A/N: Lovely readers, I don't deserve you. But you all deserve this.
The Futile Façade:
Chapter 7:
Archie loved his cousin Harry, but hearing the mirror ding twice in as many weeks sent an immediate shiver of disquiet down his spine. Harry was many things, but chatty was not one of them; she would not call just to say hi, and they had finalized their cross-syllabi studying schedule the week before. Plus, it was only mid-afternoon. That meant Harry couldn't even wait a few hours until their designated calling time to talk to him. He locked the door to his room and fished the mirror from his bedside table drawer.
"Yes Rigel?" As soon as he spoke, the mirror's surface cleared to reveal his cousin's care-worn visage. His heart dropped at the look in her eyes, but he knew she wouldn't appreciate his panic. "What's happened?" he asked. If someone had discovered her identity, they were prepared to run, but surely it had not come to that already.
"There was an announcement tonight at dinner," Harry said. Her voice sounded a bit more vague than normal, as though she were still working through a sudden shock. "There's to be a tournament here at Hogwarts. Riddle's pushing for me to compete."
"WHAT—" Archie clapped a hand to his mouth and took a deep breath before continuing, at a more manageable level, "What does that mean? How can they force you to compete?"
"I don't know," Harry said faintly. At the sight of moisture gathering in the corner of his cousin's eyes, Archie's sucked in a sharp breath and started murmuring rapidly into the mirror.
"Oh, it's okay, Harry. Whatever it is, it'll be okay. I promise we'll work through it. Just start at the beginning and explain everything. I'm here as long as you need me." Archie wasn't sure if it was the words themselves or the soothing tone of his voice that slowly coaxed her out of her daze.
She blinked hard several times and pulled a slow breath in through her nose before sighing. "Okay. Yes. It started with Riddle's announcement…"
Archie struggled to hold onto a semblance of equanimity as Harry recounted the evening she'd had. He didn't have the emotional control that Harry did, though, and his brain was giving birth to a litter of worries while her tale unfolded. A tournament built around blood prejudice sounded like the most gauche thing he'd ever heard of. Harry couldn't compete in such a tournament. Who knew what kind of things would be asked of her? What if the competitors had to take some kind of contractual oath? What if she had to go swimming?
"…and then Snape acted like he didn't have any choice which means it's up to me to find a way out of this madness." Harry broke off her increasingly distressed recitation to suck in a breath and Archie interrupted her.
"It's up to us, remember. You're not in this alone. We can handle anything together." Archie waited until her eyes refocused on his own and gave Harry a confident smile. "Really, it's not so bad. All we know so far is that Riddle is trying to come up with some way to convince you to participate. He hasn't succeeded yet so there's not reason to panic."
"I don't know what he could offer that would tempt me," Harry said, frowning slightly. "I'm worried he'll take matters into his own hands somehow if he thinks I can't be persuaded any other way. I just don't see why he's so set on me competing. There are plenty of others who would gladly take up the mantel for the Cow Party. Draco would in a heartbeat. Theo, too, and Rookwood wouldn't turn the opportunity down either. I'm probably the worst possible choice for this!"
Archie sighed. "Not from his perspective. He doesn't know most of the reasons you're unsuited to this. What he does know is that you're powerful, smart, and strong enough to survive several things that might have killed other wizards your age. He knows you're the Heir to an old, Dark family that has recently pulled away from his influence. If you win this tournament, what happens?"
"Everyone thinks pureblooded children are in general more talented than halfbloods or muggleborns," Harry said glumly. "And I become the face of bigotry."
"The Black Heir becomes a symbol of pureblood power," Archie corrected her. "Don't think I'm thrilled about that, either, but we have more important things to consider. If it looks like the Blacks are moving back toward Dark politics, how many of the neutral pureblooded families might also reconsider their stance? Especially if the tournament succeeds in Riddle's true aim."
"What's that?" Harry asked, puzzled. He preferred her confusion to the lost, frustrated expression she'd been wearing just a few minutes ago.
"Riddle doesn't just want an anecdotal example to use in arguments favoring pureblood privilege," Archie said evenly. "He's trying to swing public opinion in general in favor of purebloods. Do you know what happened after Ireland won the World Cup?"
Harry blinked at him. "No. What does that have to do with it?"
"Ireland got a brand new stadium with ten thousand more seats than their old one held," Archie told her. "Because they're winners. People love a winner. It's why we root for teams in the first place. Us verses them. That's Riddle's game. He's tired of pureblooded families supporting halfbloods and muggleborns. The Light families' support is the only thing keeping purebloods from having even more advantages than they have now. Do you see what this tournament is going to do?"
Harry nodded slowly. "I was thinking something similar myself, though I hadn't thought of it like Quidditch teams. The number of people who root for a champion who doesn't represent their specific blood community is going to be low. Halfbloods will root for the halfbloods. Muggleborns for the muggleborns. And a lot of purebloods might root for the pureblood candidates without even thinking of it as a social issue. It will seem natural. Easy to choose a side. And easy to disparage the other side because that's just how human nature works once people choose sides. People are going to lose their minds. Oh Merlin, how are we going to stop this?"
Archie raised his eyebrows at Harry's words. Where had his apathetic cousin gone? And when had altruism become her first impulse, rather than an instinct she attempted to suppress beneath caution and guilt? While he was proud of her, he didn't think she fully comprehended the situation at hand. "I don't think anyone can stop it except Riddle, at this point," Archie told her. "The most we can do is undermine the effects."
"I could agree to compete and then throw the competition," Harry suggested reluctantly.
Archie grimaced. "There's no way Riddle won't think of that. If he gets you to compete, it will be with the understanding that you do your best. That's why he wants you to compete, not any of your classmates. They would be more eager, but their best isn't like your best, Ha—Rigel. Your best is scary. Riddle wants that."
"It's still a gamble," she argued, looking uncomfortable at his determination. "With candidates from all over, there's bound to be others with as much skill, if not more."
"I think all those convoluted precautions Riddle has put it place for 'fairness' will actually give him more control of the proceedings than most will suspect," Archie said thoughtfully. Riddle was a politician. He simply would not implement measures that did not favor him in some way.
He could see Harry running her free hand agitatedly through her hair, ruffling the front into disarray. "How is this my life?" she muttered. "Well, our life. I'm so sorry about this, Archie. If I hadn't garnered Riddle's attention we wouldn't be in this mess. How are we going to make Sirius understand?"
Archie's stomach clenched. His father would absolutely be against him participating in the tournament. Quite aside from Sirius' aversion to pureblood supremacy and all its rhetoric, he also just wouldn't be okay with 'Archie' doing something so dangerous after all that the last three years had entailed.
Still, that was not Harry's fault, and Archie could see that his cousin had enough on her shoulders. "Let me worry about Sirius," he said gently. "I'll write a letter breaking the news gently, and explaining as best I can what's going on."
Harry looked alarmed. "If you tell him what Riddle is doing, Sirius won't let that go lightly. He'll make an enemy of the SOW Party, and he's only just now coming back out into society again."
"I have to tell him something." Archie blew out a breath. "I'll think on it. You start brainstorming ways around whatever Riddle comes up with to get you to compete."
"All right." Harry looked slightly relieved to have a straightforward task to tackle. "Can you ask around AIM and see if anyone knows anything more about this tournament?"
"Sure," Archie said. That would be easy enough. He doubted he'd learn much, though. If he were Riddle, he wouldn't put too much effort into advertising this supposedly open tournament. The fewer applicants, the better control he had over who the 'impartial committee' determined to be the best competitors. Checking his watch, he realized Hermione would be coming to collect him for Sunday afternoon test prep shortly. "Are you all right?" he asked Harry.
She nodded with a small smile. It might have been convincing if not for the lines creasing her forehead and the sheen of overwhelmed moisture that coated her usually flat grey eyes. "Yes, go about your day as normal. Thanks for answering, cuz. I feel a lot less like road kill, though I maintain that Fate keeps running over me on purpose."
Archie laughed, relieved that at least Harry maintained her morbid sense of humor. "Call me again if the stress gets to you. I'm always here."
Harry nodded bravely. "I know. I won't forget. Talk to you soon."
"I'll ask the professor here about this tournament," Archie added.
"Do not get yourself nominated." There was his domineering cousin.
He grinned innocently. "Who, me?"
"Harry!"
"Just kidding. I promise not to make your life any harder, cuz." He searched her eyes a final time before smiling sadly. "Take care of yourself. Screw Riddle and the tournament and what anyone else expects. Don't do anything you can't handle."
Harry nodded seriously. "I'll do my best."
That's what he was afraid of. Archie knew Harry would do as she pleased, in the end. She always did. He just hoped it worked out for them again. The connection was cut off, and Archie put the mirror away slowly, lost in thought.
He'd been sort of vaguely concerned with the suspicions Harry harbored about what Riddle was up to that year, but since coming back to AIM he hadn't given it much attention. After all, if whatever he was scheming was as out in the open as it seemed it would be, how bad could it really be? Apparently it could be very bad. So bad that he wasn't sure how Harry's sanity would survive the pressure. Not only was she being coerced into championing a cause she vehemently disagreed with, a cause that had incidentally prompted her to commit to a lifelong deception at the risk of her very soul at the tender age of eleven, but in becoming that champion she would inevitably put that deception into the realest peril it had ever faced. That sort of thing couldn't be good for the psyche.
And here he was in North America, completely unable to give her the hug she so obviously needed. On a dissatisfied sigh, Archie checked his reflection in the mirror and summoned a more cheerful expression. When he looked less like he'd just be told his favorite dog had died, Archie left his room to track down Hermione. If anything could cheer him up, it was seeing her lovely brown eyes darken in concentration as she tried to answer his practice test questions. If the gods were truly smiling on him, she might nibble a quill while she thought.
He hadn't quite worked up the courage to tell Hermione how he felt yet, but he didn't have any trouble admiring her from across a study table while he waited for the opportune moment.
-0
[HpHpHp]
-0
Rigel woke the next morning with a blinding headache. It seemed that all of the stress she'd been trying to ignore had caught up with her sometime in the night. She slowly unclenched her jaw and suppressed a groan as she slid off her bed and blinked against the crust between her eyelids.
She retrieved a pain potion from her kit and gulped it down in a single go. By the time she had changed into her running clothes and exited the bathroom, her head felt almost normal. Draco mumbled a good morning as he swapped her places in the bathroom to brush his teeth and comb his hair. Why he bothered grooming himself before going out to exercise, Rigel didn't understand. She supposed it was part of his charm, though.
When they were both mostly awake and dressed, they crept out of the dorm room and into the common room where Pansy awaited them. Rigel was always amazed at how alert Pansy seemed so early in the morning. She wondered if their blonde friend simply woke up refreshed and cheerful or if Pansy set an alarm much earlier than they did and used the extra time to reach full operational capability.
Rigel was looking forward to a long run that morning; she had a lot to sort out in her head as far as Riddle's tournament was concerned. She didn't count on Draco and Pansy noticing her preoccupation, however.
"Are you ever going to tell us what's on your mind?" Pansy asked. Her voice was light and even despite the brisk pace the three of them kept around the lake.
"I thought you said not to pester him!" Draco said before Rigel could answer.
She couldn't stop the laugh that bubbled up from her chest. Her friends were really too much sometimes. "Am I so obvious?"
"The aura of darkness hanging around you when you got back to the common room last night was," Draco told her frankly.
Rigel shook her head ruefully. "That bad, huh? Well, I had a bit of a shock, that's all."
"What happened?" Pansy asked. "Did Snape do something disagreeable?"
"It wasn't Snape—not really," she amended, as she had not quite decided whether to confront him on his lack of defense of her yet. Rigel hesitated, but she'd already started to explain. If her friends knew what was happening, maybe they would excuse her foul moods. "Riddle was in Snape's office last night. He's asking Snape to nominate me for the tournament."
"Oh, congratulations!" Pansy's smile faltered when she turned to see the scowl on Rigel's face. "Ah. That is… how dare he? Without even consulting you first?"
Rigel felt a smile tug at her lips involuntarily. "I know, I sound churlish and ungrateful. I really don't want to be in the tournament, though. I don't agree with its premise. I don't want to be the face of blood supremacy. I just want a quiet year."
"So don't do it." Draco said it with an obvious expression on his face. "I mean, you were polite when you declined, right?"
"The first couple of times…" Rigel grimaced. "At the end I was pretty annoyed though. I don't think I left Riddle with any illusions as to my attitude."
"Well, that isn't ideal, but I'm sure the damage can be rectified," Pansy said uncertainly.
Rigel shook her head sharply. "You don't understand. He's still insisting. I told him flat out that I wouldn't do it, and Riddle just said he would find some way to convince me."
"He said what?" Pansy stopped running and stared at Rigel in shock. Draco and Rigel stopped as well and all three took a moment to catch their breath before Pansy pinned him with a fierce look. "Rigel, he's threatening you. What did he say exactly?"
Rigel recounted the conversation as best she could, grimacing when Draco and Pansy both winced at her phrasing.
"You told him he has nothing you want?" Draco whistled lowly. "That's not good."
"But it's true," Rigel said, frowning.
"If he thinks he can't tempt you, he's going to use another kind of pressure instead," Pansy said. Her soft features were tight with concern. "Rigel, this isn't good."
"I know that," she said, clenching and unclenching her fists helplessly. "But what can I do?"
Surprisingly, Pansy was quick with the answer that Rigel had been trying to conceive all night. "Warn your family," the girl said, eyes full of deadly earnest. "Family is always the first thing people will try to use against you. If they know ahead of time and are prepared to withstand pressure on your behalf, that's half the battle won."
"Should you be telling me this?" Rigel was moved by the unhesitating practicality with which Pansy had met her explanation of the situation. She knew that Pansy and Draco ought not to help her undermine anything Riddle was plotting, considering their families both supported the Party, and yet here they were listening and commiserating with her. Perhaps there was some room between loyalty to family and friendship, after all.
"It's nothing you shouldn't already know," Draco said, an odd expression on his face. "Rigel… why don't you tell him you're medically incapable?"
She blinked at him. "Medically incapa—oh. You mean my… condition?" She glanced at Pansy, but the pureblooded girl looked merely concerned. Her friends hadn't really brought up the story Snape had spun to protect her time-turner the previous year, and Pansy still didn't know she'd ever had a time-turner. If Draco suspected the story was false, he still thought she had some sort of embarrassing skin condition that made her avoid close contact with others.
"Of course," Draco said, frowning. "You can't be expected to compete, considering."
"No one else knows about that," she said quietly. She didn't have to fake the fear she felt at Riddle ever discovering that secret. "I won't tell Riddle about it. If it turns out I can't get out of this, I'll deal with that as it comes."
"You're smart, Rigel," Pansy said, smiling bracingly at her. "Just don't let them take you off guard. I know you'll come through this okay."
Rigel smiled back gratefully. She truly didn't deserve her amazing friends. "Thank you guys. It doesn't seem so hopeless, saying it all out loud."
"Oh, it's hopeless," Draco said, a smirk creeping onto his face. "With you as our champion, Hogwarts is doomed."
"What's that supposed to mean?" Rigel demanded, playing along if only to lift the heavy, despondent feeling from her shoulders.
"We'll be a laughing stock," Draco bemoaned. "Think of it—the only champion who solves every task with a potion."
"Is that a challenge?" Rigel laughed. It wasn't funny—the very idea of participating in the tournament was horrifying at best—but it was cathartic to let the hysteria leak out a little.
"Don't encourage him," Pansy said, starting to jog once more.
They hurried to catch up to her. After a few minutes' silence, Rigel asked, "Are you guys upset that Riddle wants me to compete? Were you thinking of entering yourselves?"
"I was," Draco said frankly. "I think my father would have asked Uncle Severus to nominate me, if things had gone differently. I'm glad you told me now, though, that the Party already has a plan in mind. Otherwise I might have let hubris get my hopes up."
"You would make a good champion," Rigel offered tentatively. "You should enter. If I can get out of this, maybe you—"
"Don't fool yourself, Rigel," Draco said sternly. "I know you don't want to do this, but you have to ask yourself what the cost of defying Lord Riddle will be. I'll survive not being the pureblood representative. But promise me something," he added suddenly. At Rigel's prompting look, he said, slowly, "Promise me that if you are picked—if you can't refuse—that you won't just throw it away. You have to at least try, Rigel. Otherwise it's an insult to everyone who would be in your shoes, if they could."
Rigel felt the blood drain from her face. Could she promise that to Draco? She didn't want to try. She thought back to what Archie had said. If Riddle somehow coerced her into competing, there was very little chance that he wouldn't also coerce her into taking it seriously. She nodded after a long moment's thought. "Okay. If I have to compete, I'll take it seriously—for you, Dray."
He made a face at her. "Don't make it weird, you prat."
"Will you carry Draco's favor in your pocket for good luck?" Pansy wondered.
"Pansy!" Draco shot her a betrayed expression. "I am not the girl in this relationship!"
"Excuse me?" Pansy's challenging glare had Draco visibly backpedaling just as fast.
"Not that there's anything wrong with that. It's just not how our particular dynamic functions. Right, Rigel? Rigel, tell her."
"I will certainly dedicate my victory to Draco's virtue and grace," Rigel allowed.
"You take that back!" Draco lunged at her but Rigel took off into a sprint before his hand could grasp her neck.
They sprinted the rest of the way back to the castle. The lighthearted feeling of wings that carried her well beyond the end of the workout might have been adrenaline, but it also might have been the glowing wonderment in her heart at the idea that her friends really cared for her. They were willing to walk a delicate line for her, even though it gained them nothing aside from her gratitude. Their support and advice gave her the determination she needed to seek out her Head of House that very day. She would confront him alone, without Riddle there to ooze threats with his very presence, and see what the Potions Master had to say. Draco and Pansy were willing to take a risk for her. Maybe, a small, naïve part of her whispered, Snape would too.
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[HpHpHp]
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She had a potions lesson scheduled Sunday afternoon already, so Rigel collected her protective gear and headed toward lab three a little early. If she could get the difficult conversation out of the way first, it might not even cut very much into her lesson. Snape was within when she arrived, but she noticed he hadn't made any preparations for brewing yet. He was simply waiting, arms folded across his chest and head tucked slightly so that his gaze drilled into the ground. She had seen that posture many times; it meant the Potions Master had succumbed to his thoughts completely. He'd likely been that way for a while, as even her quiet entrance didn't startle him from his reverie at once.
He knew she was there, of course. Snape always knew when someone was near. He had some kind of near-constant passive Legilimency that allowed him to recognize the feel of the minds around him. She wondered if it was related to the projected magical field she was learning for free brewing. There was probably a deeper mental aspect to it, but she wouldn't be surprised if the basic theory was similar.
She set down her gear and waited a few minutes for Snape to refocus on the world around him. When his eyes rose to her face, Rigel met his look with calm serenity. "We need to talk, sir."
His eyebrow lifted so slowly it had to be unnatural. "I presume your desired topic of discussion is the events of yesterday evening."
"Quite."
"State your piece, then," her Head of House said flatly. His arms were still crossed and the way his eyes narrowed at her stubborn expression didn't bode well for open communication. Still, she had to try.
"I want to know why you didn't defend me last night, sir. You know I don't want to do the tournament, yet you are prepared to nominate me anyway because Riddle asked it." She searched his closed expression and for once allowed the hurt to show clearly in her eyes. "I need to know if you bow to Riddle because you agree with him or if there is some other reason you cannot stand against him."
Snape's black eyes glittered at her as he waited for her to finish. When he spoke, it was measured and slow. "I do defend you, Rigel, though you do not perceive it. I have limited maneuverability in what Lord Riddle requires, but what leeway I possess I have spent almost exclusively on you these past three years."
Rigel blinked. "What do you mean?" She had expected Snape to either refuse to engage her on the topic or else to tell her that Riddle was acting for the best somehow. She hadn't let herself imagine that Snape would openly admit to being on her side. Still, she didn't know in what instances he would have needed to maneuver on her behalf.
"Think, Rigel. You have foiled more than one of Lord Riddle's plans. Do you know what usually happens to people who stand in his way?" Snape's frown was tight. "He removes them from his path, one way or another."
She thought quickly. "Has he threatened me?" Was Archie going to be in danger in the future?
"I convinced him there was no need to," Snape said sharply. "You first year, I persuaded him that you meant no harm, that you didn't know what you were doing, and that saving Draco's life was a good thing. It would tie the Black Heir to the Malfoy family, after all."
Rigel drew in a sharp breath. Had Mr. Malfoy's offer of a life debt been at Riddle's behest? Is that why they allowed Draco to maintain his close friendship with her? Because Riddle wanted the Black family realigned with his Party? Snape had continued without pausing, so she left that line of thought for a moment to catch up to what he was saying.
"Second year I expected a greater reaction. Lord Riddle seems to have overlooked your part in the death of Slytherin's monster and the magical construct's madness—"
"He didn't overlook it," Rigel cut in. "I made a deal with him."
Snape stared at her. "What could you possibly have bargained?"
"The construct told me everything in the Chamber. More than I admitted to Dumbledore," she said softly. Her magic squeaked like a cat whose tail had been yanked and she winced. That would be the vow warning her not to reveal anything specific. "I can't talk about the exchange we made. Suffice to say that he did not take my knowing anything about the construct stoically."
The Potions Master began to pace the small room agitatedly. "You should not make such bargains lightly."
"I didn't," Rigel said, frowning. "I don't doubt that without an assurance of silence Riddle would have ensured it another way."
Snape did not contradict her, which in itself was a bit terrifying. It was one thing to suspect that Riddle would go so far as to Obliviate or otherwise prevent a person from revealing his secrets, but quite another to have it essentially confirmed by one of his Party members.
"He has put that business behind him, at least," Snape said, almost to himself. "Last year he will not forget as quickly. Lord Riddle was livid at your interference."
"I was kidnapped," Rigel snapped, outraged. Riddle had no right to be upset with her that his minion had turned coat and lost his humanity.
Snape's eyes flashed. "Do not take that tone with me, boy. Riddle does not believe you had no hand in the destruction of the stone. He doesn't even believe it truly destroyed. Before I persuaded him otherwise, he was prepared to question you himself over the matter."
"How did you change his mind?" Rigel asked, not sure if she wanted to know.
"I intimated that you were not in any state to be interrogated," Snape said, his lip curling slightly.
"You told him I was broken," Rigel said, voice sharp.
"I bought you time to regain equilibrium before facing him," he corrected her. "Do not think you would have been beyond his reach in the Darian Gap, had he pressed the matter."
She paled. The thought of Riddle confronting Archie over the Dominion Jewel… it was unthinkable. Their ruse would crumble instantly. "Thank you," she said hoarsely. "I…did need the time."
He inclined his head briefly. "Then of course there is your obstinacy regarding this tournament."
"I won't do it," she said firmly.
"You will," Snape said, just as firm. "He will not give you a choice. The only question is what he will do to ensure your cooperation."
"So he is going to threaten me," Rigel said, eyes widening slightly. Pansy was right.
"I cannot be certain," Snape said, shaking his head. "You must prepare yourself for anything. He will use your vulnerabilities against you. Already he has asked me to divest you of your attachment to your cousin. He wants you isolated. Unsure of yourself and others."
"Wait," Rigel said, her head spinning. "He asked you to separate me and Harry? Why?"
"Lord Riddle believes that attachments are a weakness, but more than that, he is hoping to turn your loyalties toward the S.O.W. Party this year." At her incredulous look, Snape's lips twisted. "It is not so unthinkable as you assume. If he succeeds in making you his pureblood champion, you will stand apart from your classmates. It is a lonely competition, and you will be competing for something your family is unlikely to support."
She nodded slowly. That was certainly true. If her family pulled back from her, if she didn't have her cousin to rely on so completely… it might be enough to put her off balance. Still, she just couldn't see herself ever turning to Riddle for anything. "What will you do to Harry?" she asked dully.
Snape hissed. "Haven't you been listening? I will do nothing. I am trying to help you. And Miss Potter. My protection only extends so far, however. I warn you so that you can make your own defenses."
Unwilling tears sprang to Rigel's eyes and she ducked her head to hide them as she blinked them away with fierce impatience. She'd been so mistaken. Snape was supporting her. He always had been, only she hadn't seen it because she'd been so arrogant as to believe Lord Riddle tolerated her for his own reasons. "Thank you, sir," she said again. Her voice sounded choked and she flushed slightly with embarrassment. She must look exceedingly foolish, blubbering like a child over his protection—protection that extended to Harry, apparently. That alone had her chest filling with warmth.
"You are more than welcome," her Potions Master said gruffly. She peeked up to see an expression almost like embarrassment on his face, too. "Regardless, you must not rely on me. Lord Riddle will not be waylaid indefinitely."
Annoyance beat back her embarrassment swiftly. "He's not a lord," she muttered. "He doesn't head any of the old families, and he hasn't been granted an Order of Merlin First Class."
"He is what he says he is." Snape's tone was absolute. "That is power. Gainsaying it will not change the reality that most consider the man to be equal and above the other Lords of society."
She shook her head in slow disbelief. "Why do you follow him?" The question slipped out without her conscious decision, but once it had she didn't take it back. She did want to know. "You're a halfblood," she added bluntly. At his dark look she qualified her words slightly. "I'm not saying everyone has to support political agendas that align with their inborn groups, but I know you aren't a bigot."
"Do you?" His voice had grown silky—always a bad sign. She didn't retreat, though. In that moment, she felt closer to Snape than she ever had, as a mentor, a role model, a professor, and as a person, too. She wanted to understand him better, even if it made him uncomfortable.
"I do. I'm pretty sure you don't like werewolves, but you put an entire year of your life into improving the potion that helps them through transformations. I know Dumbledore asked you to do that Remus could teach here," she went on before he could protest, "but you could have easily found a way out of it. There are other things, too. You don't treat Harry like she's an idiot or unworthy to study potions just because she's a halfblood girl. You aren't rude to Mr. Hagrid or Mr. Filch, even though both would be considered undesirables according to the S.O.W. Party. You—"
"That is sufficient," Snape growled. "What is your point?"
"That you don't let a person's blood status or even magical affliction affect your interactions with them. I don't see what about Riddle's party ever drew you to it." She shrugged. "I guess they support other things, like loosening the restrictions on Dark magic and promoting the old cultural traditions. Those platforms get so buried under the blood mania. Is it worth it?"
Her Head of House's face was utterly devoid of expression. "My personal choices are none of your concern."
"I don't think you really support his ideals," Rigel said bravely. "I think he has some hold over you, and that it's going to affect what you can and can't do to help me." She blinked up at him in earnest. "I understand if you can't always protect me. I'd just like to know, so I can make my own plans, like you said."
Snape took a step closer and the menacing intimidation he gave off as he leaned into Rigel's personal space made her catch her breath. "Do not ever question my loyalties to the Party again," he breathed. "I have my own arrangement with Lord Riddle, and its details are not yours to know. Understand that I am limited in what I may deny him and make your… plans accordingly."
She gulped silently. "Yes, sir."
"Good. If this matter is settled to your satisfaction, we must discuss your training." Snape stepped back and unrolled a bit of parchment he plucked from his pocket. "Your classes end two hours before dinner Monday through Thursday," he noted. She wondered if he'd brought a copy of her schedule tonight specifically or if he carried it around so he knew where she was at all times. Somehow, she wouldn't put it past him.
"That's right," she said, not sure where he was going with it.
"Very well. You will report to my office on those afternoons for the next month. We don't have long to prepare you—"
"I'm not participating in the tournament," Rigel interrupted, exasperated.
"Nevertheless, I will train you as though you are," Snape said, sneering. "Are you going to turn down extra lessons?
She opened her mouth and then his words caught up to her. Her teeth clicked together with a snap. "What kind of lessons?" she said after a moment of frustrated internal debate. Who was she kidding? Of course she wanted extra training. She just didn't want to look like she was giving into the idea of competing.
"Self defense, silent casting, dangerous creature familiarization… a number of things, really," Snape said smoothly. The amusement in his eyes told her he knew exactly how tempted she was by the idea of extracurricular instruction.
"It won't interfere with my potions time." It was not a question. At Snape's affirmative nod, she sighed. "I suppose extra training never hurts. As long as Riddle understands I'm only doing it for the knowledge. I haven't agreed to compete."
"I think we are clear on that point," the Potions Master drawled.
Rigel silently reflected that no one was going to be clear on that. If her friends found out she was going to Snape's office every afternoon for extra training they would never believe she wasn't trying to get nominated for the tournament. Where was Snape going to find the time for this, in any case? With her filling up his late afternoons and weekends, how was he going to get all his marking done? "Do you have a time-turner?" she asked abruptly.
Her question startled a snort of laughter out of him. "It's called time management."
She peered at him suspiciously. "You're going to make the prefects do your marking, aren't you?"
"There's an idea," Snape said idly. His blandly innocent expression was not convincing.
After a moment of silence in which they both looked at one another appraisingly, Rigel thought she was tentatively satisfied with the way their conversation had gone. Snape hadn't exactly spilled his guts for her, but she hadn't expected him to. She knew more about where Snape stood in relation to Riddle and herself, even if he didn't openly admit to being disloyal to the Party. In addition, she knew now that she had more reason to be grateful to her Head of House than she'd ever imagined.
She suspected he was as exhausted from their guarded heart-to-heart as she was, so she offered, "Are we brewing anything today?"
Snape inclined his head, lips twitching upward just slightly. "I have a recipe for an area effect potion purported to dissolve into a mist that slows the movement of anything inside it."
Intrigued, Rigel tilted her head. "How do we prevent that reaction while we brew it? What's to stop it dissolving before we get it into the bottle?"
"You will recall your lessons in Indirect Stirring. A barrier is necessary to contain the potion inside the cauldron until it is at a stage that it can be transferred. Don your protective gear and I will begin the necessary ingredient preparation."
Rigel grinned. Potions was a balm to the soul. She was convinced that almost anything could be cured with the simmering sound of a full cauldron, including any lingering awkwardness between her and Professor Snape.
It was only much later, as she tested her magical field against the Exploding Snap cards in the common room, that she realized she had forgotten to ask about the resonance again.
-0
[AbAbAb]
-0
Archie tapped his feet restlessly under the table in class on Tuesday, impatient for Congenital Diseases to end so he could ask Professor Willoweed whether she'd heard anything about the tournament happening at Hogwarts. In addition to being a Healing professor, Willoweed was the also charged with mentoring and career counseling for AIM's upper levels, which meant if anyone might know about a foreign competition open to students between fourth and seventh year, it would be her.
The lesson didn't seem as though it would be ending any time soon, however, and the reason was not surprising. Hermione was arguing about the textbook explanation. Again.
His beautifully spirited friend had always been opinionated, but this year the fiery witch was nothing short of a crusader. Hermione had blossomed in the Lower Alley sunshine and Archie found her transformation utterly fascinating. No cause was too hopeless for the fifteen-year-old healer-in-training. As evidenced by the impassioned way she railed against the medical community's widely accepted practice in regards to the increasing instances of infant mortality.
"So we just let them die?" Hermione demanded, voice high in indignation.
To her credit, Professor Willoweed kept a faultless composure. "No one is celebrating this, Miss Granger. The fact is, there is currently no known cure for the phenomenon commonly called the Fade."
"The way you describe it makes it sound like there's not even a known explanation," Hermione said hotly. "Infants less than a year old are dying inexplicably, and somehow it's not the number one priority at every research hospital in the world. Does no one else see a problem with that?"
Archie thought he ought to give Willoweed a break. "Hermione, it's not a worldwide issue."
"What?" she said, turning to blink at him distractedly. "What did you say, Harry?"
"The Fade isn't prominent in every Wizarding community," he said gently. "There are recorded cases around the world, but in terms of the overall rate of occurrence, it's only affecting a few places as badly as Britain. So it's not a worldwide priority."
Professor Willoweed inclined her head, and her curls barely twitched in their tight coiffure. "Additionally, Miss Granger, there has been a good deal of research into potential catalysts over the last half century. Despite that, there is no consensus as to the Fade's medical origin, if indeed there is a medical issue underlying the condition at all."
Hermione's eyes widened. "What does that mean? How can there be no issue? The babies die of something."
Their professor took a slow breath. "Some… experts maintain that there is nothing physically wrong with the children who Fade. Their symptoms present and progress in spite of every attempted treatment. Healing doesn't work. Quarantine doesn't work. No herbs or potions are known to forestall Fate's hand once an infant is afflicted. In the face of all this, who can say whether the disease is not more akin to a curse?"
"We treat curses, too," Hermione insisted. "Healing doesn't end at illness or injury. If our oath gives us responsibility for spell damage, then we have a responsibility to these infants regardless of whether the cause is ultimately magical or medical."
"It is kinder and more merciful to send a Fade-touched child home with its family." Professor Willoweed grimaced. "I don't like it any more than you do, but without a viable treatment option, we can do little but observe each infant's slow passing."
"Nothing is incurable in itself," Hermione said. Her eyes were bright, and Archie felt a sympathetic sting in his own in response. Hermione was the only one he'd ever met who agreed with him on that simple truth. There were no lost causes. Only cures that hadn't been discovered yet. "How can we in good faith simply give up?"
"Our community hasn't given up," Willoweed said firmly. "There are a number of renowned specialists still working toward better understanding this condition. Until they offer a solution—or even a course of action for mitigating the illness—the prescribed response to this diagnosis is as I said: make the child comfortable, direct close kin to Mind Healers who specialize in grief, and document every detail of the case carefully so that the data may be passed to those searching for a cure. Now, class, we are out of time. Are there any more questions?"
Hermione was biting her tongue on a number of questions, if Archie didn't miss his guess. Willoweed gave her an apologetic look and dismissed the class to lunch. Archie blew out his breath and slowly began gathering his materials. Once most of his classmates had flocked into the corridor, Archie said, "Professor, could I ask you about something before you go?"
She raised her eyebrows. "Something that couldn't be brought up during the lesson?" she prodded.
Archie smiled with all the charm in his piggybank—which, he admitted, was somewhat limited while he wore the hybrid 'Rigel' face. Still, he would work with what he had. "It isn't about Healing, exactly. I heard something from my cousin, who attends Hogwarts, and wondered if it was true."
Hermione, who of course hadn't left the classroom without him, frowned curiously at him. "Rigel wrote to you?"
Archie smiled, neither answering nor denying her guess. "He said that Hogwarts is hosting an international tournament of some kind. It's supposedly open to all students fourteen to seventeen years of age. I hadn't heard anything about AIM nominating a candidate, though."
Professor Willoweed looked utterly nonplussed. "A tournament? For students? I haven't heard of any such thing, Mr. Potter."
That was interesting. It had been a day and a half since the announcement. If the Cow Party meant to raise awareness for its competition internationally, they were doing a poor job of it. Unless they weren't advertising to certain schools on purpose. AIM had a lot of muggleborns. Only Ilvermorny had more. Could it be that Riddle didn't want to give those students too much time to apply?
"It was announced just this weekend," Archie said, feigning innocence. "Perhaps the news is just slow to reach us. Or perhaps AIM isn't going to participate."
"We regularly nominate candidates for international programs," Willoweed said, talking more to herself than to him. "There's no reason our faculty shouldn't have been notified. Thank you for bringing this to my attention, Mr. Potter. I will look into it."
"Sure, Professor," Archie said, grinning. "Hermione? Lunch?"
His brown-eyed girl tilted her head in a way that he knew meant she wasn't impressed with his acting ability. Still, she nodded and waited for him to sling his book bag over his shoulder before following him out of the room.
"Why are you interested in this tournament, Harry?" Hermione asked slowly as they headed toward the cafeteria. "Are you trying to enter? Would you be gone all semester?"
Archie shook his head. "No way. I don't want any part of it. I just wanted to know if AIM had been contacted about it or not. The whole thing is a pageant, 'Mione, except instead of beauty they're celebrating blood."
Hermione gaped at him. "Harry, stop." She pulled on his arm until he paused and turned to look at her. "Will you explain what you mean by that? A tournament that celebrates blood?"
He grimaced. "It's being put on by the S.O.W. Party." Hermione's nose wrinkled, and he quite agreed. "They want to 'settle the question' of blood purity once and for all, so they're hosting a contest for students around the world. It's going to pit blood categories against one another, so in the final round one pureblood, one halfblood, and one muggleborn will compete for the championship."
"That's utterly barbaric," Hermione spluttered. "Not to mention nonsensical. They may as well put people with Type A blood against those with B and O for all the scientific rigor it demonstrates!"
Archie laughed. "But which category would Type AB get to compete in? No, I'm afraid your Triwizard Tournament won't work at all, 'Mione."
"This is serious, Harry. Who on earth would allow such blatant bigotry a stage to prance around on?"
"Our Ministry of Magic, who else?"
Hermione's eyes flashed. "And roping children into it! What imprudence. I suppose there's some kind of prize or enticement?"
"Sure is, luv. A pretty one, too. Not as pretty as you, of course—"
"Not now, Harry." Hermione's cheeks flushed, but she would not be distracted. "We have to do something about this—this outrage."
"There's nothing stopping it now," Archie reasoned. "Besides which, we're well out of it here."
Hermione was appalled. "We can't just do nothing. I'm going to find out what the prerequisites for applying are."
She started off down the corridor with a vengeance. Archie, stomach clenching a bit at the familiar tone of stubborn determination in her voice, hurried to catch up. "Hermione, you can't be thinking of applying."
She tossed her hair and pinned him with a challenging look. "Why? You don't think I could do it?"
He raised both hands instinctively. "I didn't say that. Why would you want to be wrapped up in that madness, though? It's going to be like some kind of coliseum match, only you'll be the lion they set against their chosen warrior. The S.O.W. Party doesn't want to see a muggleborn do well, don't you see?"
Hermione looked every inch the lioness as she leveled a fierce glare at him. "I do see. I see exactly what they're trying to do and I'm going to make them regret it. I'll show them—the whole world, even—that muggleborns are every inch as magical as purebloods. They want to put it to a test? I eat tests for breakfast."
Archie couldn't help the startled laugh that escaped him, though he shouldn't find any part of it funny. Harry was going to kill him if Hermione actually entered this thrice-damned tournament. Still. "You're amazing," he said, smiling in a way that probably made him look dopey. He didn't care. "That tournament doesn't deserve you."
She favored him with unimpressed amusement. "Stop flattering me and help me find out about the entry requirements, Harry."
"As my lady commands," Archie said easily. He bowed, sweeping an arm out toward the corridor. She slipped ahead of him, and he tried not to stare too obviously at the way her hair swayed when she stalked.
-0
[HpHpHp]
-0
The morning after the tournament was announced, a sign up sheet had been posted on the Great Hall announcement board where hopeful students could indicate their willingness to be considered for nomination into the tournament. There was no indicated limit to the number of students a school could put forth to the deciding committee, so there were a great number of names on the parchment by Thursday morning when Rigel walked into breakfast with her friends.
The popularity of the tournament didn't really explain why there would be such a large crowd gawking at the announcement board four days after students had begun signing up, though. Rigel could not see anything unusual over the heads of the students crowded around, so she turned her attention to her porridge and ignored it until Draco's curiosity overcame his decorum and he stood with a huff to go investigate.
Rigel exchanged an amused look with Pansy. Their friend couldn't abide not knowing what was going on around him. She assumed he would come back to report his findings, but instead she heard her name called sharply from across the hall. Rigel set her spoon down and turned to see Draco standing with an agitated expression in front of the message board. She slowly rose and made her way over.
"What is it?"
"Someone's—look, Rigel." Draco waved students out of the way and Rigel's stomach rippled with unease at the way they stared at her as they moved back.
She turned her eyes to the announcement board where a long piece of parchment was tacked for prospective tournament nominees. The parchment was almost full of names now, except… every single name was hers. Rigel Black had been written over and over in dozens of different handwriting. She felt her mouth press into a mirthless line. "I'm going to kill the Weasley Twins," she said calmly.
"Every time someone writes their name it turns into yours."
She turned her head to find Cedric Diggory standing with a group of other Hufflepuffs next to the board. "I didn't do this," she told him.
"I didn't figure you did," Diggory said, shrugging one shoulder. His handsome face loosed a smile that was like an arrow. "Still, it's a bit inconvenient, Black."
She was briefly taken aback that he knew her name—she hadn't really met him as Rigel, she didn't think. Then again, she supposed everyone in the school knew her name and face after the Valentine's Day fiasco, and then that floating flower prank…come to think of it, her self-designated press secretaries had probably been more effective than she gave them credit for.
"I'll see what I can do," she said, smiling back ruefully. Her eyes cut to the Gryffindor table and she heard the Hufflepuff boy suck in a breath.
"I'm suddenly glad I'm not a Gryff," he murmured.
"Only two of them are in any real danger," Rigel said. She flicked her eyes over to Draco, softening her face enough to convey gratitude. "Thanks for the heads up, Dray. I'll take care of this."
He nodded and broke off for the Slytherin table as she crossed to where Fred and George were holding court among the Gryffindor sixth years. She placed a hand on each of their shoulders and squeezed harder than strictly necessary.
"Ah—ow, Pup," Fred said, leaning into Angela Johnson to escape her grip. "Good morning to you, too."
"And such a surprise," George added, wincing as he bore her hold. "What strong fingers you have."
"The better to coax explanations out of wily redheads," she told him. The bright smile on her face stretched wide, but it didn't reach her eyes.
Fred eyed it with unease. "Caught the notice board, did you?"
"It was hard to miss," she said. "More publicity work on my behalf? You really shouldn't have."
"Well, it's too good an opportunity to pass up," George said. His tried to smile, but when her hand closed harder over his shoulder it turned into a grimace. "Godric, Rigel, you've got a grip like a grindylow."
She released them both and folded her arms across her chest instead. "I appreciate the great lengths you've both gone to on my behalf, but I'm going to ask you to change it back, now."
"No can do," Fred protested. "The world must realize the inevitability of your ascendance."
Rigel felt a headache creeping up her neck and consciously relaxed those muscles with an impatient shake. "I want no part of this tournament. It's a funny prank, but the teachers might get the wrong idea. Besides, it's starting to annoy people who actually want to be considered."
George rolled the shoulder she'd grasped gingerly. "We were going to undo it next week, anyway," he admitted. "You must admit it's a good continuation of the flower prank, though."
She conceded that much. If it had been anyone else, or even anything other than Riddle's tournament, she would probably have thought it harmless. "Some other time, maybe. This tournament has people a little on edge, don't you think?"
The twins exchanged a look. "So far the only one on edge about it is you," Fred said. His freckled face scrunched up in thought. "It's bothering you, isn't it? Granted, it's a mad idea to begin with, but there's no need to take it personally. The Cow Party is just being the Cow Party."
"I think it's a terrible idea," she said, sighing. "I'd just… rather not be associated with it if I can help it."
George frowned up at her. "Is everything okay, Rigel?"
She summoned a smile again. "It will be if you fix that sign up sheet."
Both redheads shrugged, though George still looked concerned. "Consider it done, Rigel."
"Since you asked so nicely," Fred added, waggling his eyebrows.
Rigel bowed her thanks and headed back to her breakfast. A shadow passed through her mind as a thought struck her. Her porridge was probably cold.
-0
[DmDmDm]
-0
Draco watched Rigel make his way back toward them and slid sideways toward Millie to make room on the bench again where Rigel had been sitting. His dark-haired friend picked up his spoon and eyed his bowl in resigned disappointment. A flicker of Empathy and Draco could feel Rigel's mournful regret. Resisting the urge to roll his eyes, he took out his wand and shot a warming charm at Rigel's porridge.
Rigel looked over in surprise and beamed at him. "You're the best, Dray."
He fought the ridiculous hum of pleasure that thrummed through his veins and affected a wry expression. "Note to self: Rigel is easily pleased."
Pansy laughed from across the table. "He didn't look pleased a second ago. What happened over there, Rye?"
"Just the Weasley twins causing trouble," Rigel said. A peeved flush was creeping up Rigel's neck and Draco nearly flushed too when he caught himself admiring it.
"They switched all the names on the tournament sign up sheet for Rigel's," Draco said, distracting himself before he could do something as idiotic as scrutinize his friend's blood flow again.
Pansy shot an uneasy look at Rigel, but Millicent sounded intrigued. "Are they trying to get you nominated, Rigel?" she asked.
"Not anymore," Rigel said firmly. "I set them straight."
"You really don't want to enter?" Theo asked from Rigel's other side. "A lot of professors like you, and you've proven yourself resourceful, if nothing else. It's not the worst idea."
Draco fought a scowl. Not a bad idea? It was a brilliant idea. Rigel was perfect for this kind of competition, and Draco was not surprised Lord Riddle agreed. He was smart, talented, powerful, and he thought well on his feet. Plus, he had grit, which Draco could not say about most of their classmates. It was odd, really. Fortitude wasn't a virtue Draco had ever considered before, but his friend was tenacious in a way that most young adults their age were not. In a way that, Draco admitted, he was probably not.
"Thanks, Theo, but I don't have time for such a big commitment right now," Rigel was saying. Draco wondered just who the boy thought he was fooling. Rigel had already made it perfectly clear that he despised the very idea of the tournament, not to mention his contempt for Lord Riddle himself. Draco appreciated Rigel not repeating such dangerous opinions over breakfast, but it was a bit late to pretend he held anything but aversion to whatever the S.O.W. Party touched.
Sometimes Draco wondered what had caused Rigel's thoughts to shift so radically against the Party and Lord Riddle. Was he like others who had soured against the pureblood elite in the wake of the World Cup disaster? Was it because of what had happened to him last year? Or, a more realistic voice prodded him, had Rigel always thought this way? Perhaps he'd held these opinions as long as Draco knew him, and was only just now saying them aloud. Draco wasn't sure whether it was a good or bad thing that Rigel trusted them enough to be openly hostile toward their parents' political and social affiliations now. It certainly didn't make friendship with him more comfortable.
Than again, Draco reflected as he eyed Rigel contentedly shoveling porridge into his mouth, friendship with Rigel had never really been about comfort, had it?
Draco was drawn from his musing when Pansy asked him how the work to reinstate the Dueling Club was coming along. "It might be a lost cause," he said, frowning. "I can't find anywhere in the castle that's secure enough from prying eyes. The dungeons, the towers—they're ultimately too exposed. If Snape has the prefects on the lookout for students dueling somewhere out of the way, there's no way he won't find out eventually."
"What if we held the meetings earlier than most prefects are awake?" Pansy suggested. "We never see anyone on our way out to morning workouts."
"That's true," Draco said slowly. "How many people do you think will want to come if the time is so inconvenient?"
"Probably the same number of people who'd still participate despite knowing Snape was against it," Pansy said, her eyebrow quirking in subtle sardonic humor.
Draco grimaced. They would definitely lose members if people knew the Head of Slytherin was staunchly against the club. "I just don't understand why he's banning it," Draco muttered. "I understand taking away the class if Dawlish doesn't want to teach it separately from general Defense, but why deny us the club?"
Millie snorted. "Maybe they don't want it to seem like Hogwarts has an advantage when contestants start showing up here for the tasks. There's got to be some sort of dueling involved, right?"
Draco shrugged. Explanations wouldn't really placate him anyway. He wanted to keep his skills sharp. And he had plans for the club, Mordred curse it.
"Draco," Rigel said tentatively. Draco raised an eyebrow at his hesitant expression. Rigel seemed to steel himself before saying, "It sounds like what Snape is worried about is visibility. If you had a place no one would ever see the club meeting, he might let it go."
Draco thought back to what his godfather had threatened. He said if he heard whisper of the club operating, Draco would be held accountable. "I suppose if he doesn't hear about it, he won't really go seeking it out. Still, we're back where we started with no place to practice out of public view."
"I might know a place," Rigel said quietly. Draco whipped his head around so fast he nearly cricked his neck.
"You know a place," he repeated, wondering if he was hearing things. "Where?"
"It'd be easier to show you later," Rigel said. He spoke at such a low volume, Pansy had to lean forward across her food to hear. Draco wasn't getting anything from his Empathy at the moment, but he suspected his friend was uneasy. "It's not a place people know about."
Draco smiled in disbelief. "Rigel, that's—" he faltered as a thought hit him. "It's not…the Chamber of Secrets, is it?" Fascination warred with fear at the thought of trespassing through that place.
Rigel snorted. "Of course not. It was sealed off by the Headmaster after second year."
"Oh. Then I can't wait to see this place," Draco said. He turned back to his breakfast after adding, "You can show us before lunch."
He assumed Rigel knew of some out of the way abandoned classroom. Merlin knew Rigel disappeared often enough without explanation. He couldn't always be in his lab. Well, Draco amended, if anyone could spend that amount of time in a lab it would be Rigel, but it also made sense that he had somewhere else to go.
When Rigel dragged them all the way up to the highest floors of the castle, Draco had to wonder if the reason his friend was so freakishly fit wasn't because he traversed all those stairs so often. When the boy stopped in front of a tapestry of Barnabas the Barmy, Draco just wondered if Rigel had finally cracked under all the academic pressure he put on himself.
"This corridor is out of the way," Pansy allowed, "but I don't think it's quite big enough, Rigel."
Their friend only smiled slightly. "I was confused at first, too. Binny showed me this place." Rigel walked along the wall facing the awful tapestry with an expression of pure concentration on his face. Just as Draco and Pansy made to follow him, Rigel turned around and paced back toward them, then paced away again without explanation.
Then a door appeared in the wall, and Draco had to focus on keeping his eyes inside of his skull. "Tell me you didn't just open a portal inside Hogwarts' wards," he said faintly. He honestly would put nothing past the young wizard in front of him.
Rigel let out a short laugh. "Course not. This is called the Come and Go room, Binny says. It appears when you think of something you need and pace by this wall three times. I think it's been here since the castle was built."
He opened the door and gestured for them to go ahead of him. Reminding himself that Rigel would not let Draco walk into an abyss, and feeling oddly like he had the first night he'd followed Rigel through a secret passageway to the Owlrey, he stepped through and into a room that was almost as large as the Great Hall. The walls and floors were bare, but a line of dummies like those that populated the Defense classroom waited along one side of the room.
"This is… perfect," Draco breathed.
Pansy came to stand beside him and looked equally impressed. "How long have you known about this, Rigel?" she asked.
"A while," Rigel said vaguely. "I used it last year, when I needed somewhere to study that was quiet."
Draco understood what Rigel couldn't say without breaching his contract with the Department of Mysteries. This was one of the places Rigel would come when he was folding time and multiple instances of him existed in other places.
"It's a bit bare to be comfortable," Draco commented.
Rigel closed his eyes for a moment, and not a breath later there were large cushions piled on the floor between them. Draco's breath caught. "It's a magic room?"
"This is Hogwarts," Rigel said, deliberately misunderstanding him.
"Can the room provide anything you ask for?" Pansy asked. Her face shone with undisguised excitement. "Can I try?"
"Go ahead," Rigel said, smiling widely. "You just have to think it three times, and as long as the one who created the room didn't require it to be unchangeable, it should work."
Pansy laughed in delight as a series of lifting weights materialized on the ground before her. "This is brilliant, Rigel. It's perfect for the club, don't you think, Drake?"
Draco had to nod. It was perfect. And Rigel had given it to them, even though he could have kept it to himself forever, and no one would ever have known. "Thank you, Rigel."
Rigel ducked his head embarrassedly. "I'm sorry I didn't show it to you sooner. I should have."
"This more than makes up for your suspiciously secretive nature," Draco said, grinning. He expected Rigel to laugh, or maybe to smile sheepishly again, but instead his friend's face blanked. Draco caught the tail end of an emotion before Rigel smoothed out his feelings with Occlumency, too. Rigel was ashamed, and underlying the shame, unmistakably afraid. Draco stared at him, and Rigel stared back, expressionless. "I mean it, Rigel. This is amazing," Draco said. He put all the earnestness he could summon into his face and voice. It barely made a dent in Rigel's impassive façade.
"That's good," Rigel said evenly. "In all the time I've made use of it, I've never seen anyone else here, so there should be little chance of anyone getting wind of your club meetings. Still, it might be a good idea to swear anyone who still wants to attend to secrecy, at least until the school recognizes the club as legitimate again."
"We'll do that," Draco agreed. He didn't know what was upsetting Rigel, since he'd already tried to make it clear he wasn't annoyed with Rigel for keeping the room to himself. "I'll spread the word quietly, among last year's members, that we have a plan to reinstate the Dueling Association unofficially. If they want to participate, they'll have to swear not to reveal the meeting location before we show them."
"And if that puts people off, so be it," Pansy added. "After all, we don't want members who aren't completely committed to learning Dueling."
That decided, they left the room and Draco watched with silent awe as the door was swallowed up into the wall once more. Hogwarts really was incredible sometimes.
-0
[HpHpHp]
-0
On Friday morning, Madam Pomfrey was pulled away from their Healing lesson to the Quidditch pitch after two firsties apparently collided in mid-air and injured themselves too badly to be moved to the Hospital Wing. Rigel and Cho offered to help, but Madam Pomfrey waved them off as she bustled out the room. Apparently emergencies were not a controlled enough environment to supervise two students.
"How's the year so far?" Rigel asked Cho. The girl looked a little tired, but nowhere near as stressed as some of the other fifth years she'd seen haunting the Library.
"Just fine, thanks," Cho said, tucking a long strand of hair behind her ear and peering over at Rigel in a way that made her look like a nervous kitten. "I asked one of the older Ravens for his fifth year syllabus before term ended last year. I've been reading ahead all summer, so the coursework isn't as overwhelming for me."
"That's very sensible," Rigel said, impressed. Reading ahead was undervalued, she thought. Her classes were always easier when she'd self-studied the material first.
"It's bookish," Cho said, huffing under her breath. "My mother despairs of me, holed up in the house all summer. I don't like the outdoors, though."
"I spend a lot of time indoors, too, over breaks," Rigel told her. "Brewing, mostly, but I get a fair amount of reading done, too."
"You should have been a Ravenclaw," Cho suggested. As soon as the words were out of her mouth she dropped her gaze, seeming regretful. "I mean, not that Slytherin isn't…" She trailed off, apparently unable to think of an appropriate compliment.
"Maybe in another life," Rigel said gently, smiling to show she was not offended. "You must be top of your year, being so prepared, right?"
Cho looked uncomfortable. "No, actually. My practical grades in some subjects aren't as high as I'd like."
Rigel nodded in understanding. "I know what you mean. Defense this year is especially tricky, since almost all of the points are practical."
Cho nodded. "Yes, exactly. My Defense grade has never been so poor."
She had a thought and tilted her head at Cho, considering. "If I told you there was a… study group, of sorts, for Defense, would you be interested?"
"A fourth-year study group?" She looked a little skeptical.
"It's open to all years," Rigel said. "It was more like a club, last year, but this year it hasn't been officially recognized by the school."
Cho blinked at her, a sharp light coming into her eyes. No one looking at the girl now could imagine she wasn't fiercely intelligent. "You mean the Dueling Club your friend Malfoy started last year? Isn't it a bit violent? I've seen it on the lawn. You all just pair off and shoot spells at one another, right? No wonder the administration disbanded it."
Rigel shrugged. "We do duel, since that's sort of the point of the club, but Draco also goes over other aspects of Defense. Basic spell combinations, agility drills, that sort of thing. With Auror Dawlish teaching the way he does, reflexes definitely come in handy. I don't mean to pressure you, or anything. If you're interested though, it might be helpful for your Defense grade."
The older girl looked torn. "You said… it's not an official club this year, right? Will we get into trouble for continuing it?"
"Not if nobody finds out," Rigel said, smiling innocently.
Cho's eyes narrowed. "This is why you are in Slytherin." At Rigel's unrepentant look, Cho sighed. "I do need to do something to improve," she said quietly. "Is it really okay for you to invite me?"
Rigel nodded. "Why not? It'd be good to have another Healer there, in any case. I can't always make every meeting with my potions schedule, and having someone to patch up minor injuries would go a long way to keep the club unnoticed. So what do you say? You want to give it a go?"
Cho smiled tentatively. "Okay. Where do I sign up?"
"Draco will handle that. You'll have to sign an agreement not to disclose the location of the club meetings before you're allowed to participate, but that's the only formality." Rigel noticed Cho didn't seem thrilled at the idea of signing such a thing, but clearly her grades meant more to her than the risk.
"All right," Cho said, sighing. "I can hear my mother now. 'Xiao Zhou! You dare to defy school regulations?' We'd better not get caught."
"She-ow Jo?" Rigel fumbled over the foreign words. "Is that what she calls you?"
Cho let out another small giggle-huff. "Yes. Cho isn't really my name, you know. It's Zhou. Cho is just easier for people here to say. Xiao Zhou means something like 'little Zhou.' It's a pet name, of sorts."
"Jou? Xou? Am I saying it right?" Rigel was trying to mimic what Cho—Zhou did with the 'Zh' sound, but she had a feeling it was very wrong.
"Pretty close," the girl said, looking pleased. "You don't have to call me that, though. It will only confuse people."
"I'll just use it in our lessons," Rigel said, shrugging. "No sense using 'Cho' now that I know that isn't you name."
"I'm used to it," Zhou said politely.
"Still, it's not the same, is it?" Rigel knew it wasn't. No matter how long she went by Rigel, it still wasn't really her.
Zhou smiled. "I suppose… it's not. Thank you, Rigel."
"Sure." They talked of other things, and before long Madam Pomfrey had returned. Rigel thought about the girl on her way to her lesson with Dumbledore, though, and considered that even the most obvious things about a person could be misleading. She ought to appreciate this fact about others, since she spent so long exploiting it in herself.
-0
[HpHpHp]
-0
When another lesson with Snape passed without Rigel getting up the courage to ask whether he knew about the resonance she shared with Riddle, Rigel knew she needed to do something else about it. She'd combed through the Library for any information about magic transference and resulting connections. In addition to the anecdote Dumbledore had shared with her, there were a number of processes and rituals that purported to transfer a piece or all of one's magic to another being or object.
Most of them were Dark or at least censored, but Rigel's invisibility cloak meant that she didn't need to explain to a teacher why she wanted to research such topics. There were rituals to transfer family magic to adopted children, rituals to take a wizard's magic away forever, and even rituals to strengthen the magic of one wizard by siphoning it from another. The last were especially gruesome, and Rigel thought the reported results seemed unpredictable at best. It could not possibly be worth doubling raw magical power if the ritual also caused the two bodies of magic to clash violently, and sometimes fatally, within a wizard's core.
It did give her an idea for how to address the resonance, though. If absorbing new magic at sufficient quantities could cause a kind of civil war inside a wizard, then even a tiny amount should have noticeable effects. She just hadn't been paying close enough attention.
She asked her friends not to disturb her for the afternoon and sunk into meditation while comfortably nestled into her four-poster bed. The icy wind that met her at the edge of the mists momentarily disoriented her, but she remembered the sandstorm Dom had unleashed in the other layer of her mind and supposed he'd probably done something similar now that the mountainscape was the primary layer again.
She willed herself into the center of her mind and the world folded around her until she stood in the space room. A hundred shadows danced as the globes of light spun cheerfully around the large sun in the middle. She closed her mind for only a moment to savor the warmth, then turned and left the secure space, calling, "Dom?"
The construct materialized beside her in the underground corridor with a welcoming smile. "You're here," he said happily. "I wondered when you would visit again."
With a snap of his fingers they were transported to the cozy lab where she stored her decoy memories and aspects. The fire crackled merrily in the heath, but that was about all that Dom had left untouched. Where there had been bare rock exposed at the edge of the mountain cave there were walls, now, and a lovely oak beam ceiling. The furniture looked more like something carved by a master carpenter than the simple chairs she'd conjured originally. The rug that hid the trapdoor was gone. In its place, seamless wood flooring gleamed in the firelight. She couldn't tell where the trapdoor was at all, if it even still existed. Dom didn't move through the mental sphere the same way she intuitively tried to do. Perhaps he found a physical portal to be insecure. Probably he just thought it tawdry.
The carving of Sekhmet adorned the mantle in a place of honor. She had to smile at it. It seemed Dom had elected not to leave everything behind when he changed the layers of her mind.
"Tea, Harriet?"
She flinched involuntarily. "Rigel, in this layer," she told him. "Please."
Dom frowned at her, his even features perturbed. "What layer you project doesn't change who you are, you know."
"I know that," she said, a bit defensive. "If someone comes to this layer, though, you have to refer to me at Rigel, because that it what they will be expecting."
"You want me to have civil conversations with intruders?" Dom was openly amused. "You are a strange human."
"You knew that already," she said, sighing. She sat in the ornately carved chair he indicated and let him pour her a cup of tea. She had no idea you could create food in a mindscape. When she sipped at the delicate china cup she frowned. There was a certain emptiness to the beverage. It was like inhaling a very strong scent of tea. She had the vague impression that she was drinking it, but it didn't feel entirely real. Still, the taste was good.
"Where did you learn to make tea?" she asked.
"Peter," he said simply. He politely ignored the shudder that rippled through her at the unexpected sound of his name. "I learned much while we were bonded. What brings you here today, Rigel?"
Grateful for the change of topic, she leaned forward and set her teacup aside. "I have a problem."
"You have many problems."
"I have a new problem," she clarified, narrowing her eyes at his cheek. "I think someone has corrupted my magic."
"Impossible," Dom said fiercely. "I would have noticed."
"I think it happened before you… bonded with me," she said. "You wouldn't have known any different."
"Why did you not say something before?" Dom asked, tilting his head curiously. "Such a thing is certainly cause for concern, if it is true."
"I didn't know until recently," she admitted. "I touched a wizard's hand and my magic resonated; it was exactly the feeling that I had when you—when I—"
"Yes, last Spring," Dom said, waving his hand. "Are you referring to an incident about a month ago or so? I did feel that. The entire mindscape shook like an earth tremor. It stopped quickly, though, so I assumed you had foolishly put yourself in danger again and gotten your fool head knocked into something unforgiving."
She scowled. "I didn't do anything. I just shook his hand and there was resonance. There's no explanation for that except my magic having some part of his mixed up in it somehow."
Dom's face closed as he thought. "I do not think it is possible for one to transfer magic through a handshake alone. Magical transfer usually requires that both parties' magics be loosed into the open. Otherwise they cannot mingle."
She blinked in surprise. None of her research had told her that. Loose magic? Did the wild explosion of her magic following the removal of her suppressor count? "There was a time my magic was, I suppose, loose around him. His wasn't, though."
"Are you certain?" Dom asked keenly. "Think. Were you so focused on this wizard at the time of the incident that you can be sure he didn't loose his in order to affect yours?"
"No," she breathed. "I was only focused on my own magic. Maybe I didn't notice…"
"If he intended to meld your magics inconspicuously, he wouldn't have needed to release all his magic into the air, only a small part." Dom peered at her intently. "How strong was the resonance?"
"Strong enough to turn my stomach," she said, lip curling in disgust.
"Yet the foreign magic itself is not a strong enough presence to cause you daily issue," Dom mused. "If it were a significant amount your magic would have reacted stronger at the initial injection. Is this wizard your enemy?"
"It's Riddle," she muttered, "So yes."
Dom nodded slowly. "Then something must be done. You have come here for my help, yes?"
She nodded. "I don't have the time it would take to examine every drop of my magic in depth. You could, though. Right?"
"You wish me to sift through your magic and attempt to… filter out any particles that do not belong?" Dom asked. His smile was just a little eager. "I would need access to the whole of it, of course."
"I know," she said, trying not to let her unease show. "I… trust you, now, to work in our combined best interest. This is important. If Riddle can simply touch me and identify me as Rigel Black, then I can never meet him as Harry Potter. And he's not exactly the easiest person to avoid. This resonance could undo everything, understand?"
"Of course," Dom said soothingly. "Just leave it to me."
"Thank you," she breathed, more than relieved. It felt surprisingly reassuring to have this boy-construct in her corner. If Dom could handle the search for Riddle's magic amidst her own, she could handle the effort to discover what exactly Riddle's intentions were in instigating it.
"If you want to thank me, tell your friend to stop skimming our emotions," Dom said, sniffing. "It's very annoying."
She chuckled. "It's his gift, so I can't very well tell him how to use it. Still, I'll try to do better with my emotional Occlumency. You're doing great with warning me when it happens."
"It shouldn't be necessary," Dom complained. "You aren't even of age. It says something sad about your society that so many people are interested in the inner workings of a minor's mind. When I first transferred my consciousness to your mind, I thought you were a paranoid little girl. Now, I think your fears are exactly as acute as they need to be."
"Oh." She wasn't sure how to take that at all. "Thanks?"
Dom snorted—actually snorted at her, with smiling lips and quirked eyebrows and the expression was so human it ached in her chest. "Go on, Girl. I know you can't spend all day here."
"I haven't finished my tea," she said, halfheartedly.
"Next time you come, it will be more realistic," Dom said, still smiling at her. "It isn't quite right yet."
"It's close," she offered.
"Close is never close enough. Go."
She went. Her back was stiff and her right foot had fallen asleep when she returned to full consciousness, but despite that she felt much better than she had before. She didn't know if her faith in Dom would pay off or backfire horribly, but she was more comfortable having someone working on the resonance problem with her. It didn't feel quite so overwhelming anymore. Now all that remained was to straighten her backbone and actually ask Snape if he knew anything about it.
-0
[HpHpHp]
-0
Two weeks after the tournament's announcement Rigel saw Riddle again. It was early on Saturday morning and she, Draco, and Pansy were returning to the castle after their jog around the lake when they crossed paths with a group of witches and wizards apparently surveying the Hogwarts grounds.
By silent agreement, they made to skirt around the group, but the recognizable sound of Lucius Malfoy's voice called, "Draco?" in a tone so incredulous it would have been funny under other circumstances.
Draco grimaced and Pansy shot him a mortified look. It was clear the girl had never imagined being caught sweaty and red-faced in front of a prominent member of her parents' social circle. The three of them stopped their fast walk and turned to face Mr. Malfoy, who was striding toward them across the grass with a frown on his pale features.
"Good morning, Father," Draco said airily. "You didn't mention you'd be dropping by today."
Lucius gave his son an unimpressed look. "What are you doing out here, dressed in… rags?"
"Exercising," Draco said.
"Without your Quidditch team?" He didn't seem to believe his son at all. "In the company of Miss Parkinson, no less?" Rigel was offended on Pansy's behalf that Mr. Malfoy found her to be the least likely candidate to participate in exercise of her own volition.
Pansy merely flushed. "We have taken up jogging some mornings to keep in shape, Lord Malfoy. Normally no one is about at this hour. Please forgive my dishabille."
"Jogging." His silver eyes surveyed the three of them slowly, taking in the dirty trainers, baggy clothing, and sweaty faces. His nostrils flared and his nose twitched slightly in distaste. Clearly their collective smell was less than appealing.
"It's helps with dueling if we have good endurance," Draco told his father. "We've all seen notable improvement since we started morning exercises."
"I was under the impression that your Dueling Club had been disbanded," Lucius said silkily.
"Suffice to say that Uncle Snape will not hear of its reformation," Draco said, smirking slightly. To Rigel's surprise, that was what finally caused Mr. Malfoy to relax his stern expression and smirk back at his son.
"Careful, Draco," he said. His voice was more amused than admonishing, however.
"Always, Father," Draco assured him.
"Lucius."
Mr. Malfoy turned his head back toward the group of witches and wizards, who had all paused while he spoke with his son. In the center of the group, wearing an expression of expectant impatience, stood Riddle. Mr. Malfoy inclined his head deferentially before turning back to dismiss them. "Don't be late to breakfast," he said.
"Good seeing you, Father," Draco said.
"Have a good day, Lord Malfoy," Pansy murmured.
Rigel said nothing, merely smiling briefly when Malfoy flicked his eyes once in her direction before turning around and treading back toward the others. Draco and Pansy turned toward the castle but Rigel kept watching Riddle's group for a moment longer. "They're heading for the forest," she said quietly.
Pansy tugged on her arm to draw her toward the castle. "Don't let them see you've noticed. Do you think one of the tasks will be in the forest?"
"It's a good place to hide things," Draco said. "Maybe they're going to store materials there away from snooping eyes."
"They shouldn't disrupt the denizens of the forest with their spectacle," Rigel muttered.
"I'm sure they will take that into account," Pansy said. She didn't sound sure, though.
Seeing Riddle on school grounds, Rigel somehow expected the summons that came for her later that day in the common room. The small Rowle Heiress handed her a note, ostensibly from Snape, requesting her presence in lab three as soon as she was able. Snape rarely sent notes through other students, and he never scheduled a lesson without a specific time. Resigned to whatever awaited her, Rigel rose from the sofa and shook her head when Draco and Pansy shot her questioning glance.
"I'll be back later," she said dully. "Professor Snape wants to see me."
Draco and Pansy were not fools. "Just Snape?" Pansy asked, eyes bright with concern.
"I guess I'll find out." She shrugged.
"Be careful," Draco said, frowning over his Transfiguration text at her.
"Always, Father," she teased, cracking a small smile.
He made to toss the book at her, but she left before he could commit to the move.
The brief amusement left her as she traversed the dungeons with lead steadily filling her heart. She had taken Pansy's earlier advice and written to her parents, Sirius, and Remus, warning them that someone might attempt to put political or social pressure on them in the coming days. The returning owls had carried replies running from concerned to upset, and full of questions. She and Archie had done their best to keep details vague while impressing on their family the seriousness of the situation. At the moment, the adults were under the impression that Archie was being pressured in general to compete in the Triwizard Tournament and was worried the pressure may spill over onto them in some way.
Sirius had vehemently urged his son not to do it. He didn't want Archie in any more harm's way. James pressed for details as to who exactly was trying to influence him. Remus advised caution and offered his expertise and help in the event that Archie was pressed into competing. Lily just wrote Archie to be strong, collected, and stand up for himself.
Rigel was gratified at their support, but she knew they didn't really grasp the magnitude of the problem. Riddle was not one to be dissuaded by a firm, repeated, 'no, thank you.'
She entered lab three with all the joy of someone walking to their own execution. Snape was there, but—as expected—he was not alone. "Mr. Riddle," she said, voice emotionless. "What a surprise."
"So jaded for one so young, Rigel," Riddle said. The way he stressed her name made her twitch slightly. Just what was he trying to prove?
"Professor." She acknowledged the man standing with his arms crossed to one side of the room. "I suppose we aren't brewing today."
"I see you neglected to bring your protective equipment in any case," Snape said flatly. "Lord Riddle is here to speak to you."
"To threaten me, you mean," she said. If either man was surprised by her bluntness, they didn't show it.
"Threats may not be necessary," Riddle told her. He opened his arms wide in a gesture that welcomed her to agree with him. "You've had two weeks to think it over. Tell me you've reconsidered your reticence and will agree to participate in the tournament. Tell me that, and you can get on to your lesson with Severus."
"I'm afraid that's not the case," she said firmly. "If you nominate me, I still intend to decline."
"Then this discussion will be far less pleasant than I'd hoped," Riddle said. His insincerity was unparalleled. She took a moment to study the politician as she waited for him to get to the point. He looked much the same as he had when she first saw him. Suave, confident, dismissive of everything around him, and utterly sure in his ability to manipulate the world to his favor. Even his looks hadn't really changed in the last few years. Not his hairstyle nor his habit of dressing in robes that were cut to make him appear grander than he was.
She wondered if he'd changed at all on the inside, but quickly dismissed the notion. What a naïve child she'd been before, thinking that Riddle might listen to someone like her. Might change his ways at the admonitions of a twelve-year-old. Riddle didn't respect anyone enough to take their words to heart. He understood only power, so she would have to summon every ounce of it inside her to defy him.
The older man seemed to be studying her even as she watched him, but what he saw she couldn't guess, nor did she care to. After a drawn-out silence, Riddle finally said, "You will participate as a pureblood candidate in the Triwizard Tournament. That is not in question. The only question is what it will take for you to capitulate. I know you consider yourself above manipulation, but it simply isn't true. There are things you want. I can help you achieve them. You need only ask."
"I prefer to secure my own victories," she said, slightly confused. Was he trying to soften her up?
"You think things are more satisfying when you earn them?" Riddle chuckled darkly. "That is a Hufflepuffian fallacy. Getting what you want can be simple. You seek a Potions Mastery, do you not? I can secure that for you."
"Mastery is decided by a closed examination at the Guild upon completion of an Apprenticeship. You have no influence over the Guild besides Professor Snape, and he is already Apprenticing me," she said, letting her face display her skepticism openly.
"Examinations can be manipulated," Riddle said idly.
She had to wrinkle her nose in disgust. "I'd rather not have a Mastery than earn it duplicitously."
"And after you achieve this dream of yours?" Riddle pressed. "You'll need capital if you mean to start your own distribution chain. Severus tells me Miss Potter has a talent for inventing. Perhaps you'd like to go into business with her after graduating?"
"If money interested me, I would have wanted to compete in the tournament for the prizes alone." She wondered whether he honestly expected her to be tempted by such common bribes. Then again, she reflected reluctantly, most people probably were. She was fortunate to be born with a modicum of talent and actual work ethic, not to mention her family's considerable fortune. She didn't need to cheat and she certainly didn't need money. She really ought to be grateful to Fate that those things didn't entice her in the slightest.
Riddle inclined his head, not seeming at all surprised. He looked, she thought oddly, like someone running through a standard checklist of interpersonal manipulation. She almost had to laugh at the thought. Perhaps he was simply moving down a mental list: first, attempt to bribe with favors, then with money. What was next?
"Very well," Riddle said, unconcerned. "If self-interest doesn't motivate you, there are other means of inspiring your cooperation." She waited, face blank, though she suspected her eyes were burning. "Your father is an interesting man," Riddle added thoughtfully. "So talented, by all accounts, and yet he languishes."
"He is content," Rigel said warily.
"Would you be content, were he to languish in prison instead?" Riddle's voice was light, as though he'd inquired as to her tea preference.
Rigel felt her breath hitch slightly. "You're threatening to have my father imprisoned? On what grounds? Or were you just going to make something up?"
Social and political pressure she expected, economic, too, but this? Azkaban was no idle threat. Imprisonable offenses weren't exactly numerous. They were restricted to the crimes deemed most heinous by their society. Murder. Torture. Rape. Blood Identity Theft. That constituted the broad majority of inmates. Could Riddle really arrange for Sirius to be charged with something like that?
"Not I," Riddle said, his mocking tone grating to Rigel's ears. "I am a respected politician, Rigel. I would never threaten anyone. It would be a pity if the Ministry were to be informed of your father's… more animalistic tendencies, don't you think?"
"His—" Her mind connected the dots after a confused beat. When she realized what he was driving at, she scoffed. "You mean to accuse him of being an unregistered animagi? Where did you get the idea that would work?"
"Peter was so very helpful before his unfortunate defection. So full of interesting information about his old friends," Riddle informed her. Rigel grit her teeth against the urge to flinch at that man's name. She would not. Not in front of Riddle.
"Pettigrew was an idiot," she spat. It was the only way she could utter his name without stuttering. "Or did he neglect to inform you that Sirius was also briefly a member of the Auror Corps?" Riddle's face twisted in suspicion. She could tell he still didn't get it. She shook her head. Clearly he didn't have any close supporters in the Auror ranks. "To join the Aurors you have to submit to a full background investigation and questioning under Veritaserum. The DMLE already knows that Sirius and James are animagi. Their forms are not a matter of public record because they are classified as special skills more useful to the Ministry if not made common knowledge."
At least, she thought they were. Neither her father nor Sirius had ever admitted as much, but Rigel had pieced together enough of her father's stories to know that his animagi form had come in handy on more than one mission. When she was very young, before she'd resigned herself to underwhelming her father's expectations, she had looked into the requirements for the Auror Corps. Rigel wasn't lying about the rigorous investigations cadets underwent. It was a somewhat shaky deduction, but it solidified as Riddle's scowl twisted into a sneer. She smirked slowly back at him. "The rat wouldn't know that, since he didn't have the guts to join the program with his friends. Go ahead and tell the DMLE about my father's special ability. I'm sure they'd be very interested to know how you came by classified information. Perhaps the fact that you had knowledge of another animagus who actually was unregistered would be interesting to them as well."
"Watch your cheek, boy," Riddle snarled. His open irritation made her suspect that he likely had known that Sirius wasn't as unregistered as it might seem. He'd tried to bluff his way into leverage and was annoyed, but not terribly surprised, that it hadn't worked.
"I think we're beyond pleasantries at this point, Riddle," she said. "Are you going to curse me? Maybe tamper with my magic again?" The surprise in his eyes gave her some small satisfaction. "Did you think I wouldn't notice?" she brazened. A quick look at Snape saw surprise in his eyes, too—not surprise that Riddle had done it, however. He was looking surprised at her, not Riddle. So he had known what Riddle did to her magic. He just hadn't expected her to figure it out. She took a deep breath past the pain and refocused on Riddle. She could ponder Snape's part in that later. "Pretty obvious when your touch makes my skin crawl with resonance."
Riddle looked at her with a kind of pleased fascination. He seemed almost glad she'd noticed. "You were correct, Severus; he continually surprises."
"Why did you infect me with your magic?" she asked. Finally saying it out loud was a relief, but it also made her feel vulnerable, like sharing a secret with someone she didn't trust.
"My reasons are my own," he said, smiling infuriatingly.
"It's my magic," she said, outraged that he wouldn't even deign to explain himself.
"Then you should take better care of it," Riddle said, lip curling.
"I should report you for tampering with another wizard's magic," she said softly.
"You'd have trouble proving that, Rigel," Snape said quietly.
She couldn't look at him. Instead she averted her eyes to the ground. "Whatever you meant it to do, it won't work," she told Riddle.
"We shall see." The bastard chuckled again. "We've deviated from the matter at hand, however. You don't seem concerned for your father's secrets. Fine. What about your cousin Harriet's?
Rigel looked up into his pitiless gaze. "What about them?"
"So you admit she has secrets." He looked amused again.
"Everyone has secrets. I doubt you've found Harry's." In fact, she was sure of it. If he knew anything about the ruse, he would have opened with that, and they would be having a very different conversation.
"She's an intriguing one," Riddle said slowly. "The Heiress of a prominent House, yet she gallivants about her American school in boy's clothing. I understand not even her closest friends there are aware that she is in fact a girl."
"She's a teenager," Rigel said dismissively. She didn't like the idea that Riddle had informants watching Archie at school. It was bad enough when Leo did it. "Harry can experiment if she wants. Cross-dressing isn't illegal."
"It is eccentric, though, isn't it? Strange enough to be considered unhealthy, even. If a psychologist were to look into her mental stability, she might have trouble attaining a Healing license later on." Riddle's eyes glittered at her as he waited for Rigel to react. She honestly didn't know what to say. The idea that cross-dressing could be considered in some way dangerous, or an indication of an unhealthy psyche, was a bit of a stretch, in her opinion.
"I don't think Harry will have trouble proving her mental capacity." Not to mention she had no intention of becoming a Healer in any case.
"Even if she gains a certificate, what hospital would hire her with that kind of doubt and scandal hanging about her head?" Riddle asked rhetorically. "I know all about the correspondence course she's been maintaining—Miss Potter is planning to come back to Britain and make a life here, isn't she? Unfortunately for her, Britain is my purview. Not a hospital or clinic in the entire country would risk endangering their S.O.W. Party donations. A word here, a disapproving insinuation there, and Miss Potter has no future in Magical Britain."
"That would be a shame," Rigel said, unable to suppress the amusement that coursed through her at this tactic. Clearly Riddle didn't know about Maywell, or about Harry's close connection to the Hurst family.
"This can happen in the potions community, as well, Rigel," Riddle warned, nostrils flaring in annoyance at her lack of concern. "I have more influence than you seem to think with the Guilds of London. It is our Party that has tirelessly lobbied for the loosening of sanctions on Dark classified ingredients and materials. If you do not consent to participating in this tournament, her reputation in the academic community will be obliterated. My agents will spread doubt as to her experimental methods, her mental acuity, her penchant for rubbing more than elbows with those in positions of authority to get ahead—"
"That's a lie!" she snapped, furious at his vile insinuation.
"It won't matter," Riddle said softly. He stepped closer, looming over her and lowering his voice in the most menacing murmur she'd ever heard. "People will believe anything, if it comes from a source they trust. A great many people trust me."
Rigel was furious. That he would stoop to such base, filthy lies about her—she exhaled sharply, though she wished she could slap the man. She wouldn't give him the satisfaction. "Go ahead then," she growled, letting her eyes flash. "Tell everyone you know that Harriet Potter is a no-talent slut. I'm still not going to be your show pony."
Riddle narrowed his eyes. "Do not attempt to bluff with me, boy. I know you care for her."
Rigel stared at his superior expression. She wanted to scream. She wanted to cry. Instead, she laughed. Slowly, sadly, she laughed until she could speak through her anger. "No, you don't know. You really don't. You don't understand our relationship at all. It's so much more than whatever self-righteous, martyring, Gryffindor connection you're imagining. I'm not falling on a sword for Harry. And she wouldn't for me. If she were in this room right now she'd tell me to do the selfish thing and sacrifice her, because that's how much she cares for me. And I would expect the same from her. Do whatever you want to us. We won't be leveraged against one another." Riddle was gazing at her in frustrated incomprehension, and she had to laugh lowly one last time. "I know you don't understand. You can't imagine a bond so strong that two people would be willing to do anything for one another. Suffice to say, all your threats are meaningless. Harry would never allow herself to be used against me. She'd die first."
Even Snape looked unnerved at her pronouncement. Was it really so unfathomable? Sure, she had the advantage of actually being Harry Potter, so the idea of Riddle trying to use her against herself was simply ridiculous, but even if she wasn't, even if it really was Archie's future in jeopardy, she didn't doubt her words. Archie would kill her if he found out she'd let someone use a threat against him to compel her into doing something she didn't want to do. And she felt the same. Riddle and Snape just looked at her like she'd told them the First Law of Transfigurations didn't always apply.
"You know a lot of things, Riddle, but you don't know anything about real friendship and love. It doesn't make us vulnerable. It makes us strong. If you have nothing else to threaten me with today, I'd like to leave now." She was exhausted, and tired of talking. She knew by the livid heat in Riddle's eyes that he had prepared nothing else for leverage. He'd underestimated her, likely because she was young and relatively isolated at Hogwarts from her support network. He thought she would do anything to protect her family, because that's what he thought sanctimonious people did. Rigel had set him straight on that account, but it didn't fill her with anything but a dull dread. She'd won a reprieve, a few more days of freedom, perhaps, until Riddle came up with a different plan. There were still two weeks until the tournament participants would be announced. That was plenty of time for Riddle to produce a threat she'd have to take seriously.
"Go, Rigel," Snape said, crossing to the door and opening it. Riddle didn't move from where he was attempting to burn a hole through the stone wall with his glare. Rigel walked out with a grimace. She'd never realized how utterly childish Riddle could be when he didn't get what he wanted. How could a man his age be so unused to things not going his way?
As she strode past Snape in the doorway, she met his unfathomable stare with blank eyes. She wasn't ready to forgive him for not warning her about the resonance, for all that she'd long suspected he knew.
She turned away and began walking toward the common room. The walk became a jog, which bled into a run, and she didn't stop even when she missed the turn to the common room entrance. She was gasping for breath as her feet pounded on the hard floor, but she needed to vent the pent up rage and frustration inside her and she knew if she let herself take out her bad mood on her friends she'd regret it. She ran until she didn't recognize the dungeons around her anymore and she stopped, hands on her knees, to suck in air desperately.
She was much too out of breath for such a short sprint. The shortness of breath didn't go away even as she sank to her knees. Too late, she realized she was in a small, damp corridor that smelled of dust and dank. She'd hit a dead end, and the nearest torch bracket was around the corner. There was barely enough light to see the walls around her, and her breathing would not even out no matter how she tried.
Dizziness overwhelmed her and she heaved, spilling the meager contents of her stomach involuntarily before her. Disgusted with herself, she wiped her mouth and scooted backwards away from the mess, fumbling to take out her wand and vanish the evidence of her panic. She conjured a light while she was at it and the steady white glow calmed her enough to stumble her way back to the main corridor. She took out the Marauder's Map, but found she didn't have the energy just yet to navigate back. She just wanted to sit and breathe for a few minutes. Regain her equilibrium. Her friends would be worried enough without her showing up pale and shaking after what they already suspected had been a meeting with Riddle.
She watched the dots on the Map move around slowly, idly. No one had anywhere pressing to be on a Saturday afternoon. She saw Riddle's dot pacing back and forth in lab three, Snape's motionless dot no doubt bearing the brunt of his displeasure. Good, she thought mulishly. I hope they're both as frustrated as I am.
Her eyes were drawn to the Slytherin common room, where the dots labeled 'Draco Malfoy' and 'Pandora Parkinson' were close together, still on the couch where she'd left them. They probably wouldn't go anywhere until she returned, she knew. They would wait for her, and worry.
Sighing, she straightened and began the walk back to the common room's hidden entrance. She had no time to feel sorry for herself. She should be happy, or at least satisfied. She'd managed to hold Riddle at bay a bit longer. That was enough, for now.
-0
[SsSsSs]
-0
Severus didn't see Rigel Black until Tuesday morning, and even then the boy avoided his gaze, keeping his head down and his back turned as he mechanically shoveled porridge into his mouth. He didn't eat like a boy who'd skipped two days of meals, so he deduced Rigel had taken food from the kitchens. Severus needed to have another serious talk with his erstwhile student about taking one's life into one's hands by baiting a dangerous Dark wizard, among other things, but he knew it was too soon for reasoned words. He hadn't missed the betrayed expression on Rigel's face when Lord Riddle's tampering of his magic had come up. The fact that Severus had been forced to stand there and let his student be bullied in front of him likely hadn't helped soften that perceived betrayal, either.
He didn't have a chance to waylay the boy before he'd scurried off to class, but he would see to it that Rigel attended his extra training lessons that afternoon. Severus had given Rigel a pass Monday afternoon, but he could not afford to again. The boy was going to be finagled into competing, one way or another. Severus would not let Rigel die in this grandstanding farce.
The day passed slowly, as it generally did when the students were distracted and excitable. The tournament was not doing the discipline in his class any favors. His last period was a double, with Rigel's conspicuously less-gifted year mates, no less. Five minutes into the lesson, it was clear from his preliminary questioning that less than a third of the little mongrels had deigned to do the reading. He had a headache before they'd even begun to brew. It was a standard ancestry potion, so simple that the average housewitch could probably produce a passable sample, and yet Goyle's cauldron was smoking before he'd even added the fifth ingredient. If he melted another cauldron, Severus was going to start billing Goyle Sr. for the replacements.
With one eye on Goyle and the other on Longbottom's notoriously nervous fingers, Severus spent the lesson in continuous anticipation of an unprovoked disaster. He had no idea that, when it finally came, it wouldn't be the dunderheads who ruined their potions who caused it.
"You have five minutes remaining," he told the class as the lesson finally ticked to a close. "If your sample is beyond salvaging, save me the trouble and dump it down the sink. If you believe you've made a credible attempt, bottle your samples and put away the rest of your materials."
When the cauldrons and ingredients were cleared away, Severus surveyed what remained. About eighty percent of the class appeared to have viable samples. He supposed it was the best he ought to expect. He passed out wide-lipped bowls and rolls of parchment to each table. "Pour enough of the Ancestry Potion into your bowls so that it coats your parchment completely when you dip it in, thusly." He demonstrated soaking the parchment into the potion and laying it flat on the table.
"Only a single drop of blood is necessary; pray don't get carried away, or you will be carried away to the Hospital Wing. Those without a sample, use the leftover from your neighbor." He pricked his finger on the edge of a clean knife and let a bead of blood fall into the center of his parchment where the students could see. "If you are not as incompetent as I suspect, your parchment will inscribe itself with your family tree, starting with you and working back for as long as the parchment lasts. You may begin."
The fourth-years began tentatively swirling their parchment into bowls of sample and, some gingerly, some readily, one by one pricked their fingers and applied the final ingredient to their ancestry potion. This was one of his most aggravating classes to teach, but its inclusion was mandated by Ministerial standards, despite the relatively high cost of ingredients in relation to the arguably low academic benefit. Aside from the galling experience of having his syllabus audited by the Department of Education, this class was infuriating because inevitably one of the young idiots took offense to being third cousins twice removed to another young idiot. Wizarding families were interconnected to the point of poor taste, in Severus' opinion. Nevertheless, it was a fact, and one every class of fourth-years took issue with.
When the gasp of indignation came, however, it was almost a sob.
Daphne Greengrass stared down at her parchment with bloodless horror. Her breath came in choked gasps and her frequent companion, Davis, looked up from her own parchment in concern. "Daphne, what is it?"
"It's wrong," the blonde girl stuttered out. Severus restrained an eye-roll at her cheap dramatics. "It has to be."
"What is—?" Davis tried to look at the parchment, but Greengrass snatched it away and put it behind her back. A minor scuffle ensued, and while Severus snapped at the girls to regain their decorum, Nott grabbed for Greengrass' parchment when she wasn't looking.
The boy held off his classmate's clawing hands with one arm and held the parchment to his face with the other hand. "Hmm, says Daphne Greengrass. Seems right to me. Daughter of—hang on…"
"Don't," Greengrass pleaded. The desperation in her voice caused unease to stir in Severus' chest.
"Mr. Nott, hand that to me this instant," Severus barked. Nott blinked up at him stupidly. "Now, Mr. Nott," he hissed. The skinny boy complied with a gulp.
"Sir, she's…" Nott trailed off at Severus' glare.
He put eyes to the parchment and felt himself still. Directly above Daphne Greengrass, where should have been the girls' father, Lord Greengrass was not listed. Instead, it read 'Dirk Cresswell.' Cresswell was well known for having been handpicked by the goblins as human ambassador to the British Ministry. He was a Muggleborn.
Greengrass was looking at him with tears streaming down her face. "Pack up your things, Miss Greengrass, and come with me," he said slowly. "Class dismissed."
He had to practically haul the crying girl out of the classroom; she was too distraught to properly move her legs. "Th-Theo is going to t-tell—"
"That is the least of your concerns at the moment," he told her, as gently as he dared. "Do you understand what the potion revealed, Miss Greengrass?"
"M-my father isn't—isn't—" She couldn't even articulate the thought.
Severus cursed the thrice-meddling Ministry and the inept populace that had sanctioned the injustice that was about to take place. "Miss—Daphne," he said, slowing down and attempting to force comprehension into her. "You are not a pureblood. Do you understand? Your biological father is a muggleborn."
"No," she whispered, shaking her blonde curls furiously. "No, he can't be. I—I know what I am. I'm the Greengrass Heiress."
Not for long, unless Greengrass Sr. had changed a great deal very recently. All he said was, "You can be that, and a halfblood."
"Noo," the girl moaned. "What… you're taking me to see Dumbledore, aren't you? You're kicking me out!?"
"We must get you to the Headmaster so he can discuss your options with you before the Board of Governors gets wind of this," Severus hissed. "Think, girl. There is a highly publicized tournament about to occur on these very grounds, the basis for which is blood superiority. What do you think the Board will do to avoid the embarrassment of a scandal like this?"
"I'm going to disappear," Greengrass breathed shakily. Fear led straight to denial. "No, they can't do that. My father—my… they can't."
"Walk, Miss Greengrass," Severus said, dragging at her arm once more. "There is no time to dither."
Several long staircases later, they'd reached the Headmaster's Office. "Licorice Wands," he snapped at the gargoyle. They ascended quickly and Severus spared the door barely a graze of his knuckles before ushering Greengrass inside.
"Severus, what is the matter?" Albus rose from his desk with furrowed brows at their sudden entry.
He thrust the parchment he was still clutching at the old wizard. "Ancestry potion today. Her classmates know." Or they would by now, he didn't doubt. Nott could not keep his mouth shut for a piece of gossip as juicy as this. Severus knew he detested the Greengrass girl, besides. Short of obliviating the boy on the spot there was nothing he could have done to contain her secret without being accused of flouting school regulations on behalf of a student.
Albus sank back into his chair with a pained look of sorrow. "My dear girl, I am so very sorry. It is unfortunate that you have found out this way. You are not alone, however. We will assist you in whatever you wish to do next."
"So that's it? One stupid piece of parchment and now I have to pack my things? Where am I supposed to go?" Greengrass shrieked, fat tears still leaking from her eyes.
"There are a number of schools who will accept your transfer in situations like this," Albus said gently. "Homeschooling is also an option, should you decline to leave the country. First, however, we will need to contact your parents—"
"Which ones?" she sneered petulantly. "My father will disown me if he sees this." At that thought, her eyes went wide and panicked again. "Oh gods, he'll disown me. And Mother—what will he do to Mother?" She began rocking back and forth in the chair agitatedly. "You can't tell him. Just—just say I flunked out or something. Tell him I was expelled, just don't tell him that."
"Miss Greengrass, it is likely that he will find out in any case, and soon," Severus told her. "It is inevitable that this event will circulate the school. If even one student writes home about it, the truth will be released and there will likely be an investigation into why it wasn't reported immediately. The Board of Governors takes incidents like this very seriously."
"But why?" she wailed. "I'm a better pureblood that half of those—those cretins I share classes with. I was raised in the old ways. I know all our customs. I deserve to be here more than blood-traitors."
"It is not a matter of deserving or worth," Albus said sadly. "Miss Greengrass, if it were up to me you would not leave these halls. The law is unforgiving, however. You will no longer be allowed to attend Hogwarts. I'm sorry. We must contact Lord and Lady Greengrass about this situation. If you fear for your mother's safety in light of this revelation, please tell us now, and we will do what we can for her as well."
Greengrass sniffled wetly. "I—I don't know. Maybe she'll be okay. She still had Astoria, so F-Father can't banish her, I don't think. Oh, I—I have to tell Astoria. She won't understand. What if they send me away? What if I n-never see her again? It isn't fair! They did this to me! It's their fault, not mine, but I'm the one who will be punished." Her words garbled as she dissolved into sobs again.
"I will collect the younger Miss Greengrass from her afternoon class," Severus offered. "Headmaster, don't contact the Board until I return."
"Of course," Albus said. He looked every one of his many years in that moment. "Anything you can do to forestall the propagation of this information would be appreciated as well, Severus."
He nodded shortly and left the office and the crying, traumatized girl behind. He couldn't deny a dull pang at Daphne Greengrass' fate. Another life overshadowed by a simple accident of birth.
-0
[HpHpHp]
-0
Rigel was on her way back from Arithmancy, which she had with the Ravens and Puffs that term due to the weird nature of her schedule, when she passed the Slytherin first-years standing outside the common room, loitering. She slowed her steps, wondering if they had all managed to forget the password, and caught some of their hushed conversation involuntarily.
"—can't believe it. My father is going to flip when he hears. A halfblood in Hogwarts! All this time."
"I heard they're kicking her out—"
Rigel stopped listening, stopped breathing, and very nearly stopped walking as well. Her mind went blank with panic. How—? Who—? Only with an effort of will did she get her mind to jump start and reset, unlocking the torrent of thoughts that had screeched to a halt in terror. How could they know? Who figured it out? And most importantly, what should she do?
These thoughts burned through her brain as she mumbled the password and entered the common room. Her eyes darted about the large space as she struggled to keep her breathing steady. She felt like a cornered animal. It was only a matter of time before someone looked her way. She needed to run, to hide. But first—
Her shoes made a beeline for her dorm, where the mirror was locked in her trunk. She had to call Archie, had to warn him, tell him—
Tell him what? She had no idea what had happened. And why was no one stopping her? Plenty of people glanced her way as she crossed the common room, but no one fixated on her, as though they weren't interested in her at all. Rigel frowned and slowed her steps. She was confused, she noticed. Something wasn't adding up. If people knew she was a halfblood, there should be confrontation, shock, a prefect should be escorting her to Dumbledore's office; something more than unconcerned glances should be happening.
"Rigel! Over here." She turned her head to see Draco gesturing impatiently at her from where most of her year group was huddled around one of the fireplaces. They all had serious expressions, but there was nothing accusatory in them. Was it possible they didn't know? Had the first years been joking? She approached cautiously, taking in their tense faces. They knew something she didn't. The questions was what.
"Draco," she said neutrally. "What's going on?" She had such a tight hold on her emotions it was hard for her to feel anything, but she couldn't risk tipping Draco off before she knew what was going on.
"Have you heard?" Theo demanded. There was a light in his eyes that Rigel didn't like. It wasn't happy, exactly, more… exhilarated. She shook her head mutely, and the sandy-haired boy blurted, "Greengrass is a halfblood, Rigel. We found out today in Potions."
Rigel blinked, not sure, not daring to hope that she'd heard him correctly. "Greengrass," she repeated dumbly. They thought Greengrass was the halfblood? "Are you sure?"
"As can be," Theo said, chuckling darkly. "Today was ancestry potions. Saw her whole family tree myself, and her father is actually a muggleborn! Can you believe it?"
Rigel looked at her other classmates, noting Greengrass' obvious absence. The others didn't look quite as thrilled as Theo to have such a secret uncovered. Mostly they looked shocked, some upset. She wondered if they were upset because Greengrass was getting kicked out of school or because they'd been sharing classes with a halfblood. The cynical side of her suspected the latter.
"How can Lord Greengrass be a muggleborn?" Rigel asked, frowning. None of this made any sense. "Perhaps it was a mistake."
"No mistake," Millicent said, shooting Theo a sharp look before he could open his mouth again. "Daphne Greengrass was a by-blow, it turns out. Her biological father is Dirk Cresswell."
Rigel nodded slowly. The implications of what she was hearing were slowly creeping over her like Devil's Snare. "She didn't know. Tell me she didn't know."
The others shook their heads, somewhat bewildered at her insistent tone. "She looked pretty surprised," Draco murmured. His face was closed—she had no clue as to what he was thinking, but his eyes were dark with heavy thought.
"That's good, at least," Rigel said, sighing.
"How is any of this good?" Davis said sharply. "Daphne is being removed from school as we speak. The elves already took her things from our dorm."
"If she didn't know, they can't send her to Azkaban for blood identity theft," Rigel told her. The others exchanged grim looks. Clearly, not everyone had considered that possibility. "Her parents might be prosecuted, though, if they can't prove they didn't know either."
"The Greengrass Family is in the Book of Gold. They wouldn't dare," Pansy murmured. Her face was troubled, though.
Davis let loose a single tear before swiping at her eye angrily. "I still can't believe it. Daphne was more pureblood than most."
"Except she wasn't," Blaise pointed out bluntly.
"More than you," Davis shot back. "At least her parents are human."
"Don't impugn Blaise's blood just because your friend turned out to have a dirty secret," Theo said, scowling.
"She didn't know!" Davis screeched.
Blaise cut in before the two could escalate their argument. "Anyway, she's right, in a way. I'm only pureblood by Hogwarts' definition, which, frankly, is fairly generous. The non-human beings in my ancestry would preclude me from schools like Durmstrang just the same as Greengrass' father precludes her from staying here."
"It's not the same," Millicent said firmly.
"Isn't it, though?" Blaise leveled her with a sardonic look. "After all, if I were to enter the New Triwizard Tournament, it would be as a halfblood."
"What?" Pansy looked appalled but Millicent paled.
"That's right," Millie said weakly. "I'd forgotten."
"That can't be right," Pansy protested.
"It is," Blaise said evenly. "The tournament guidelines as to what constitutes pureblood don't count so-called 'creature' blood and require all-magical heritage up to the great-grandparent level. I'm not the only Hogwarts student who would technically have to compete as a halfblood."
"But why would they design it that way?" Pansy frowned, then made a noise of understanding as she apparently worked out the answer for herself. "It's to make sure no one can claim the pureblood category is less than absolute. No 'pure by definition' candidates, I suppose."
"That may be part of it," Millicent said, "But father told me the stricter definition was actually a condition of Durmstrang deigning to participate."
Draco wrinkled his nose. "Who cares if they nominate anyone? There are plenty of other schools worldwide."
"Durmstrang has a lot of influence in Europe," Millicent told him. "Where they go, other schools will follow. If Durmstrang deems the tournament in its current form as worth acknowledging, the rest of Europe is more likely to consider it favorably."
"None of this matters right now," Theo said, clearly exasperated. "How are you all not more concerned about the halfblood that's been living among us for over three years?"
"Don't see how it matters to us," Goyle said slowly. "They aren't gonna cancel school or anything."
"It matters," Theo said, rolling his eyes, "because anyone could be a halfblood! If not for the ancestry potion we would have never known. What are we gonna do about it?"
"Do?" Pansy shook her head sharply. "We aren't going to do anything, Theo. The Board of Governors will take care of this."
"There should be tests," Theo argued. "They should test everyone in school. Otherwise what's the point of the rule?"
Rigel kept her breath even and her eyes lowered, but she could feel her magic stirring hotly in her stomach at the thought of submitting to a blood test. She wouldn't.
"Everyone fourth year and up has been tested, Nitwit," Millicent said, scoffing. "The Potions curriculum doesn't change year to year. You think this is the first time this has happened?"
"Why don't they test us as soon as we get here?" Theo demanded. "It's an outrage."
"You're the only one outraged," Blaise said drolly. "And it would be an insult of the highest order to test the scions of ancient houses for blood purity. The integrity of the Book of Gold and Silver is unquestioned. If the Greengrasses knowingly forged their daughter's birth records, they will serve time in Azkaban, Theo. That sort of safeguard is supposed to be deterrent enough."
"Why not have the ancestry potion done in the first year curriculum, if they're being so polite about it?" Theo grumbled.
"First years can't brew an ancestry potion," Rigel told him flatly. "It takes a mature magical core to unconsciously imbue at the rate required for the potion's completion. Third year would be the earliest they could have put it on the curriculum, but even then it's slightly more complicated in terms of brewing technique than most third year potions."
Theo huffed. "So the best plan is to kick people out in fourth year if it turns out their mother slept with a muggle?"
"Don't say that about her!" Davis cried. "You've never even spoken to Lady Greengrass, but I've had tea at her house and she came to my birthday party and—and—she can't have done what you're saying."
Davis fled their group in tears and stormed to the dorm room that she would now occupy alone for the remainder of term. Rigel watched her go, and a twisted part of her wondered if anyone would be offended on her behalf, were her own falsehoods to become known.
"This is so messed up," Millicent muttered.
"How could we not have noticed?" Theo added, shaking his head.
Rigel stared at him. "Noticed? What was there to notice? The halfblood shape of her nose? Or maybe the halfblood way she crossed her t's?" She couldn't hold back a sneer. "There was nothing to notice, Theo. Because halfbloods aren't outwardly any different from other people. They don't have 'less worthy' stamped on their foreheads."
"I know," Theo said, indignant, "but her magic—"
"Greengrass is good at magic," Rigel snapped. "Say what you want about her personality, but Greengrass doesn't lack magical ability. She has higher grades than you in some classes."
"Had," Blaise put in drolly.
Rigel shot him a glance that told the boy he was not helpful. She knew she shouldn't let herself get riled, should keep her head down lest someone remember that she hadn't been in the fourth-year potions class and therefore hadn't been 'tested' like the rest of them. She couldn't help it, though. Her emotions would not stay suppressed. Not when she knew how close she had come to walking out the door with Daphne Greengrass. If she hadn't been pulled out of the regular courses, if she'd been there today…
Their group had been drawing attention since Davis made such a scene flouncing out, and Rigel knew she should walk away before even more of the common room started paying attention. She couldn't though. She physically could not move her feet when one of her own friends stood there and spouted such ill-conceived nonsense.
When Aldon Rosier's voice came from over her shoulder, Rigel closed her eyes briefly in resignation. Where Rosier's attention went, other seventh years' would follow, and sure enough, as she turned around to face him, she found nearly the entire common room staring their way.
"Rigel, I'm sure you didn't mean to imply that there was no basis for Daphne's expulsion. Rules are rules, after all," the golden-eyed young man said carefully. She could see concern for her clearly in his eyes. He was giving her an out, a chance to retract some of her more inflammatory words and toe the accepted line. Rigel considered taking it, she really did. In the end, though, she didn't think her integrity was worth so small a price as social convenience.
"In light of today's revelations, I can't help questioning the basis for the rule itself," Rigel said frankly. "Daphne Greengrass was no less magical than the rest of us. She knew pureblood customs and tradition better than most of us. So what's the point of kicking her out? Did any of you feel held back or like you weren't getting the most of your education by having a halfblood in the class?" She turned slowly, daring her classmates to contradict her. "Daphne Greengrass has been in school with us for over three years. Is she a different person today than she was yesterday? Of course not. It's you all that have suddenly changed your opinion of her. Because of her blood."
"She betrayed out trust," someone called out from the crowd.
Rigel openly scoffed. "She didn't even know she was halfblooded. What if it had been you? How would you feel if you found out tomorrow that you were a halfblood and your family lied to you? Would you feel like you didn't deserve to be here? Like it was okay to rip four years of hard work out from under you for something that wasn't your fault? Would you feel like a monster? Or would you feel exactly the same as you do today, and the world would seem monstrous instead?"
Dead silence met her pointed questions. She let it fester for a long moment before saying, directly to Rosier, "The rules are clear, Aldon. But they're also wrong."
She pushed through the crowd toward the common room entrance. She could hear the outbreak of murmurs and angry mutters behind her but she didn't care. Her entire being was choked with rage and resentment at the lot of them. She didn't even like Greengrass, but it was clear to her that the girl was nothing more than a victim of circumstance. If this was how her friends would treat a girl who'd done nothing wrong, how much more unforgiving would they be to Harriet Potter, willful blood identity thief and unapologetic liar first class?
She didn't want to think about it. She just wanted to bury herself in some other pursuit, anything to take her mind off the current situation before she gave into her magic's acute desire to destroy something irreparably. She paced through the dungeons, climbing staircases until she'd reached the entrance hall and could slip the reigns of the castle entirely.
The crisp afternoon air felt like the first clean breath she'd had in hours. She made straight for the forest's edge and was so out of sorts that she'd thundered her way well past the tree line before she knew it. She sucked in air in a slow, deliberate way and kept walking. She was determined to get further into the forest than the last time she'd been there. Every time she came to visit Treeslider she made it a little further. Only when the daylight had been swallowed completely by the canopy and the trunks around her spanned twice her length in diameter did she stop and sink to the soft dirt bonelessly.
Treeslider found her staring listlessly up at the branches above her a few minutes later. The bright green snake barely mentioned her lack of offering before curling up in her lap and singing a hissing song about warm burrows and slow prey. She stroked the snake absently, lost in thoughts she'd rather not be thinking. She shouldn't have gone off on Theo and Rosier. Why was it so much harder this year just to hold her damn tongue? She would have to apologize to them both, probably. She would make some excuse about resenting the school policy on her cousin's behalf. If anyone asked whether she'd done the ancestry potion herself, she would simply intimate that she'd covered it much earlier in her private lessons with Professor Snape. No one would think to question their Head of House about it. This situation would pass, and likely her classmates would eventually forget all about the unwitting halfblood Daphne Greengrass. She wouldn't forget, though. For the next four years at Hogwarts Greengrass would be haunting her steps in every corridor, looming over her shoulder in every exam. Rigel fervently hoped that wherever Greengrass ended up was a kinder place than the one she'd left behind. She wished the best for the girl, but she knew in her heart it was a selfish wish, too. Irrefutably, there stood the fact: there, but for the grace of Merlin, go I.
-0
[HpHpHp]
-0
As if tragedy begot tragedy, the papers the next day painted a grisly fresco of the current state of blood relations in Magical Britain. Rigel hadn't noticed at first the rampant murmurs rippling through the Great Hall. She thought the increase in chatter merely a side effect of the Greengrass scandal, still raw and sharp in her mind. She tried to ignore it, but Millicent thrust a Daily Prophet under her nose. The dark-haired girl grimaced apologetically but shook the paper nonetheless.
"You'll want to see this," Millie said softly.
Rigel took the paper with a frown. The front page was mostly images. A building caved in on one side, where an explosion had bloomed and settled into rubble. A snake-eating skull against a twinkling night sky, as ominous and incomprehensible as the last time she had seen it. The headline read: ATTACK ON NOVUS INDUSTRIES.
She felt a sick dread pool in her stomach as she scanned the article. She didn't care about the details, she only wanted to know the outcome. Three dead. Ten injured. The list of names was incomplete, but Lily was not on it.
Rigel tried to breathe evenly, but she could hear the rattle in the air that her lungs expulsed. Her mother's company had been attacked. Presumably by the same group who had disrupted the World Cup. She wondered at the utter insanity of it. It was difficult to even comprehend: three dead. They had killed people in the name of anti-muggle hate. Why Novus Industries? She answered her own question after a moment of thought. Novus Industries hired muggleborns proactively, despite discouragement from the government and incentives to do otherwise. To a group of people who wanted even scant connection to muggles dissolved, a company that defied the push to hire only those schooled at Hogwarts had always risked censure. Now, apparently, such companies risked mortal peril as well.
Before she had time to reread the article, an owl from home landed in front of her porridge. The slip of paper enclosed in its talons didn't say much. Aunt Lily is safe, Sirius wrote. She's taken a leave of absence. They haven't caught the perpetrators yet. Be vigilant.
Despite its brevity, the word from home was enough to slow her heartbeat and allow her to consider the event almost objectively. The message at the World Cup wasn't a bluff, then. Someone was serious about disrupting the ties between the magical and muggle worlds. And they were willing to kill to see it done. A heavy weight filled her chest at the thought of those whose lives had been taken or twisted, and the many more who would be frightened by this attack. Some would start to distance themselves from their muggleborn acquaintances. Those without muggle ties would reason that anyone who maintained their loyalty had already been warned. Rigel didn't hold out hope that the outcry against this gross injustice would make a difference in tracking the radical group down and neutralizing them. Only real information and dedicated pursuit could accomplish that. James would be busier than ever, now.
Rigel read through the article one more time, slower and more focused. A device of some kind had been recovered from the wreckage, but the DMLE hadn't released any details as to how it might have caused the explosion. At the bottom of the article, in a comment so dry it might as well have been a footnote, it read: To allow the company time to recover its offices and personnel, the Ministry's Patent Office has suspended their contract with Novus Industries indefinitely.
That, more than any of the macabre details or gross speculation in the rest of the article, made her want to rip the paper to pieces. Even the Ministry is scared that their association with Novus will make them a target. Cowards.
She wondered vaguely when she'd become so cynical. Probably about the time she'd learned that humans would do anything for power and, more pressingly, security, she supposed. She set the paper aside, giving Millicent a brief nod of thanks. Standing, she said, "I'm going to write Harry. I'll meet you all in class."
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[AbAbAb]
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That Hermione had managed to find a copy of the DMGS's press release about the tournament within a day did not surprise Archie. That the driven young woman had proceeded to secure permission not only from all of her professors, the Head of Healing Track, and her own parents within the next week shouldn't have surprised him, but he had honestly expected someone to realize what a bad idea it was. No one stopped her, though. The professors even encouraged Hermione, praising her for keeping abreast of international affairs and volunteering to represent AIM abroad.
By the time Archie realized he would have to be the one to say something, Hermione's course was set. A couple of other students appealed to Professor Willoweed to be nominated, but Hermione's early enthusiasm for the opportunity settled the professors' minds in her favor. She would be AIM's top choice for consideration by the selection committee, whether Archie liked it or not.
"Aren't you worried about keeping up with the syllabi?" he asked her, watching her bundle together all of the materials required for the application. They were in the library, which meant his friend automatically shot him a disapproving look before answering, in a much quieter tone of voice.
"You've told me a dozen times that your cousin, Rigel, keeps apace with our studies. If he can do it, I can too. Why are you so against this?" she added, letting go of the papers for a moment and pinning him with a direct stare.
"I'm not," Archie said weakly.
"You have been from the start," Hermione disagreed. "You think I shouldn't go, but you haven't said why. Do you think I can't do it? I'm good at more than just Healing magic."
"I know that," Archie said, eyebrows raising. He hadn't thought he'd been quite so obvious in his misgivings. Now that he had the opening, though… "If the tournament was anywhere besides Hogwarts, about anything other than blood purity, I'd tell you to go in a heartbeat, 'Mione. I know you'll wipe the floor with those snobs. But it's going to be dangerous—"
"There will be adults there to keep it from getting out of hand," Hermione said reasonably.
"Not the tournament, the whole country," Archie told her. "There's rampant blood prejudice everywhere right now. It's getting ugly on both sides and I don't want you caught up in the middle."
"I already am," Hermione said, tilting her head in the way she did when she thought he was being thick. "Harry, I'm muggleborn. That means that I'm implicated in this ideological battle regardless. I can stay here and do nothing, or I can go there are stand proudly and show the world that muggleborns are as talented as anyone else. Don't you see? If people like me are too afraid to stand up for ourselves, it's seen as an invitation to the rest of society to do whatever they want to us. I have to do this, Harry. I won't forgive myself if I don't go and some bigoted pureblood wins the tournament. The Sow Party will use it as an excuse to pass that legislation you told me about, won't they? Or something worse. It can't be borne."
"I know you're right," Archie said, mouth twisting unhappily. "I just wish it didn't have to be you."
"If everyone waited for someone else to do something unpleasant, nothing would ever get done," Hermione said softly.
"I'll miss you," he said, knowing in his heart that he'd never really had a chance at changing her mind.
Hermione leant over and hugged him fiercely. "I'll miss you too, Harry. I'll write every week. And you'd better send me copies of all the homework assignments."
Archie laughed. "You're exempt from the homework and you still want to do it?"
"How will I be ready for the exams at the end of term if I don't do any homework all year?" Hermione asked, shaking her head exasperatedly.
"You're really incredible, you know that?" Archie had to smile at the way Hermione ducked her head slightly to allow her curls to hide the flush in her cheeks at that. "I mean it, 'Mione. I think you're the most amazing person I've ever met. I—I've thought that for a while. I just wanted you to know."
Hermione's wide eyes filled with undisguised wonder and she blinked hard before smiling at him softly. "Harry, I've never met anyone like you, either. You know you mean more to me than anyone else. I promise I'll come back in one piece, ok? Please don't worry too much."
Archie searched her face for a sign that this was the right moment to tell the beautiful, intelligent witch beside him how he felt. As she turned back shyly toward the stack of papers before her, he knew it wasn't. How could he tell her how he felt right before she left for who knew how long? A part of him dreaded that if he didn't, she would find someone else, someone whose charms she was more susceptible to, someone who would inevitably recognize what a special, wonderful person she was and try to make her theirs. Archie knew such thoughts were selfish, though. His own insecurity was not a good reason to confess his feelings. He could wait a little longer, until she was back with him at AIM and could return his feelings without the complication of long distance or the distraction of a dangerous tournament looming.
Still, it ached to shut the feelings away once more and carefully lock the drawer. It felt like locking a poltergeist in his chest. Every time he looked at her, the drawer rattled.
That night, he lay awake long past midnight, staring up at his ceiling in frustrated longing. Damn, but he adored that witch. As Archie was contemplating giving in to his pent-up desire and releasing the poltergeist in a different sense, so to speak, the mirror dinged and he jumped, startled, from his bed. He ran a hand through his hair and straightened his pajamas uncomfortably before answering the mirror with an awkward cough. "Yes? Rigel?"
"Harry," his cousin said, her grey eyes wide, "Sorry to wake you so early. I have bad news. It's about Lily's job."
Archie shook the fog of embarrassment away and frowned. "What? What's going on?"
Harry's face had a grim cast. "Novus Industries was attacked last night. It made the papers here this morning, but it might make the front page where you are. I wanted to tell you before you found out, though. Lily is fine, but there was an explosion at the office and that ugly snake and skull thing was hanging over the attack site."
"Dear Merlin," he said, feeling shock lance through his stomach. "Was anyone hurt?"
"Yes." Harry looked somber, and the fact that she didn't elaborate only made his gut clench tighter. "I want you to be careful, A—Harry. There's no telling whether these incidents will stay confined to the UK or whether they might spill over to the Americas, but be on your guard. American schools are known for their high muggleborn acceptance rates."
"I'll be careful," Archie promised. He hesitated, but figured this was a good a time as any to tell his cousin about Hermione. "While I have you here," he said slowly, "remember when you told me about the tournament and I promised to ask around about it here?"
"Yes." Harry said again, this time with her eyes narrowed slightly.
"Well, Hermione was with me when I asked, and I may have piqued her interest about the tournament," Archie admitted.
Harry closed her eyes briefly. "Are you telling me Hermione—your friend Hermione who knows Harry Potter likes to cross-dress at school—is going to enter the Triwizard Tournament?"
"I'm not… not saying that," Archie said, trying a sheepish smile. Harry did not return it. "It's not my fault!" he protested. "Hermione is a very determined young woman. When she heard that they were trying to prove purebloods were better wizards than others, she couldn't let it stand. I really admire her willingness to stand up for—"
"Admire it later," Harry snapped. "First explain how you let this happen."
"I don't own her, H-Rigel." Archie snorted. "Quite the other way around, I'm afraid."
Harry's expression softened. "You told her how you feel? Did you tell her about the marriage contract and explain that it isn't permanent?"
He winced. "I… haven't told her, yet. With her determined to participate in this tournament, it didn't seem right to burden her with my feelings on top of everything else."
Harry was silent for a moment. He could tell by her torn expression that she felt bad for him, but didn't know what to say. Harry had no more experience than he did in matters of the heart. Finally, his cousin offered, "Maybe she won't get picked by the selection committee."
Archie shook his head ruefully. "She has three more letters of recommendation than required. Her grades are better even than mine, and her raw magical output is rated fairly high. She'll get picked. Just… please look after her."
Harry nodded slowly. "I will. I'll make sure the others know she's your friend and I won't forgive any disrespect. Tell her to come talk to me if anyone gives her trouble outside of the tournament."
He smiled gratefully. He could always count on Harry. With her at Hogwarts, he didn't have to worry quite so much about Hermione. "Is there anything else I should know?" Archie asked after a moment's pause.
His cousin grimaced. "Actually… I need a vial of your blood."
Archie groaned. "First spit, then blood. Are you making a golem of me, cuz?"
"I wish," Harry grunted. "There was an incident. A halfblood was discovered at Hogwarts and they expelled her."
"WHAT?" Archie's pulse raced and his hands shook. "How could you just now tell me?"
"It happened yesterday," Harry said, frowning. "And they're trying to keep it quiet to avoid a scandal but the whole school knows. If they decide to test everyone, I need some of your blood."
Archie could not believe his ears. "You're staying at Hogwarts? You should leave. Now. I can catch a cab to the airport and use my emergency credit card to book a flight home today. I'll meet you at the Dancing Phoenix and we can switch places—"
"Stop," Harry said, exasperated. "We are not invoking Plan B. There's not any kind of manhunt going on. I don't think it will actually be necessary, but I want your blood just in case. Don't worry. Our goose isn't cooked yet."
"What are you going to do with it?" Archie asked, trying not to panic but seriously wondering if his cousin had just become numb to the risks she ran.
Harry smirked, and it was a devious, beautiful thing. "I'm going to make a skin graft. Only I'm going to do it badly."
"A skin—" he stopped. Thought about the possibility. As it clicked, he had to smile slowly. "You are a terrifying person, Harry Potter."
"Watch it," she said, glancing over her shoulder. "My roommates could walk in any time."
"Then you should go back to class and let me go back to sleep," Archie said, yawning. "Thanks for the heads up about Lily. We can figure out anything else in the morning, though."
"It is morning for me," Harry pointed out.
"Bully for you." Archie made a face at her. "Night, cuz."
"Night."
Despite his words, he didn't fall asleep that night. His mind ran doggedly in circles around everything Harry had told him. There had been another halfblood at Hogwarts. A muggleborn-affiliated company was struck by a deadly attack. And what Harry hadn't mentioned at all was telling in itself. She hadn't brought up her own participation in the tournament. Archie wasn't fool enough to think Riddle had changed his mind, which meant Harry was probably trying to deal with his pressure all on her own. She'd better not be taking any hits for him or their parents. Archie would never forgive her if she got herself wrapped up in that blasted tournament because she was trying to be noble.
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[HpHpHp]
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The last days of October passed too quickly. Nothing she did, not her studies nor her friends, could erase the hunted feeling she carried with her as first one, then another week passed without a word from Riddle. She knew he hadn't given up; it was only a matter of time before he tried something else. As the announcement of the tournament contestants crept closer, her nerves began to get the best of her.
Every afternoon as she walked to lab three for whatever training Snape had planned for her, she felt dread pool in her stomach that this would be the session that Riddle appeared, armed with real secrets this time, for all that she doubted even Riddle could uncover the convoluted depths of her true vulnerability.
On October 30th, it was almost a relief to answer the summons of her Head of House. There was no more time. The announcement was tomorrow. Riddle would have to make his threats tonight, or forfeit his desire to have her participate. Either way, it would be decided and done with. Rigel was almost looking forward to it. She couldn't take any more suspense.
She opened the door to lab three without knocking. Riddle leaned against a gleaming counter, arms crossed and face closed in thought. Snape wasn't there. Rigel allowed herself a single hard swallow before closing the door quietly behind her and turning to face the man who seem so determined to complicate her already complicated existence.
"Will Professor Snape be joining us?" she asked.
Riddle roused himself from his contemplations but did not move from his somewhat slouched posture. "No. I wanted to speak to you alone. It occurred to me that you might feel somewhat… attacked in these meetings. A less stilted dialogue may benefit us both."
Rigel's eyebrow rose of its own volition. Riddle thought Snape's presence was what made her defensive? No, she decided. That was just an excuse to remove Snape from the discussion. To remove the only witness, she thought sourly. "Professor Snape's presence or lack thereof won't change my mind," she told him. There was no energy in her voice; she was simply stating the truth.
"You've proved remarkably bull-headed," Riddle allowed. To her surprise, the faintest of smiles flickered across his mouth as he considered her. "It's admirable. A man swayed by neither greed nor fear is rare enough; one so young and un-established, nearly unheard of."
He fell silent and seemed to be waiting for a response. Rigel sincerely hoped he wasn't looking for a 'thank you.' "That says more about the world than it does about me," she said carefully. Then, almost hopefully: "have you accepted you can't force my hand?"
Riddle's amusement died. "I could, boy. Never doubt that if I wished it, I could hollow you out to an empty husk and enchant it in such a way that even your closest friends would not notice the difference." Rigel paled, and her wand was in her hand before she recalled drawing it. Riddle flicked his eyes at it, but merely sneered. "Put that away. I have neither the patience nor the desire to see you whittled into a lifeless puppet. You may not believe this, but participating in this tournament is in your best interest, Rigel. Until you realize that, it seems another approach is in order."
This was it, she thought. Now he would reveal just what information he had on her that made him look so supremely unconcerned. She braced herself against the worst. If it was anything short of her identity as Harry Potter, she could—
"What do you want?"
She blinked dumbly. Had they just restarted the conversation without her realizing it? "I… don't want to be in your tournament."
Riddle rolled his eyes at her, and the gesture was so incredibly human she almost choked. "And Severus says you're his smartest pupil. I pity the next generation." She flushed. What was he asking, then? "You care not for the security of either yourself or your family. Gold doesn't interest you. So, then. I'm asking. What do you want, Rigel Black? What would it take for you to participate in the Triwizard Tournament of your own free will?"
Rigel shook her head. "I don't want anything you can offer." She felt like a broken record.
"You must not comprehend what it is I can offer, then," Riddle said firmly. "Do not answer thoughtlessly. Consider for a moment the wide world, child. There is little I would not agree to and nothing at all that I cannot do. Don't think of yourself, for a moment. Look beyond even your own family. Is there nothing in the world you would change, if you could? No dream so big you've scarcely allowed yourself to hope for its manifestation?"
She frowned. This was not the same offer he'd made before, she realized. He wasn't offering something as concrete as gold or even something as straightforward as influence. Riddle was offering to enact a wish on her behalf. If he really meant anything… it was almost unthinkable. Wasn't Riddle the one who first warned her against giving an open-ended boon to another person? What was he playing at?
"Why are you doing this?" she asked, honestly confused. "An offer of this magnitude… there's no way on earth one kid's cooperation is worth this."
"The value of a favor is on its bestower to determine," Riddle said dismissively. "What is costly to another is negligible for one such as I." Rigel had to grimace at his arrogance. He wasn't done, though. "As to why this tactic now, well, I've considered you extensively these past two weeks. I admit at first I did not think you so very different from other intelligent young wizards I have known. You chafe at restrictions, at any suggestion of another's control. You are reckless: overly dependent on your raw talent to make up for what you lack in judicious trepidation in the face of a challenge. Much like Severus, you burrow in academics to avoid dealing with a world you neither respect nor envy. There is, however, one unique facet to your character that I had disregarded as unimportant… until now."
"Do tell," she said faintly. She wondered if other people saw her the way Riddle did. Was she as he'd said? She could be rash, sometimes. Reluctant to surrender control of her life to another, too. Those qualities alone didn't define her, though.
"Your altruism," Riddle said, smiling slowly. "That is the fulcrum that escaped me at first. It isn't obvious, of course. You pretend to apathy with remarkable alacrity, on the surface. Yet when the stakes are sufficiently high, your demeanor shifts entirely."
Rigel frowned. Altruistic? Her? Even Archie knew better than to credit her with an inclination like that. "I think you've misunderstood me," she muttered.
Riddle straightened from his lounging posture and stepped toward her until she could see the secondary colors in his eyes. "Your actions belie you. When I tally the extent of your grandest deeds, the theme is clear; you do for others before you do for yourself. Even the one instance that you asked something of me was on behalf of others. That is your weakness. You do not let opportunities to help others pass you by. Now you have the biggest opportunity you may ever encounter. This time, if I'm right, you won't be able to say no."
She wasn't sure what to think as silence stretched between them. He was bribing her with… charity? This had to be the strangest negotiation ever enacted. Her first instinct was to scoff. The second instinct, on the heels of the first, gave her pause, though. She thought, really thought about the suggestion for a moment. Anything. She could ask anything.
A whirlwind of possibilities crowded her mind. She hated that she was tempted. Hated the way Riddle's smile grew the longer she stood without answering. She had to think faster. This chance—if, indeed, she could view it as an opportunity as he suggested instead of an imposition—could not be wasted. If only she had more time.
What would help the most people? A selfish idea rose to the surface of her mind. I could ask him to open Hogwarts to non-purebloods. The idea caught at her throat. There was no way he would agree to that. Yet, was that not how good negotiations began? With a demand so outrageous that compromise ensued?
"If I agree to the tournament, Hogwarts admits muggleborns and halfbloods again," she said in a rush, determined to get it out before her courage deserted her.
"Out of the question," Riddle hissed. His eyes flashed in cold fury.
"You said I could ask for anything," she said, working to keep her voice even.
"Anything else," he growled down at her.
She favored him with a skeptical look. "You said that before. I no longer believe you."
Riddle's scowl could have curdled milk. "My patience is not endless. Ask. Another. Boon."
Rigel arched her eyebrows and affected her best uncompromising stare. It was worth a try, surely. "Then this is my final offer: if I compete in the tournament, the S.O.W. Party kills the anti-muggle blood legislation."
Riddle stilled, his face suddenly blank. "I don't know what legislation you mean."
"Do not insult me at this stage, Mr. Riddle," Rigel said, frowning. "I refer to the legislation your party has been attempting to pass for the last three years. The increased restrictions on muggleborns and denial of basic rights to any non-pureblood witch or wizard, including healthcare, employment opportunities, and self-determined marriage prospects. I will participate in your tournament only if the legislation gets scrapped completely and never re-introduced at a later date."
The politician seemed more intrigued than surprised at her elaboration. "You think such a price is worth your mere… participation?" A smirk bloomed like a black rose across his cheek.
She felt her heart jump unexpectedly. He hadn't said no. He was actually considering it. Could she really trade her dignity and risk her life in exchange for a guarantee that the awful legislation that had been hanging over the Wizarding World like a cloud would simply… dissipate? She peered into her soul and saw Archie there. Forced into a contract with her for her own protection. She saw Addy, too young to know it, but held under the same threat as any halfblood. Hermione was there too, keen and bright, but destined to struggle for every step she took into their insular society. Even Daphne was there. Poor, prejudiced Daphne struck down by the very uncompromising ideals she'd once held up like a shield between her and the world.
Rigel had to consciously relax her jaw so that Riddle wouldn't see exactly how badly she wanted to make this trade. Unfathomable, that the man had gotten his way in the end. After all her protestations, he had seen the lever she couldn't ignore. Now she had to see that he didn't pull it too far. She tilted her head as though she were still considering. "If not my participation… then my victory. If I win the tournament, the legislation is scrapped."
"Interesting." His face gave nothing away, but Rigel could tell he was taking the offer seriously. She kept her face as cold and unyielding as she could, determined that he believe she would not settle for anything less than the complete eradication of that disgusting legislation.
"That's not all," she said, realizing she needed something else to distract him from attempting to knock the stakes lower. "I'll require something else for agreeing to participate in the first place. No guarantee I'll win, is there?"
"None at all." Riddle seemed more entertained by that idea than by anything else they'd discussed thus far. "What would you have for this additional condition—keeping in mind that I've yet to agree to the first?"
Her mind was racing ahead of her, trying to think of something that would do some good in the world. Riddle was influential. Why not take advantage of that? "For my initial participation, I want you to publicly decry the recent attacks and the anti-muggle radicals behind them. You've been silent up until now, which, from a man as influential at you, is practically tacit agreement. If I allow you to nominate me for this tournament, you will announce to the press that the S.O.W. Party does not support the violent work of these renegades and that their actions are those of a disenfranchised group of madmen, not reflective of mainstream pureblood policies and ideology in any way."
"Well done, Rigel." Riddle's all too pleased expression doused any feeling of satisfaction she might have derived at listing demands of him for once. "I'll make a politician of you yet." Rigel scowled slightly. Trust Riddle to take credit for any minute amount of cleverness that occurred in his vicinity.
"Do we have a bargain?" she pressed. If she wasn't getting any time to think about this, then neither should he.
Riddle gazed down at her in indulgent amusement. "So like Severus," he mused quietly. "Though his interests were always a bit more… personal, of course."
Rigel's curiosity was piqued. Snape had mentioned the dangers of making a deal with Riddle, once. She wondered what he had bargained, and whether he'd been as sure of himself then as she was now. She also had to wonder how much he'd come to regret later, and whether he'd do it again, given another chance. While she wondered about Snape, Riddle appeared to make up his mind.
"Very well, Rigel. In exchange for your participation in the True Triwizard Tournament, I will issue a righteously worded press release disavowing the fringe group responsible for the attack on the World Cup and your dear aunt's company. If you manage to win the tournament—not tie, not merely become the pureblooded champion, but win it outright—I will withdraw the aforementioned legislation and never support its reintroduction." Riddle said all of this with a calm, pleasant expression, as though he were listing the food he planned to eat for breakfast the next day.
Suspicious, Rigel said, "We will take a vow to that effect. Tonight." After all, he'd squirmed his way around a promise to her before. She would not make the same mistake twice. "Professor Snape can be our Bonder."
"You mean to make the Unbreakable Vow?" Riddle's eyes flared.
"I do. Unless you aren't as serious about these terms as you say," she said, lifting her chin in challenge.
He didn't flinch. "I'll summon Severus directly." His wand was in his hand before Rigel had even registered his wrist moving. Wordlessly, he flicked the polished wood and black smoke materialized into the shape of an inky crow. It flew through the closed door and was gone. Rigel couldn't help but stare after it. It was like a sort of anti-patronus. She wondered if it could be used to send messages or only to fetch people.
As they waited, Rigel took a scrap piece of parchment and a self-inking quill from her pocket and set to work. She was not about to allow Riddle to write the vows. As the one setting the terms to which he was complying, she had the right to dictate the exact wording. She would not have suggested it otherwise.
It didn't take Snape long to arrive; he'd likely been waiting impatiently for their meeting to conclude, one way or the other. His eyes swept the room when he entered, assessing their stiff postures and still-spotless surroundings. "Lord Riddle," he said respectfully.
"Severus, young Rigel and I have come to an accord this night. We require you to be our Bonder." Riddle said, smirking once more.
Snape paled before two spots of color bled back into his cheeks. "What have you agreed to, Rigel?"
"He's agreed to my terms, actually," Rigel said vaguely. She could scarcely believe this was actually happening, but she wasn't about to back out now. "As such, I will be setting forth the vows." She handed the piece of weathered parchment to Riddle for his inspection. "I trust this wording is satisfactory?"
Riddle drew a single line with his finger across the parchment near the end of the vow, but otherwise left the wording alone. "Suitable," he said smoothly, handing it back to her. Snape's sharp eyes followed the parchment worriedly, so Rigel handed it over for his perusal. She saw the way his breath stilled and his eyes narrowed. It wasn't what he'd expected, then. Good. That made it less likely that Riddle had walked her into this situation rather than the other way around.
Rigel knelt. Riddle slowly followed suit. She felt her teeth ache in protest when their hands met in the traditional clasp. The resonance was unnerving and distracting, but she had no time to dwell on it. Snape touched his wand to their joined hands and Rigel began speaking, clearly and firmly.
"Will you, in the event that I willingly participate in the New Triwizard Tournament, give a public statement on behalf of your political party disavowing the actions of the group responsible for the World Cup attack?"
"I will."
A ribbon of red light snapped out from Snape's wand and twined around their clasped hands.
"And will you, in the event that I am the outright winner of the New Triwizard Tournament, cease all attempts to introduce, promote, or pass legislation regarding the rights of non-pureblooded witches and wizards in the areas of employment, healthcare, and marriage, including any legislation encouraging or requiring people to marry or not marry on the basis of blood status alone?"
"I will."
A second ribbon was loosed and settled atop the first, and Rigel exhaled a slow breath. That was it. Riddle had made the Unbreakable Vow. Before she could say the words to conclude the vow, Riddle spoke again, his voice hard and his grip on Rigel's hand even harder.
"And will you, in the event that you are chosen to participate in the New Triwizard Tournament, agree to compete to the best of your ability in any and all tasks required of a designated champion?"
She wanted to refuse on principle. One simply did not impose an un-agreed-upon vow in the middle and expect the rite to go on to completion. She narrowed her eyes, feeling the magic build around her as it sought her verbal agreement or refusal. She replayed his words in her mind, but could not see a downside to them, really. She already was going to do her best in the tournament, because she wanted that legislation gone. What did it cost her to stake her life on that intent when she was already risking her life simply by being in the tournament? Snape's stare was burning into the side of her head, but she didn't look at him. She was looking at Riddle, trying to fathom what he thought he was gaining by adding that additional condition last-minute. His face gave her nothing useful, and magic was beginning to stir restlessly between them. Finally, she capitulated.
"I will," she growled, adding quickly, "So mote it be."
"So mote it be."
A third ribbon barely had time to settle over their hands before the rite was complete and the crisscrossing ties of magic sank into their skin without a trace. "Bad form," she commented, rising from her knees slowly. "Still. What's done is done. I trust there will be no more threats or attempts at intimidation regarding my participation in this tournament."
Riddle inclined his head, though it had an ironic tilt. "As you say, Rigel. What's done is done."
"I'll take my leave, then. I wish you luck in convincing the selection committee to choose me as one of the preliminary contestants within the next twenty-four hours," she added, a bit spitefully.
Riddle merely laughed, slow and sinister. "Dear boy, did you imagine we had not already submitted you to the board? You were selected weeks ago. It was simply a matter of gaining your compliance."
She scowled at the man's sheer nerve. Of course he'd gone ahead with the nomination. Riddle always got his way, she supposed. At least this time she'd made him pay for it. "Good evening, gentlemen," she intoned.
"Get a good night's sleep," Riddle said mockingly.
Not dignifying that with a response, Rigel left the lab and stalked back toward the common room.
-0
[HpHpHp]
-0
It was a long hour of explaining to her friends what had happened and listening to them gasp and fret and debate possible outcomes in this or that event considering all that had unfolded that evening between Riddle and her. When Draco and Pansy started arguing over what sort of robes Rigel ought to wear for the ceremony the following night, Rigel stopped listening and took up a book on ailments caused by magic gone awry. She couldn't really concentrate on the words, but she could at least pretend to be absorbed in her reading and thereby discourage any further questioning along the lines of her now-inevitable participation in the tournament.
Rigel didn't tell them about the Unbreakable Vow. It wasn't the sort of thing you revealed to all and sundry. She simply told them Riddle had given a vow to the effect that the anti-muggle blood legislation would not come to pass in the event that she managed to win the tournament. Draco and Pansy agreed that was a generous condition on Riddle's part, and each congratulated Rigel for striking a deal that favored her in the end.
She didn't want to be congratulated, though. She didn't want her friends to be impressed with her at all. What exactly she did want, she wasn't sure. All she knew was that she was in no mood to speculate on likely reactions to her being chosen as a participant. Rigel just wanted to go to sleep, but she had to talk to Archie about what had happened. She could have made her excuses and called him right away, but she'd been interrupting his schedule a lot lately. Better to wait until the hours he'd specified would be best for uninterrupted conversation. The news would keep until then; there wasn't anything he could do about it in any case.
She feigned interest in the magical ailments text until her friends had exhausted themselves and turned in for the night. Rigel kept reminding herself that she only had to wait for the common room to empty, and then she could pass the news to Archie and sleep. Her head felt like a lead balloon, weighty with things she didn't want to really think about until tomorrow.
As the fire dimmed and the dungeons quieted, she stopped even pretending to turn the pages of her book. She simply sat there, eyes somewhat glazed, and let her mind wander. It shouldn't surprise her, then, that Aldon Rosier invited himself to sit beside her on the couch and said, "What's wrong, Rigel? You've been reading the same page for an hour."
She lowered the book to her lap and took in his searching expression. Rosier was always searching for something, she thought. "Evening, Aldon," she said. "Nothing's wrong. I'm just enjoying the quiet."
"You don't look like someone enjoying anything," he told her frankly, golden eyes alight with concern and—she thought, maybe—kindness. She looked away, toward the glowing fireplace, unsure whether she really wanted to answer and go through it all again. Draco and Pansy's dissection of the evening had been almost as bad as living it in the first place. Aldon sighed, drawing her eyes back to his thin frame as he settled back against the cushions. "You don't have to talk about whatever it is, but if you wanted to, I would listen."
Listen. Not question or debate or analyze. Just listen. Rigel wasn't sure if it was just her exhaustion, but having someone just listen sounded sort of nice. Somehow, she didn't think Rosier would mind if she complained a little, either.
"I'm to participate in the tournament," she said after a long moment of thought.
His eyebrows rose, but otherwise his face remained open. "You decided to nominate yourself?"
"No. Yes. It's—it's been decided. The S.O.W. Party ensured I would be chosen as one of the candidates, and I've agreed to cooperate, in exchange for certain… other things." She blinked slowly at him, wondering if she sounded as mercenary to him as she did to herself.
"So you made a deal with them?" There was neither censure nor admiration in his voice, merely a gentle curiosity that she doubted Rosier could turn off if he tried. He was perpetually interested in the world.
"With Riddle," she clarified. "Just now. I refused, at first, but then… he offered something that was worth it, in the end." Her lips twisted in a parody of a smile. "It's funny. You were the first one to tell me about the marriage law, right? You and Edmund. If not for you, I wouldn't have even known to ask. And he said yes. He agreed, which I still can scarcely believe, to abolish the legislation entirely if I won his tournament. Why would he do that?"
She didn't expect him to have an answer, but Rosier surprised her. "He won't need that legislation if you win the tournament, Rigel. It's not really about you winning, per say. It's about a pureblood winning." The older boy appeared to be attempting to explain the situation gently, but Rigel could barely hear him anyway over the roaring in her ears. "If a pureblood wins the tournament, it proves to the world that his party was right, that everything they've been saying for years—that purebloods are better wizards who deserve a better place in society—is correct. With that kind of vindication, and the public support that comes in the wake of the victory, the S.O.W. Party itself won't have to lift a finger. Chances are, the changes he wants to make—the exclusive hiring of purebloods, the disenfranchisement of lesser-blooded people—will happen naturally. That's the power of popular opinion. Weighed against a bunch of legislation he's had great difficulty passing anyway, and you can understand why it's not exactly a bad deal from the party's perspective."
"So I've made things worse," she whispered numbly. There was a tightening in her chest as she ran through the last few hours once again. It had seemed like an inspired stroke. How could she not have considered that the political capital pureblood supremacy stood to gain in general might equal the loss of any legislation in particular?
Rosier let out a frustrated noise. "No, Rigel, that's not what I meant." He took her hands in his and squeezed them. "It was always going to be this way. If not you, it would only mean another pureblood winning the tournament instead."
Rigel squeezed his hands in return as the thought struck her hard. "You think the tournament is rigged."
"I know it is," he said softly. "Lord Riddle does not gamble unless all the odds are already stacked in his favor. If you think for a second that he would give a halfblood or muggleborn even a chance at winning his tournament, then you don't understand the man at all. If it wasn't you, it would be someone else, Rigel. And you secured a sacrifice on the S.O.W. Party's part that I doubt would have occurred to anyone else to even ask. You did good, Rigel. Don't doubt that."
"Should you be saying all this?" she wondered, glancing around uneasily. "Your parents—"
"Are not me," Rosier said firmly, a frown marring his handsome face. "I walk my own path, and I've known for a while that it wasn't going to be the one they laid out for me. This tournament is a manipulation of our society on every level, and I'm not so foolish I can't see that."
She smiled somewhat tremulously at him. "No one else seems to understand. My friends feel sorry that I was pressured into competing when I don't want to, but they don't really understand how very wrong this all is. Risking my life is one thing, but I don't want to be the figurehead of the pureblood elite, playing knight-errant in someone else's twisted fairytale."
Rosier's thumbs stroked over her fingers soothingly. "I know you don't, but you must come to terms with the role you've cast. The world will never know what you bargained on its behalf. You'll be perceived as one more pureblooded lordling looking for glory."
She closed her eyes in resignation. "I know. What people think doesn't matter, though. Reality matters. If I had refused him again tonight, who's to say he wouldn't have just resorted to threats again. I'd likely have found myself in the tournament anyway, but with no compensation to speak of." She felt a bit better, rationalizing her choice aloud. Even if she didn't fully believe it, it was easier to think that she had done the best she could.
"What do you mean… threats again?" Rosier asked, an odd tone to his voice. "Did he threaten you, Rigel?"
"He tried," she shrugged. "More accurately, he tried to threaten Harry. He doesn't know her, or he'd have known she'd never let me sacrifice myself for her sake. It was ridiculous." She snorted.
"Ridiculous?" Rosier shook his head at her, an odd smile on his face. "No. I think you're just a rare individual. No wonder even a master manipulator like Lord Riddle had trouble leading you by the nose. Good for you, Rigel."
"Thanks, Aldon."
They sat there for a little while without saying anything else. Finally, Rosier got up to leave. "Are you sure you'll be all right?" he asked, his gaze somewhat shadowed by his dark lashes as he looked down at her.
"Eventually," she said, smiling a little. "I'm just going to sit a while longer before going to bed. Thank you for comforting me. You didn't have to."
"The things we do because we want to will always outweigh those we do because we have to. Goodnight, Rigel." He left, taking his enigmatic smile and ever-surprising nature with him.
Rigel went back to staring at the grated flames, wondering whether the firestorm had caught up to her at last.
-0
[HpHpHp]
-0
Halloween dawned grey and foggy. Rigel woke feeling stretched thin both mentally and emotionally after too little sleep and too much stress-inducing contemplation. That day, more than any before it, she felt as though she was a ghost possessing a body, living a life not her own. She'd been pushed and hammered and squeezed relentlessly over the past thirty days, and tonight she would be hung up like a prize piñata, at the end of her rope in front of all the world. What's a girl to do? she thought mirthlessly as she trudged her way toward breakfast. The answer came to her unbidden, an automatic retrieval of the second half of an obvious phrase. Tie a knot, of course.
She sat between Draco and Pansy and spooned porridge into her bowl as though it was any other day. Draco must have found her serene emotional state unnerving, as he asked, somewhat tentatively, "Are you really all right, Rigel?"
She tilted a smile his way and nudged his shoulder gently. "Don't worry about me. I've made my decision and I'm going to stick to it." Had to, really. The Unbreakable Vow would see to that. In light of a decision so final, there wasn't any sense in fretting over it further. She was participating in the Triwizard Tournament, and it was best to come to terms with that fact before she was presented to the world.
"What's going on?" Theo asked from across the table.
"I expect you'll find out tonight," Pansy said evenly.
"It's all right," Rigel said, lifting her head from her breakfast. "Riddle didn't forbid me from telling anyone. I've been chosen as one of the preliminary competitors for the tournament, Theo. I found out last night."
The tawny-haired boy gaped at her. "You… you said you weren't even entering!" At Pansy's stern look, he lowered his voice apologetically. "I mean, when did you change your mind?"
"I didn't enter, exactly," Rigel said, grimacing sheepishly. She had decided she wouldn't tell anyone but Draco and Pansy—and Rosier, apparently—about the deal she made with Riddle. If it became common knowledge, she might be viewed as blackmailing a well-respected figure of the community. Worse, it might make his statement regarding the radicals and the backing down on his party's legislation ring hollow. "I suppose when the Weasley twins played their little joke it meant I was technically entered, and when they informed me last night that I'd been chosen, it seemed churlish to say no."
"It bloody well would have been," Theo agreed, looking impressed. "Congratulations, Rigel."
Millicent followed with her own congratulations and was echoed by every other Slytherin in hearing distance. She didn't doubt that the knowledge that she'd been chosen as one of the competitors would circulate the school well before that evening. Good. Anyone who'd been desperately hoping to be chosen instead could be disappointed in private. It was kinder, she thought, than letting anyone hold out hope until the ceremony later than evening.
Snape walked over to their table near the end of the meal. "Meet me in my office directly after last period, Mr. Black. There are a few formalities we must attend to prior to this evening's announcement."
She nodded her agreement, and after a moment her Head of House left. It was a relief that they had another meeting scheduled before the big reveal. She needed to face him, to explain to his satisfaction her actions the night before. It would only fester otherwise.
After breakfast she tried to go about the day as normal, tried to immerse herself in classes to take her mind off the impending side show. Everywhere she went, however, there were reminders that it was not a normal day at all. By lunch, everyone stared at her as she passed. Draco and Pansy closed rank around her wherever she walked, but they could not keep the questioning murmurs and dismissive scoffs from her ears. Rigel couldn't blame them. She didn't look like a champion. She wasn't particularly tall or handsome or poised. She was just Rigel.
The Weasley twins found her after her last class, prying her out of her friends' protective circle and whisking her into an alcove with unusually serious expressions.
"We heard a rumor—"
"—most inglorious, it were—"
"—that we may be responsible—"
"—for your pending elevation—"
"—to illustrious champion—"
"—and we wanted to say—"
"We're sorry!" they finished together. Earnest eyes blinked at her above a sea of freckles. She had to laugh.
"You couldn't have known," she said, smiling up at the tall redheads. "Besides, you mustn't apologize for a prank that exceeds your expectations. Only think what an interesting year it will be with me in the tournament."
Fred and George both grinned, exchanging deviant glances. "Promises, promises, Pup," George drawled, a pleased glint to his eye. "Should we take that to mean you'll be representing Hogwarts with pride?"
"With relish," she said, letting a smirk grace her features. "I daresay the tournament is going to be more exciting than anyone realized. You will help me make an impact, won't you?"
"Our humble services—"
"—are at your service."
She watched them walk away, deep in quiet conversation, and hoped they came up with a few good distractions. Anything that threw a wrench in Riddle's carefully laid plans could only be a good thing, to her mind.
Draco and Pansy had waited for her just down the hall. "Why do you still put up with them after all this time?" Draco grumbled as she rejoined them. "It's not as though they're good for anything besides cheap laughs."
"They remind me of home," she said. "No matter what you think, a good laugh isn't cheap at all. It takes a lot of hard work and talent to make something look effortless. I admire them."
Draco looked taken aback. "It just seems a waste of time. If they're so talented, they could be doing something to better society, instead of just making a joke of it."
"The nice thing about life is that you can do what you want with it," Pansy said diplomatically. "Certainly it can't be said that all my relatives are contributing members of society."
Draco let the subject drop and instead began listing the members he had confirmed for the unofficial dueling club. He wanted to get a few more lowerclassmen, but seemed to understand that the younger students would be less comfortable skirting the rules than the uppers were.
Rigel excused herself when they'd reached the turn-off to the common room, reminding them that she had to see Snape before dinner. She knocked on the door and entered at Snape's command. He set aside a stack of ungraded essays and conjured a chair for her to sit in. She took in the disgruntled set to his face and said, "I suppose you want to know why I did it."
His eyes flared with suppressed anger. "Indeed. Regale me with your reasoning."
"It's simple. He offered me a deal I couldn't refuse, and he knew it. So I took it. In my mind, the alternative was refusing on principle alone and ending up with either a worse offer or a more effective threat hanging over my head." She let him see her resignation as she added, "I knew, as soon as he offered such an open-ended boon, that he was willing to go further to ensure my cooperation than I might be willing to go to resist."
"That you made such a bargain does not surprise me," Snape said, somehow managing to make it sound both complimentary and insulting. "The fact that you felt the need to stake your very life on the agreement is what makes me question your sanity, Rigel."
"It was the only way to ensure he kept his end of the agreement," Rigel said.
"You think he will not find some way around it? There are always ways, Rigel," Snape growled. "It isn't worth your life."
"My life isn't in danger unless I refuse to compete in the tournament," she corrected him. "Anyway, didn't you make a similar deal with Riddle? When I proposed it, he compared me to you."
Snape's face went blank. "What did he tell you?"
"Nothing. Neither of you ever actually tell me anything," she complained. "I have to guess and piece together disparate comments until something resembling sense forms. I can assume that whatever deal you made has to do with why you're a member of the S.O.W. Party to begin with." Snape was silent, his face closed off, but Rigel was frustrated with how reticent he was with his motivations. "Sir, please," she said softly. "If you were in a similar situation to me, then tell me. Give me something besides cryptic warnings."
The Potions Master studied her wordlessly from across the desk for a long moment. Finally, just as Rigel thought perhaps he was not going to tell her anything after all, he said, "I wanted no part of politics, growing up. I was an academic, much like you. Lord Riddle courted me for party membership, the same way he did anyone of talent. He overlooked my blood status because my mother's family is old and I am the last Heir. Despite his attempts, I remained disinterested."
Rigel had to smile. They were more alike than she'd realized. "What changed your mind?" she prompted gently as her Head of House lapsed into silence. He appeared to be deep in thought, not seeming to even see her as his eyes focused on memories she wasn't privy to.
"I learned of an initiative the party was backing. It was to increase incentives for companies that hired halfblood or better and introduce penalties for companies who retained predominantly muggleborns. They called it the Purebloods First Initiative, and it would have meant large numbers of muggleborns laid off or pressured to find more menial employment. I had a… friend once who was muggleborn. Our lives took different paths, but I knew that she'd recently secured the job of her dreams at a private development company. I owed her a debt from long ago, and I saw, suddenly, that I could do something to repay it, and in doing so close that chapter of my life for good."
Rigel struggled to keep her face neutral. Was he just going to pretend the muggleborn friend he spoke of wasn't her mother? And was he seriously suggesting that he'd tied himself to Riddle simply to settle an old debt with Lily? "So you bargained with Riddle," she said. The parallels were eerie.
"Indeed. The legislation was tempered—it targeted government jobs only instead of private companies and the penalties were done away with altogether. I have been a member of the S.O.W. Party ever since." Snape rolled his shoulders as though warding off unpleasant thoughts.
"Does he really still own your loyalty after so many years?" she asked, frowning.
Snape's glare snapped into place in an instant. "As long as Lord Riddle is in a position to revive the Purebloods First Initiative in its original form, I will remain with the party."
"Then… this is your last year," she said, a smile dawning. "If… if I win this tournament, you won't have anything holding you to the S.O.W. Party anymore, will you? Riddle won't be able to pass any legislation about employment that discriminates on the basis of blood. You could sever ties with him."
Snape's eyebrows shot upward. "I doubt Lord Riddle has considered that," he mused, looking oddly lost.
"Something to think about, then," Rigel said, pleased to know that her participating in the tournament might be good for more than she'd anticipated. Struck by a sudden curiosity, she couldn't help but ask, "Does your friend know what you did for her?"
"We are no longer on speaking terms," he told her sharply, "and you will keep whatever conclusions you may have drawn to yourself."
She nodded. She could do that. "Thank you for telling me, sir. I understand your position better now, and why you do the things you do."
Snape scowled at her forbiddingly. "Do not paint me as some sort of martyr. I gained much from the party's influence and connections."
"Of course," she said soothingly.
"I am a selfish man," he insisted through clenched teeth.
She nodded sagely, hiding a smile. "Yes, sir. I understand."
The dark look he gave her said he very much doubted that. "Enough about my past. We were talking about you and your reckless insistence on an Unbreakable Vow."
"In this instance, an Unbreakable Vow favors me, not Riddle," she said slowly. "Unlike the bargain you made with him, my end of the deal is finite; I compete in the tournament, either win or lose, and the deal is over for me at the end of the year. For Riddle, if I actually win the tournament, he is bound for the rest of his life. He can't re-introduce anti-muggle blood legislation regarding marriage, employment, or healthcare ever again. That's a huge capitulation, considering the legislation he's been pushing for the last three years."
Snape appeared taken aback. Evidently he had not considered the vow from that angle.
"It still surprises me that he would go to that extent simply to have me participate in his tournament," she said tentatively. "Others would have done it for less, for nothing, even. Why is he so fixated on my involvement?" It sounded conceited to say aloud, but the evidence was irrefutable.
"There are many reasons why you make an ideal champion," Snape told her, drumming his fingers on his desk agitatedly. "You are the Heir to an old house, traditionally a Dark house whose loyalty, Lord Riddle believes, rightfully belongs to the S.O.W. Party. It is likely he believes that if you win the tournament, your newfound notoriety and the mantel of what you will come to represent may distance you from your family, whether you like it or not. Lord Riddle has long been interested in the idea of… mentoring you, Rigel. His offer last year was entirely serious. He has not said as much, but I believe… he may be searching for an Heir."
Her face lost all color at once. "Surely not," she breathed in horror. "He is young, yet."
"Nothing so immediate," Snape said, shaking his head. "It is merely a long-term consideration. As aware as I am of your own opinion regarding your abilities, to Lord Riddle you are a once-in-a-generation talent. He would be a fool if he were not to attempt to sway you to his camp."
"He's willing to lose all chance of furthering several of his legislative goals just on the chance that I might change my mind at the end of this and come over to his side?" Rigel couldn't help but be skeptical.
Snape snorted in amusement. "There are other contributing factors, of course. You come from a family that is publically aligned against the S.O.W. Party, thus repressing any accusations of favoritism or unfairness before they form. Draco would be a decent candidate in his own right, but as the son of the party's right hand man, the choice looks less than objective. Lord Riddle also knows you function well under pressure. You will not embarrass the party on the international stage, particularly with his assurance that you will do your best to win, Rigel."
"That was a dirty move," she grumbled, still annoyed at his blatant break with common courtesy.
"You agreed to it, nonetheless," Snape reminded her.
She acknowledged that truth with a grunt. "So. What do I do now? You said there was some sort of… formality tonight?"
Her Head of House sat back and folded his hands before him. "Tonight all nine preliminary candidates will be announced in the Great Hall after dinner. You will attend a private gathering with the other candidates while the rest of the school feasts. I will collect you from the Entrance Hall at precisely half past five. Wear formal dress robes."
"I don't have—"
"Borrow from Draco and ask Miss Parkinson to adjust them," Snape said wearily. "And for Salazar's sake don't wear those boots."
She sent her boots a pitying look. No one understood. Looking back up at Snape, she asked, "Will Riddle be at the gathering?"
"If he is, you'd best behave yourself," Snape warned her. "You will be expected to meet the other candidates, mingle, and eat something so you don't collapse when they present you to the press following dinner."
"More press," she muttered, grimacing. "I'd better get used to that, I suppose."
"After the feast you and the other eight candidates will be escorted to the Great Hall where you will each be asked to say a few words to those assembled," Snape went on. "Thank the committee for selecting you, characterize yourself in a way that is neither overbearing nor weak-kneed, and whatever you do, don't mention the political aspects of the tournament in any way. Clear?"
"Crystal," she said, sighing. "I'd better get back to the common room, if that's all. Pansy will want at least an hour to fix me." She stood and took a deep breath before smiling gratefully at the man who had done so much for her and, despite his contrary assurances, the world. "Thank you for explaining everything to me, sir. I'll see you at five-thirty."
She left the office secure in the knowledge that, whatever his professed loyalties or obligations, Severus Snape was in her corner. Not many people could say that, she knew.
-0
[HpHpHp]
-0
The 'private gathering,' it turned out, was a small plate mixer organized in the chamber directly behind the Great Hall. As Snape ushered her into the room and closed the door behind her, Rigel could hear the dull roar of student chatter through the wall that divided them.
A long table of hors d'oeuvres had been lovingly arranged along one wall. She recognized a few of the small dishes, but many of them were foreign to her. Likely a nod at the international nature of the tournament. With a mental sigh, she turned her attention from the food to the young adults milling about the room. She'd have to interact with them at some point, she reasoned, so there was no sense procrastinating further, no matter how reluctant she was to, as Snape had so derisively put it, mingle.
She caught the sea-foam green eyes of a petite girl with brilliant red hair cut to a blunt lob. "So you're the last one," she said, walking over to where Rigel was still loitering by the door to the Entrance Hall. "Hogwarts, I'm guessin'." Her accent was vaguely Scottish, with a hint of something Southern European.
"I'm Rigel." She offered her hand and the redhead took it after an assessing look.
"Antiope," she said. At Rigel's polite blink, she added, "Not my real name, of course. Everyone at Chalcioecus gets a warrior title if they pass their fifth year trials."
"That's in Greece, right?" she asked, despite herself. She thought she'd heard Sirius and James make a joke or two about the Amazonian witches of Chalcioecus. She wasn't sure how much of their speculation held any merit, however. "Is it true it's an all-female school?"
"Of course," Antiope said, shaking her short hair back from her face impatiently. "It's why our graduates are so capable. No romantic distractions, so we are better able to focus on our studies."
"Makes sense," she said politely, though she wondered whether there was an equivalent school for boys in Greece.
"I wonder," a beautiful girl with a veritable curtain of silvery hair trailing behind her sidled up to them and cut in, "if you will find all zes boys… distracting." The girl's French accent was heavy, but the amusement slid through unencumbered.
Antiope scoffed. "Nothing could distract me from winning this tournament. The honor of my school and the Athenai depends on it." The short girl excused herself with a stiff smile and a less-than-friendly glance at the French girl.
"Fleur Delacour," the girl said, extending her hand palm-down. She spoke so quickly that Rigel's brain automatically attempted to translate until she realized the girl had merely given her name.
"Enchante," Rigel murmured automatically, bending over the girl's slender fingers belatedly. "I'm Rigel. Beaubatons?"
"Naturellement." Fleur smiled prettily, gesturing to the signature blue skirt and jacket she wore. "And you would be 'ogwarts. We wondered 'oo ze last pureblood was."
"Are you—"
"'alfblood, apparently," Fleur huffed, letting a sneer briefly disrupt her beautiful face. "'onestly, zes regulations are made by old fashioned bigots."
"They are quite restrictive, I've heard," she offered, wondering whether Delacour was referring to the multi-generational requirement or the disqualification of creature blood as pure. There was something not-quite-human about the way the older girl's hair floated about her. "I was going to ask whether you were looking forward to the tournament, though."
She blinked lovely eyes at her. "Ah. Madam Maxime insisted I participate, but when I saw zes ridiculous regulations I was more inclined to win zan before, I admit."
Rigel smiled. "Best of luck, then."
Delacour favored her with a disbelieving look, but nonetheless said, "You as well, Rigel Somezing." She wandered off, starlight-like hair floating after her.
Rigel rewarded herself for having spoken to two people already by drifting toward the food and helping herself to a plate. She gravitated toward the more interesting ones, choosing an empanada, some sort of triangular cheese pita, and what looked like a mottled boiled egg that smelled oddly sweet. She was about to dip a curious spoon into some kind of soup when a deep drawl stayed her hand.
"I vouldn't try the Shkembe if I ver you. It is not to English taste."
She pulled back from the soup and tilted her head at the rest of the table. "What then?" she asked over her shoulder, eyes still on the array of strange things before her.
"The Lozovi Sarmi." A thick forearm reached past her waist to indicate some sort of little green wrap, so she plucked a couple of them and examined the minced insides with interest.
"Thanks," she said, turning around to smile at the boy who'd helped her. She had to hold her breath momentarily to avoid choking at the sight of Victor Krum, of all people, slouching at her shoulder in fur-lined burgundy dress robes. She smiled wanly.
Krum peered at her beneath a heavy brow. "You look familiar. Ver you at the Vorld Cup?"
Her smile widened with an effort. "You must have met my cousin, Harry. We look very similar."
"Are you talking about Harry Potter?" A voice Rigel recognized piped up from behind Krum, confirming what Archie had already told her. Hermione Granger shifted her weight nervously as Krum stepped sideways to include her. "Harry's my best friend," she added, somewhat awkwardly. "I'm Hermione Granger." She seemed to hesitate between Rigel and Krum before offering her hand to Rigel first.
She took care to inject friendly warmth into her voice as she grasped it and said, "Great to meet you, Miss Granger. As you probably know, I'm Rigel, Harry's cousin. She speaks very highly of you. If you need anything at all while you are here, don't hesitate to ask me. And this is Victor Krum," she went on, automatically introducing the two of them. At Krum's frown, she nearly swallowed her tongue, adding, "to whom I have not been properly introduced. Please excuse my presumption, Mr. Krum."
Krum grunted dismissively. "It happens often. Pleased to meet you, Miss Granger." He bowed over her hand, and Rigel belatedly realized she'd forgotten to do the same. Merlin, she was mucking this up. Now it looked like she didn't afford Hermione the same respect she did Delacour, at least if anyone noticed.
"Just Hermione is fine," the curly-haired witch said, flushing slightly. "We'll all be getting to know one another fairly well, I expect."
"Her-mo-ninny," Krum said carefully. "This is American name?" He was eyeing the AIM crest sewn neatly into her cloak.
Hermione's flush deepened. "No, I'm British, actually. I go to school in the United States because, well, I'm muggleborn." Her chin lifted ever-so-slightly and pride kept her voice firm.
Krum seemed more intrigued than put off by her declaration. "A long vay to travel for school, I am thinking," he said. "In Eastern Europe ve have separate schools for new bloods. Not so far from Durmstrang. Ve do not send them over the sea." He seemed to find the idea funny, though it was hard to tell, as his expression didn't change much.
"Are those schools equal to Durmstrang?" Hermione asked. "Because if they aren't, muggleborns might as well cross the ocean. AIM is nice because it's a top-notch education and they don't discriminate."
"Everyone discriminates." This comment came from a dark-skinned boy with colorfully patterned robes who was making his way steadily down the buffet table toward them. His plate was too full to add any more food, so he paused to eat the top layer down before continuing.
"What do you mean by that?" Hermione asked.
The boy had just stuffed a miniature meat pie in his mouth, and he smiled at them apologetically as he chewed. When he'd finally swallowed, he said, "Traveling so very far for school cannot be an easy thing. If a poor child also wanted to go to this school, could he afford it?" As he spoke, a small stone hanging around his neck flickered with a soft orange glow that faded when he stopped. There was a runic sequence engraved in the stone, and after a moment Rigel realized it was a translation charm. His English still held traces of stiltedness, but was altogether easier to understand than either Krum or Delacour had been at first.
Hermione had bitten her lip to think it over. She admitted, "Tuition is quite steep for foreign students. But there are scholarships."
"Not so many as there are poor children, I think," the boy said, still smiling cheerfully. Hermione was openly troubled, and the boy hesitated before biting into a fried puff. "I hope my words do not offend. I am Tahiil Diric Zahi, of Majeerteen."
Rigel and the other two offered their names in return, and Tahiil's face lit with enthusiasm at Krum's surname. "You I know of," he said, beaming. "Will they let you fly in the competition, you think?"
"Not likely," Krum said gruffly. He didn't seem pleased with his notoriety, a feeling Rigel completely sympathized with. She felt worse, suddenly, for not allowing him to introduce himself before.
"Sorry. Fly?" Hermione asked tentatively.
"You do not know?" Tahiil launched into an excited explanation, but Krum cleared his throat pointedly.
"It matters not for this tournament," he said sternly. "Ve vill be tested on our magic, not Quidditch."
"Well said." A tall, pale boy with neatly coiffed blond hair joined their group with a self-deprecating smile. "Jacob Owens. Muggleborn. From Ilvermorny. What a diverse little group we are. Makes you wonder if the selection is as impartial as claimed." He chuckled at his own joke, not seeming to notice that no one else found it very funny. His blue eyes scanned the four of them and, against the odds, settled on Rigel. "Black, isn't it?" Owens smirked. "I heard you're the one to watch."
"I can't imagine where," Rigel said, face blank and voice cool.
"Your reputation precedes you," he said, eyebrows raised innocently.
She doubted her reputation preceded her all the way to Ilvermorny. All she said was, "No doubt by the end of the tournament we will all have reputations."
"For better or vorse," Krum agreed darkly.
As Hermione opened her mouth to comment, the door to the Great Hall opened, ushering in sound and light. Riddle stood in the doorway, smiling out at the rest of them. "The public awaits, candidates. Muggleborns first, then halfbloods, and purebloods last. Swiftly, now."
The nine of them gravitated slowly toward the imposing politician. He was bedecked in resplendent blue robes as deep as the night sky that somehow made him look both youthful and wise. His eyes caught Rigel's as she waited for the others to organize themselves into a queue. She turned away casually.
Hermione stood at the front of the line, followed by Owens and Tahiil. Delacour was next, with Antiope and a very skinny boy with shaggy black hair. Krum took the lead position for the pureblood group, and a stoic-faced girl in a beautifully embroidered silk qipao stepped into line behind him, leaving Rigel to fall in at the end.
As Riddle led them into the hall in a stilted form of follow-the-leader, Rigel concentrated on the intricately looping hairstyle on the Asian girl in front of her to keep from having to look out at the sea of gaping faces. Then again, with so many new faces to concentrate on, she doubted anyone would be paying that much attention to her. Thank Circe for small favors.
The Great Hall was much brighter than it should have been on Halloween. Normally it was lit only by the glow of jack-o-lanterns, but tonight countless globes providing additional illumination floated about the ceiling instead. When she saw the press jostling for camera space between the middle two House tables, she understood why.
Riddle led them to stand in a horizontal line before the Head table, separated from the students and the reporters by only a dozen feet. She wanted to glance over at the Slytherin table, to see how Draco was managing the riotous emotions around them. She didn't want to appear nervous or distracted, however, so she settled her face into an expression of serene calm and kept her eyes straight ahead, focused on nothing in particular.
"Ladies and gentlemen of the press, students, professors, and distinguished guests, I present to you… your competitors!" Riddle's voice rose in a dramatic crescendo and the entire hall lapped it up excitedly. Applause rang up to the rafters, so loud Rigel was surprised it didn't blow the hair back from her temple. "Each of these talented, deserving individuals has won a place in the True Triwizard Tournament on their own merit. Tonight, the candidates will introduce themselves to the world, and then… the first test will be announced!"
The students of Hogwarts lost their minds. Roars, stomps, and cheers greeted Riddle's words, and Rigel couldn't help but wonder whether they were truly thrilled by the idea of nine adolescents like themselves risking their lives for months on end, or if perhaps they would have cheered anything that broke the monotony of the school year, regardless of the level of its insanity.
The mention of the first test did cause her gut to clench uneasily. It was an unwelcome reminder that all of this was real. She was in the tournament now, come monsters or mayhem.
Riddle retreated to the side and gestured for Hermione to proceed first. Out of the corner of her eye, Rigel saw the girl step forward two paces and lift her chin before saying, "I am Hermione Granger. British native, but schooled at the American Institute of Magic, where I am in the Healing Track. I am pleased to be chosen to participate in this tournament and proud to represent muggleborns everywhere. Thank you."
Uncertain applause broke out as Hermione waited patiently for the photographers to finish snapping photos. Rigel joined in the applause firmly and heard the other candidates join in after a moment's pause. Hermione stepped back into line, and Owens stepped up next, flashing a broad smile at the assemblage and even lifting a hand to wave as though the applause had already begun. "Jacob Owens, born and raised in the United States. I attend Ilvermorny, in the Horned Serpent House, and hope to pursue a career in International Relations following my graduation this spring. Winning this tournament would be a great honor, and I am humbled by the chance to compete. Thank you." He bowed upon concluding his remarks, but the degree was overdone and Rigel didn't think he truly understood how it would be perceived. Nonetheless, polite applause won out and Owens, too, stepped back.
It went on in that vein, with Tahiil cheerfully introducing himself, Delacour proudly proclaiming a quarter-Veela heritage, and Antiope stiffly intoning the honor and glory she intended to win for her school. The final halfblood candidate spoke with a lilt that rose and fell like water over stone, introducing himself as Matheus Sousa. "I am from Brazil, going to Castelobruxo, so this weather I do not love so much, but I look forward to see what else England has to show." His short speech and laid-back grin won him more than a few giggles, and Rigel doubted the smooth way he tossed his hair back as the cameras flashed was unrehearsed.
Krum stepped forward as Sousa's applause was dying out, and the noise ratcheted up again immediately. He waited for the hall to quiet slightly before saying, "I am Victor Krum, of Bulgaria, representing Durmstrang Institute. It is my honor to demonstrate the strength of my school in the tournament, and I vill strive to prove myself equal to the challenges that await."
Rigel found it interesting that he, too, seemed to be more interested in promoting his school than his blood purity. Perhaps he assumed that went without saying, or perhaps he was truly interested in the tournament for other reasons.
The girl beside Rigel waited patiently for Krum's supporters to cease their wild cheering before advancing with demure steps, taking four to everyone else's two. "Good evening. I am called Shang Feiyan." Her voice was soft and melodic, and the way she said her own name was like a brief song itself. "I come from the great Middle Kingdom, where the line of the Yellow Emperor is unbroken for ten thousand years. His Majesty send me as emissary to plant the seed of harmony in foreign soil and reveal the Han splendor to the world." With her right palm clasped over her left fist, she bowed her head, slowly and smoothly, the loops in her hair swinging forward gently as she did. It wasn't until she began sliding backwards that people realized she'd finished speaking and began to applaud again. Rigel waited a few moments to allow her the accolade before stepping forward herself.
For a moment, she blanked. What was there to say, really? She wasn't honored to be participating and she didn't look forward to the challenge. She didn't truly reporesent anyone, though she supposed she owed the students of Hogwarts something for having, however unwillingly, denied any of them a chance to compete on their own.
"I'm Rigel Black," she said finally, blinking out at the sea of expectant faces. "I'll do my best. Thank you."
She stepped back quickly, despite the raucous cheers and whistles that followed her. Against her better judgment, she let her eyes scan the hall just once, and found a great many students actually on their feet as they shouted and clapped. The Weasley twins had signs. One read, 'We Love Black Magic!' and the other, 'Give 'Em A Black Eye!' She suppressed a snort and turned her eyes to the Slytherin table. Every one of her housemates was on their feet. While they didn't scream as loudly or wave their arms as wildly as the other tables, the Slytherins, to a one, looked proud. She swallowed and felt a little guilty for her underwhelming introduction. When she caught sight of Pansy's indulgent smile and Draco's fond but exasperated expression, she changed her mind. Her house knew who she was. No amount of posturing could change that now.
"Yes, thank you, candidates." Riddle was back at the forefront, smiling with all the charm at his disposal. "And a sincere thank you to our selection committee. It could not have been easy narrowing thousands of candidates world-wide down to just a few worthy individuals. Now that we have our contestants, I shall announce the first trial!" After the requisite applause, Riddle continued, his voice pitched low to elevate the intrigue of the crowd. "In precisely one fortnight, under the full moon, these nine candidates will venture into the Dark Forest and retrieve… a certain item. They will face a plethora of creatures native to the forest, as well as a few special additions. Only the candidates who succeed in evading every trap and snare, defeat the creatures they encounter, and return with their prize before the time runs out will prevail."
Murmurs and fearful exclamations met this pronouncement. Riddle looked all too pleased at the reaction. "Come now, you didn't think we'd make it easy, did you?" His amusement found a faint echo in soft chuckles around the hall. Somehow, Riddle made them forget their momentary horror and the tension in the room relaxed noticeably. "One last round of applause for our candidates! Thank you all for your attention this Samhain's Eve. Good evening."
Riddle swept from the hall, the members of the press tripping after him hastily. Dumbledore stood from his seat at the Head table and said, "Students, you are to treat these eight young guests with courtesy and respect while they reside among us. The house elves have been kind enough to prepare four rooms in the staff wing for their stay, and I trust that no student will be found loitering or otherwise trespassing upon their privacy." Rigel thought it was rather astute of him to nip any thoughts of stalking or otherwise spying on the other candidates in the bud at once. "Candidates, welcome to Hogwarts," he went on, his tone much warmer. "While you are excused from your own classes due to the nature of this event, you are welcome to attend any class here that piques your interest. Our esteemed Professor McGonagall will now show you to your chambers and handle any requests or requirements for the duration of your stay."
McGonagall stood from the staff table and made her way toward the Entrance Hall, the majority of the other candidates following hesitantly. Hermione caught Rigel's eye and smiled. She smiled back, even lifted her hand to wave so it was clear to anyone who cared to look that she knew and liked the girl.
The students began to leave themselves once it was clear the excitement had well and truly ended, and Rigel fell in with the Slytherins, trying to pretend she wasn't monumentally out of place in Draco's costly dress robes. Everyone who passed her wanted to shake her hand or clasp her shoulder in congratulations. Though she caught some envious looks, there didn't seem to be any deeply resentful or aggrieved expressions. Maybe, she thought with the smallest amount of hope, this wouldn't be so bad.
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[end of chapter seven].
A/N: Thank you again to everyone who reads the story, and a really special thanks to those who have been reading from the very beginning. I remember each and every one of your usernames and it makes me glow when I see those die-hard readers from back in the PP infancy still checking out the new chapters. For you newer readers: a great warm welcome to you as well! I hope this chapter entertained.
To anyone whose culture feels misappropriated in this last scene, I apologize. I did my best to research the different characters I wanted to include, but if I've got something wrong please feel free to PM me, review, or post in the Discord server about it. Also: I realized after deciding on the age limit that Krum is technically above it, so… I'm waving my magic wand. And he is 17. Sorry canonites.
