Chapter Two:

"Only Gods can help the angels after all".

He watches her leave, the moonlight reflecting on her silk black hair fading with her wand light into the distance.
He knows there's no use in following her - even discreetly he would be caught and probably put into a body-bind curse for students to find him the next morning, or worse - judging by her mood.
He felt a chill run down his spine from the memory of the look she gave him; "are you calling me an angel?". Her voice still reverberated in his ears.
I most certainly am not! He thought crossly.

He was interrupted from his thoughts by the portraits on the wall who were all still in an uproar following the recent encounter;

"why, I never saw such a fiery young lass!"

"what a fierce young lady!"

"I certainly felt the heat there!"

One portrait; a man with a sword and a pirate hat on his head, called out for his attention - in turn drawing the other portrait's to him; "you there! Young lad! How on Earth are you going to win her back?".

"Er, what?" he asked in the utter confusion that generally came along with being de railed from a train of particular thoughts.

"You know, calm the damsel in distress? You best get used to doing that by now, boy!"

"Oooh yes!" Another portrait chimed in; an elderly lady wearing a tall yellow wig with multitudes of folds in her giant dress; "you must treat her better than that if you wish to win her hand in marriage!"

"What!?" Septimus shrieked, staring in horror at all the portraits who were all looking at him expectantly; just what did these lunatics think they were watching anyway?

"It's not like that! I'm trying to find something out and she won't tell me!" "There's nothing to do with marriage!" He waved his arms about defensively, which caused his wand light to shine on the portraits - making him realise just what a large audience they had had.

"Do you suspect there to be another man?" A portrait with a heavy French accent asked calmly, as if he was asking whether he thought it was about to rain.

"No!" "I mean, its not like that!" He replied frantically, flustered from the attention of the crowd of portraits looming down at him.

"Oh I wouldn't be so sure, lad, women like that tend to have many admirers"; the old blonde lady crooned pityingly with a knowing look on her face, that seemed to be the expression of choice amongst most of the other portraits as well.

He blushed in embarrassment, absolutely lost for words, how did he manage to get himself into these ridiculous situations anyway?

He was spared having to answer - most unfortunately as he would soon find.

"Mr Weasley, do you find yourself with no friends as to have gone to the length of having to secretly rendezvous with portraits in the middle of the night?" A concerned disapproving voice interjected the awkwardness in the air.

He whipped around coming face to face with a portly young man with a face that always seemed jolly towards others but never to him.

"Professor Slughorn! I…. " He looked at the portraits for help but they had all conveniently decided to have fallen asleep within the 2 seconds since their last conversation.

What had he expected after all? It's not like meeting up with portraits was an actual excuse that could get him out of trouble anyway. He shouldn't have been so loud in the first place! There was a reason Cedrella never got caught after hours. Although Cedrella was one of his favourite students - so there was that too, he supposed.

The way the professor looked sternly down on him from his wide nose coupled with his current situation and track record; he already knew there was nothing he could say or do to get out of this one.

With a heavy sigh and one last longing look at the full moon through the window at the end of the hall, he casts his eyes down to his shoes and proceeds on with grudging familiarity, as Professor Slughorn escorts him back to his dormitory and details his impending detention service - as usual.

She moves towards the window, away from the table they are all crowded around; lit only by moonlight and a few candles some of them thought to bring, plates of food sit around scattered parchment, scheming and debating, all dressed up in fancy robes like it's some kind of soiree her parents would host.

Pretentious wind bags, the lot of them! She fumes, looking out the tall window, with her back to them.

Although the moon is in all it's full glory, its always the stars that entrance her.
The grounds are visible in the moonlight and it makes her think of the few times she's seen Septimus play quidditch there. With a frustrated sigh she thinks that for such a stubborn and headstrong boy, he didn't really seem to think anything through. After all how many times had she seen him run the quaffle down the pitch in a way that was so unpredictable that the opposing team could never hope to chase him down. Of course she suspected she was the only one who knew that he didn't really have a plan, that he just made it up as he went - everyone else just seemed to think he was some genius quidditch tactician. The irony was of constant amusement to her.

"Black? Are you even listening?" "Do you think you can pull off the enchantments or not?" Lestrange's stern raspy voice cuts through her thoughts.

They were all looking at her. She couldn't let them see through her facade.

"She's not interested Lestrange, let me do them, I've got a few ideas. She can join the offensive instead". A fourth year Ravenclaw boy stood up eagerly hands clenched into fists.

"No! I'll do them". She interjected with an air of authority laced into her voice. "I've seen your spell-work in charms Bletchley, you're terrible".
He wasn't really all that bad - rather good for his age actually, but it was important to establish authority. And she would not be on the offensive.

"If you want the plan to go accordingly you'll keep your mouth shut"; she serves a stern look to the Bletchley boy and turns to Lestrange; "I'll have them done within a week", she said determinedly looking him straight in the eyes for good measure.

He looks at her for a while - holding her gaze as if testing her will, before giving her a nod, returning to studying his parchments; mapping the rest of the plan out.

She releases a breath she didn't know she was holding, acutely aware of the fourth year boy's eyes digging into the side of her head.

Sick of all the little battles fought so far since the stroke of midnight, she decides she's had enough of meetings in the dark for one night.
"If you'll all excuse me, I'm tired and need to get some sleep" she states primly.

She turns and walks out the room before anyone can stop her, waving her wand with a flourish as she passes through the door; rigged with protective charms and barriers to keep everyone in and anybody else out, with ease.

A/N:

Thanks for reading guys! Let me know if you liked it or even if you didn't like it - do you like Black and Weasley so far? I must confess I certainly love their dynamic =D Random fact; I imagine Nocturne in Bb minor would be the theme to this story.