Great Hall and see if there was anything light to eat.

He paused by the side door, listening.

Potter was in there with that murderer Sirius Black, who was ranting about something. The werewolf's voice could be heard, too. Draco peeped around the door. Yes, Black and Lupin. Sprout was there, talking to Flitwick, and Vector was tucking into a plate of kippers.

"Um, Sirius..." Potter was saying, looking slightly mutinous, although that could have been the new face.

Black's pugnacious voice rose. "...Ghastly woman. Last night I thought I'd never be able to eat again, and I've eaten rats. Her and that slimy git deserve each other."

"Sirius..." the werewolf admonished softly as Potter's face darkened around the new freckles.

"No, hear me out, Moony. She thinks that just because Harry liked her when she was a parrot she can get away with behaving appallingly now that she's human. If she is human. Nothing human could be that fond of Snape."

Draco's eyes narrowed.

Potter slammed his cup down onto the table and stood up. "She's brave and she's kind. And you're forgetting that the reason she's a human now is because you had Snape put into a position where he would've died. Protecting me, I might add; protecting me from the creatures you allowed to find me when you barrelled down to New Zealand. Professor Snape would have been killed. He was certainly tortured." Potter's voice cracked as if he were genuinely upset. That would have been new from Boy Wonder — he'd never cared about Snape's welfare before. "Because of me. I owe Helen, true, but that's not why I like her. I like her because she's honest and she cares about people. So what if she loves Professor Snape? That's her choice and it's between them. But don't you start hassling her just because you're jealous that Snape's finally managed to get what you've never had — a loving wife."

Black spluttered. "Jealous!"

Potter kicked back his stool and strode out of the Hall. As he passed Draco he snarled, "Heard enough?"

Draco shrugged, having thought he'd been out of sight. All his plans for transfiguring badges were forgotten in this rare fellow-feeling with Potter. He had a new plan, anyway. One that made him cringe inside a little, admittedly, as it involved the unthinkable — being polite to Potter for a whole day — but a plan that was probably worth going through. A brilliant plan... if it worked, of course. And for that he needed to get Potter on-side.

"I guess," Draco replied calmly. "Actually, I was going to propose a truce for today."

Potter spun around. "Say what?"

Draco raised an eyebrow. "Well, as Helen wants to take us into London and Professor Snape is ready to have us locked in our rooms at the slightest provocation," which was overdoing it, but hey, a little hyperbole never went amiss, "I thought we should be on our best behaviour."

"Meaning?" asked Potter, narrowing his eyes suspiciously.

"Meaning exactly that," said Draco, not wanting to tell Potter that now that Helen was pregnant Snape would cut out their hearts with a spoon if they upset his wife. If Helen wanted them to know she'd tell them. It wasn't Draco's news to spill.

"So what's in it for you?"

"Does anything have to be in it for me? Can't I just be pleasant for Mrs Snape's benefit?"

"No."

"Well then you'll just have to accept that I'm trying to protect her. And Professor Snape." And any future Snapelings...

"And how is your being nice going to effect that?"

"Well, for that I need your help..."

Chapter Five: Cold War

None of them knew exactly how long the trial would last.

Snape, looking bitter as ever at the prospect of being a witness in favour of Sirius Black, had told the trio not to bring attention to themselves, not to endanger Muggles and themselves by using magic, and to just generally to stay out of trouble. With his gaze still lingering on Potter after that last decree, Snape had given Helen a Muggle device called a "beeper" and told her to update him using that should she need any assistance. He, in turn, would inform them when the court had finished with him.

Looking uglier than a camel that had just bitten into the world's sourest lemon and was about to spit it right back out again, Snape took them by Portkey from the gates of Hogwarts to the Leaky Cauldron end of Diagon Alley.

"Don't make me come back here before I have to," he warned once they had passed through the Leaky Cauldron and into the streets of Muggle London.

"Oh, stop fussing," said Helen, managing to stand on tiptoes to kiss him on the cheek and pick a piece of lint off his black jacket at the same time. "It'll give you ulcers."

"I have a great deal of experience in curing them."

"I bet you do. But that's no excuse for working yourself into a frenzy."

The sour look turned to distilled ascetic acid. "I do not..."

"You'd better go. Your friends are waiting for you," said Helen, waving to Lupin. She and Black seemed superbly happy to ignore each other today, but she was getting along well enough with the werewolf.

Snape drew himself up with hauteur. "I'd hardly call them my ?"

"Yes, dear. Now go and play nicely."

With a snort, Snape turned on his heel and stalked off. Without his billowing robes the effect was diminished slightly.

Helen smiled. "Isn't he fun." She linked arms with the boys. "Now: where shall we go first?"

Draco caught Potter's eye — Potter nodded.

Plan A was about to go into operation.

Draco knew a shop in an old arcade fairly near the Leaky Cauldron that was frequented more often than was admitted by some of the pure-blood families. Ask them about it directly and they'd say they wouldn't be seen dead in such establishments, but Draco knew for a fact that there were some things the Muggle world supplied that the wizarding did not, and Lladro figurines was one of them.

His mother had started a bit of a trend.

He was counting on that trend still being in effect amongst the womenfolk of the Death Eater families, who liked (he knew) nothing better than a chance to catch up and swap gossip while shopping. Mrs Crabbe and Mrs Goyle had fairly rigid schedules and were known to drag their sons along with them when they went shopping.

Today should be Narcissa's day for the Parisian boutiques. Draco was hoping like hell that his mother was sticking to her schedule.

"Oh, what a good idea!" exclaimed Helen, clasping her hands in delight at the sight of all the chinaware. "I wanted to get a tea set, but didn't know who to ask. Severus took me to Diagon Alley, but they didn't have anything nearly as nice as these!" She favoured them both with a brilliant smile that made some of the male passers-by turn their heads.

Not just some of the passers-by. Draco noticed a couple of heavily-built teenagers sitting outside one of the caf鳠and trying to pass as Muggles.

"Uh — Helen?"

"What is it, Draco?"

"I just need to see a couple of old friends."

"What? But Severus told us to remain in disguise. I hardly think going over and meeting your old pals is being obedient to the wishes of He Who Must Be Obeyed."

"Well, I'm not going to tell them it's me."

"That's a strange way to interact with your friends. Do you think it's emotionally healthy?"

"It's a Slytherin thing," said Potter, while Draco was still trying to work out an answer.

"I'm sure it is. I'm also sure Severus wouldn't approve."

"I'll go with him and make sure he behaves, Helen," said Potter piously. Bastard.

Helen gave him an ancient look. "And who's going to make sure you behave, Harry-chick?"

"If we do anything wrong Professor Snape'll have our hides nailed up in the trophy room," Draco argued. "Harry-chick knows that as well as I do." He smirked.

"Harry-chick" glowered at him. "For once in his life Malfoy wants to do something altruistic. I think we should be supportive since 'good-will to all men' doesn't come naturally to him." He looked sombre, as if a tooth was bothering him. "Helen, there are people out there who aren't happy with Professor Snape. They could be a major problem for you at some stage — if not now, then certainly later. These people have long memories and can pass down a grudge like a treasured family heirloom. If we can start a few counter-rumours now..."

"Ah. So it is a Slytherin thing." Helen smiled archly. "Play carefully, children, if you can't play nicely. I'll be just over here in this china shop."

Draco and Potter eyed each other. They hadn't expected persuading Helen to be so easy.

After making sure that Helen had gone into a shop devoid of Death Eater associates, Draco sauntered over to the table where Crabbe and Goyle were sitting, with Potter stalking behind him, the distrust in the gaze of the Boy Who Lived boring into the back of Draco's neck like flame from a Hungarian Horntail.

Merlin, but Draco's old cronies had grown in the last few months... There really must have been troll in both their ancestries. They looked up sullenly as Draco and Potter approached.

Draco swung a chair around and straddled it. "You guys aren't Vincent Crabbe and Greg Goyle, are you?"

"What's it to you, shrimp?" Goyle. Ever the quick wit when it came to repartee.

Draco held up his hands in mock-surrender. "Sorry. Didn't want to bother you. Just a friend of mine, Draco, described two guys who looked like you. I thought I'd just check, 'cos he's been worried about those guys."

Crabbe and Goyle sat up straighter, their stupid eyes lighting up with interest. "Draco? Draco Malfoy?" asked Goyle.

"Yup. You sure you're not those guys?"

"Yes — I, ah, I, ah, I mean no, we are those guys," stammered Goyle. "Sorry. Didn't know you were friends of Draco's..."

He was babbling. Draco cut him off with a wave of his hand. "I understand." He leaned forward conspiratorially. "We have to be careful, after all. Things have been a bit... tense lately, if you know what I mean."

His former cronies scowled. "We do."

"But," said Crabbe, who had always been the brighter of the two, "how do we know you're friends of Draco's?"

"Let's see... something he'd know that..." Draco smiled a truly evil smile. "How about the way you, Crabbe, thought that Draco didn't know that you were descended from Uric the Oddball's daughter and a troll until that day you hassled him about the Malfoys not being pure-bloods because they have a bit of Veela in them? Didn't Draco tell you, and I quote, 'I wouldn't be too quick with the slander, or you'll find your family tree displayed on the Whomping Willow'." Crabbe's complexion oscillated rapidly between pale and puce. "And Goyle, you —"

"That's okay," the other boy babbled. "We believe you, don't we, Vince?"

"Um, yeah. Sure we do."

"Good." Draco smirked, then remembered he was meant to be someone else and smiled instead. "Anyway, my name's Deacon. This — " he jerked a thumb at the transformed Potter "— is Bob. Say 'hi,' Bob."

"Hi," said "Bob" with his teeth gritted.

"Draco heard we were going to be in London today. He asked us to keep an eye out for you and find out if you guys were okay."

"Really?" asked Goyle, thick eyebrows raising.

"Uh-huh. He's been worried about you and your families after all the you-know-what over You-Know-Who."

There was a pause involving two pairs of lips moving silently while they worked it out.

"Oh." Crabbe and Goyle's faces darkened again sullenly. "Yeah. That wasn't great. Who would've thought that Snape of all people would be a traitor?"

Draco raised his eyebrows and hoped Potter was doing the same. "You're joking right? Severus Snape, a traitor?"

"Well, he was there when the Dark Lord fell. He helped Potter to..." Goyle trailed off as Draco shook his head sadly. "What?"

"Don't you know what really happened?" Draco sneered. "Honestly. I thought you two would be right in the midst of all the information."

"Well, we are..." said Crabbe in a sullen voice.

Draco snorted. "Obviously not. Haven't you got any idea of what happened — well, no, you can't have," he added disgustedly. "I don't know how our Lord ever got as far as he did without better support." Sorrowfully he shook his head. "I suppose it was only because he had people like the Malfoys and Severus Snape helping him that he even had a hope of not being tripped up by the morons on his own side."

"Hey, are you calling us —"

"Morons? Yes, I am," Draco sneered, hoping he wasn't pushing these two dunderheads too far. "Obvious morons, if you believe the tripe that Severus Snape was a traitor."

"But he —"

"— Led Harry Potter straight to the place of sacrifice just as the Dark Lord wanted. It wasn't his fault that Dumbledore showed up with Aurors just as he got Potter there. It turns out that some idiot got hold of Potter's owl and used her for a tracking spell, which made the old Hogwarts fool suspicious."

By their looks of chagrin he guessed they'd known something of the plot to find Potter. Bingo, as the Muggles said.

"Snape got knocked out in the first volley — and by someone on our own side, too," Draco said, his voice dripping with contempt. "Luckily it looked like Snape'd been trying to protect the beloved Potter and, being the genius that he is, managed to avert suspicion. They think he's their hero now, rather than the Death Eater he is." Draco shook his head again, this time in admiration. "And as for the Malfoys..."

"Yes," said Goyle.

"What happened to Draco?" said Crabbe. Both were leaning forward eagerly, absolutely captivated.

"Well, and this is the weird bit, when Draco left Durmstrang —"

The muttered insults came thick and fast, surprising Draco, who had been expecting a little vitriol. Just not this much.

"Ran away, cowardly little ferret..."

"Little worm never had any backbone. Always got us to do his dirty work..."

"At Durmstrang he spent all his time getting into trouble with the teachers so's he'd get detention and get to spend time alone out in the snow playing girlie games like building snow-wizards..."

"Ferret-features thought he didn't need us anymore."

Potter turned a snigger into a cough. Draco's face had gone rigid. "My, my, what a lot of bile. I recommend Banscroft Thistle as a liver tonic, myself. But as for Draco running away? Tut, tut, tut. That's what you were supposed to think," he said, barely keeping a lid on his anger by reminding himself that he was talking to these hippogriff-ends to help the Snapes. "You remember that week when he left Durmstrang? That was just after you'd gone on your first Muggle-baiting expedition. You must remember it. The teachers weren't supposed to know about it, of course, but Professor Fowley turned a blind eye. All in the gallant school tradition, of course."

"Draco never had much real interest in that kind of thing," Crabbe said slowly, thinking. "But he helped us catch that old man. Wanted to let him go, too, the weak-stomached little —"

"Yes, yes. As he said, murder brings too much attention. You should have listened to him, you know. He told you to stop but, well, you were having fun, I suppose... And then you levitated the old Muggle and you, you clumsy great di— ah, well, you dropped him."

Crabbe shrugged. "Never was much good at Charms." His brow wrinkled. "Draco told you about that?"

"Yes. He said he remembered the sound of the man's head breaking." Draco rubbed at his nose, hoping his hands weren't shaking. Damn. They were. He clasped his hands under the table before anyone could notice. He still remembered that sound. Worse, he remembered it when he woke up in the middle of the night and wondered if it had any part of the person he really was.

Crabbe smiled. "Sounded hollow — that's Muggles for you. I bet a Mudblood's skull would sound the same — maybe we should test it out on that Granger flobberworm sometime."

"Quite," Draco replied with a cold smile, aware that behind him Potter was working himself up to an indignant Gryffindor fury that wouldn't help anyone. A change of subject was in order. "So, as I was saying, Draco left Durmstrang. He knew that it wasn't a good time to leave and that people would assume the worst about him, but he was under orders from the Dark Lord himself."

"Voldemort?" Crabbe gasped.

"No, Darth Vader, idiot," Draco snapped. "Who the hell do you think I'm talking about?" Not that they'd know who Darth Vader was, of course. Draco hadn't until only a month ago, and then he'd been absolutely transfixed for the duration of the movie. Who'd known Muggles had such magic? Voldemort thought he'd been pretty hot, but he'd never had a cool leit motif like Darth Vader... "And don't say his name out loud. You never know who's listening."

"Aurors? Here?"

Draco shrugged. "Someone wanting money from turning in families of Dark wizards, perhaps? These are bad times for us."

Mutters of agreement.

"But I digress. Draco was sent out on assignment. That's why he kept getting himself detentions so that he could meet up with the Dark Lord's agents outside Durmstrang. Snape was the one who recommended Malfoy for the assignment and our Lord agreed and made the orders. I'm not sure what the details were or who the Death Eaters were who were involved — Draco is fairly close-mouthed about it now, as he should be, but I have my suspicions, and those involve the Dark Lord preparing himself in case the unthinkable happened and he was defeated again." Draco sighed a dramatic sigh. "As we all know, the unthinkable did happen, and we all have to hope that the refuge Snape and Draco prepared for him was sufficient."

"You mean..."

"Yes. I mean that we have to do what we've done before. We wait. We conserve our resources. And then, when he rises again, we follow."

Crabbe and Goyle sat back, eyes wide. "Gosh. So Snape's really on our side?" asked Crabbe, still only half-believing.

"Of course. But it's difficult work for him. He's already making some inroads at the Ministry, and Dumbledore thinks he's his tame little Potions master..."

"Is it true that Professor Snape's giving evidence at Sirius Black's trial? That he's helping Black?"

Shredding a paper packet of sugar into a saucer, Draco smirked. "He's good, isn't he?"

"Blimey, yeah," said Crabbe. "So is Draco okay?"

About bloody time you asked... "Well, Draco was worried that your families might have been caught up in the backlash." Let them feel bad for being the miserable short-sighted idiots they are. "It's been hard for him to get word about the people he cares about." Or wants to keep a surreptitious eye on, anyway. "He's been worried about his friends, that I do know. He's fine, otherwise. He was staying with my family in Australia last week, which is how we got to catch up on what had been happening."

"Australia?"

"New base of operations, if Snape has his way," Draco replied airily. "Lots of space, somewhere the Aurors won't suspect us of hiding out, and there is already an established network of contacts there."

"Oh." Crabbe looked like he wanted to ask more questions, but Draco had caught a familiar reflection in a shop window.

"Well, it's been absolutely charming to meet you chaps at long last. When the time comes we'll have to swap notes in Australia. I know a lovely little bistro that serves excellent barbequed prawns — run by Muggles and the beer is ghastly, but you can't have everything." Draco shook hands with the bewildered Crabbe and Goyle and stood. "Another time," he said, hoping he wasn't gabbling.

"But..."

"Sorry Goyle, but I must dash. Urgent business and all — you know how it is. Come, Bob."

Potter, looking bemused, followed Draco after eyeing his two former classmates with a disconcertingly direct stare that promised Bad Things in Future.

Draco approved — Crabbe and Goyle squirmed satisfyingly under it. It was a look he'd have to practise later in the mirror.

"Why the sudden rush?" Potter asked. "Helen isn't back out yet."

"Well, she's an ex-parrot, isn't she?" Draco temporised. "And Professor Snape isn't notoriously keen on flamboyant colours in his presence. I think that's one of the reasons he can't stand the Weasleys, among their more obvious deficiencies, of course. We need to stop her from making some sort of mistake in choice that could cause a divorce."

Potter snorted. "My, you are helpful today. So it's nothing to do with the fact that your mother just walked into that lingerie shop?"

"...And I just saw Narcissa walk into a lingerie shop," finished Draco ruefully. "Come on, let's find Helen."

Chapter Six: Others' Dreams

"Not that I'm complaining about the human wisdom Grandmother endowed me with — I mean, two weeks ago I was a bird — but I think it's rather out of date. What do you think, Draco-chick? There was a girl you were looking at today who had a skirt so short that you could almost see her breakfast."

Once he'd worked that out, Draco assured Helen that fashions had changed in the last few hundred years. He remembered that girl, though. She'd had really nice legs. Damn — had Helen noticed him noticing? "I'm not complaining about fashions," he replied. "Not when they're worn like that."

They were back at Hogwarts, back in Slytherin Tower. To Draco's relief Helen hadn't said anything to her husband about the boys' little excursion into counter-espionage.

Helen looked down at her own modest ankle-length skirt. "Do I have good legs?"

Draco choked on a piece of chicken. "Um..."

"It's not in Draco's best interests to answer that one way or the other," Snape interjected. "If he tells you your legs are inferior then he'd have to deal with the wrath of an insulted woman."

Helen frowned. "I wouldn't get angry with him for telling me the truth."

"Give your human responses a little time to mature and you'll find yourself becoming vain in no time at all. Trust me."

Helen's fork hit the table with a clatter. "Is this cynicism? Draco, was Severus being cynical? Rona keeps warning me about that. She says that when Sev gets cynical I have to kiss him senseless to stop him being a prat. So, was that cynicism?"

Dropping his own knife and fork and holding up his hands in surrender, Draco said, "That question was even more unfair than the one about your legs."

"I can't believe Rona said that," Snape argued. "Besides, I've already asked you not to discuss things like that in front of the students."

"Like what? Cynicism or kissing you senseless?" But there was a gleam in Helen's honey-dark eyes that suggested she knew exactly what he meant.

Snape was blushing. "As for your legs," he said in what was for him a pitiful attempt to change the subject, "they carry you around in the normal manner and thus are perfectly adequate. Fashions and hemlines change with astonishing rapidity in the Muggle world. I wouldn't recommend you worry too much about keeping up with the latest fads. How short was this questionable skirt?"

"You could just about see her knickers." Helen propped her chin on her knuckles and stared over the table at her husband. "Should I be wearing a skirt like that?"

Snape blinked rapidly.

Draco looked down at his plate. The temptation to laugh could prove to be fatal.

"Ah," said Snape, "I don't think you should."

"Why not?" Helen pouted. Then she added, "Oh, I see what you mean about vanity. But are my legs really not very good?"

Snape rolled his eyes and muttered what sounded like a prayer for sanity. "Actually, given the high concentration of hormonally challenged teenagers around here during term, if you wore a skirt that short you'd cause a riot. There's a reason we encourage the wearing of long, shapeless robes, you know. And that's because we teachers dislike spending too much time prying the students off each other, let alone the staff."

Apart from Helen's avant garde take on the art of dinner conversation, it was a quiet trio that ate dinner in Snape's quarters that evening. Draco didn't mind the change in setting — the Great Hall was a bit too jolly for his tastes tonight, what with the celebration over the success of today's court proceedings. Snape's evidence (given under Veritaserum) had been regarded as the clincher. Sirius Black, to the great relief of all but four of the castle's current occupants, was expected to be pardoned tomorrow. All the occupants barring those three in Snape's quarters and Filch (who was probably off practising his routes for sneaking up on students when the school year started) were down slapping each other's backs in the Great Hall.

Draco didn't wish the man any particular grief, but Black had insulted Helen and, as such, was instantly filed under B for Bastard. Helen seemed to take the whole thing with a grain of salt providing Severus wasn't in any way affected by Black being a free man.

And Snape?

"He's served his time," he said cryptically.

Served his time for what? Draco wondered. If he was innocent of the murder of the Potters, then what had his crime been? It must have been something fairly horrific if Snape thought over a decade in Azkaban was appropriate.

Draco asked, but Snape's scowl and Helen's shake of the head warned him that pursuing the topic wouldn't be a good idea.

"So what shall we do tomorrow?" Helen asked. Luckily she had abandoned the topics of skirts and kissing Snape senseless, two topics Draco found incredibly uncomfortable hearing about from Mrs Snape, especially with Professor Snape in the room. She was eating lamb chops. Again. "Can we go to Hogsmeade?"

Snape made to reply, then doubled over with a muffled grunt.

Helen cried out: "What's wrong?"

Hissing, Snape drew in a breath. "Grandmother," he replied shortly, biting off the syllables. "She thinks I've been away too long. Tomorrow we'll be taking a Continental Drifter home."

"Oh." Helen was crestfallen as only an ex-parrot can be. "And we won't be taking Harry-chick?"

"No," Snape snapped. "Thank the gods."

Privately, Draco agreed. He'd felt a nasty stab of jealousy when Helen had mentioned Potter.

Helen speared a piece of meat viciously. "Dumbledore's a mean old man, not letting us take him home with us. Oh well, at least we get to keep one of them." She smiled at Draco, who smiled back.

"Draco will be staying here at Hogwarts."

What?

There was an outraged squawk from Burd Helen. "What? Sev! You can't leave both of them behind! And Draco would love our home!"

Draco eyed his professor worriedly.

Snape avoided both their gazes as he scowled down at his plate. "Hogwarts is a safer place. He can catch up on his education and the Headmaster will keep an eye out for his safety."

Helen said made a suggestion that was surely biologically impossible, even for powerful wizards skilled in transfiguration. Draco's eyes went round as he squirreled it away in memory.

"Helen!"

"You heard me. I want Draco to come back with us."

Draco had heard that Helen had been a stubborn parrot at times when she wanted something. By the belligerent gleam in her eye he wondered if this was one of those times. Flattering though it was, he didn't want to become the source of an argument between her and Professor Snape. He slumped down in his chair a little.

There was a hesitant knock at the door.

Oh, thank Merlin! "Come in!" he shouted, leaping up to open the door.

Potter. Damn and blast, he was actually grateful to Potter, who looked equally surprised at the sight of a Malfoy being happy to see him.

"Sorry," Potter said. "I hope I wasn't interrupting anything."

"Only the beginnings of a humongous fight," Helen told him cheerfully.

"Oh," said Potter, raising an eyebrow at Draco when he realised why the blond was so pleased to see him. "Should I go away and come back when you've got it out of your system?"

Draco glared at him.

"Not at all," Helen assured him. "See? I'm learning manners. I can save up all my arguments for a later time and get angry then. Now I can be a gracious hostess. Tea, Harry-chick?"

"Yes please," Potter replied, unduly solemn. Draco just knew that somewhere under that calm exterior Potter was laughing.

Draco's comment from yesterday about Snape having found a soul-mate seemed to be spot-on.

"Why are you here, Mr Potter?" Snape, all business, said.

Potter nodded, seemingly expecting no less from his Potions master. He sat down in the empty chair next to Draco's and clasped his hands in front of him on the table. "I just came to thank you for what you did for Sirius."

Snape looked at him sourly. "Do you think the Headmaster would have allowed me to do otherwise?"

"I think you don't really need Professor Dumbledore very much at all these days," Potter said shrewdly. "I think you and Helen don't need Hogwarts unless you want it. And I think that if you'd really wanted Sirius to go back to Azkaban you'd have arranged it. I've seen the kind of protection you have from Grandmother, remember."

"You seem to be thinking quite a bit, Potter," Snape said, his eyes glinting strangely. "It never used to be a habit with you."

Potter ducked his head. "As you say, sir," he replied, not sounding angry despite the barb. "But during the short time that I was thinking I thought I should come up and say thank you. Sirius probably won't — he's not the most thoughtful of people, as you know, and Remus would like to but probably doesn't want to disturb you..."

Snape tilted his head to one side. "A wiser man than I thought, that Lupin. And what makes you think you aren't disturbing me?"

Potter grinned. "I'm pretty sure I am, but I'm used to making you angry, you see. And I wasn't sure when you'd be leaving so I wanted to see Helen before you left. Thank you," he added to Helen, as she handed him one of the new cups she'd bought that day.

Instead of the garish abominations the boys had worried about, she had settled for a set of blue Denby after Draco had hinted that Snape preferred plain practicality and pointed out that china painted with frolicking 17^th Century milkmaids and their suitors would probably accidentally get lost seconds after Snape set eyes on them. Helen had taken the hint, after admitting that she was probably going to have to work long and hard to develop some sort of taste in these matters. Maybe it wouldn't have mattered what she bought, although upon seeing his wife's purchases Snape had mentioned something approximating approval in Draco's hearing. How they interacted in private was a mystery, but as the forthright Helen hadn't blacked Snape's eye yet (and she was pregnant — wow) Snape must have been more warmly demonstrative than his somewhat arctic public persona suggested.

"I'd hardly leave without saying goodbye, Harry-chick."

"I didn't think so, but I wanted to be sure."

Helen frowned. "I'm hardly one of those Dursley-sheep."

Potter bit his lip trying not to laugh. "No," he said at last, his voice careful. "You're not, are you?"

"And I wanted to tell you something, anyway," Helen said, bouncing in her seat. "Can I, Sev? Can I pleeeeeease? Draco knows. Can't Harry know, too?"

Snape glared at Draco. "And how does Mr Malfoy know?"

"Well, he was half-awake last night when you cast the diagnostic spell."

Blast. Had he been that obvious? Draco avoided Snape's basilisk glare.

"I suppose if..."

"Hooray! Harry — guess what?"

"Oh joy," sighed Snape sourly. "Guessing-games. It'll be Exploding Snap next."

"Make a change from Exploding Snape." Helen waved a hand in his direction airily. "Ignore him... Oh, you'll never guess. I'm pregnant!"

Potter's reaction was a satisfying, eye-popping, "Huh?"

"I'm pregnant — I'm going to have a baby in about nine months and I won't even need to lay an egg because I'm a mammal now and mammals have these amazing gestation devices called 'uteruses' and 'placentas' and..." She stopped for breath, luckily.

At the mention of "placentas," Draco, who'd been trying to eat shitake mushrooms, put his fork down again.

"Huh?"

"It's a perfectly normal biological phenomenon, Potter, even if it is a miracle of nature," Snape said coldly. "And now I'd like to stop discussing its miraculously intricate details."

"You're pregnant?"

"Helen is, yes," Snape said, with a small, chilly smile at the Gryffindor's slack-jawed disbelief.

"Well, yes, I mean..." Potter gave up, sliding around the table instead to embrace Helen. "That's so wonderful! You're going to be the best mum ever! Is it a boy or a girl?"

Laughing, Helen said, "One thing at a time! I've only just found out that I'm going to have a baby, let alone what sex it'll be. Besides, I don't think I want to know. Do you, Sev?"

"Sev" shrugged while sipping a glass of red wine and being apparently indifferent to the deplorable excess of emotion happening in front of him. "So long as it's definably one or the other, I shan't be too bothered."

Helen snorted and slapped her husband's arm. "Mister Cool. Not so cool last night, when I...oh, all right," she grumbled happily as Snape shot her a furious glare.

Chapter Seven: The Dream Waking

Now it was some time after midnight. And Draco still couldn't sleep. Possibly it was the heat, he thought, and got up to have a cold shower.

Ten minutes later he was feeling more invigorated that sleepy. Maybe it was all the things he had on his mind...

Maybe a mental inventory would help. He sat down on his bed against the headrest, his knees tucked up against his chest.

Item the first: The Snapes were going home tomorrow.

Item the second: He wasn't going with them. He would be staying in this hot place with ghastly Gryffindors and not one Slytherin.

Item the third: If there had been any Slytherins here they would probably have reported him to his father already.

Item the fourth: Lucius Malfoy. His father was probably going to kill him if — no, when — he caught him.

Item the fifth... "Item the fifth" was a disturbing one, albeit in a perversely humorous manner. Draco Malfoy missed the Muggle world. He missed Munich and he wanted to do normal Muggle things like going backpacking around Europe, and getting a mortgage, whatever that was. Well, maybe not the mortgage bit, but certainly the backpacking sounded good. He wanted to travel and meet girls — not necessarily in that order. Certainly at the top of the list was meeting girls.

Item the sixth: Draco had no idea of who he really was. Last night Harry Potter had dragged him out of a near-fatal bout of sleepwalking and accused him of being not only suicidal, but of having a third eyelid.

Up on Astronomy Tower.

Bugger it, Draco thought, more pragmatically than philosophically. I'm going up there again.

He had probably tripped off enough wards to wake most of the castle, but hey, if it was good enough for Potter to go wandering around after hours, then what could they do to Draco?

Boot him out of Hogwarts?

They'd be doing him a kindness. Once Snape was gone who would stop Lucius Malfoy from waltzing in and collecting his errant heir? Dumbledore? Dumbledore the great Gryffindor-lover would hold the door open for Lucius and wish him a speedy journey home with his Slytherin son.

At the bottom of the stairs from Slytherin Tower, Draco paused. There seemed to be light coming out from under the nearest door of the Great Hall. Who could be in there at this hour?

He crept over and leaned up against the ancient oak door.

Music. Softly played, and a waltz. Greatly daring, Draco pushed the door open a crack.

Inside, the Great Hall was lit by the soft lights of the Aurora Borealis. It streamed in great, lambent sheets of red and blue and green through the vastness of the room. Under its majesty the flagstones were coaxed into warming to a soft grey-green that flickered and shifted with its own shadows. All the tables and chairs had been moved aside and were lined up against the walls much as they had been in the Yule Ball over a year ago. There was space for hundreds of people to dance.

There were only two.

There, in the centre of the Hall, danced Snape and Helen.

They were wearing formal dress robes: Snape's were black, of course, even if it was a black that held iridescent echoes of the magical lights of the aurora, but Helen's robes rippled with shimmering brown-greens and were off-set by touches of red at wrist and throat and waist.

They danced slowly, perfectly attuned to the music and each other. When they turned, Draco saw that Helen's eyes were half-closed and she had a dreamy look on her face. Snape's expression seldom showed pleasure, but there were echoes of that intensely joyous look he had worn last night when he and Helen had discovered they were going to be parents.

Feeling like a voyeur intruding upon their private happiness, Draco eased the door shut with the barest click.

When he set off up Astronomy Tower he was much more careful about not setting off the wards.

Had the stairs always been this steep? he wondered as he stopped to catch his breath. Or this many? Maybe living in the Muggle world really did make you soft. The fresh breeze greeted him like an old friend as he stepped out onto the parapet. He held his arms wide, slowly turning with his eyes shut, absorbing the ecstasy of the night. Yes. This was what he had been missing, but it was edged somehow as if he were the piece of a jigsaw puzzle that didn't quite fit in.

Draco shrugged out of his robes. Underneath he was wearing grey silk pyjamas that fluttered gently around the ankles, promising stronger, cooler breezes if he could only get a bit higher. The battlements were higher than his head — they looked promising.

Draco crouched and leaped.

The stone was cool beneath his bare feet. He dug his toes into the cracks between the massive stones, clinging to the top of the wall as he regained breath and balance. His heart was thumping. He'd nearly jumped right over the edge!

He muttered an oath under his breath as he realised how close he'd just come to plummeting to his death, and rechecked his sleeve for his wand, patting it in reassurance when he found it. Not that he wanted to use it. Knowing Lucius, it was charmed to activate a location spell if Draco used it. But it was nice to know that it would be there in an emergency.

With thin moans, the breeze whipped around the battlements and combed Draco's hair away from his face, reminding him of Helen. It was reassuring. After one huge, jaw-cracking yawn he settled back against the night-cold stone that bled off the heat from his body, and half-closed his eyes. For a long time he just sat there, enjoying the cool solitude and the almost-feeling of belonging. The stars had moved several degrees towards morning before the inevitable happened, as it always did, and his curiosity stirred itself into life.

So what happened last night?

Let's see... it wasn't a dream, not unless Potter's suddenly started featuring in my dreams, and Wonderboy should be so lucky. It all felt so...

Good.

It had felt good. His body still hungered for the afterglow of those dreams, the sensory command he'd experienced, and the alien thoughts that had been his own.

Actually, Draco realised, that imagery was a tad disturbing. Had he been given some sort of hallucinogenic drug while at Durmstrang? He wouldn't put it past some of the more bizarre-minded of the students there. No student at Hogwarts would dare, of course, and he couldn't remember having the dreams before his fifth year. No, they'd started at Durmstrang after that first night he'd been banished outside into the snow for some misdemeanour he couldn't even remember now, it was so trifling. The important thing had been his discovery of the beauty of ice. That had been the trigger. His first dream had been about a snowfield at night with some colossal wind slicing over it. Over the year the dreams had grown in strength until last night's, which had been the most powerful he could remember. It had been wonderful, right up to the point when that thrice-damned —

"If you're going to jump don't you think you should have done so by now?"

— Potter had woken him up.

"Are you stalking me, Potter?"

A snort. "You wish."

Draco turned his head, his nostrils flaring almost instinctively. The breeze moved through the shadows and allowed him to make a fairly good guess...

"You're on the right of that pillar."

With a sigh, Potter took off his invisibility cloak. "That was pretty good. Mind telling me how you did that?"

Draco shrugged. Saying "I could smell you" sounded weird in the extreme, so he said, "Magic," instead, and hoped he sounded appropriately mysterious.

"Hmm. So it had nothing to do with any nictitating eyelids?"

Someone had been looking up long words. Draco bristled. "What is it with you? You're so great that suddenly everyone else isn't human?"

"You're going to tell me that a little Veela blood gives you a third eyelid? No? Then does it let you jump six feet? Veela blood is one thing, but did someone turn you into a frog while you were at Durmstrang and then botch turning you back?"

"What are you blathering on about now, Potty?"

"I'm saying, Malfoy, that normal people don't jump like you did earlier."

Draco narrowed his eyes. "Just how long have you been sitting there watching me, anyway?"

"As long as it took to see if you were going to do something weird," Potter said stoutly. "Weirder, I should say," he qualified to Draco's growing annoyance. "And then I got bored."

"And?"

"And you've been sitting at the top of Hogwarts for hours now just doing nothing."

"With you watching me. Now who's the weirdo?"

"Stop being so bloody defensive for half a minute, Malfoy. Last night you nearly jumped off this tower —"

"Like hell I did!"

"... and when I saw your eyes they had this extra eyelid. I've been looking up part-Veelas in the library today and t