XXX

Back at Hogwarts, Aldon watched her.

She was … different at Hogwarts. Or, more accurately, she was the same. She was the same Rigel that her classmates had come to know; she was mild-mannered, studious, polite to a fault. But he saw flashes of Harriett there, too – he saw it every time she made a dryly acerbic comment, every time she teased her friends. He saw it every time she didn't know something, some aspect of pureblood culture or custom, that she ought to have known but didn't. He saw it every time her façade slipped, even a little, and her passions slipped out – even if they were almost entirely about potions, and he was quick to realize that the potions were Harriett's as much as they were Rigel's. In some ways, at Hogwarts, Harriett Potter relaxed far more than she had at the Gala. She was comfortable here.

But as Rigel, she was so … contained. She was secretive, as she had to be. She was comfortable, she was relaxed, but there was a level of paranoia that he had both come to expect and that he, now, understood. Her eyes, now that he knew their true colour, were ugly. They stabbed at his core, an obvious lie made worse by the fact that he knew they should be a glittering sea-green – sea-green with a glint of humour, a glint of laughter. The eyes she wore at school were a dull, blank, grey, and he hated them. She never laughed at school, not the same light, genuine laughs, eyes sparkling, that he found so easy to provoke from her at the Gala. She smiled, but those smiles so rarely reached her eyes. He missed the willingness to poke fun at her friends' expense, a sense of fun that had been replaced entirely by a dour studiousness. He missed her blunt honesty, the fearlessness that let her insult the heir to the House of Rosier to his face, which had been replaced entirely by mild-mannered politeness. He watched when her friends, Nott, in particular, teasing her, and he watched her let it roll off, let it go in a way that she never did when she was herself.

As much as Aldon hated the facade, though, he was drawn to it. He admired it. Harriett Potter was fearless. She was fearless, driven, cunning, resourceful, ambitious. Finding out her secret only revealed fully how well she belonged in the House of Snakes – imagine wanting something, anything, so badly that she were willing to break the laws, to risk the judgement that would inevitably come, to lie systematically to everyone she knew for years to achieve her dreams.

Aldon barely had to think to know Harriett's dream. It was in her eyes every time she looked at Professor Snape. It was hunger – a hunger for recognition, for esteem. It was in her voice every time she talked about potions. It was in the intensity with which she approached Potions – her talent for which had gotten her excused from the main class and into private lessons with Professor Snape. From the rare instance that he caught her studying Potions openly in the common room, copies of books titled Ingredient Substitutions: A Master Guide and Mastering Multi-Layered Potions and, most alarmingly, Free-brewing for the Free Potioneer, it was obvious that she was well past the NEWT-level. Every time she looked up, looking his way, he would blink his gaze away, to his textbook, to his homework, to Ed. It was just enough to give him some plausible deniability.

Aldon had never wanted anything that much. He wanted to be liked, appreciated, respected for himself as much as anyone did, he thought. Once he had discovered his gift, he had wanted to understand it, to disprove the inevitable hypothesis, which had deepened his interest in Magical Theory into something like a direction. But even that interest, enough to have him import journals directly from America so they wouldn't be censored, that was nowhere near the distance that Harriett had gone to achieve hers. He supposed importing journals illegally was breaking the law, but it was something that, if caught, he would pay a fine and walk away. It was not blood identity theft. What Harriett had done was insane in its courage.

He ignored the moral implications, because it was obvious to him, if to very few others, that the prohibition against Muggleborns and halfbloods at Hogwarts was poorly founded and ineffective anyway. Hogwarts had been an excellent school with Muggleborns and halfbloods in attendance, half a century ago. It hadn't become a better school by the absence of Muggleborns and halfbloods. If anything, the education provided had weakened in some areas because of the effect of blood purity propaganda. Based on his readings for the ICW exams, it was obvious that other schools internationally had no obligation to "teach all sides" in Magical Theory. Other schools didn't need to play semantic games with the word "theory". Other schools didn't need to gloss over certain principles because they would be "too controversial". And, anyway, Ed was right; statistically, while the attendance at Hogwarts had dropped somewhat after Muggleborns were barred from entry, it had not when halfbloods were similarly barred. He found it unlikely that thirty percent of the population had suddenly become pureblood overnight. It was far more likely that a substantial number of halfbloods, particularly from less prominent families, had simply falsified their bloodlines.

Sometimes, Aldon wanted to approach her. He wanted to ask her about it, to let her know that he knew. But he didn't dare – her secrets were too explosive, too volatile, and one never knew when someone was listening. In her position, he had no doubt that he would simply Obliviate anyone who found out. And he had no idea how to approach her about it, anyway. So, instead, he watched, grimacing slightly every time he heard one of her friends say something overly prejudiced in front of her, even as she simply acknowledged the remark with a slightly disapproving look and moved on.

He would have settled for being able to treat her as he always did, when she was simply Rigel. But he didn't trust himself to do that, given his new knowledge. She wasn't Rigel. She was Harriett. She was a girl, and he had not been taught to treat girls, or young women, the same way he treated other men. So, other than the unfortunate fact that they were both in the Dueling club, he avoided talking to her, for all that he still watched her.

In Dueling club, he had to duel her, because he could find no other reason to refuse. Unlike with Pansy, he couldn't refuse on principle, so instead he threw himself into it gingerly, reluctantly. It helped that it didn't matter – she danced circles around him, dodging his attacks and demolishing him with a few well-placed curses and hexes. It wasn't even difficult for her, and even if Aldon never really tried when he dueled her, he was certain she could defeat him even if he did try. But they rarely talked, other than small comments, here and there.

"You have to be more aggressive," she commented, over and over again. "If you want to win in a duel, you need to want to win."

He would smirk, say something meaningless and that he hoped was appropriately himself, and agree with her. She would roll her ugly grey eyes, and they would move on to dueling other students.

By the end of January, however, his own work began to interfere with his study of her. He still had most of a year of work to cover for the ICW Secondary Examination in Magical Theory, and all of his electives were becoming more difficult too. Professor Snape had, finally, in late January, had enough of Aldon's squeamishness and poor knife skills and put him in a month's worth of detentions chopping ingredients for the lower-years. After each one, Aldon locked himself in the bathroom he shared with Ed, trying to scrub the feeling of Flobberworm flesh and Salamander eyes and frog livers out of his fingers. It was disgusting, and if anything, Aldon was pretty sure it did no good.

And in early February, for the first time, he missed a curse on his puzzle box for Curse-breaking.

He and Alexander Willoughby, whom he had long-since gotten on first name terms with, secured one of Ravenclaw Tower's experimentation rooms. They already solved Alex's box earlier that week, and this time, as usual, they set his box on the other end of the room and began blitzing array of revealing spells at it.

"Revelio!" Aldon snapped, jabbing his wand at the cursed box, eyes narrowed in focus, his magic ready to copy as much of the signature provided by the box as possible. Alex, a tall, lanky, boy with three inches on Aldon, chestnut brown hair and summer-blue eyes, stood at the ready to shield. Some boxes would react to particular revealing spells, and Revelio happened to be the most common one and, therefore, the logical place to start.

There was nothing, not even a glimmer – not even the responses he expected. It didn't react.

"Wards?" Alex mused, tilting his head to study the box. He focused, casting a wordless spell to make the magic on it visible, and was rewarded when three circling lines of magic appeared. Three?

Aldon approached his box, with caution, even as Alex sucked in a breath. Of the entire class, they were the only ones not to have failed a box yet. Everyone in class had gotten into groups to solve them, and of the three groups, the Gryffindors had failed seven boxes so far, and the Hufflepuffs failed four of theirs and gotten half marks on another one which, though they managed to open without it exploding or cursing them, they set off the Caterwauling Charm on it and, Professor Newman reminded them cheerfully, probably would have died from whatever else was guarding the treasure.

The magic lines were, if he squinted, runes. He waved Alex forward with a casual hand, and Alex approached gingerly and squatted down. "Better not be a trick, Aldon. I like our record."

Aldon resisted rolling his eyes and cast a spell to magnify the tiny, circling, golden runes so that they could identify them. "No, they're runes. Newman cast a runic ward this time to hide the other spells. How much do you remember from our Runes class?"

Alex wrinkled his nose, eyeing the patiently circling, tiny runic lines. "Hated Runes. Too much memorization. Your area of expertise."

"Liar," Aldon muttered, even as he searched for the ward's keystones. He recognized some of them, but he was hardly a walking rune dictionary. His comment had nothing to do with his gift, this time – of the two of them, Alex was far better at memorization and at recognizing spells. He just didn't seem to like applying it to Runes. Alex was the only reason Aldon's essays for Curse-breaking weren't littered with phrases like "a curse that felt like fire but wasn't Incendio", or "a transfiguration spell of some kind", or, perhaps least helpful, "something Dark". Aldon didn't always know what the curses he broke were – he usually had some idea, based on how the spell felt, of what it would do if not broken, but couldn't make it any more precise. Disabling them was easier, because usually you could find the weak point of the spell by feel alone.

He found two of the keystone runes and threw raw power at them with his wand to break them. The runic ward flickered, but held, and he cursed silently. He hoped he hadn't disabled them out of order – there was always an ideal order to break multilayered curses, and while disabling them out of order wouldn't always lead to any meaningful difference, on occasion they could make it that much harder to trace the other curses to break.

"There," Alex interrupted his train of thought, aiming his wand at a particular rune and firing a small puff of power at it. The ward disappeared, and they retreated to the other side of the room to fire spells at it again.

"Revelio!" Aldon snapped, and this time the box reacted, spilling out waves of magic that he and Alex mirrored in their auras. Something that was meant to burn or scald, but it felt more like acid than fire, a weak explosive spell, probably Confringo, a Bombardment hex, something he suspected was meant to blind him, a Wailing or Caterwauling charm… There was also something on the lock itself, a Dark sealing charm that, if not disabled would … drain his magic until it killed him? Really? Then the classic locking charm, this one with plenty of power behind it, too.

He wrinkled his nose in distaste, and by the surprised look on Alex's face, he had felt it too. "He's never put on anything so Dark or violent on the puzzle boxes."

"Must be confident we could disable it," Alex replied, frowning slightly. "Or a trick hiding something else. Praecantatio Aparecium."

There was another flash, and Aldon was too slow with his magic to capture its signature.

"A Befuddlement Charm," Alex said. "Not a strong one. Meant to trigger when Alohomora is cast on the lock."

Aldon made a non-committal noise, pointing his wand at the box again. "Praecantatio Revelio." Sometimes a more specific revealing spell would have better results than a general one, but all that came up were the spells he had already identified. He ran through them mentally. "Eight spells?"

"That is about the number that Professor Newman usually puts on the boxes," Alex agreed, if slightly uneasily. They were always uneasy about the boxes, because Professor Newman was a tricky old bastard. That was, Aldon suspected, partly how he managed to hold onto his position at Hogwarts despite increasing Ministry oversight and disapproval, how he managed to still teach as much of the correct information as he could while toeing the line on controversial subjects. They could never be sure if they had all the curses, and even if they hadn't failed any of the boxes yet, there had been more than one close call.

Aldon reached to disable the Wailing or Caterwauling charm first; he always did, because usually they were set to go off when any of the other spells were tampered with. Once done, he reached for the blinding charm, because spells affecting cognition or the senses were usually triggered by disabling the offensive spells. Then he disabled the two explosive spells, then the spell that tasted like acid, with directed puffs of raw power into their weak points. Alex took care of the Dark curse on the lock – as a Neutral-Light wizard, the diametrically opposed Light counter-curse came easier to him than it did to Aldon, while Aldon usually took care of the Neutral-Dark counter-curses on Light hexes. Aldon disabled the Befuddlement Charm, and Alex overpowered the locking charm with a simple Alohomora.

They both retreated behind the automatically-triggering shielding spells that every Ravenclaw experimentation room was equipped with, and just to be sure, Aldon cast another round of revealing charms at the box. Revelio, Aparecium, Velamen Detraho, Praecantatio Revelio, Precantatio Aparecium, Detego… Every now and then Alex threw in a revealing charm of his own, but ten minutes later, they hadn't uncovered anything new.

Aldon exchanged a glance with his friend, who shrugged uneasily. There was something niggling at Aldon's senses, too, something that didn't feel quite right, but he had no idea what it could be. The box appeared to be completely devoid of any spells whatsoever. He took a deep breath and pointed his wand at the box.

"Cistem Aperio!" They always cast the opening charm rather than physically opening the boxes themselves. It was a safety measure drilled into them in the first term, immediately after Kirke had burned his eyebrows off. One always broke curses from as far a distance as could be managed, because they weren't perfect, because at some point, they would miss something, and being farther away increased their chances of surviving whatever curse or spell lashed out against them.

For a second, Aldon thought they had succeeded. It was enough for both he and Alex to drop their guard, to take a couple steps closer to the puzzle box.

Then the box exploded.

Instinctively, Aldon flinched and cast an overpowered Fortis, a beat slower than Alex who had cast Protego around them both. They needn't have worried, however, because the room's defenses kicked in naturally, and it wasn't a strong explosion charm to begin with. It was loud, but the resulting explosion and fire was only enough to burn a hole through the bottom of the box.

Aldon dropped his shield, sighing. There went their perfect record. Well, it had to happen sometime, though he heard Alex curse lightly behind him.

He went down to the box and crouched down beside it, poking at the open box. Professor Newman had left a couple Chocolate Frogs inside, both protected by some sort of shield charm in the packaging – small solace, there. He threw one of the Frogs to Alex absently, then poked at the bottom of the box. He traced the magic left in the air – it didn't feel like any spell or charm that he knew. It tasted like pure magic, not formed magic, anyway.

"Fire-starting rune, I think," Alex said, chewing on his Chocolate Frog. "One rune, probably carved on the bottom of the box. Didn't see it because we never flipped the box over – probably wasn't even hidden. It was just so small and underpowered that we didn't pick up on it underneath all the other curses."

His voice held a note of disgust, and privately Aldon agreed. It was a stupid thing to miss – it would have glowed under the revealing charms, but they hadn't seen it because the box was on the floor, and it was only triggered to go off when the box was opened. "We better start writing, then," he sighed. Despite knowing that their streak would be broken at some point, it was still disappointing when it happened. And in Curse-breaking the next day, Professor Newman had a good laugh at their expense, as they stood and detailed for the rest of the class the importance of considering a problem from multiple physical angles.

With all the distractions of classes, of his studies, he had little choice but to put the problem of Harriett Potter in the back of his mind. He would work it out later.

XXX

Before Aldon knew it, it was in May, and he still had no idea how he was supposed to interact with Harriett when she was Rigel as opposed to simply being Harriett. On one hand, he had no desire to reveal her secrets, or to do anything that might risk her ruse, and that meant he needed to treat her like he always did when she was simply Rigel. But on the other hand, he didn't like that either. Blood-status or not, Harriett Potter was a highborn noble lady, and it rubbed him wrong to treat her as he did previously. As a result, he still largely avoided her, and his interactions with her were limited to Dueling club and the unfortunate hilarity that she had been subjected to on Valentine's Day. That day, Aldon had, rather stiffly, agreed to deliver a pile of valentines for the Hufflepuffs to Cedric Diggory in Ward Construction, who would pass them on. She didn't pick up on his stiffness, but then, she was likely distracted by the whirlwind of valentines landing in her lap. Or, perhaps, she simply chalked it up to his not wanting to be one of her messengers of love.

It was not a situation which could continue indefinitely, and he needed to figure out how he was supposed to interact with her going forward. Unless he simply never wanted to interact with her again, and that was not an agreeable option to him. She was far too interesting.

But it was May, and the ICW Secondary Examination was fast approaching. He had again commandeered one of the Slytherin study rooms to study magical theory, by the convenient method of pulling rank and glaring at the underclassmen until they relented. It didn't work as well on the seventh-years, admittedly, but since Aldon had gotten the smallest room, they didn't care so much.

By this point, he had gotten through all the useful texts the texts at least once, taking notes along the way, and he was busy summarizing those notes into useable study notes. The difficulty with writing the ICW Secondary Examinations was that he didn't know anyone else who had written them, and he therefore had no idea what questions were normally covered. For OWLs and NEWTs, there were piles of old exams to review and cover, but none such existed for the standard European examinations. Without any focus of what might be covered, Aldon simply … studied everything. It was all interesting, so while it was a lot of work, he couldn't say that he was too concerned.

It was there that Ed found him, poring over notes on the general differences in forms of magic. Cast spells, regardless of whether it was classified as a charm, transfiguration, or defensive spell, were worked differently from potions, from runic arrays, or creature magic, and sometimes different again depending on channeling methods. There had been an extremely interesting chapter in one of the books about international channeling methods, since not all Wizarding cultures used wands – much of Asia was still reliant on paper charms and seals, whereas the African wizarding community still used complex hand gestures and voice to shape and cast spells, and he dutifully took notes.

"Aldon," Ed said, poking his head in the door. He was frowning thoughtfully.

"What is it?" Aldon prompted. It wasn't wholly unusual for Ed to join him to study, but he wasn't carrying any of his books, and it was unlike Ed to otherwise disturb him while he was studying.

"I just had," he paused, thinking his words over, "an odd conversation with Professor Pettigrew after Care of Magical Creatures."

Aldon sat back in his chair, stretching out the kink in his back, and tilted his head in invitation. "What do you mean, odd?"

Ed came in and sat down, shrugging slightly. "It was just odd. Professor Pettigrew asked about Rigel, asked how he was doing. I know Pettigrew was one of the four founders of the Marauders brand, but…"

"But if that were the case, he would have asked earlier in the year. Maybe he didn't know that we were friends with him?" Aldon suggested, carefully monitoring his pronouns. Harriett deserved the respect of being referred to by her proper gender in his head, but he certainly could not say so out loud.

"Yes, but he looked … not himself, when he asked, either." Ed thought, head tilted slightly to one side as he tried to work it out. "Professor Pettigrew is normally very hesitant, though he is good with the creatures, and he never checks the homework. When we ask him questions, he usually can't answer and he just refers us to the textbook."

Aldon nodded, listening. On rare occasions, Ed sometimes liked to talk through his problems, but they were few and far between.

"But when he was asking about Rigel, he became very … focused? Intent. He clearly had an ulterior motive for asking, it was all very carefully nonchalant, and obviously planned. He first asked if I was acquainted with Rigel, though it was obvious he knew the answer, and when I said yes, he asked how Rigel was doing. I said that I hadn't heard of anything suggesting he was not fine, and then he asked, and I quote, "Is he a good wizard?" I told him I didn't know what he meant by that, and he asked me, quite directly, if Rigel was powerful."

Aldon straightened, focusing on his friend. That could not be good. "And then?"

Ed quirked an eyebrow up, almost amused. "Down, Aldon. Of course, I didn't answer that. I asked why he was asking me, and that was when he told me he was close friends with Rigel's parents, and that he was disappointed not to have him in his class. It was strange, but I didn't see any reason to question it, so I said instead that in Slytherin, the upper-years didn't have much to do with the lower-years."

Aldon nodded, lips pressed together. "But you're telling me this because you think he knew you were lying."

Ed shrugged. "I wasn't sure. Normally I would say that Professor Pettigrew is simply not that observant or intelligent, but he wasn't himself when he asked. I wasn't sure what to do."

"He had to know you were lying," Aldon replied, pulling together his sheaf of notes and collecting them into his messenger bag. Even if he had, by default, claimed this study room, he didn't dare leave his Magical Theory notes behind. They were too controversial, and all he needed were idiot lower-years with loose tongues spreading rumours far and wide about Aldon's research into controversial topics. "Even if he didn't, though, other students talk. He killed a basilisk last year. Even asking is odd, when the answer is staring in front of him. Do you think he was trying to get some other sort of information about Rigel from you?"

Ed grimaced and nodded. "I think so, but based on his questions, I'm not sure what he was searching for. You do keep an unhealthily close eye on Rigel, though, so I was curious as to what you might know?"

Aldon shook his head, but didn't bother denying that his fixation on Harriett was, to put it mildly, unhealthy. Still, her secrets were her own. "I haven't the foggiest. I only know as much as most. But we should probably tell Rigel about this. I saw the third-years studying at the small table in the corner, a few hours ago – they should still be there."

Ed nodded agreeably, and fortunately Harriett, Pansy and Draco were still huddled around the small corner table in the common room. It was late, but not so late that the common room had fully cleared out. Aldon let Ed take the lead, and noted with a hint of pleasure that Harriett's eyes dropped to him automatically.

"Sorry to disturb your studying," Ed said politely, stopping at their table and acknowledging Pansy and Draco with a slight nod. "But I have a matter which I think Rigel needs to hear."

Harriett straightened from her textbook, Charms, it looked like, tilting her head curiously. "What is it?"

"Are you acquainted with Professor Pettigrew?"

"Not well," she replied, drawing the words out thoughtfully. "Why?"

"He held me after class today to ask about you," Ed said, frowning lightly in concern. "I suppose he heard we were friendly."

"You can say "friends"," Harriett smiled slightly. While her expression was interested, her eyes were cautious.

"Friends, then" Ed agreed, returning her smile for caution. "Pettigrew asked after you. He said he was an old friend of your parents and was disappointed not to have you in his class. He wanted to know how you were doing lately. I found it odd, so I thought I would mention it."

Her expression froze for a second, and Aldon could see the thoughts whirring through her ugly grey contacts as she swallowed a thought. She opened her mouth to respond, but Pansy, no doubt catching her friend's expression, interrupted.

"Pettigrew asked me about you, too," she said, her blue eyes sharp. "I didn't think to mention it, because it was in passing, but it is a little strange."

"What did he ask you?" Harriett asked quietly, and from his perspective, Aldon could see her clenching her fist in her lap and squeezing wrinkles into her robes.

Pansy shrugged slightly. "Nothing that made any sense. He asked how you were doing in classes and if I thought you were a good wizard. I said I wouldn't be friends with you if you weren't – it was supposed to be a joke, but I don't think he got it."

"Do you know him at all?" Draco asked, his voice concerned, though Harriett had smoothed her face back into a polite blankness. "Why is he asking questions about you? You said you only saw him that one time in the Hospital Wing. Did you talk?"

The Hospital Wing? Aldon sharpened his eyes on the Malfoy scion, though he doubted he would pick anything else up. It wasn't a lie, so clearly Aldon had not been paying the kind of attention he should have on Harriett Potter. He cursed Professor Snape's still-ongoing detentions – he did about fifteen of them already, but apparently he hadn't attained the knife skills that Snape was aiming for yet, so they continued.

"Not really," Harriett replied, leaning back, her hands now carefully relaxed and her tone dismissive. "He is an old friend of my family, so maybe … he's just curious about his friend's son. I'm sure it's nothing." It was a blatant lie, but Aldon hardly needed his gift to guess that.

"Keep away from him," Ed advised bluntly. "I didn't like the look in his eye. He's up to something."

"If you say so," Harriett said evenly, even as there was a flash of panic in her eyes. "I'm not in his class, so I can't see how we'd cross paths with him anyway. Thank you for the warning, though."

Ed nodded, turning to the sixth-year dorms, while Aldon, carefully looking at Pansy and Draco rather than at Harriett, wished them a polite, if unusually quiet, good evening, and followed after his friend.

He really needed to work out how he was going to deal with Harriett in the future.

XXX

That weekend, Peter Pettigrew died, and Harriett Potter, in her guise as Rigel Black, was in the Hospital Wing. Try as he might, Aldon couldn't find out anything more than the public rumours. Pansy knew what had happened, but, unusually, directly said that if Aldon was curious he ought to ask Rigel himself. Her hesitation, the serious expression on her face told Aldon all he needed to know – whatever it was, it was serious enough that Pansy would not give up her friend's secrets. Draco, too, knew, but while their relationship was no longer frosty, one could not say it was particularly warm, either. If anything, Aldon was annoyed at Harriett's friends. Now that he knew what he was looking for, the clues were so obvious, and it irked him that neither of them saw the secret right under their eyes. Or, maybe, it irked him that he now saw the attitudes that Harriett had to put up with simply to get into Hogwarts.

It really irked him when he saw or heard those attitudes from her friends. Malfoy, Nott were key perpetrators– it wasn't like they threw out comments on a daily basis, or even that they went out of their way to make prejudicial comments. No, it was more routine. More insidious. It existed as an unspoken miasma around them, the belief that of course Muggleborns and halfbloods can't do magic like we can, with their half-formed cores and their meddling with magic they couldn't possibly understand. Harriett was a halfblood. And he probably was one, too, according to Archibald's Theory of Increasing Organization.

So when Harriett's friends, those who knew what had happened to her, didn't want to tell him anything, Aldon wasn't inclined to press them on it. Instead, he snuck into the Hospital Wing, a week or so after whatever had happened, while Harriett was sleeping.

"Mr. Rosier, what can I do for you?" Madam Pomfrey bustled out of her office, positioned a little too conveniently by the entrance to the Hospital Wing. She looked him over professionally; she always did, for anyone entering her Wing. He wondered vaguely if she had worked out Harriett's secret. There were a wide range of diagnostic spells, and her sex would affect some treatments as well, which explained why she avoided the Hospital Wing as much as possible. However, she had landed in the Hospital Wing twice this term, so surely Madam Pomfrey had thrown the usual battery of diagnostic spells at her, and one of them would have identified her sex?

Madam Pomfrey frowned at his long silence. "Is there something wrong, Mr. Rosier?"

He snapped out of it. It didn't matter. If she knew, she hadn't said anything thus far. Perhaps it was covered by Healer-patient confidentiality. "I'm here visiting Rigel, Madam," he said, putting on a smile. It was one of his more charming ones, with a dash of hesitancy. "I'm not missing classes right now, it's a spare period for me."

"Hmm," she replied, glancing behind her into the Hospital Wing. "I'm afraid that Mr. Black is sleeping. He fell asleep after Miss Parkinson and Mr. Malfoy left at the end of lunch."

It was true – and without a hint of partial truth or omission around it. So Madam Pomfrey probably didn't know. He didn't know how Harriett had gotten out of it, but then, she was resourceful. "I won't wake him," Aldon promised, willing his eyes to reflect sincerity. "I'll just sit with him for a little, if that's all right?"

"I suppose," Madam Pomfrey agreed gingerly, only slightly suspicious. "There's little point to sitting with a sleeping person, though."

"I just want to make sure he's all right, Madam Pomfrey," Aldon promised, but he needn't have bothered. The stately matron disappeared back into her office, shaking her head, and Aldon took seat beside Harriett.

She was thinner than she ought to have been after less than a week and looked even smaller curled into a ball under the sheets. She was always small compared to the other boys in her year, but knowing that she was a girl, he realized she was really of average height and size for her age. He looked around – Madam Pomfrey was still in her office, and if he craned his head, he could see that she was checking over the potions stores and organizing them.

The board at the end of the bed, Madam Pomfrey's medical notes, were stuck with on with a minor sticking charm. Quietly, staying level, he reached over to hold it before disabling the charm with a small puff of raw power. There were countercurses and counterspells, of course, but the advantage of using raw power was that, even if it required more skill and knowledge, it was untraceable if properly done. Since it wasn't a proper spell, Priori Incantatem was useless.

Patient reports general malnourishment, residual effects of poisons throughout system, moderate intestinal damage, residual effects of severe dehydration. No diagnostic tests completed – patient refused consent. And later, mental shielding fluctuating and inconsistent – suspect severe mental trauma. Core coils are not reactive, but patient appears able to do magic. Unknown cause. Patient expresses no concerns, states a reaction of mental technique performed. Monitor for developments.

Professor Pettigrew was dead. The most common theory among the students was that he had attacked Rigel Black, who had killed him in self-defence. It was a theory that worked with the known facts, as few of them as there were. Aurors had visited that night, taking a statement from her, too, and he had no reason to believe the theory was false, for all that it was not as detailed as he would like. Still. The fact that it had even happened was … distressing.

Harriett Potter had no one to look out for her at Hogwarts. She was highborn, noble. She ought to have had as many people looking out for her as Pansy did, as Alice did, as others of her rank, blood-status be damned. Aldon was a gentleman, and it did not sit well with him that Harriett didn't have these things. Harriett never should have had to kill anyone, in self-defense or otherwise. She shouldn't have had to face whatever attack had happened alone. It just … it didn't make sense to him. Intellectually, he knew that this was a choice she had taken – by adopting the persona of her cousin, of Rigel Black, she gave up the privileges of her sex. She accepted the risks and dangers of being male, not least to mention the risks of being caught and tried for blood identity theft. He even knew that, of all people, Harriett Potter was one of the most capable people he knew, well able to handle most of the risks. It didn't change the fact that she shouldn't have had to.

And, as the only person who knew Harriett's true identity and sex, Aldon couldn't help but feel complicit. He knew who she was, and he hadn't ever attempted to protect her, other than an offhand attempt to exert some social protection at the Gala. He had, in fact, pretty much avoided her since the Gala, because he didn't know how to treat her, which in retrospect just sounded ridiculous. The reality was, his discomfort over whether he could continue to simply treat her as Rigel meant that there was no one who knew who she was to look out for her. And while he didn't think that he necessarily would have prevented whatever happened – he really wasn't that bigheaded – neither could he deny that it might have made a difference.

He slid the clipboard back across Harriett's bed, using a wordless charm to fix it back into its position at the end of the bed. He sighed, standing up.

Harriett looked at peace when she slept.

Next year was another year. Aldon had the summer to get his head on straight. Harriett would be fine – Malfoy had been going on and on about a healing internship in South America, but Aldon would bet a thousand Galleons that the healing internship was for the real Arcturus Rigel Black, not Harriett Potter, so at least she would be herself all summer. As herself, surely Lord Potter would have the usual protections around her. She would be fine.

Next year, when he next met Rigel Black, things would be different. He'd try, at least, and the next time something happened, maybe he'd be there.

XXX

After months of studying and stress, the ICW Secondary Examination was disappointingly easy. Not that it was any less difficult than the OWLs had been, really, or that he anticipated the NEWTs would be, more that the OWLs and NEWTs were more stressful since they were all written together. The exam covered basics on the nature of magic, the distinctions between wild and formed magic, between pureblood and Muggleborn magic, with some questions about the different ways that magic could be channeled and a hefty section on natural magic, which he found the most difficult. Still, he finished with about twenty minutes to spare, and spent it reviewing his answers before handing it in to Professor Snape, his exam invigilator.

"Finished, Mr. Rosier?"

Aldon let a cocky half-smile cross his face. "It was easy."

The professor snorted, holding out his hand for the sheaf of paper. "I hope you're so confident when your marks come back in the summer."

In comparison, his regular exams were something of a joke. Curse-breaking hadn't even had a real exam – they were each given new puzzle boxes to solve, but this time forbidden from help and given a deadline of three hours. He finished out the year, one eye on Harriett (who had been excused from exams altogether and spent hours sitting outside by the lake), and it was a quiet, almost listless, return home for the summer.

XXX

The New Developments Division was as he remembered it – tucked away in the back of the Rosier Investment Trust, a large, open-concept room with surprisingly few employees but wide, open spaces between desks for experimentation. Aldon was surprised when Father had, quite openly, asked him which division he would like to intern with this year, and he was even more surprised when Father had accepted his request to return to the New Developments Division.

"I'll have a word with Director Blake," he had replied, expressionless, after an uncomfortable pause. "I'm sure she can find a role for you."

Even more shocking, Aldon was being paid this summer. This wasn't a decision of Father's, he didn't think. He had simply arrived his first day, wove his way through the swarm of Father's sycophants in the other divisions until he reached the unassuming door labelled New Developments, and entered.

Aldon had not met Director Christina Blake previously, as she had been on sabbatical obtaining a Mastery in Alchemy the previous year, and Ryu had taken on the role of acting Director. Still, he had heard about Director Blake – she was apparently a formidable British Muggleborn witch, graduating from Ilvermorny near twenty years ago with a specialty in Alchemy. She joined the Rosier Investment Trust almost immediately after her graduation under the leadership of the old Lord Belden Rosier who, Sacred Twenty-Eight, noble, and pureblooded or not, was by all accounts a staunch meritocrat.

The political winds were already shifting, then, and it was because of Director Blake's skill, knowledge, and vociferous advocacy that the New Developments Division weathered them. It was because of Director Blake that the New Developments Division still hired such a high proportion of Muggleborns and halfbloods, quiet pressure from Ministry notwithstanding. It was her leadership, her talent for identifying people with merit, which had enamoured her to the old Lord Rosier, and it was under her leadership that the New Developments Division investment choices brought in, on average, fifty percent of the Trust's income. Even if they were the smallest Division, with the most run-down space, and even if the management of the Trust, including the current Lord Rosier, never publicly recognized them.

And even though Christina Blake was held in nearly mythic status by many of the younger analysts, even though she enjoyed the status of being the Director of their division and was surely entitled to an actual office, she still occupied a corner of the same, large room as her workers, and she still kept her fingers in the same reviews and concept proofs as all of her analysts.

"Aldon Rosier," she said, when he first came through the door, coming forward to greet him. She was a slight, willowy woman, with dark hair that was pulled casually away from her face, and she moved with grace, if some slight hesitation, and offered him her hand. She had a wide mouth, and she smiled at him, but her brown eyes were cautious. "Your father said that you were interested in returning to New Developments for another summer. He says you are interested in magical theory."

Aldon paused for a second, a little uncertain about what to do with her hand, because he couldn't well bow over it as would be his natural inclination, as a noble. That was a pureblood and noble custom, and he was surrounded by Muggleborns and halfbloods who, even if he was the son of the Head, would mock him to no end if he did. It was only his distraction that he noticed, and nearly stopped breathing.

She had his hands.

Her hand was his hand, on another body – long, tapered fingers, ring finger a touch longer than his index finger, short nails that, no matter how much Aldon tried to grow them, never stayed long or protected his fingers fully. He lost count of the number of times he had cut his fingers in Potions class. His hands were not his father's, whose fingers were round sausages with thick nails, nor his mother's, who had tiny hands.

But his hands were her hands.

His eyes snapped up to hers, even as he forced himself to breathe, to relax. He returned the smile, hesitant, and he could tell that Director Blake had caught his surprise. She ought to have been confused, a little annoyed, by his delay in response, but instead she seemed to be waiting, slightly nervous, for a reply. He scanned her face – it was heart-shaped, not like his, but their chins were both pointed – Father's was square, and Mother's round. Her earlobes were detached, like his. A sneaking suspicion rooted itself in the back of his mind.

She was about the right age – she would have started at the Trust about the same time as his father. She was Muggleborn. And in a world where Muggleborns were already being pushed out of Society, where many Muggleborns were already staying abroad after graduation, it was not as though Father would have had much opportunity to meet a Muggleborn witch. Particularly one who had his hands. And his chin. And his ears.

"That's right," he said, taking her hand and shaking it as he had seen commoners do in Diagon Alley. He was glad to hear that his voice, at least, contained none of the breathless panic that had infused his head. That was good; he babbled on to cover his shock. "At Hogwarts, I am taking Charms, Transfiguration, Potions, Ancient Runes, Curse-breaking, and Ward Construction at NEWT-level. I am hoping to do a Mastery in Magical Theory after I finish at Hogwarts."

She nodded, and Aldon noted she didn't seem surprised that he wasn't taking Magical Theory at NEWT-level. "A good selection, for Hogwarts. Well, you are welcome here. Ryu tells me that last year you shadowed most of them on a part-time basis, so you have some idea of what we do. I'm afraid for the most part you'll mostly be pulling research for the other analysts, but I will see if we have some smaller pitches for you to review. We always seem to have people with madcap inventions wanting funding, and most of them don't have any value, but someone needs to check. Your desk will be that corner one – I know it doesn't have much space, but it's the only open desk right now. Do you have any preferences for area of work?"

Aldon shook his head regretfully, turning towards the corner she had gestured to, with the empty desk. It was the same size as the other analysts' desks, but it looked to be unpopular because there was less space around it for experimentation or design, and no chalkboard. "My interests tend to be very theoretical. I would say I'm strong in Charms, and Runes."

Director Blake nodded thoughtfully, glancing over to a board at the head of the room listing assignments. That was new – last year, Ryu had simply passed out assignments as he received them. It was interesting, though, knowing what everyone else was working on. She walked over to it, scanning the lists and picking one from near the bottom – Bubble-Head Ring for Underwater Exploration, it read, and she scrawled his name, Aldon Rosier, next to it.

She made her cursive "r"s the same way he did, with a large scrawl upwards on the capital and dropping any semblance of the smaller loops on the small r, turning it into nothing more than a slight hump.

"Feel free to ask anyone questions if you have trouble or if you don't know where to start," she said, pulling out a thick wad of parchment from the piles on her desk and handing it to him. Glancing down at it, he realized it was the pitch for the device. "Now, your father didn't mention a salary for you, and unfortunately our budget is rather restricted at the moment, so would you mind if we paid you twenty Galleons a week? It isn't much, I know, but it's all I can really offer right now."

Aldon blinked, surprised – he hadn't been paid his last two summers, and his parents still, for all the distance that had grown between them, provided him with everything he could ever want. Still, he couldn't see any reason why his own source of savings wouldn't be useful. "That sounds fine, Director Blake," he replied, purposely injecting his voice with cheer.

She smiled, a touch pleased for all that her eyes were still cautious, and waved him to his new desk.

XXX

Over the following weeks, Aldon worked on his own assignment off and on between frequent visits to both well-known and obscure bookshops, public and private libraries, and nearly all the Guilds, to locate and obtain research materials for the more senior analysts. Some of the materials were held at very picky institutions, and while Aldon was able to charm his way into most of them, relying on a combination of his name, his looks, and insincere but well-faked flattery, a few of the institutions had proven more difficult. The Potions Guild always required an incredibly specific letter of permission from the Division's resident Potions Master, which Aldon took to drafting ahead of time for the Division's crotchety Master Phillips to sign. The Runes Guild had refused him entry into the Selected Archives of their Library until he had, as they put it, "proven his worth" by breaking into it, so approximately six scouting visits later, he broke through the runic ward shielding the door to Selected Archives. After that, the ward was apparently constructed to remember his magical signature, and so he had free entry as he pleased. Two months later, there was only one Guild he hadn't managed to gain entry to.

It was not without some trepidation that he first approached the Alchemy Guild. It was common knowledge in Society that the House of Albright, a family of fanatical Light supremacists, had established a choke-hold on the Guild in the late eighteenth century and that no one had yet managed to pry it from their grasp. They also, just after the fall of Grindelwald, established Illuminux Inc., their private family corporation which bought and sold materials for the Guild, often causing supply shortages and surpluses. Illuminux Inc. was undeniably corrupt and intermingled extensively with the Alchemy Guild, which was why most prominent Alchemists and those hoping to become Alchemists now trained abroad. Even Professor Dumbledore, Light wizard that he was, had done his advanced training in Italy. The House of Albright either didn't know, or were too big-headed to care, that they had long since lost any prestige.

Aldon happened to be in the same class as the Heir to the House of Albright, who he considered to be a study in attractiveness. Eric Albright was, frankly, stunningly beautiful – thick blond hair, blue eyes, high cheekbones, full, eminently kissable lips. He was also tall, about half a head taller than Aldon, and lean – the perfect height for Aldon to rest his head on his shoulders, if he were so inclined. If it weren't for his frankly abhorrent personality, Aldon was sure he would have developed a serious crush on the tall Ravenclaw.

Eric Albright was cruel, and meaninglessly so. Slytherins, while they could be cutting, always had reasons for the things they said, and generally tended to try to keep decent relations with most people. It didn't make sense to make enemies that one didn't need to make, and one never knew when someone would turn out to be a good connection. Eric Albright believed he didn't need those connections, believed whole-heartedly that because he was an Albright, he was superior. Many people thought they were superior, of course – just consider Draco Malfoy, though half of that was just a front – but Eric Albright genuinely, to his core, believed it. He was a strident Light-supremacist, making snide comments on other students' affinities throughout his classes, though Aldon had seen his Transfigurations and the other boy was mostly Neutral in his casting. Perhaps Neutral-Light, but even Alex had a stronger Light affinity than he did. His family wasn't political, wasn't affiliated with Professor Dumbledore's Light faction, thought it might have been logical for them to be; Aldon suspected that politically, they were opposed to the pro-Muggleborn, anti-blood-discrimination positions espoused by the Light. Albright rarely talked to anyone, including his own Housemates, and anyone who attempted to talk to him was quickly dissuaded.

In short – despite his incredibly good looks, Aldon didn't like him, and he was emphatically not looking forward to any potential interaction with him at the Alchemy Guild. Which is where he was, that day, because Director Blake was looking for a copy of a treatise that only they had.

The Alchemy Guild's gates were made of shining gold, though after a quick examination, Aldon smirked; they were only gilded in gold paint, albeit a solid coat and very convincing. The metal itself, when he tried to run his magic through it, had a coefficient much higher, probably iron. He pushed at the gate lightly, but it didn't open. Interesting – the other Guilds, as much as they liked to emphasize how intelligent and superior they were, always let outsiders in to fully demonstrate their glory. It was only their precious research materials that was kept under lock and key. Still, he supposed one never knew with the Alchemy Guild.

He stood back, pulling out his wand and casting a wordless magic revealing spell on the gates. There was a runic ward on the gates, he saw. He picked out the runes for light, and the way the magic shimmered uncomfortably in his Sight, he could tell it was a Light ward, meant to keep out Dark wizards. Ah, that would be why he couldn't enter – the gate must have sensed his neutral-Dark affinity and rejected him. Still, how dull. Dark magic was the natural opposite of Light, and while the ward might be effective in keeping him out, now that he knew what the problem was, the counter was easy.

In an almost casual gesture, he wove his wand through a series of runes, picking Dark runes for trickery, concealment and deceit, then a series of Light runes, to calm and lull a sense of security. He picked out a few more runes for precision and accuracy to add on top of the mix. It was a counter-ward, and rather than casting it at the gate, however, he cast it on himself. He might have been able to break the ward on the gate, with enough time and effort, but he didn't need to make an enemy of the Alchemists' Guild (or… more of one than he already was), and it would be vastly counter-productive to his mission of borrowing the treatise Director Blake needed. All his ward did was run interference with the gate's wards, providing a screen for his magic so that it would read him as Neutral-Light in affinity, thereby allowing him entry.

By comparison with the gilded gates, the Guild Hall was almost dour in decoration. They were light on the gilt, with bare expanses on the walls instead of the usual portraits of prominent Guild members. There was a sweeping staircase at the end, reaching to the upper levels, but it was cold stone and the railings were cobwebbed in the corners. It was by far the emptiest Guild he had ever visited – all the rest had near-constant foot traffic through the main hall, but there was only a sleepy receptionist behind a desk near the front entrance, reading the day's Daily Prophet.

"I'm looking for the Library," he said, leaning lightly on the counter. "Mistress Blake has requested that I obtain for her a copy of The Impact of Muggle Agricultural Practices on Magical Coefficients."

"Library is down the hall and to your left," the man said, voice bored, eyes never leaving the newspaper. "Doors are marked with a carving of Nicholas Flamel and the Philosopher's Stone."

Aldon thanked him, turning to head down the hall, only to curse under his breath as he spotted Eric Albright bustling towards him, a haughty expression of fury on his face. It was just his luck.

"Rosier, who let you in here?" he snapped, eyes narrowed.

He sighed internally. He was not in the mood for this. "I let myself in through the gates. I won't be here long, Albright; I was sent by Mistress Blake for a copy of The Impact of Muggle Agricultural Practices on Magical Coefficients."

Albright ignored him entirely, stopping just in front of him and stabbing his finger at him. Aldon was almost amused to note that Albright's finger purposely stopped several inches away from his chest, as though Aldon carried an infectious disease. "You are not welcome here, Rosier. The Alchemy Guild will never be open to Dark wizards."

Aldon leaned back, annoyed and very carefully not showing it. Instead, he examined his fingernails. "As you can see, I did manage to get through the gates, which I think argues that I am not, in fact, a Dark wizard."

"Of course you are," Albright snapped. "With your family history, you could hardly be anything else."

He had completely missed the point, because of course Albright wasn't just bigoted, he was a bigoted moron. Did he not remember the wards on his own Guild gates? His comments on family history, with what Aldon now knew, cut slightly, but Aldon ignored it. It wasn't like Albright would know that Aldon was a probable halfblood bastard. He kept his voice calm, though his ire was rising. "As I said, I am not here for myself, but on behalf of Mistress Blake, who is looking to borrow a treatise."

"Mistress Blake? I don't even know who that is," Albright replied scornfully. "You're just looking to steal knowledge for yourself, not that Alchemy would even work for you. It is a Light act. Precise, ordered – you wouldn't be capable of it."

If Dark wizards wouldn't be able to do it anyway, then why would you even keep it a secret, Aldon snarled internally, but didn't say it. He kept his voice politely, coolly, even. "Mistress Blake. She obtained her Mastery in Alchemy last year at the Salem Institute. She's looking for a copy of The Impact of Muggle Agricultural Practices on Magical Coefficients, as I said. I understand that the Alchemy Guild has the only copy in Britain."

"Oh," Albright waved his hand dismissively, eyes narrowed in dislike. "Then you can leave. The English Guild is not open to half-arsed pretend Masters from other countries, particularly not Mudbloods who could never understand the glorious art of Alchemy anyway."

"Fine," Aldon snapped, dropping his pretense of politeness. Clearly, it wasn't going to be of any use, though he should have figured it wouldn't. "I'll remind you that by that reasoning, Professor Dumbledore isn't permitted into the Guild Hall either, since he did his Mastery in Italy with Master Flamel, yet I doubt you have barred him entry. We'll import a copy of the treatise from abroad, and you and your Guild can continue wallowing in mediocrity while the remainder of the academic world moves on."

He turned around and left, making a note to return and break the damn ward on the gates when he had a spare hour or two.

Back at the office, the other analysts howled with laughter as he reported the unsuccessful result to Director Blake. It turned out no one had actually expected him to be able to get in. Rather, even making it into the Guild Hall was an accomplishment, as every other analyst had either been blocked by the gates or caught on the grounds. Director Blake herself laughed so hard that she almost cried, and cheerfully informed him that she had ordered a copy of that very treatise from America a week ago, and that she expected it to arrive in a few days. Surrounded by the laughter of his co-workers, Aldon ruefully let it go.

XXX

Aldon hadn't forgotten the disturbing similarities between him and Director Blake. She treated him as she did any of the other analysts, with a kind and professional manner, but on at least one occasion, he thought he had caught her gaze lingering on him with a particularly thoughtful expression. It wasn't as if, if his suspicions were correct, that she would be able to do anything about it. His family was powerful, and he didn't know what had transpired between her and his father, but given his father's ruthless business habits, he could guess. He was certain that, if Director Blake were his biological mother, she was under some sort of threat to ensure that he never found out.

She never spoke about her family, he noticed. Ryu boasted at length about the accomplishments of his twins, both attending school at Mahoutokoro, and both of whom, apparently, were devils on broomsticks. Albert's children had reached the precious pureblood-by-definition standard and would be allowed to attend Hogwarts when they were eleven. Even Aman had mentioned her young family, bemoaning the cost of international tuition at the American schools. Most of the other analysts had spoken at some point about their families, whether their families were abroad, whether they had children or wanted children, whether they were partnered or wanted to be. Director Blake simply never said anything and ignored the topic when it came up. Once, feeling particularly daring, Aldon directly asked about her family, figuring that it could always be chalked up to office small talk.

"Do you have a family, Director Blake? Children?" he asked, offhand, pouring himself a glass of water from the corner kitchen.

"No, no family," she replied lightly, not looking at him as she reached for the watery coffee. "No children, either, I never wanted any."

The last part was a lie, but it was said too fast for Aldon to identify whether the lie was in whether she didn't have children, or whether she had never wanted any, or both. Either would have set it off. He didn't dare ask again, and instead found himself quietly researching the theory behind the Paternity Potion.

A wizarding child's magical signature was a combination of both parents' magical signatures. He understood the concept when it came to two wizarding parents easily enough, though apparently the potion was also effective for halfbloods of a full Muggle and a witch or wizard, because the Muggle contributed something equivalent, if not a magical signature. He wasn't so concerned about that part of it – he simply wanted to know whether the Paternity Potion would work to identify either parent, or just paternity. There was no such thing as a Maternity Potion, but then, he figured that usually one knew who the mother was.

The potions recipe was not a secret, and it was the work of an hour to copy it from the Potions Guild records. At home, in his parlour, he set his ceiling to rain and looked over the list of ingredients. Mainly vegetation, thankfully – twenty-one detentions chopping dead things for Professor Snape later, Aldon still hadn't gotten over touching things like salamander skin or frogs' legs or newt eyes. But the theory was that the potion would analyze the child's magical signature and, once something was added from one of the putative parents, would confirm or deny whether the person was a parent of the child. He didn't see any reason why it wouldn't work to identify either parent and, almost unthinkably, he began planning. He already had half of the ingredients already in his kit – it wasn't a difficult potion, looking to be about OWL-level, and it would only take a few hours to brew. The hair from the putative parent was the difficult part, and he transfigured the recipe into a black quill, setting it inside his desk.

Did he really need to know? There was suspicion, and there was knowledge. He knew that he was not the biological child of both of his parents. He suspected that he was a bastard child of his father. Now, he suspected he was the bastard child of his father and of Director Blake. But the thing about suspicion was that it was only suspicion. He could be wrong. With suspicion, he could remind himself that he didn't know, he could go on acting normally, attributing Director Blake's occasional thoughtful looks to something else entirely (and, he reminded himself, those looks could very well be for something else entirely). Knowledge was not something he could take back. When he knew, he couldn't go back to not knowing, and his acting normally would become a lie.

The decision was almost made for him when he, as the last person in the office the day before the Quidditch World Cup, passed Director Blake's unguarded, unwarded, desk, and spotted her brush left on top. She normally arrived at the office, looking somewhat sleepy, with her hair down, and put it up sometime in the mid-morning. He hesitated, one second, two, before he gave into the temptation and pulled out a single long, dark, hair. Master Phillips' desk yielded a spare vial, which he unceremoniously swiped for his prize. Phillips wouldn't notice – he ordered a new shipment of vials every two months anyway, it was a point of frequent arguments with Director Blake because he insisted he needed them and she contended that he could reuse his old ones. Either way, he always ended up getting new ones.

From there, it was the work of an hour to stop by Diagon Alley on the way home and pick up the remainder of the ingredients. With the Quidditch World Cup happening this weekend, he fully expected to have a weekend alone. It wasn't that he didn't want to see the World Cup, or even that he hadn't managed to get tickets; rather, his father had procured excellent seats in one of the upper balconies for their whole family from one of his connections several months ago. Unfortunately, last night, Father had regretfully asked him and Mother if they would consider not attending, he had business clients from Estonia with him and it was a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity. Aldon couldn't say that he had been happy giving his seat up, but he did, because it was expected, because he was the Rosier Heir, because he was the perfect son. Mother, who had never been a fan of Quidditch in the first place, promptly arranged for a weekend of shopping in France with her friends, leaving Aldon alone.

Perhaps his annoyance over the Quidditch World Cup was what drove him to act so recklessly, to set in stone what had heretofore been conjecture. He didn't need a whole weekend, only a few hours, in the ancient, almost never-touched Rosier potions lab, to brew the potion and find out.

The morning of the Quidditch match, he wished his parents luck on their respective endeavours, reassured them that he was seventeen years old and perfectly fine on his own, grabbed his potions kit, and disappeared into the ancient Rosier Potions lab. It was dark, inside, and he made a face as he realized that it was also quite dusty. The house-elves apparently didn't clean the lab very often, which he understood as no one in their family used it. He looked around, then cast Evanesco spells over a small section of one of the benches and set his cauldron down. He didn't need to clean the labs fully – no doubt the house-elves would get to it before anyone came down to see what he had done.

He treated his cauldron with rapeseed oil, as it called for, and began methodically slicing his ingredients, taking his time. As much as he didn't like Potions, he had never outright failed any potions, though his practical work rarely merited anything beyond Acceptable. The sole reason he managed Exceeds Expectations for the whole course was his impeccable theory work, and he knew his weaknesses perfectly well from Professor Snape's running commentary. He was slow. He didn't chop his ingredients cleanly enough. He didn't like touching half of the ingredients because they were gross, and he hated blood. If he took his time, chopping all of the ingredients beforehand wearing gloves, he tended to do better. He flinched too much when he touched things that came from dead creatures. Twenty-one detentions later, he still flinched. Aldon didn't plan on being a potioneer anyway, so what did it matter if he was slow and his knife skills were awful? It would take near twice as long for Aldon to make the potion, but he had more than enough time.

Once appropriately sliced, he lay out the ingredients in the order he needed to use them, checking with his copy of the recipe, before he lit the fire. He waited for the cauldron to heat evenly across the bottom before he began adding the ingredients to form the base. When the base started simmering away, Aldon plucked a hair off the top of his head and dropped it in. Like all potions that called for a person's essence, any other thing from a person could be used. Blood, nails, skin, teeth … but hair was the usual accepted medium. His hair needed to brew within the potion, from almost the beginning, because the other ingredients would be used to deconstruct his magical signature and analyse it. The potion fizzed and bubbled, and, at least in terms of texture and activity, looked the way it should. There was no set colour for a Paternity Potion – since it took a person's magical signature in as a base ingredient, its colour reflected the person, not any of the other ingredients. In his case, it was a deep, almost royal, blue. He connected his core to his cauldron, checking it over magically (always the easiest for him), and it didn't seem wrong.

He shrugged, and added the other ingredients, one by one. The Potion acted as the text described – the colours began shifting, swirling into separate shades of blue, then slowly bleaching out. By the time the last ingredient was added, save Director Blake's hair, and the potion felt magically satisfied to his senses, it was a solid light grey, matching the description in his recipe. It looked right, felt right, and he drew a beaker of it and set it on the bench in front of him. He Evanesco-ed the rest – he would only need one beaker to give him truth.

Aldo sat, staring at the beaker for a minute. It was the last minute he would enjoy of suspicion, a last minute to draw in a deep breath and decide if he wanted to break that barrier, to know.

To hell with it. He uncorked the vial with Director Blake's hair and dropped it in. It fizzled and popped, then turned a vibrant green.

Confirmation in a bottle. Aldon sat, and stared at the bottle until it stopped fizzing, until it turned flat, but it stayed a vibrant, vibrant green.

XXX

Returning to work the morning after the Quidditch World Cup, Aldon lied. He was not a stranger to lying, and all his gift did was make lying a little uncomfortable. He lied, because he wasn't entirely sure what else to do. Aldon simply didn't know how he had come about. Originally, he guessed that his (supposed) parents had had difficulty conceiving, common in purebloods, and had turned to more unsavory means. He had always assumed that this meant coercion of a mistress, paying off a poor Muggleborn surrogate, or force.

But Director Blake was professionally successful. As little attention as was paid to her, as little recognition as she publicly received, he couldn't deny that she held sway with the upper management of the Rosier Investment Trust. She was the sole female, Muggleborn, Director at the Trust and, unlike the other Divisions, where his father and the upper management were heavily involved in day to day operations, there was a line drawn in the doorway to New Developments and the upper management did not cross it. She was also still at the Trust, even when, with her skills, Aldon was sure that other companies had given her excellent offers to move.

It didn't make sense. If she had been coerced, forced, bribed in any way, he would have thought she would have left, especially if she had opportunities elsewhere. And why would Father have permitted her to stay, when it would always risk his secret? It was unlike him. Aldon didn't understand. Unwilling to step into the middle of a mess he didn't fully understand, without any understanding of what any of it would mean for him, Aldon acted normally, and he lied. And if he spent a little longer than necessary, occasionally, studying his biological mother, well, that couldn't be helped.

He was, in retrospect, glad not to have gone to the Quidditch World Cup. He had seen the Daily Prophet's news report, afterwards. Most of his co-workers had gone to the game, and while all of them had survived, being in the lower seats and fortunate enough not to be struck by falling debris (and, in Aman's case, deflecting it from her small section of the stands), the atmosphere in the office was tense.

"We'll have to see how it goes," Aman had said over lunch in the kitchen, a day later. She was a British Muggleborn, and while she had studied abroad in America, she had returned home afterwards because of her close-knit Muggle family. "The laws are already difficult; if things become much worse, we will need to consider moving abroad, there is no question about it. We have savings and can use it for a new start in America."

"If that's what you need to do, Aman, I can provide a strong recommendation for you for wherever you'd like to go," Director Blake had replied. "It's not much, but it might help. That goes for anyone else who feels the need to leave, as well. God knows that there are few enough of us remaining in Britain, I can't fault anyone for going."

"Thank you," Aman tilted her head. "You'll be staying, regardless?"

Director Blake half-smiled, a look Aldon had recently recognized as one of his own expressions, and nodded. "I have other reasons for staying."

By the end of the summer, as tense as most of his co-workers were, they had all adopted a wait-and-see approach. A few were firmly committed to staying, and more than a few were making emergency flight plans, but no one had left. He focused his last few weeks on finishing his project, the Bubble-Head Ring for Underwater Exploration, which unsurprisingly turned out to be a dud. It wasn't so much that the idea wasn't a good one – a ring that extended the use of the Bubble-Head Charm, making it easier to maintain over long periods of time, was a decent idea. The issue was that unless they made the bubble larger, there simply wouldn't be enough air inside the bubble to warrant the extension of time, because the person inside would simply pass out from oxygen deprivation first. There were other issues, too, for underwater exploration – it didn't deal with water pressure, or any other problems, but he had thought those issues could have been ignored, since an extended-use Bubble-Head Charm could have uses elsewhere. It took him a week to draft his ultimate recommendation, and it was with a sense of satisfaction that he received his recommendation back from Director Blake on his last day, with a signature and the word "Agreed" in red ink scrawled across it. His rejection letter, signed with his own signature, Aldon Rosier, Project Design Analyst, went out the same day.

XXX

It was his seventh year, his final year at Hogwarts, and Aldon was enjoying being at the far end of the table. It was the furthest away from the high table where the teachers sat, and even though he knew the novelty would fade within a few weeks, things looked good. Ed was beside him, looking well-tanned for a summer spent outdoors, and while neither of the Slytherin prefects had made Head Boy or Head Girl, it didn't look like there were any hard feelings. Scanning the table, he spotted Harriett (recognizable by the telltale buzz in his core whenever he saw her), looking nearly two inches taller than she was before, sitting in the cluster of new fourth-years. Draco, too, looked like he had grown nearly an inch, and Pansy's hair now fell nearly to her waist. The feast was delicious, and even if he never lacked for food at home, it would be his last Welcome Feast, and he enjoyed it.

"To our new students, welcome; to our returning students, welcome home."

Most of the dessert plates disappeared from the table, except for a lone few whose patrons were still picking at them, signalling the end of the Feast. Aldon looked up at the elderly Headmaster, standing at the high table, easily spotted by eye-smarting shade of fuchsia he was sporting. It was an abhorrent colour, but Aldon, feeling unusually kind, figured that one made allowances, dress-wise, for genius.

"We seem to be making these announcements every year, but I am pleased to welcome, as our Defense Against the Dark Arts professor, Alastor Moody, retired Auror. Auror Moody obtained a Mastery in Dueling shortly after leaving Hogwarts and then joined the Department of Magical Law Enforcement as a junior Auror. Over his three-decade-long career in the Department, of which he spent the last half in the violent crime division, he became most known for his arrest of Allan Yorke, the self-professed Rogue and King of Thieves. Since his retirement, he has become known for his mentorship of many junior Aurors, particularly for those who were homeschooled, and for his Dueling training school. I am confident that Professor Moody will make an excellent addition to our teaching staff."

Aldon raised an eyebrow, because Moody was also known for being exceptionally paranoid and for having willingly plucked out one of his eyes to replace with a magical one, becoming broadly known as "Mad-Eye" Moody. Despite his blood-status as a half-blood, he was somewhat begrudgingly known as one of the best Master Duellers in Britain. Master Moody, however, famously overcharged purebloods for his lessons, while providing them nearly at cost for the lesser-blooded. In a rare interview for Dueling Monthly, he had explained gruffly that the policy existed because "halfbloods and Muggleborns need it more." It had caused a firestorm, and while at least one pureblood family had brought a complaint to the Ministry's Equity Commission, Master Moody had defended his policy and pointed out that blood discrimination was perfectly legal. Therefore, for most of the people at Hogwarts in Duelling, the opportunity to learn from him wouldn't come again easily. Aldon could feel Ed's intent interest beside him already.

"I am also pleased to welcome Rubeus Hagrid, whom many of you know already as the Groundskeeper, as our new Care of Magical Creatures professor. Mr. Hagrid has been the primary caretaker for nearly all the creatures in and around Hogwarts over the last decade, and I am confident that there is no one better to teach our students about the care of our own magical creatures."

There was a wave of mixed reactions through the Hall. Some students, particularly amongst the Gryffindors, began clapping and cheering, whereas others simply murmured with their friends or, in the case of the Slytherins, wore expressions of polite consideration. It was a controversial choice, since as far as Aldon knew, Hagrid had not finished his education at Hogwarts and did not have any advanced education in the study of creatures. However, he could not deny that, since Professor Kettleburn had been missing two and a half limbs at the point of his retirement and Professor Pettigrew had been nearly useless as an instructor, it was true that Hagrid had been caring for all of Hogwarts' creatures for many years.

Aldon poked Ed in the side, shooting him an inquiring look and tilting his head subtly at the large Groundskeeper. Ed didn't look too concerned. "He'll be better than Pettigrew," was the only response.

"And now, I though I know you are all eager to return to your common rooms for the evening to catch up with your friends, but I do have one last final announcement. Unfortunately, I'm afraid to say that this year, the annual inter-house Quidditch competition is cancelled."

Aldon looked up, surprised, even as he heard Draco's exclamation from farther down the table, and Adrian and Lucian, sitting beside him with the other sixth-years, were glaring daggers at the head table. Aldon could hear the commotion from around the Hall, as well – it was not only Slytherins upset at the cancellation of Quidditch.

Professor Dumbledore smiled patiently at the crowd, waiting for the hubbub to die down. It did, eventually – most people were intelligent enough to know that there had to be more coming.

"The Quidditch tournament is cancelled because Hogwarts will be hosting an event this year which will be taking up much of our time and energy. I am proud to announce that this year, for the first time in nearly forty years, that Hogwarts will be both hosting, and participating in, the interschool-Triwizard Tournament."

"No way!" Aldon heard from the Ravenclaw table, and he whipped around. He recognized the voice, but he had never seen it sound so excited, or passionate, about anything. Adrian Pucey, sitting beside him, was staring nearly open-mouthed at the fifth-year, whose face had lit up like an overpowered Lumos charm. Smaller circles of students had set their heads together at every table, with varying degrees of eagerness and excitement, but the Ravenclaw group was the loudest, if only because Cho Chang appeared to be having trouble containing her squeals of excitement.

Professor Dumbledore waited again for the whispers to die down, though it took slightly longer this time than previous, smiling patiently. "I see many of you are already familiar with the Tournament," and his eyes lingered on Chang, "so I hope those of you who are familiar will excuse me while I provide an explanation for everyone else. The Triwizard Tournament is a traditional competition between all twenty-four magical schools worldwide, held every four years. Each school submits a team of three, which each school selects using its own process throughout the first term. In the second term, the teams will be facing each other in the games, first in a round-robin pool tournament, and, if successful in winning their pools, the lucky eight will enter the direct elimination phase for the coveted trophy – and the right to say, for the next four years, that they were the champions.

"The games themselves, between schools, take place on a "battleground" – there are normally a few battlegrounds used in each Tournament, with a variety of terrains including rivers, hills, or forests. Each team, on the battleground, has a keystone to defend, and their goal is to find and destroy the other team's keystone. The game ends when one team either eliminates the other team, or when they destroy the other team's keystone. The games have been dangerous in the past, but many rules have been instituted making the games much safer over the last forty years – particularly, spells that might maim or kill another player are prohibited, and players are now permitted to have a support team of other students to assist." Professor Dumbledore smiled, offhand, a twinkle in his eye. "The regulations, I understand, are now quite thick."

Aldon looked around the Great Hall. Chang was now whispering excitedly to her friends – no doubt telling them in greater detail about the Tournament. The girl was a veritable fountain of information, when she was curious about something. Or, apparently, when she was passionate about something. A few students beginning to look interested, the Weasley Twins among them. Down the table, he spotted Bulstrode whispering calmly in the centre of the table, with both upper years and lower years leaning in to listen to her. He looked around again – yes, most of the people who were talking in excited whispers were from families with extensive international connections.

"I understand that many of you, who have no doubt grown up hearing about the Tournament, are excited for the traditional visits of the other school teams throughout the second term. I regret to say that, unfortunately, while Hogwarts has been invited to participate once again in the games, the other schools have determined that their students would be less than comfortable staying with us and have made alternate arrangements."

Aldon snorted in amusement, hiding a laugh. Based on the comments Professor Dumbledore had made, and the students in the Hall who clearly knew of the Tournament, it was obvious what had happened. Hogwarts had stopped participating in the Tournament approximately forty years ago, around the time that Muggleborns had been excluded from the school and the ICW's economic sanctions had begun. Evidently, the Tournament was one of those sanctions, though the other schools must have continued with it. The other schools did not want their teams boarding with Hogwarts, a school now indelibly associated with pureblood supremacy, either because of the risk to their own Muggleborn students, or to avoid any sign of agreement with pureblood supremacist ideology, which would ultimately lead to economic sanction. He wondered vaguely how Durmstrang, then, was treated, and why Hogwarts was being invited back now.

"Nevertheless, the Hogwarts team selection begins tonight." Professor Dumbledore turned around, summoning a large crate from behind the Head Table. He placed it in front of him on the Head Table, split it open with a crack, and pulled out an ancient, golden, goblet, which was already flaming blue at its mouth. "The initial field of candidates will, as Hogwarts tradition, be selected by an impartial judge – the Goblet of Fire. Once the initial field of a dozen students are selected, the formal selection will take place over two tasks in October. One of the tasks will test teamwork, while the other will test how the potential players do in the face of adversity. Once the team is finalized, of three students and one alternate, the official team will be responsible for selecting their own support team.

"There are no rules on who may enter the Tournament, though I caution you that the Goblet of Fire is unlikely to select you unless you are in your final years of school. To ensure that students who make it to the team will be prepared, the in-house tasks prepared by the Hogwarts staff will be difficult for anyone below NEWT-level to pass. This Goblet will be sitting in the Entrance Hall for the next three days. To enter, you will need to print your name on a piece of parchment, stamped with your magical signature, and throw it into the flames. I caution you all to consider, strongly, whether to put your name in – should you be selected, your magical signature will form a magical contract, and you will be compelled to compete if selected. Once your name and signature are in the Goblet, there is no turning back.

"The initial selection will be announced on Friday. I know that, regardless of who is ultimately selected, that everyone here will be supportive. With that, I do believe that your Prefects and your Heads of Houses will be able to inform of you the usual school rules, and I wish everyone a good night."

Aldon rose from his seat, with the Slytherins as one, and joined the long line of students heading to the Slytherin common room, listening intently. Lucian and Adrian were in front of him, talking quietly.

"I think I'll put my name in," Lucian was saying. "With no Quidditch this year, I have the time, and it could be fun."

Aldon wasn't surprised – Lucian was competitive through and through. He turned his attention elsewhere, to Harriett's group of fourth-years.

Draco wore an expression of pained annoyance. "I can't believe they cancelled Quidditch for this. A tournament with the American schools? They're too busy teaching their students to hold the right end of a wand, it won't even be a contest."

Harriett's face was shuttered in polite blankness, but she didn't reply. Pansy did, instead, shooting their friend a cautioning look.

"There will be other schools, too, Drake, not just the American ones. Beauxbatons, Durmstrang will be there," Pansy chided. "I think it could be interesting to watch. What about you, Rigel? Are you going to put your name in?"

Harriett laughed. "As if," she said, her voice unnaturally low for a fourteen-year-old girl, which rang faintly in his core. She must be using a masking spell of some kind, this year – he didn't think he had noticed one before. "I'll watch, but I have no plan on putting myself forward. I'm not a NEWT-student."

That was true, so Aldon left off eavesdropping on the fourth-years and turned to Ed. "So, old friend?"

Ed was silent for a minute or two, thinking. "It's NEWT-year, so probably not," he lied regretfully.

Aldon nodded, half-smiling. It wasn't a full lie, so Ed wasn't planning to put his name in, but he was tempted. For himself, Aldon was curious.

He wasn't so foolish to think that the other schools wouldn't pose a fight. Unlike most of the other Hogwarts students, he had worked two summers with people who had graduated from other schools. They were no less competent than any other witch or wizard he had met, and some of them had strengths that clearly weren't taught at Hogwarts. AIM was strong on experimental charms and Healing, Ilvermorny on Alchemy and Transfiguration, Mahoutokoro produced the most daring stunt fliers. He wondered how seriously whoever was picked would take the competition; even if they were smart and took guidance from people like Chang who apparently knew the competition well, it was very hard to let go of ingrained prejudices. Though, with Hogwarts having been out of the competition for forty years, they would at least have the element of surprise on their side, since none of the other schools would know them either.

It promised to be interesting.

XXX

There was a near perpetual watch over the Goblet of Fire, except for classes. Chang seemed to have staked out a corner of the Ravenclaw table between classes, meals, and curfew. She seemed to be taking down notes on whoever put their names in, and usually had a couple friends with her. As expected, most of the upper-year Gryffindors put their names in, Fred and George Weasley doing so with great fanfare.

He spotted Alex putting his name in at the end of the second day, which led to a few muted cheers from the Ravenclaw table. His friend simply raised an eyebrow at his Housemates, before returning to the end of the seventh-year table. Aldon caught his eye, and Alex shot him a quick, tight, smile. He shouldn't have been surprised – Alex was also in Duelling and he suspected that Alex wanted to be a Curse-breaker, so he wasn't averse to danger. He wouldn't be a bad pick.

But for all the people he saw putting in their names, he knew there were many he didn't see. Some would have done it late at night, when no one was watching, and some of the upper-years would drop it in during their spare periods when most people would be in classes. Most of the students' reactions to the Tournament, though, were mixed – Aldon heard a lot of comments like Draco's, disappointment over the lack of a Quidditch tournament and certainty that the competition would be easy pickings. But he also heard a lot of excitement, mainly from people who had close international ties, like Chang, or even Johnston in Gryffindor, talking animatedly with their friends. They formed clumps of excitement, in the halls, sometimes, talking about past Tournaments. Aldon learned, from their loud conversations, that while the ultimate winner of the tournament changed often, the teams making it through to the direct elimination rounds tended to be consistent. Durmstrang, Ilvermorny, Beauxbatons, the National Magic School of China always made it. The bets were on Ougadou, AIM, Mahoutokoro, Castelbruxo, or Oceania filling out the rest, but this year, Hogwarts was a wild card. Many students, too, who were neither interested overly much in Quidditch or in the Tournament, had simply adopted a wait-and-see approach.

By the time Friday rolled around, a week of classes over, the school mood had settled into an odd sort of muted excitement. The students disappointed about the lack of a formal Quidditch tournament were now resigned to it, or at least started organizing an informal league, and the excited anticipation of those looking forward to the tournament had only increased in fervour. The Slytherins were the least excited of all the tables; even though they were the most likely of the Houses to hide their emotions than students in other Houses, in this case Aldon was confident that they were genuinely less excited. That wasn't surprising – the Slytherins largely came from the oldest, most pureblooded families, who largely supported the SOW Party. Consequently, they were also the least likely to have extensive international connections.

The other Houses, though, made up for it. There was a buzz of energy coming off the other tables, a sense of growing impatience while students finished eating and began staring in earnest at the high table, where the Goblet had now been moved. It was still lit, but the flames were now a bright, flickering orange. Professor Dumbledore, though, was taking his time, and the entire Hall was finished and murmuring by the time he stood up, and the Hall immediately fell silent.

"I believe it is almost time," he said, studying the Goblet. "Just another minute, and the first name should be coming out. If your name is called, please make your way to the side room to the left of the Head Table for further instructions."

As he spoke, the Goblet flamed blue, once, spitting out a piece of parchment. "Katie Bell," Dumbledore read off. The girl, whom he recognized vaguely from the Gryffindor Quidditch team, jumped up with a whoop and strode down into the side room. The Goblet flamed again. "Tamsin Appleby."

He knew the girl from Curse-breaking, and nodded at the Hufflepuff as she, much more sedately, walked up the Hall and into the side room.

From Curse-breaking, Cedric Diggory and Alex were also called, as was nearly half the Gryffindor Quidditch team. The Weasley Twins, called one after the other, received the loudest round of cheers, and Aldon was hardly surprised that almost half the dozen names were called were Gryffindors, with a smattering of Ravenclaws and Hufflepuffs. Actually …

The names being called were among the more powerful students – in fact, the names being read off were placed in order of increasing power. The Weasley Twins were called one after the other, and they both known to be powerful and of nearly identical strength, tenth and eleventh. If it were not for those two, Aldon wouldn't have picked up on it. It wasn't the most powerful students who were called – probably only the most powerful of the people who entered. All the Goblet did was sort through the names and signature submitted, determine the most powerful students in terms of core strength, and spit them out.

None of the names called were Slytherins. Aldon heard the muttering from further down the table, but he didn't think much of it. The only one he knew who had entered was Lucian, whom he thought was fairly average in terms of magical power. If Slytherins didn't put themselves in for it, then they had no business being upset that they weren't being called.

"And the final candidate will be," Professor Dumbledore nimbly caught the last parchment to come flying out of the flames. He paused a second before reading, but smiled pleasantly as he did so. "Arcturus Rigel Black."

There was silence for a moment, and the clapping started further down the table. Aldon looked down the table, seeing Pansy with a very determined look on her face, signalling Draco into joining her in the applause with a stern glare, while Harriett sat between them, simply looking stunned.

"I didn't put myself in," she said blankly, and it was true.

"Mr. Black? If you would kindly go to the side room?" Professor Dumbledore's expression was politely distant.

Almost gingerly, Harriett swung her legs over the bench, wiping the surprised expression that had flashed across her face, and stood. She stared up at the high table, and no doubt her eyes were going to Professor Snape, whose normally mocking expression had shut down totally. She took a deep breath and walked, stride slow but deliberate, into the side room.

The door shut, a cold slam breaking through the applause, behind her.

XXX

"I didn't put myself in," Harriett repeated, over and over again, in the Slytherin Common Room. She said it to her closest friends, to Draco, who was distinctly upset and annoyed that she was in the contest at all, and to Pansy, who smiled pleasantly and ignored her in favor of organizing the Rigel Black Support Committee. She said it to her other fourth-year friends, whose reactions varied from impressed, in the case of Nott and Bulstrode, and nonplussed, in the case of Zabini. She said it to he and Ed when they went to congratulate her on being selected at all, and she said it to Adrian and Lucian, too, who were frankly far too excited to have at least one Slytherin in the running. Then, she said it again (and again and again) to Draco, who was very elegantly moping.

"I didn't put myself in," Harriett repeated, in the corridors. She said it when the Weasley Twins jumped her, only a day later, jumping and shouting about how they would make the best team and they were simply so excited. She said it to Ron Weasley and Neville Longbottom, her Gryffindor year-mates, when they stopped her to congratulate her. She said it again to various underclassmen, this time in a tone of utter disbelief, because some of them were beginning to follow her around in the halls, waiting for a drop of wisdom from her – as the youngest candidate, she drew a certain amount of support even outside Slytherin.

"I didn't even put myself in!" Harriett said – shouted, really – in the Great Hall when the fans of other candidates made her morning porridge explode. A low-key prank war on the various candidates had begun, fueled by House rivalry and the Weasley Twins. Even if it wasn't serious, and the Rigel Black Support Committee gave as good as they got, and it was nothing to the infamous prank war several years ago, Harriett was decidedly not in the mood for dealing with it. It was, perhaps fortunately, the only time any of the other Houses tried to prank her.

It didn't seem like anyone believed her – or if they did, they didn't mention it. It made no difference; according to Dumbledore, once their names were in with their magical signatures, they were compelled to compete. He would have liked to talk to her about it, but with the attention from their more excited classmates, it seemed that she was nowhere to be found. She left the dorms early in the morning, far earlier than any of the other students, and came back long after most had gone to bed, dragging herself in an exhausted fugue straight to the fourth-year dorms. She started skipping meals in the Great Hall, and he had no idea how she was getting to and from her classes. He guessed she was spending a lot of time in her locked Potions lab, but otherwise, he didn't have the chance to talk with her.

The first Saturday in October, being the date of the first task, was there before they knew it. Aldon, along with the rest of Slytherin House, trailed out into the Quidditch stands and stood, his dark green scarf pinned with one of Pansy's custom-made "RB" pins that she had their entire House wearing. A few of the other Houses had tried to copy them, with limited success – the second most popular group seemed to be red "W"s, supporting the Weasley Twins, though Gryffindor support was otherwise split between their five candidates in the running.

The twelve candidates were already on the pitch, along with four large boxes. Curious, he pushed his way to the front of the stands and drew a quick runic screen – runes for clear sight, for accuracy, for knowledge. The boxes blazed with magic, six or seven curses that he could count from this distance. Curse-boxes, bigger than the ones they worked on in Curse-breaking, and a quick skim of the candidates showed that his classmates certainly knew what they were. The three of them, on the field, were standing in a group, looking far more confident than the rest. He spotted Harriett, standing with the Weasleys, talking quietly, while the rest were staring at the boxes with varying degrees of nervousness or anticipation. Professor Newman was on the field too, looking unusually smug, along with Professor Dumbledore, and … was that Lord Riddle?

It was, along with the Minister for Magic, Bartimaeus Crouch, the Head of the Department of International Magical Cooperation, and Ludo Bagman, the Head of the Department of Magical Games and Sports. They must be the team selection committee, he realized; as the first international competition Hogwarts was going to in the last forty years, they had a vested interest in ensuring the best possible team was sent.

"We should sit down, Aldon," Ed said from behind him. "You're blocking the view of the first and second-years."

Aldon dismissed his spell with three slashes of his wand, the runic version of a Finite Incantatem. "They have curse boxes," he said lightly, joining his friend in the upper stands. "Pretty dull to watch, I think."

"You said that Newman puts curses on them? Confringo, Dark hexes, bombardment hexes, exploding charms…"

Aldon shrugged, noncommittal. "Sometimes Light hexes, too. He can't favour Light or Dark too much, or we wouldn't learn to recognize the different types of hexes. But, the actual curse-breaking itself will be dull – we'll only be watching the candidates stand around casting every revealing charm known to wizardkind, then slowly and methodically taking apart spells. One at a time. For hours."

"You can drop the bored act, Aldon," Ed replied, leaning back. "I know you're intrigued, underneath all your layers."

Aldon tilted his head, conceding the point. Ed knew him far too well. "Fine. Alex, Diggory and Appleby will do well – I expect they'll finish the highest ranked. But the rest … I wonder how fast the Weasley Twins will trip a curse and their box explodes. Or drains their magic. Or drives them insane."

"Students," Professor Dumbledore interrupted, his voice carrying over the stands with the strength of a Sonorus charm. "The first task will be a teamwork exercise. If I could have the candidates put themselves in teams of three…"

The existing groups clung closer together – Harriett with the Weasley Twins, the remaining Gryffindors, gravitating towards each other as if they were magnetically attracted. If it weren't for the fact that exactly three of the candidates were in curse-breaking together and clearly saw that their best chances of advancement were by sticking together, Aldon was sure that the Hufflepuffs and Ravenclaws would have formed House teams as well.

"Oh no, now, this won't do," Professor Dumbledore tsked, his tone amused. "That wouldn't be a test of your teamwork skills at all. Mr. Fred Weasley, why don't you work with Ms. Appleby and Ms. Hendry? Mr. Black, you with Mr. Diggory and Ms. Bell? And Mr. George Weasley, you with Mr. Willoughby and Ms. Johnston, leaving the final group of Ms. Kelly, Mr. McLaggen, and Ms. Cameron?"

Aldon didn't need to hear the candidates to know that they were less than pleased with the new groupings; the slight pause before they moved into their new groups said more than enough. Aldon examined the new teams closely – Appleby was a decent curse-breaker and combined with Weasley's creativity, it wasn't a bad grouping. He didn't know anything about Hendry. Harriett, with Diggory and Bell would be a strong team. Harriett was powerful and having the power to stabilize a box in the middle of curse-breaking was important, but she wouldn't know that without Diggory. Also, all three of them were mild-mannered enough, and they would probably cooperate quicker than some of the others. Alex's team, too, was strong, though Aldon had to admit he was biased. He knew Alex best out of the seventh-year curse-breaking class, and he knew Alex could and would spot the curses and know how to take them apart, and he hoped Alex's teammates would sit back and let him handle it. The final team, well, he didn't know. He didn't know anything at all about Kelly or Cameron, and the little he knew of McLaggen wasn't flattering. Lady McLaggen talked at parties, and while she was effusive with praise of her son, Aldon thought it was all hot air.

"Now, as those of you who are already in our curse-breaking classes no doubt already know, the task is simple: disable the curses on your box and open it. You have a time-limit of two hours – you may begin." Professor Dumbledore, with a ridiculous curlicue spin of his wand, cast a Tempus charm over the pitch. The clock was huge, reading only 2:00:00, before it began counting down.

"Oh, look, they're already in trouble," Aldon said, not even a full minute later, gesturing to the team McLaggen was on, which had fallen into a shouting match. McLaggen had tried to take charge immediately, which wasn't necessarily the wrong thing to do, but whatever he had said had clearly angered the other two. Ten minutes later, it looked like the two girls had pulled it together. Cameron put McLaggen in an Incarcerous spell, Silencing him to boot, and the two girls belatedly began casting revealing spells at their box. They weren't in Curse-breaking, as far as Aldon knew, so he figured they were imitating the other teams.

The other three teams were cooperating, more or less, but it was frustrating not to see the actual spell work. Half the teams were casting spells non-verbally to avoid giving the other teams clues on what to do. He drew his wand out again, casting another runic screen, this time making it wide enough to cover Ed's field of vision as well. Alex had managed to stop his team, two Gryffindors, from disabling every spell the minute they identified it. Surprisingly, Weasley had been the voice of reason between Alex and Johnston; having experimented making his own prank products, Aldon suspected he and his brother had been subject to unstable spells blowing up on him a time or two before. It would certainly explain why both of the Weasley teams were doing better than he had expected – he had thought they would be far more rash.

"What's that spell?" Ed asked, pointing towards something that Harriett's team was doing – they had formed a triangle around their box, and Harriett was, visible through the screen, pouring magic into it. Diggory was snapping orders, clearly having taken charge of that group as the only one in Curse-breaking.

"Anchoring it," Aldon said bluntly, watching carefully. Diggory must have given her instructions. He and Alex rarely used that technique in curse-breaking, because neither of them really had the magic to spare. Aldon was only slightly above average, though he casted at a somewhat higher level because he worked so often with raw power and runes, but he would be never fast with his wand work. Alex had more power than him, but even he didn't have the kind of power needed to anchor curse-breaking, which allowed curse-breakers to take greater risks. He curled his lip upwards in distaste, even if he couldn't deny the effectiveness of the strategy. "Inelegant, but it's working – they're through most of the concealment spells already. Diggory is taking charge of the actual curse identification, while he and Bell throw spells to provoke it, and Rigel is anchoring all of their experimentation spells so the box doesn't explode on them."

A sudden peal of thunder crashed through the Quidditch pitch, and Aldon flinched as half of the stands gasped. He looked over to the far right – it was the McLaggen team. Both the girls were looking utterly disgusted, and there was a smoking hole where their box once stood. McLaggen was lying, unconscious, several feet away from both them and the hole. "What happened?"

Adrian turned around from the seat he sat in, smirking. "McLaggen got out of the Incarcerous and went after the box himself. The girls assumed he was out, so they weren't paying attention to him. He triggered some sort of lightning spell. It threw him clear."

"Idiot," Aldon snorted, looking over to the judges. Professor Flitwick had, in the interim, charmed words to appear behind the Judges' table: Cormac McLaggen, 1:21:69, DNF. Catherine Kelly, 1:21:69, DNF. Quinn Cameron, 1:21:69, DNF.

Madam Pomfrey was on the field, conjuring a stretcher for McLaggen, and both girls were now sitting on the grass, expressions of mixed disappointment and disgust on their faces. It was understandable – with a poor score now, both would have difficulty distinguishing themselves from the rest of the candidates. Aldon glanced over at the Ravenclaw and Hufflepuff stands – a few students were muttering in discontent, but most of the rest were focused on their other candidates still in the running.

Diggory's team, with Harriett and Bell, were still in the lead. Harriett was pouring a nearly frightening amount of power into stabilizing their box, which meant that the missteps they made hadn't blown up in their faces. By Aldon's calculations, they should have tripped the Caterwauling charm, but hadn't because it she had caught it and held it while Bell disabled it. "Oh, that's not good," he muttered, as they tripped a Light hex.

"What isn't?" Ed asked.

"Rigel's team activated a Light hex on their box." Aldon replied absently. He itched to be closer, to see what the Light hex actually did, while Harriett staggered slightly with the amount of magic she now had to pour in to stabilize the hex so it didn't actually go off. "None of them are Dark-aligned, though, so they're going to struggle to disable it. Diggory is Light, Bell's casting looks like she's true Neutral. Rigel is Neutral too… oh, that's interesting."

"What is?"

"Diggory has switched to anchoring it temporarily while Rigel goes after the hex. He doesn't know what the spell is, but I think Diggory is yelling instructions at him. Oh…" Aldon fell silent. Harriett was successfully performing the counter-curse on Diggory's instructions, even though it was a Dark counter-curse. Her magic was clumsy, and it fumbled a few times before successfully forming, but she forced it to imitate the Dark, aggressive edge with sheer will.

"What?" Ed nudged him in the side. Right, Ed didn't know the magical theory well enough to know what was happening just by seeing it – all he saw was coloured magic flying around. But at the same time, Harriett's magic was clearly wild, now that Aldon knew what he was looking at. She shouldn't have been able to mimic a Dark affinity well enough to force through the counter-curse, but she did it. There were ways, of course, for Dark wizards to disable Dark curses, and Light wizards to disable Light ones, but they normally involved funnelling magic through a counter-ward that would screen the magic into the other affinity, not sheer willpower.

"Nothing," Aldon lied, instead. He had told Ed enough about wild magic that he didn't want to take the risk. "Rigel did the counter-curse, he's taken back anchoring. They're still in the lead."

"How is your friend, Willoughby, doing?" Ed gestured, a small movement. Aldon looked over; Alex's team was steadily moving forward, his experience making up for the fact that they didn't have someone powerful enough to act as an anchor. Well, actually, Aldon thought that Weasley was powerful enough to anchor, but for whatever reason, their team seemed to have decided against it. That was probably partially his fault, Aldon reflected – he and Alex never used it, so under pressure, Alex didn't think of it.

"They're doing well," Aldon commented after a pause. "They make a good team. They caught up while Rigel was struggling with the Light hex, they're through both the concealment and alarm charms now and they're into the actual curses. They're picking up some time because they're better balanced than Rigel's team – Alex is Light, Johnston is Dark, surprisingly, and Weasley is Neutral. And since none of them are anchoring it, they're trading off disabling the curses they're best suited to disabling faster than Rigel's team can manage. It's close."

Ed made a non-committal noise and turned back to watching the teams play. Aldon looked up – the clock read 0:52:23. The last team, Appleby, Weasley and Hendry, hadn't made nearly as much progress, but they were still doggedly in the running. They had finally undone the concealment charms and were working through the alarms. Aldon thought he spotted some runic wards to the back and he winced – they missed them. Appleby hadn't taken Ancient Runes, which was a good reason for missing it, but she should have been looking. It was a major failing on her part, and neither Weasley nor Hendry had picked up on it either. "Keep an eye on the other Weasley team, Edmund – they missed a runic ward. It's probably hiding something nasty."

Ed nodded, turning to the other team, just as they prepared to crack through their first set of actual curses. If it was triggered to blow, this was a good time, when they started disabling curses. But then Weasley – Fred – linked into the box, and began anchoring it, and Aldon leaned forward in interest. He should have thought of it, Appleby worked with Diggory all the time, the Hufflepuffs must have anchored in curse-breaking routinely. But they were smarter about it than Harriett's team was, because by only anchoring at the most dangerous parts of the curse-breaking process, they conserved power. It wouldn't matter, that much, because from the amount of power Harriett was pouring without a thought into their box, she had more than enough power to anchor for hours.

Whatever the runic ward was hiding went off – it was a Dark curse, and from their reactions he reasoned it had to be a mental attack of some kind, because all three staggered. Fred managed to hold it, if only barely, and Aldon could see that Appleby had hooked herself in. She wasn't a strong witch, though, and Aldon could tell it wasn't sustainable.

"Aldon… how much magic is that?" Ed was staring, somewhat bemused, at the sheer amount of magic now pouring into stabilizing the box.

"More than they can lose," Aldon shook his head, but he couldn't keep his eyes off the spectacle. "Appleby shouldn't have hooked herself into it. She's not strong enough to help much, and none of the three are Dark-aligned; if they were, it wouldn't take as much to stabilize. She's the best curse-breaker they have, her and Weasley – Hendry is smart, but they didn't uncover the curse itself, so she has no idea what the curse is or what to do. She should have had Hendry anchor into it then disabled the curse as fast as she could, but …"

The curse went off, or rather, both Weasley and Appleby were drained and couldn't hold it off any longer, and all three fell to the ground, unconscious. The second team was out. Madam Pomfrey was again out on the field, conjuring stretchers, while the words went up behind Professor Flitwick. Fred Weasley, 0:45:11, DNF. Tamsin Appleby, 0:45:11, DNF. Allison Hendry, 0:45:11, DNF.

There were only two teams left, now, Harriett's team and Alex's team, and Aldon couldn't help but silently cheer for both. From what he could see, Diggory had gotten all the curses, and they were only running last minute checks before casting Cistem Aperio. Still, he was certainly taking his time with the final check, and Alex's team was on the last curse before they could do the same. No doubt Alex saw that it was a race to the finish, and he was working faster than Aldon had ever seen him work, spells spilling out of his wand like water. Johnston was shaking her head, shouting at him to get it done, and Weasley was pushing him on too—

No final check. Alex unravelled the last curse and, without wasting time, threw out a stern Cistem Aperio, and Aldon held his breath as Diggory, realizing that Alex was taking a calculated risk, threw the last of his caution to the winds and shouted the same spell at his box.

Alexander Willoughby, 0:11:16, 1st. Angelina Johnston, 0:11:16, 1st. George Weasley, 0:11:16, 1st.

Cedric Diggory, 0:11:14, 2nd. Arcturus Rigel Black, 0:11:14, 2nd. Katie Bell, 0:11:14, 2nd.

Both Johnston and Weasley jumped Alex, screaming in excitement, who staggered under their combined weight and enthusiasm. Aldon smirked – he didn't need to see Alex's face to know that he was discombobulated by the show of physical affection. He looked over at Diggory's team; unsurprisingly, Harriett's face was blank. Well, she hadn't put herself into the competition at all and likely didn't even want to compete, knowing her as he did, so the fact that her team had come in second was probably not a disappointment for her. She had probably only cooperated because it was the easiest thing to do, and because even if she didn't want to do well, neither did she want to sabotage her team members. His eyes gravitated over to Diggory and Bell; Bell was muttering something to Diggory, while he was shaking his head, a look of consternation on his face. Aldon could guess what that was about, since Alex had effectively snatched the first-place position out from under them.

"Yes, yes, congratulations to both of our finishing teams," Professor Dumbledore stood, while the other judges conferred behind him. Not that there was much, really, to confer yet, because there was a whole second task, one focusing on performance in the face of adversity, or something like that. The teamwork task was just a preliminary ranking. "As your reward, if you would so kindly open your boxes the rest of the way… There should be a catch just behind the lock for you to open and show your admiring crowds."

The teams approached their boxes, slightly wary. Weasley, with the unspoken consent of his teammates, reached into the box and found the catch; Diggory did the same for his team. The boxes began unfolding slowly, and they both stepped backwards slowly, cautiously.

The tips of the wing appeared first, then the snout, then the long, long neck. Smoke furled out of their nostrils – not real smoke, clearly a charm for effect, but their eyes glowed eerily, black eyes on one, golden eyes on the other. Dragons – statues of them, large enough to be seen by a crowd, certainly only a fraction of the size of the real thing. One, black and lizard-like, crouched on the ground, the thorny club of bronze spikes on its tail raised above its head. The other, dark green, with glittering, sharp, golden horns at least three feet long, stared up into the sky.

"A Hungarian Horntail, and a Romanian Longhorn," Ed muttered. "I wonder what the other two boxes had."

"As you can see, your reward for having completed the task is seeing two of the creatures you'll be facing at the end of the month," Professor Dumbledore beamed. "Candidates, you have until Halloween to prepare."

"What, exactly, are we doing with dragons?" Weasley shouted. He was grinning, and his tone was playful, but Aldon thought there was a nervous edge to it.

Professor Dumbledore chuckled. "Now that would be telling, wouldn't it?"

XXX

Dragons.

The second qualifying task was goddamn bloody dragons.

Harriett didn't look too worried, that night in the common room. Was it because, compared to dealing with the Sleeping Sickness as a first-year, dragons just weren't that frightening? Was it that, compared to the basilisk in second year, she was confident she could face down a dragon? Or was it defending herself against Professor Pettigrew that made her confident? Or, even, was that, compared to the daily stresses of being a blood identity thief and masquerading as a boy to maintain her cover, dragons were just another obstacle to be overcome? Or was it just that she was always cool and she never worried?

She was so infuriating. Did she not remember that the basilisk had nearly killed her? And even if Aldon didn't know what had happened with Professor Pettigrew, one did not have to stay in the hospital week for three weeks and one was not excused from final exams for nothing. He had seen her, for himself, not even a week after – she had lost so much weight, whatever had happened, she had barely survived.

Harriett was even there, at the Rigel Black Victory Party, smiling and nodding politely, if a little stiffly, and it was clear as day that she would prefer to disappear and hide. But as she had said herself, during a meeting long ago, one did not say no to Pansy Parkinson, and therefore, here she was.

He had promised, at the end of last year. He had promised that the next time something happened, he would be there. He was the only one who knew that Rigel was actually Harriett Potter and, as much trouble as she attracted, as the sole person at Hogwarts who knew, that meant that he had a unique responsibility to her, as all wizards had to witches. He had failed at it, last year, because he was too indecisive to decide how he would act with her, because he was uncomfortable doing what needed to be done, because he didn't want to treat Harriett as a boy, as she needed. That had to end, and that had to end now.

The Firewhiskey came around to him again – he and Ed had broken it out – and he poured himself a double. Liquid courage would loosen him a little, but not too much, and he felt the heat of the liquor warm his core. It was good, strong, hitting him quickly, and he shifted in his armchair, relaxing. Alcohol always did that for him, always made things easier, even if it made his thinking as clear as mud.

"Rigel," he called out, as she passed the corner seats where he and Ed were lounging. It was a fight to keep his tongue from tripping over her proper name – but it was a fight he would win. Even if he was a little tipsy. "Congratulations, today."

She shrugged, nonplussed. "Thank you, but I hardly did anything, it was all Diggory, really. Bell and I just followed his directions."

"Come, now," Aldon replied, a half-smile coming across his lips. It was true, but there was still that slight burr of his core, a soft feeling that felt like a much milder version of what he felt every time he saw her, a signal that her voice itself was a lie. He mourned, for a brief instant, her true voice, even as he knew that she would be able to change it back. Her true voice was a mellow alto, musical to hear, and her natural cadence lighter in spirit. Her altered voice, while perfectly normal, held no music.

He pulled himself back to his purpose with a gargantuan effort: normalcy. Yes, normalcy. How did he act with Rigel, before? What would he say? He would tease, always hinting at more, he would play on Harriett's expectation that he was mocking her because he was bored. "You took out that Light hex fairly handily. Caught at least one Caterwauling Charm and a Bombarda, too, I think."

"And we all saw how much power you were pouring into the box to stabilize it," Ed added. Technically, his distractible mind interrupted, that wasn't true. Aldon only cast the runic screen large enough for the two of them to see it.

"Hardly," Harriett lied, waving a hand dismissively in modesty. "Anyway, it's only one task. I'm sure the second task will be much harder."

"Everyone knows you're powerful, Rigel," Ed replied, ignoring her, eyebrow raised. "No point denying it now."

"And yet, I will," Harriett smiled, but it was one of her Rigel smiles – it didn't reach her ugly grey eyes. Aldon fought to keep his mouth from pursing in distaste – he hated those smiles. They weren't lies, but they cut him to the core all the same.

"What about those dragons?" he cut in hastily. "Do you have a plan?"

"Hard to have a plan when we don't know what we're doing," Harriett shrugged, the perfect picture of unconcern. "I'm sure I'll think of something, and even if I don't, Professor Dumbledore would never let any of us be harmed."

That was true, but Harriett was being far too blasé about it. He knew that she hadn't put her name in, and therefore she would likely be nothing but relieved if she wasn't chosen, but still. "Professor Dumbledore isn't opposed to injury, though," Aldon pointed out, trying and failing to find a more delicate way to phrase it. Goddamn alcohol. So warm and helpful in some ways, and so utterly useless in others. "Even today – four candidates were taken to the Hospital Wing, unconscious. Unless you've changed your mind about Mediwizards?"

Harriett tilted her head in acknowledgement, a slightly sour look passing across her face. "I shall take that into consideration," she said, her eyes moving towards another group of students waving her over. She sighed, and Aldon half-smiled. As the party's sole honoree, she had no excuse for not making the rounds. "Have a good evening, Rosier, Rookwood."

Ed nodded, hiding a smile in his dark eyes. Aldon lifted his hand, giving her a slight wave. He was normal. He spoke to her and managed to treat her as Rigel, instead of as Harriett, as awful as that was. He could do this. "It's Aldon."

He kept his ears to the ground, the next month, hinting at to the Rigel Black Support Committee that it would be immensely helpful, for Rigel's planning purposes, if they could uncover exactly what the candidates would need to do with dragons. Fight them? Ride them? Capture them?

Pansy, as Head of the Rigel Black Support Committee, posted an award for the first one to discover the details of the task – it was only ten galleons, plus public recognition, but it sparked a fervour of searching. Several students reasoned that their best chances of finding out would be when the dragons arrived and, the week before the Halloween, there was a twenty-four-hour watch over the skies and grounds.

The little twins in third-year were the first to find out, dashing into the common room at two in the morning on Halloween, the day of the second task. The common room was far busier than normal – classes were cancelled the next day, so about half of Slytherin House was still up. Aldon was sitting in an armchair by the fire, a book on runic casting on his lap. Ed was beside him, reading a guide to different dragon breeds.

"They only need to get past the dragons," said one, panting heavily as he pulled his cloak off. It was cold, out – nights were often frosty.

"They have four different breeds, though. The Hungarian Horntail and the Romanian Longhorn, and then a blue one and a green one. Lighter green than the Longhorn, a brighter green," said the other.

"Swedish Shortsnout and Common Welsh Green," said the first, smacking his brother on the arm.

Aldon looked around and saw that Bulstrode and Nott were already heading towards the fourth-year dorms. Pansy had already retired for the night, as had Harriett herself, but they would be roused easily enough. Ed stood, taking control of the situation.

"So they have to get past the dragons. And there are four of them, of different breeds. Did you find out anything else?"

"They have to collect a ribbon on the other side of the dragon's enclosure," said the first one. Their names, if he remembered correctly, were Cassian and Felix. The trouble was, since they were never apart, Aldon had never figured out which one was Cassian, and which one was Felix.

"They'll be timed as they do it, too," said the other. "Faster times are better, but won't be the full picture, I think. I think there's a scoring mechanism too, for creativity and so on."

"Are the candidates going together, or individually?" Ed asked, his voice clear but even. "And against one dragon, or all four?"

"They didn't say," the second one replied, shaking his head. "We listened as long as we could, but once the dragons were stunned, there was little we could do."

"Male dragons? Or female dragons?" Ed demanded.

"Female dragons," one said.

"Nesting dragons? Did you see any eggs?"

Both shook their heads.

"All right. Anything else you can tell us?"

"No, that's everything," said one, while the other shook his head.

"Good job, both of you," Pansy said, sweeping into the common room, her hair loose but newly brushed and looking as flawless as if she had had a full night of sleep. He looked towards the hallways to the fourth-year dorms – Harriett was stumbling out, looking dishevelled and as if she had been rudely awakened, which he reminded himself that she had been.

She was the complete opposite to Pansy, everything Pansy wasn't. And wasn't that wonderful? Almost despite himself, he felt a little smile cross his lips, and wiped it off sternly. Aldon Rosier did not smile in that way to Rigel Black, though he might to Harriett Potter. Though, he supposed he had smiled, like this, to Rigel Black years ago… did it matter? He wasn't sure.

Pansy paid the twins, with many compliments as well. The twins exchanged a gleeful smirk between each other, and Aldon would bet that the money would be going straight to the Marauders line of products. He glanced over, again, at Harriett, whose eyes were now sharper as Zabini, who was here the entire time, recounted the information to her. She nodded, now and again, to show that she was listening. Ed walked over to her small circle of friends, and Aldon stood and followed.

"Female dragons," he said, his voice quiet. "But different breeds. Females aren't territorial, so there shouldn't be an issue with them fighting each other, so my guess is that you'll need to get past all four – the numbers don't seem to make any sense. Four dragons, and twelve candidates? This is a test of how the candidates perform, individually, under pressure. They need a show. My guess is that there's an obstacle course of some kind."

Harriett nodded, once, to show she understood, and turned around. "In that case, I am sure I will need my sleep. Thank you for telling me."

Her voice was low, a soft rumble of a lie ringing through his magic, just the usual sensation of her voice-alteration spell. Aldon was impressed despite himself – the charm either didn't wear off, as charms did over time, or she was very careful to recast it periodically. She left, and Draco followed with nary a thought afterwards; Aldon's hands twitched, an aborted clenching of his fists, but he kept any expression other that cool interest off his face. There was nothing he could do, for all he thought that Draco Malfoy was singularly incapable of understanding or helping Harriett Potter in the least.

XXX

The next afternoon, it was with a sense of impending doom that Aldon walked out, once again, to the Quidditch pitch, joining Ed at the top of Slytherin House stands. He had, yet again, woven an emerald-green scarf around his neck, held together with the Rigel Black Support pin, and this time added a woolen cloak to his ensemble. It was cold. He was cold.

The pitch had been magically expanded, to three times its usual size. The dragons were already on the field, four of them, sitting underneath the teachers' stands, which this time had only the judges. They were the same as the first task, not that he had expected any different: the Headmaster, Lord Riddle, the Minister of Magic, Mr. Crouch, Mr. Bagman.

As Ed had predicted, the dragons kept a wary eye on each other, but didn't seem to be in a mood to attack each other. The Horntail had taken a prime location, in a beam of sunlight, and she glared at the others as if they dared to encroach on her. The Romanian Longhorn, on the other hand, prowled the edges of the pitch, using her long horns to prod the stands occasionally. The Swedish Shortsnout had taken a spot uncomfortably close to the far wall, adorned with ribbons, whereas the Common Welsh Green, by far the smallest of the dragons, was sniffing the air curiously. None of the dragons seemed to care that they were penned in a pitch, surrounded by observers.

"No obstacle course," he said quietly to Ed.

"I rather think the dragons are the obstacle course," he replied, his eyes on the pitch. "Males would be worse. I think the Longhorn is hungry."

Scanning the stands, Aldon saw that there was no surprise on anyone's face among the students. Of course, every house would have done its own investigation, would have discovered the same things as the clever Slytherin twins. There would be no surprises for any of the candidates this morning. The air was crisp, cheerful, if tense. Aldon pulled his cloak closer around him, but it didn't seem to help the clammy, shaky feeling he had.

This time, it was Mr. Bagman who took charge. It was surprising, really, Aldon reflected, that he hadn't done so at the first task, but then, the last task was not an action-based task. It was one of cooperation, of curse-breaking; Mr. Bagman hadn't the skill. To think of it, he didn't even remember who had been commentating the match, if anyone – he had ignored them in favour of making his own conclusions and narrating for Ed. Well, it would be nice to have a fully commentated task, he supposed, even if he felt far too distracted, too out of sorts, to pay much attention to it.

"Good afternoon, students," Bagman's voice boomed over the pitch. "Are we excited yet?"

Aldon was not excited. Excitement was what one felt on the eve of a Quidditch match, or before an important magical theory lecture. Excitement entailed anticipation, and Aldon was distinctly not excited. Aldon was anxious, worried, nervous, but somehow Bagman's question was met with a round of cheers.

Ed winced slightly, and Aldon caught his eye, raising an eyebrow. "The dragons are on edge," he muttered in reply. "Their attentions right now are fixed on each other, and I, for one, would rather that not change."

"The task, in this case, is simple – the only thing the candidates must do is retrieve a ribbon from the far end." Bagman laughed, a jolly laugh that came straight from his belly. "But, as you can all see, that might prove difficult. Candidates will both be timed, but completion time is only one part of the selection – at the end, the judges' panel will determine the team for the Triwizard Tournament based on performance in the first task, the times in this task, and other factors such as creativity, fortitude, and perseverance in the face of adversity."

"What a load of bull," Aldon muttered under his breath, eyeing the panel. Harriett hadn't entered herself, which meant that someone had entered her. He knew that – he had known that before, even if he hadn't wondered too much about it. He thought it was a prank, or some sort of misguided hero-worship. All the Cup required was a name, and a magical signature, and both of those were easy enough to obtain. Magical signatures were trapped in the hair, nails, blood… in this case, Aldon thought hair was the easiest, even if Harriett was absurdly paranoid. But the criteria to make the team being as vague as they were, and the judges that were on the panel…

It hit him in a moment of blinding clarity, the roar of the crowd suddenly fading into the distance in his shock as he caught his breath. Ed glanced over to him, no doubt having heard, and Aldon focused on taking long, slow, deep breaths. He pulled himself together, shaking his head lazily at his friend, letting no sign of the panicked and frenzied thoughts crossing through his head onto his face. It wouldn't fool him, but now was not the time for him to explain. He cursed himself.

Aldon was an idiot. An absolute fucking idiot not to see it earlier. She hadn't entered the tournament, and that meant someone had entered her. Someone wanted her on the Hogwarts team. It didn't really matter how she did in this task – he would bet the Trust that she would be sitting on the Hogwarts team, come day's end. Lord Riddle was on the judges' panel, and since when did Lord Riddle not have an agenda?

He scanned the judges anew, his gaze sharp. The Ministry was in Lord Riddle's pocket, no doubt – if it came to a vote, they would support him. And with only Professor Dumbledore from Hogwarts on the panel, well, Harriett's fate was effectively sealed. Lord Riddle would need to make a reasonable case, of course, to provide a veneer of rationality to cover his agenda; but Aldon had no doubt that he was more than capable of doing so.

He gritted his teeth silently.

The first six candidates had entered, while he was cursing himself for being twelve different kinds of idiot. They were the six, he saw, that had passed the last test, and they would get an additional five minutes before the remaining six were allowed in. Alex, Harriett, Diggory, Johnston, Bell and George Weasley were looking up, expressions of defiance or resignation on their faces, or in one case, polite blankness. Aldon followed their gaze upwards; they were staring at a great clock, counting down. They would start when it hit zero, he surmised.

"This actually isn't to their advantage," Ed murmured beside them. "Had all 12 started at the same time, the dragons would have been distracted and confused by their number. With only six, it will be much easier for them to fix on a target to hunt."

"What would you do, then?" Aldon asked, equally quiet, their seats an eye of eerie calm in the storm of excitement. The clock hit zero, and a loud, piercing whistle cut the air. The dragons looked up, sensing the threat, and focused on the six candidates that had entered, and chaos cut loose.

Ed shrugged. "Probably what Johnston is doing," he suggested. The tall Gryffindor was running, staying low to the ground and marking an unpredictable zig-zag throughout the pitch. She was fast, but she had to double back at points to make herself less predictable and to dodge talons that swiped occasionally at her, using her magic sparingly, and exclusively on herself. A movement charm here or there, a shield once or twice, just a light deflection of debris, a spell to support her periodic jumps – she was making her way across the pitch, slowly but surely. There were five other targets, of course, and the dragons did seem confused on who to chase.

Alex had Transfigured himself some cover, a large rock and he was sheltering behind, keeping him out of sight. He was still, and his wand was out, twitching in the characteristic pattern that told Aldon that he was examining the wards in the enclosure. It was slow; examining wards was not Alex's strength, but Aldon's. It would take him long minutes to do whatever he was doing, so Aldon looked away.

Diggory, Weasley and Bell had been the unlucky ones to each attract a dragon's attentions, and they were all too busy blocking, dodging, and the like to make any progress across the large pitch. Weasley was using a series of noise and light spells to distract the Longhorn from eating him, and he was having some success mainly because the Longhorn kept lowering its head to try to stab him with its long horns. Still, he never seemed to stun the dragon enough to get past it, try as he might. Diggory was battling the Hungarian Horntail, but his offensive spells kept being reflected back at him. Bell was having much the same problem with the Welsh Green.

Where was Harriett? He scanned the pitch again, but she was nowhere to be seen. His hands, hiding underneath his cloak, were clenched, his short nails biting into the meat of his palm. The pain, minor as it was, was steadying.

He hated being caught ignorant, but his need to know where she was outweighed his annoyance. "Where's Rigel?" he asked, his voice nonchalant.

"Look up," Ed replied, a quick glance from his friend showing that Aldon's tone hadn't fooled him in the slightest.

Harriett was on a broom, flying circles over the pitch, watching the dragons and her fellow candidates with something like polite interest. She wasn't wholly out of the fray, and she did engage with the dragons – she taunted one, then the other, occasionally distracting them from their other targets. The Horntail, once, breathed a great plume of fire and ash into the sky at her, which she dodged by diving towards the pitch, and whipping around the great dragon. Diggory used the distraction to finally, finally dash past the creature, only to be stymied by the Shortsnout.

Aldon could have groaned aloud. She was doing enough – just enough, that if anyone challenged her, she could say that she tried. She tried to get across the pitch faster. For someone who might believe that she had put her name into the Goblet, who might believe that she chose to enter the Tournament, who didn't know her well, it would probably pass muster. The Slytherins around him, certainly, were enthralled with her stunts.

But Aldon was not fooled, and a small part of him wondered if his classmates were so quick to forget how good Rigel Black was on a broom. She had been on the Quidditch team, two years past, as a Beater – the only girl on the Quidditch team, though no one had known, then. A talent for flying also came strongly through the Potter bloodline. It was obvious to him, if not to most, that Harriett was always in control. She was throwing the task.

"And would you look at that – we have our first success! Angelina Johnston, of Gryffindor, is the first to take a ribbon at four minutes and fifty-four seconds!" Bagman's voice cut through Aldon's reverie, and he glanced over to see Johnston's name projected over the judges' stands, her time ranked as well. "And just in time, too – it is time for the other candidates to come through!"

A second sharp whistle blasted through the arena, which distracted the Shortsnout enough that Diggory was able to get past her. He didn't get through entirely, though, because the dragon decided the new targets were too far away and turned, breathing a storm of fire directly at him. Diggory heard it, a split second before it came, and threw up a shield – but only a Protego, and the crowd groaned in sympathy as the fire bled through, burning one side of his face.

Still, the shield blunted the heat of the dragonfire, and, with his hair still smoking and a dark burn on his face, Diggory grabbed the second ribbon, earning himself a respectable second-place finish, at five minutes, eleven seconds.

The dragons were distracted by the new targets, still, but with ten possible targets to go after, Aldon could see that things were becoming much easier. George Weasley and Katie Bell had used the new distractions conveniently to get past their current obstacles, but still had more than fifty feet to cover; looking back to the starting point, Aldon saw that several candidates were still huddled in group, fearfully watching the spectacle, while Fred Weasley and McLaggen had taken a page out of Harriett's book and had summoned their brooms.

Weasley was quickly proving that Harriett was dawdling in the skies – he was shooting across the pitch, faster than any other candidate, the occasional claw or spout of flame nothing more than a loose Bludger. He barrel-rolled out of the way of one stream of fire, but his eyes were narrowed a straight at his target on the other side of the pitch. McLaggen, though, was clearly nowhere near the flier that either Harriett or Weasley were; he was slow dodging a spurt of flame from the Horntail, forgetting to account for his broom, and his tail end was now on fire. He kept flying, doggedly, but sagging closer to the ground, and it was clear he wouldn't make it more than halfway before having to give up on that endeavour.

"Coming in third place, now, is Alexander Willoughby, of Ravenclaw, at five minutes, forty-two seconds!" Bagman shouted, sounding more than slightly flummoxed, and Aldon stood up in surprise, unclenching his fists. Alex was, indeed, no longer behind his Transfigured rock, but standing, unharmed, on the other side with a ribbon in his hand with Johnston and Diggory. He waved genially to the roaring, if confused, crowd. "Well, I'm not sure how that came about, but here he is!"

From the start, to the end, without crossing in between … Aldon looked at the rock, then at his smugly smiling friend standing with the other three champions, and laughed. It was a strained laugh, but a true one nonetheless.

"He Apparated," he said, settling back down in his seat and pulling his cloak back around him. "He spent that entire time examining the wards and spells, and he either broke the Anti-Apparition Ward, or he realized he could Apparate without any harm. Brilliant. Did anyone see?"

"Doubtful," Ed replied, voice amused as he scanned the field. Fred Weasley dove down from the Shortsnout's blind side, a wild dive with seemingly no control, and swiped a ribbon before pulling up and out of the way. Six minutes, one second – he hadn't wasted any time on his wild sprint across the pitch. George Weasley followed through only four seconds later, on the ground. "The others are too occupied with the dragons. And Rigel is still flying circles in the air."

Aldon nodded, satisfied – he didn't think any of the others would risk copying it anyway. Bell had come through, earning a decent score of six minutes and thirty-three seconds. Of the ones left, only Appleby was of age and might even have an Apparition license, but if she hadn't seen Alex do it, she likely wouldn't think of it. On the pitch, he could see that she had formed a group with Kelly and two of the Ravenclaws, and they were moving as a pack through the field with moderate success. Four on one odds helped; he watched as Cameron, guarded by her friends, wove an especially complex sleeping enchantment against the Longhorn. They slipped past, but the great creature snored, unleashing a gout of flame that lit Hendry's robes on fire. Kelly put it out with a hasty Aguamenti, and they were hugging the walls of the pitch, slowly but surely sneaking past the Horntail while McLaggen kept it occupied.

Aldon looked into the sky. Harriett was still flying, engaging this time with the Welsh Green. She darted around the great dragon like an annoying fly, tempting it, flying first one way, then then other. The dragon's eyes followed her around in the sky, breathing fire at her ever so often. She was careful, though, always flying just out of range and with more than enough time to dodge the flames.

The crowd roared, and Aldon looked over. The Ravenclaw and Hufflepuff girls' group had made the other end – the Shortsnout was lying on the ground, not sleeping, but stunned. "And look at that! Four candidates have taken their ribbons – can we all get a rousing cheer for Tamsin Appleby, Allison Hendry, Quinn Cameron, and Catherine Kelly for their excellent teamwork, finishing in a very respectable eleven minutes and twenty-nine seconds!"

Aldon raised an eyebrow; since they had enchanted the Longhorn, he was surprised they had taken such measures with the Shortsnout. On the other hand, Cameron was pale and panting, clearly low on magic; the enchantment spell must have been a strong one. A tandem Stupefy would have been less power, and with an amplification spell or two, was powerful enough to Stun a dragon. The timing for the spell had to have been precise, and Aldon was impressed despite himself. It was obvious that the four of them, who hadn't done well in the first task, had banded together to demonstrate their ability to work as a team.

That left only Harriett and McLaggen. Harriett was still at it – still taunting the Welsh Green, drawing it into the sky. She flew circles around its head, changing directions every so often, always just a bit out of reach. The great creature sighed, a plume of smoke rising. The only way to get at her was in the sky, and it was into the sky that the dragon leapt. Harriett darted further up, just until it had gotten two, three feet off the ground, then she dove, zipping past the dragon. He wasn't surprised – with only two people left, there was no reason for her to continue dawdling, and with two dragons out of the picture, it was increasingly harder for her to pretend that she was struggling.

She was most of the way across the pitch when the crowd – one amorphous being – gasped. Or, perhaps just enough people gasped that she noticed, or perhaps it was the cry of pain from McLaggen that she heard. She was past him – far enough past that she didn't need to turn back, and Aldon didn't even think anyone would fault her for not turning back. She was a Slytherin, it wasn't expected of them, and McLaggen was an aggravating blowhard anyway.

But turn back she did, and she saw that he had fallen to the ground, and that the Horntail was advancing on him, drawing its head back to breathe fire. And she turned her broom around, and raced to him, and Aldon groaned out loud as the Slytherin stands, so eagerly cheering her on just a second ago, fell silent.

"The idiot," he breathed, fighting the urge to close his eyes. He felt Ed's hand grip his shoulder. "The absolute, utter, idiot."

Harriett raced to McLaggen, throwing out a shield as she did so, a Fortis shield with plenty of power, and then a second shield made of red fire which ate the dragonfire as it advanced. A Depasco shield – she was an idiot. Yes, they all knew she was powerful already, but did she need to flaunt it in front of the judges? Depasco shields were only cast by the extremely powerful, and never for long, but she held it for nearly ten, twelve seconds while the dragonfire splashed against it, while her Fortis shield broke under the heat.

It bought them time, and she grabbed McLaggen by the collar, dragging him to his feet and onto her broom. She was hampered by the extra weight, but not enough, because she was a damn good flier and it was a straight shot to the last two ribbons. She grabbed both in one hand, sailing into the safe zone established at the other end, just as the Welsh Green turned on the Horntail and they spit flames at each other.

"And that's all of the candidates!" Bagman shouted. "Arcturus Rigel Black and Cormac McLaggen bring in a time of fifteen minutes and twenty seconds. The judges will be deliberating all afternoon, and the Hogwarts team will be announced at the Halloween Feast, tonight, but let's hear it for all of our candidates, whether they succeed or not!"

Aldon looked down at the pitch, where dragonkeepers – eight per dragon – had already begun subduing the Welsh Green and the Horntail, and caring for the two unconscious dragons. He looked, too, to the candidates at the far end, wearing expressions varying from smug pride to relief to polite blankness, and slapped Ed on the shoulder. His hands were damp with nervous sweat.

"I think, Edmund," he announced faintly, "that I might need a drink."

It took Aldon two shots of Firewhiskey in his and Ed's shared dormitory to feel like himself again, and if it wasn't for the fact that Ed confiscated it and gave the rest to their Housemates for the second Rigel Black Victory Party, Aldon would have probably had a few more shots that afternoon. Harriett sat, again, in the place of honour in the Slytherin common room, surrounded by her friends, as her Housemates congratulated her. She smiled pleasantly, politely, that little smile that didn't reach her eyes, thanking them for their support.

"I'm sure they won't take your time into that much consideration for the second task," Lucian said, patting her on the back as Aldon tensed. "You were unlucky, the dragons just wouldn't leave you alone, but you didn't get injured. And you saved McLaggen, too, so they'll count that."

"Thank you, Lucian," she replied, even if her eyes were perfectly blank. "I hope not."

Aldon smirked hearing the last part – it was obvious she meant that she hoped they were all wrong, that she was out of it, but her words were vague enough to be interpreted any which way. He didn't have the heart to go tell her that it probably didn't matter what she had done; with the selection committee being Lord Riddle, three Ministry officials, and Dumbledore, the chances of her not being selected were practically non-existent. He didn't, because this was the Rigel Black Victory Party, because he wasn't supposed to know that, because they were in public, they were in front of her whole House, and how could he reveal that she tried to throw the second task in front of everyone? And, he told himself nobly, he wanted her to have a few more hours of believing that she might not be picked, even when all the clues he had argued that it was more likely than not that her being in the Tournament wasn't a prank, wasn't a misguided joke, but was a plan.

If his core hadn't rung with his own lie, he would have even believed himself. No, instead, because he knew he was lying, he knew he was just too much of a coward to tell her ahead of time. It wouldn't make a difference, anyway. God, he wished Ed hadn't confiscated the Firewhiskey.

That night, at the end of the Feast, he saw her face go blank when they called her name.

"The Hogwarts Triwizard Team will be, first, Arcturus Rigel Black, of Slytherin, who demonstrated resourcefulness and moral fibre in assisting all of the candidates reach the other side safely. Second, Angelina Johnston, of Gryffindor, who demonstrated courage, physical ability, and aptitude at movement spells. Third, Cedric Diggory, of Hufflepuff, for his perseverance and aptitude at both offensive and defensive spells," Bagman announced, his eyes sparking, his tone far too joyous. "The alternate will be Alexander Willoughby, of Ravenclaw, who demonstrated great cleverness in breaking the Anti-Apparition Wards on the arena. Both Hogwarts, and the Ministry of Magic, know that you will represent your school and your country admirably in the Tournament, and we wish you the best of luck!"

The Great Hall exploded in wild, raucous cheering. If it wasn't for the fact that Arcturus Rigel Black was actually Harriett Potter, in disguise, Aldon would have been impressed; the judges had carefully picked one candidate from every House, giving all the students someone to cheer for, something to unite them all.

But, since Arcturus Rigel Black was Harriett Potter, all Aldon felt was looming dread. Looming dread and a grim, dark sense of resignation. It was Halloween, and it always was Harriett Potter.

XXX

Harriett Potter was a lady. She was highborn, Book of Gold nobility, whether she was halfblooded or not, and Aldon was, halfblooded or not, a noble, Book of Copper gentleman. He had not been raised to leave women or girls in danger, particularly not highborn ones. He was the only one who knew who Harriett Potter was, who knew that Arcturus Rigel Black was actually Harriett Potter in disguise, and he felt the weight of obligation on his shoulders.

It was not an unwelcome weight, which was a surprise in and of itself. He didn't resent Harriett – he remembered all too well the regret he felt last year, when she had nearly died. It wasn't Harriett's fault that she had been targeted. Perhaps it was her fault for coming to Hogwarts, committing blood identity theft to do it, but Aldon couldn't bring himself to blame her for that, either. She was a halfblood, and so was he. The exclusionary rules were unfair, and he had always admired her passion, her determination, and she used her opportunities at Hogwarts so much better than most of the purebloods who came to Hogwarts as a matter of course. How could he be upset at her, when he was no better, when he was perhaps worse?

And Harriett never asked for help. She never even expected help, and yet she always gave it out to anyone who needed it, without asking for anything in return. She chose to give up all the benefits of her sex to come to Hogwarts, chose to pretend to be her pureblood cousin, and if Aldon chose to do what he could to protect her anyway, it was his choice to do so.

A week after the announcement of the team, a discreet notice went up on the notice board in the Great Hall.

TRIWIZARD TOURNAMENT

STUDENT SUPPORT TEAM RECRUITMENT

The Hogwarts Triwizard Team is seeking:

3 Strategists

3 Healers

2 Equipment Managers

2 Compliance Officers

For further details and to apply, please provide a letter of interest describing your qualifications to a member of the Hogwarts Triwizard Team (Angelina Johnson, Cedric Diggory, Rigel Black, or Alexander Willoughby) for consideration no later than November 30.

Aldon pursed his lips, staring at the notice. The team itself was responsible for selecting its own support team, he recalled, and while he had no idea what any of the roles entailed (other than Healers, that seemed to be self-evident), it would be his best chance of being able to do something, anything to protect Harriett.

"Aldon," Ed was beside him, taking in the look on his face. "Are you actually considering …?"

He sounded taken aback, Aldon thought distantly. Well, he supposed that he was not particularly inclined to danger, and this type of thing could, in the absence of some crucial pieces of information, be seen as being somewhat outside of his normal behaviour. "I'm thinking about it," he said simply, turning away from it and heading to the Slytherin table instead.

There was a pause, and Aldon didn't need to look at the expression on Ed's face to know that he was surprised, but he didn't bother explaining. He didn't think he needed to explain, for one, and even if he did, what would he say? Ed already suspected that Aldon liked Rigel, and that was even true. Aldon liked Rigel, because Rigel was Harriett Potter – no need to go into the details of the latter point. There was a pause, and he heard Ed's footsteps behind him, a beat slower than he normally would have.

He wouldn't go to Harriett herself, of course. There was no need for her to know that he was putting his name in for a support position, especially not ahead of time, when she might argue against having him there. And he didn't know Diggory all that well, or Johnston. But he did know Alex, and if he pre-emptively went to Alex and negotiated a place for himself on the support team, well, that was expected behaviour for a Slytherin. And, anyway, he needed further details to write a persuasive argument for why he should be given a spot on the support team.

It was with that in mind that he made his way to Ravenclaw Tower, only a day or two later. He rapped smartly on the door. The eagle awoke, staring beadily at him.

"What is a room that no one can enter?" it asked.

Aldon stared at it for a few moments. A year ago, he would have been annoyed, snapping out possible answers until the door acquiesced (or, more likely, a Ravenclaw let him in). The handle was stupidly, stupidly implacable, and why was it that the house known for cleverness and intellectual curiosity asked riddles anyway? It wasn't as though being good at riddles made anyone more intelligent or curious.

He pondered it for a minute, two, then it came to him. "A mushroom," he replied bluntly, and the door swung open.

A quick scan of the Ravenclaw common room revealed he wasn't there, but he did spot Alvin Dauphney, a seventh year who shared his Charms class, curled up with a book on natural magic in a round armchair. He tapped him on the shoulder. "Would you happen to know where Alex is?"

Dauphney nodded, disinterested. "Studying in E21," he said, waving generally in the direction of the stairs to the study rooms. After so many visits to Ravenclaw Tower, Aldon barely had to think to know which room he meant; E stood for experimentation room, 2 was the floor, 1 was the room number.

Aldon nodded his thanks, not that Dauphney noticed, and made his way into the room. His friend was pouring over a sheaf of notes, not in his handwriting.

"Aldon," he looked up at the sound of the door opening, setting his sheaf of parchment to one side. "I didn't expect to see you here. What can I do for you?"

Aldon used his most winning smile on his friend, who only raised an eyebrow. Damn, Alex was coming to know him a little too well. He sighed. "I came to ask about the support team positions," he said, sitting down across the table from Alex. And to sway him into putting him on the support team, but he didn't think Alex would take well to the bald request.

"Are you considering applying?" he asked, leaning back, his face openly betraying his surprise. Internally, Aldon groaned. He really wasn't that aloof from school activities, was he? He had his friends. He was in the Dueling Club, even if that was largely forced by Ed. Was it so surprising that he would want to be involved?

"I suppose I am," Aldon said, shrugging slightly, somewhat uncomfortable. "Is that a problem?"

Alex tilted his head to one side in consideration, running a hand through his chestnut hair. "No, no. In truth, I'm happy you want to be involved, you would be a great asset. What do you want to know?"

"Well, for one, what are the roles? I don't think I'm suited to be a Healer, but what are the other positions?" Aldon leaned forward.

Alex smiled, a small smile that showed none of his teeth. "Do you remember what the games are, against the other schools?"

"I think so," Aldon cast back to the Welcome Feast. "The games are on a battleground, which can be any terrain, and each team has a keystone to guard. The teams are aiming to find and destroy the other team's keystone, and the game is won when either one team's keystone is destroyed, or when an entire team is eliminated. Is that right?"

"Almost word for word what Dumbledore said," Alex nodded, with a tiny smirk. Aldon glared at him. Trust Alex to tease when things were so serious. "Makes more sense when you watch a game – Chang has some memory orbs with old games. It's a war game. Different schools employ different strategies; for example, you don't need to try to destroy the other team's keystone, you might only want to eliminate their players, by putting them into a position where they cannot continue the match. Usually that means knocking the player unconscious, whether by Stunning or other means. Some schools try to avoid the other team's players entirely and use stealth to find and destroy the other team's keystone first. How a school plays depends on the team members and the school's strengths. For example, Chang says Durmstrang is very combat-based and usually their team members can free duel-"

Aldon swallowed, feeling the blood drain from his face. "Free duel?"

Alex shrugged, nonchalant. "It's not illegal in eastern Europe. Ougadou always sends Animagi, Mahoutokoro does best in terrains which allow for flying. I've been getting up to speed with Chang's notes." He gestured to the sheaf of parchment.

Aldon took a deep breath. If free-dueling was a reasonable expectation in this tournament, then he understood why dragons were the second task, why he needed to make it onto the team. "So, the roles?"

Alex nodded, just once, returning to the topic. "It is usual for the team members to be separated during a match, so strategists are the communications unit – each team member is connected to a strategist with a communication orb, and the strategists can communicate with each other and pass on messages. Strategists also have an overall view of the battleground. Chang says that, in recent years, strategists have taken a bigger role and started acting as tacticians and generals – memory orbs sometimes now include strategist communications, but strategists cannot enter the battleground.

"Healers are the only other students allowed into the battleground during the games. Each school has three Healers, and they are expected to enter and Heal their team's players if they are injured. Healers are not allowed to revive an unconscious student and they formally signal that their players are unable to continue if they are grievously injured. However, if the injury is minor, they can also choose to Heal the player and let them continue. Chang says that AIM is known for their Healers, so their players take bigger risks and continue play.

"Each player can bring in three items to help them, excluding wands and other channelling items. Equipment Managers are responsible for outfitting their teams with items for competition. Compliance Officers ensure that their team and the other team follow the rules of the game – they inspect all the items the other team plans on bringing before the games, and they appeal game results if they believe the players have broken the rules. Chang says that appeals are rarely successful, but if they are, they can overturn a game result. Are you thinking about any role in particular?"

Aldon leaned back, thinking it over. Obviously, he couldn't be a Healer, he didn't have any of the skills. He wasn't interested in being an Equipment Manager, either, but either of the other two roles would be fine. If inspecting the other team's items was anything like work in the New Developments Division, his magical theory expertise could be of use. But Alex had said, earlier, that he would be a great asset, and he did have that gleam in his eyes, too. "Anything you would suggest?"

Alex hesitated. "A strategist," he admitted slowly. "You are the best magical theorist at Hogwarts. If any other team brings anything new, and Chang says they almost always do, you have the best chance of knowing how to combat it right away, or of reverse-engineering it."

"I sense a "but" in there, Alex," Aldon replied, his tone light, even if he was deadly serious.

Alex hesitated for several long moments, reaching over to shuffle through his sheaf of papers. Aldon followed his gaze, but could make nothing of the cramped handwriting from this angle. He turned his attention back to Alex, tapping his fingers on the table between them slowly, while Alex glanced through the papers in front of him. Aldon could be patient if he needed to be, as long as it wasn't against Ed, and he was rewarded when Alex sighed. "But nothing, Aldon."

Aldon nodded slowly, taking the time to phrase his next statement carefully. "I should very much like to be a part of the team."

Alex snorted. "Save your Slytherin tricks. I won't ask why. You would be a good asset. I'll talk to the team; Ced will be supportive, he knows your skills as well as I do, and we should be able to talk Black and Johnston around. Put in a decent letter, though, won't you?"

Aldon smiled, a quick, genuine smile at his friend who was really coming to know him a little too well, and stood. "Certainly."

XXX

It took him four drafts of a letter of interest before he had one he could owl to Alex.

His first letter was too disorganized, there was no train, no logic to the argument for why he should be allowed a strategist position. In his second letter, he had reiterated his marks as if they meant something, until he remembered what Alex had said about his potential usefulness. His third letter had been satisfactory, narrowing in his skill in magical theory, but once he finished it, he realized he had forgotten about his two summers in the New Developments Division, and most of Hogwarts thought Magical Theory was for Squibs, so he needed to address that. His fourth letter, he thought, hit all the points exactly.

Dear Hogwarts Triwizard Team,

I am writing to express my interest in joining your support team for the Triwizard Tournament as a strategist. I am confident that you will find my skills to be of use.

As a seventh-year, I am enrolled in NEWT-level Transfigurations, Charms, Curse-breaking, Ward Construction, Potions, and Ancient Runes, with "E"s and "O"s in all of my courses. More importantly, however, I have a particular interest in Magical Theory. As a sixth-year, I wrote the ICW Secondary Examination in Magical Theory, and scored in the top 10% across Europe. As part of my preparation for that examination, I also became familiar with various methods of channelling magic, as well as with both natural and wild magic. In addition, for the past two summers, I have also interned with the New Developments Division of the Rosier Investment Trust, which considers, tests and funds ideas for new wizarding technology.

As an international competition, I expect that we will be faced with teams using magic or wizarding technologies in ways that we have not before seen. As a magical theorist, I am the best equipped both to advise the team on any new methods or technologies, and, if necessary, to reverse-engineer new technologies on the basis of limited information.

I look forward to your consideration.

He signed it, sealed and sent it. He used nearly Alex's words, purposely so, because with Alex and Diggory supporting his application for those reasons, it was better, he thought, to present a consistent argument. And, really, he was probably the best magical theorist at Hogwarts.

In mid-December, blue envelopes drifted through the Great Hall with the morning post, standing out from the mass by their vibrant colour. Ten blue envelopes, carried by ten nondescript school owls, flashing in the mass of white and grey. They hovered for a minute, swirling around, waiting for the other owls to deliver their mail first, waiting until the students' attention was on them, before they found their targets, and Aldon knew immediately what they were. He wondered vaguely whose idea it was to make the announcements so dramatic, because it certainly wouldn't have been Alex's or Harriett's. He didn't know Diggory all that well, but it didn't seem his style, either.

One of the owls dropped a blue envelope, labelled "Aldon Rosier", into his lap. He grasped it in his hands, grabbed an unused butter knife off the table to slit it open, and pulled out one thin sheet of parchment with only three words on it.

Aldon Rosier: Strategist.

He breathed out, a long sigh of relief. At least, when the games began, Harriett would have one more person protecting her secret.

XXX

AN: Annnnd we are now officially wildly, wildly AU! Why? First, most of my Triwizard stuff was planned well before FF6 came out, and second, thematically I'm exploring completely different things than the illustrious V, including, most relevantly, how the rest of the world developed and the international political scene. Yes, the Triwizard Tournament is basically the Wizarding World Cup, not a once-in-a-lifetime event, which works better for a Hello, World! moment for our characters. Thank yous are extended, as per usual, to badculture, SHL, JAP, and JEM for your never-ending support and for letting me pick your brains on the weirdest topics (none of which shall be mentioned now because they are spoiler-y), and most importantly to meek-bookworm, who has kindly agreed to beta this work for me and catch any glaring nonsensical bits (though meek probably just got tired of me sending things ten days before post day crying about how I have no confidence in my writing). As always, I love reading your reviews, comments, and constructive criticisms, so please do leave a review if you feel so inclined. Finally, updates will always happen on the last Friday of every month, so see you at the end of October when things really run off the rails.