Chapter 26: Tension

Brie startled awake with a gasp. He was sweating profusely, with the strange sensation of being freezing hot. Magic rolled wild and untamed around him, thick and sickly sweet. He struggled to breathe, but inhaling it churned his stomach.

He lurched to his feet and stumbled to the bathroom, retching violently into the toilet as soon as he reached it. He emptied his stomach and continued to dry heave, his entire body shaking in reaction.

It was too warm.

He pulled off his shirt, gasping as his sweat-soaked skin made contact with the chill air. He took a few deep breaths, trying to calm down. After a minute he stood, bracing himself against the cool tiles of the wall. He stumbled to the sink and used his hands to rinse out his mouth. He splashed cold water across his face, then used his discarded shirt as a towel.

He cursed slightly as a glance in the mirror showed that his glamours had shattered. It would take days to build them up as strong as they had been, and he doubted he would be given that much time before the next attack.

Exhausted, he stood with his head down, arms braced against the sink, trembling as he mentally reviewed his Occlumency barriers. They were barely holding. He had not suffered so pervasive a mental attack since Shay had first taught him the art. That Voldemort had come so close to shattering his mental walls frightened him more than he cared to admit, even to himself.

"Harry Potter is dead," he muttered in a half-hearted attempt to convince himself. "There is no Potter here. Only me. Only me."

Neville stared up at the canopy of his bed. In the dim light, the curtains appeared brown and heavy, more like stone than cloth. He wondered what had woken him up at - he checked his clock - 3 am.

There were no sounds in the dorm – even Seamus was sleeping quietly. Maybe that was it, Neville thought. Everything was too quiet. The air was too heavy. It felt as though Crookshanks was sitting on his chest, keeping him from breathing deeply. He checked to make sure this wasn't the case.

Still, there was something cloying about the air tonight. A sickly sweetness like rotten fruit lingered in their dorm, making him feel queasy. Almost as soon as he noticed it, the feeling intensified until Neville felt sticky with it.

He was considering getting up to take a shower – anything for relief – when Gabriel's curtains were ripped open.

Neville stared as the other teen stumbled into the bathroom. The sound of retching pulled him to his feet and he padded quietly over to the door of the bathroom. He paused, not quite willing to intrude. He doubted the other boy would take kindly to being seen vulnerable.

As he watched Gabriel dry heave, he noticed that the sweetness was leaving the room. Had it made Gabriel sick? It had surely nauseated Neville enough. Or was it somehow the result of Gabriel's sickness? Neville had seen plenty of magical ailments during his visits with his parents, and some of them had strange scents attached to them.

His train of thought was abruptly derailed when Gabriel pulled off his shirt and stood, leaning heavily on the bathroom wall. His back was to the door and Neville had to stuff his fist in his mouth to keep from making a sound. His friend's back was a lattice of scars, and very few looked like the sort he might have picked up during his stint as the Archangel. They looked like someone had taken a heavy belt to his back.

He remembered back to their conversation about parents all those years ago, wondering what had been left out. No wonder Ms Rai had adopted him. Neville was hardly a fan of the mal Théas, but he knew that they would never even dream of hurting a child of their family.

So who was Gabriel, really? Neville had always assumed that his parents had been mal Théas, but seeing him now…

Then Gabriel stumbled to the sink, and Neville could see him in the mirror. He retreated further into the shadows by the door. If Gabriel knew he'd been seen like this… Neville wasn't willing to take his chances as Augusta's grandson. He retreated to his bed and pulled the covers up to his chin, waiting until he heard the shower turn on before he relaxed.

It was a long time before sleep reclaimed him that night.

Brie went to Potions already in a bad mood. When Snape spent the period glaring balefully at him, his mood did not improve. What was the man's problem? Last Brie checked, he hadn't done anything worth the man's ire. Sure he'd skipped classes yesterday, but he was pretty sure that Snape had been pissed off before that.

When class was finally dismissed, he waved Blaise and Hermione to go on without him. He waited impatiently for the room to empty, then walked up to the professor. Snape didn't look up from grading papers. After a moment of watching the man give all the 2nd year Gryffindors failing marks, Brie decided he was fed up with nonsense. He'd had a horrible night that not even an hour long shower had been able to redeem. He was grouchy, mentally sore, and even more paranoid than usual.

"(What crawled up your ass and died?)" he inquired in Hindi.

Snape looked up with a sneer. "Speak English," he snapped. He added something under his breath that sounded suspiciously like 'bloody foreigners,' which only served to increase Brie's own irritation.

"What's your problem? Professor."

"My problem?" Snape repeated with a glare, "my problem is that I gave you a certain text over four months ago, and I still have not heard anything. I have not even been charged a translation fee. I understand the translation process should have taken a third of that time."

Brie was tempted to roll his eyes, but restrained himself. He was irritated, yes, but not irritated enough to want this man as an enemy. Snape was far more valuable as an ally, or at least as a neutral party.

"My cousin has been busy," he said instead. "Your translation is not the sole focus of her life."

He was purposefully vague about who was doing the work – no matter which mal Théa governed the negotiations over a Parseltongue translation, they always referred to the translator as 'my cousin.' Brie found it worked as well for him as any of his other relatives, and he threw in the feminine pronoun for his own amusement.

"You may write to my uncle for an update on my cousin's progress. I'm sure he would be happy to assist such a valued member of his Social Club."

Snape's expression turned from dark to murderous. "Get out," he hissed, seething. Brie readily complied, a malicious little smile curling his lips.

Hermione was laughing as she preceded Brie through the portrait hole and back into their common room. She had almost stopped being surprised by his unexpected humor, but every once in awhile it still caught her off guard. Sometimes it was nice to be surprised, she decided. She wanted to be surprised more often.

Ginny had risen as Hermione stepped through the entrance, and now she stood, loose limbed, face tight. Neville still sat on the couch where the two had been working on homework together. He didn't look up from his parchment, though he carefully set down his quill. Ron and Seamus fell silent where they sat on the floor with a chessboard, and Dean straightened in his chair.

Hermione's laughter died on her lips at the tense, silent tableau. She could feel Brie tensing behind her, and she wondered whether he was preparing to attack.

"Hello, Hermione." Ginny's voice wavered slightly, betraying her nerves.

Hermione swallowed, looked between her friends, then looked around the rest of the common room. It had fallen quiet, though everyone appeared engrossed in their own business. At least they were being given a vestige of privacy.

"Hello, Ginny. Neville, Dean, Seamus. Ron." She gave each a friendly nod, trying not to look completely off balance. "Is, um… is something the matter?"

"Oh, I don't know," Ginny's voice rose slightly. "I didn't think so, but then I realized that the only time I ever see my best friend anymore is at dinner. So I thought 'oh! That's nothing – she's just busy with school.' But then I realized that when I see my best friend at dinner, it isn't a chummy 'sitting next to me' sort of seeing. It's a 'watching her across the room at a different table' sort of seeing. So you tell me, Hermione. Is something the matter?"

Ginny's voice was shrill by the end, and she looked as though she was fighting tears. Hermione felt like she'd been slapped.

"I-I've spent time with you!" she protested, hands clutching the straps of her book bag. "In the common room! Doing homework, Ginny, just like you and Nev."

"Sure." Ginny's voice had returned to a normal volume, though she didn't sound any happier. "Sure, you spend time in the same physical space with us. Geez, how stupid of me. Of course you spend time with us. Never mind that you're usually stuck in big books or talking to your new best friend – no, of course your right. You're always right. And never mind that you'd rather spend time with Slytherins – with Malfoy – then spend time with us."

Hermione opened her mouth, but she couldn't think of a defense. She hadn't been prepared for this attack. Oh, she'd wondered when Ron would get on her case about the Slytherin thing, but she hadn't expected Ginny to come at her with neglect. Had Ron put her up to this? Before she could make her own accusations, Ginny held up a forestalling hand.

"Don't. Hermione, just… just don't. I know you've got that stupid project that 'forces' you to spend all your time in the Library. I don't want to hear about it. When I first met you, I knew that school was always going to come first in your life. That's what I love about you, remember? You're dedicated. You're hardworking."

Now they were both crying. Hermione hugged herself while the anger seemed to drain out of the redhead. The tenseness remained.

"Hermione, I'm not your boss. I can't tell you what to do or who to hang out with. If you're making new friends, that's okay. I'm happy for you. I just don't want you to forget your old friends. I can't make you choose them or me – and I wouldn't want to try, because at this point you might pick them, and I don't want to loose you."

They stood there for another moment, then Ginny turned and disappeared into her dorm. Hermione didn't wait to talk to the boys. Dropping her book bag by the couch, she rushed after her redheaded friend and disappeared up the stairs.

Albus sighed and looked up from the letter. He was getting tired of seeing this man's handwriting, and he wandered why he had been crazy enough to agree to allow a mal Théa into his school. Young Leverett Defayne was a good boy, at least, but the rest of that family… Well, he'd just as soon they kept themselves in France.

At least this was a letter he would have been given even without Gabriel's presence at Hogwarts. The mal Théa family had the only known Parseltongue this century other than the Dark Lord, and Albus would rather gamble on a mal Théa than Voldemort when it came to the personal belongings of Salazar Slytherin.

"Well?" Severus asked with a scowl. "Are you going to continue to allow these people to walk all over us?"

Albus stroked his beard, considering the situation. "That he did not send it here with his nephew after break indicates that is was only recently finished or that he feels it necessary to meet with you in person, in which case-"

"In which case a meeting at the Hogshead would suffice," Severus grumbled. Albus shook his head.

"No, no, that would be too public. Coming here would give the transaction a vestige of legitimacy."

It was Severus's turn to shake his head in disagreement, though he kept silent. Albus sighed.

"You know this man – and his associates – better than I do, Severus. If you believe it is best that he does not come to Hogwarts, then I shall refuse him. Otherwise, you have my permission to do whatever is necessary to secure that translation, including offering the hospitality of this school to Akshay mal Théa."

Severus was silent, but Albus could tell that he was pleased by the Headmaster's gesture of trust. They finished their tea and Severus stood to leave.

"Thank you, Headmaster."

"Thank you my boy – this is an important step toward the end of the war, once and for all."

Severus hesitated. "What about the prophecy?"

"We have the Other. He will have to do. Good evening, Severus."

"I… Good evening, Albus."

Defense began with a bang, courtesy of Dean and Seamus.

Brie usually enjoyed the class, finding the antics of his classmates and his professor amusing enough to make up for what he considered dull coursework. Of course, it also helped that he had a very good reason for trying to make friends with the easy-going ex-con.

At the moment they were brainstorming shield spells with their partners. As usual, he was sitting next to Hermione. To his delight, though not to his surprise, she was keeping pace with him in naming off charms and wards. Some he had never heard of and more were those he tended to disregard as impractical during battle, but they were valid shields nonetheless. As Hermione pointed out, not all shields were meant to be used by combatants. What about the mediwitch who had to tend the wounded on a battlefield? She needed a permanent shield of a different sort. What about the innocent bystander? He needed a different type of shield as well. It was an interesting exercise, and he found himself a more active participant than normal. His attentiveness was rewarded with House points and the pleased smiles of Professor Black.

As the period ended, Black beckoned him over. The professor was grinning at him as the room emptied, so Brie was fairly certain he wasn't about to be punished.

"Your knowledge is impressive," Black remarked, "when you deign to share it. Have you considered participating more often?"

"Yes," Brie responded, a little smile tugging on his lips. He honestly liked this man who, in another life, had been his godfather. "The thought had crossed my mind."

Black's laugh was harsh, like the bark of a big dog. "Smart, kid. Anyways, the Headmaster asked me to organize a dueling club. I need an assistant. You would be expected to spend time making lesson plans and helping me teach your peers how to duel. I want to meet Tuesday nights for now, but that might change. What do you say?"

Brie's first instinct was to say a great, resounding NO. He did not want to waste his time trying to teach little kids how to cast a proper disarming spell. Never mind that he had been younger than they when his own lessons began…

His second thought, however, was that this was the opportunity he'd been waiting for. He wanted Black to trust him, and for that, he needed to spend time with the professor – and here was Black, giving him the opportunity with no effort on his part!

"You don't have to answer now," Black reassured him as he hesitated.

Brie shook his head. This was too good an opportunity to pass up. He had to do it.

"Thank you for your offer, Professor. With a few conditions, I would be happy to assist you."

"Like what?" the man's curiosity – and a slight wariness – was written across his face like an open book. Brie searched his mind for some conditions to offer.

"First, that I be allowed to work with both advanced and beginner students."

"Yes," Black agreed quickly, as Brie had expected him to.

"Second, that along with stylized dueling, the students learn real fighting."

"Ok," Black nodded slowly, obviously seeing the sense in that, even if the Ministry's DADA curriculum could not.

"Third," Brie paused as an idea tugged at the edge of his mind. He continued without thinking on it too closely. "I want to take the more promising students on a weekend training expedition." It had been too long since he had company while training. While he enjoyed the solitude, it was nice to have company every once in awhile.

"We'll have to discuss that one in detail," Black shrugged. "I'll agree to the general principle, but I can't make any promises."

Brie nodded – that was more than fair on the professor's part. If it fell through, oh well. That wasn't the condition he was dead set on being granted. In fact, he didn't really care about anything he'd said so far. He'd proposed them as a way to test the water and because the professor would be expecting him to try and negotiate for his own benefit. The last condition was the only one that he cared about.

"And - I want to teach them about the Dark Arts."