A/N: Usual disclaimer applies, am making no money from this, simply baffling myself with the sheer amount of hits this story garners in comparison to my other fics. Seriously, I look at the damn hit counter and wonder what the hell it is I did. Really.
Still is fun and squee-inducing to see how much it's being read, though (tear).
I'm also glad all of you enjoyed the Ollivander scene – I really enjoyed writing it, because re-interpreting that scene, which is so rarely done well, is so interesting. What really gets me is Ollivander's reactions – people so often portray him as the Impartial Adult to rival even Dumbledore, when he's likely not as impartial as you'd think. In hindsight, when I think of the fact that he's disappeared in HBP, and of the fact that he was stern with Hagrid about usage of the pieces of his wand and all, it's fairly obvious that the man does have some principles, does have some leanings, does do some favoritism. I mean, in the Weighing of the Wands scene in GOF, he totally disparages Fleur's wand core. Bottom line: Ollivander has an opinion, too. Perhaps one day I'll write what he was thinking in that scene, as a one-shot or adjunct to the series, just for fun.
Because I can totally see, feel, hear him saying "I cannot have enabled the rise of another Dark Lord. I cannot. Those Blacks are all mad – why should this thieving whelp be any different? What will Albus say when he learns of this?"
So. :D Well, this chapter describes, through Antares' eyes, the apprenticeship test day he goes to at Hogwarts. My outline so far is hopelessly involved, but that may probably change during the chapter if I get any sudden epiphanies.
Chapter 4: The Trials of Antares Black
It was the day of the Apprentice Tests, and Antares was sure – no, convinced that he was either going to die of a heart attack, of his mother's haphazard, unusually nervous fussing, or of Snape's glare.
Or, he thought desperately, as Bella reached for the (evil, he was convinced of that as well) comb on their rickety bedside table with a look of determination while Snape sneered on at him, all three, at the same time.
"My hair's fine, Mum – "
"Your mother only wants what's good for you, Black – you keep your mouth shut and sit still, or else." The stubborn feeling Antares did not know whether to call courage or stupidity withered and died as Snape's inhuman black eyes stared him down. He kicked angrily at the chair as he finally stilled his restless limbs – it simply was not fair, this being frightened into submission by the greasy, overly stern Professor. It was just that Snape's expression seemed to promise so many kinds of retribution at once. Antares wished dearly that he had the same expression – or could make up one that replied easily to it.
"Ow!"
"Keep still, and it won't hurt as much," Bella remarked impatiently, her hand keeping a steely grip on his forehead as she dragged the comb (instrument of torture, honestly) through his tangled hair. "If you'd only let me do this every morning – "
"Ow!"
" – you wouldn't have this problem," she continued, her tone hardening in the manner that meant No Argument. Antares gritted his teeth as Snape folded his arms and watched the painful scene for a minute, smirking all over his face, the smirk widening each time he cried out.
Greasy git – oh ow –
Antares only just managed to stifle the next cry, determined not to give Snape the satisfaction, and to his disgust, the Professor only nodded in that patronising manner of his and turned his back on the whole thing, going to rummage in Antares' scuffed second-hand trunk. "Leave my trunk alone, for the sake of – "
"Keep your wild mane on, boy," Snape remarked, a bit distractedly, "I am merely ascertaining if you've set out all the things I asked of you."
"Wha-ow – "
"That's the last knot, Antares. Now, for goodness' sake, stop whining."
"Can't help whining when you're pulling my scalp to bits – "
"As we both know, this is your fault and yours alone. If your hair is matted when you return from Hogwarts, Antares, I swear – "
"I can't see why I can't do my fucking hair how I like on holiday – "
"By that definition, you've been on holiday for the last eleven years, you lazy boy! Blacks are not scruffy – how many times do I have to tell you?" Severus snorted lowly, but was ignored by both mother and son as Bella kept up her rhythmical, almost painful strokes. "So help me, Antares, if I hear that your grooming is anything but impeccable at Hogwarts, you," her voice went low and dangerous, "will be in trouble." Despite Snape's muffled snort at the threat, Antares shivered, for being in trouble with his mother was no joke indeed. He'd had the folly to be in trouble with Bella only once – and the results of that were better left to the imagination.
He was sure he still had the scars –
"Black! Why are your writing supplies in your trunk and not with the rest of the list?" Snape barked out suddenly, cutting through Antares' vague, remembered horror. "Did I not specifically tell you to include quills, ink and parchment for the tests?" Antares coloured guiltily – he'd heard that the Hogwarts Apprenticeship tests included written stuff, actually, but had rather hoped it wasn't a serious requirement –
"You didn't tell me there were written tests last night, Antares," Bella said, twisting his head up to hers carelessly.
"Ow – "
"Severus, are you in earnest?" Bella asked, letting go of his aching head, her hard tone now sprinkled with barely-acknowledged anxiety. Antares felt something tighten in his chest – he'd never get the extra money now –
"I would not have mentioned it to him if I was not," Snape said coolly in response, extracting a good amount of the things in question from Antares' trunk. "The tests are both practical and written – I do not begrudge your ignorance on the matter, the thing is rarely needed, you see – "
"I see," Bella said tightly, her eyes boring into Antares' neck as she too-calmly stroked fingers through his smoothened hair. He could nearly taste her disappointment, her fear –
"Why did you not inform your mother that there were written tests, boy?" Snape remarked irritably, still occupied with the trunk.
"Shall I tell him?" Antares asked quietly, feeling very small as he awkwardly got to his feet, the expression on his mum's face hitting him like a physical blow. He didn't really want to tell the Professor – he wanted to tell Bella he'd do without, that he'd be okay, really, on the normal scholarship fees, and he knew how hard she'd take it, she with her dreams of glory for him, for the Blacks. And him with his stupid stealing fingers and not much else –
"I might as well," she snapped back at him, taking in a quick breath as she turned on the slightly confused-looking Snape, not missing a beat – "Antares cannot write and read very – very well," she began slowly, her tone containing a hint of self-blame that made him feel even worse. "There was always something that needed doing, or needed watching, something I could not afford to – " Mum took another sharp little breath, " – well. There was never any time, and he was better at other things – "
"But – why did you not…?" Snape started, looking very startled and – "Why didn't you – "
"Don't make it about her," Antares cut in, almost violently, because he couldn't stand to see that little self-blaming bent in his mother's posture – "The reason I can't read or write for shit is because I was out stealing. It was always more important – "
"How on earth can thieving be more important than attending to your education?" Snape cut in, puzzlement and anger evident in his face. "Do you realise – "
"It's more important," Antares found himself snarling, "because we were starving, and reading and writing brilliantly don't pay the rent, or buy you robes – "
"Oh, stop," Bella said tiredly, taking the seat that he had vacated. "I should have made you, we both know that. And no, I will not take it back, Antares," she said, giving him a very final look. "I suppose the tests will be cancelled, won't they, Severus?" The man had been fidgeting, almost guiltily, and started a bit as Mum addressed him.
"Not necessarily," he said, stroking unconsciously at his large nose, staring hard at Antares, whose cheeks still burned of their own accord. "Perhaps…" Snape frowned, advancing on him, who felt a ridiculous urge to shrink down, out of the sight of that appraising black gaze. "Just how well do you read and write, boy? You cannot be entirely illiterate, as you seemed to read your school list well enough."
"That's because it wasn't in, er, bigger words, s-sir," Antares said lowly, reddening further, "and it was all ingredients and robes and stuff – I can read and write stuff like that no problem. It's stuff like the Headmaster's name and – and words like, erm, 'intelligence' that I've got trouble with." He paused, thinking hard for a moment – leaving out anything would be worse than admitting such embarrassing stuff – "And I'm not too sure what grammar is, either." Looking up at the Professor's expression, Antares felt even more embarrassed – Snape was looking down at him with an almost unguarded expression of such pity and disgust –
"We will still attend the tests, Bella," – thank you very much, talking over my head, Antares thought, a little bitterly. They were always doing that, now, especially when it came to things about Hogwarts – "If I explain to the professors and the Headmaster, I am sure allowances can be made for Antares." Mum gave Snape a long, steady look, then nodded slowly, still silent. Shame burned at Antares like a living thing – the way it looked, Snape wouldn't have bothered to take him if he'd only just said last night, instead of – "Good grief, the time – come, boy, we must be off."
Antares folded further into himself, only just remembering to kiss Mum on the way out. He knew he wouldn't get this, just knew it, and the fact that Snape was trying to help him at all just made the knowledge even more painful.
Half an hour later, after tumbling queasily to his knees at the Hogsmeade Portkey Platform, Antares felt like a million things were scrabbling away at him at once – shame that he really was going to fail this horrid scheme of tortur- tests, and an irrational longing to just be 'on duty' in Hogsmeade, which looked rather dull in the way of the size of wizards' moneybags. He yearned to be flipping loose pebbles into the gutters of Knockturn, or racing with the beggars for no real reason, or poking about at Borgin and Burke's, or –
"Mind your feet, boy," Snape snarled down at him, seeming not to understand how bloody odd his billowing (and, from the look of them, a bit on the warm side) robes made him seem, like some gigantic, large-nosed creature of the dusty road which they were swiftly walking down now, surrounded by spots of bare rock and interestingly green grass that Antares might have found more interesting if the road wasn't made of Things That Tripped You Up and Made The Professor Glare At You. His little bag didn't feel very little anymore, and he was really starting to wish that Snape had at least thought to bring a drink – it was getting to that time of day when the cool morning gave way to almost hot sun that blinded you and made pickings slim, as wizards tended to speed up and huddle alertly away in the shade when it was warm here.
Then again –
"For the love of Merlin, please stop talking to yourself, you little – " Snape stopped mid-grate, sighing at the huge – oh Merlin, Morgana and the Saints, absolutely bloody huge – castle looming ahead of them. "Thank goodness, we'll be there in a few minutes – mind your step, for the love of – " And there Snape said a rather foul word that Antares couldn't help grinning at and glancing carefully up to see if his pale, pale cheeks reddened. And they did, too – seemed the esteemed Potions Master of Hogwarts wasn't averse to feeling embarrassed –
And then an absolute mountain of a man emerged from the double doors they were now approaching, and Antares fought not to duck behind Professor Snape. He was shaggy all over in the way scary, drunken wizards were shaggy all over, and impossibly huge – could probably break a kid's neck without hurting his fingers, they were bigger than Butterbeer bottles –
"Good morning, Hagrid," Professor Snape said, sweeping on by with not much of a wait for a reply, leaving the – slightly quaking, only slightly – Antares bereft and bare. No protection against Haggid, or whatever –
Why on earth is he going so white? I'm the size of his arm, for crying out loud –
"So this is the apprentice, eh, Severus?" Haggid piped up, frightening eyes trained on Antares, who realised, with a sort of detached horror, that he had gone Very Still. "What's your name, lad?"
"Black," Professor Snape called over his shoulder, an oddly vindictive tone entering into his normally sarcastic voice. "Come along, boy – haven't got all day – " Antares scurried along without so much as a backward glance, disregarding whatever prickly feeling running down his spine told him to just look back, to just check if he was safe, as looking at Haggid again was the very last thing he ever wanted to do. Again.
"What was that?" he found himself asking, a little desperate as he caught up to the Professor, finally feeling himself safe enough to sneak another look back at the sadder, fiercer looking Haggid. "He doesn't – doesn't work here, does he?" Snape snorted loudly, and Antares realised he already knew the answer. "He's not going to be testing me or anything, is he?" He managed to get out, steadying his voice as best as he –
"Really, boy – you venture fearlessly into Knockturn Alley, and yet you cannot even face down a bumbling, mere half-giant," Professor Snape said, giving him a disdainful look. "I have yet to understand exactly why – "
"Because the beggars and thieves of Knockturn can't strangle me with two fingers, that's why," Antares retorted, anger and shame mixing heavily in his gut. "You try being as small as I am, he looks like a bloody giant from down 'ere. Bet you were never picked on – "
"Do not presume," Snape suddenly said, rounding on him in what could have been a most scary manner, if Antares had never seen him absently plucking leek from between his (rather nasty) teeth at least twice, and actually starting to do the dishes the Muggle way, once upon a very embarrassed time – "to know anything of my situation, or of my past. Keep your trite little observations to yourself, or I'll – "
"Hit me?" Antares shot back, as they turned a corner and headed up some stairs that were – actually moving, they made him feel a bit off – "Please. You probably aren't as good at it as Be – Mum is." Snape stared at him, then snorted again, moving on. "Snort all you like, Professor. Be – Mum's good at stuff like that. You might be better with a wand 'cos you're younger or whatever, but she'd probably pin you in an unarmed fist-up."
"You think so?" Snape inquired, turning The Nose his way with what looked like some ghastly kind of Snape-smile dancing on his thin lips. "Really. How fascinating." Antares scowled – he was always so sarcastic, Snape. Couldn't really win either way, because – "Finally. Here we are – this is a spare classroom we set up for you to take your tests in," Snape motioned swiftly at the ajar, worn wooden door set in the stone walls of the castle. "The tests will encompass the whole day, of course – but none of that now." Snape turned, and his cloak went an interesting swish-swish and furled so well that he had to stifle the urge to ask if Seve – Snape had actually designed such a one on purpose. "Dumbledore will see you now, firstly, before all the other relevant professors, such as the Charms Professor, as well as the Transfiguration, Defence Against the Dark Arts congregate here for the actual theory and practical tests. In you go…"
Antares, after a quick, rather intense look to make sure that the dour man – the now agitated dour man was quite on his trolley, followed the direction of the pale, pointing finger from his sort-of-guardian, Snape. Meet with the Headmaster of Hogwarts himself – he'd thought they'd have some dotty old witch or wizard that handled the entire thing, like at the Ministry, as someone had once told him –
"Come in, come in," a rather genial old voice said absently, accompanied by an odd sort of half-squawk, half- – oh, there seemed to be a bird, flying agitatedly around the classroom, so beautiful and so red that Antares quite lost himself in the thought of something so – "Don't worry lad, he won't hurt you," the old voice called out again, from closer by, which was rather alarming. Hands sweating with nerves, Antares shuffled properly through the door and found himself in what was obviously an old, rather dusty classroom with only two desks, one large and one small, and rather more chairs than he could account for.
Maybe that was part of it, knowing what the chairs were for, or –
And the bird began to sing, and Antares wasn't quite so sure what it was doing, but it definitely made him feel better, more suited to see the old, old, rather oddly dressed man that was walking easily towards him, radiating some tangible sort of presence that would've made sure he steered clear of him on the street. The old man stopped a respectable distance from him, blue eyes following the brilliant bird now approaching them both, one hand absently stroking his full white beard, finally settling on something behind Antares.
"You," the old man said decisively, "must be Antares Black. If you would pardon Fawkes' excitable behaviour at the moment…" – for the bird was now doing oddly fast, yet graceful loops around them both – "You see, he finally reached his maturity this morning, and the days of confinement to his cage, after his Burning Day, were rather trying for him, as I was away on business."
"Phoenix?" Antares cursed himself – what kind of idiot makes one-word answers to insanely powerful old men telling you about their pet bird – but the man that he just knew was the Headmaster simply smiled, and nodded at something behind him. Antares found himself turning almost involuntarily, hoping hard that the familiar, comfortably stern Professor Snape was not – his shoulders drooped – leaving him with the Headmaster.
"Please sit," the Headmaster said, walking quickly to the large chair behind the much larger desk (obviously meant for a teacher of some sort), motioning to a rather small, lonely chair right in front of it. Antares gulped as inaudibly as he could – no sense in showing fear – and moved for the chair, dropping his bag as neatly beside it as he could. He kept his twitching hands away from his neat hair, because he wanted it to stay that way. "As you must already have guessed – you are a clever young thing, as is evident in your being here – I am Professor Dumbledore, and will be your Headmaster at Hogwarts whether things today," the bird landed with a scrape of claws on the polished desk between them, making Antares jump visibly and curse himself for doing so (hopefully non-visibly), and Dumble – the Headmaster adjusted his half-moon glasses, with an oddly mischievous twinkle in his stern blue eyes, "go well or not. I assume Professor Snape has told you of the various tests you will be taking…?"
"Yeah," Antares said, ashamed that his voice cracked on the low answer. "He – er – said they'd last the whole day." Antares cursed inwardly. He'd managed to get a whole bloody sentence out, and the Headmaster was petting his phoenix, looking rather absent about the whole –
"Yes, yes. Thankfully all the requisite professors needed to assess you are present, and should be arriving, with Professor Snape," Antares went Very Still, "any moment from now. I believe you have had breakfast, Mr. Black?"
"Um, yeah," Antares said, in a very very small voice. So that was why Snape had left him here – to fetch the other professors. Right. He straightened a little in his chair, bolstered by the sparse comfort that familiar Snape's black gaze and nasty smirk would be present with him throughout the day. He felt like an idiot for doubting it – Bella would probably have flayed the pale, stringy man alive if he failed today and mentioned (perhaps through a fit of very un-Antares tears) that Snape had not been there. Couldn't be because he cared, or something daft like that – Professor was so practical about things that he probably filled the space reserved for his heart with more brains instead. So he could spoil easy dishes and make finicky ones from scratch, and disparage the cauldrons in the shop on Diagon –
"Any concern you would like to share with me, Mr. Black?" Dumblemore – no, that wasn't it – damnit, answer the question – asked easily, cutting through the wild, rambling thoughts of Antares and bringing him face to face, once more, with the pulsing, fascinating thing that was his fear of this horrible situation. He shook his head in reply, unable to even dare to jeopardize his chances by saying he couldn't spell – they'd just throw him out, wouldn't they, and tell him to come by with the rest of the richer students, and – "Very well," Dumbledore – that has to be it – said slowly, as if he could see all the jumble of fear and regret and longing that Antares could feel squirming around in his chest. "Ah – here they come – "
And there they came, indeed – led by a scowling Professor Snape, all chatting amicably and looking formidable and all very large, except for –
"Albus! Is this the child? Frightfully thin, the poor thing," Antares tried not to squirm back in his chair – it was rather unnerving, seeing such an old, goblin-like man of that size wearing a smile. The goblins he'd met were always rather angry about something or other, and this tiny old man positively beamed happiness and excitement at him. "What's your name, lad?" And his voice was squeaky, too, it was really –
Answer him, you idiot!
"A-antares Black. Sir. Mr. Um – "
"Flitwick! Professor Flitwick, dear boy. A Black, are you now?" And it was really odd, the man's voice – Professor Flitwick's voice – seemed to sadden a little, and his cheery smile droop just a bit, and Antares wondered if his bloody hair was escaping its tight ponytail, and fisted his small hands so they wouldn't betray him –
"Erm – I'm not so sure – " Antares stammered automatically, heart racing – Bella had always told him to never tell strangers who he really was, and –
"Looks like one to me," a stern, no-nonsense witch said, eyes narrowing down at him slightly as she plucked at something on her severe black robes.
"Actually," Professor Snape interrupted, from behind – great Morgana, Antares thought, I didn't even hear that – "he is adopted, so he really does not know. I came across the lad in Diagon Alley, Minerva – his mother," Snape continued, a large black eyebrow raising mockingly, "works in one of the shops. Hardly anything to do with the Blacks, I should think."
Oh, thank goodness – if they'd asked me anything else, I'd probably have had to lie, and –
"He doesn't look exactly like one, I suppose," a tall, stately looking woman with pale brown hair said slowly, taking one of the chairs that Antares now realised surrounded his smaller one. "Can we not get on with this? I've a huge project to rush through, all set out on the Tower, and no time for dilly-dallying."
"And w-we all have our s-syllabi to f-finish for the m-meeting, of course," a pale, nervous-looking man in a shabby turban said, sitting down opposite Antares with a sort of half-smile in his direction.
"Why do not you all introduce yourselves, so that we can start the tests?" Dumbledore remarked easily, making Antares stiffen again with anxiety – that was completely the last thing he wanted to do –
"My name is Professor McGonagall, Mr. Black," the stern-looking witch said, adjusting her own glasses on the bridge of her nose. "I will be testing you practically in Transfiguration."
"Charms practical for me," Professor Flitwick said, winking kindly.
"Potions, as you already know," Professor Snape said, looking boredly at the odd, heavily made black-and-gold watch on his wrist – something Antares had entertained himself along the way here for a minute or two by imagining how he would filch it from the constantly alert Professor without him noticing –
"P-professor Q-q-quirrel," the pale man said haltingly, nodding Antares' way. "Defence Against the Dark Arts – even though the practical for that is a bit of a joke, seeing as you don't need to start that until second year – " Antares couldn't help staring – surely that twitchy specimen couldn't be meant to teach him how to defend himself. He could hardly stop stuttering, and looked very uncomfortable sitting next to Snape, for crying out loud –
"And that leaves me, I think," the pale, tired-looking woman said hastily, jerking a little in her chair, a bit as if she'd been dozing off. "I am Professor Sinistra, and I teach Astronomy. Of course, as testing you practically in that now is impossible, I will simply oversee your written tests and verbally test you on History and Astronomy together, as our History Professor is visiting with his former family in the south of Spain." Antares nodded at that, sympathising a little bit with her dim eyes and obvious lack of sleep – Bella had had to work two jobs at the same time, once. It had meant sleepless nights and enough tea to cancel out the meagre extra the second job paid, and his mother had looked simply awful throughout – a fact that he knew had really, really disgusted her.
"We need the money, Tares," she'd say tiredly, but still have that oddly low look on her face as she caught sight of her dull hair in a mirror, a look that had spurred him on to his very first act of stealing –
"I suppose we're doing the written tests first, then?" Antares ventured almost easily, shifting slightly in his seat. The woman – Sinistra perked up a very little, and nodded firmly as Professors Flitwick, McGonagall and Quirrel rose to leave the classroom, followed by a faintly smiling Headmaster Dumbledore. Antares tried not to be too relieved that Snape remained firmly, glaringly seated, but couldn't bring himself to hold back the weak smile he directed at the man, who gave him a slightly confused sort of half-glare.
"Yes, we are. If you'd kindly take the seat behind this desk, Mr. Black…"
Antares put down his much-abused quill with a sort of half-sigh, half-groan, not daring to look too closely at the parchment that swam before his frightened eyes. He'd understood some of the questions on the innocent-looking roll of parchment Professor Sinistra had yawningly summoned into being, but, as for the rest of them…
Bitter, frustrated tears stung at his tired eyes, making him reach for the quill again, just so he could squeeze it a bit more. He had to go over the bloody thing, he just had to – there had been some questions he'd missed, because he'd not been sure of the meaning of a word or two, but he was sure he could at least guess –
A soft chime from the hourglass on his desk sped up his nervous, slightly jerky movements as he realised he'd only a quarter of an hour left. For a whole minute, Antares couldn't move, couldn't think anything but that he'd failed, he'd missed his chance, and Mum, oh Mum would be so disappointed, and so strong about it, and how he really wanted to cry and snap the horrible Self-Inking quill into pieces and run away –
Pull yourself together, Antares Black! Antares jerked slightly. He could almost hear the hiss of Bella's cold voice in his ear. Don't you dare give up – don't you dare shame the name you are given by snivelling your way out of something you need! You are a Black – you are talented, you are cunning, use it!
Antares bit his lip, hard, and forced himself to re-roll the parchment so he was at the beginning again, and began to answer questions he'd passed by. When he didn't understand something, he guessed. When he did, he jotted down the shortest, most meaningful thing he could think of as an answer, and when he frankly did not know what the question was about, he added a short line of something he thought might relate to the few words he could understand in it. He didn't dare look up at Professor Snape, who had stopped absently pacing the classroom and was now definitely staring at him, or at the weary Professor Sinistra, who was stretching her arms with a look of longing that spoke of a bed and blankets and nothing to do but sleep.
The twelve uses of dragon's blood – that's easy, that was Dumble- Dumble-something –
A soft chime sounded again, twice in a row, and Antares shakily set down his quill and began to roll the parchment up with nervous, jerky movements of his rough fingers.
"Oh, don't bother with that, lad – I'll mark the test right here. If you'll just hand the scroll to me and tidy up your desk, you can be off to lunch," Professor Sinistra said, rising from her seat at the large teacher's desk. "Severus? You won't mind taking him down to the Great Hall, will yo- "
"Of course, of course," Professor Snape said, cutting the slightly surprised woman off. "However, I must speak to you of something, very quickly, before we depart – " Sinistra nodded, curious, and Professor Snape made a sharp, angular movement with his wand, and when he began to speak, Antares realised what he'd done. A Silencing spell of some sort – it had to be, as he could sort of hear the muffled words, but could not understand what exactly they were.
What does it matter, anyway? Antares thought gloomily, none-too-carefully shoving unused rolls of parchment into his bag and clearing up the spots on the desk with a small cleaning spell without really thinking about anything in particular. Well, anything in particular that didn't have to do with the fact that he was certainly going to fail –
"Antares – " Snape called to him, startling him a little. "Professor Sinistra has a few questions for you, before we leave – "
"Okay," Antares said, instead of apologising for his truly horrible handwriting, or that he wasn't sure whether he'd spent 'the' wrongly throughout the entire thing –
"Just a bonus or two," Sinistra said, not unkindly, shuffling through her robes until she found a tattered-looking roll of parchment. She then proceeded to ask him twenty of the most unrelated questions he'd ever heard in his life – little things about goblin history and how the galleon system was set up and run, and why the Floo network went down from time to time. And, lastly, the creator of the Philosopher's Stone, a question for which Antares had to rack his memory a little, before coming up with: "Oh, yeah, I remember – something to do with flame, or something. Right, Nicholas Flamel – these two old wizards nearly had a brawl about his, er, merit, or something like that, and – "
"That will do, Antares," Snape said hastily, giving a – now that he thought to even look – a slightly amused Professor Sinistra a rather pointed look.
"I apologise for monopolising your time, Antares," Sinistra said easily, extending a smooth palm within easy reach. Antares shook it lightly, hoping she wouldn't notice the stupid burn on his left one – he'd picked it up last night, from being an idiot around the kitchen cauldron. "I sincerely hope you are up to our standards for apprenticeship. Good day, Severus." And, with a nod, she'd left the classroom, rolls of parchment tucked under one arm, the other engaged in a wide, wholehearted yawn. Snape nodded to himself, looking approving for no reason Antares could possibly –
"Are you listening, boy? I said, follow me. It is easy to lose one's way in this castle, and I have no intention of searching you out and missing the afternoon meal." Antares hastily hoisted his bag onto his right shoulder and followed the swooping black cloak of Professor Snape, heart slightly lighter for the compliment Professor Sinistra had sort-of paid him. It counted that a Hogwarts Professor hoped you were up to standard, didn't it?
Antares sighed as they turned yet another corner and were faced with stairs clearly on the move. He just hoped – he could just hope, and hope that hoping helped.
And, as he trotted half-heartedly after a muttering Professor Snape into the heavenly-smelling Great Hall, doing his very best and hoping seemed like a very, very good idea indeed.
A/N: Well, well well. Sorry about the cliffhanger, but I thought I wouldn't fall into the pitfall of TSOTS Part the Third and make this chapter humungously long and leave myself nothing whatsoever to write from Bella's and Severus' POV, so here you guys go. I just thought I'd post this because I have the time, and y'all were waiting for an update, so…
As I said in my LJ, inspiration for this fic has, strangely, struck me like a moving train zipping through Gatwick Station on a cold winter day, complete with monstrously, fiendishly involved storyline and lots of rereading it and wishing I was done already. So perhaps I'll update this again before PTT – and perhaps not. I've a snippet or two written for the next chapter of that as well, so it could go either way.
Right, the next chapter will probably be from Bella's point of view, and will enable you to see a little more of the world Antares lives in, through her anxious eyes. It will involve preparations for Antares' journey to Hogwarts (which is already certain, so I'm not giving anything away here) and what exactly happened during the rest of Test Day, as well as an insight into what Bella does at Madam Malkin's. I do realise that this chapter probably creates more questions for you guys, but isn't that the spirit of mysterious AU's? I'll answer stuff not related to the plot if I can, so ask away. See you all soon!
