1. Chapter 1

A/N: Once upon a time, evi was watching _Star Trek_ (which is, of course, terribly unusual). While she was enjoying the view (I mean, the intellectually stimulating plotline…yep, that's definitely what I mean), a strange thought popped into her mind (because that never happens, either). It went more or less as follows:

_You know, on a ship full of Gryffindors, Hufflepuffs, and Ravenclaws, Bones is totally the token Slytherin._

However, unlike most evilpinkbunnies, it refused to either be written or fade quietly away. After years of malingering, it has evolved into a reoccurring fantasy with Godzilla-esque proportions and the approximate reproductive rate of a tribble. One of its bastard offspring was "Hallowed." The current would-be epic is actually the product of one of my favorite variations on the theme, namely:

_What if Bones was Draco Malfoy in disguise?_

Some very few of you may recognize this as my second attempt to bend this premise to my will; the first attempt was, in a word, terrible. However, as stated before, I am determined to persevere and complete this project or die trying. Therefore, I humbly present version 2.0.

A couple of notes on continuity: In the _Trek_ 'verse, this follows the canon of the 2009 movie, as well as borrowing a bit from the TOS episode "City on the Edge of Forever." And, yes, oh-so-slight inspiration from the _Into Darkness_ previews (not that I'm excited about it, or anything; hell, I haven't even pressed my 'fleet uniform for opening night yet…). As to Potterdom, it is book 'verse canon compliant, including the epilogue (at least, for everyone except Draco…but you'd already figured that out). Just pretend that everything started in 2228 instead of 1981, and we're ready to roll.

Cheers, evi

* * *

**Semper Veritas  
1  
**

Dr. Leonard Draco McCoy had once sworn – perhaps naively, despite his youthful bitterness and disillusionment – that he would never kneel in the line of duty again. And in his defense, for over a decade after the defeat of the Dark Lord he managed to keep that vow. He'd held his head high through every demeaning situation his adult life had thrown at him and never once bowed.

Then he'd met Jim Kirk, and discovered that his former Death Eater compatriots were right about exactly one thing: true friendship was, quite possibly, the most humbling condition known to man.

The bond that had originated so innocuously, with a single man, had somehow since transfigured itself into an entire ship full of people that Draco was more than simply responsible for. Jim, who had the most naked soul that he had seen since Harry-bloody-Potter, seemed to feel obligated to protect every single sentient creature that entered his sphere of influence, however briefly or peripherally. Anything that hurt one of "his" people, hurt Jim; and the crewmen of the _Enterprise_ were emphatically his. Hence, Draco's residence on a ship absolutely brimming with hazardously bright and idealistic young servicemen and women – read "cannon fodder" – whom he'd inexplicably found himself willing to not only kneel, but also crawl, beg, and martyr himself to protect.

Frankly, it rather pissed him off. And while he was perfectly capable of self-sacrifice, thanks very much, he found it quite beyond him to do so gracefully, _particularly_ in the name of "duty to the greater good." Merlin help him, but he'd come to the conclusion that he had to be the only Slytherin on the whole damned ship.

But there he was, regardless. On his knees next to a semi-conscious Hikaru Sulu, shoved practically underneath a still-sparking console, carefully capping a hypo of cordrazine and hoping like hell he wouldn't have to resort to magic to steady the lieutenant's faltering heartbeat. While he was scrupulous in maintaining the anti-magic shields around the equipment in his medical bay, there was nothing to protect the delicate electronics on the bridge from errant magical energies. This was potentially a very large problem since, even as well-practiced as he was, there _would_ be spillover if he had to cast a wandless major healing charm.

Then again, the bridge was in such chaos at the moment that it was entirely possible no one would even notice him if he pulled his wand out. All around him, people were talking at and over each other, calling out reports, frantically repairing overloading equipment, and attempting, often fruitlessly, to keep their seats or feet under them as the latest temporospatial distortion continued to shake the bridge. The lack of attention was probably for the best, since Draco himself had been cursing audibly and extensively for several minutes, and his vocabulary of invective included not just Federation Standard but also the Wizarding dialect, French, and a few really nasty insults in Gobbledegook.

Finally, after several more tremors, both the bridge and Sulu's pulse stabilized. Draco sighed in relief, lifting a hand to signal to the pair of waiting medics that they could finally move the helmsman to a stretcher for transport. After checking Sulu's vitals one last time, he waved them off to sick bay and surveyed the bridge for further injuries. Seeing no one who obviously required his skills, he sighed in relief and stretched his cramped back, wincing as several vertebrae popped. Jim appeared and extended a hand to help haul him to his feet, which he accepted.

Jim's grip was strong and his fingers calloused, but his touch was gentle and lingering. Uhura cast them a quick, knowing glance over her console and, not for the first time, Draco was profoundly grateful for the spell that disguised his fair complexion. Irritated, he jerked his hand back, ignoring Jim's smirk, and rubbed the back of his neck wearily. Jim sobered.

"How's Sulu?" he asked, with genuine concern.

"Stable. Out of commission for a couple days, though," Draco replied, giving his captain and friend a reassuring look that quickly sharpened, as did his tone. "I'm running out of beds here, Jim. How much longer are you planning to keep us in this minefield?"

Jim put a hand on his shoulder, squeezing again, and he fought the urge to roll his eyes. _Touchy-feely bugger will take any excuse_, he thought, not without affection. The captain's gaze was directed beyond him, though.

"Mr. Spock?" The Vulcan glanced up from his readouts, impassive as always.

"I estimate that our sensors will complete their survey of the anomaly field in approximately two-point-six hours. We will then be able to determine a safe position from which to establish orbit and continue our analysis of the planet." Jim nodded his thanks and returned his attention to Draco.

"What do you think, Bones? Can we survive another three hours?" Draco scowled, gesturing emphatically at the small instrument he held.

"This is a tricorder, not a crystal ball, Jim. And furthermore –" His incipient rant was interrupted by Uhura's mellifluous tones.

"Captain, you're receiving an urgent private message from Starfleet Command." She couldn't quite hide her surprise and concern. "Shall I transmit it to your ready room?"

"Yes, thank you Lieutenant." As the captain strode into the small side room, its door swishing closed behind him, Draco felt a shiver trail down his spine that had nothing to do with the faint puff of air that was produced. He was no seer, thank Merlin, but…

"I have a really bad feeling about this," he murmured, and received several sharp looks from those who overheard. Despite his well-deserved reputation as a pessimist, most of his crewmates had eventually realized that it was relatively rare for their CMO to make a declaration like that and actually sound like he _meant_ it.

And thus far, two years into their five-year mission, he hadn't been wrong once.


	2. Chapter 2

**2**

The only good thing about the announcement was that Draco was completely alone in a supply closet when Jim's voice came across the comm. He froze in the middle of pulling a new box of dermaplast off the top shelf, arrested by the carefully controlled fury in the captain's tone.

"Kirk speaking. You should be advised that we have been recalled to Earth by Starfleet Command, orders effective immediately. There has been a series of presumed terrorist attacks on London. The attacks are ongoing, and the loss of life has been…extensive. The _Enterprise_ is to stand ready to assist with the investigation in any way necessary." Jim paused again before continuing, his voice roughening slightly with emotion. "Any crewmen with friends or family in the London area have my deepest sympathies. Please understand that we will make any lists of confirmed casualties available at the earliest opportunity." His tone quickly hardened again. "Meanwhile, rest assured that we are returning to Earth at maximum warp. We _will_ find out who is responsible for this tragedy – and we will kick their asses. Kirk out."

He stood like a statue for several long moments even after the comm went silent, struggling to process the words, before he finally lowered his arm. Dermaplast forgotten, he leaned his forehead against the nearest shelf, putting his back to the door. He couldn't risk facing anyone until he got his emotions, or at the very least his expression, back under control. There would be no way to play off the devastation he was feeling; he couldn't think of a single explanation he could give that was both true and not completely contradictory to what everyone assumed about his past.

Jim liked to tease that Draco couldn't lie to save his life. He never seemed to grasp how utterly unamusing the observation was to his friend.

Just as he gauged that he might be presentable again, the ship seemed to stumble in mid-space, coming to a sudden, whiplash-inducing stop. Floors shuddered and walls groaned as if in agony, and though Draco managed somehow to keep his feet under him, his left cheekbone slammed into the edge of the shelf he'd been resting against, setting off a momentary starburst behind his eyes. Cursing, he stumbled out of the storage room, rubbing the injury gingerly. It was definitely going to bruise, but the skin hadn't split, so he waved Christine off when she brandished a tricorder in his direction just as Jim's voice came over the comm again.

"Kirk to sick bay; status!" Draco did a quick head count before replying.

"We're all fine. No reports of serious injury coming in yet." He hesitated less than a second before adding, "The hell was that?"

"Apparently, the temporospatial distortions that we've been mapping have suddenly decided to target our warp apparatus." Jim somehow managed to sound grim and bemused at the same time.

"They _what?_ How the hell –" Jim cut him off, sympathetic but firm.

"Little busy up here, Bones."

"Yeah, no kidding," he muttered, then added more loudly, "You need me, you call me. Got it?" It was half demand, half plea, and he could hear the fleeting smile in Jim's voice when he responded.

"Always. Kirk out."

Draco closed his eyes briefly and took a deep breath, composing himself, and turned to face his team. "All right, kids, you heard the man. Let's prepare for every possibility unimaginable." He paused, then added sardonically, "Someone remind me to write an SOP for that. It certainly happens often enough."

There was scattered laughter as everyone resumed their bustling. Even he couldn't resist a faint smile, despite the fact that it pulled at his bruised face. They were good people, these muggles of Jim's. Absolutely barking, though; just like their captain. He sometimes wondered if it was contagious, like dragon pox.

Suddenly, his smile faded and his hands stilled over the hypos he'd been sorting. Jim, and everyone else, had consistently used passive verbs to refer to the distortions. It was the natural assumption. So, why had the captain suddenly switched to using _active_ verbs – deciding, targeting? He groaned and buried his face in his hands as the facts tumbled into place.

Jim had obviously, for whatever reason, come to the conclusion that something or someone was controlling the anomalies.

Spock had voiced the suspicion, earlier, that the phenomenon originated from a location within the ruins on the nearest planet's surface.

Therefore, Jim and Spock were going down to the planet to investigate, and would probably get their damned fool selves into trouble. Again.

"Dammit!" He dropped his hands onto the work-surface with a thump, startling a tech. As he began to stalk among the various storage areas, cabinets, and drawers with irritated motions, rapping out instructions as he went, he came to one more conclusion.

Jim's brand of madness was definitely contagious.

Leaving M'Benga and Chapel in charge of medical yet again, he hurried back to the bridge, darting through the doors just in time to come nose-to-nose with his momentarily startled captain. Jim recovered quickly, though, as always.

"Not that we don't enjoy your company, Bones," he said, ignoring the look that Spock gave him clearly suggesting that he speak for himself, "but, yeah, still not a great time. We have to beam down to the surface –" This time, Draco interrupted him, scowling.

"Yeah, I know. Let's get this done, we have places to be." At this, everyone finally seemed to notice the freshly-stocked landing kit he had slung over his shoulder. Eyes widened and brows rose all over the bridge.

Spock's brow had lifted the highest, and the XO quite possibly spoke for the whole bridge crew when he noted, "It is unusual for you to volunteer for such excursions, doctor. Especially if you continue, as previously claimed, to 'have a bad feeling' concerning the situation."

Draco snorted softly. He could practically hear the quotation marks in Spock's statement. He refrained from commenting on it, though. "You bet your ass I do. That's exactly _why_ I'm going." He gave Jim his best implacable look, silently daring him to argue. Jim just gave him a barely perceptible headshake in response, amused and resigned.

"Spock, Bones, Uhura – with me. Chekov, you have the con." They were out the door so quickly that Draco barely heard the boy's acknowledgement.

Despite his certainty in his decision, as they hurried toward the transporter bay Draco couldn't help but ask, "Jim? Are you sure that beaming to the surface is the best idea? Damned thing's fidgety enough under ideal circumstances…" Jim gave him a wry glance over his shoulder.

"It has to be safer than trying to fly a shuttlecraft through these distortions," was all he said, and Draco hissed out a sigh.

"Right. Of course. _Spectacular_," he muttered, as the transporter bay doors swished open in front of them.


End file.
