In the grand tradition of Slytherin Rising, I've decided to create a little challenge to my loyal readers:
Last evening (10/6/01), I uploaded an edited version of PtQ to ff.net. There are four content changes (two of them on the same topic) in this version (not counting any corrections for spelling/punctuation). Your mission, should you choose to accept it, is to find the changes! Drop me an email at riley139@yahoo.com when you think you've got me. I will accept it as a "complete" win if you can only find one of the two changes on the same topic, but find the other two.
And, again in Ms. Matthews' brilliant tradition, the first person to correctly identify all the little edits gets an advance peek at the next chapter!
I realize it may be arrogant of me to think that anyone has read this beast that carefully, but on the
other hand I'd just looooove to reward the memories of anyone who has!
Notes for this chapter:
Catlin and Florian Teasdale are named for the Catlin and Florian in Cyteen, who aren't twins but are definitely partners, not to mention supercool. Blaise and her Pooh Bear are a gestalt of (yet again) Cyteen (in which Ari Junior's "Poo-thing" is a featured player) and #15 in J.L. Matthews' hilarious "Rules of Being a Successful Slytherin". Blaisie is most certainly to be feared.... Padadise Lost is a Milton ref, not one to EbonyJ's "Trouble in Paradise". sigh
And, while I'm on the subject.... Sometime in the next few chapters I intend to address the issue of
wizarding inheritance. Now that Blaise is here, it shouldn't be too long in coming :D so I thought
I'd do the note now. Rowlings has said that wizards live longer than Muggles (Dumbledore's
about 150 according to her and who would know better? ; ) which means that the usual pattern
of children inheriting at their parents' deaths wouldn't work too well. So I cribbed a(nother)
notion from Cyteen, that of joint property, with parents and their adult-age children holding the
family assets in common (the folk in Cyteen also have extended lifespans, thanks to, uh,
post-modern medical technology... GRIN). Cherryh doesn't go into it at any length, though, so
I'm mostly on my own except for the concept itself. Robert Heinlein probably addresses that issue
somewhere in his "Lazarus Long" books, but I don't remember it specifically. And speaking of
Heinlein, the "Lazy [Wo]Man Who Couldn't Fail" is his, from Time Enough For Love.
Chapter 10: A Pair of Pawns
All too soon, classes started up again and the school was once again swarming with students.
Snape, knowing imminent disaster when it stared him in the face, took steps to head it off. The evening before classes resumed, he called Draco Malfoy into his office.
His normal reaction to the boy's presence was somewhere between distaste and a certain bitter amusement... but tonight he was astonished to feel his stomach actually roil with anger at the sight of Lucius' spawn strutting into his office.
Draco draped himself over a chair, uninvited, looked up at him with a mixture of his usual sycophancy and--- was that a hint of a sneer? Turning into his father. "You wanted to see me, sir?"
Snape smiled thinly. "That I did, Mister Malfoy, that I did." He got to his feet and came around the desk, leaned against the heavy wood with his arms folded, looking down at little Malfoy... and let the silence build.
He waited until some of the smugness had ebbed out of the boy's countenance, until Draco regarded him with just a trace of the nervousness most students showed in this office. Then he let the smile widen into something more friendly. "I believe you were responsible for your father's choice of a... Christmas present for me?"
It took a moment for Lucius' boy to understand--- clearly the son was not the equal of the father (could he take credit for spoiling the boy? Probably not). Then the light dawned... and Draco smiled, callow imitation of his father's smirk. "Did you... like it, sir?" he asked; almost funny to see the boy striving so hard to talk with him man-to-man, to seem worldly-wise and clever and sly.
"Oh, yes, indeed," he said silkily, leaning forward a tad. "And did your father tell you to what use I intend to put his... present?" Draco's smirk faltered slightly. "No? Then let me enlighten you." He pushed himself up off the desk, clasped his hands behind his back, and began to prowl about Draco's chair with slow thoughtful strides. "This... present... is in a perfect position to be useful to our cause--- I'm sure you understand that?" Conspiratorial smile that the Malfoy-spawn had to look over his shoulder to see. "In fact, if we handle the situation correctly, we can be responsible for the ultimate success of our cause." Speaking obliquely with a brute like Lucius Malfoy's son was difficult--- but it had to be done. One didn't come out and discuss the kind of things that had happened in Lucius Malfoy's dungeon openly. Even if one was the head of Slytherin.
Dear Draco took the bait--- his father would be so disappointed in him. "What--- what are we going to do?" he asked, his eyes alight with a hideous eagerness.
"For now," Snape said gently, "I am going to do what I need to. And you---" he came around so that he and Draco were face-to-face--- "are going to do likewise." He leaned down, resting his hands on the arms of Draco's chair, a posture that could be either intimate or threatening. "Say nothing of this to anyone. Give none of the other teachers a reason to suspect anything, give none of your classmate cause to. In all other respects---" he leaned back again--- "carry on as usual."
The Malfoy-spawn's smile was conspiratorial. "That's just what Father said."
Snape inclined his head slightly--- while inside the tight knot in his stomach relaxed. So, his caution made sense, even within his persona as a Death Eater in good standing. "Very good." He stepped back from Draco's chair. "Have a pleasant evening, young man."
Draco glided to his feet, youthful version of his father. At the door, he paused, the smug smile turned conspiratorial. "You too, sir."
Snape paused only long enough to unlock the door before bearing down on his desk--- and the drawer that held the bottle of Laphroaig. He needed to wash the foul taste out of his mouth.
That was one worry out of the way--- little Draco wouldn't put Hermione in a dangerous position. The last thing she needed was more strain on her nerves.
What she did need, however, was... a friend. What she'd probably needed all along, come to think of it. Someone besides Weasley and Potter, someone trustworthy and as bright as she was... another young woman perhaps.
And the envelope on his desk from dear cousin Claire suggested a solution.
*****
Hermione couldn't fight a slight flicker of apprehension as she, Harry, and Ron walked into the Potions classroom together. It wasn't that she was afraid of seeing Snape, precisely... but seeing him in a classroom, after everything that had happened, trying to be just another student, trying to treat him as just another teacher. To behave normally, when his voice sent warm shivers up and down her spine and settled a warm lump in her belly....
The eighth square. Think of the eighth square.
Right on cue, Ron's hand found hers--- she had to fight the urge to flinch away. "It's okay, Hermione, you'll be fine."
As soon as you let go of me, I will be. But his little gesture did calm her, if not for the reasons he'd hope. At least she could be around Snape without flinching every time he touched her.
They took their seats at their usual table in the back of the room; Hermione couldn't help but feel a twinge of guilt. She usually liked to be near the front of a class, and skulking in the back of hisroom seemed now like a betrayal.
But she forgot all about that as Draco Malfoy walked into the classroom
Malfoy. She hadn't even thought about him--- stupid, stupid. Surely, he'd know what his father and Snape had done? What was he going to say?
Harry was clearly thinking along the same lines; he leaned over and whispered urgently, "You think Malfoy--- knows?"
She could only nod shakily, vaguely aware that on her other side Ron was muttering threats, only able to watch Malfoy and his cronies--- Dear Merlin, he looks like his father, and felt her stomach roil.
Malfoy looked at her--- one long look, and her heart plummeted at his little knowing smirk. But he only turned, after a moment, and went to sit between his two goons.
Harry stared, and Ron asked, "What's his game, I wonder, the git?"
But Hermione had been doing some quick thinking. "Snape," she whispered. "I don't know how, but Snape must've warned him off me---"
Both boys looked dubious, but didn't have a chance to respond, for at that moment, the object of their discussion himself swept into the classroom.
Despite herself, Hermione felt her heart flip over at the sight of him--- never mind she'd spent last evening in his office, discussing the finer points of magical micro-chemistry--- it was still a shock to see him there, as always... when nothing was the same.
If Snape had any such reaction, he didn't show it--- except perhaps in the slight flicker in his eyes as they passed over her. He glided to the front of the room and started talking about Healing Potions.
After a few minutes, Hermione managed to recover from the shock of being around him and hearing that silky voice in a normal setting, and chided herself for her inattention. Some queen you are! She even managed to get her hand waving in the air as usual, though her voice might have quavered a little when she explained how a Healing Potion could be misused to cause a very nasty form of cancer--- and did those cold dark eyes warm a little with approval? She wasn't sure.
By the time they'd broken up into groups to start preparing their Healing Potions, she was almost back to normal. She joined Neville at the back of the room, firmly quashing the sense of resignation she always felt at, well, letting him ride her coattails.
"Miss Granger." She started at Snape's silky voice, nearly dropped a vial of sea salt as he swooped down upon her. So much for composure. "I think Longbottom's had the advantage of your--- expertise--- long enough," he sneered. "Go sit next to Miss Zabini."
Hermione looked up at him, nervously; the glitter in his eyes gave away nothing.
He's got a reason for it, I'm certain. "Yes, sir." She gathered up her bag and her cauldron. Come to think of it, wasn't Blaise Zabini in her Arithmancy class? You had to have decent scores to stay in that course after your first year of it. And she had wanted a break from Neville....
As Hermione came over, Blaise Zabini looked up: a slim, dark-haired girl with a pale face and sharp silvery eyes. "Hello."
"Hello." Hermione set her things down and began to set up. After a moment, she felt like she should say something. "I hope you don't mind---"
"What mind? It was Professor Snape's idea. Besides---" the silvery eyes got a mischievous glint--- "bet you're better company than Pansy 'the future Mrs. Draco Malfoy' Parkinson."
Hermione stared at her. I guess this must be my year for unexpected bursts of candor from Slytherins. Blaise continued blithely, "And I'll bet you're not sorry not to have to do Longbottom's work for him either." She shrugged, turning back to her cauldron.
"Er---" Well, the other girl had been more than honest about her house; didn't she deserve a little candor in return? "Very much so."
Blaise Zabini looked up at her--- then smiled, a little shyly.
They worked in companionable silence for a few minutes. Hermione noticed that Blaise's measurements were as precise as her own, even to topping off the scoops of powdered comfrey with the same motion: lift, tap, and swipe.
The potion called for Mandrake roots; Hermione amused herself imagining the sullen wrinkled little man-shape under her knife as Lucius Malfoy. It was a great deal of fun dismembering him.
"Who's yours?" The soft uncertain voice made her look up to see Blaise regarding her with interest. They looked awkwardly at each for a moment, then the other girl added hastily, "You'll never guess who mine is."
"Parkinson?" Hermione hazarded, relieved to be distracted from her own Mandrake's alias.
"Close." Blaise's pale skin showed blushes all too well; must be awkward, for a Slytherin.
Hermione couldn't believe the implications. "Not... Malfoy?"
"Exactly!" Blaise caught the look Hermione gave her. "What--- you think because I'm a Slytherin I've got to fall all over myself to Malfoy?"
That was too much like... Severus... for words. "No!" The word slipped out of her mouth before she could think. Hastily, she backpedaled. "I mean... don't you all, though?"
Blaise looked disgusted. "Most of them. It's easier. Unless you know a lot of curses." She bit her lip, as if she thought she'd said too much.
"And you do?" Maybe it was an effect of everything that had happened to her over Christmas, but an implication that once would have horrified her now only intrigued her.
"Among other things." Blaise bit her lip again.
"Like what?" No mistaking the wariness in the other girl's eyes for anything but. "Look, I'm sorry, I'm just curious, and there's so much they don't teach us here--- and," she added mischievously, "anything that scares off Malfoy sounds like a good idea to me."
For a moment they looked at each other... then burst into giggles.
"Well," said Blaise when they'd finally managed to stifle their giggles, "it's more a matter of getting a reputation for knowing things, than actually knowing them, if you get my point." She looked sly, suddenly. "And in Slytherin, if you know how to do things without magic, you've won half the battle--- most of the Serpent's Den doesn't think it's possible to do stuff without magic. But half the time, it's not only possible, it's easier." She grinned. "But you'd know that, wouldn't you? You're Muggle-born."
Hermione blinked, started at hearing a Slytherin admit that there was more to life than wizarding. "I don't know---"
"Oh, come on." The mischief was dancing in Blaise's eyes. "Half what we do in Potions isn't that much different from Muggle chemistry, is it?"
Hermione felt her own heart jump with excitement. Someone else interested in the link between
science and magic. "No--- I mean, look at what we're doing right now---"
*****
Snape watched as both the girls bent to the parchment, heads together, talking excitedly. Two like minds--- kindred spirits, really. And Merlin knew his cousin's daughter needed some intellectual companionship. So, for that matter, did Hermione.
He fought to suppress a smile. My good deed for the century.
*****
Hermione felt a rush of sadness when the class ended; she'd hardly noticed the time passing.
Just like the first night when Snape had her be his assistant. And most of the nights after that.
Blaise, too, was moving rather slowly to gather up her things. The two of them were the last to leave the classroom.
At the door, they both stopped, looking at each other awkwardly. "Uh---
"See you in Arithmancy?" she asked, and the dark-haired girl grinned.
"Or the library. I spend most evenings up there---"
"Avoiding Malfoy?"
"Right in one---" Blaise glanced at the clock. "Better get going---" She didn't have to be a mind-reader to know that Blaise couldn't let herself get caught hanging around with a Gryffindor.
"Right." Blaise ducked out the door... leaving Hermione alone in the Potions classroom. With Professor Snape.
She turned around to find him regarding her, one eyebrow quirking just slightly.
"Thank you," she said, taking a hesitant step forward.
The smile he gave her was one she didn't think anyone else had ever seen. "It was my pleasure." His lips twitched with suppressed amusement. "And you'll notice I didn't give you a detention tonight--- so you and Miss Zabini can spend the evening denuding Madam Pomfrey's shelves of everything remotely related to Muggle 'magic.'"
She felt her own lips lift in response. "Thank you---" Then, hastily, feeling a little bereft, "Can I still---"
The long-suffering look he acquired was tempered with a certain dry humor. "If Potter can roam about the building anytime he likes in that cloak of his, which he only has courtesy of the Headmaster, then you are more than welcome to use yours to visit one of your teachers, I think." He eyes gentled. "Now--- off with you."
Hermione couldn't quite get the smile off her face as she ducked out the door.
*****
At the door to the Slytherin common room, Blaise Zabini put her ruminations aside. You didn't go into the Serpents' Den without all your wits about you.
At least not when you were a Zabini in a Slytherin House infested with a Malfoy.
"Paradise Lost," she said to the hidden door--- now there was an appropriate turn of phrase! Certainly worth the effort she'd had talking the other prefects into using a Muggle-lit quote.
She squared her shoulders as the wall swung open, tipped her head back just enough for confidence, not enough for challenge. Not that she minded sending Malfoy flying a few yards under the pretext of giving a demonstration of curses for the first years, but tonight she needed time to think.
Stepping through the doorway, she reconnoitered quickly--- one sweeping glance told her the important things: Malfoy and his cronies had hogged the best chairs by the fire and Pansy Parkinson--- Circe help us all--- was sitting at Draco's feet.
Fighting the urge to drop a scathing remark in their direction, she headed for the stairs to the girls' dorm. The Teasdale twins, Catlin and Florian, glanced up at her from their accustomed shadowy corner; she traded a look of shared disgust with them at Parkinson's behavior. Catlin glanced meaningfully at the stairs and shot her a hopeful look, but Blaise shook her head minutely. Not that she blamed the Teasdales for lurking in her room--- they were third years and didn't really have anywhere else private and safe to go--- but at the moment she needed to think. And Cat and Flor, fun as they were, weren't conducive to thought.
She continued up the stairs without further delay and reached her bedroom with a mounting feeling of relief that she quickly quashed. Not safe to relax until you were behind a locked door and your own wards.
Which she accomplished quickly enough, and slumped back against the heavily-hexed door to her bedroom with a sigh.
The Slytherin prefects got their pick of rooms; even though she was only in fifth year, she had a better room than most of the Sixth Form. Double bed under the rich green velvet hangings, her own fountain tap and the little Zen garden outside what would have been a window aboveground, and enough bookcases to hold most of her personal library. And, as a prefect, she got to keep it for the next two years. Living in a House that rewarded ambition had its perks.
And having your mum's favorite cousin for Head of House should have... but so far "Cousin" Severus hadn't done much for her. Which, given that she had to survive Malfoy and his cronies, probably wasn't a bad thing. Dear little Draco would undoubtedly have run screaming to his father about nepotism--- meaning, of course, any sort of favoritism that wasn't favoring him. No, she'd decided back in first year that the best thing she and her cousin could do for each other was to ignore their family connection and even each other as much as humanly possible.
Until today. This was the first time in five years that Professor Snape had singled her out in any way at all... and it had been to put her with a Gryffindor Muggle-born who should have been her very own sister. Very interesting.
Blaise pushed herself off the door and headed for the walk-in closet, one of the few amenities that was wasted on her. She preferred to have a small but elegant wardrobe, unlike the Parkinson twit, who bought everything Gladrags put out so long as it cost enough to feed a small family for a week. Blaise's own tastes went to the high end of Madam Malkin's understated brilliance, and a few Muggle designers. There were advantages to being born into a hybrid-fortune family.
Also--- she couldn't suppress a smug smile--- to certain more basic biological inheritances. She stripped off her school robes and studied herself in the mirror. Got the best of both worlds, Blaisie-love, no doubting that. She had her mother's slenderness and pale skin, her father's midnight-black hair and just enough roundness from the Italian side of the family to leave no doubt of her femininity. And Mum swore that one of her Weldon-Rhyst great-grandmothers had been a veela--- which Blaise had to admit was at least remotely possible. The pale skin she shared with her mother was flawless on both faces; they didn't have a bad angle to their bone structures.
The perfect face looking at her in the mirror frowned. Fat lot of good it does me, in bloody Slytherin. Not a male of eligible age in the house she'd want anything to do with, and she could only hope that Malfoy's fanaticism about purity of blood would outweigh the occasional half-conscious leers he kept sending her way, before he remembered himself and turned back to Parkinson.
Huh. Maybe I should see if I can't enlist dear Pansy's help in keeping Draco's roving eyes--- and whatever--- firmly on her.
And maybe, just maybe, there was the possibility of an alliance somewhere else entirely.
Blaise grabbed her dressing gown and headed for the bed--- her favorite thinking spot. The feather mattress cuddled up around her like a hug, the best thing possible for tense nerves, after a hot bath and brandy (the latter of which wasn't supposed to be available to her here. Hmph.) But the bed was almost as good and what it held was better.
She reached under the covered and pulled out an old, much-hugged rag of teddy bear. "Hullo, Pooh." Winnie-ther-Pooh (as Christopher Robin had called him) looked back at her with his faded button eyes; even her mother's best Preservation Charms could only do so much for a stuffed animal that she'd had in her crib.
She smiled sardonically to herself as she remember the other Slytherins' reactions to Pooh Bear. When she'd pulled him out of her trunk the first night at Hogwarts, Parkinson had nearly got a hernia laughing. "You take that to bed with you?"
And Blaise, tutored by her mother in the twin arts of observation and verbal mayhem, had retorted, without batting an eye, "Better than cozying up to a Malfoy, love--- at least this fellow keeps his grubby paws to himself."
Just for spite, she'd brought Pooh to the common room with her for a week running, settling him next to her in her chair while she worked. If nothing else, it had given her a chance to show off the curses she knew. Not to mention that by the end of her first week, some of the third years were asking her for help with their lessons. The privilege of brains. Actually, she hadn't gotten too much hazing about old Pooh. Anyone in Slytherin who'd have a stuffed toy and not hide it had to have something up their sleeve.
Enough gloating about past triumphs, Blaise. She tucked the ragged bear against her chest, curled up on the bed, and settled in for some serious thought.
What was Cousin Severus playing at? She'd watched with interest as he'd given the Granger girl detentions every day for six weeks running--- not that it was unusual for him to abuse the Gryffindors (and quite amusing to watch the logical contortions he put himself through to find a pretext), but he hadn't taken a single point off the House after the first day. Just those detentions.
Almost, she'd begun to think, quite against her will, that Malfoy was right, him and his little girlfriend. Maybe their Head of House really did have other uses for a bright little Gryffindor.
Except that the bright little Gryffindor hadn't shown any sign that she was being abused--- and there wasn't a Gryffindor born who could dissemble that well. And as a Slytherin prefect, Blaise knew how to recognize the signs....
She cut off that line of thought in a hurry. Her parents' money and power and her own status as a prefect should be enough to keep most of the scum at bay. And if all else failed... well, Malfoy didhave a nice voice; he'd make a wonderful castrato.
All of which wasn't getting her any closer to resolving this little mystery. She tightened her grip on Pooh, frowning.
Truth to tell, she wouldn't have cared less what her mum's cousin wanted with a Gryffindor--- except that today he'd brought her into the game. Sitting her and Granger together.
Blaise felt a smile twitch her lips in spite of herself. It really had been the nicest class she'd had in a while. Someone to talk to, about something more interesting than marriage and makeup, for goodness' sakes! And Granger shared her enthusiasm for the combination of science and magic--- not really surprising given that she was a Muggle-born, but it wasn't something that Blaise got to talk about much, not living in Slytherin.
"Hmph." Maybe that was it. Occam's Razor and least complex hypothesis. In the course of all those detentions, Snape had somehow found out that Granger was into Muggle-magic--- wait. That could be what the detentions were about in the first place. Cousin Severus was from a hybrid-fortune family too--- not that the Andropolous side would have exactly encouraged Sebastian Snape's dabbling in Muggle investments, but there was no reason Blaise's great-uncle couldn't have passed that interest on to his son. And here at Hogwarts, Cousin Severus would be free to pursue any experiments he wanted to in that line. He must have needed an assistant--- and one who could freely work with Muggle things.
Then why didn't he ask me? She couldn't suppress the sullen twinge. The Zabini family had, after all, made its fortune off the black market trade between Muggles and wizards--- the Prohibition Principle, her father called it, and had made her read up on that period of American history. And her mother snuck the Godfather movies into the house and they giggled about how much her dad did look like Al Pacino. ("Why else would I have married him?" "Besides the money and power, y'mean, Mum?") And there was no question she was as bright as Granger---
Yeah, Zabini, but not as driven. She grinned ruefully to herself. The Lazy Woman Who Couldn't Fail, that was Blaise. Bright enough not to have to work for good marks, and only to exert herself a little for top marks. Which left her plenty of time for more important things--- like money. The Hogwarts curriculum was the best in the wizarding world when it came to magic as such, but in things like high finance it was woefully deficient.
Which meant that a bright little Slyth-witch with a head for numbers had to learn the markets on her own time. Most of her free hours were spent poring over the Gringotts Journal--- biased little pureblood parchment that it was--- and Muggle finance periodicals. To say nothing of the more interesting private papers that a Slytherin could get her hands on if she was clever. Her housemates talked too much about their families' money for her not to do some quick figuring of her own.
And she'd bet anything that Cousin Severus knew it. Maybe that was why he'd asked Granger instead. Too lazy by half, Zabini, and enough on your plate. Come on, he was being nice to you.
And maybe that was why he'd paired her up with Granger. Two bright little witches with interests in common. Likely friends, except they were in rival houses. And maybe--- she couldn't help but grin--- Professor Snape was hoping Hermione would be a good influence on his cousin's lazy offspring.
Yep, Occam's Razor sliced it up that way. All perfectly innocent. Nothing to worry about, love. Dive right in and have a blast with another nerd-witch.
Except that in Slytherin House, Occam's Razor was often only useful for slitting your own wrists.
But for the life of her, she couldn't figure out what his game was....
She was interrupted in her ruminations by twin knocks on the door. In more than one sense."Speak friend and enter."
"Mellon," said two voices, and in a moment, two near-identical heads poked in the door. "Is it all right---" began Catlin---
"---if we come in now---" added her brother---
"We know you're busy---"
"--- but Malfoy was being---"
"---his usual self---"
"---and we couldn't take any more."
Blaise grinned in spite of herself. "How it's possible," she said ruefully, "for a pair of fraternal twins--- boy and girl, to boot--- to look so exactly alike, I'll never know." And indeed they did: both had the same thick silky chestnut brown hair, worn shoulder length and tied back, the same long Roman nose and bright green eyes, the same bone structure--- they were even the same height. Flor was skinny for a boy, and Cat, despite entering into puberty over the summer, still looked boyish enough under her voluminous Hogwarts robes to pass for her brother's twin. Or he for hers.
The twins grinned at her. "Long practice---" Flor.
"--- plus the hope that we'll confuse someone badly enough---"
"Wouldn't you like to see Malfoy's face---
"--- if he tried to put a hand---"
"---somewhere private on my sister---"
"And got Flor instead?" Catlin chortled wickedly.
"Or Parkinson, for that matter--- she wouldn't like getting another girl---"
"Only she's fixed on Malfoy, the stupid cow---"
"Why anyone would want him---
"Well, not every girl has anything else to recommend her---"
"--- like brains, for instance---"
"But honestly! She's a disgrace to Slyth-witches, wouldn't you say, Blaise?" Catlin looked up at her hopefully.
"I certainly would." Blaise gestured for them to sit, and they did, curling up on the cushions beside the hearth. "Of course," she couldn't resist adding playfully, "she'd say the same about us."
"Oh, for Merlin's sake!" The twins scoffed in unison. "Why she wouldn't know a disgrace---
"If one walloped her on her rump---"
"Not that that wouldn't be a treat to see---"
"But really, a Death Eater's daughter, calling us a disgrace---"
"Because our family's sensible about money---"
"And just because those inbred idiots can't compete in a wider market---"
"Is no reason to discriminate---"
"Not that there's ever a reason to discriminate, brother---" Catlin looked at him sternly.
"Is there some reason I need to be here for this conversation?" Blaise interrupted mildly.
Cat and Flor looked at each other for a moment, then turned back to her. In unison: "Not really."
Blaise laughed and leaned back on the bed. The Teasdales were some of her favorite people: another hybrid family, but of another sort from the Zabini black-market empire. Without breaking or even bending any laws, the Teasdale clan had managed to hold on simultaneously to a Muggle industrial concern and a thriving business in wizarding equipment. To say nothing of their investments on both sides of the Invisible Curtain (as Blaise's father called it).
And this generation had produced Claudia Teasdale, the last Slytherin Head Girl, former Chudley Cannons Seeker, current Auror--- and Blaise's hero. The twins found this highly amusing, but they nonetheless gave her regular updates on her idol. And she could talk money with them, in pounds as well as Galleons. And Flor wasn't unattractive, not by half--- in two years, when he was eligible for the Slytherin Mating Frenzy....
Blaise cut that line of thought off in a hurry. She set aside Pooh and came over to join them at the hearth.
Catlin glanced from her to the bed. "You had Pooh out---"
"What's up?" Both twins looked at her inquiringly. Though they didn't know how much of a thinking aid the bear was to her, they both understood the value of comfort objects--- both of them had come to the Great all their first day with stuffed basilisks tucked under their arms. A politic choice: there wasn't a Slytherin in the place who'd make fun of that animal.
"Not much... just... thinking."
"What about?" Catlin leaned forward, a mixture of curiosity and concern.
"Something funny happened in Potions today---" She told them how Snape had put Granger next to her, wincing inwardly at her own most un-Slytherin candor. But, after all, they were bound to hear about it, and it was more to her advantage if they heard it from her.
To say nothing of the fact that they were both sharp as little tacks, even if they were two years her junior. Both Teasdales listened attentively as Blaise finished--- "so I don't know what his game is, much less what my next move should be." Galling thing to admit--- but he was, after all, a teacher.
The twins both frowned, then assumed identical versions of the famous "Thinker" pose, elbow on knee and chin in hand. "Well---" began Cat---
"There could be some funny business---"
"Then why would he pair Granger with---" Catlin frowned at her brother----
"A Slytherin prefect, I know." Florian leaned back. "So it's not---"
"Hanky-panky. Something above-board?"
"He's a Slytherin, Cat, come on---"
"So are we, and so's Claws---" Their eldest sister's school nickname--- "and so's Moody---"
"And they wouldn't be so good at what they did---"
"If they weren't snakes in the grass, I know. But even Slytherins---" Catlin grinned--- "have off days--- and human sides." A flicker like the sudden bursting to life of a lightbulb (Blaise's family integrated Muggle technology and magic, rather seamlessly, in their homes) flashed across Cat's face. "Wait--- you think it could be---"
"Well, they are both a lot like Claws, aren't they?" Florian had clearly caught on to his sister's brainwave--- no surprise there, the Teasdale twins gave every impression of being able to read each other's minds.
"And like him, if Claws was right---" Cat looked over at Blaise. "Look, it's simple--- you and Granger are the brightest stars in your houses---"
"Which is Claudia, and Professor Snape, all over again, and she---"
"Paired off with Bill Weasley, he still comes to the house for holidays---"
"Anyway, Snape's probably just identifying with the pair of you---"
"And remembering Claudia."
"Wait--- your sister was in school with Snape?" This was one thing she hadn't wormed out of them.
"Her first year was his last---"
"And her seventh year was his first as a teacher."
"The alpha and the omega," Blaise said dryly. Then, "You think that's really all it is?" It was reassuring to have the Occam's Razor-cut given the Teasdale stamp of approval--- but they were only third years.
"Of course," said Florian brightly, "He could be planning---"
"For you to sabotage her chances for being Head Girl---" Catlin frowned. "But Flor, he's---"
"I know, that generation can still remember when Slytherin could win the House Cup fair and square."
Cat grinned over at her, with an embarrassed sort of shrug. "Well, that's all we can come up with, at any rate---"
"Sorry we weren't more help---" Florian looked genuinely distressed.
Blaise couldn't help but grin at them. "Nah, you do all right--- was thinking the same think myself." And grinned again as their faces lit up at the implied compliment--- much as hers did when they compared her to their sister. The thought was rather touching.
The clock on the wall chimed. "Blimey---"
"It's nearly dinner---" Catlin got to her feet, dragging Florian along with her. "And we haven't---"
"Hardly started on our homework--- that git Malfoy---"
"Was making such a pest of himself---"
Blaise felt her lip twist with shared distaste. "Well, take your books to dinner and we'll head for the library---" she grinned conspiratorially--- "I all but told Granger I'd meet her there; might do her some good to meet a few more Slyths who aren't Muggle-haters."
Both twins grinned. "Charming Gryffindors---"
"Is a family specialty---" And with that, they swept out the door.
Blaise grinned. One couldn't help feeling better after a chat with the Teasdale twins--- just watching the high-speed ping-pong match they called small talk was enough to make anyone smile. And truth to tell, she wouldn't mind getting their read on Granger. Too bad they weren't in her year.
Because Blaise just couldn't shake the notion that Cousin Severus was Up To Something.
He was, after all, a Slytherin.
