Liar Liar

by kitsunerei88

[Fanfiction of murkybluematter's The Rigel Black Chronicles] Some people are not all that they seem to be. Rigel Black is not, and neither is Aldon Rosier. [AU post-Ambiguous Artifice]

1. Chapter 1

Liar, Liar

XXX

My name is Aldon Rosier, and I am not a pureblood.

The words rolled around in head, a heavy stone weight rocking to the beat of the Hogwarts Express. He and Edmund had almost managed to secure their own cabin this year, kicking out the noisome second-year Ravenclaws who had been in the carriage before. Though, the way he thought of it, it wasn't really kicking out, considering they had left of their own volition when he and Ed sat down.

He said almost, because of course Alice had managed to squeeze her way into the carriage with them not an hour later. She was a fifth year, a newly anointed Prefect, the badge still shiny on her left breast.

"Alice," Ed said, rising to greet her. Things had been a little… off about him, recently, when it came to Alice. They had been friends forever, yes, and that hadn't changed – but something was different. A little more formal.

His guess was that Ed was discovering new feelings for her, and was doing what he could to express them. The thought was interesting, and frankly? Not his concern.

My name is Aldon Rosier, and I am not a pureblood.

"Aldon, you've been quiet this summer." Alice turned to greet him, offering her hand to him casually. He took it and bowed over it automatically. A customary greeting of purebloods; it was so easy to continue acting as one, even if he wasn't one. He looked her over carefully, if subtly, but she wore no signs of her difficult summer. "We haven't seen you since the Malfoy summer party – it's not like you."

Just having my entire world turned upside down, he thought about saying, but instead said, "Sorry. I was lost in some theory on the nature of wild magic as opposed to natural magic, and on the original taming of magic."

Alice smiled, reassured, though Ed cocked an eyebrow at him. Aldon smiled in reply, a private smile, one asking that they simply leave it at that. Ed looked at him, his brown eyes serious, but Aldon knew he understood because he turned to Alice and distracted her with talk of something or another. Aldon leaned back against the worn cushions and stared out the windows. It was raining, not unusual for England, and the fat globes of water clung to the glass windows.

It was half-true, what he said, even if he said it largely to stop his friends from asking him further about it – and as a half-lie, his magic only twitched slightly.

He was looking into magical theory, for very personal reasons, summarized: since late May, his magic had started speaking to him. Or rather, not speaking, but telling him things – telling him about lies. When someone lied to him or around him, it … itched. Just a little bit, not enough to truly bother him, but certainly enough that it would not be ignored. And that was odd.

His magic always had been a little strange. It was always a little more active than Ed's, a little more wild than Alice's. It had never bothered him, not really, it was just a thing that was. But since his thirteenth birthday in late May – not that he realized that it was happening, what was happening, at that time – it had been stronger, and, he realized, now he knew when people lied to him.

He had been walking into his Transfiguration theoretical exam, the first time it happened. It was his birthday, and he was feeling a little top-heavy with the overnight increase in his core size, and he overheard one of the Gryffindors, bragging about something or other. It was so inconsequential that he didn't even remember what the lie had been about – was it about Quidditch? Summer holidays? Exams? But his core had itched, for the first time, and the sensation was so novel that he had staggered and put out a hand to steady himself on the stone corridor wall. And, immediately, he had known that whatever the Gryffindor said was a lie.

"All right, Aldon?" Ed had asked, reaching a hand out to catch him.

The sensation was gone, as fast as it had appeared, and Aldon had shaken his head uncertainly. "I think so," he had said, his voice weaker than he was accustomed to, but he had taken a deep breath and continued. "Thirteenth birthday, and all."

Ed had nodded, understanding, and left the matter alone.

Having a gift, well, that was fine. Fantastic, even. Not all wizards were so fortunate to have a gift, and there were all sorts of customs and traditions for gifted wizards. He quite liked the fact that he had a gift, and on top of it all, it was incredibly useful. He loved knowing when people were lying to him.

But there would be no ceremonial customs or traditions for him, because no one could know he had the gift of truth. The truth-gift was rare – and, more importantly, it had only ever been recorded as being a halfblood gift. At first, he hadn't thought this was of any concern, because what pureblood would have openly revealed such a helpful gift to any but his closest friends? But then he read further into the theory behind his gift, and realized that it could not be so simple.

The quiet hum of Ed and Alice's conversation swirled around him, but he ignored it, focusing on the rain outside. It was well-established that the magic of Muggleborns was different than that of purebloods. Some, like his parents (like him a few months ago) would have said it was inferior. Muggleborns were, for the most part, magically weaker than purebloods, though some three in twenty were ridiculously overpowered; this was a good thing, because Muggleborns also famously had less control over their magic and the less that they had to control, the better. Or so went the pureblood dogma.

Muggleborns were, for the most part, magically weaker, and that was about as far as the pureblood dogma could, objectively speaking, be supported by research – particularly by the most renowned magical theorists internationally. The official line was, of course, that international research was tainted by liberal bias, but even research by the touted SOW Party experts didn't go much farther. Muggleborns were usually magically weaker.

Control was another question. The accepted theory of the SOW Party was that Muggleborns had less control over their magic – that was partly why Hogwarts had shut them out so early. Muggleborns posed a risk to the other students, particularly the powerful ones, because they did not have generations of breeding for control in their bloodlines. They simply could not control their magic, and they were volatile. But the accepted consensus internationally was not that their control was weaker, it was that their magic was harder to control.

Their magic was wilder, more connected to the wild magic from which all wizarding magic had sprung. Some theorists (whom he happened to think were too idealistic and prone to wild speculation) argued that Muggleborn magic was newly tamed; that the magic was wild magic that liked a child so much that it chose to come to them, to turn them into a witch or wizard. But as newly tamed wild magic, it still chose to act out in ways that a pureblood's magic never would, and which made it more difficult for a witch or wizard – any witch or wizard – to control. But because it was wild, it didn't always obey the commonly accepted rules, and there were certain gifts that could only be bestowed on a person whose magic still had that wildness.

The truth-gift was one of them, and that meant that Aldon's magic still had some of that new wildness – and that meant that he had a Muggleborn parent or grandparent. At best, he would be what was considered "pureblooded-by-definition", which would not be so bad if it were not for the fact that the Rosiers were a part of the Scared Twenty-Eight and had historically shunned the many Families that were pureblooded-by-definition. At worst, he was not a pureblood at all. And, more pressingly, since he knew for the fact that his parents and his grandparents were each from families named in the Sacred Twenty-Eight, he also now strongly suspected that he was not the child of his parents.

He could think about this with relative calm now, but three months ago… well, he had not taken it quite so calmly then. Initially, he simply hadn't accepted it. He read the research thoroughly, searching for the research that would support the simple conclusion that while no purebloods had admitted to having the gift of truth, they had nonetheless existed, which would make this problem all go away. For at least a month, he searched and read, and searched and read, looking for a sign, no matter how slight, that there was a pureblood before him who had had the gift.

There was nothing. Not even a suggestion that a Lord or Lady might be a little too prescient, a little too accurate, have a little too much knowledge that they shouldn't have had. And given the bloody nature of much of wizarding history, it was the sort of thing that, had anyone found anything to suggest it, it would have been used. So, instead, he turned to research on the nature of magic itself, looking for anything, theoretically, that would support the conclusion a pureblood could have the gift at all.

And there was nothing. Rather, that was how he learned that Muggleborn magic was wilder than pureblood magic, and that the truth-gift was one of those gifts that needed a certain amount of wildness to manifest. He looked for alternate theories, but those, including the ones touted by the SOW Party, were simply unconvincing. There were contradictions in the research methodology or theories, or their conclusions didn't connect to the experiment that had actually been done. It didn't help that test subjects were so rare – Britain simply didn't have that many halfbloods or Muggleborns anymore, or at least few that would publicly identify as such. The few British papers that conducted research into the nature of halfblood or Muggleborn magic were largely case studies, whereas international researchers in America and Australia had large sample sizes, and their conclusions on the wild nature of Muggleborn magic were, well… indisputable.

And there was, too, his new learned experience. It was true that his magic had always been a bit more playful than Ed's, than Alice's. It was true that he had had a harder time learning to control it. And it was true that, inexplicably, it was telling him when people lied to him, and that was a gift that was both rare and had never been identified in a pureblood.

As a Slytherin, and as one with this particular gift, Aldon could hardly help but make a few simple inquiries to establish whether one could be a pureblood and still have this gift. Since there was no question that his grandparents were pureblooded, if his biological lineage was correct, then… well, then in all probability, his gift would just be an aberration, which was not good, but which was better than the alternative. He could start by questioning his parents.

The perfect opportunity had presented itself not two weeks after his initial thought, with a letter from Ed. He had taken from the owl without thought over breakfast with his mother, since it wasn't exactly unusual for them to exchange frequent, if short, correspondence over the summer break.

Aldon,

I am sorry to write with poor tidings, but Alice's sister passed away late last night. The funeral is to be this upcoming Friday – I am sure Alice would appreciate if you came.

Edmund

"Oh," he murmured thoughtfully, putting the letter down. His mother looked over the table at him, the question in her grey eyes – it was unusual for him to say anything when reading one of Ed's letters, of course she noticed something was amiss.

"The Selwyns lost their younger daughter," he replied, handing the letter to her. "The funeral will be on Friday."

"I see," she replied, her tone simply resigned. She set her empty plate primly to one side. "It was not unforeseen, but still very sad. The poor girl – it is for the best that she is no longer suffering, though. We ought to go to support the Selwyns. I will let your father know."

In retrospect, it was callous of him to seize on the opportunity, it really was. On the other hand, when else would he get an opportunity to ask her these crucial questions?

He had no regrets.

"Mother," he started in reply, carefully putting just the right amount of hesitancy in his voice. "Did you and Father ever consider having another child after me?"

His mother looked at him, and Aldon arranged his expression carefully – it was one part caution, hesitation, and two parts the purest curiosity. He erased any sign that he might have any sort of ulterior motive with this question, and focused all of his thought into appearing simply curious about the matter.

"Are you saying you wanted a sibling, Aldon?" his mother asked, finally. She set her Daily Prophet down.

"No, no," he replied hastily, putting in the effort to be reassuring. "Not that I would have minded a sibling, I'm happy without one; I'm just curious. It seems to be such a risk with the Fade, it seems we are attending these funerals every year. Why do some families still try? Why do some families not try? Are families purposely avoiding having a second child to avoid the Fade? Did you want another child after me?"

His magic vibrated, and he told it that of course what he said was a lie, that was sort of the point, he was trying to get answers without seeming to get answers. His mother examined him again, and he adjusted his expression slightly to add a level of hope.

"Well…" his mother said. "You know, my pregnancy with you was very difficult."

Lie.

"And after we had you, we just decided, well, since my first pregnancy was so difficult, we wouldn't try again."

Still a lie.

He didn't have enough information.

"How was it difficult?" He put on an expression of soft confusion, concern. "I never heard it was so before, and wizarding pregnancies are not normally difficult."

"Well," his mother said, "I was bedridden for most of it. I didn't leave the house for nearly the entire nine months."

Lie. True.

"My blood pressure was exceptionally high, and I am allergic to one of the ingredients in the healing potion to bring it down."

Lie. Lie.

"So, after you, your father and I decided that we should not try for another, but for other reasons than the Fade."

True. Odd.

"Thank you, Mother," Aldon said, smiling gracefully and adding a dash of gratefulness. "I understand."

She had not had a difficult pregnancy with him. She had not been bedridden – she had not had incurably high blood pressure. But it was true that she didn't leave the house for nearly nine months, and that was very odd. Even stranger, since my pregnancy with you was so difficult, we decided not to try again" read entirely as a lie, but "after you, your father and I decided that we should not try for another" read as true.

In retrospect, it was so obvious that he was embarrassed that it had taken him two days to realize what the truths and the lies had in common, though perhaps he could be excused as he hadn't had much experience with his gift, yet. All the lies related to her pregnancy with him. It was clear that she didn't have a difficult pregnancy, but if that was the case, there would have been no reason why she would have avoided Society during her pregnancy, no reason why she didn't leave the house for nine months. The explanation that made sense was that she was simply never pregnant with him. But if they were to say that he was her child, she would have needed time away from society to bear out the lie that she had ever been pregnant at all. It wasn't perfect – but the theory was extremely compelling.

From there, it was just details – and honestly, who cared that much about the details? He had enough evidence, now, to strongly suspect that he was not a pureblood, that he was not the child of his parents. If he had to guess, he would guess that he was his father's bastard; he simply carried too many of the Rosier traits to be anything but a Rosier.

So here he sat, a probable halfblood of some sort, Heir to the House of Rosier, on the train to Hogwarts for his third year. But he had the impeccable credentials of a pureblood, and no one would question them. He was lucky, really; as long as no one found out about his gift, no one would ever need to know. It was so simple. So easy.

"Anything bothering you, Aldon?" Ed's slow voice broke into his thoughts. He looked up – Alice had fallen asleep against Ed's shoulder, and he looked distinctly pleased.

Aldon gave a slow half-smile back at his best friend – his brother, really, in everything but blood. But everything in Society came back to blood.

"No," he said, "nothing."

His magic itched.

XXX

Third year was about learning, about experimentation. With his gift and a dogged dedication to analysis, he learned far more about people than anyone ever thought he did. Both about people generally, and about the people that he called his friends, his acquaintances, and his enemies.

The first thing he needed to do, of course, was establish the limits of his gift. He knew that people lied – and people lied all the bloody time. His magic vibrated, itched, constantly, a perpetual murmur against his core. After his summer at home, when he had been comparatively isolated, at first the onslaught of knowledge had been completely overwhelming; he had had to shut the valve and ignore his gift entirely in crowds. Slowly, though, first in the Slytherin common room, then in the classrooms, then in the Great Hall and the corridors, he turned on his gift, focused and tuned it, worked out what worked and what didn't. He quickly learned that whether something read as a lie was not necessarily related to whether it was objectively true, but it was more of a measure of whether the speaker knew that it was a lie. In some ways, he thought his gift was a narrow, focused form of Natural Legilimency, but instead of reading the surface of others' thoughts, it measured the depth of their belief in relation to what they said. As long as the speaker believed, truly and deeply believed, his statement to be true, his gift would read it as true.

The sole exception to this was, of course, lies of omission. He wasn't entirely sure why that was – lies of omission did cause his gift to react, a slight twitch enough to be noticed, but nothing too alarming, even if the substance of what was said was true. He theorized that this was because the speaker knew that he was lying by omission, or that what was said wasn't strictly true, which bolstered the theory that his gift wasn't reading for objective truth, just for the other person's belief on the truth value of a statement. Surprisingly, it was Ed that provided most of the ground for this theory; Ed lied surprisingly often, but almost exclusively by means of lies by omission or half-truths, which Aldon was able to identify largely because he knew Ed so well.

He wondered what would happen if a person was lying to themselves, but it took him three months to find a likely test target and experiment. The sort of things people lied to themselves about naturally tended to be sensitive, not the kind of thing that Aldon could easily go and approach someone about. But exams, he thought, would be the easiest test to determine whether his gift could pick up when someone lied to themselves – around both winter and spring exams, he carefully placed himself in crowded rooms and listened to other students talking about the exams. He was listening for the falsely confident – those students whose academic records were middling, not stellar, but who appeared to be confident. These would be the ones most likely to be lying, either to themselves or others, about their preparedness, about whether they had studied enough or whether they would do well.

His results were…. inconclusive. It seemed that at least some of the time, it did identify people lying to themselves as liars, but other times, it didn't. Then again, it was possible that not all of them were, indeed, falsely confident. Some of them may have been perfectly happy with how they were doing, and therefore confident in their ability to meet the standard set for themselves, some of them may have been lying to themselves about their likelihood of success, some might have been outright lying to others, and others may have genuinely been prepared and therefore actually telling the truth. He gave it up as a bad job, but guessed that, if anything, his gift was under-sensitive to these kinds of lies rather than oversensitive. In other words, if his gift identified it as a lie, then it was a lie; but depending on the depth to which the person was lying to themselves, it would likely miss some cases.

Full lies, where the person knew they were lying and were doing it anyway, were the easiest for Aldon to identify. They made his magic vibrate, in thorny spikes that, even if it didn't hurt, could be extremely uncomfortable. But even these kinds of lies fell into different types; white lies made his magic itch, but that sensation was a wave rather than a spike, a magical grumble from his core that was easily identified and ignored. He could feel, if he paid close attention, when a person regretted their lie – there would be a soft underbelly to the thorny vibration, so subtle that sometimes, he would swear that he had missed it. It was easier to tell when someone was lying and blatantly did not care, because the itch would be cold and would send shivers through his core.

Aldon learned, too, the most common motivations for lying. People were not particularly unique in why they lied, he discovered. White lies were told mostly because people were polite and didn't want to hurt others' feelings. A disturbingly large number of lies, as far as he could tell, were told for purely for egoistical purposes; people were always seeking to portray themselves in a certain light, and nearly everyone was flexible with the truth in at least some circumstances. There were, too, a good number of lies that he couldn't work out the motivations for, and he filed away interesting pieces of information, here and there, for consideration in the context of more pieces in a bigger puzzle.

With a slowly developing mastery over his gift, it was logical that it was turned first on the ones he was closest to, his friends.

Ed lied nearly exclusively though half-truths or lies by omission. Part of it, he thought, was just Ed's reserved and silent nature; he simply didn't care enough to correct people on their assumptions. But Aldon thought his friend had a calculating edge to his personality, too, that he purposely allowed people to underestimate him. It was refreshing, especially when most people tried to puff themselves up.

Alice, by contrast, was surprisingly honest. She rarely told white lies or half-truths, and when she lied, she did it blatantly with few regrets. He thought that this reflected her abrasive and no-nonsense personality; Alice cared less what people thought of her, and she had the confidence to carry it off.

Another surprise was Marcus Flint. For a person who was unnecessarily harsh, both to his team and to his Housemates in general, Marcus' lies often felt softer and tinged with regret, which led Aldon to suspect that his Housemate's bark was much worse than his bite. Aldon filed that fact away for further use at another time – it was always good to have identified a person's weakness, even if it was a friend. With his secrets, he could hardly do otherwise.

By the end of the year, his gift had become a sixth sense – a continuous stream of information that he and his magic could consider and discard or analyze as required. Pureblood common sense dictated that magic was not sentient, that it could not learn, but after third year, Aldon would have to disagree. It seemed to him that, with practice, his magic could filter out the noise sufficiently for him to consider the most interesting bits later.

But with so much information, for each of the puzzles he was able to piece together, there were dozens upon dozens of tidbits of information that he had no context for and that he could not pull together into anything useful. For many of his acquaintances, their lying patterns were simply too average for him to draw any conclusions. Most people lied a certain amount, and they used a wide range of techniques, and frankly? It was too much information for him to process regularly. So he discarded large swathes of information, particularly white lies, because for the most part it simply wasn't useful. He tucked away the unusual bits, the things that popped out at him as distinctly odd, and let the rest flow away.

In a way, knowing when people were lying, knowing that other people, too, were liars, made his life easier. So he was a liar – so were his friends, so was the world. So maybe the lie of his life went a little deeper. So what?

He supposed the difference was that blood status tied into political status. Even if he didn't think the blood identity theft laws would apply to his situation, the discovery that he was not a pureblood would still shut him out of Society, still disadvantage him socially, no matter his talents. Just consider Professor Snape: a halfblood, widely acknowledged as the best Potions Master in Britain, with the respect of both Lords Riddle and Dumbledore, with respectable connections, and yet, he was still excluded from the clubs, the meetings where deals were made, alliances were struck, and no pureblood would ever see him as an eligible match for marriage.

It was not an attractive life.

XXX

The day Pansy introduced Aldon to Rigel Black, his gift sat up and listened.

Pansy had been a bit of surprise to his gift. He never realized just how often his younger friend lied, but most of her lies were white lies, and in a way, that was understandable. Pansy was very kind, and the kind of things she lied about were typically the polite, conversational things that were the backbone of pureblooded Society. She said she was pleased to meet someone, even if she wasn't, and she flattered people even if she might have thought differently.

At first glance, Rigel Black didn't look like anything special. His hair was artfully tousled and fell around his forehead and ears in carefully arranged curls, his eyes a moody grey. He was dressed in a dark grey robe, so dark it was almost black, in a light material – linen, perhaps? His shoes were a pointed light grey, a perfect counterbalance to his eyes. He was sitting with Pansy and Draco Malfoy, a cousin with whom Aldon had a passing acquaintanceship, but sat closest to the empty chairs meant for him and Ed. Not being protected, then, but still supported by his friends.

But Aldon's magic was growling softly. Something was wrong – someone was lying. It was not a feeling he had gotten before, the low buzz, constant in the background. It felt like a cross between the twitching sensation of a half-lie, and the thorny vibrations of the full lie, with a feathered edge. It was entirely strange, and he didn't know why.

All three of the first years stood up when he and Ed approached. Aldon studied them each in turn. Focusing his gift first on Pansy, his gift quieted. That was a relief; he would have hated to think that there was something that wrong with her. Malfoy, too, was clear. But when he focused his gift on Black, his magic buzzed again, softly.

Black hadn't even said anything. Whatever the lie was, it was somewhere in how he appeared, and Black must know that his appearance was a lie. Did that even make sense? He would need to do some research – quietly, of course.

"Mr. Rookwood, Mr. Rosier, how good of you to join us. You have met Mr. Malfoy, I believe?" As always, Pansy was the consummate host, but she injected so much fondness into her voice that it was easy to believe her words. With his gift, though, he could tell that Pansy was pleased to see them. He nodded politely to Malfoy, who nodded back.

"Then, may I introduce my classmate, Rigel Black? Rigel, this is Aldon Rosier and Edmund Rookwood."

Aldon stepped forward as Black did, meeting the boy's moody grey eyes as their hands met in a firm handshake. Black met his gaze calmly, if a little stiffly, and his hands were rougher than Aldon would have expected of a boy his age. His gift was buzzing. Was it the touch? The posture? The stare?

"How do you do, Mr. Black?" he asked politely.

"Very well, thank you," he replied, nodding to Ed, his face composed in polite interest, and there was a punch to his magic. A half-truth, but not that odd; it would be polite to say he was doing well even if he wasn't, and that was fine.

Pansy sat down, followed by Malfoy and he and Ed. Black was the last to sit, though he could have (should have) sat earlier. The rules of propriety stated that the hosts sat first, followed by the guests; the whole of Pansy's party should have sat before he and Ed did. But the briefest pause, a moment and a glance, showed that Black wasn't going to sit until he and Ed did. Was it a sign of ignorance, which would make sense, given the current Lord Black's political leanings? Or was it a lack of trust?

Even when sitting, Black was abnormally stiff. He kept his left hand hidden on his left side, rather than leaving both hands open and visible in his lap as would be polite. Aldon rested his hand close to his wand pocket, close enough to snag it in the event of a situation, but kept to an open and casual pose that wouldn't reveal his caution. It would slow his reaction time, but it couldn't be helped.

"I'm so pleased you found time in your schedules to sit down with me today," Pansy said, opening the conversation. "It has been absolute ages since we saw each other last, and I'm sure you're both quite busy now that term is picking up."

It was an outright lie, but Aldon hid a smile. The stifling etiquette of formal pureblood conversation, such as for formal introductions, were strict, the conversation ritualized. He could carry off these ritualized conversations in his sleep, and he turned instead to studying Black with an intensity that he intended to be discomforting. He was searching for any sign, any hint of the mysterious secret that he knew Black was hiding. There was nothing – other than the uncomfortable buzzing whenever he looked at the boy, there was no hint, no sign that anything was amiss. He picked up a lie, here or there, noting that when Black lied, the background buzz would be overlaid with the other sensation, fleeting as it was. It was good to know that at least he was still able to pick up when Black lied, even if Black set his gift off just by being present.

Black ignored his heavy stare entirely. And wasn't that odd, in and of itself? With this kind of focus, Black should have noticed. Black should have been shifting uncomfortably under his gaze, and yet, Black ignored him, asking questions instead about their career paths. It was only when Malfoy, smirking, dropped Black's future career plans into the conversation that Aldon turned his attention back to the conversation itself.

"Oh?" Aldon asked, his voice velvet-soft. "What will you do when you graduate, then?"

"I hope to pursue a Potions Mastery," Black replied coolly, steadfast under Aldon's gaze.

"You've chosen a challenging subject to pursue," Ed said mildly, though Aldon could hear the interest lying just underneath. "The Potions Mastery is rumoured to be the most difficult to obtain."

"Rigel is up to the challenge," Malfoy said confidently, and it was true.

"A glowing endorsement," he murmured in reply, leaning back. Black was blushing, slightly – was it embarrassment from Malfoy's words, or just discomfort and embarrassment about being examined so closely?

"But remarkably apt," Pansy added. "Professor Snape has already begin giving Rigel extra tutelage."

It was true, and Aldon shot Ed a look. He had never told Ed about his gift – he had never told anyone about his gift – but he had strongly implied to Ed that he had good intuition and Ed had simply accepted it as that. Though, really, if Ed had any suspicions, he would certainly keep them quiet until he had any firm evidence. Aldon was lucky that his gift was not one of the well-known ones, but it was a risk. Any time he used the incredibly useful knowledge he picked up was a bit of a risk.

"Professor Snape is good friends with my father," Aldon said slowly, turning back to the group of first-years. "He does not share his talents lightly."

"It isn't nearly as exciting as it sounds," Black replied, half-lying. "At the moment, Professor Snape just assigns me a lot of extra work." That was true.

"That sounds like Professor Snape," he agreed.

"Still, that you have gained his notice at all is quite impressive," Ed noted, letting a hint of his interest shine through. "And that you have done so this quickly … Well, you must have nursed this ambition for some time before coming to Hogwarts."

"Long-term ambition would certainly go a long way toward explaining your presence here in Slytherin," Aldon added, watching Black's face for a reaction. Black's face remained politely composed, unnaturally so. Too composed; to be natural, he needed a little more animation, glimmers here and there of other expressions or feelings.

"I wasn't aware that it needed explaining," Black replied, deliberately obtuse, and Aldon's magic spiked with the lie.

"Weren't you?" Aldon smiled, showing his teeth, and Black shifted ever so slightly in discomfort. "Many, many people are curious about you, Mr. Black. They want to know on which side of the wand you will fall."

"If I do land on one side or another, rest assured it will be because I jumped," Black replied, again unnaturally cool, and Aldon's magic shifted uncomfortably. He thought it was a lie, though a soft one – perhaps Black didn't believe it to be true? Or had he already picked a side? Aldon couldn't be sure. He should be defensive, even if slightly so, and Aldon studied him again.

Black was decidedly odd. Aside from the constant, low-level buzz whenever Aldon looked at him, there wasn't anything specific that Aldon didn't like, there weren't any lies that especially stood out. He had told a half-lie when he said he was doing very well, but that wasn't out of the ordinary. He hadn't strictly obeyed the rules of etiquette, staying standing until the guest party sat and hiding his left hand. It was possible that he never learned the appropriate etiquette, but after their banter, Aldon somehow didn't think that was the case. Black was just too well put together, too controlled, and too polite, by pureblooded norms, throughout the rest of the conversation that it would be unusual for him not to know the basics. It would be like running but not knowing how to walk. The other odd thing, Black's comments about being in Slytherin and what side he would be on, well … The first lie, that he wasn't aware that his presence needed explaining, was easy, because it was obvious that he knew it needed explaining. The second…

Was it that Black planned on remaining neutral and picking no side at all? Hopelessly idealistic, if that was the case, and surely Black knew from his family situation the impossibility of doing so. Perhaps other families, less important ones, could be Neutral; the Blacks could not. Or was it had he already picked a side? No, that wouldn't make sense either, not with the words rest assured it will be because I jumped. Was it that he had had a side picked for him? If so, why couldn't he, as he stated, jump to the other side?

And there was his gift – buzzing in the background whenever he looked at Black.

"I like this one, Pansy," Aldon said, his voice silk, after a long pause.

"Yes, do bring him around more often," Ed agreed, and they nodded to Malfoy, each bowed over Pansy's proffered hand, and took their leave. Aldon excused himself to the library, citing a Magical Theory essay as an excuse.

XXX

Aldon already knew most of the books he would need to consult, having read them thoroughly when he first discovered his gift. He was looking for the first-hand records of the witches and wizards before him with the truth-gift. Most of the first-hand accounts had dried up after about the fifteenth century, when wizards began withdrawing from the Muggle world, and there were no accounts after the enactment of the Statute of Secrecy. This had been a source of endless trouble for him researching last year, searching for a pureblood's account, but this time, he didn't care. He was looking for anything that might account for what he had just experienced: something that made his magic buzz, but without anything being said.

It was less than an hour before he found an account that seemed to work, one by a Lady Jane Dalmore, halfblood (and noble) witch of the late thirteenth century. She had had, by her own account, a particularly strong truth-gift. She was, unusually, not alone with her gift, as both of her sisters had also been gifted, but neither as strong as hers, apparently. All three of the witches had been used by the reigning monarchy as living lie-detectors, and left written accounts documenting their experiences.

The King found Lord Malfoy his private study, examining his personal scrolls. He was surprised, as it was most unlike Lord Malfoy to do so, and called for me. The Queen gave me leave to attend him, and I found his Majesty holding his Lordship at swordpoint, with Sir Avery having his wand trained on the man, bound already with the Incarcerous spell. When I saw him, I knew immediately something was amiss. My Gift vibrated violently, and I felt sick to even look at him. "He is lying," I cried, though I did not know why. Not even ten minutes later, the Polyjuice wore off and another wizard, considerably smaller than Lord Malfoy, slipped free of the binds, spat out a phrase in the harsh Celtic tongue, and fled free. Sir Avery gave chase, though I heard later from her Majesty that the wizard was never found. His Majesty asked that we attend her Majesty more attentively, in caution for his campaign in Wales.

Vibration certainly matched the buzzing, and he didn't feel sick. There were two possible explanations, he thought. First, his gift could simply be weaker than Lady Jane Dalmore's had been, and therefore his slight buzz could be the same as her violent vibrations. However, he somehow didn't think that was the case. There was no way that a first-year at Hogwarts was able to continually use Polyjuice without being caught within the first week. Black shared a room with Malfoy, and he needed to sleep – the potion would inevitably wear off while he slept, and certainly Malfoy would have caught him. Moreover, many classes were more than an hour long, and students were not permitted to carry drinks into class.

The second option was that perhaps Black was wearing a glamour of some other sort, not as strong as the Polyjuice Potion. This, Aldon thought, was more believable and likely. There were many kinds of glamours, which could also be tied to an object of some sort, preventing the need for Black to renew the spell periodically.

The question was, what was he hiding? It could be benign, like a scar or something, or it could be something more. Tied together with some of the boy's more puzzling actions, well, Aldon wanted to know more. Rather, he needed to know more.

"I don't trust him, Ed," Aldon announced that afternoon, finding Ed poring over the latest creature sample from Alice in their shared dorm room. "Or, not yet."

"Who?" Ed looked up, mildly curious.

"Black."

"Ah. You don't trust anyone, Aldon," Ed replied, turning his attention back to the creature parts. He pointed his wand at the sample – some feathers of some kind. Aldon didn't particularly care about the game, but Ed loved it. "Reparifarge."

"That's true," Aldon conceded, sitting down and leaning back on his four-poster. He chose his words carefully. Ed didn't know about his gift, and it was best for everyone if it stayed that way. As far as Aldon knew, Ed didn't even suspect. The good thing about truth-gifts was that, being a rare halfblooded gift without many contemporary accounts, he didn't think most noble purebloods had ever heard of it. He wouldn't, if he didn't have it. "But think about it; Black doesn't make any sense. His etiquette was wrong – he sat after we did, he was hiding his left hand. But the rest of the conversation was normal, which is strange, you can't say he didn't know the etiquette, he just didn't follow it. He was unnaturally stiff, too, throughout the entire meeting. He should have relaxed at some point, even if it was slight, but he was on high alert the entire time. And his reaction when I said that people wanted to know where he would fall politically didn't feel right, either."

"Is that really enough?" Ed replied, considering the feathers. They were still feathers, which meant that this time, Alice hadn't transfigured them into anything else. "I don't think it would be unusual for Black to be nervous, meeting upper years. Meeting the Heirs to the Rosier and Rookwood families would, I think, be especially stressful."

"Does it really need to be enough?" Aldon countered. "I think there is something suspicious about him, and Pansy is close friends with him already. As her older friends, we have a duty, don't we, to protect her? We should test him."

Ed looked up from the feathers he was so intent on, giving Aldon a long, considering, look. Aldon felt a thrill of fear – had he said too much? He didn't think he had, but Ed was more perceptive than he let on, and he rarely said anything until he felt he had enough evidence to act on it.

Theirs was a strange friendship, now, Aldon reflected. He genuinely liked Ed – they were brothers in everything except blood. But blood prevailed, and being a probable halfblood, he could never be certain of anything. And so, it was also Aldon's job to keep Ed from getting enough evidence to point to anything in particular about his gift.

"If you're so inclined, Aldon, I'm not opposed," Ed said finally. "You hardly need to go to such lengths to convince me."

XXX

The letter was short and sweet: Be at Greenhouse Four by sundown, or everyone will know your secret. Aldon had done all the preparations already, finding a likely cluster of Canterberries and spelling the trees around it to be magic-proof. It was a simple task, because the point of the task wasn't the task itself. This was really an opportunity for he and Ed to see Black's personality, to test his reaction.

Black showed up, just as planned. Of course he did; he had a secret. Everyone had secrets, but if he was wearing a glamour, then his secret would be larger than most, and people could always be counted on to show up to protect their secrets. He smiled as he stepped out of the shadows; Ed was on the other side, as they had agreed earlier.

"Well, well, what do we have here? He really came." Aldon said, injecting his voice with the slightest hint of surprise. It wouldn't do for Ed to know that he was not surprised in the slightest.

"Looks like you were right," Ed replied, appearing from the darkness on Black's other side. "He did have something to hide."

Black turned around to face him, grey eyes flashing in the twilight, and Aldon's magic buzzed.

"Welcome, little secret-keeper." Aldon smiled, a sharp grin showing his teeth. "It seems I had reason to suspect you, after all. Come, won't you tell us what secrets you hold so dear that you willingly endanger yourself for them?"

Black stumbled backwards, right into Ed's solid form, and there was a flash of annoyance and alarm in his previously calm face before he lifted his chin up stubbornly. Aldon laughed – he couldn't help it. He loved provoking reactions like that, and Black's expression now, moving, was far more entertaining than their stilted introduction. "No? A shame. But, ultimately we did not come here to learn your secrets, petty though they undoubtedly are."

It was a potshot, one that Aldon didn't think would work. It might have worked on a hot-headed Gryffindor, attacking his ego, but Black was a Slytherin, so a veiled taunt at the importance of his lies wouldn't be enough to make him divulge them. Maybe enough to make him twitch a little.

"What is it you want, then?" Black snapped, his voice hoarse, no twitch of annoyance. Well, that was interesting; Aldon leaned back, intrigued. Unless he was wrong, Black was panicked.

"We don't trust you," Ed broke in.

"That's right," Aldon added, drawing the words out in a sing-song cadence. The plan was working – this was, frankly, giving him a much better grasp of Black's personality than their formal introduction. "Pansy vouches for you, but as much as we adore that girl, she is young, and innocent enough to be easily misled. By coming here, you have shown us that you keep secrets, even from Pansy and Malfoy – or they would be here with you. For that, you can't be trusted."

Black's face stayed resolutely blank – and Aldon's gift still buzzed, staring at him.

"And those who cannot be trusted," Ed said lowly, in his darkest growl, "must be tested."

Black's expression changed again, from blank to bewildered. "Tested?" He asked, almost skeptical.

"Yes, tested!" Aldon replied, letting his smile expand into a wild, crazed grin. "If we are to approve of your friendship with Pansy, you must be worthy in some way, and since it's obvious that you aren't trustworthy, we'll just have to see if you're another kind of worthy.

Black didn't try to defend himself. Was it that even he didn't think he was trustworthy – or was it that he didn't see the point in arguing about it? Another piece of information for Aldon to tuck away, putting it into a small bin that he now labelled Rigel Black, along with the incessant buzz and his comment about his political stance.

"It was very brave of you to come out here alone to face an unknown enemy," Ed said, the tone in his voice considering.

"Either that, or very cowardly. Were you terribly afraid that we'd spill your precious secrets?" Aldon needled, looking for a reaction, however slight. "Shall we find out which it is?"

Black's lips pursed, slightly, involuntarily, before smoothing out again.

"Don't look so scared, little snake. We just want to see if you're worthy of your House, that's all. Just run a little errand for us, and you'll be on your way."

"What kind of errand?" Black asked, relaxing already, a note of relief colouring his voice. Interesting. Whatever the secrets were, it was big enough that, apparently, he didn't need to know what the errand or task was before feeling relieved. It was a secret worth a lot to him, then.

"The kind that tests your resourcefulness, of course," Aldon replied, still grinning. "You really can't be a Slytherin without Slytherin's qualities. Of course, if you don't want to do it, all you have to do is agree to break off your friendship with Pansy; if you won't be around her, we don't care how unworthy you are."

"No," Black replied, voice strident. "Pansy's my friend, and if you knew her half as well as you think, you'd know that Pansy doesn't let anyone decide her life for her, and she definitely wouldn't appreciate this kind of manoeuvring around her back."

It was true.

Aldon exchanged a look with Ed, who shrugged slightly. "Yes, that's true," Ed said. "But what Pansy doesn't know won't get us into trouble with her. You won't be telling her."

"If you're sure that Pansy is worth all this trouble…" Aldon poked, again. Black had secrets – he had shown as much showing up here, and there was that pesky buzzing in his magic. But Black truly regarded Pansy as a friend, which meant that he would be disinclined to hurt her, which was all Ed really cared about, so…

"She is," Black replied, scowling, and it was true. Aldon exchanged another look with Ed, who was now smiling in approval. Damn. He turned back to the boy, already planning his next step.

"Wonderful," he said, clapping his hands together theatrically and pasting the wild smile back on his face. "Then here is your task."

"You will acquire two sprigs of fresh Canterberry and bring it back here. You have two hours," Ed announced.

Black gaped at them.

"Go," Aldon said, laughing. It was, admittedly, a forced laugh, but it wasn't so hard given the boy's expression. "You had better get started, and be glad it's not a full moon tonight."

Black huffed a sigh, failing to hide the roll of his eyes, and turned and jogged towards the Forbidden Forest. Aldon exchanged a glance with Ed, slightly surprised that the boy had already known where to get the berries, but then, if he had aspirations of being a potioneer, he would know his ingredients. Ed shook his head, a silent signal that they could discuss it later, and cast a Disillusionment Charm on himself, trotting after Black with surprising silence. Aldon cast both Disillusionment and Silencing Charms on himself, and followed after.

Black seemed to have a good handle on the problem, heading along the edge of the Forbidden Forest until he found a stream, and following it upstream until he found the clutch of Canterberry trees that Aldon knew would be likeliest ones found. He didn't pull out his wand to try any cutting spells or the like; he immediately reached for a vine and started to braid himself a rope, using his teeth to get the braid tight. Barely a quarter-hour later, Black was using his makeshift rope to climb the trees one-handed and pick the required Canterberries. Odd, that he was climbing one-handed, though it was his left hand, again, that was hidden. Perhaps the glamour was to hide an injury with that hand?

When Black had jumped down from the tree, Canterberries in hand, using his rope to break his fall slightly, Aldon thought it was high time for them to reveal themselves.

"Quite pleased with himself, isn't it? Little popinjay."

Black whirled around, audibly groaning when he saw Aldon and Ed dropping their Disillusionment Charms.

"I'd say he's earned himself some self-satisfaction," Ed shrugged. "He certainly made quick work of our task."

"Yes," Aldon replied, drawing out that one syllable out into a long note in his disappointment. "It seems our two-hour time limit didn't give Mr. Black enough credit. And he even retrieved them manually right off – I was so looking forward to him try to sever a branch or summon one of them with those magic resistant spells I cast on most of the trees in this place…"

Black frowned at them. "You've been watching this whole time?"

"Don't beat yourself up over it," Ed replied kindly. "We used muffling spells and were always out of your line of vision, so even if we hadn't been invisible, I doubt you would have spotted us."

Black sighed, scowling, and dropped the Canterberries. "Well, I got these ridiculous berries. I doubt either of you really want to make bunion cream, which is about all these are good for, so do I really have to haul them all the way back to the greenhouses?"

"No, no," Aldon replied, eyeing Black carefully while waving a hand dismissively. Black's left hand hung at his side. He didn't see a glimmer of a glamour hovering around it, but then again, some glamours were very well made. Focusing gift on the left hand, his magic was, if anything, quieter. He took a few steps closer to Black and leaned down to look into the boy's grey eyes, and his magic returned to buzzing. "The berries don't matter. What is important is that you completed your mission and showed resourcefulness. You pass, feel free to befriend Pansy, et cetera. Now, what I really want to know, is why you tried to climb the tree one-handed?"

What I really want to know is what you're lying about, he added internally, but that wasn't something he could say aloud. Black might have secrets, but Ed liked him already. He couldn't push any farther without tipping his hand with his gift, and anyway, it didn't look like it would affect Pansy. Still, Aldon would keep watch, collecting information where it came, and one day it would form a picture he could use.

One thing he had learned with his gift was the art of biding his time and picking his battles.

"His left hand is injured. Likely broken," Ed answered. Black scowled, but his expression dissipated into a pained yelp when Aldon grabbed his left hand, revealing the soiled bandage under the boy's sleeve.

"Hmm, the wrist does appear to be fractured, at least," he said, and allowed a cat's grin to spread across his face. "Why on earth are you walking around with an injured wrist in a school with a certified Mediwitch on staff?"

"My reasons are my own," Black retorted, but Aldon already knew the answer. Whatever Black was hiding, it was something that a Mediwitch would pick up on. Black was hiding something about his physical appearance – but it was not an injury, and it was probably not a minor scar, because these would not stop him from going to a Mediwitch when injured. It was something about his appearance, and something fundamental. What sort of appearance issue would he hide that was serious enough that he couldn't seek medical attention?

He would think about it later.

"It looks like we found a secret, after all, Edmund," Aldon said, rejoining the conversation with only the slightest of pauses.

"I guess making him complete the task was unnecessary, then," Ed replied, his tone unconcerned.

"Indeed, he has turned out to be trustworthy after all."

Black's jaw dropped. "Now having secrets makes me trustworthy?" he demanded, grey eyes sparking slightly in outrage. He didn't deny having secrets – probably wise of him.

Aldon tsked. "Think like a Slytherin once in a while, won't you? Us knowing one of your secrets makes you trustworthy, because a person can always be trusted to protect their secrets. Everyone has secrets, and a person we know has secrets is always less dangerous than a person who appears to have none."

"If you say so, Rosier," Black signed, shaking the berries out of his robes and folding them neatly under one arm. "If our business is concluded, I would like to get back before my friends miss me."

"Oh, our business is far from completed," Aldon replied, flashing a shark's grin. He would figure out Black's secrets, one day – even if it wasn't today. What appearance-related thing was Black hiding that was so serious he couldn't go to the Hospital Wing? One more piece to put into his box labelled Rigel Black. "But we'll be happy to walk you back to the castle now – it wouldn't do to let Pansy's new friend get lost in the woods, now, would it? But first – Edmund, would you mind?"

Ed stepped forward, drawing his wand, and grabbing Black as he tried to retreat. One would think the boy didn't want to be healed, the way he was behaving, Aldon thought critically. Black flinched as Ed pulled his left arm into view, though Ed was really doing it rather gently, all things told. Since Ed had his hands full holding Black still, Aldon stepped forward to unwrap the soiled bandages, blocking Black's half-hearted attempt to defend himself.

The break was obvious, but clean, at least. The wrist did look normal, more or less – there was limited swelling and discolouration, though it obviously pained Black when they handled it. "Hmm. I'd actually expected worse."

"The bone has already been set, it just wasn't healed," Ed commented, poking at the injury with his wand. "How long ago was it broken?"

Black eyed the two of them suspiciously, as was proper – Aldon couldn't help but smile, a soft, genuine one. "I broke it the first Saturday of term."

"How?"

"Fell down some stairs." Black shrugged uncomfortably, and Aldon's gift noted the half-truth. He likely had fallen down some stairs, else it would have come up as a full lie, but there was something Black wasn't telling them about the incident. Ed frowned at him, and Black elaborated. "The strap of my bag twisted around my wrist and probably caught against something when I fell, so it was pulled taut until it snapped."

Ed nodded, comparing her story with the pattern of the break, and Aldon winced sympathetically, probing for more detail. "That must have hurt. I suppose you passed out?"

Black grimaced and nodded.

"I thought so – if you were awake when it happened, the scream would have brought someone running, and you would have been shipped off to the Hospital Wing. Still don't see why you didn't go there anyway, but I'm sure I'll figure it out eventually."

There was a silence, and Black didn't take the opening. Aldon didn't expect him to – if his glamour-spell secret was important enough that he put up with the pain of walking around with two weeks with a broken wrist instead of going to the Hospital Wing, then a casual opening from an upper-year wouldn't sway him. Aldon had some respect for that; there were certainly secrets he would do the same to keep.

Ed pointed his wand at Black's wrist, beginning a complicated spell, and Black flinched involuntarily, twitching his arm away.

"Don't worry," Aldon interrupted, steadying him with a hand on his shoulder. "Edmund's uncle, the one who doesn't work on the creature reserve is a resident at St. Mungo's. If he accidentally vanishes all of your bones or something, his uncle will probably fix you up for free."

Ed shot him a dark look, which Aldon reciprocated with a wicked smile, but he turned back to mending Black's wrist. The spells wouldn't take more than a few moments. "Don't listen to Aldon's nonsense, Black. I mend animals at the shelter my family runs all the time. Take a deep breath and hold still; you'll have to be careful to build up strength in it again, but the muscle won't have atrophied much over the past few weeks. I wouldn't recommend climbing any trees for a few days, though."

Black took his hand back, rotating his newly healed wrist with almost a sense of wonder. "Thank you very much." He even meant it.

"It was no trouble."

Aldon looked over Black again with his gift, but the annoying buzzing sensation in his magic continued. Whatever Black was lying about, it wasn't his arm – as obvious now, that wasn't what the glamour-spell concealed. But he would find out the source, eventually. It was just a matter of time – attention, and time.

"Secrets aren't that interesting once you know about them, anyway. Now that this one is gone, I'll just have to find out another one of your secrets before I can trust you." He winked playfully at Black. "I'm sure I will. Sooner or later."

Preferably sooner.

XXX

"Did that allay your concerns, Aldon?" Ed asked him, later that night. Aldon looked up from his Arithmancy textbook, his bed strewn with calculations. Ed's eyes were dark, impenetrable.

"Hmm?"

"With Black."

"Oh," Aldon sat up, shifting his weight to stretch his back out a little. He really ought to have done this at one of the study tables or a study room, but they had all been taken earlier. He took a moment to reflect on Ed's question.

Did the test allay his concerns? It did, and yet, it didn't in the slightest. Black still wore some sort of glamour – whatever they found that night didn't fix that issue. Whatever he was hiding, it was significant enough that he would rather walk around with a broken wrist, which had to have been painful, for more than a week rather than go to the Hospital Wing. That wasn't just weird, that was alarmingly weird. It didn't necessarily need to be connected to his glamour, but then again, it was as good a theory as any. Did Black have some sort of medical condition that he was hiding? And, of course, when directly questioned about it, Black's answer was short and stark. My reasons are my own, he said.

But Black was honest, as far as Aldon could tell, when questioned about Pansy. He genuinely liked their young friend, and he was willing to go to lengths to protect that friendship. Ed already liked him. And there was something so charmingly entertaining about Black, too – as much as Aldon didn't trust him, as much as Aldon knew he was hiding something important, he couldn't help but like him a little too. Black was stubborn, infuriating, entertaining, intriguing. He lied, and Aldon wanted to know exactly what that lie was.

And there was that little problem, too, where Aldon couldn't explain his continued suspicion and fascination. He didn't have any good reason to believe Black was wearing a glamour, or to know that Black lied about some of his answers. The only thing he had, now, were the possible reasons why Black would avoid the Hospital Wing, and was that something that he could legitimately use as a reason for further investigation, further testing? It was weird, to be sure, but Ed had gotten involved in this test largely because of a potential threat to Pansy, and for no other reason – while he might find Black strange, it wasn't really a justification for any continued action.

"I suppose so," Aldon said, finally, letting a genuine smile creep across his face. "Thank you for coming along with me, Ed."

"Any time," Ed rumbled, turning back to his book. "But I wish you would trust me with the truth about your intuition, Aldon."

Aldon's smile froze, even as a heavy silence cloaked the room.

XXX

He waited for weeks, breath bated, for the hammer to fall. None did. Seemingly, whatever Ed worked out, he wasn't following up on it; the very next day, it seemed that the comment was forgotten. They went to classes, they did their homework, they sat and Alice joined them and they talked about normal, everyday things, and not once did Ed refer to Aldon's intuition. Aldon didn't dare to hope that it was because Ed had forgotten, but, after weeks on weeks, he started to relax.

Maybe he hadn't figured it out entirely. Maybe not that much had changed – Ed had always had his suspicions, since the first days of the truth-gift, and Aldon of all people should know that Ed understood far more than he let on. Maybe he hadn't figured it out entirely, maybe he didn't have enough evidence. Maybe Aldon could continue as he did, working to make sure that Ed never got the evidence that he needed.

Maybe, until then, they could still be brothers.

Instead, Aldon distracted himself, and Black's secrets were an eminently good target. Obviously, his secret was related to his appearance somehow, and it was important enough that he needed to avoid Healers. Did Black have a serious medical condition that he couldn't let Madam Pomfrey know? If so, was it a weakness of House of Black? It being the House of Black, he wondered if it was the famed Black madness, but madness wouldn't need to be concealed with a glamour – and, anyway, the Blacks were famously unstable, so that would hardly be a secret…

But Black didn't seem to have a hint of the madness. He was really rather boring, all things considered. He went to classes and did his homework. When he was in the common room, he was most often in the presence of both Pansy and Malfoy. He read books – some related to his schoolwork, and others not. Most of his reading had to do with potions; there were potions journals and potions textbooks, the sort that Aldon guessed were never covered in class. The most interesting thing was that he sometimes lied about where he went and what he did, but then again, everyone did at some point. He'd asked Pansy about it, but she had simply shrugged and said that sometimes, her new friend Rigel liked to be alone. It was something to file away, but he didn't have enough information to make anything of it anyway.

Someone tried to kill the boy over Halloween. Aldon first thought that perhaps it was related to Black's secrets, but before he could make much headway on that theory, it came out that it was only Lee Jordan, murderously upset about the Marauder prank product line. Aldon could not say that he understood the temptation; anyone who watched Black should have known that he displayed no interest in his family's business whatsoever. Even if he did, a proper risk-benefit analysis would have revealed that attempted maiming or murder, particularly at school, was too risky for very little reward. It was an idiot's move.

The best thing that could be said about discovering that Lee Jordan was attempting to maim and kill Black was that, as stupid as it was, Aldon had the opportunity to see how Black would react. And in that reaction, Aldon learned two things that he wondered about: first, Black was powerful. Second, Black's magic wasn't entirely controlled; when attacked by Jordan, it had thrown him across the room with enough force to break bones, then released Black from the Incarcerous spell and reverse-transfigured the ropes into the original wheat.

His mind gravitated automatically to an entirely biased and speculative thought: what if Black wasn't a pureblood either? That wouldn't explain the power, but it would explain some of the more interesting points of his accidental magic. Accidental magic throwing someone across the room if attacked? That was par for the course, classic. But freeing Black, who didn't have wand in hand, and reverse-transfiguring the rope went beyond that. Only wild magic would take the initiative to act in such a fashion – and only Muggleborns and halfbloods had wild magic.

And if Black wasn't a pureblood, well, was it possible that he was hiding some clearly non-pureblooded characteristics? Or, even, non-Black characteristics?

Mentally, he slapped himself. He was thinking this because he wanted it to be true, not because that was what the evidence suggested. Yes, Black's magic showed some characteristics of potentially being wild, new, but only if it had freed Black and reverse-transfigured the rope of its own volition. But Black was powerful – and even if Aldon hadn't seen a wand in his hand didn't mean that he wasn't directing it, at least to some extent. And even if not, reverse-transfiguring something to its basic elements was a basic transfiguration technique, and, stretch or not, it was conceivable that it fell under accidental magic. It was just too speculative to say that he, too, wasn't a pureblood.

The glamour that Black wore? It was possible that Black was hiding something like a non-pureblooded trait or his very identity. But it was far more likely that Black was hiding some sort of non-flattering characteristic which could not be revealed even to Madam Pomfrey – serious disfigurement? Scarring? A chronic illness? It had to be something that would reveal the weaknesses in the House of Black or at least in the Heir to the House of Black, but that could be any range of things. It wasn't that Black hated Healers – when he had spat that out as an explanation, it was a lie. Still, that left too many possibilities.

The biggest problem with the not-a-pureblood theory was simple: if he wasn't a pureblood, why was he even at Hogwarts? Unlike the Rosiers, where pureblooded status was valued, it was clear that Lord Sirius Black simply did not care about blood politics. The current Black family Head was famous for having betrayed his immediate and extended family by positioning himself with Light politics. He had ended relationships with his brother, his cousins – many of whom he was previously close with. His closest friends were Lord James Potter, Head of the Potter House, historically Light-leaning, and Remus Lupin, halfblood and known werewolf. Aldon had heard, too, that the Potter Heiress was very close in age to the Black Heir, but was attending school abroad; since their families were close, Black and the Potter Heiress would probably have grown up together, and if Black wasn't pureblooded, it would have made eminent sense for them to go to school together. If Black wasn't a pureblood, he wouldn't be at Hogwarts.

It was that simple.

XXX

Aldon couldn't say that he enjoyed the Christmas holidays. Certainly, he had loved them when he was younger, more naïve, innocent. Even his first year, second year, he looked forward to the holidays.

He didn't, anymore. Since his gift, he felt too strongly the lies that his mother, his father told. Things had not changed, on the outside, at least – he still ate breakfast with his mother every day, ate dinner with his parents every night. But something had changed, and the oppressive blanket of secrets lay heavily on the Rosier Manor. He felt every lie, each one a needle in his core.

Why did it matter so much more when it was family who lied? People lied, and he knew this better than anyone. It wasn't even that his parents didn't love him, because with his gift he could feel the truth of his parents' love. Neither of his parents were demonstrative, and theirs had never been a family for physical affection. But their care was in their actions; it lay in the fact that Mother always ensured that Aldon's favourites were on the breakfast table, in the fine coffees and teas that they both enjoyed, in the careful and thought-out gifts (plural!) that she and Father got him every year for Christmas. It was in the fine clothes and tailored robes Mother always ensured he had, and it was in his nearly limitless school account that Father permitted him to order books with without question, it was in his absurd monthly allowance. It was in their genuine pleasure and thanks at the gifts that he got for them for Christmas.

He should let it go. So what if he wasn't their child by blood; they loved him, and even with this secret lying between them, he loved them too, on some level that he wasn't sure he was able to verbalize. It shouldn't matter that he was probably a byblow, or perhaps adopted from a distant, non-pureblooded branch of the family. It shouldn't matter, because in all the ways that should matter, he was their son.

But it did matter, because blood-status was one of those things that one was born with. Adoption into a pureblooded family did not cure a person's blood status, just like it did not change a person's appearance or the genetics they were born with. If Aldon was a halfblood, he was a halfblood – with all the rights and privileges that came with it. And, meanwhile, Father and Mother were complicit in the very regime that stripped him and people like him of those very rights and privileges.

Aldon didn't lie to himself. If it wasn't for his gift, he wouldn't care, even if he had found out the secret. He would have pretended to be a pureblood his whole life, because who could tell, really? He had a perfect background. He would have gone on, the perfect pureblood Society Heir, the future Lord Rosier and, if he played his cards right, a high-ranking political position in the SOW Party. And now?

He could still have that life. It would even be easier with the information he gleaned from his gift, and a there was a certain part of him that still wanted it. It was fun being the Rosier Heir, and he had been raised from birth to become Lord Rosier. To some extent, he had even looked forward to running the Rosier Investment Trust: negotiating with the other major business families, the Zabinis and the Lestranges, reviewing the newest products from private development companies, deciding what was worth investment and what wasn't, lobbying the Ministry of Magic, hobnobbing with the day's best, brightest, most influential.

But with his gift, now, the risks of being found out were simply too high. He couldn't not use the information he obtained. His gift was too much a part of him, too much a stream of information that he just knew. And once he knew the truth behind the lie, he couldn't just forget it, and it was frankly much harder to remember what he was supposed to know and what he wasn't than just remembering the facts he gleaned. Hiding the true nature of his gift from his friends, who were inclined not to look too hard, was not the same as hiding it from political rivals or enemies, who would take every advantage to get ahead. It would only be a matter of time before a rival narrowed down on the true nature of his gift – and the resultant, inevitable, ugly conclusion.

Then would come the scandal, the fall from grace: Lord Rosier, prominent SOW Party member, revealed as halfblood would likely be the kindest. Hypocrite would probably be thrown around with abandon. It would become harder and harder to do business with blood status hardliners, and he would find himself excluded from many of the most important, most ground-breaking meetings. If he married, which was expected, his spouse would probably leave him in the fray. It was even more difficult because he didn't know his biological parents; if he did, there would be a point where his children would be pureblooded-by-definition, but he couldn't even make that guarantee to his children.

It was not a pleasant future, and the annual New Year's Gala was a window to that future. Aldon had no interest in attending.

And yet, on New Year's Eve, he found himself wearing plush formal robes, in a dark shade of blue and trimmed in gold, hovering on the edge of the Selwyn ballroom. He was one of the youngest attendees; while there was no rule on the age of the attendees and it was up to each family to decide whether their Heirs were of age to would attend, normally Heirs didn't attend until they were at least fourteen or fifteen. He should feel honoured that his parents felt him mature enough to attend, but instead, he just felt tense, annoyed.

Alice would, of course, be here. But as the daughter of the hosts, she was caught in the reception line, politely curtseying at each Family representative that arrived. The New Year's Gala was formally a SOW Party fundraising event, but was informally the Society event of the season, meaning that every Dark and Neutral Family, no matter how prominent, would be in attendance. She wouldn't be leaving the reception line anytime soon, and afterwards, he very much suspected that she would be tied up in other formalities for the rest of the evening. She was sixteen years old, now; old enough that her parents were seriously considering her prospects, and old enough that other families were considering her as a prospect as well.

Ed, too, would be around somewhere, but he didn't seriously think that Ed would be beside him, tonight. Ed was not what anyone would call sociable, but with Alice drawing so much attention tonight, he would be insistent on hovering at her side. Aldon sighed, a mix of boredom, annoyance, and jealousy – not at their relationship itself, he had no interest in Alice, who was a second-cousin to him in any case, and Ed was clearly not attracted to other men – but it was nice that Ed already had such a clear idea of where he wanted his life to go. He had had that once, too.

He grabbed a slender flute of fairy wine from one of the passing house-elves, nodding to the small creature, wearing a tea towel stamped with the Selwyn crest, in acknowledgement. She frowned at him, only slightly, likely because of his age, but curtseyed to him and left the matter alone. Thank god, because Aldon could tell that he would need a drink to get through the night. Looking over the large room, he couldn't spot any other friends, but then, Pucey and Bole came from more conservative families and were probably not allowed to attend. Flint was old enough, but knowing Flint, had likely flat-out refused. He had made minor courtesies already to the elders he was supposed to acknowledge, and clearly none of them were interested in conversing at length with a fourteen-year-old, so he was free for the evening. Free to die of boredom, anyway.

He turned and walked on the outskirts of the grand Selwyn ballroom, eyeing the décor with caution and slight distaste. The Selwyns were old nobility, but not wealthy, and it showed. The ballroom was supposed to be grand – there was a sweeping staircase at the far end of the room, and heavy burgundy velvet drapes hung in the corners of the room, held up with thick golden rope. Stopping in one corner and delicately touching the rope, he identified it as silk. The portraits lining one side of the grand ballroom were held in gold gilt frames, their occupants pacing their frames and studying the Gala with muttering interest. But there were tired, worn edges to the room. The details on the trim and portrait frames were a little grimy, as if no one got up to clean it very well, there were fewer house-elves than a household of this size ought to have, and the velvet drapes were faded in some sections, a paler burgundy rather than the vibrant colour it obviously once was. The Selwyns weren't wealthy, and that meant it was all the more important that Alice made a good match for herself.

The Rookwoods were not noble. They didn't have the history, but they had the money, and sometimes money was all that mattered. The Selwyns would be foolish not to accept Ed's suit, for all that he was two years younger than Alice and nowhere near of age to be making an offer for her hand. Still, if he was clear on his intentions tonight, and if Alice showed a clear preference for him, her parents might put off other offers until he came of age. That was what Ed was no doubt banking on, so Aldon didn't expect to see him very much, if at all, throughout the night.

Ugh. He took a deep sip from the fairy wine flute, rolling the thick liquor around in his mouth. It was good – heavy, strong, and there was a scent of sweetness that he liked. It tasted like honey and lavender, with a hint of some other wildflower that he couldn't identify. Hell, fairy wine was expensive. The Selwyns must have used a fair amount of their savings hosting the Gala this year, keeping up appearances and satisfying their pride.

It wasn't that he didn't understand the situation, or that he didn't understand that arranged marriages were ingrained into Society. It was a duty of Heirs to marry someone of the appropriate class, and to continue the Family line. It was never something that appealed to him, but it was simple, blunt, fact. He didn't have to like it – it just was. But it rubbed him the wrong way, making his skin itch in a way not unlike the feeling of his magic rippling under the weight of the thousand lies being told around him.

He found a small table, set out of the way near the base of the grand staircase, and hovered over it, drink in hand. It was a good place; he was hidden enough that he wouldn't draw anyone's attention, but similarly didn't appear to be purposely hiding from the crowds. It was also a good place to eavesdrop on various conversations, always an enjoyable pastime.

"Have you been making a list?" He heard one of the older Society matrons ask. That was Lady Rourke, unless he missed his guess – a minor noble house, reasonably well off, pureblooded-by-definition, but not prominent. "In case the legislation goes through."

"Of course," the other woman sniffed. He stared at her awhile, but couldn't place her exactly. Her accent leaned Scottish, though. Lady McLaggen, perhaps? "There aren't very many pureblooded girls in this generation, so if the legislation passes, it will open up some opportunities."

"The trouble is, we hardly know any halfblooded families," Lady Rourke replied, tone contemplative. "There's a Black girl, I think – Nymphadora? And the Potter girl. Both are halfblooded, but since their parents are magic-users, our grandchildren would be pureblooded by definition."

Aldon turned away from that conversation, his lip curling a little in distaste. Pureblooded women discussing the marriage prospects of their children. The Potter girl, even half-blooded, would be a catch; the Potters were noble, socially prominent, if Light, and wealthy. The Black girl though, for all of her connections though her mother to the historic Black family, wouldn't be; her mother worked for the Wizarding Wireless, her father at the International Confederation of Wizards embassy, but nothing extraordinary. He took another long draw from his fairy wine flute and turned his attention elsewhere.

Professor Quirrell, of all people, was in a hushed conversation with Lord Flint, who was staring into his glass of fairy wine with an expression of distaste. "I th-think you'll s-s-see, Flint, once th-the new legislation is-is passed, how beneficial it will be for the P-P-Party."

Lord Flint grunted, and drained his flute in one long swallow. "Can't see how a marriage law will be helpful. And who would want to marry the bloody halfbloods anyway? Who cares if they get full rights if they marry a pureblood? They're still halfbloods. I didn't think that most of them came back after going to school abroad anyway."

Aldon learned casually forward, slightly towards them, focusing both his hearing and his gift on them. Nothing had triggered so far – whatever they said, they at least believed it to be true. New legislation?

"But th-that's the b-beauty of it, isn't it?" Professor Quirrell replied eagerly, leaning forward. Lord Flint leaned backwards, away from him. "It also p-p-prevents half-bloods from m-marrying M-mudbloods. B-brings everything b-b-back to th-the p-pureblooded families. K-keeps the lesser-blooded from d-d-developing a p-power b-base."

Lord Flint grunted again, discomfited. "I suppose. If it passes." Aldon felt the half-lie pass through his core, marking Lord Flint's skepticism.

Professor Quirrell smiled – a proud smile, one that Aldon was sure he thought was winning but was instead unnerving. "D-don't worry on th-that front. Th-things can ch-ch-change q-quickly."

Aldon turned back to his glass of wine and polished it off. He would need another, but he also needed more information on this supposed law.

XXX

It was a long two hours of hovering, and he was on his third glass of wine, before Ed caught up to him. He was drunk, and he knew it – not drunk enough to be completely out of control, just enough to be a little uninhibited with his friends and to test the boundaries. Alice was nowhere near; he guessed, though a pleasant fog, that Ed has exhausted the appropriate number of dances on her dance card and that she had been obligated to share her attentions elsewhere.

"Ed!" Aldon threw his arms around his friend dramatically. Could he control himself on this amount of alcohol? Of course. If he ran into his parents, he would have to give good Rosier Heir, right? But he also liked the fact that since he was drunk, he was to a certain degree less accountable for his actions, and he could be as demonstrable with his affection with certain close persons as he damn well liked. Like Ed. He liked Ed. Ed was probably his favourite person in the world. "How is the game?"

Ed extricated himself from Aldon's grasp, holding him at a distance. "I don't know what you mean. I see that you have been helping yourself to the drinks. How many has it been?"

His voice was all Ed – all calm, and soothing, and cool. "Three? Four? The fairy wine is good," he replied cheerfully. "All the better to learn about the exciting new legislation that the Party is planning on passing."

Ed grunted, a small sound of interest, and pulled Aldon off to a darkened side of the ballroom, out of the way. "New legislation?"

"The new legislation mandating holy matrimony between halfbloods and purebloods, I mean," Aldon whispered, leaning into Ed's ear and leaning on his shoulder. He wondered if he perhaps enjoyed playing drunk about as much as he enjoyed drinking. "The one that requires halfbloods to marry purebloods. How exciting. Think of how many more opportunities will be available for us!"

Ed frowned, thinking it over. Aldon pulled back and studied his face. Ed was very good-looking, in a gruff, stoic, way. It was odd that he never noticed it earlier, but Ed lacked most of the delicate features shared by purebloods – his nose was broad, squat, and his jaw was square rather than pointed, the effect only emphasized by his close-cut hair. His shoulders were broad, his form stocky rather than lean. It was ironic that, of the two of them, Aldon was the one whose blood purity was questionable. Then again, the Rosiers were in the Sacred Twenty-Eight, that class of families whose blood status had never been questioned, whereas the Rookwoods had only been considered pureblooded for the last two generations.

It was just too bad that Ed wasn't interested in men, Aldon sighed regretfully, not for the first time. He had been fascinated with the other boy since they had first met, at barely five years old. His affection had only grown since then, even though Aldon knew Ed would never be interested in him that way. It didn't bother him, really – it was so apparent from when they were younger that he had never expected anything to come of his mild interest. Ed was his best friend, and his friendship was something that Aldon would never trade for anything.

"We ought to tell Black," Ed said, finally. "If it passes, it will affect his family more than if affects ours. I will keep my ears open for more information."

There was not a hint of judgement on his voice, and a small, soft smile spread across Aldon's face. He wrapped his arms around his friend tightly, smacking his friend with a light kiss on his cheek. "That's why I love you, Ed."

He felt the poke of a wand in his ribs, and he was out.

XXX

"Why, Rigel Black, as I live and breathe."

It was less than week after they had returned to Hogwarts, and the boy was already lost in a potions manual. He looked up, a frown marring his otherwise delicate face, clearly annoyed at having been interrupted.

"Rosier, what a … pleasant surprise," he said, the pause pointed. Aldon grinned, accepting the barb without comment. He didn't need his gift to know that Black was lying, and anyway, his core pretty much always buzzed around the boy. So he was still wearing the glamour. "And Rookwood as well, how unusual to see the two of you together."

"Isn't he amusing, Edmund?" Aldon said, talking the time to perch on the arm of Black's chair, hovering over him. Looking over Black's book, he could hardly help but be a little surprised – Black was copying out a recipe for Allergy Relief Potion, a fourth-year potion. Was he that advanced, already? "Come now, young Mr. Black, it's really been too long. We want to hear all about your break, don't we?"

"Indeed," Ed agreed easily, the seriousness in his dark eyes belying his tone. "Perhaps you should sit, Aldon. I believe Mr. Black is uncomfortable with you hovering over him."

"Well," Aldon sighed dramatically. "I suppose I could. I am such a good hoverer, you know."'

"I'll add that to your dossier," Black cut in dryly, his tone bored. It could not be more obvious that he was not interested in having conversation with them, but Aldon would persist. Black didn't know it yet, but what they had to say was important. He did levitate two seats over so that he and Ed could sit and chat with Black comfortably. Black's eyes followed the chairs, still frowning.

"Well, Black, don't keep us waiting." He settled into his chair, leaning back. "How was your Yule? Judging by the stains on your fingers I'd guess you spent the whole two weeks in your lab."

"Not the whole two weeks," Black objected. "I wouldn't miss the chance to reconnect with my family after my first long stint away, after all. It is harder to be far from home than I had anticipated."

They were lies, but good ones – in truth, both statements were half-lies, and had Black left it at the first one, Aldon would have assumed that he had spent the whole of the two weeks in the potions lab. But the second lie, a transparent attempt to distract them from the question by an admission of weakness, that was questionable.

"Naturally," Aldon said, letting a half-smile cross his lips, though he examined Black with a critical eye. "Though, it's candid of you to own up to such a thing. So many first-years pretend to an unrealistic self-sufficiency the moment they step onto the train. How refreshing to witness such open familial respect in these liberal times."

"No sense in pretending," Black replied, shrugging. He had taken care to make the movement casual, artless. "I've always been a poor liar."

The itch in Aldon's core was so intense that it was only much practice and the fact that he was in public that kept him still. He laughed, a sharp scoff. "Now, that, I don't believe. In truth, I wonder what you seek to hide about your break, that you admit so readily to something most of your classmates would feverishly deny. I can only conclude that you've a much more interesting truth to keep hidden."

Black opened his mouth to object, but Aldon waved off his protests, grinning darkly. "Ah-ah, no telling. I'll figure it out eventually."

Ed shot him a look, reminding him of why they had come, and Aldon raised an eyebrow at his friend. He knew why they were there, but there was no reason not to play. Still, he allowed his friend to change the topic – perhaps Black was getting a little too riled up.

"Pansy tells us you met with her parents over the break to seek formal permission to befriend her," Ed said. "She believes it went quite well."

"I really couldn't say," Black demurred.

"Yes, her father tends to have that effect on people," Aldon replied, offhand. "But, if Rose Parkinson likes you, everyone likes you, so I daresay you have nothing to lose sleep over. Did you celebrate Yule with any other families?"

He knew full well that the current Lord Black was very close to Lord Potter; that was the whole reason they were speaking to Black today.

"Yes, our family is very close to the Potters," Black replied, as expected.

"And how is the young Potter heir?" Ed asked, the polite rumble in his voice almost out of place. Ed preferred not to engage in this type of polite, meaningless chatter unless it was important, though Black would not know that.

"Harry is well," Black replied, drawing out the last word slightly in his uncertainty. "It was nice to catch up for a couple of weeks."

"You speak so fondly of Miss Potter," Aldon added, purposely putting in a cajoling note into his voice. "Childhood playmates, are you not?"

"Yes, I suppose we were…"

"Betrothed, are you?"

Black choked on his surprise, then coughed politely, and Aldon suppressed an amused grin. "What?! Harry and …. No, no, nothing like that."

"Really?" Aldon kept his voice light, innocent, skeptical. "Years of friendship and no betrothal to speak of? Come now, Black, you can tell us about your blossoming romance."

"There is no romantic attachment between Harry and I," Black insisted. "We are practically siblings, and shall always be nothing but close friends."

Aldon turned to Ed, spotting the amused glint in his friend's eye. It was an odd experience, to be sure, interrogating an eleven-year-old on his romantic attachments, and Black's reactions were even more entertaining. Not in the way he would expect, of course; no, the entertaining part was that Black was clearly off-put by the questions, that Black assumed that things like being practically siblings would mean they would never be more than close friends. It was patently obvious he had not grown up in Society, where many families had their children betrothed before they attended school. Particularly in families as close as the Blacks and Potters, in fact.

"Protests an awful lot, doesn't he?" he said, then turned back to Black. "Well, if you're sure?"

"Quite sure, thank you."

"Then am I to understand that Harriett Potter is not yet betrothed to anyone?"

"Well, no … she isn't." Black's usual expressionless poker face was disintegrating, his confusion was shining through. Aldon suppressed a laugh.

"None? We'll have to remedy that, won't we, Edmund?"

"Indeed, we shall," Ed replied, voice bland, though his eyes were laughing. "I, for one, have heard only good things about the young Miss Potter – apparently her eyes are as green as finely polished serpent scales."

Aldon laughed, a controlled, orchestrated, laugh. "Oh, I'm telling Rose you made fun of her, Ed."

"Then, I shall tell her you teased dear Pansy's new friend by asking for his cousin's hand in marriage," Ed replied, leaning back in his chair in the perfect picture of relaxation.

"Who said was teasing?" Aldon replied, turning his eyes, now serious, onto Black, whose face was becoming more bemused by the second. "After all, someone will have to marry her if the whispers I hear about the new legislation being pushed through this summer are even half-credible."

Black's face was such an entertaining mosaic of expression. In an instant, his face had dropped the confusion and there remained only sharp focus, a serious intent in his grey eyes. His hands were still on his potions book, though he had set it on his lap. His voice was soft. "Going to explain that?"

"I wouldn't dream of counting my Ministerial reforms before they're ratified," Aldon replied lightly. "But if one listens to the rumours, which of course one always should, one might be a tad concerned for their lesser-blooded friends and family come June."

"Not concerned," Ed interrupted, shooting Aldon a look. Oops. Well, Aldon was distinctly concerned, but then again, he was a probable halfblood like Potter; certainly, from a pureblooded, SOW Party standpoint, of course he shouldn't be concerned.

"Oh, no, of course I meant to say that one would be excited for their friends," Aldon agreed easily. "After all, it is not every day that social reform encouraging the lawful union of mixed-blooded witches and wizards with their purer counterparts makes its way before the Wizengamot."

"And what encouragement it is," Ed added, his voice void of any actual excitement or music. It was low, bland, monotone. "The proposed legislation practically demands that holy matrimony be established."

"And while certain parties still stand firmly in the way of this bold new step, you never know when something will happen to discredit those troublesome resistant groups. I'm sure your cousin will be thrilled to hear about the new opportunity soon to be afforded to her."

There was a pregnant pause. Aldon exchanged looks with Ed, who shifted his head slightly to indicate that their mission was complete. He stood up, and Aldon followed.

"Alas, we cannot wile away the day with you, my dear little snake. Adieu."

"It was enlightening, as always, Rosier," Black agreed, standing up politely. "Have a pleasant evening, Rookwood."

"I'm sure we'll see you around, Black."

XXX

Aldon kept his eyes on the news over the next few weeks, expecting something, anything, to happen. He didn't know what they were looking for, but there was no way that the legislation proposed by the Party would pass as it was – Dumbledore's Light bastion was still too strong. Something needed to happen to decrease his political support, and obviously, based on Professor Quirrell's words at the Gala, something had been planned. But he hadn't expected it to strike at Hogwarts.

After the first student got sick, then the second, then the third, though, things began to make a disturbing sense. Hogwarts was the seat of Lord Dumbledore's power, and people would lose faith in him if something struck down the children under his care. And Professor Quirrell had spoken with pride, with eagerness, at the Gala: Don't worry about that. Things can change quickly. He had known something was going to happen, and that was odd in and of itself, because Professor Quirrell, as a halfblood, was decidedly not in the SOW Party inner circle.

"It doesn't even make any sense," he muttered to Ed, late one night in their dorms. "What does children getting sick have anything to do with a marriage law?"

"It doesn't," came the clinical reply. "And you know that. You know that if enough people lose faith in Dumbledore, generally, there will be more support for the Party."

"But it doesn't make any sense," Aldon argued, though he well knew the answer.

"That won't matter, Aldon," Ed replied, though there was a soft note in his voice. Ed's version of reassurance. "It doesn't affect most people, and more people will be inclined to trust the Party, and that will be enough."

Ed's voice was bland, and Aldon almost thought that perhaps Ed might not be fully in support of the Party, despite his parent's political allegiances. There were clues enough – it had been Ed's suggestion to alert Black to the proposed legislation, and there were hints, here and there, where he commented on political matters without emotion, in a cool, detached, voice. But he was sure that he showed the same signals, the same signs, and Ed never asked.

What reason would Ed have to break with the SOW Party orthodoxy? He was a pureblood wizard from one of the more prominent, wealthy families. Even if his family was not part of Sacred Twenty-Eight, there was no question about his bloodline. He was pureblood; his parents, too, were both considered pureblood. He thought one of Ed's grandparents might have been halfblooded, and one of his great-grandmothers had been a Muggleborn, but the SOW Party had a very clear definition of who was considered a pureblood, and Ed met it. Hell, it was possible that Aldon, too, was pureblooded by definition; if his father had had him by a halfblooded woman who had a Muggleborn parent, then he would be, by definition, a pureblood. But without knowing how he came to be, it would be difficult to make that argument when he carried the truth-gift.

As a probable half-blood, Aldon had to be careful not to impose his own desires onto his analysis. Had Ed actually shown signs of breaking with SOW Party beliefs, or was it just that Aldon wanted him to break from the orthodoxy and imposed that interpretation onto his actions? He could never be sure.

He had thought about outright asking what Ed thought, more than once. But knowing Ed, his response would be typically non-committal. It is what it is, Aldon, he imagined his friend saying. Ed was the master of non-committal non-answers, and if there was one thing Aldon's gift told him, it was that Ed preferred let people think what they wanted of him and to give away as little as possible. An open and frank discussion? Never, at least not with Aldon. Perhaps with Alice.

He sometimes wondered about Alice, as well. She had changed after the death of her younger sister, which was not surprising. She had been close to Isidore, and the year after, she had begun wearing heavier makeup, lining her dark blue eyes with black. She had been moodier, snappier even with Ed, and, between her Prefect duties and schoolwork, he saw that she had been reading a lot of books about Healing, about the Fade. Last year, he had chalked it up to her mourning process – this year, he was certain he had caught her snorting softly sometimes at a comment on pureblood supremacy here or there. Malfoy was a particularly good target, on that end.

He could ask, and with his gift, he would even be able to tell if Ed or Alice lied about their beliefs. But he didn't dare – even asking would reveal where he stood on things, could tip them off on top of all the clues he was sure he gave out daily, and what would be the point? In the best-case scenario, they would all agree that the SOW Party beliefs on pureblood supremacy were ridiculous. And then what?

The younger students were still getting sick, day by day. He had no doubt that it was one of Lord Riddle's plans to push through his legislation. A part of him expected, with each passing day, that a cure would be discovered, that students would start returning, but the smarter part of him knew that this would never happen, not while there was the law to pass. Still, every day, he looked around the Great Hall at mealtimes, and the Hall grew emptier and emptier, the students more and more subdued. Even the prank pulled by the Weasley twins, a year below him, only changed the atmosphere for a few hours.

Alice, too, disappeared. "Professor Snape needs to brew for the Hospital Wing, so I have to sit in his office in case there are students with questions," she explained without emotion, the first night, and her eyeliner was heavier than Aldon had ever seen it since Isidore's death. The sickness, even though she knew the purposes of it, either through her family connections or because Ed did tell her everything, hit her hard. It reminded her too much of Isidore, Aldon surmised.

One night turned into a week, turned into a month, six weeks, two months, and Ed became quieter without her presence. About the only time he brightened was when Black, of all people, delivered a vial of something or other for him from her.

It was after her roommate, Millicent Bulstrode, fell ill that Pansy came to sit with him and Edmund most evenings. She sat quietly, doing homework at first, but soon that, too, fell away.

"Where is Malfoy? Black?" Ed asked her kindly, two or three nights into her joining them.

"Quidditch," Pansy replied, voice quiet over her book, her face unusually wan. "And Rigel is in his potions lab."

Ed nodded, patting her gently on the shoulder. Aldon was more demonstrative, leaning over to wrap the girl in a short hug, and she quivered slightly at his affection. "It'll be all right," he murmured softly, his gift noting his own lie, but she wouldn't feel that.

"Thank you," she said, pulling away and fixing her hair self-consciously.

They let her sit with them, teasing her now and then, but mostly letting her read in silence. First year classes had been cancelled, and with her friends dropping, it was the least they could do. They knew that it was only a matter of time, especially after Malfoy fell ill, and it was to no one's surprise that Pansy fell ill less than a half-day after Draco did. They found her in the common room in the break between classes, and Ed carried her to the Hospital Wing himself. They exchanged dark looks, silent, but what could be done?

What could any of them do?

XXX

It was Black who cured the sickness, and Aldon found his interest in the boy renewed, adding a new piece of information to the drawer of his mind labelled Rigel Black. Pansy and Malfoy were sick for less than a week, all told, and based on the charmingly lovely interview provided by Lord Malfoy, he very much doubted that this was expected to be the case. Especially because the legislation hadn't even been formally submitted yet.

He would have cornered Black himself, but most puzzlingly, Black continued to be missing, occupied on other duties, while the other sick students were being cured. Instead, he questioned both Pansy and Malfoy, the first two cured (as if that wasn't a hint in and of itself), but both were disappointingly closed-mouthed.

"I'm afraid I simply don't know how the cure works," Pansy lied prettily with a straight face. "I am just a first-year, Aldon. I just… woke up."

Malfoy, stone-faced, just said, "You'll have to ask Rigel."

The other students Aldon asked simply didn't know, and he didn't have many students he could easily approach in other Houses who might have been of more help. Bulstrode said something about a mindscape, magical cores, and a black blanket, but it didn't make much sense, and however much she tried to explain it, it never did make any sense.

Ed and Alice, too, were making inquiries with their sources. Ed, predictably, had little luck – he was not generally outgoing, few students knew him well, and fewer still were willing to talk to him about their experiences with the sickness. And although his parents were well respected members of the SOW Party, Mr. Rookwood worked in the Department of Mysteries and had little to do on the legislative end. It was Alice, as the eldest of their group, who managed to pull information from her parents.

"They're tabling the legislation," she told them quietly, a week after the students started returning. Professor Snape, it appeared, was back on his regular duties; Professor Dumbledore had called in a Master Legilimens, Gina Whitefield, from St. Mungo's Hospital for assistance, but Black was still missing. "The political winds are changing."

The article on May sixth was quite enlightening. He had read it in detail, not once but three times, with a particular emphasis on the paragraphs detailing Black's powers. How is it that young Mr. Black was able to break through mental barriers that stopped even the strongest of Legilimens, but was not able to eradicate the sickness from the minds of those he helped without assistance? … Mr. Black is not a Legilimens at all, but something else entirely, someone able to surpass mental barriers with a skill of his own.

He passed his paper to Ed and Alice, leaning back in his corner on a couch in the Slytherin Common Room while the others read it. So, aside from having powerful and somewhat uncontrolled magic, Black had a mysterious skill of his own. Was Black's magic wild? Was there a possibility, however slight, that Black wasn't pureblooded, that Aldon wasn't alone?

The thought was irresistible, even as Aldon tried to reason with himself. He had been through this before. It didn't make sense that Black wasn't pureblooded, because Lord Black didn't hold with blood-prejudice, and Black was here, instead of abroad. But at the same time, the evidence was undeniable; Black could do something that apparently no one else could. Because if anyone had known what he had done, if anyone had had the ability to do what he had done, the sickness would have been cured weeks ago. No Light-leaning, or even Dark-leaning, wizard would have permitted the illness to go unchecked as long as it had. And, even once he had apparently discovered the cure, there was no reason why they wouldn't have had someone else come in to assist him, why he needed to continue missing his classes, especially once the Healer from St. Mungo's arrived. Whatever the cure was, it must have been something unique to Black, something only Black could do.

There were explanations other than wild magic, he reminded himself, struggling. There were Dark magic affinities and Light magic affinities and Neutral magic affinities, and a Dark wizard could not do the same high-level spells as a Light wizard, nor a Neutral wizard. But all the spells depending on affinity were extremely advanced, outside the Hogwarts curriculum, and far beyond what a first-year student knew how to do – or should know how to do, at any rate.

Maybe Black just didn't know what he was doing, but if so, then that would speak to his magic being wild – and he was back at the beginning.

Lost in thought, he hadn't noticed that Flint had joined them, and that Alice and Ed had passed him the article. "Huh," he snorted, setting the paper down. "Interesting."

The words shouldn't have triggered anything – they were too empty. But a wave, however slight, trickled through Aldon's core, and he looked at the older boy sharply. "You know something."

"Nothing much."

"And that's a lie," Aldon accused, knowing that Ed was frowning at his outburst. "You know something."

Flint scowled at him. "I said, nothing much."

"Let's just ask Black for ourselves, shall we?" Alice interrupted, as Aldon was opening his mouth to argue. She stood up, gesturing to the common room door, where Black was walking in. He made a tired line straight for the door leaning to the first-year dormitories, but Alice caught up to him first, steering him gently, if firmly, to the group of upper-years.

Black was frowning slightly, no doubt somewhat displeased at having been pulled away for a conversation with a motley group of upper-year students, but too polite to show it openly.

"Alice, so nice of you to join us," Aldon said, slightly sarcastic. On one hand, he was annoyed that she had interrupted him when he was pushing Flint, but on the other, Black was here to question instead. Mentally, he pulled himself together. It was what it was, and there would be other opportunities for him to pry Flint for what he knew. "And you've brought Mr. Black as well, how fortuitous."

"Why is that, Rosier?" Rigel asked, polite to a fault.

"It's because we were just talking about you, Black," Flint replied, his eyes glinting. He was shooting Aldon a look, clearly ruffled by his manner.

"Surely three such interesting upperclassmen such as yourselves have something better to talk about. Don't you have final exams to study for or something?"

Aldon snorted, glancing at Ed, whose face was carefully blank, though his brown eyes were amused. Flint's face was carefully inscrutable. Alice sat back down on the couch, between him and Ed, and stared pointedly at Black until the boy sat down on the couch across from them beside Flint.

"Show Black the article," she ordered, poking him in the arm.

Aldon glared at her, and she ignored it, but he slid his paper over to Black without comment. He picked it up to skim, and as his eyes followed the article down, his face took on a cast of open annoyance, then disgust.

"They make it sound like I'm sort of super Legilimens," he said, lip curling.

"It gets better. Just keep reading." Aldon suggested, somewhat vindictively enjoying Black's expression. Black's secrets were so close, he just needed to push enough, at the right spot. Flint knew something, and wouldn't tell him, and Black of course knew it, and Aldon's magic was buzzing looking at the boy, and he was going somewhere with his train of thought, and it was all so close he could taste it.

"How in Merlin's name did Skeeter manage to make an entire article that was supposed to be on an illness about one eleven-year-old boy who didn't even have the illness?" Black muttered, reaching the end. It was a lie, and Aldon suppressed his scowl with some effort. Why on earth was that a lie?

"You should be proud, Black," Flint lied, a glint in his eyes. Why was that a lie? Was it connected to the last one? His gift should not be picking these up as lies, and yet they were. Flint knew something – even if Flint believed it, it shouldn't have registered. "If your dream is to be a Healer, I mean. After this, any Hospital would be mad not to hire Arcturus Black." And that was, strangely, true.

Black grimaced. "It has nothing to do with Healing," he denied firmly. "I didn't Heal anyone, I just used what Professor Snape taught me to help him cure the sickness, which wasn't even really a sickness. It didn't make anyone sick, it was more like a contagious curse. So if anything, what I did was creative curse-breaking, not Healing."

That was, interestingly, all true.

Alice laughed, a light ringing sound. "Poor little snake. Not much for attention, are you?"

"I can't see why anyone would be. All it brings is trouble."

"Says the honorary Malfoy," Flint smirked, and Aldon's eyes snapped to him, because it was true. Was this what Flint was hiding earlier? It was a lie by omission, earlier. It didn't explain why Flint's previous sentence, saying Black should be proud, rang as a lie, but he would work that out later. Perhaps Flint was in favour of the laws, his own family background notwithstanding. "Oh, yes, we've heard about that as well. Draco Malfoy seems to be under the impression that you saved his life, and that you're now his brother by magic as well as his cousin by blood."

Black looked down at his lap, where his hands were neatly folded, hiding his face. "The Malfoys are too kind."

"But not mistaken?" Aldon's voice was silk. "So you did save Draco Malfoy's life. How could that be when, from your own account, the sickness isn't even an illness at all?"

Black shifted, uncomfortable under the gaze of the upper-years. "Draco was an exception. He had an allergy to … one of the ingredients in the potions he needed to stay stable under the coma. I sort of … saved him by default, by helping to cure the sickness before the time he had on life-sustaining spells ran out."

"So you weren't trying to save him?" Ed asked, his gravelly voice carrying a hint of amusement.

"Well, I guess I was," Black prevaricated, "but I would have done it for anyone. I didn't need to be adopted by the Malfoys. They're great, but I have a family." That was true.

"But you did save their Heir," Alice said, delicately, seeking confirmation.

"I saved my friend," Black replied firmly.

"Well, whoever you saved or didn't save, the fact is that it ended the sickness." Aldon interrupted, gesturing at the paper. He glanced at his friends, Ed and Alice, who nodded subtly in support. "As a result, Dumbledore's credibility is higher than ever. Now that the children are safe again, no one wants to admit they ever doubted the Headmaster."

"And with this article suggesting that Dumbledore's teachings are what gave you the power you needed to cure the sickness, most people are of the opinion that the Headmaster should keep doing what he's doing, in all areas," Flint added, evidently seeing Aldon's train of thought. Aldon glanced at him, eyebrow raised, but Flint was expressionless. Clearly Flint was not so disinterested in politics as he let most assume.

"In other words," Alice broke in, "Dumbledore's opinion is as good as goblin gold in the wizarding world right now, and rumour has it that his opinion is very much against a certain set of laws that were supposed to come up for discussion before the Wizengamot this summer."

"The mixed-blood marriage laws," Black confirmed, voice flat. "You think they'll be voted against in the Wizengamot now that Dumbledore's faction has the advantage once more?"

Aldon suppressed a laugh. Black's naivete was charming. "I very much doubt that the SOW Party would be foolish enough to push the laws into consideration while the political winds were not at their backs."

"So they'll table the laws until they have the support they need." At least Black caught on quickly.

"No one wants to risk losing when they don't have to," Alice said blandly.

"No doubt the SOW Party will be very interested in how, exactly, the sickness that so fortuitously arise in Dumbledore's school while the law Dumbledore would have so vehemently opposed was being introduced came to be cured miraculously by a mere first-year," Aldon added, voice quiet. He was walking a fine line – he might suspect his friends were turning from SOW Party lines, but he didn't know, especially for Flint, so he had to be careful. "I know I'm interested. And you, Edmund?"

"It certainly is interesting, Aldon," Ed agreed lightly, "that the truth about the cure is so muddled. Most Slytherins are under the impression that Professor Snape played a significant, if not a dominant, role in stopping the sickness. But most of the younger students, particularly those afflicted by the sickness itself, would say that you, Mr. Black, were primarily responsible for their recovery, with only supplemental help from the Mind Healers. Other reports say that Professor Snape was in fact out of the country when Draco Malfoy fell ill, and of course the Prophet suggests that Dumbledore played a part in the cure."

Aldon didn't miss the supremely guilty look that had crossed Black's face as Ed summarized the different impressions they had gotten, though he picked up the train of the lecture easily enough. "All anyone knows for sure is that, somehow, Rigel Black got involved – and what a first-year who wasn't sick was doing during the Quarantine no one seems to know – and that he ended up curing the sickness, acquiring a life-debt from the Malfoys, and becoming solely responsible for curing the rest of the patients as well."

"Your involvement can, of course, be explained by what Selwyn has told us – namely, that you were brewing an exorbitant amount of potions for Professor Snape as far back as February. Presumably Snape had you brewing for the sickness and so just let you continue brewing for the Wing while he was out of the country. If he was indeed gone while Draco Malfoy was ill, then it would make sense that you felt you needed to become involved, both because Malfoy is your friend and because you were given a position of powerful leverage as Snape's replacement," Ed continued. Aldon raised an eyebrow at his friend; clearly there were things that Alice was telling him that didn't get passed along to him. He didn't know why he was surprised, really, even if he was a little hurt. Ed was closed-mouthed, unless it suited his purposes. "What doesn't add up is why you personally had to help awaken every single student. It can't be because Dumbledore didn't want to involve anyone else, because he hired a Healer from St. Mungo's to take Snape's place in the cure."

Never mind what Ed told him or didn't tell him – Aldon had no difficulty picking up where Ed left off. "On the other hand, it does add up if for some reason no one else could cure those students. In order words, the only solution is that you, Rigel Black, are able to do something that no one else could do. Something that couldn't be taught, couldn't be passed off to someone older, and therefore something that had nothing to do with Snape or Dumbledore. And that is certainly interesting." And possibly wild.

"What's also interesting," Ed cut in, shooting Aldon a slightly surprised look, "is that you were so dismissing of the illness actually being an illness. That suggests that you have Healer training or knowledge of some kind, though your father denied it in his interview and you, yourself, seemed impressed and curious when I healed your wrist last semester. Not to mention the fact that, by your own admission, you hate hospitals and Mediwizards. In short… the anomalies are beginning to add up, Mr. Black."

Black glanced between the two of them, his grey eyes skipping over Alice, sitting and smirking between them. "Are you finished?" he asked, his voice distinctly annoyed. Aldon nodded, catching Ed doing the same on the other side.

"First of all, you have figured out most of it. I cured the sickness by doing something that I am told no one else can, though it doesn't seem so difficult to me, only a little confusing. Snape taught me some of the things I used to get around the sickness, though he didn't put them together the way I did, that that's why I said he influenced the cure heavily. Dumbledore facilitated the cure, and since it's his Potions Master that taught me what I needed to figure out a cure, what was said about his school being responsible for the cure is true too. I have self-training for Mediwizardry, and that I only started after the winter break, precisely because I didn't want to have to rely on other Mediwizards and hospitals. Did I get everything?"

True, true, true, true, lie. If not to avoid relying on other Mediwizards and hospitals, why was Black learning Healing at all? The easy answer to that was because he was influenced by his mother's death, but if so, why wasn't he learning Healing before that? Especially because Lord Black himself, in the article, had intimated that he had always had an interest in healing … Aldon shrugged mentally, putting the comment aside for later consideration.

"Everything but the actual cure," Alice noted, voice clear. "Aren't you going to tell us exactly what you did?"

"What do you think I did?" Black widened his grey eyes slightly, affecting a look of innocence that fooled no one.

"In other words, no, he's not." Flint grunted.

"Fine, then," Aldon sighed dramatically, even as he studied Black. "Keep your talents secret. One day, we'll figure you out entirely."

"And until then, we'll be watching you closely," Ed added, his voice both amused and ominous.

Black sighed, nodded, and excused himself politely.

XXX

He moved on, but he didn't forget. There were exams, and the usual end of year festivities, and home. Ed had secured an internship at the International Creatures Reserve that his uncle worked at, and Alice had a summer position with a magazine specializing in Ancient Runes. Aldon, meanwhile, was largely was left to his own devices. The trouble with magical theory as a career option was that there were no institutions in Britain specializing in the area, and most magical theorists in the country were employed by the SOW Party and were essentially paid to find research promoting Party positions. The few that weren't were with private development companies, but none were seeking interns in theory that summer. There were opportunities abroad, but his parents wouldn't hear of it.

He was the Rosier Heir. He had a place at home, at the Rosier Investment Trust. Nominally, in fact, he was spending his summer shadowing at the Trust. Some days, he went with his father to meet with some of the businesses that they had invested in or that they were considering investing in and helped review documents for new business plans, new products. He took the lead on a negotiated loan for a new pub, just off the end of Diagon Alley, where a more discerning clientele could go rather than the Leaky Cauldron, just off the steps of Muggle London. While Aldon wasn't particularly impressed with that pitch, he was interested in their in-house Butterbeer experimentation, and they planned on carrying a good selection of other wizarding ciders as well. The extra-sweet Butterbeer, he thought, would do well with those who found Butterbeer too bitter.

Aldon was good at his job – good at negotiating, good at assessing the value of new products and ideas, good at dealing with businesses and investors. Sometimes, he even enjoyed it. And then he remembered the fragile position he was in, and the enjoyment drained away.

Other days, or rather, most days, when his father deemed that a negotiation or investor meeting too difficult or sensitive, he read. He was already a frequent visitor at Flourish and Blotts, and found himself quietly ordering in treatises on magical theory from abroad which were, for lack of a better word, unsanctioned. He was still looking, if half-heartedly, at information on magical inheritances, but he wasn't hopeful of finding anything that would change his previous conclusions. If anything, what he found was less heartening.

Magical gifts ran a spectrum between the wild and the organized. Most gifts tended to run towards the organized end, because they had a very specific effect: Parseltongue, Metamorphagi, Natural Occlumens, and Animation were on this end. These gifts usually ran along pureblood lines, and no Muggleborn had been reported to have them. There were, however, the "wild" gifts, like Seers, the Truth-gift, and Natural Legilimens, which broke the usual rules of Magic and were more common in Muggleborns and those of Muggleborn descent. These gifts were never passed down long, though, because once their magic lost its original wildness, it apparently lost the ability to break the rules. Halfbloods were somewhere in the middle, and though the research specifically on halfbloods didn't have a definitive conclusion, it seemed that halfblood magic was both wild enough to allow for Muggleborn gifts, but also structured enough to able to hold the traditional pureblood gifts.

He was looking, too, into the nature of magic generally, including differences in Muggleborn and pureblood magic, on wild magic and controlled magic. Most of these books he had to special order from America, but they were worth it: they were thorough, complete academic works which confronted ambiguity and provided thorough references and refutations to other works. He ordered a volume specifically on accidental magic, a volume on Dark magic, on Light magic, on Neutral magic, and everything in-between. If it wasn't for the fact that he was the Rosier Heir, he thought that his purchase pattern would have raised eyebrows.

"Interesting reading, recently," Mr. Flourish had said, tone non-committal, when Aldon came by to pick up his latest order. Mr. Flourish was a large man, towering over most of his clientele, and his expression was cautious. "I would be careful with these books, Master Rosier – if it were anyone else, I wouldn't have ordered it, because the content of these books are rather … Well, by law, I need to provide you with this slip within each of these books. And you'll need to sign this acknowledgement, as well."

Aldon had nodded agreeably, barely skimming the little sheets which Mr. Flourish had slid in the front cover of each of his books. He knew what they said: Content in this book has not been proven and contain theories only. For alternative theories from reputable British scholars, please consider these other titles. He burned them regularly at home. "Yes, I know how it is, Mr. Flourish," he replied easily, signing the proffered acknowledgement. It was standard for buying books with sensitive content. It was odd, wasn't it, that you could buy books on curses and poisons without anyone blinking an eye, but books on magical theory were sensitive? "You have to know what the other side is saying before you can argue with them, you know, Mr. Flourish."

"Yes, absolutely," Mr. Flourish would agree, smiling in slight relief and putting the signed acknowledgement away. Aldon would smile in return, and neither of their smiles would reach their eyes.

Some of his books were more theoretical, less accepted than the others, but certain of them, Aldon thought, were the accepted consensus abroad. Three of the books, in particular, were cited broadly in other treatises and in the magical theory journal he ordered from America by way of France, which always showed up with a ruffled, annoyed owl two weeks after it came out. The owl always waited until Aldon was home to deliver the journal, resting in a shadowed nook on the Rosier Mansion roof until he was in his room before it knocked on his window.

From his reading, he learned that magic was not the same across the board. Quite apart from magical gifts and inheritances, each individual witch or wizard's magic was different and carried different abilities at the upper levels. Less controversially, there were differences in power. Power levels were systematically measured on a colour spectrum: red indicated near-Squib-level witches and wizards, yellow and green were average, blue was significantly above average, and anything above indigo, that coveted point where blue darkened to purple, was Lord-level. Power levels were widely known and understood, since it was fundamental to the study of fields such as alchemy and Arithmancy. Based on a witch or wizard's power level, there would be certain spells that would be out of reach. Aldon himself was slightly above-average, in the green-blue range, which was plenty powerful, even if he wouldn't be summoning an earthquake anytime soon. Or ever.

Aside from power levels, there were the affinities, Light, Dark, and Neutral, which described how a witch or wizard formed their magic. For the most part, it didn't matter whether a witch or wizard formed their magic in the Light way, focusing on patience and precision, or the Dark way, focusing on power and speed. Or, even, the Neutral way, which perfectly balanced the two. Based on the international research, it was better described as a spectrum rather than as two, or even three, isolated monoliths. At the upper levels, a witch or wizard who formed their spells in the Light way would not be able to perform the same spells as a witch or wizard who formed their spells in the Dark way, and vice versa. Most spells fell somewhere in the middle, accessible to both Light and Dark wizards, hence the distinction didn't matter for most, except for where it interacted with politics. Aldon had always considered himself to be a Dark wizard, but based on the current research, he realized that his tendency towards Dark magic was quite weak – he was somewhere between Neutral and Dark, if truth be told.

And then, apart from both power levels and affinities, there was the nature of magic itself. The nature of magic stretched between wild and tamed, strongly correlated with blood status. Muggleborn magic almost always fell on the wild end, unorganized, difficult to control, but capable of breaking the commonly-accepted rules of magic. Pureblood magic was entirely tamed, quiescent, controlled. But the wildness, the ability for magic to break the commonly accepted rules of magic, didn't remain – when passed down through generations, the wildness was slowly lost, and four generations on, it was tamed. There was an excellent, recent, intergenerational study performed in America on this exact issue, and the results were quite conclusive. Halfbloods, particularly the direct descendants of powerful Muggleborns, tended to still carry some of the native wildness, but unless new Muggleborn magic was added in, the wildness, the ability to break the rules, would decrease each generation until it became entirely tame. There was even name for it – Archibald's Theory of Increasing Organization.

Some theorists had argued that accidental magic fell outside this explanation, since it acted wildly, outside the child's control and didn't follow a spell. However, most were of the view that accidental magic, both of Muggleborns and wizarding children, rather proved the point. Pureblood accidental magic didn't go far: it was instantaneous, elemental, sudden, reacting to a child's anger or fear. Classic accidental magic for a pureblood were explosions in anger, sending things flying, bouncing when they fell. But based on reports from powerful Muggleborn children and their families, Muggleborn accidental magic was something different, almost inventive. Like pureblooded accidental magic, it reacted to a child's anger or fear or other powerful emotion, but instead of explosions, flying and the like, it tended to react in an almost sentient way. If a child was worried about being punished, it would fix the thing that had gone wrong. Instead of sending things flying wantonly, it could draw things in patterns to distract and amuse the child. It the child fell, rather than a fear-reaction of bouncing to avoid pain, or slowing a fall, it could act earlier and steady the child. It had a native sort of intelligence to it, and that was different.

Aldon hid his new books, carefully pressed without a hint of damage, behind the other texts that he had bought off the list of "suggested" titles that were, by law, provided to him. Even if he doubted anyone would be searching his rooms, he carefully dog-eared and wore the approved books by the time-honoured method of treating those books like a used textbook; he left them open at random pages, destroying the spine, spilled tea and ink on them, dog-eared them as if he liked particular passages, made notes in the margins and underlined passages. It wasn't that he didn't read them, he always read them once, dog-earing and spilling ink along the way. He just wasn't convinced by them anymore. The studies – the ones that had studies at all – had extremely small sample sizes, their conclusions seemed to vastly overstate their results, and there were large sections that just felt like propaganda. The journals, obtained outside the usual means and therefore untraceable, he read, then transfigured into model Quidditch players from the Pride of Portree. They were his favourite team, if anyone asked.

He sat down on his reading chaise in his private parlour, leaning back to stare at the ceiling. The ceilings in his private parlour, recessed to emphasize a higher ceiling height, were decorated in pale blue, and clouds, mimicking the outside, slowly passed above. He scowled at it, reaching with his magic for a change – clouds skimmed across the ceiling, darkening the room, and just for the hell of it, Aldon told it to storm. Storms were good for thinking.

He turned to his favourite puzzle du jour: Arcturus Rigel Black.

Black had shown two main signs of carrying wild magic – his reaction to Jordan's attack in November, and his cure for the sickness at Hogwarts. The former had happened outside of Black's conscious control, or so Aldon thought; the latter, Black himself had said it was something that no one else could do.

With Jordan, Black blasting the older boy away when he was attacked was classic pureblood accidental magic. Even his breaking of the Incarcerous spell was within the bounds of pureblood accidental magic, an immediate reaction to fear and alarm. The issue was the reverse-transfiguration of the rope into wheat – there was no purpose to it, there was nothing with that spell that was linked to Black's obvious fear in that situation. He had thought, at the time, that perhaps Black was controlling it, but Black didn't have a wand in his hands. Had he had a wand, Aldon thought the outcome would have been different. And, anyway, what purpose would Black have to reverse-transfigure the rope into the original wheat? And how would he do it without a wand in his hands?

There was such a thing as wandless magic – everyone knew that. The most powerful wizards, Lord Riddle included, did not need to use a wand for some magics. But it was a rare talent, one which the vast majority of witches and wizards never developed, and Black was eleven years old. His core hadn't even matured yet. Between the hypothesis that the reverse-transfiguration was accidental magic, and the possibility that Black was reverse-transfiguring it purposely without a wand and for no discernable reason, Aldon preferred the simple solution that it was accidental magic – even if it did open the possibility that Black's magic was wild.

The second sign, that Black could do something that no one else could, that was interesting. It wasn't so much that he had an ability that others didn't – magical gifts fell into this category, and there were many upper-level spells that one needed a minimum power level and affinity to do. It was more that Black was eleven years old. At his age, even if he did develop into a powerful wizard, he shouldn't have been able to access the high-level spells that acted on those affinities. It was more likely that whatever he was doing was outside the bounds of regular magic, breaking the rules of magic, and that was a clear signifier of something wild.

There was no other way around it – objectively, based on the common academic consensus of the world's best magical theorists, Black's magic was wild. And that meant, based on Archibald's Theory of Increasing Organization, that he had to be a halfblood.

And that made no sense.

Aldon pulled open his mental drawer of information on Black, determined to see if there was any useful conclusion he could pull out. If Black was a halfblood – and his magic said he was – then the next question was, why was Black at Hogwarts?

What did Aldon know about Lord Sirius Black? He had always been the black sheep of the Black family. He, unlike the generations of Blacks before him and without any regard for tradition, arrived at Hogwarts and got himself promptly sorted into Gryffindor. Black's best friends, made within weeks of his arrival at Hogwarts, were James Potter, scion of one of the oldest, wealthiest, pro-Muggle, and Light noble houses; Remus Lupin, a halfblood and now a known werewolf; and Peter Pettigrew, a halfblood and now a low-ranking SOW Party member. Collectively, they became known as the Marauders, setting the precedent for pranksters at Hogwarts. When he was sixteen, the dowager Lady Walburga Black, nee Travers, passed away, leaving him with the title. At eighteen, he eloped with Diana Fawley, a Light pureblood from the Sacred Twenty-Eight, and the marriage had been broadly opposed by both the surviving Blacks and the Fawleys. Once the Split was declared, Lord Black turned on his remaining family members, even those he was formerly close with, and brought the House of Black in alliance with Lord Dumbledore's Light faction. This was common knowledge, simple fact. Since then, he had held to the Light political positions, donating substantially to the Light coffers.

Based on Lord Black's choice of friends and his known political positions, Aldon was skeptical that a halfblooded Heir would have caused him much embarrassment – so even if they had adopted, or if for some other reason Arcturus Rigel Black wasn't a pureblood, why wasn't it known? Why was Arcturus Rigel Black attending Hogwarts at all?

His mind gravitated automatically to his own supposed history. To be fair, Aldon wasn't sure how he had come about. All he truly knew was that he had a recent Muggleborn in his bloodline, that he was not the natural child of his mother, and that he did carry nearly all the other Rosier genetic traits. His best guess, that he was a bastard child of his father, didn't seem to fit for Black – all the records from the days when Society was merged suggested that, when the Lord and Lady Black attended functions together, it had patently obvious that they were deeply in love with each other. According to rumour, after Diana's death, Lord Black had quit his job as an Auror and stayed in mourning for years – not conducive to an affair leaving a bastard child. And, ruling out the theory that the younger Black was a Black bastard completely, he had located a Society photograph of the late Diana Black heavily pregnant with the younger Black, just a month before his birth was announced.

If the younger Black was a bastard, he had to be a bastard of the late Diana Black and someone else. He turned the idea over carefully in his mind, watching the sparks of lightning flash across his ceiling. If Black was the bastard of his mother and someone else, it would, at least, explain the glamour spell – if Black wasn't the natural child of Lord Sirius Black, then he wouldn't carry the genetic signifiers of the Black family. And yet he did. When the late Diana Black was alive, Aldon figured that she could have felt the need to hide the fact that Black wasn't Lord Black's child, but she had passed away young. Even an accomplished eight-year-old child wouldn't have been able to maintain the ruse alone. Unless there was other help – would Lady Potter have continued casting the requisite glamour charms? And if so, why? Surely, if the younger Black was actually a halfblood bastard of Diana Black, his other family members would have helped him reveal the truth to Lord Black, which would have been the logical route?

Or was Lord Black possibly complicit in the whole thing? In his own case, Aldon knew for a fact that his mother had been complicit in whatever lie had come about that led to his existence. His mother had secluded herself for nine months in the Rosier Mansion, seeing no one, for the sole purpose of being able to claim that she was pregnant with him when no one had any objective evidence to say otherwise. And if Black was claiming his wife's bastard as his own child – why? And, to top it off, Lord Black clearly didn't hold with blood prejudice. If the younger Black wasn't a pureblood, for whatever reason, Aldon rather thought that his blood status would be no secret, just simple, proud, fact. And then, Black wouldn't be at Hogwarts at all.

The younger Black, too, had to know that it was happening and had to be continuing the farce of his own volition at Hogwarts. If he didn't, his gift wouldn't have registered his appearance as a lie in the first place, not if his theories that the truth-gift was a focused form of Natural Legilimency were accurate. The fact that his gift identified it meant that Black knew that his appearance was a lie. And why would he go to Hogwarts, continuing the lie, if he himself knew he was a halfblood? Why would he take the risk of being discovered, shamed, and sent home, at a minimum?

And all of that was assuming that Black's glamour spell hid some clearly non-Black or halfblooded traits. As much as Aldon wanted to believe that the glamour was related to his blood status, it was entirely possible that it hid something completely unrelated, such as scarring, or a chronic illness. Either of those could lead him to avoid Madam Pomfrey, too.

He just didn't have enough information, so he gave up that line of reasoning as a bad job, shoving those thoughts back in the mental box he had labelled for them and turned to Black himself. He scowled up at the dark cloud over him – it had been storming in his parlour for the better part of an hour, but he didn't want it to stop. He wasn't through thinking yet.

Quite aside from the stupid glamour spell and his apparent willingness to suffer broken bones and persistent, constant, pain to continue it, Black was a mess of contradictions. He was good at Potions – so good, in fact, that he had gotten Professor Snape's attention within the first few weeks and he had taken over brewing for the Hospital Wing when Professor Snape was away. He had said himself that he wanted to pursue a Potions Mastery. And yet, Flint had suggested that Black's dream was to be a Healer, in their last conversation before the summer holidays. To be fair, Aldon reasoned, given Black's history, he had a clear reason to want to be a Healer. And Healing was not wholly separate from Potions; most advanced Healing involved potions, and the Healing elective at Hogwarts required extremely high marks in Potions, which was why few students took it. Aldon had seen Black with both potions and Healing books often enough.

But the thing was, if you spoke to Black, or listened to him, it was obvious that he was obsessed with potions. Healing was just an afterthought. He even said, himself, that he had only taken up Healing after the winter holiday, and that was true.

What was it that Flint had said, though?

You should be proud, Black. If your dream is to be a Healer, I mean.

It was an odd sentence. First, he had lied – You should be proud, Black, was a flat-out lie. On one hand, it could be that Flint was politically in support of the legislation, and hence didn't think that Black should be proud. While this was the most likely explanation, it didn't feel right. Flint's unfortunatefamily circumstances were broadly, if quietly, known throughout the Slytherin upper-years. He did go home for school holidays, but anytime Aldon saw him after one of them, he wore the telltale signs of a difficult break. If any pureblood ought to be opposed to the legislation about to the passed, it should have been Flint. With his mother being a Squib, while Flint himself was considered a pureblood, his line would no longer be pureblooded after him, because his mother was not a magic user. Flint had no reason to be in support of SOW Party policies, regardless of his father's beliefs, and he was notoriously apolitical, besides. It just didn't feel right.

Aldon turned to the second half – If your dream is to be a Healer, I mean. It didn't ring as a lie, which meant that Flint believed it to be true. But it was an odd phrase, because it was so patently obvious to anyone who watched that Black intended on pursuing a Potions Mastery. Black had even said so, the first time they met. And yet, Flint had spoken like he knew that Black's dream was to be a Healer… And Black hadn't disagreed.

No one had known Black before he had come to Hogwarts, the Split being in effect for almost his entire lifetime. No one, that is, except Flint – he distinctly remembered Lord Flint mentioning something about how he and Lord Black had season tickets to the Wimbourne Wasps, which was how he, and the remainder of Dark Society, had learned that the Lord Black had effectively secluded himself at home after the Lady Diana's death when the young Arcturus Rigel Black started attending games alone. Marcus Flint and Arcturus Rigel Black were close enough that the Flints had bought Archie a ticket to the Quidditch World Cup, five years ago – he didn't go, because of his mother's illness, but the fact remained that if anyone knew Black, it was Flint, and therefore… if Flint suggested that Black's dream was to be a Healer, but Black himself said he intended on pursuing a Potions Master, what did that mean?

His father, too, in the article had intimated that Black had always been interested in Healing, though he didn't have formal training… But Black said himself he only started learning Healing over the winter holiday, and that had been true. And it was obvious to anyone who looked that Black was obsessed with Potions. Right from the first day, he had said he wanted to pursue a Potions Mastery…

Aldon sat bolt upright, swung his bare feet into the floor and started pacing his parlour. That didn't make sense. It was as if the Black that Lord Black and Flint knew was not the same Black that Aldon knew. He ran his fingers through his hair, the lightning across the ceiling only barely soothing him, nine paces to one side where overstuffed bookshelves towered, nine paces back to the other side, to the windows with drawn drapes hiding the summer day outside. Nine steps again, back to his chaise, where he sat down for all of a minute before he realized he still needed to move, he was still agitated, he still needed to burn the excess energy. The Black that Lord Black and that Flint knew had always been interested in Healing and wanted to be a Healer. The Black that Aldon knew wanted to be a Potions Master, and was gifted enough, dedicated enough, to attract Professor Snape's attention within the first few weeks. Nine paces, again, long strides, to his bookshelves, a pause by his fireplace, off for the summer, nine paces back to the draped windows and his reading chaises, nine paces around and around and around.

Was it possible, ever so slightly, that the Black Aldon knew was an impostor? That, for whatever reason, the Black attending Hogwarts, wasn't the same Black that Flint and Lord Black knew?

Flint had lied. You should be proud, Black. It was a lie – and Flint knew it was a lie, else it would have read as true. Was it possible that he was lying when he called Black by name, because he knew Black wasn't the real Arcturus Rigel Black? It would fit. No one had known Black before he came to Hogwarts except for Flint. If the Arcturus Rigel Black who showed up at Hogwarts was an impostor and not the real Black, realistically, Flint was the only one who would have known. It was so improbable – the reasonable explanation was that Flint's political views were different, that he didn't think Black should be proud at all. If it had been anyone else, that would be what Aldon assumed. But, because it was Flint, based on what Aldon already knew about Flint, based on his own friendship with Flint, unbelievably … he almost thought the impostor theory was more likely to be true.

And that would fit, too, with the fact that Black, or whoever Black was, was a halfblood. It would explain the glamour spells, it would explain why he didn't want to go to the Hospital Wing, because Madam Pomfrey would have identified a glamour spell and removed it post-haste. It explained some of Black's inconsistencies – if the real Black dreamed about being a Healer, then the Black Aldon knew at Hogwarts could hardly deny it, even if every one of his actions demonstrated a passion for potions. It was a perfect explanation, too, for some of the things he said. If he was a halfblood, it was perfect reason for why he didn't think he could change politics. If he was a halfblood impostor, it would also explain his purposeful attempt to distract them from discussing his winter break. Really, it almost explained more than it didn't. It was a neat explanation that fit with the lies, fit with Flint's comments, fit with what Black said himself, fit with his contradictions.

But it was a ridiculous explanation. If someone was impersonating Black, first, who was it? Where was the real Black? How would they possibly pull it off? And, most importantly, why? And yet, he couldn't discount it as a possibility – it just fit too well, especially with Flint's remarks.

He didn't know enough. Based on his research, the only thing he could say with reasonable certainty was that Black, the Black he knew, was not a pureblood. He couldn't rule out the possibility that Black was a bastard child, like him, but there was also a distinct possibility, based solely on Flint's words, that Black was an impostor and not the real Arcturus Rigel Black. But it was something, and for now, that something was enough. It was enough to know that he wasn't the only halfblood at Hogwarts.

He looked up at the storming ceiling, and with a wave of his wand, he sent the clouds away and left a pale blue, clear, sky in its wake.

XXX

AN: Thank you, thank you for reading the first part of this mini-series! Special thanks goes out to meek-bookworm, who beta'ed this particular chapter and generally brainstormed things with me, and to badculture for providing a musical playlist, and to JEM and SHL for putting up with me while I went on extended rants about my planned fanfiction over the last 2 months. Yeah... expect more of that. This fic does take place, more or less, in the same universe as Breaking the Lines, and will ultimately fall into the same 'verse as Revolutionary, my planned Archie fic. :) Both this, and Archie's fic, will end up fairly AU because I have no idea what Violet has planned for the FF onwards, so I've just gone and developed it another way.