Comes a Slytherin

4. Obsession

Harry opened his eyes slowly, putting his hand to his head, trying to ignore the pain in his chest. A few moments later, he could breathe easier. He looked up at the still calm Immortal.

"I hate you."

"Is that right?"

"You had no right to do that to me." Harry eased himself into sitting up.

"I wasn't aware that I needed your permission."

"I'm your student!"

"And it's my job to keep the both of us alive, and if it takes me killing you to imprint the seriousness of our situation then I will do it."

"You're Death, aren't you? That's why Hermione finding that book made you upset, wasn't it? That's why you had that fight with Duncan the other day. He knows about your past."

"Let's just say that I choose to guard my past for good reason. As for Duncan and I… he can't appreciate that I'm not who I used to be. But my past is a discussion for another day. There are things more important here."

"Like what?" Harry demanded.

"The fact that pulling a stunt like this could get you killed. What if instead a history of my past wasn't found, but suddenly knowledge of your Immortality came to light? If what Snape tells me is true, you were ostracized just for being a Parseltongue. If they found out you were immortal, what then? Would people worship you? Fear you? Would Voldemort try to capture you just to torture you endlessly because he could? You don't know. You don't want to know. And the only way to not know is to keep anything related to this—anything at all—limited to us, and your watcher."

"My watcher?"

There was a knock at the door. Harry realized that Methos must have removed the sound-absorbing spell while he was dead. Harry licked his dry lips, wrinkling his nose at the dried blood he could taste.

"Come in." Methos was obviously expecting whoever was the other side of the door.

"Professor Snape?" Harry stared at his potions teacher dumbfounded. Methos had mentioned a Watcher; he didn't think that Methos could possibly mean Snape.

"After that…incident…earlier I realized that you do need a Watcher after all. One who can not only keep an eye on you for posterity reasons, but someone who can guide you, teach you, and curb some of your more foolish impulses."

"And you can be assured, Mr. Potter, that I have absolutely no intentions of interrupting one of your battles. I only hope you will learn to not foolishly charge into battles you've no chance of winning before the inevitable day that you get yourself killed—permanently—because of it." Snape studied Harry intently. "You look like death warmed over, Potter."

"Why thank you sir," Harry muttered, gritting his teeth. He turned to look at Methos. "You really hate me, don't you?"

"Just looking out for your best interests, and besides, he's promised me won't kill you out of frustration."

Harry snorted, "How nice of him. At least I'll have the pleasure of outliving him."

"Oh, I wouldn't be sure of that. Snapes have a tendency of living a very…very…long time."

"Oh, bloody wonderful. I won't even be able to get rid of you, will I?"

"Five points from Gryffindor for unbecoming language in a student."

Harry muttered something inaudible, then sighed. "Anything else you've got to tell me, Methos? Like about how Voldemort is my father or something?"

Snape rolled his eyes. "Come on, Mr. Potter. What part of 'Immortals aren't born of human flesh' did you miss?"

"Well excuse me, I was just trying to think of something equally tragic as having to be stuck with you for the next century of my life!"

"If you live that long," he replied snidely.

"That's it. I'm not putting up with any more of this tonight. Tell Duncan I'll see him tomorrow at the normal time, Adam."

Methos nodded calmly. "I'll do so. Think about tonight, Harry. I'd hate to have to repeat such a harsh lesson."

The only response was the slamming of the door.

Methos looked at Snape, and with forced humor asked, "That went well, didn't it?"

* * *
Harry moved quickly through the halls of Hogwarts, thankful that it was close enough to curfew that few students were out; and those that were couldn't see the blood stains on his black student robes.

"Hey, Potter!"

Harry scowled. Malfoy. He was never really in a mood to deal with the bratty blond, let alone right now when he had more important people to loathe, like Methos and Snape.

"Go away, Malfoy."

"Is that anyway to talk to the Head Boy?" Draco casually strode over towards Harry.

"Don't go pulling rank. It's not even curfew yet."

"It will be soon though."

"And if you keep me out deliberately, I can get any points taken reversed by McGonagall."

By now Draco was close enough to get a good look at Harry. "You look like shit. Those Beaters of yours forget how to block?"

Harry scowled. "I don't want to talk about it."

"Oh come on, Potter. You can admit that we're going to flatten you in the game next Saturday."

"Malfoy. I'm warning you, let me go."

"You're just like your father. A coward who won't stand up and fight for himself—"

Something inside of Harry snapped, and before he knew it a quick combination of spells and an uttered word had sent Draco flying into the cement wall, his body hitting it with a sickening thud.

The anger instantly disappeared as Draco didn't stand up or retaliate. "Malfoy! Can you hear me?"

There was no response, except a gasp from behind Harry. He spun around and saw a frightened Ravenclaw who'd seen everything. Harry tried to say something, but the boy ran off, presumably to find Professor Flitwick.

Harry sighed and slumped against the wall next to Malfoy. "Stupid git. You always have to make things difficult for me, don't you? You just never know when to leave well enough alone. I told you I wasn't in the mood to deal with you, but no, you just had to go pushing my buttons. I wonder what's with that anyway. It's not like I asked to be your archenemy. I've already got one of those." Harry closed his eyes, "Too many of them."

"Mr. Potter! What's going on here?"

He opened his eyes to see Professor Flitwick standing over him. "Malfoy provoked me, sir," Harry replied listlessly. "I overreacted."

Flitwick shook his head. "You should have known better, Mr. Potter. You'd best go see the Headmaster. I'll take Mr. Malfoy down to the infirmary."

Harry stood. "Yes, sir."

* * *
Harry quickly headed over to Dumbledore's office; if he was going to be expelled, he had no desire to have the process be long and drawn out. Professor McGonagall was waiting for him in front of the Gargoyle.

She shook her head, and in a disappointed voice said, "Go up, Mr. Potter. Professor Dumbledore will be waiting for you. Sugar cube."

The gargoyle began to move and Harry quickly moved to climb the staircase. Entering the office, he moved towards Dumbledore's desk and eyed the Sorting Hat, wondering what kind of magic must have gone into making it. He would have to ask Methos.

"Mr. Potter, please do sit down."

Harry took a seat.

"May I offer you some tea?"

"No thank you, Professor. I'm fine."

He poured himself a cup, then leaned back in his chair. "Would you care to tell me what provoked your attack on Mr. Malfoy this evening, Harry?"

Harry frowned, trying to think of something to say. "He provoked me sir. It'd been a long day. I was upset. He started to bait me, like he normally does. Normally I can brush it off…but not today. He made a comment about my father and I snapped. I didn't mean to knock him out! The spell came out more powerful then I expected it to. At least, practicing with Adam it didn't seem as powerful."

"It was one of the spells he taught you then?"

Harry nodded.

"When we let magic be fueled by our passions, it tends to be unpredictable. That's why we try to teach you to control yourself." Dumbledore leaned forward. "You do know that I won't be able to just let you off, Harry."

He looked down. "I know, sir. Am I to be expelled?"

"Most likely, not, Harry. But the severity of your punishment will depend on Mr. Malfoy's condition. We will have to wait and see." Dumbledore looked up. "Ah, there's Professor Snape. Please sit down."

Snape down on Harry's right, glaring at him before turning his attention to the headmaster.

"How is young Mr. Malfoy?"

"He woke up on the way to the infirmary. Madam Pomfrey says that he has a concussion. She is going to keep him in the infirmary for the next day for observation. I will be contacting Lucius, he has a right to know what has occurred tonight."

"Agreed, Professor. This leaves us with the matter of punishment. As Head of Slytherin house, do you have any suggestions?"

"Actually, I do, Professor." Harry snorted silently. Like that was a surprise. "For the severity of the attack, I propose raising the mandatory one week detention for attacking another student to one month's time. The detention will be served with Mr. Potter's tutors, for an additional two hours a night on top of his normal practice schedule."

"That seems reasonable, Severus."

Harry was surprised by the leniency of Snape's punishment—he would be bone tired, but as Adam had said, the sooner he learned the better, the lesson Adam had taught him tonight had just enforced that.

"And if I might continue, Headmaster. Considering Potter's past behavior, I would also like him to be suspended from anything relating to Gryffindor Quidditch. Although it may seem harsh and unfair, I would offer that anyone else who is not Harry Potter would have had his or her wand broken long ago had they behaved in a manner to the way Potter has conducted himself over these past seven years."

Dumbledore sat considering, looking between a cool Snape and a quickly panicking Harry. Time seemed to stretch endless for Harry, before Dumbledore finally began to speak again. "Your request is granted, Professor Snape."

Harry's mouth dropped open. No wonder Snape was being so kind to him otherwise! Kicking him off the Quidditch team in the midst of the season right before the Slytherin match? He had to know that his House would shun him, if not try to outright harm him.

"Please sir! Gryffindor will lose the Quidditch Cup for sure!"

Dumbledore shook his head. "I'm afraid, Harry, that Severus is right. I can only turn my head away from your activities for so long. Tonight, a student lies in the infirmary with a bad concussion, an injury that could have easily been avoided. You may talk to your team tomorrow morning at their practice, after that, you may not assist the Quidditch team in any way, you will be restricted to the stands during matches. Am I understood?"

Harry looked defeated, and lifelessly said, "Yes, Professor."

"Why don't you go back to your dormitory, Harry? You've clearly had a rough night."

"Yes, sir." Harry stood and left the room.

As Harry walked back to the Gryffindor dorm, he realized he still didn't have a good excuse to tell Ron and Hermione about why Methos snapped at her, and just why he hated Muggle-borns so much. With each step, his feet dragged and became leaden as he began to dread his final Quidditch practice more and more.

He was not looking forward to tomorrow.

* * *
Gryffindors met for Quidditch practice every other day at 6:45 am, giving them one hour to practice and fifteen minutes to change before heading up to the Great Hall for breakfast at eight.

This morning, Harry Potter did not change. He sat floating in midair on his Firebolt, taking one last look around the pitch from the perspective of a player. He'd still be able to fly—on Saturdays Madame Hooch had a "Free Fly" period where you could do whatever you wanted on your broom within limits—but never again would it be on the pitch. It was a depressing thought.

"Harry! How come you haven't changed?" asked Seamus. He'd taken over as a Chaser when the girls had left.

Harry swallowed. "I've an announcement to make. I'll let you all know when everyone's out here."

Seamus gave him a funny look, but shrugged and began to stretch out in preparation for the day's practice.

Over the next five minutes the remainder of the team filed in. Soon, they were all filed in, and Harry landed in front of them.

"All right guys. Listen up. I'm not in much mind to repeat it again, so I'll only say this once, and please, don't say anything until I'm finished."

Harry could feel the heat of a dozen sets of eyes upon him.

"Today will be my last practice. Last night Malfoy and I got into an argument, things got ugly, and I'm lucky I haven't had my wand broken. I know that the timing couldn't be worse, but you'll have to do the best you can without me. I'm sure that Seamus will do a good job of leading you guys. He knows all my plays…I'll do what I can outside of practice…but I'm not allowed onto the pitch again after today. I'm sorry."

Faces went from shock, to disbelief, to anger in a matter of seconds. So many people tried to talk at once that he couldn't even tell who was yelling at him.

"How could you, Harry?"

"Couldn't you have waited until after the match against Slytherin?"

"Bloody hell!"

Harry didn't want to deal with it now. He couldn't. He picked up his broom and left the pitch.

* * *
Breakfast was a torturous affair. Word had quickly spread throughout the Great Hall that Harry could no longer play Quidditch, and the glares that Harry got from the Slytherin table told him that they knew about what had happened to Draco.

Pockets of conversation surrounded Harry, but few seemed willing to actually talk to him. Harry could only stand it as long it had taken him to wolf down some eggs and dry toast. Getting up off the bench, he looked up at Methos, who smiled at him sadly. He wasn't sure if Methos was still mad at him or not, but he wasn't quite ready to talk to him again either.

He weakly smiled back and began to leave, when he felt Hermione tugging on his sleeve.

"You're not leaving without me. I think you need someone to talk to, and I'm not going to sit here and watch you sulk the rest of the school year away."

"All right." He forced a smile. "Let's head off towards potions then. We can talk when we get to the dungeons."

"Let me grab my things." She turned around and picked up her books, giving Ron a glare and hissing at him to shut his mouth before he made things worse. She caught up to him a few paces later, and they made the trip in relative silence. When they reached their destination a few minutes later, they went inside and took a bench together.

"So what happened yesterday, Harry?"

"Which thing are you talking about? Adam or Draco?"

She shrugged. "Whichever you want to talk about first." The Mudblood comment still stung, but seeing her friend in such great distress made a comment about her heritage seem rather insignificant.

"I had…words…last night with Adam over what he said to you." He almost laughed. He knew he didn't do any of the talking; he only lay there on the stone floors bleeding to death while Adam told him he was a fool. Yes, that was really telling it to Adam. "And after that, I tried to go back to the common room, but Draco stopped me. I told him to leave me alone, to just let me go. And he wouldn't. He made a comment about my father. I snapped, and he went flying into the wall and now lies in the infirmary with a concussion and at least half of the school won't talk to me, and most of them probably want my head on a stick for one reason or another." He stopped himself before he became too much more hysterical. He knew he needed to snap out of this, but he couldn't. The only people he could talk to about why he was all riled up were the ones that he didn't particularly feel like talking to.

"I'm sorry, Harry."

He muttered his thanks. He knew that she was sincere, but that didn't console him very much.

"Why don't you spend your free afternoons in the library with me? We'll do homework and review for the N.E.W.T.s, they aren't that far off now, you know."

Although studying wasn't his idea of a good time, it would at least help him take his mind off of Quidditch. "If Ron doesn't mind…" He didn't want to go to the library only to have Ron glare at him.

"Ron won't mind," she declared.

He smiled. Her boyfriend was smitten with her, and was quite willing to do whatever she wanted. Hermione though, wasn't nearly selfish enough to try and take advantage of it—but when she did, something good always came out of it.

"Thanks, Hermoine."

She smiled and soon the rest of the class began to file into the room. It was a strangely silent affair. Slytherins glared, but only whispered their insults, apparently not willing to try Harry's temper. The Gryffindors talked quietly around Harry. Harry rolled his eyes and started to doodle on a scrap piece of paper. Soon enough, the heavy doors to the classroom opened and Snape walked in, robes trailing impressively behind.

Walking to the front of the classroom, he noted that it took even less time then usual for them to stop talking, he smiled slightly and snidely said, "It appears that Mr. Potter's attack has managed to make you keep your mouths shut. How beneficial. Might I suggest that you let last night be a warning to you all that if Mr. Potter warns you to back off, you should heed his advice? We wouldn't want to overtax Madam Pomfrey, now would we?"

Harry glared at Snape.

Snape sneered back and turned around to write the lesson on the chalkboard. As he wrote, Harry noticed an odd blue marking on Snape's left wrist. Harry frowned. He took a chance and whispered to Hermoine, "See that?"

"Mr. Potter! One would think that after last night you'd be better behaved. Five points from Gryffindor!"

Harry slouched back on his stool and quietly sat taking notes the rest of the period, and thankfully was spared from losing any more points; he never was able to see the mysterious marking again. Disappointed, he made a mental to note to find out what it was the next chance he got.

* * *
Harry Potter was surprisingly effective at curses today. Methos had been trying to teach him this one for days, but there was always something lacking, something that caused the spell to misfire. But today, his first attempt went off with deadly accuracy.

Perhaps the kid's anger was good for something, Methos mused. Of course, he'd have to do his best to try and teach that mixing anger and magic was a bad thing, if to appease Dumbledore for no other reason. Personally, as long as he could cast the spell reliably, that was all that Methos cared about.

He took a glance over at Snape, the Watcher tattoo standing out against the pale skin. He'd come into the room a few minutes ago, citing a desire to see his charge practice. Methos found no reason to deny him his request, especially since this was part of Harry's "detention."

"Getting better, Harry. Now try calming yourself a bit. Forget about your classmates, forget about Draco, and forget about what happened last night. Just focus and try to cast as distant from your anger as you can possibly get."

Harry just nodded, repaired the vase and began the exercise again, this time failing miserably.

"What exactly did happen last night that has made Mr. Potter suddenly so cold to you, Methos?" Given the rush to take care of Draco, he hadn't been able to pry out the whole story of what exactly had made Harry so angry.

"What happened last night is strictly between Harry and myself. If you want to find out, you'll have to ask him. Excuse me," Methos returned to Harry's side, and began walking the young wizard through the exercise again.

Snape hadn't expected an answer anyway. He stood watching the two Immortals, rather impressed with Methos' patience and Harry's desire to learn. As time passed, more and more of Harry’s anger began to melt away, as he lost himself in the work.

Twenty minutes later, a knock interrupted their practice.

"Enter," Methos called out distractedly. Although no know knew what Methos was teaching Harry, the lessons were hardly a secret.

An arrogant blond man walked into the room, very cocky and self-assured.

"Ah, Severus. Dumbledore told me you'd be here."

He nodded in acknowledgement, yet didn't take his eyes off of Harry. "Lucius."

"Why are you in here watching that boy that attacked my son?" Lucius' voice managed to convey both genuine curiosity and disdain.

"I am merely supervising a part of Mr. Potter's detention, and really Lucius, we both knew that this was bound to happen sooner or later. You're just upset because Draco didn't win the confrontation."

Lucius' lip curled in a growl.

There was a loud crash on the other side of the room as the vase shattered into a multitude of tiny fragments.

Harry was obviously angry again.

Methos turned around. "Look, gentlemen, can you take this conversation outside? Mr. Malfoy, unless you'd like to see yourself on the receiving end of the same curse that hit your son, I'd suggest you leave."

Lucius sneered. Not many men had the balls to speak to him like that. He was quite looking forward to crushing this new opponent. "Considering I could still push to have your charge expelled, I should think you'd be more polite."

Methos strode forward, finding himself irked with this man. "Your threats are empty, Mr. Malfoy. Your influence is not what it once was, and from what little I've seen of your son in the past weeks that there are a great deal of people who probably would cheer if they heard of what happened."

Lucius was about to retort, but paused. That face, that nose. It belonged to the man whose portrait hung above all others in the Malfoy portrait gallery. Lucius Malfoy recognized the wizard that all Malfoy's inspired to be.

"Salazar Slytherin." It wasn't a question.

Methos sighed, "Huzzah, you found me, congratulations, if you tell anyone I'll hex you six ways until next Sunday, each one more painful and obscure then the last."

Methos did not expect Lucius to drop to one knee.

"Of course, my Lord. If you demand secrecy, I will take it to my grave."

Methos looked at Harry. "Are all Slytherins this way?"

Harry nodded, suddenly looking quite amused by the whole affair. "Pretty much. You're a god to them."

"Wonderful. Just bloody wonderful." Methos shook his head. Some days, he regretted that he let MacLeod kill Kronos. Riding with the Horsemen again would have been so much simpler then the ever-increasing insanity that he was currently experiencing.

* * *
Duncan MacLeod was confused. This wasn't a particularly new emotion; he had tended to be a least little lost since he'd gotten to Hogwarts. This evening however, his bewilderment reached new levels.

Although Harry had been quite grouchy the last time Duncan had seemed him, this evening he was positively joyful, gleefully reciting how Lucius had taken to following Methos like an idol; despite threats and minor hexes and how Draco refused to leave the infirmary due to his father's embarrassing behavior. Exactly why Harry found the situation with the Malfoys just so entertaining eluded Duncan, so he wrote it off to the long standing rivalry between Harry and the blond boy.

Methos himself had come in the midst of their practice looking rather harassed and stressed.

"Have you seen Lucius?"

The younger Immortals shook their heads.

"Excellent. Great! Look. I'm going to try and sneak down to my room for some peace and quiet. If you see him come by do me a favor and don't tell him you saw me. Even better, point him in the other direction! He's worse then a lost puppy. He's like…he's like the toilet paper on your shoe that you can't get rid of no matter how hard you try. If he doesn't leave me alone, I'm going to go mad!" Methos pushed back his hair, pausing to take a much-needed breath.

Duncan thought that Methos probably already had lost it, but hadn't realized it yet. He didn't dare say anything though, and watched as Methos left, carefully looking both ways before setting out on his quest.

Much to Duncan's astonishment, when Lucius came by the room ten minutes later looking for Methos, Harry rather gleefully told Lucius where he'd gone.

Duncan did a rather good impression of a fish, Harry thought.

"But he told you not to tell!"

"Let's just say that with this, we're even."

Duncan looked at Harry with a concerned look, but let it go; if this is what it took for the boy to put last night behind him then he could live with that.

But he decided he was rather tired of being confused, and as soon as he sent Harry back to Gryffindor Tower for the night, he headed to the one wizard in the school he thought might have a clue as to what the hell was going on.

Severus Snape.

* * *

As Duncan walked the corridor to Severus' chambers, he noticed a heavy thumping coming from the end of the hallway where Methos' chamber was. He vaguely hoped that Lucius was still alive.

He knocked on the door, and didn't wait long before the smoky baritone commanded Duncan to identify himself.

"It's Duncan."

The door opened. "Good evening, Mr. MacLeod. What brings you to my chambers this evening?" There was a rather loud thud made Duncan wince. "They do seem to be getting along rather famously tonight, don't they?" Snape smirked. "Brandy?"

Duncan settled himself into one of the armchairs. "Yeah. That'd be great. I think I'll need it too. So you don't mind this…whatever this is that's going on?"

Snape laughed. "Mind it? I find it quite amusing. It takes a special person to rob Lucius of his dignity like that, and to find Slytherin so…harassed, it's reassuring in it's own way." He handed Duncan the snifter.

"Just like Harry," Duncan muttered into his glass.

Snape stilled. "What'd you say?"

Duncan snickered, "Just thinking about how both you and Harry seem to be enjoying Methos' predicament." He sobered up a bit. "Look, do you know what's going on here? The last twelve hours…they've been just nuts. What on earth is so special about Methos that Lucius would chase him the way that he is?"

The wizard sighed. "This might take a while. Remember when I began telling you what happened to me my first year?"

Duncan nodded.

"Perhaps to best understand things now, you should hear the rest. Before I begin though, you need to remember that times were different. The Church held sway over all Muggles great and small; and I'm sure I don't need to tell you what their status on witchcraft and magic was."

Duncan shook his head.

"Because he knew that the Muggle-borns would be hesitant to practice magic, he wanted to keep them out of Hogwarts, but he was over ruled. It wasn't long before it started to become obvious to everyone that Slytherin had been right—those few who had chosen to accept the offer of an invitation did little magic they were so afraid of it, and what magic they did cast was so weak as to be almost pointless. And even though I had joined them not to long into term, it was plain to see that he was getting frustrated with them all.

"About a month had passed since I first arrived at Hogwarts, my Latin was growing stronger and stronger every day, and I began to bond with the other purebloods—it was perhaps even easier then it was in our own time; back then there really was a noticeable difference between the purebloods and the Muggle-born." Snape leaned back in his chair; and for a few seconds the only sounds was the crackling fire.

"For example, I remember one Charms lesson before an exam. We were supposed to be able to send a fake manuscript flying across the chamber, tumbling neatly end over end—nothing overly taxing for a first year if you properly apply yourself—I had mastered this long ago, and could it in my sleep. I still remember sending my book around the room, occasionally dive bombing some of the Gryffindors." He smiled to himself, "But it seems that I was the exception, not the rule. My pureblooded classmates got the hang of things quick enough, but the Muggle-borns?" He snorted. "The Muggle-borns were a joke. Three weeks after I arrived, probably eight weeks since term began and some of them could barely even get the stupid thing off the table! And it wasn't for a lack of power—you yourself are still a weak Wizard, from what Methos tells me you are still too young to have any real strength—yet you can and have done what was being asked of a bunch of eleven year olds. No, the problem was that they did not want to do it. They were afraid of the magic. They were afraid of their mythical god; that they would be struck down if they attempted it, or that they would go to hell for it."

"But they were trying though?" Duncan asked.

Snape nodded. "Oh they made a nominal effort. Methos had quickly grown tired of what he considered to be foolish behavior and had begun to punish them for it, in the forms of extra chores. Some of the students had garnered so much extra work they barely had any time for homework, let alone sleep."

Incredulously, Duncan asked, "And he got away with this?"

"From what I could tell, he did. He couldn't get rid of the students out right—so this was his method of trying to encourage them to drop out. He did not want to devote his energies to unwilling disciples. Magic is draining, Mr. MacLeod. You don't waste it if you don't have to."

Duncan nodded. "You said that this gap made it easier for you to fit in with the other purebloods?"

Snape took a sip of his own drink. "It did. I was clearly the most powerful student there—my father placed a high value on my education, and I had received a quite thorough one before I ever stepped foot in Hogwarts—in any time. Because I had power, and because I had intelligence, I earned myself Slytherin's favor. As long as I was discreet about my activities I was allowed free reign; whether that applied to potions experimentation or hexing someone he, didn't care. Purebloods are attracted to power. I had it. I was… popular. I didn't discourage it either. In this strange new world I needed all the help I could get; and for the most part my classmates were likeable people."

"So it was about power then?"

"Always, Mr. MacLeod. Slytherins are nothing if not survivors. We go with the winner, and the winner often is powerful. At that point in time, the Muggle-borns had none because they chose not to use it. They were seen as weak, as cowards. Even when it became abundantly obvious that the only smiting that would occur would be coming from their Charms professor and not from any god, they still did not abandon their cowardice."

Duncan raised his eyebrows. Knowing Methos as he did now made it simple to spot the obvious influence he'd had on the wizard before him. "So what happened then, surely the other professors objected to such treatment?"

"I cannot tell you for certain; although if anything did occur it would have to have been after we found the right combination to return me home—one student did finally quit in frustration if I remember correctly."

Duncan frowned. "This still doesn't explain why Lucius follows Methos the way he is."

Snape smirked slightly. "I'm getting to that. Methos never did let up on Muggle-borns; if anything he only got harsher as time progressed and the situation did not improve. It was self-defeating, really. The new students would hear of the fearsome Charms professor who did not like them; he would use the fear against them, and at least one or two would drop out. Time passed, tensions escalated as did Slytherin's reputation for wanting only purebloods at Hogwarts—not entirely accurate as he had nothing against half-bloods—but not one he fought either, as he was obviously disgruntled by the whole affair. Of course, propaganda by future leaders of Slytherin House would fail to mention why he disliked them in the first place; instead perverting the tale to one that showed pureblood superiority. Today he is seen as the ultimate crusader for purity of blood, a sentiment that old families like the Malfoys appreciate and embrace.

"Everything that Lucius was, all the values and morals taught to him by his parents have been shaped by Salazar Slytherin. For him to meet the man that could possibly unseat Voldemort—a man who even Voldemort looks up to as a god—is an opportunity for him like you cannot understand. Lucius wants power. He wants knowledge. He wants the things that only wizards like Methos can give him. If he must debase himself for a few days to get what he wants, the blow to his dignity will be worth it." The smirked turned into a full-fledged grin. "Besides. Lucius always did have a crush on Slytherin."

Duncan downed the rest of his drink in one gulp.

"Thanks, Severus, for the brandy." He stood and headed for the door.

"Have a good night, Mr. MacLeod." Duncan nodded, and headed out the hallway, walking quickly towards Methos' chambers. Once there, he looked at the portrait engaged in a rather trashy looking novel, if the couple on the cover were any indication.

"Is Methos in?" Duncan inquired. He had learned that it was often quicker to ask, then to knock.

The lady looked up. "No, Mr. MacLeod, he isn't. He was here briefly, but left again. I believe I heard his companion mention Hogsmeade."

Duncan groaned inwardly. "Thank you." He turned, and retired to his room, the first signs of a headache coming onto him. Tomorrow was not going to be pleasant.

* * *
Duncan caught up with Methos at breakfast the following morning. As soon as he sat down, a plate of food appeared before him. He turned and looked at Methos who was engrossed in the Daily Prophet.

"We need to talk."

Methos took a sip of his coffee, his eyes never leaving the paper. "Must we? My horoscope says that I mustn't have a serious discussions on Wednesdays because Leo's will blame me for things that appear more sinister then they really are."

"Methos." There was a note of warning in Duncan's voice.

Methos sighed. "Fine. We'll talk, after breakfast. Rather, I will talk, you will stand there and listen, not interrupt me. I'm really not in the mood to deal with a lecture from you today."

Snape's amused voice entered the conversation. "Would you be in need of a potion to rid you of your hangover? I'll say, I haven't seen Lucius that drunk…ever."

Methos winced. "Yes, Severus. That would be most welcome."

"I've a class after breakfast, but if you follow me down to the dungeons I'll stop by my room and grab you a bottle before I attend the little hellions."

"Severus!" McGonagall reprimanded.

"Students," Snape corrected.

Methos snickered, then immediately regretted the pain that it caused. Above him, rain began to fall from the enchanted ceiling.

"Perfect," Methos muttered. "Just bloody perfect."

Snape snorted in agreement and turned to finish his breakfast, gearing himself up for yet another taxing day with brain-dead students.

* * *
The door on Duncan's suite clicked shut, and he cast the silencing spell that Methos had taught him. He put his wand away, and leaned against the desk. "You wanted to talk, Methos. So talk."

Methos mocked bowed. "Yes, sir, Your Majesty. It's like this. Lucius came down to my quarters last night, and offered to get me drinks in a small club he knew in Hogsmeade. I was tired of being chased, and you know the size of my tab at Joe's, I'm not one to pass up someone else picking up the tab."

Duncan snorted.

"So I used the opportunity to learn, MacLeod. We talked about politics. Current events. What the Dark Lord was up to; the reasons behind his last few raids, a few still imperfect potions. As more alcohol raced through our veins we started to just bullshit. Shared idle gossip about personal at the school and the Ministry. What the world was like when Hogwarts was founded. Soon enough, it was closing time. He considered himself too drunk to Apparate—a Malfoy would rather be dead then caught getting splinched—and for various reasons Malfoy Manor isn't attached to the Floo Network. So he walked back to Hogwarts with me, and fell asleep on the bed with me. That's it. He's still sleeping the last I saw."

"YOU SLEPT WITH HIM!"

"Oh, shut up, Duncan! Even that drunk, Malfoy's dignity wouldn't let him sleep on the couch; and it's not like I've haven't had to share my bed with foul-smelling and lice-ridden people. I'll take a drunken wizard over them any day. Especially when I've got their wand."

MacLeod's temper simmered, just waiting for the right provocation to boil over. Tensely, he finally asked, "Why did he trust you with information about Voldemort."

"Malfoy wants power, MacLeod. I could give it to him. I could be his teacher, or a gift to Voldemort, or even better, a tool against Voldemort, the one that finally kills him letting Lucius slip into place. Telling me what he knew was quite deliberate, he wanted to show me that he trusted me—a rare privilege I'm sure."

"Are you going to help him?"

Methos looked at Duncan in shock, then shook his head, muttering, "Idiot." Speaking louder, he said, "If I wanted to rule the world, I would have never left you that matchbook in Romania. I would have let you try and chase us across the globe as we sent the world into a full-fledged panic when Kronos' new virus became the most potent pandemic since the days of the Bubonic Plague."

Duncan's fists clenched, to stop him from punching Methos. "Then are you going to tell Dumbledore what you know?"

Methos walked towards the door. "No. I'm not. I’m going to milk Lucius' confidence for all that its worth. If I told Dumbledore now, I'd never learn anything again; he'd see to that by telling his Auror friends and stopping things before they happened. Look, MacLeod, I've never cheated on you once since we started to date, where as I know you've slept with more than one or two female Immortals when you've gotten plastered. I've forgiven you for that; certainly you can forgive me for not sleeping around on you. When you've calmed down a bit and are thinking a bit more rationally, you're welcome to find me to talk. Until then, Highlander." Methos tipped an imaginary hat and left the room.

Duncan cursed as his fist came barreling down on the heavy desk. "Damn it."