Prefects

I wake up in a shuttered, unfamiliar room sometime the next morning. After a second of panic, I remember I'm at 12 Grimmauld Place and not Fleur's, and I sink back into the covers.

"What time is it?" I ask sleepily, turning my head in the direction of Hermione's and Ginny's beds. Only there's no other beds in the room, and I sit up quickly at the realization.

Looking around, I quickly realize that I've never seen this room before in my life. The dark green curtain hanging in front of the window blocks all light except a small slit that the curtain doesn't reach, where the tiniest rays escape into the room. Using the feeble light, I examine my surroundings, more than a little scared.

The room is painted in Slytherin colours, dark green and silver decorating the entire room. A fireplace sits opposite the bed, lined with faded newspaper clippings. I lean forward, trying to read the writing, and notice a picture among the articles. It's obviously a photograph of a Quidditch team, though in the dark I can't make out faces, or which team they play for.

I'm sitting on the bed, leaned forward like that when the door creaks open.

"Master?" a raspy, thin voice croaks. I look over to the doorway to find Kreacher paused there with wide eyes, his hand still on the doorknob. He's more alert in that moment than I've ever seen him.

"No," I say hastily, rising to my feet. "Sorry, I don't know how I've gotten here…must've been sleepwalking or something."

He slumps when he realizes it's only me. "The others are at breakfast," he says dully. "Master Sirius says to find you and tell you, there's an owl with a letter for you in the kitchen."

"Thank you," I say, getting to my feet. "Could you tell me how to get to the room I'm supposed to be in?"

"Three floors down," Kreacher responds awkwardly, after a slight hesitation.

"Thank you," I say again, and when he just stares at me, I slip past him and down the stairs, three flights down, where I find the drawing room and bedroom from yesterday, just like the house-elf said. I slip out of my pajamas and into an old pair of jeans worn through one knee, and my even rattier used-to-be-white sweater before climbing down two more flights of stairs to the kitchen.

Everyone else is already assembled, and judging by the grins all around the table, I've missed something.

"Congratulations, Ron!" Mrs. Weasley exclaims, hugging her son enthusiastically. "That's everyone in the family!"

"Hey!" the twins say together indignantly.

"What are we," George says, "next-door neighbours?"

"Good morning, Ari," Sirius says, noticing me at the stairs.

"Good morning," I reply. "What's going on?"

"Ron and Hermione have been named prefects," Mrs. Weasley beams. "The news came today with their school supplies lists!"

"Wow, congratulations, guys," I say, impressed. Harry, I notice, is doing his best to look happy for the others, but his smile isn't quite reaching his eyes.

"Thanks!" they beam. Hermione seems to remember something then. "Where did you go to this morning?" she asks, as I take a seat across from her.

"Oh," I say vaguely, "just wandering about."

"You should be careful," Sirius says at that, "this place has stood empty for many years, and we've been finding all sorts of creatures, hexes, and all the rest in different rooms."

"I didn't find anything like that," I assure him. "Say, whose room is the one on the top floor? The one done up in Slytherin colours?"

My question seems innocent enough, until Sirius answers, his expression darkening. "That was my brother Regulus's room. He was sorted into Slytherin House. Mum and Dad were so proud of him; the selfish little git could do no wrong."

I don't know what to say to that, and the table grows quiet in the face of Sirius's blackened mood. I'm sorry I asked in the first place.

"Hey, you've got a letter from Hogwarts, too," Fred interrupts, cutting through the awkward silence.

"Oh," I say, snapping my attention to the envelope. "It's probably just my OWL results."

When I open the envelope, I covertly sneak the supplies list into the envelope as I unfold the second page.

ORDINARY WIZARDING LEVEL RESULTS

Pass Grades

OUTSTANDING (O)

EXCEEDS EXPECTATIONS (E)

ACCEPTABLE (A)

Fail Grades

POOR (P)

DREADFUL (D)

TROLL (T)

ARIELLE ROWENA ARCTURUS MAVROS HAS ACHIEVED:

O – CARE OF MAGICAL CREATURES

O – CHARMS

E – HERBOLOGY

D – HISTORY OF MAGIC

E – STUDY OF ANCIENT RUNES

O – TRANSFIGURATION

"Wow," Fred says from my right side, "way to go, Ari."

"Let's see," Hermione says, and the others study my paper on the other side of the table. "Well done," she says, handing the paper to Mrs. Weasley. "I can't wait to take mine this year. Such important tests – it's quite exciting."

"That's one way to look at it," Fred says drily.

"I'd say," George replies, looking at Hermione like she's sprouted another head.

"I wish I was already done my OWLs," Ron says, face falling for a moment.

"Me too," I say, "I've still got Potions and Defense Against the Dark Arts to take."

"Well done, dear!" Mrs. Weasley exclaims, having looked at my results. "You should be very proud of yourself."

"No one will blame you for the Dreadful result in History of Magic," George says with a grin. "Everyone just sleeps through that class anyway."

"I don't," Hermione interjects. I laugh at that, because of course she doesn't. She's probably the only one who faithfully jots down all the proper dates in Professor Binns's class.

"Arcturus?" Sirius asks, taking his turn with the paper. I nod, not sure why the name has grabbed his interest, other than it being odd. I find out, though, as he continues. "Unusual, though I suppose it's gotten quite common. It's been a popular family name for generations, though as the Black family tree has branched out over the years, it's popped up in many other family records. Do you know if you're some sort of distant cousin at all?"

"No idea," I say, remembering my frustration at the futility of my search earlier this summer.

"Rowena is an old family name, too," Mrs. Weasley muses, shovelling scrambled eggs onto my plate. "Though that's a Ravenclaw choice. Eat up, dears, I believe you'll be cleaning out the sunroom on the third floor today. If you all give me your school lists, I'll pick it all up today when I go. Ari, you, too – you'll have to tell me what you need, though – I have no idea what sorts of things Beauxbatons students are required to bring."

I nod, my full mouth saving me from answering her in front of the others. The table carries an easy conversation as we all eat, quieting only once we're all finished.

"Well," Sirius says moodily. "The sooner we get at that sunroom, the sooner we'll be finished. Kreacher…Kreacher!" The elf, however, doesn't show.

"Ari, would you mind just opening up his door and ordering him out?" Sirius says, exasperated.

I get up from my spot near the end and approach the fireplace. Hesitantly, I turn the little doorknob and push the door open. I barely glance inside – noticing only the dank, dark interior and a small nest of rags in one corner before Kreacher is suddenly blocking my view. I back up so he can come out, though he closes the door quickly before I can see anything else.

Kreacher climbs up on the bench to reach the dishes as the others clamber up the stairs. The poor creature can hardly reach the dishes, and I lag behind as the others head upstairs, gathering the plates nearest me.

"He can do it. Not much else he's good for," Sirius says rudely.

"I don't mind helping," I say, my own voice defensive.

"Kreacher can do his own work," Kreacher says to me, eyes narrowed.

"I know," I placate him. "But that doesn't mean you have to do it alone. I'll be up shortly," I say to Sirius, who shrugs uncaringly and heads up to join the others.

Mr. and Mrs. Weasley, about to head to town, turn to follow.

"Oh, Mrs. Weasley," I say, pulling out my list. "If you wouldn't mind picking up these for me, I'd be grateful." I already have most of the supplies, other than the new Standard Book of Spells, Grade Six, and a book called Defensive Magical Theory.

"Of course! I'd almost forgot," she says, taking the list. The insignia on the list doesn't escape her notice, and she raises her eyes to mine in question.

"Don't say anything to the others yet," I implore her. "It's a surprise, see."

"Of course," she says kindly.

"Have a good day at work," I tell Mr. Weasley, who gives a little wave as he and his wife hurry off; him to work, and Mrs. Weasley to do all our shopping.

I return to stacking dirty plates, and Kreacher narrows his gaze at me.

"Kreacher isn't needing the lady's help," he says gruffly.

"I know," I say, repeating my earlier words, "and I'm doing it anyway."

We work in silence, Kreacher washing the plates and dishes, and I dry while he does. When they're all stacked neatly on the countertop, I step back.

"I don't know where they go," I say. "I'll leave the rest, then."

"Thank you," he says grudgingly, the first polite words I've heard him utter.

"You're welcome," I say, a smile stretching across my face. I bound up the stairs to the third floor to join the others, where, it turns out, they're throwing sopping sponges at another, a task I happily join in on.

I'm in a good mood still when I slip into bed that night and sleep as deeply as the night before.

I wake suddenly, however, in the middle of the night. It isn't long this time, before I recognize my surroundings as the Slytherin room on the top floor – Sirius's brother's room. I shiver, chilled at finding myself here again, and slip back down to my own bed without attracting attention.