**Author's Note: This is the first chapter of "House Unity: Questions." If you have not read its predecessor, "House Unity: Lessons," I suggest it. It's a D/G story, and if you've already decided you don't want to read it, then you should still be able to follow what is happening here. If not… email me at hiptoship@yahoo.com and I will give you the entire rundown needed to happily peruse this story, which is the middle story of a trilogy that begins and ends with Draco and Ginny. Now… off you go! Read!**
CHAPTER ONE- Enter the Alter-Egos
He looked over the Great Hall, his eyes keen despite his age, and watched as a spirited young witch hexed a spiteful young man, making his ears grow to twice their normal size and twice their usual pointiness. Across the Hall, a kind-hearted but often short-sighted young man rolled his eyes for the hundredth time at the gentlest soul the school had to offer.
He had watched for many years, and after many years, Albus Dumbledore had finally seen enough.
"If you will, Severus, gather the heads of houses together," he murmured to the dark, slim man at his side. As the Potions Master obeyed, departing with a single arch look, Dumbledore templed his fingers beneath his chin and nodded sagely.
With the attack at the Ministry and the arrests of Death Eaters, it seemed things had gotten more and more explosive at the school. If the students could not be persuaded to come together, then he would nudge them along.
When the four heads of houses were gathered in his office, Dumbledore spoke sparingly, with few words and even fewer allowances for interruption. Waving off concerns voiced from each professor, Dumbledore summed his plan up concisely.
"I will need great support, for sustaining these sorts of endeavors is draining at best. But these children-these students-are our only hope of overcoming the constant threat surrounding us." He shot a trademark glance over the rims of his glasses and sized up those employees he trusted above all others. "If they are to be unified, they must be removed from Hogwarts and removed from the circumstances which keep them at odds."
A plan so large had never been devised, and as they left Dumbledore's ornate chambers, each professor wondered and worried about his or her students and the possibility they would be sent on Dumbledore's lunatic mission of house unity.
Of them all, Severus Snape had the hardest time imagining any of his students faring well in the situation laid before them.
Exported to an entire other reality-a Muggle reality-magicless, with new names and no memory of their lives as witches and wizards. Students taken away from all they'd known, their hearts and brains the only things left of their previous existence.
Banished, in Snape's way of thinking, to a Muggle world until they could learn to get along.
It was entirely possible, more than one of the heads of house thought, that Albus Dumbledore had started to go a bit soft in the head.
But in his chambers, a very sane and very sound headmaster chuckled softly at the plans he'd laid.
~~~
Every bloody inch of his body ached.
It was really his own fault, and he knew it, but it didn't change the fact that he felt like rolling over in his barely ample bed and dying.
What on earth had he done to get so absolutely wrecked?
He wracked his brains, groaning when he came up with the answer: he'd fallen off his broom twice during the match yesterday, and then had done laps and extra practices, self-imposed penance for humiliating himself yet again.
Ron Wesley opened his eyes, his red brows already furrowed.
Brooms?
He couldn't even dream about football properly. It was no wonder his team was doing so badly. He tried to be manly, tried to hold in the noises he made when getting out of his bed, and in the end, he decided extra practices were in order for the whole team again tonight.
They'd need them.
~~~
Luna moaned quietly in her sleep, shifting a little as her pen slid from her fingers and blotted on the assignment in front of her. She really didn't want to wake up with parchment marks on her face again, but drat it all, it was just so comfortable in the common lounge, with the fire blazing and her inches already written. Granted, they wouldn't be any good if she'd gone and dribbled all over them in her sleep.
Lucia Lovejoy sat up, peering blearily at the article she'd written for the student newspaper. She saw there were no drool marks, no puddles, and nothing she wanted to change, and so she shifted the paper aside, not even aware it had changed, and laid her head back down to sleep on the massive oak desk in her bedroom.
She could always sleep in her bed any old night. Tonight, she'd sleep sitting up at her desk and get a new perspective on things.
~~~
"Rob!"
The voice bounced up the stairs, off the walls of his bedroom, and into his already overtaxed ears. "For the love of all's good and holy, Gen, shut your bloody gob," he muttered, but he was talking into the pillow and hadn't the energy to change things.
"Honestly, Rob, if you don't get your arse moving, I'm leaving without you and you'll have to make it to school by your bloody self!"
Rob Wesley wasn't entirely sure how or why he'd laid back down in his bed after eating, dressing, and brushing his teeth; it had just seemed the logical thing to do. After all, it took Genevieve ages upon ages in the loo, and so he had to get up fairly early just to beat her into the shower.
Besides, if he didn't, he'd be stuck with cold water, and as sore as his muscles were, he bloody well deserved the one hot shower of the day.
He winced as he heard her string of curses and wondered how on earth their mother had raised such a hell-cat. He took only the slightest glance in the mirror as he passed it, passing a wide-palmed hand through his unruly red hair as he snagged his football boots and jersey from where he'd left them on the floor.
"Don't have a kitten, Gen, I'm right bloody here," he retorted, knowing full well she'd been waiting on him. Because her hands were planted on her hips, her eyes already searing, he stomped down the stairs with the aplomb of a rowdy five-year-old and kissed her cheek. "Can't be all that bad, eh?" With a lopsided grin, he snagged a single book off the table by the door and pushed past her, knowing she wouldn't have a single word of response for him.
Some routines were just too comfortable to change.
~~~
Today was a good day, she judged, staring at herself intently in the spotted mirror hanging in the bathroom. It really did need to be resilvered, it was just a matter of remembering that… and then making her father remember, as well.
Though other people wondered, Lucia Lovejoy never once wondered how she and her father had managed to make it on their own without starving to death or wandering away.
She tugged on the ends of her hair, wishing in vain (and vainly) for a little curl, just a little shape to the long, thick blond tresses. But no, they were as straight as a poker, and a dull color, to boot.
For a fleeting moment, Lucia wished she could have Genevieve's hair, wavy and gorgeous and red.
Like her brother's.
Lucia scowled at her reflection, screwing up her nose and sticking out her tongue. There was really no reason to be melodramatic, she judged. She had a perfectly good life, and was really quite happy.
She'd just be a bit happier if she could get noticed.
She pulled her hair back into a haphazard bun, tresses of it framing her face in a way she would never be able to find fetching; as she passed the hall table, she plucked a black ink pen off it and stuck it into the bun, making a mental note of its location. Really, she was always needing a pen and never able to find one.
By the time she'd gathered her books, scooped a spoonful of peanut butter from the jar, and made it out the door, Lucia had two pens and one pencil in her bun, and another pen tucked behind her ear.
She never once noticed the odd looks she got while walking down the halls of Holforth.
~~~
"You were assigned, I'm sure you remember, to bring one story idea to the table for discussion." The advisor for the school newspaper paced around the table, his eyes lighting on each student in turn. "Enlighten us, Mr. Collins, on your idea."
Connor fought the urge to squirm in his seat; he was horrid at this, absolutely horrid. He just wanted to take pictures, but as a "learning experience," they were all forced to write for the Holforth Herald. "I'd thought a bit about a photo story," he said, feeling miserable at the transparency of his suggestion. "You know, photograph people around Holforth, achieve as much honest and diversity as possible."
He cringed, waiting for the rebuke, but his classmates murmured their approval and Lucia patted his hand encouragingly.
"Miss Lovejoy, please do not hesitate to avail us of your latest scandal or outrageous tale," the advisor said, but his tone was amused rather than censorious. She never failed to liven up these often-dreary meetings a bit, and if there was one thing she did have, it was the spirit of a Briton journalist.
No story too ridiculous.
Lucia ruthlessly tamped down the nerves in her stomach; this idea was going to be a bit unlike all her other ideas, a bit more… commonplace. "Headmaster Dunmore actually gave me an assignment," she said, handing the advisor a handwritten note. "You know, since football season is just starting, he suggested I do a profile of the team captain." She glanced around at her classmates, wondering what they'd say. She didn't really know what to think herself-the headmaster had approached her in the hallway that morning, a broad smile on his face, a note held in his hand.
"Miss Lovejoy, my dear, you are just the enterprising young writer I wished to see. I've an assignment for you, and as I'm an enormous and unflagging fan of football, I feel I should be indulged, don't you?" And then he'd patted her on the arm and wandered away in a manner that would have seemed daffy to anyone but Lucia Lovejoy.
She hadn't known whether to be ecstatic or dismayed. Spending time with Robert Wesley was definitely something she thought she'd enjoy.
She just didn't know that he would.
"Rob Wesley?" a young woman across the table snickered, bringing Lucia back to the present. "I was under the impression he didn't have much of a personality to profile."
"Of course he does," Lucia said hotly, narrowing her eyes at the girl and bringing forth a surprised gape from Connor. "What an imbecilic thing to say."
"Lovey, you may take that assignment," the advisor said loudly, wishing to avoid a catfight at all costs.
Bloody adolescent girls, they were a handful.
And Lucia lapsed back into her own little world, thinking of a football player with messy hair and absolutely no eye for her.