A/N: Just reminding all of you that I'm making no money from this, do not own all JKR's lovely characters, and that the usual disclaimer applies.

I'm actually not sure, right now, what's going to come of this chapter yet. I'm a wee bit uncertain about what next to do with the plot, sadly, and that might spell another short dry spell for this fic, and perhaps a return to the more planned-out Part the Third. I just have so much fun writing this, you know..:(


Chapter 8: And It Begins

"Welcome to Hogwarts, Mr. Black," Professor – Professor McGocanall said crisply, looking down her sharp nose at Antares as he fidgeted in front of her. The tone of her voice was bizarrely formal – as if he hadn't (a little unwillingly) sat beside her at breakfast just a few stilted minutes ago.

Well, better her than the Headmaster, who had been giving him piercing looks ever since he'd shambled into the hall, supported by the overly eager Adrian and Charles. Why, even the way Antares had fidgeted seemed to catch the old man's shrewd blue eyes. Those thirty minutes had seemed like a century –

"Are you listening, child?" McGocanall's sharp tone cut through Antares' worrying almost immediately, causing him to start ever so much. Eyes narrowing slightly, she continued. "The first thing you'll learn, as an apprentice, is that you and you alone are responsible for yourself. You will have many duties and projects to pursue other than the usual academic activities required of other Hogwarts students, so remember – your time is of the essence, and is your entire responsibility. Some allowances shall be made, of course, but still, it will do you good to remember it.

"Now," she said briskly, turning a little away from him, "you have ahead of you today a mere taste of what life will be like as a full apprentice at Hogwarts." Antares couldn't help but feel excited at that. They could be teaching him new spells, for all he – "Your first task, young Mr. Black, will be to help our very own Herbology teacher, Professor Sprout, in the greenhouses this morning and some of this afternoon." Not seeming to notice how the young boy's face fell, Mc – McWhatever continued on, looking slightly over her shoulder toward the double doors of the Great Hall, which were behind them, and rapidly consulting her watch. "It is a tradition for apprentices to help to ready the school for its intake in whatever means possible, Mr. Black, and today will be the beginning of many such duties – ah, here they are."

The double doors – or, rather, one of the double doors opened, admitting Charles and Adrian in that order.

"This way, gentlemen," Professor McGonacall said redundantly, her voice a little sharp as the slightly crestfallen-looking pair approached them. "These two young men are also apprentices. Professor Snape," she swept a disapproving eye over Charles' horribly untidy hair and pursed her lips at Adrian's slightly grubby robe, "informed me that he made sure to introduce all of you, so – if you young gentlemen will be so kind…"

"But," Adrian said, a little timidly, as the stern professor turned away from them, looking intent on something she evidently considered as more important than leading them to the greenhouses, wherever those were, "Isn't he going to be given anymore of a talk, or a tour or anything?"

"I am afraid," McGocanall said, very gravely, "that there is no time at all for such a thing, at the moment. I am already quite late for an important meeting with the Headmaster. If you two would fill him in on some of the lesser duties by lunchtime, I should be most grateful. Mr. Black – until then…"

"Well, I like that," Charles said lowly, as they all stood there, watching her sweep hurriedly out of the ante-room, "abandoning you, just like that."

"But the meeting she's got – "

Adrian snorted, shaking his head as he started off out towards the main entrance to the castle. "Shorthand, or teacher-hand, as we like to call it, for 'I don't know what the hell you strange little biddies do, so I am bailing, thank you,' " he said, holding the door open for a still-confused Antares. "She's never overseen us, you understand, or any other apprentices I can remember, so she's not very well up on what exactly we do."

"And since she can't stand either of us, or any Slytherin kid, for that matter, she sort of thinks it's beneath her," Charles continued, even as they swung out onto the front steps.

"But what if she does have a meeting?" Antares asked, bewildered. The impressive woman hadn't looked at all like she might be hiding something, so really –

"Well then we're wrong, aren't we?"

"But still, it is really rude to just foist him off like that, I think," Adrian said stoutly as they turned to their right, striking for a well-kept path that seemed to lead to a patch of sprawling green-and-white – well – things, for the lack of a better description. "She should've asked Snape about the whole thing of what apprentices do, you know – " Charles snorted.

"Uh, Head Cow of Gryffindor actually going to Snape for advice? I don't think so."

"Head Cow?"

"That's what he likes to call her," Adrian pointed out, as they came closer to the sprawling green things, which were looking bigger and bigger as they got closer. "He had the nerve – no, the stupidity, to set off a Filibuster firework in her desk in first year, and she's had it in for him since then – "

"Merlin, Adrian, I didn't even know what it was at the time. You know how my mum was – "

And what followed Charles Warrington the Third's indignant reply to Adrian's scornful accusation was a rather long-winded explanation about why all good Slytherins couldn't stand Professor McGonagall (Adrian finally corrected Antares after practically sneezing with laughter for five minutes), the Head of Gryffindor House, and home to Slytherin's mortal enemies.

"But that's all old hat for you, isn't it? You seemed to know what the houses were on the train, I remember…"

"Yeah," Antares answered, thinking back to what Professor Snape had said just after rescuing him from that horrifying thing, and feeling, as he'd done then, a little better for the knowledge that he'd definitely fit in Slytherin. "So – what does an apprentice do, then?"

The two older boys exchanged a look and laughed a little nastily, hanging back from the door to the glassy green monstrosity that must be one of the greenhouses.

"Don't worry, Black – you're about to find out. Now, if you'll just go in there…"

Antares shook his head emphatically, stepping a little way aside. "Oh no, after you, I insist – " And they all laughed, and trooped in through the door, which was slightly ajar, and the day's 'task' had begun.


Several hours and many 'apprentice talks' later ("You're definitely going to be worked like a horse, unfortunately. And you're unlucky there's no other apprentice in your year to be Sorted with you, so you'll go up there alone, more's the pity – "), Antares had never been so bored in his entire life. His legs ached from the hard work in the greenhouses earlier, and his head hurt from all the horrendously complicated-sounding duties of The Hogwarts Apprentice, which he'd been exposed to throughout the day from various sources. Most of all, he was tired, bone tired as the days when he'd been out expressly to work the crowds, tired enough to need to try not to sway on his feet. And yet he was striding quickly after a disapproving Professor McGonagall to the front doors, and was going to face his future year mates, as Snape had so grimly said hours before.

"Right," McGonagall muttered. "Any moment now – "

And the doors swung open in and of themselves, and Antares could see a straggly group of damp-looking kids his age being led forward by – he gulped – Hagrid. Hagrid paled again, mysteriously, but handed the wary-looking set of kids over to Professor McGonagall, who proceeded to try and cow them the same way she'd done to him.

Oh god, cow – don't laugh – Head Cow – argh, bite your tongue

Somehow Antares managed to keep a straight face, inwardly cursing Charles Warrington's almost uncanny way with insults and his stupid head's propensity for remembering them at bad times. But only barely –

"Welcome to Hogwarts," she began sternly, and Antares immediately tuned out, choosing, instead, to take a quick look at the so-called 'future year mates'. He was surprised to see that he recognised a few of them, especially the nervous red-haired kid slouching beside the bloody Boy-Who-Lived. He must definitely be a Weasley – the freckles and that shade of –

Oh, wait, there's Dark Boy – I mean Blaise

And truly, Blaise was staring at him, looking a bit more interested than before, and nudging at a prissy-looking girl beside him whose face seemed to resemble that of a rather rich woman Antares had seen last month in – well, in some shop –

"And before we start for the Great Hall, I introduce you to the new apprentice for this year," he perked up slightly, "Antares Black." A murmur of shock and curiosity went through the group of uncertain-looking future – blast it, First Years, as Adrian had said, while trying to explain the slightly disappointing rule that said they couldn't play Quidditch – as Antares reddened a little at the amount of looks directed his way, most of them, as was the case with the haughty-looking blond boy, rather disdainful.

He nodded negligently, keeping his face blank as McGonagall gave a spare motion to the partly closed doors behind them and stepped through them once more, not even bothering to command the other First Years to follow.

"The Headmaster will further explain his status and the help he can be to you following your Sorting," she added now, pausing before the doors to the Great Hall. "I expect you to keep still, approach me when your name is called, and – " the doors opened – "sit down upon that stool and try on the hat you find upon it. When you are Sorted, approach the table of your new house, which Master Black will point out for you." The hubbub in the Great Hall ceased as the stern Professor smartly led the still-nervous First Years into it, and, once there was silence, motioned to the now sweating Antares to take his place.

As he moved forward, his face as blank a mask as he could keep it, he tried not to think of all the curious eyes on him, and inwardly cursed the fool complaining that someone told them they'd be fighting a Troll to get Sorted.

All very bloody well for you, he thought, as the Hat before them twitched and opened its mouth to begin, you don't have to point out everyone's table, or be Sorted separately

"OH, you may not think me pretty – "

And the Sorting had begun. Antares fought not to melt into a puddle as the Hat sang its disjointed, garbled song – his skin prickled unnaturally, his pulse seemed to thud louder and louder in the back of his head, and his legs seemed to ache more than ever. Why were people looking at him and not at the rest of the bloody first years? Why was Snape staring so? Why the hell was the Headmaster continuing to give him those oddly grave looks?

And why the sodding hell wasn't the stupid Sorting Hat's song over, for bloody –

"Abbot, Hannah!"

He tried not to let out an audible sigh as a nervous girl with blonde pigtails trotted out to the Hat, focusing, instead, on what the Hat called not long after: "HUFFLEPUFF!"

Abbot, Hannah looked downright relieved when he pointed her, a little redundantly, to the cheering, stamping table of Hufflepuffs with a graceful bent of the head that Bella had mysteriously forced him to learn the other day. Reflecting on the odd moments that had followed, he wondered if she'd known, and rightly suspected that she must have –

"Bones, Susan!"

"HUFFLEPUFF!"

Just stay calm – this will be over before you know it

"Corner, Michael!"

"Crabbe, Vincent!" Great saints, not another bully to watch in Slytherin

"Goyle, Gregory!" Even worse

"Lupin, Neville!" What was the point in Sorting him, anyway? Everyone knew he was a bleeding dead cert for the house of brave idiots

"Macmillan, Ernest!" You were BORN a Hufflepuff, mate

"Malfoy, Draco!" Antares tried not to groan at the condescending look he was given from the strutting blond fool, who gave him no notice but a slight sneer when he tried to point him anywhere. A Malfoy who thought he was dirt, whoopee – and in his future House, too –

"Patil, Padma!" Isn't there another one of those?

"Patil, Parvati!" Thought so – wait, that's odd, she's going in Gryffindor, instead of

"Potter – "

McGonagall looked down at her list, looking stricken for a moment, then looked up, face sterner than usual, boldly continuing with the list despite the murmurs of the students going on around her. Antares tried not to roll his eyes – weren't all the Potters dead? What did anyone care

"Weasley, Ronald!" The red-haired kid barely even looked at him either as he headed for the Gryffindor table, looking vastly relieved as he waved at his raucous brothers – nothing else they could be, with that hair –

"Zabini, Blaise!" Antares sighed with relief as the Hat pronounced the dark, slightly nervous-looking boy a Slytherin, and felt even more relieved when Blaise gave him a sort of jerky, friendly nod as he walked up to the table.

"And now, the Sorting of the Apprentice," McGonagall announced, now perfectly composed, and glaring at him when he started, having forgotten this was going to take place at all. "Black, Antares!"

Antares strode down for the Hat, feeling hellishly determined – there was no way, no way he was going in Gryffindor to be overshadowed by Wonder Boy Lupin, or either of the other houses apart from Slytherin. Bella had to be counting on it, she'd been a Slytherin, and one of the best, too. When he turned round as he gently picked up the Hat, he nearly dropped it –

Morgana, everyone is looking at me – everyone Antares gritted his teeth against the oppressive pall of the criticism and fear in their eyes, keeping his chin as high as he dared. Only one criminal in our line, and they name us all traitors

I'll show them

"Show them, shall you?"

Antares tried not to jerk in his seat as a dry, shrewd voice spoke in his ear.

"I thought you just scanned our heads or something," he muttered out loud, feeling horribly silly. "Just get on with it, then." And don't you dare put me anywhere else but Slytherin, he added determinedly to himself.

"I can see your overpowering desire to be put in Slytherin quite clearly – no need to shout," the Hat scolded, startling him again. "An Apprentice, eh? I won't be forced into anything, thank you very much, whether you think you've got a mind like an overheated wand or have an opinion or not, young Master – ah. What have we here – "

Blinding, shockingly sharp pains seemed to seize around Antares' head as the Hat seemed to contract around it, and as odd, disconnected memories seemed to flash through his mind at a pace that dizzied him.

"Mr. Black – are you all right – " McGonagall's voice seemed very faint and very far away as the Hat seemed to comb deeply through every memory of him crying, every memory of Bella, going so far back into his reckoning that he couldn't recognise the dark place around him, and he seemed to hear a woman scream –

"Everything is proceeding as it should," the Hat said aloud, its tone oddly sharp. "If you will permit me to finish my assessment, I should be very grateful, Professor – "

My head, was all Antares could think, as he clutched frantically at the hat brim, oh, my aching head

"Stop that," the Hat said sharply in his ear. "This starts to look like something serious. Although – I cannot tell…" More blinding pain, more memories – the orphanage – "Well. I do not understand it, but, as there is no time, I will finish this. You have the qualities necessary for almost every House, but the quantities…they are the most important thing. Your best bet is, luckily for you, your desired House, SLYTHERIN." Breathing hard, Antares tried to remove the awful old object, but it squeezed determinedly around his head once more, that dry voice sharpening again. "Be sure to discuss your situation with the Headmaster, lad. It may be more favourable than you think. A year or two should reveal the matter, if you do not already know, so you will kindly report on the matter to me, when it is – "

A slightly angry sort of noise was the last thing he heard before the Hat was jerked from his head by a worried-looking Professor McGonagall, whose face was very pale.

No – don't touch your sodding head, that'll look even more stupid

Antares rose shakily to his feet, feeling mutinous as the Hall murmured around him, and as the Hat seemed to complain to McGonagall in a whisper, edging towards the Slytherin table when she looked up, puzzled, at him.

"Mr. Black – the Hat tells me – "

"I'm not putting that thing on again," Antares said through gritted teeth. They could throw him out, for all he fucking cared – he wasn't ever letting anyone or anything do – do that to him again. "I'm not," he persisted, even as the Professor looked up the large Hall to the equally worried-looking Headmaster, who gave some sort of sign that caused McGonagall to nod dismissively at him and start to clear away the dreaded Hat and its stool. He kept his head down as he angled for the Slytherin table, nodding to a surprised-looking Adrian, who nodded back, and praised God in the heavens that there was a seat empty next to Blaise Zabini, who thankfully watched his approach without complaint, and actually seemed to try to catch his eye as he sat down.

"Any idea what all that fuss was about?" Blaise said easily as he took the seat. "Never heard of the Sorting Hat behaving like that – "

"Obviously need of some new stitching," he said viciously, cheeks heating with the amount of stares he was still getting from everyone in the vicinity even as Professor Dumbledore rose calmly to his feet and began to speak. "I thought it was supposed to Sort you, not nearly take your fucking head off." The considerable eyebrows of a heavily tanned girl opposite him raised in half-amusement, half-fear, but she said nothing, looking down at her plate when Antares glared half-heartedly at her.

"Should I be saying 'language' or something?" Blaise said, a hint of embarrassed, wry humour creeping into his voice as Dumbledore warned them against various things that paled into comparison beside the – Dark, definitely Dark – Sorting Hat, including some sort of mad warning of death if you went on the third floor.

"Probably, yeah," Antares muttered, trying to hold back the rippling feeling of angry, destabilised magic that travelled along his arms. How dared they subject him to such an ordeal, when some people just hopped on the stool, put on the bleeding Hat and pranced off to sit at their new table? "At least I'm in Slytherin."

"Never told me you were an apprentice," Blaise said, nudging him a bit as he picked at the napkin in front of him.

"Didn't have time, did I?" Antares snapped back, watching McGonagall as she left with the Hat, practically able to just see Snape sneering at what just happened to him. "Besides, I wasn't then, not for a bit."

"You didn't get beaten up back in Knockturn, did you?" Blaise said, looking a little cowed at Antares' rudeness. The eyes of the girl across from them widened, and she nudged her neighbour, a girl with a horrid short haircut and a snub nose and began paying attention, making Antares want to sneer.

"Well, no," Antares admitted, shoulders drooping. "Just don't go down there alone or with someone who doesn't know their way round a wand for a bit, the beggars should – "

"So you're Blaise's mysterious rescuer from Knockturn Alley," Haircut Girl said calculatingly, interrupting him. "What's your name again?"

"Antares Black," Antares ground out perversely, giving her a hard look. If there was any time to ask, it was –

"As in Sirius Black, the traitor that eats bad babies?" a smug voice said from beyond Blaise.

Now.

"Who knows," Antares replied, shrugging. It had to be that blond idiot, the smugness in that voice was as distinctive and obvious and so 'spoiled rich brat' that it practically screamed Malfoy. "My dad was Muggle, so I highly doubt it." There. Just now, he couldn't give a rat's arse if Snape thought it was unwise to go this route, which he probably would – he didn't even know who his real parents were, and as they could have been a pair of toothless hags armed with fertility potion and a whole lot of luck, saying his dad was Muggle was just as likely to be true as anything else.

"Really? So. You're a half-blood, then, I suppose," Malfoy – he was leaning forward, Antares could see the pure condescension on his face – said, disdainfully. "Well – I guess that's all right, you being here in – "

"You can suppose all you want," Antares found himself retorting coolly back. The Hat seemed to have stirred up a familiar stubbornness that Bel- his mother had frequently shouted at him for, and he was blessed if he'd sit and take that – that statement lying down. "My mum was Slytherin, and her parents and their parents before that, so don't try to tell me I don't fit in here, not after that fucked-up excuse for a hat nearly screwed my head off trying to Sort me."

"Touchy, are we?" Haircut Girl said, sneering slightly.

"Pansy, would you honestly go back and try it on again if they asked you, right now?" Blaise said, shaking his head. "Maybe it likes you or something – didn't want to be separated from you, like that disgusting turban of that guy over there – "

"Quirrell, you mean?"

"That what he's called?" the bushy-browed girl asked timidly, flushing a little as Antares looked up at her.

"Yeah. Met him at my apprenticeship tests – really, really twitchy, I've no clue why they've got him teaching Defence Against the Dark Arts instead of someone like Snape. He's the head of our house, in case no one's told you yet," Antares got out as the food appeared on their plates, trying and failing to inject anything but a slightly bored note into his tone. He knew he was supposed to be 'dissimanating important information' (McGonagall had said something like that at lunch), but honestly couldn't –

"Do we have a House ghost? Everyone else has one – "

"Of course we have a House ghost," Malfoy cut in, before Antares could even open his mouth. "The Bloody Baron – coolest one out of the four, turns invisible, so he's probably – "

"Well spotted, young Malfoy," a hoarse, grating voice intoned suddenly, from rather too nearby for Antares' comfort. He looked up sharply from his plate and wished immediately that he had not, for the Bloody Baron was indeed there, floating beside a rather sickly-looking Malfoy – thankfully not looking at him…yet. "Ah. The pretender. I see you weaselled your way into Slytherin, goodness knows what travesty you will bring upon this most noble – "

" – and ancient house," Antares said, gripping his wand so hard under the table that he would later wonder why it hadn't broken then and there, as his heart seemed to thud in his ears, louder than anything else – "But I think you've said that, already. Haven't you?" If the Baron so much as moved his way, he'd say the spell – probably set fire to himself, but…wait –

The ghost seemed to quiver with menace for a few moments, then abruptly floated out of place and drifted rapidly down the table to another empty spot, leaving behind a series of stifled (and definitely relieved) sighs from the wide-eyed First Years.

Antares made his fingers uncurl from round his wand, not daring to even exhale. If he did, he was sure to shatter to pieces of tired thief and clutter the entire –

"Hey, Black!" A good-natured shout startled him from his still reverie, causing the awkward, jerky conversation, which had picked up somewhat around him, to quiet down again. "Congrats – we apprentices stick together, eh?"

"Gah, shut up, Adrian – "

"Thanks, Adrian!" Antares called out dully, leaning back to nod at the grinning boy, feeling something relax just a bit within him. He returned his attention to the table, and was surprised to see Blaise raise his dark eyebrows at him, looking curious. "Met him getting here yesterday on the Express," he said shortly, trying valiantly to stuff some chicken down his dry throat. "Him and Warrington, anyway – they're okay, though I got the feeling Adrian would've hexed me if I'd said I supported the Tornadoes…"


An hour or so later, Antares was feeling less worried and less morbidly frightened that the Bloody Baron would try to attack him again, and more sleepy than he'd actually been the night before. Perhaps the long, near-silent walk down to the dungeons had something to do with it, making the first years whisper automatically as they were led down to their new dormitories by a surly Prefect. Antares had to stop himself from automatically darting to the left once they entered the rich, crowded common room, towards the Third Year Boys' dormitory, in which he'd spent the night.

Instead, the surly female Prefect handed him and the five other boys over to a sleepy, impatient-looking male Prefect, who shortly informed them that they would be given a proper talking-to in the morning by Professor Snape, and to direct all urgent questions to Antares until then, and for god's sake not to leave the bloody House without an escort, as the tour of the dungeons was to be the next evening. Oh, and that the showers were that way.

Then the door was carelessly shut, and five boys stared sleepily at each other, then at an equally sleepy Antares for a moment, before the questions broke out.

"What do they mean, a dungeon tour?"

"When's breakfast tomorrow?"

"Where is the Owlery?"

"Who's the Quidditch Captain?"

"When's curfew?"

"And when – "

Bang. Antares blinked, then cleared his throat, trying to disguise the fact that he'd just been impatient, and not really done that on purpose –

"Erm, curfew's nine for us, breakfast is from seven thirty to eight forty-five. Dungeon tour is necessary because it's a maze down here, and there are five – no, six ways of getting to the House entrance, all of them different. Quidditch Captain's irrelevant, we can't play Quidditch because," he gave a sulky-looking Malfoy a hard look, "we're First Years. S'not allowed. And the Owlery – you don't really need to know where that is for about a week, so…yeah."

"But the rule's unfair – "

"I need to send – "

"And I'm going to sleep," Antares half-shouted, over the indignant replies. "Save your questions for our Head of House, for crying out loud – Professor Snape's coming in here at seven, all right? It's – what – nine thirty, right now, and if I were you, I'd go to sleep and not be late, because – "

"Oh, shut up, no one cares what you've got to say," Draco cut in, rolling his eyes at Antares. "I'm staying up till ten." A challenging look stared out of the haughty boy's grey eyes, and Antares felt irritated and sleepy enough to just let it drop. Let the complete idiot stay up till past midnight – he wouldn't be the one to wake him up when Snape was bellowing at them the next morning, would he?

Antares sank onto his bed and closed the curtains, sealing them carefully with a spell which, though weak, would at least keep them shut for as long as he wanted them so. He tested it, recast it on the curtains at the foot of his bed, then felt satisfied enough to change out of his tatty robes and underclothes into his mended blue pyjamas – a bit short in the leg, but –

He closed his eyes. They smelt of his mum, and that was why he'd snuck them back into his trunk when she wasn't looking. She couldn't be here with him, but…her smell…could…


A/N: I'm glad this darn chapter's over, I can tell you. It niggled longer than the preceding one, for me, and I'm just glad it's finally done. Please forgive and point out any errors I've made, and review away! Oh, and I left out both McG's speech and the Sorting Hat's song because, by golly, you've heard/seen/read them so. Many. Times. By now. And because it fits in a bit more with the tenor of this chapter, so…hope you enjoyed it.