Chapter Five
Letters from Pythia's father tended to arrive quickly after being sent, and at the most inopportune times – like now, during Astronomy.
Late Tuesday night, Lucius Malfoy's spotted owl, Alecto, swooped down and perched atop Pythia's telescope. Pythia withdrew her vision from the cosmos and fixed it upon the indignant bird. "You've got bad timing," she muttered, trying to furtively untie the letter from Alecto's leg. The creature simply waited, taking off in a blur of feathers once the epistle was in Pythia's hand.
These letters had a nasty habit of disappearing if not read immediately, so Pythia nudged Narcissa, who was staring fixedly at the stars. The blonde tore her gaze from the heavens to glare at her friend. Pythia flashed her the letter. Narcissa rolled her eyes and left to distract Professor Ether while Pythia swiftly opened the letter.
The cover message had obviously been written by Igor – no one else would have insisted so adamantly that borrowing a book would be too much of an inconvenience. Using the charm that her father had concocted, the words faded and new, more intricate writing flourished onto the parchment.
Caution has always served me well, and the oldest lesson you've learned is that trust is for fools and innocents. I will meet this Severus Snape of yours, however, for it is your generation that will help me to build and to maintain my empire. Though for your own welfare, I suggest you find out his intentions and relay them to me.
No salutation, no signature. Not uncommon for Voldemort. Well, Pythia thought, that was that. She folded the letter neatly and slipped it into her robes. Narcissa was still talking with Professor Ether, but something told Pythia that the diversion had quickly evolved into an actual conversation. Pythia shook her head and rolled her eyes as she went back to stargazing.
Severus's black eyes shifted from the letter to Pythia to Lucius. "Well," he finally said, "that's that."
The three of them sat in the empty common room while the fire dimmed. All the other fourth years had gone up to bed after the Astronomy lesson.
"And no one knows about this," Pythia instructed. "All right, Lucius?"
Lucius turned his eyes to her, trying to bleed as much malice into them as he could, but Pythia refused to back down this time. So long as Lucius wasn't in a bad mood beforehand, Pythia was dominant in matters concerning her father. Finally, the expression faded from threatening to sullen.
"Then I'll get started on the Evans project," Severus cut in, rising to his feet.
Pythia grinned inwardly. Now Lily Evans was a project. This was certainly a treat. They so seldom got to turn a Vow into a project. A project could last anywhere from the current week to two and a half months – it depended on how long it took before the Slytherin octet got bored. Pythia was positive that she would never get bored with tormenting Evans.
Severus disappeared into the corridor that led to the dorms, while Pythia reclined languidly against the sofa arm. Lucius turned cold eyes to her.
"Never do that again, Pythia." Pythia opened her mouth to protest, but he cut in. "I don't care if it was only Severus. Don't ever chastise me in front of someone." He stood with all the gracefulness of a feline and cleared his throat softly. "Good night."
Pythia frowned as he took the same route that Severus had. Well, she thought, if no one else was staying up, there was no point for her to do so. Taking a moment to close the fire screen, she went up to bed.
She woke about two hours later to a hushed voice cursing in the common room. Crawling out of bed, she donned a cobalt robe before padding quietly out of the dormitory. The dorms branched off from the common room, boys' to the left and girls' to the right. The corridor walls were lined with dimming torches that would be rekindled in the morning before anyone woke, and an emerald green runner traveled the length of the floor. Each of the girls' dormitories was on the same level, but the boys' fifth, sixth, and seventh years had their own niche above the others.
The witching hour was drafty enough as it was, but living in the dungeons made it nearly intolerable. It was times like these when Pythia cursed being in Slytherin. Pulling the robe more tightly around her, she entered into the common room. A dark and lanky figure was rummaging through the bookshelf that was hidden securely behind the portrait of Salazar Slytherin. All Slytherin students would visit this bookshelf at least once before leaving Hogwarts – it was a compilation of all of Slytherin's studies that he'd left for all pureblood Slytherins who would come after.
"Gods, Severus, what are you doing that can't wait till the sun's up?"
Severus stopped his search and turned to scowl at her. "I decided to begin early."
Pythia frowned at him. "Well," she said, sounding confused even to her own ears, "keep it quiet. I have to get up early to finish my Charms essay." Without waiting for an answer, she turned and headed back to bed.
It was Wednesday. Classes were over for the day, the sun was warm, and Slytherin was practicing Quidditch, even though the season had ended for them. Now Gryffindor played against Ravenclaw at the end of the month and Quidditch would be over for the year.
Pythia lounged in the spectators' seats with Narcissa, Bellatrix, and Evan. Severus was in the library and the other four – Lucius, Nero, Rudolphus, and Janus – were with the rest of the team.
"I don't think I've ever seen Lucius as laid back as when he plays Quidditch," Evan commented, watching the players.
"That's because the Snitch flies right into his hand," Bellatrix muttered. "Just like everything else."
Pythia was hardly paying attention to them. She, instead, was watching the group that was just now trudging onto the Quidditch pitch, dressed in scarlet and gold robes. "Oh, gods," Narcissa breathed, "now what?"
There was a confrontation between the two Houses, but the four spectators remained in the stands. Lucius and the others could handle themselves. Evan held his hand out to the three girls. "Five Galleons says that 'Gryffin-whore' gets the pitch."
"Of course they'll get the pitch," Narcissa answered, observing the two teams darkly. "Any professor will see it their way. We're done for the season. We don't actually need it."
"Oh, yes, we do, for next year," Pythia replied. "Gryffindor handed us our arses on a platter the last time we went against them. If anyone doesn't need the practice, it's them."
"Them, with that Potter," a cold voice seethed. The quartet turned their heads to see Severus making his way up to them. He carried a single book in his hands, which was unusual, for he usually carried at least three simultaneously. Following behind him was an irate Rudolphus. He threw his broom down, where it snapped in the center.
"Damn Gryffin-whores taking over our Quidditch pitch," he grumbled. The others, however, were staring at the broom.
"Dolph, Lucius bought that for you," Evan said, in shock by the sight of the broken besom.
"I don't care," Rudolphus snarled. "We've got to kill them next year."
Pythia yawned, watching Lucius down on the pitch. He leaned casually on his broom, listening to James Potter and Nero argue. Finally, he gave a graceful shrug and walked out of the stadium, broom in hand.
Pythia and the others scrambled – except for Severus, who took his time – for the exit.
"Well?" Bellatrix demanded as they met with Lucius outside the field.
"'Well,' what?" Lucius replied dispassionately.
"What did the Gryffindors have to say?"
Lucius shrugged, turned and headed back toward the school. Pythia frowned, and made to follow him, but a cold hand with slender fingers closed around her wrist. Pythia met Severus's eyes.
"Go on up," he said to the other six. "There's something I want to show Thia."
A look passed between the others, but they followed Severus's instruction. Pythia crossed her arms and looked at him expectantly. "What is it?" she demanded.
He held up the book in his hand. It was thick, with a blackish-green binding and an argent snake engraved on the front cover. Even from three feet away, she could smell the musty scent that all old books carried. "Wait until you see what's in here."