A/N: In which Halloween is celebrated, but not according to plan.



Chapter 14: Halloween The First

Weeks after the whole incident in the flying lesson and the not-duel that followed it, Antares was starting to tire of hiding Draco's things. Unable to think of how to corner the little bastard and hit him until he bled (which was Antares' most natural inclination as regarded paying someone back for nasty things they did) without immediate retribution from Greg and Vince, he'd taken to filching Draco's things. It was almost too easy to squirrel away his handsome brown quill and to take only the important pages or sections out of Draco's parchment notes, or to hide his stupid soft breeches or vests at the foot of Greg's bed or even drape it on Draco's bedposts when he felt like it. What resulted from Antares' sneaky tactics was a lot of hysteria on the part of Draco, who, after trying to pretend nothing was going on, had searched each and every one of the beds, night tables and trunks in their dorm in search of the tools of the criminal who kept taking his things.

That had been one of the most satisfying moments Antares had had in a long time, as he knew very well that the only tool he needed to steal anything from Draco was his hands and a little malicious will to push his magic in the right direction. Antares had kept a straight face for the entire duration of the search, then rushed to the shower room for a long bout of near-hysterical laughter. Blaise had come in soon after, to see if he was okay, and had ended up joining in when Antares hinted that he'd been behind the whole thing.

Antares scowled. Of course, Blaise being Blaise, he'd gone right to trying to find out how Antares had done it, and had been bothering him ever since.

"Morning!" came the bright voice of his friend, through the curtains around Antares' bed. "Happy Halloween, Antares – "

"Put a sock in it, Zabini!" came Draco's muffled, sleepily annoyed voice. "Some of us are trying to sleep, you idiot – "

"At eight in the morning? Really smart timing, Draco," Blaise replied sarcastically. Antares flexed his fingers and snatched the balls he'd been deftly juggling (he'd gotten quite good at it now, actually) out of the air as a familiar pair of dark hands tore the curtains at the foot of his bed open. "Antares, wake – oh. You're up, then."

"I'm always up, Blaise," Antares replied, a little testily, sliding off his bed with a thump as Blaise scowled and went off to Greg's bed nearby. "And what the hell is wrong with you, anyway? They can wake up on their own."

"Not for a pillow fight, they can't," Blaise said enthusiastically, tearing open Greg's curtains to a grunt of dismay. "If they wake up now, we can have a really good one."

"Why on earth do you want to have a pillow fight?" Draco said from the foot of his own bed, sounding bewildered as he watched Blaise bully Vince into wakefulness but made no move to stop him.

"It's Halloween, you idiot – it's tradition for everyone to have a pillow fight before they go down for breakfast, to scare the ghosts. Didn't your dad tell you?"

"Of course not," Draco replied, trying to look scandalised, but failing to look anything but quite curious. "He'd never fight people with pillows – "

"Well, he should have, then – it's so much fun! Ted, wake up – "

"Go away," Ted moaned, but Blaise was relentless, practically pulling him out of bed. Ted struggled manfully, and was very awake by the time Blaise had gotten him to the floor, and very annoyed. "What's your problem?"

"Halloween, for goodness' sake! Defend yourself!" To Antares' surprise, Ted surged to his feet and claimed a beaten-up pillow from his bed.

"It'll be my pleasure, you arse – you didn't have to drag me out of bed – "

"Ted, what are you doing?" Draco demanded, but Ted was already hitting a retreating Blaise soundly over the head with his pillow. "Ted – " Laughing, Blaise managed to snatch a pillow from Vince's bed and try to defend himself against Ted's hard, puffing blows. "Greg, what are you doing?"

"My mum told me about it," Greg said, stuffing a couple of pillows plundered from Draco's bed under his arm and claiming a third from his own bed, and…heading happily in Antares' direction. "Oh, go on, it's fun, Vince won't let Ted hit you too ha-ow!"

Antares smothered a grin, sitting back on the nest of pillows he'd quickly amassed on the other, defendable side of his bed. His mum had called this strategy of hitting back before you were hit something, something long and a little weird –

"I'll get you for that, Black!" Greg said fiercely, Draco's nerves forgotten as he advanced menacingly on Antares' bed, a light sprinkling of feathers blending oddly into his striped white-and-green pyjamas.

"Whatever you say, Greg," Antares called back, grinning as he prepared to strike from under his bed – aha, that was it – pre-empty strike – "Boo!"

"Wha–ow!"

"Vince, don't hit me!"

"Defend yourself, Draco – "

"Out of my way, Ted – "

"Black, you son of a – "

"Complete that nicely, or I'll wash out your mouth with feathers!"

"Blaise, what's your bloody proble – "

"Aw, fuck, Greg, those were mine – "

"No worries, you can have them back!"

"You slimy stupid fuck – "

"Tell that to the floor, Black." Greg stalked away, all over feathers and clutching three or four pillows as he went to Draco's rescue. Antares sat up, rubbing at the soon-to-be-a-lump on the back of his head as he surveyed the chaos their dormitory had sunk to. Blaise and Ted were pummelling Draco unmercifully in the corner between Ted and Vince's beds. Greg was trying to go to Draco's rescue, and forgetting the point as Vince happily attacked him. Antares couldn't help but laugh – even his short-lived stand had been fun. He rose up and jumped over Blaise's messy bed, snatching up a lonely pillow from between his bed and Draco's and had started to head around Greg and Vince's titanic struggle when the whole fight ended with a very satisfying:

"Yield! I yield, you – stop hitting me, Blaise!" Blaise and Ted ignored Draco's slightly plaintive, panicky shout, but Greg and Vince did not, and soon everyone was huffing and puffing and sitting or leaning against something, and thoroughly covered in itchy feathers.

"Wow, that was fun," Ted was just saying, as Blaise made his weary way back to his bed. Antares looked up at the clock as he began to make his way back to his bed as well, and suddenly noticed –

"Fuck, it's twenty to nine!"

The dorm dissolved into chaos once more, only this time a chaos of people tearing out of their clothes and tugging on jumpers and stuffing feet in boots and trying manfully to rid their hair of feathers (Draco, of course), all so quickly that three minutes later, they were all heading down to the Great Hall in a red-faced, wide-eyed, still feathered group. The Great Hall was nearing empty at the moment, but thankfully the Slytherin table was still rather full, and the food hadn't disappeared down to the kitchen. When Antares drew nearer, he saw that quite a few of those at their table were boys, and were just as messily dressed as he and his year mates were, and one or two of them had feathers or fluff in their hair or on their robes.

"Hey, Black! Stop here a minute, will you?" Antares stopped, grinning, because the person who had just called him over was Adrian, and Adrian was absolutely covered in feathers. "Make a joke about my appearance and you'll look exactly the same for the whole day, understand?" Someone equally covered in feathers grumbled and stood, and began to walk away as other boys near him laughed. "See? Terrence did, and see how marvellous he looks this morning."

"What's up, then?" Antares said, nodding gratefully when Adrian gestured to an empty seat opposite him. Adrian brushed a hand through his hair negligently, somehow not displacing even one feather as he continued to attack his small plate of eggs. "We can't be having Quidditch practice tonight, can we?" Antares continued, a little curl of worry blooming inside him as he started to gather together enough things to make a hasty sandwich. Adrian and Charles had been ecstatic (and, in Adrian's case, rather smug, because he'd won an improbable bet on the whole thing) to hear of his being destined for the Slytherin Quidditch team, and had been the ones to inform him of practice times and locations ever since his fateful flying lesson.

The first practice had been held in the common room, oddly enough, but had flown by as Flint and Terrence Higgs, their current Seeker, had argued over Antares' presence there and generally fought about the strategies Flint wanted to practice and use for the season. The others had mostly been held outside on the Quidditch pitch, and had usually ended in Antares being unable to feel either his feet or his fingers because he was supposed to stay on the ground and watch Higgs' moves throughout. Antares had found the practices absorbing all the same, especially on the rare occasion that Higgs or Flint bullied him onto a broom and made him try out some of the standard Seeker moves and argued about things on the ground while Antares gloried quietly in his presence in the air. By the time the first Quidditch match had been announced, he'd grown used to picking out weaknesses in the Slytherin line-up and occasionally volunteering what he thought to Flint in a very respectful tone (if there was anyone who hated disrespect, it was Marcus Flint), and flying on command, if a little jerkily.

"Of course not," was Adrian's sharp, slightly incredulous answer. "Flint might be a hard man to work with, but he's not stupid enough to try to push us around while everyone else's feasting inside, you know."

Antares shrugged, bolting down his food as quickly as possible. "Just – asking." Adrian gave him an irritated look as he resumed tucking into a horribly messy, slightly feather-y sandwich before him. "So…ulp…what's up?"

"He just wants you to give his condolences to the Greengrass girl in your year, Black," Charles said abruptly from nearby, frowning deeply at his watch as he stood. His own outfit was the nearest to immaculate that Antares had seen so far, with a few patches of white clinging gently to his collar. "And mine, as well."

"Why, though?" Antares asked, wrinkling his nose. He'd barely even seen Daphne at breakfast, actually. Although that was probably because he'd been so late down –

"Don't be a ninny," Adrian snapped, like he always did when he wanted someone to do something. "Just tell her we give her our formal condolences, all right?"

Charles looked amused as he dug his bag out from under the table. "No need to snip him just because I remembered it first, Adrian."

"Do me a favour and suck yourself off, you girl's tit," Adrian replied absently, snaffling an extra roll from Antares' plate as he stood up. "Tell her, Antares."

"Whatever," Antares said, shrugging. Sometimes the two of them were pretty close to mad, always bursting upon him with strange advice and ordering him to do things. Since they were friends (and much better at drawing star charts than him), he almost always did what they wanted, and did so with relish, sometimes. It had been for Charles that he'd stolen the stupid brown quill from Draco, actually, and Adrian had suggested the work of art that had been Draco's crazily disarranged green sheets about three days ago. Of course, he always tried to find out their reasons for asking him to do weirder things, and balked if the task was stupid or just stupidly mean, or likely to get him into trouble.

Right now, despite his suspicion, Antares really couldn't see the point of not conveying formal condolences to Daphne for them – if they knew something horrid had happened to her or to her family, they were well within their rights to send them through him. In fact, if he remembered correctly, that was exactly what family friends or acquaintances were supposed to do – discreetly send condolences through a friend or peer of the person in question.

So, as he, Blaise and the rest of his dorm squeezed hurriedly into the Charms classroom and scrabbled for seats as Flitwick, as usual, took no notice of their lateness except to take points, Antares contrived to brush by Daphne's seat next to Pansy, and contrived to drop his things just so, so that he could tell her now before he forgot.

"Pucey and Warrington send their condolences, Daphne," he muttered quickly, gathering together the few books that had slipped out of his bag as he'd dropped it. However, when he looked up, Daphne's face had gone pale, and her lip was trembling. A Crying Sign if he'd ever seen one, and he really didn't understand why simple condolences affected her so much. "You all right?" But Daphne stared straight at her hands, lip still trembling, back stiffening, and Flitwick's squeaky voice rang out behind him.

"Mr. Black, I require your assistance! We will need the eagle feathers as well, please, and be quick about it!" Antares sighed, hastily dropping his schoolbag next to Blaise's seat a few desks away before going off in search of said eagle feathers. If he remembered correctly, they were doing some kind of theory comparison thing, studying just why different feathers and hence, different objects, levitated in different ways. It had been very interesting work when he'd gone over it on his own with Flitwick hovering excitedly nearby, but if Antares knew anything, he knew it would result in unfailingly tiresome mistakes among the class, and several fires being put out.

Not that it was Flitwick's fault. Charms was just like that as a subject – disordered, disorganised and full of possible and possibly dangerous mistakes for stupid students to make. That fact didn't take away from the many interesting parts of Charms, but it definitely made Antares' life as an Apprentice that much more difficult. Antares, having found the right box in Flitwick's distressingly neat, slightly low-ceilinged little office, entered the classroom to find everyone listening to the professor.

"…mechanics of a Levitation charm are strong enough to accommodate all levels of power. Why, Heroditus was well known for his outrageous ability with Levitation charms – he was said to have been the highest paid architect at the time, because of his ability to levitate in several thousand tonnes of building material and manipulate them into place, all with a sequence of very powerful modified charms. Some of those are still used today in Egypt…" Antares tuned out the familiar lecture, trying to be as quiet as possible as he parcelled out two eagle feathers and as well as two of the other kind to each desk. Towards the back, some pairs who were chatting would very obviously stop as soon as he came towards them, but Antares ignored it, having gotten very used to being given wary glances from most of the Hufflepuffs.

The only person that upset him slightly by not looking him in the eye was Hannah Abbot, who he'd always made a conscious effort to set at ease in these classes because she was prone to making mistakes and freezing up at bad moments, but then, that might have been because Tracey was sitting next to her and scowling over at Blaise, who was carrying on a surprisingly amiable conversation with Justin Finch-Fletchley, who, if Antares remembered correctly, had gone to school with a distant snooty cousin of his whose parents had turned their nose up at sending him to the usual small wizarding primary school, opting instead for the large, famous Muggle private ones.

Antares turned away and continued to distribute the feathers, a small grin coming to his face. He had had a good private laugh over Blaise's scornful indignation on behalf of the horribly exclusive wizarding primary school he'd been to, as he had rather strong memories of one or two times a group of very articulate snobby little boys had tried to bully him and a sometime friend at one of the poor public primary schools Bella had once been able to get him into. The boys had known (in a seven-year-old Antares' estimation) a frightening amount of insults and naughty words, and had been more frightening to him than the usual weirdoes he met in Knockturn or elsewhere because he hadn't known what they wanted or why they'd been talking to him and Billy (was it Billy? He wasn't sure, now), and why they had still somehow understood that separating Antares from his tiny, barely working toy wand (one he'd filched from somewhere and had smuggled into school) was something that would hurt him. Antares' magic had virtually exploded under the threat, and there had been no more Muggle primary school for him.

"Right, then! Books away, wands out – it's time to test our new theory…" Antares sighed, setting the last needed feather down in front of a cheerful-looking pair of girls whose names he kept forgetting, then setting down the box on Flitwick's desk as he continued to direct the class. "The incantation, as you all remember, is Wingardium leviosa. Now, on three, levitate your goose feathers. One – two – "

Cries of "Wingardium leviosa!" echoed around the classroom in various tones, accompanied by various wand movements, some mistaken and some not, and Antares was very busy for that short moment after the first spells had taken or backfired. He stopped Draco's feathers from shooting up the noses of Blaise and Finch-Fletchley near the back of the class, tried to point out to pompous little Ernie Macmillan that swishing like a windmill was probably why his eagle feather wasn't stirring, and generally hopped round the classroom helping Professor Flitwick restore order once again.

Well, until the next time Flitwick let everyone go at the spell again. Antares sighed, listened to the cries begin again, and headed quickly for the loudest source. It looked like it was going to be a long class.


By the time they'd left the Charms classroom, Daphne seemed to have calmed down a little (enough to actually nod at Antares when he carefully corrected her wand focus), but not much. Antares, feeling guiltier by the second, had kept stealing puzzled glances in her direction every so often, but had had no chance to sound out Blaise or even Tracey during the busy lesson. Something horrible had definitely happened to her, enough that she was a lot more silent and still than usual, and barely made any effort to Levitate anything at all.

"Blaise, any idea what's up with Daphne?" Blaise slowed automatically, giving him the usual sideways curious look. "I just gave her condolences from Pucey and Warrington, and she just went all weepy, so I was wondering…"

"Condolences for her? Why?"

"Wouldn't be asking you if I knew why, you idiot. Adrian and Charles didn't tell me anything, except if you count Adrian saying I was a ninny for asking," was Antares' short reply. Blaise shrugged, looking a little disgruntled as he did so.

"I heard something, but I'm not really sure – doesn't even bear repeating, it's that far-fetched. And anyway Daphne's so touchy sometimes, you never know – it could just be that her mum's old kneazle died, or something – " Blaise's wry, bored comment was suddenly cut off by a low sob from ahead of them, and Antares looked up just in time to see Daphne tear herself away from Pansy's worried side.

"Oh, that was really nice of you, saying that so loudly," Antares muttered as a guilty look crossed Blaise's face. "Really smooth, Blaise."

"Fuck off," Blaise said half-heartedly, as Daphne abruptly turned the corner far ahead of them, pushing rudely past a gossiping group of older Gryffindor girls as she hared off to goodness knew where.

"Mind your language," Antares said automatically. Blaise's mouth had been getting fouler and fouler ever since the day they'd become friends, and exactly why, Antares didn't know. It wasn't like his habit was tasteful or anything, or earned him more than several odd or disapproving looks from the teachers or even from older Slytherin students, so it probably wasn't the smartest move for Blaise to make. "Oh, hi, Tracey – what was up with that last Levitating Charm you did, anyway? I could feel it practically tugging at my robes and everything, you know."

"You can feel it?" Tracey said, falling properly into step with Antares and Blaise, having just detached herself from Flitwick's laughably stern little talk back in the classroom. She'd set her eagle feather on fire every time, and had been so obviously getting bored of trying and trying in tandem with that meek little Abbot (who Antares sometimes suspected was really quite afraid of Tracey), and by the end of the class, she'd taken to trying to levitate up the robes of everyone around her. Luckily, Antares had been passing by, and had confusedly sensed what she might be trying to do and put a stop to it before she set someone's robes on fire. "I was being really sneaky, though – "

"It doesn't seem to matter with me," Antares admitted, feeling somewhat self-conscious as Blaise began to give him that speculative look again. "I don't know why, I could just sort of feel it, like you were actually physically pulling at my robes."

"So you're saying that you're basically a magical sensor or something?" Blaise said sceptically. "Oh please, there's got to be more to it than that – "

"I tried telling Flitwick about it the other day, when we were going over the demonstration for this class," Antares said lowly, not quite knowing why he was telling the both of them these things, things he'd never thought to tell anyone but Bella, who he knew wouldn't overthink it, or – "He just went on and on about intent, and how it's me being able to sense intent, and I just thought that was stupid, because I saw Tracey flicking her wand at me out of the corner of my eye, so – "

"What, you saw me?" Tracey demanded. "How?"

"Part of me helping the professors is spotting things that they can't on their own, you idiot. And your wand motions were the bloody length of your desk, if course I saw you."

"Still doesn't answer the question of why you can sense intent," Blaise muttered, rolling his eyes. "Honestly, the way you fiddle with the conversation sometimes, Antares, I might think you were trying to avoid the subject – "

Antares tried not to blush or scowl, and failed. Bella had always told him how tactless he was about conversation switches, and – "So what? Take a hint, Blaise," Tracey said absently, not seeming to see Blaise's sharp look in Antares' uncomfortable direction as they trooped into the Great Hall. Antares felt quite thankful to have Blaise give Tracey a hard look right then, because of her slightly tactless comment.

"Like you took a hint when Flitwick told you it was swish and flick, not swing and flick?" Blaise asked, his voice just this side of snide. He waved to Terry Boot as they all struggled down between the Slytherin and Ravenclaw tables, the space between them partially filled with seventh years arguing good-naturedly over some strange Arithmancy function.

"You're just annoyed 'cause I was having fun," Tracey said defensively, blushing. Blaise rolled his eyes.

"So torturing that poor Abbot girl counts as having fun to you?" Antares stifled a grin. Sometimes it was funny the way Tracey didn't quite see the effect she could have on timid people – he didn't know now why he'd thought her shy at all, with her edgy gestures and constant, simmering energy. Maybe it was because he'd never really paid attention, or something. Tracey sniffed disdainfully as they continued to weave their way through to their end of the Slytherin table.

"I wasn't torturing her, Blaise. Just because I set fire to one or two – "

Blaise snorted. " – to every one of your eagle feathers – "

"Oh, piss off, it's not like you can get everything right the first time, smarty-pants," Tracey said dismissively, and that was suddenly it. One minute, Antares had been listening to the mostly good-natured bickering of his friends. The next –

"You think you're so smart!" Tracey was whispering violently, thumping her bag heavily on the floor. "Like you're the only one that ever sees anything – "

"And you think you always know what everyone's about, don't you?" Blaise retorted in a frantic whisper, hardly seeming to notice as his own bag slid to the floor. "You're such a bloody prig, Tracey – "

"Don't you dare, Blaise Zabini!" Tracey continued furiously, poking Blaise hard in his side with her wand, forcing him to turn round to face her with a face like thunder. "You're the priggiest prig I've ever known! You go on and on about how everything's not right and not fair – "

"Of course I bloody do! How can't I? You, you're always picking on people, wasting all our time with jabbering on about how much of an idiot Zachariah Smith is, and how you want to hex him good even though he's in second year – well, Tracey, here's news for you: you're a disgusting, mean person too! I can ask questions and find out stuff if I want to, and it's none of your fucking business!"

Blaise seized his bag and stalked off, obviously furious, leaving behind him a deafening, uncomfortable silence – at least at their end of the table. Pansy was still looking from Tracey to Antares in obvious anticipation, Draco was sniggering behind his hand, and Ted was looking thoughtfully at an obviously upset Tracey. Millicent, Greg and Vince were pretending to have some conversation, and Daphne – Daphne still looked miserable, poking wearily at the food on her plate.

Antares sighed, feeling irritated. What was up with everyone today, anyway? When Tracey made a jerky move to pick up her bag and go the same way as Blaise, Antares practically dragged her back into her seat and sat watch over her, making her fill her plate and eat despite her sour expression and stiff shoulders. Conversation gradually began to wash among all of them again, but Antares wasn't quite listening. With Daphne now sitting opposite him (Blaise had originally had the dubious honour of that position), he could hardly focus on Greg flapping his mouth enthusiastically about the latest postponement of the start of the World Quidditch season. Finally, he decided that a careful question wouldn't hurt.

"Daphne?" she started slightly, jabbing her fork into the pathetic ribbons remaining of a sausage she'd been cutting up ever since the meal started. "Is everything – are you okay?" Daphne swallowed and nodded, chin lifting oddly, almost in defiance. "What – " Tracey pinched him, making him scowl at her and try to regain the thread of his question, but not before Pansy could start a loud conversation on some new kind of hair gel or other, effectively distracting Daphne. "What is your bleeding problem, Tracey?"

"More like what's Daphne's," she muttered, voice turning fierce and lowering to a whisper as she went on. "Don't ask now, please – I'll tell you when we get away, I promise."

"And if I do?" Antares said, rolling his eyes. Everyone was making such a –

"Then you'll know the reason why, you idiot," Tracey snapped. "There, I've warned you. Now let me finish my pathetic little meal, all right?" There was no more conversation on the topic after that, as Antares had heard the clear vein of warning running through Tracey's clipped words. Whatever had happened to Daphne, she definitely didn't want to talk about it, and though she was no great friend of his or whatever, he'd rather not earn her enmity (and probably Pansy's, and Tracey's, to a degree) by pushing for facts he'd probably get later on.

And get he did. Not ten minutes out of the Hall after a somewhat hasty, uncomfortable meal, Tracey had dragged him into the broom closet beside the double doors of the Entrance Hall, her mouth opening almost as soon as she'd slammed the door behind them.

"Daphne's sister eloped a week ago, all right? To some poor little Muggleborn clerk working at some stupid new broom company too…." Antares' eyes widened. A Greengrass and a muggleborn wizard? For a long moment, Antares wondered if his mum had heard – it would probably be all over Diagon Alley, the Greengrasses being just influential enough that everyone with a sufficiently well-to-do shop would be connected to them. And anyway, it was probably a bit like what her own sister did, ages and ages ago, only perhaps a little better. His mini-reverie was broken as Tracey sighed tiredly and went on. "Well obviously their Council came down hard on her. Wouldn't want anyone else thinking that their sons and daughters have no proper wizarding pride or whatnot."

"What did they do to her?" Antares asked, already anticipating the answer. Excommunication from the family was the option that the more stringent old families (like the Blacks) often took, but sometimes stripping the person temporarily of their magic was used instead. It all depended on who was on the family council and maybe how lowborn or poor the partner of the erring witch or wizard was.

"Stripped her of her magic for half a year, and made sure it would be gone on our holidays for the next five years," Tracey whispered. Antares closed his eyes, trying hard not to think of how not being able to Accio things would be like. How not being able to see even Hogwarts would be like, for any length of time…It was just horrible even thinking about it, even if he knew quite well that Bella would never do something like that to him – "It's horrible, isn't it? And Daphne was really close to her and everything. She got the letter this morning, when all you lot weren't down yet, so…" Tracey sighed again. "Everyone in Slytherin's been talking about it, and it's driving her mad – "

"Oh god, I gave her condolences," Antares whispered, suddenly remembering the awful expression on Daphne's face when he'd offhandedly whispered them to her. It was tradition for pureblood families to give their sometimes spiteful, sometimes caring formal condolences to each other in times of such tragedy. In this case, receiving them from someone like him would be nothing short of a disgrace, especially since everyone thought he was a halfblood –

"Who told you to – "

"Pucey," Antares said, suddenly quite angry. "And – and Warrington – I thought they were my – well, not my friends, but at least – "

"Well, they don't know her well enough," Tracey said, hastily. "Daphne used to visit with the Warringtons, I think, and a cousin of hers married your Warrington's older brother, so maybe – "

"They could have fucking told me," Antares said fiercely, feeling queasy. They'd said it in such an offhand manner –

"They're third years, Antares," Tracey said sharply. "Come on, you've got to have realised that they'd thought you'd know already. It's tradition not to deliver them directly, don't you know? They could've picked Blaise to do it, you know, not you – I think it's more of an honour, myself."

"You would," Antares said viciously, tensing as he processed what she'd just said. Tracey just gave him a hard look and sighed, turning away. Antares scowled at the mops and buckets in the smelly closet, trying to find some reason to be upset about it all. He hated being used like this, like some stupid conduit or something. Whether Adrian or Charles thought it was an honour or whatever was beside the point –

"Oh stop sulking, will you? We've still got to get to Transfig on time, and I'm certainly not sitting by Blaise, or by myself," Tracey said sharply, prodding him into picking up his bag. Antares did it as sullenly as possible, giving Tracey a nasty look as she shoved open the door.

"I don't see why you're so angry at him," he muttered, following her out. "It's hardly like he used you or anything."

Tracey snorted. "Blaise is too smart for his own good, and he needs to learn that people don't always like being cornered into answering to his stupid questions," she said, giving Antares a pointed look. "Now there's lots of things I'm dying to know about you, but I don't go trying to make you tell them if you don't want to yet, do I?" Antares glared at her, knowing it was weaker than usual. "Besides, you usually 'fess up if you're left to yourself." He gave Tracey a hard look, but that didn't stop her from giving him a half-smile and continuing. "I'm sure you'd have told us all about what Flitwick's been teaching you if Blaise had kept his sorry mouth shut…"

Antares looked away in every direction possible at that, but found it was hard going keeping the smile off his face as Tracey bullied him along into Professor McGonagall's classroom. As they burst in only about a minute late, Blaise gave him a wounded look that Antares tried to ignore as he dropped his bag next to Tracey and went warily up to apologise to McGonagall and ask if this was to be a demonstration class or not. It was not, and Antares settled into his seat beside a rather smug Tracey, feeling quite guilty as Blaise began to give him accusing looks.

The class didn't go very well. Blaise kept making snide comments about Tracey just loud enough for everyone to hear but not loud enough for McGonagall to really do anything other than glare at them and try to lecture louder. Tracey made them right back, and soon the class had degenerated into furious whispered comments zinging back and forth around Antares. Tracey called Blaise every version of the word 'snob', and Blaise hissed back horrible things about her family and just how they'd gotten all their money. Draco giggled somewhere behind, heartily enjoying the whole debacle with every inch of his stupid little arse, and Antares sighed and answered McGonagall's questions as loudly as he could, and tried hard to keep up with the discussion on Transfiguration Theory with McGonagall and a surprisingly attentive Ted.

Soon enough, Blaise made a comment about how all Davis women were either stupid or loose that made Tracey gasp and splutter and set Pansy and Millicent into the same state of stupefied horror. Daphne, who had been sitting right in front of Blaise and doodling listlessly on her parchment notes, turned round and gave him a look. "Would you mind leaving off talking about 'stupid women' in general, just now?" she said coldly, emphasising 'stupid women' with something just short of a sneer. Blaise sneered back, looking uncharacteristically angry, and as he opened his mouth, Antares sighed to himself.

Knowing Blaise's constant irritation at being interrupted or told off for saying something he thought important, this definitely wouldn't be good –

"You're one to talk," he said quietly, eyes horribly cold, "considering what all the ladies in your family get up to – "

Everyone gasped. McGonagall was there in minutes, towering over Blaise, but not quite in time to stop Daphne's undignified, desperate scramble out of her chair, towards a slightly chagrined Blaise, and –

Crack! Antares was half on his feet in surprise from just how hard that slap had sounded, and was, despite his misgivings, right there beside Pansy trying to hold on to a now sobbing Daphne and stop her from fleeing the classroom.

"Let go of Miss Greengrass this instant!" McGonagall barked, over the angry shouts of Tracey and the defensive replies of Blaise. Antares did, more out of concern for his weeping classmate than anything else. Pansy held on a minute longer, but only to her detriment – Daphne wrenched free of her with a particularly loud sob and was running out of the classroom, her face twisted in misery and embarrassment as the door slammed behind her. "Back to your seats, everyone! Yes, that includes you, Davis. Sit down, now." McGonagall's steely stare had everyone standing scurrying back to their seats in moments, and soon enough the once-noisy classroom was as quiet as a tomb. McGonagall nodded slightly, returning to her place just in front of her large desk. "Zabini, you will see me in my office after this class, is that clear?" Blaise nodded, his face blank, and suddenly McGonagall was replying to Ted's last tentative question on the true essence of all things.

"Now, Mr. Nott, I believe you wished to know if objects retain their true essence when they are transfigured…"


When the awful Transfigurations class was finally over, Antares couldn't leave fast enough. Tracey stuck by him the whole way down to the Slytherin dorms, glaring at Blaise as they went. When Daphne was nowhere to be seen in the common room, Tracey practically snarled in Blaise's direction before flouncing off to the girls' dormitory, and it was all Antares could do not to sigh. Seeing Draco's wide smile as he headed past Antares for the dormitory with Greg and Vince in tow, Antares scowled, restraining the impulse to filch something important from him as he went past, because Blaise was still watching.

Staring, in fact. Enough that Antares rolled his eyes and broke the silence of his own volition, just as Ted flitted by them, still looking thoughtful.

"Are you going to just stand there and stare all day, Blaise?" Blaise started, looking oddly guilty, and sighed. "Just apologise or talk and be done with it, all right? I don't want to miss the Feast, and I'm not going to let you chicken out of it just because Daphne might be there, either."

"I'm not chicken," Blaise protested weakly, fidgeting with the strap of his bag. "I'm just – "

"Stupid? Absolutely and completely without working brains for the day?" Antares said sarcastically, smiling a little to take the sting out of his words. He just didn't feel like arguing with anyone right now. And, despite the fact that Blaise did irritate him, and had said absolutely horrible things to both Tracey and Daphne, Antares was still his friend. Sort of. "I told you you shouldn't have started swearing like me – it's obviously gotten to you in some deeply frightening sort of way – "

"I just – I didn't think what I heard about Daphne's family was serious – "

"Well, it was," Antares said, bluntly. Blaise looked down, looking even more unhappy. Just as Antares began to think of continuing on to the dorm, Blaise began to speak again, in a very small voice.

"I don't know – I'm not sure what to do, now."

"Just fix it, Blaise," Antares said, cutting him off as he swung determinedly for their dormitory, now not quite caring what Draco might say to him as he entered. "Just fix it, and fix it fast, all right? I'm not friends with complete wankers, I'll have you know." Blaise let himself be left behind, still looking uncomfortably guilty, but Antares shook off the sort of angry pity seeping into him on his behalf, firmly putting away the fear that Blaise would just turn his nose up at him for the lecture as well. Unless Blaise was ready to take the consequences for his useless behaviour, Antares would be far better off just being friends with Tracey, and no one else.


Fifteen minutes later, Antares sat down at his table in the quite interestingly decorated Great Hall with a (hopefully concealed) grimace, trying to ignore the way Blaise and Tracey were still glaring at each other. Daphne, unsurprisingly, was nowhere to be seen, and Pansy looked a little miserable, and kept shooting Blaise furious looks. She'd disappeared just after Transfiguration, and had come back Daphne-less, so – yeah. Draco, still very pleased at all the tension despite its rather awful cause, just went on bragging and shooting off at the mouth without a care for the stilted silence that seemed to have their end of the table in a chokehold.

"Welcome!" Dumbledore's voice cut into Antares' worried thoughts like a cold spear. "As all of you know…" Antares picked at the gold cutlery before him, toying with one of his knives as Dumbledore drivelled on about the historical significance of Halloween. Hopefully, the whole stalemate wouldn't last for long.

Indeed, when the meal finally appeared on their table in its usual sudden manner, all of the first years seemed to relax a little. Antares soon found himself carrying on a somewhat stilted conversation about broom modification with Ted Nott. Blaise and Tracey seemed to be listening but ostensibly not taking part, and Draco, Vince, Greg and Pansy were all engaged in dissecting the eating habits of various people on their table and on the others. It made for strange conversation, but at least there was conversation. Silence would have been much more uncomfortable.

"Quality Quidditch doesn't carry tools. I've snuck in often enough to check," Antares was saying in response to a question from Ted, when Millie, who had been sort of listening in for a short while now, butted in.

"Why were you sneaking in?"

"If I know anything about Black here, it's because they can't stand him," Pansy said, briefly abandoning her critique of Hannah Abbott's fumbling. Antares felt like rolling his eyes and sending a snide comment her way (goodness knew how many shops on Diagon refused entry or service to her uncle – the man was said to be horribly forgetful, and one for getting out of paying his debts in the most astonishingly legal manner), and, after a second, chose to just go with the flow. It was the truth, anyway.

"Exactly." When Millie's eyes brightened and Pansy leaned nearer, obviously angling to hear some gossip about him, Antares added something. "Why's not the point," he said firmly. Then he noticed the look of slightly guilty curiosity on Blaise's face and cursed himself for not recognising the in he could have left for his friend, but continued anyway. "But still, no. I think I asked someone where they might carry broom-mod stuff, and they went raving about somewhere in Hogsmeade – "

"Raven Rivenwood's Emporium, right?" Ted said, interrupting in that sort of offhand, slightly rude manner that sometimes irritated Antares. Antares nodded, and Ted echoed it. "Yeah, that's where my cousin goes. He's absolutely mad for brooms – started work at Nimbus two years ago, in fact."

Antares blinked. "Nimbus Nimbus? Sounds really cool – "

"Don't be fooled, it's deadly dull," Ted said, greedily buttering another roll. "Well, not for him – my aunt told my dad that he comes home muttering and stinking of broom polish, and that his room is covered in splinters half the time," Ted went on, his tone disparaging. "Don't see the appeal of mucking around with brooms that much, myself. Now, I won't deny that Fred can cast a mean speed enhancing charm, but really – "

"You haven't seen anything seriously modded in action, then," Blaise interjected impatiently. "My stepdad's excellent at it, and it bloody well shows – he's got a Comet Two-Sixty that flies like a Nimbus 2000, I swear – "

"That is such a load of bull, Blaise," Antares said helpfully, trying not to flash Blaise an encouraging grin. He'd been glad this conversation had come up – Blaise had somehow inherited a healthy obsession with modifying magical objects of all kinds, and modding brooms was just one of the things he was interested in tinkering with. It didn't quite seem to matter, just now, that Blaise had said such stupid things – Antares rather wanted everything to be okay just for these few minutes of the feast, which they were all supposed to enjoy. He (or Tracey, more likely) could properly give Blaise his very much deserved talking-to later, anyway…

"No, no – get this, my cousins had a race – "

"A race to mutual stupidity, I suppose," Tracey muttered under her breath, but everyone ignored her. When Blaise really got going with a story, it was hard not to get absorbed. Antares felt slightly guilty about it this time, but thinking of how Tracey was practically guaranteed to be the one sounding Blaise out after the feast (she'd do it even if he had to lock them into an empty classroom to make them get on) allowed Antares to look much less guilty than he felt.

"One on a Nimbus 2000, fairly new, no problems, and the other on my stepdad's battered Two-Sixty. They were neck and neck all the way across the Quidditch pitch, I swear – "

"So who won?" Pansy asked curiously, obviously having forgotten that she'd been talking to Draco (who, scowling, was trying to pretend he wasn't listening, and failing at it) earlier, as well as the fact that it had been Blaise's big mouth that had ruined the last class for everyone, especially Daphne.

Blaise narrowed his eyes in that odd, sly way that always seemed to fall short of suspicious. "The younger cousin. But only because he's mad on a broom, like Antares."

"Ah," Ted said, nodding, and it was obviously more than Draco could stand.

"Antares isn't that good – he was just fast because his fat head was dragging him down," Draco said nastily. "Gravity, not skill – "

"Race me, then?" Antares threw out, his grin smug. "Flint's not particular about who comes at the end of practice – maybe he'll even let you touch his Nimbus."

"Now that race, I'd watch," Tracey interjected, giving Blaise a superior look. Antares sighed as Blaise returned her look with a sneer – he would be really, really relieved when this stupid thing between them was all over.

He was just starting to plan on exactly how to get them both into that locked classroom sometime tomorrow afternoon when the doors shivered, then opened with a bang. His eyes snapped to the doors as they were slammed open, widening when Quirrel limped and stumbled in. All of a sudden, he felt really sorry for the man – he could probably be a good teacher if he had a bit more courage, and by the smug look on Snape's face, whatever he'd encountered before coming into the Hall hadn't been an accident at all –

"Troll, in the dungeons!" Quirrel's gasp stilled the chatter and squeaking in the Hall like next to nothing could as the man swayed on his feet, looking paler and paler by the minute. "Thought you ought to know…" He fainted, and Antares, full of horror, was suddenly on his feet and looking, horrified, into Blaise's eyes, because Daphne could be down there.

Alone. With a Troll.

"I will have silence!" Dumbledore was thundering, "Prefects, lead your houses…" But all Antares could think about was the panicked shreds of conversation floating among his panicked year mates. Tracey looked frozen with horror, and even Draco looked surprised and quite frightened.

"Oh, god, Daphne," Pansy was muttering to herself, over and over again, as their prefects tried to whip them into shape and out of their seats. "I shouldn't have left her, god – "

"Where?" Tracey suddenly demanded, her paralysis broken, seizing hold of Pansy before she could run off to tell the prefects, tell someone, anyone.

Pansy looked back, eyes wide. "Toilets, on the third floor – "

Antares clamped down on Blaise's wrist as soon as he could get hold of it in the panic and confusion. "Let's go," he whispered, fiercely, because he'd already seen the look on Tracey's face, the hard, direct one that practically screamed, "I'll cover for you!". The look on Blaise's face showed that he'd seen it too, and soon, as they were being herded out of the Great Hall and up the stairs, they were edging carefully out of the prefects' sight. "On three, the classroom on the right," Antares whispered again. Blaise nodded, and then they were inside the cold room, shivering as the noise passed them by, the noise of panicky feet trampling on the way to wherever the prefects and teachers were diverting Hufflepuff and Slytherin to. Silence gradually descended, and Antares steeled himself to mutely poke his head out of the classroom.

The way was clear. Antares' decision now was not. Surely Daphne wasn't on her way downstairs? Pansy had said third floor, those abandoned girls' toilets, and he knew the way. But – no. They needed to warn her, she wouldn't know. Probably wouldn't even notice, in her grief –

"Come on." Antares nearly didn't recognise his voice; it was that low, that fierce. That fearless. He held back a shaky laugh as he and Blaise began to rush up stairs and dart down corridors, hoping Daphne was okay. He was far from fearless, oh, he knew that. His shoulder was itching strangely, and his legs were shaky despite the fact that he was in the lead and probably managing the walk with no problem at all, and his heart was thudding as they turned the corner, and saw – "What the – what's he doing?"

"I don't know," Blaise whispered, keeping back and keeping still as they watched Professor Snape enter the stairwell to the left of them. "Maybe we should tell him – "

"And get herded off to wherever? He wouldn't go after Daphne now, I know he wouldn't – "

"But – "

"We can get to the girls' bathroom if we take that right," Antares said, cutting him off. "We'll be there in minutes, I promise, and we'll just sit tight with her until the whole thing's over…"

They moved as quietly as possible, freezing at perfectly innocent noises and trying not to bump into each other as they went round corners. And then suddenly Antares wasn't quite sure which corner to take, and after that they both realised they hadn't seen this part of the castle properly before, but were sure it was on the third floor, and hoped it was close to the toilets Pansy had mentioned, and then –

And then.

That foul stench, that shuffling – they both froze. Morgana of the rock, the troll was – was up here. Antares couldn't understand it, but –

The huge, hulking troll appeared even huger in the dim lighting of the corridor, but Antares wasn't even thinking about the bloody corridor or even Daphne any longer. All he could see or think was that the troll hadn't seen them, it hadn't, and it wouldn't if they kept still, and – oh, thank Merlin, thank the fucking stars it was looking into an open doorway nearby, and Antares couldn't breathe for gratitude as it snuffled and shuffled its way into it after hesitating for a moment that felt like years.

"Oh, fuck," Blaise whispered. Antares resisted saying the same thing, closing his eyes in relief. "We have to get – "

"Wait – see, the key's in the lock, right there…" Antares trailed off, as Blaise was staring at him as if he was mad. "What? We can tiptoe up and lock it in, and get a teacher or something – "

"Or we can go!" Blaise spat at him, his whisper shaky with fear. "The teachers can find it on their own, you know that – "

"I'll do it, then," Antares snapped. He couldn't understand why Blaise was being so stupid about this – if they locked the troll up and got a teacher, the whole problem would be over in minutes, and they could find Daphne with no trouble, and the feast could maybe go on. Instead, Blaise was repetitively muttering "Bloody stupid hero idiot," in his direction as he crept up to the door. Heart thudding in his ears, he reached for the door, and, minutes later, it was slammed and locked, and he was practically beating Blaise to the nearby stairwell. "See? I fucking told you – "

A high, terrified scream erupted from behind the door, and both of them stopped, horror seeping into them. Oh, god, god, god, there was someone inside

"Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck fuck…" Blaise was babbling. Useless. Antares whipped out his wand, the beating of his heart coalescing with the screaming into a horrible sound. The sound, the screams – murder. The troll would kill – they were excitable – "Antares, no!" But he was already wrenching open the door and breathing hard at the still person huddled up in the corner by a sink – a girl – girls' toilets – it could be Daphne

"Get in here and her out!" Antares bellowed backwards, eyes on the troll as it slowly turned, its club in one hand and one of the sinks that had been at a gushing hole in the wall that the girl who could be Daphne was huddling against. The air stank of broken pipes and water and foul troll, and as the troll began to shuffle closer, it got worse. "Do it, Blaise!"

"No," Blaise was saying, terrified, but coming closer, and as the troll growled at him eyes turning on Blaise as it dropped the sink, Antares knew he had to do something more to distract it.

Spell, think of a spell

"Mordeo!" he yelled, needing this, praying the Stinging Hex would work as a beam of light shot out and hit the Troll in the head. It bellowed, raising its club, now only focused on Antares, so – "Blaise, get a fucking move on! Mordeo!" The light his wand emitted was brighter now, but it didn't stop the troll from stamping forward, polluting the air with its stench as it roared and roared – "Impedimenta!" But that hardly did anything to slow it, and Antares found himself backing for the door, breath coming short with fear as Blaise darted round the back of the troll jerkily and began to tug on the shivering form of the girl over in the corner. "Mordeo!" The troll bellowed again, then suddenly, faster than anything Antares had seen, its arm was swinging the club straight for him.

It was all he could do to jump aside, and even then, the shock of the club hitting the wall to his right sent him tumbling to his feet. Antares could dimly see Blaise tugging blindly at the girl in the corner, and he knew now that he'd have to draw the troll out somehow, unless there'd be no getting away from it. A bellow and another swing and he was away, darting through the door as quickly as he could, hoping the troll would follow him. It did, but quicker still was the club swinging and swinging as the troll bellowed and Antares began to sob with fear and shortness of breath from the dodging he was trying to do. And then he was back against the wall, and Blaise was yelling something from the door of the toilets instead of getting away, and the troll had turned away again, brandishing its club, and he shouted the first spell that came to his mind – "Expelliarmus!"

The club slipped out of the troll's hands like butter, flying towards the wall horribly near Blaise's head, and the troll's attention was back where it belonged, too late. "Mordeo!" Antares screamed, aiming his wand into its eyes, willing the pain to force it to close them so he could dart round and run with Blaise and Daphne, and its scream as it reached up and batted at its eyes was like nothing he'd ever heard, but he wasn't sticking around to listen, and –

Beams of red light began to slam into the troll, one after another, all coming from the direction of the stairs in which Antares was hoping to head. Professor Snape's black form appeared first, followed by that of McGonagall and Quirrel, the former looking frighteningly angry and the latter looking as pale as he'd been in the Great Hall. The troll tottered to the ground with a crash, thankfully not in Blaise's direction, and Antares could hardly breathe for the rush of relief that was flowing through him now.

The look on Snape's face was unreadable as he stepped forward, wand out, to bend over the troll. Quirrel's eyes were wide with fright, flicking from Antares to the troll, and McGonagall – Antares gulped. McGonagall's lips were thin and white with anger, and the sight of it was rapidly bleeding his relief away.

"What on earth were you thinking?" she snapped, voice cold with fury. "You better explain why you and Mr. Zabini are not with your house immediately – "

Antares immediately spoke up, anxious to set things right. "Professor, we were looking for – "

"You could have been killed," McGonagall said, voice rising. "Are you completely stupid, young man?"

"Let him speak, Minerva," Snape suddenly said, looming next to him. His face was even paler than hers, and his lips just as thin with anger. "Do tell us why you thought it fit to disobey the command of the headmaster and battle a troll, Mr. Black."

"They saved me," said a small, un-Daphne like voice from behind them. Antares twisted round in surprise, face paling as he saw that the girl that Blaise had had to prise off the wall in the toilets was none other than – than Granger. "I was in the toilets – it came in, and they saved me," she repeated, her chin trembling, her eyes red with tears.

"We were looking for Daphne Greengrass, sir," Blaise interjected quickly, his own voice just as shaky. "We didn't know Granger was here, we just thought – "

"You were looking for Miss Greengrass, you say?" Snape said sharply. "Was she not at the feast?"

"No, sir," Antares said, trying to keep the palpable relief out of his voice. Snape narrowed his eyes at him, but he held his gaze, trying hard to appear honest, hoping that McGonagall wouldn't –

"It seems to me," Snape said, breaking eye contact, "that they were, in fact, looking for their absent housemate. The Greengrass girl, Minerva – you remember her situation…?"

"Oh, I do," McGonagall replied frostily, now staring daggers at Blaise in particular. "But should they not have informed a teacher?"

"We thought she was on the second floor in the girls' toilets, Professor," Blaise said, voice steadying somewhat. "Professor Quirrel said the troll was in the dungeons, so we thought it would be fine to – "

" – risk your lives by setting off on a fool's journey. I assume you will not be making such a poor decision again?" Snape said menacingly, the last sentence clearly an order.

"No sir," Antares chorused with Blaise. Granger's face wobbled as Snape's sharp eyes turned to her, but before he could say anything, McGonagall had cut him off.

"I assume you are not hurt, Miss Granger?" she said briskly, giving Snape a hard look. When Granger nodded, McGonagall sighed. "Return to your dormitory immediately, girl. Off you go." Granger, already edging away, stopped right in front of Antares, and –

"What the…?" Granger's hair was practically in his mouth, and her arms felt very soft and skinny around his neck. Antares blushed hard, wishing that no one (Professor McGonagall. Professor Quirrel. Professor Snape) was here to see this – display. In a moment, Granger's arms had slipped away, and she was now attacking a wide-eyed Blaise with the same fervour. "Erm – "

"Thank you," she said, a little tearfully, and then she'd run off, obviously unwilling to face the looks of surprise from the teachers. Antares looked up at Snape, then, wishing he hadn't, looked down at his feet. He felt much like running off instead of facing that wry mask of contempt –

"And as for you," McGonagall said, her stern tone faltering somewhat, as if she still didn't quite believe what they'd all just seen Granger do, "Five points each from Slytherin, for not reporting your concern to a Prefect or professor, as is expected of you." Antares couldn't stop his mouth from opening to protest such harsh punishment for saving someone's life, but he promptly shut it at the expression on McGonagall's face. "Anything to add, Mr. Black?"

"Actually, Black, I have some questions for you," Snape cut in suddenly, looming a lot closer than Antares had thought he'd been. "What did you do to deter the troll, boy?" Antares reddened, not quite knowing what 'deter' meant, and so –

"Disarming Charm, sir, at the last," Blaise said quickly, a note of fierce pride colouring his tone. He turned slightly to Antares, giving him an encouraging look as he continued, "I didn't know the rest he used, but – "

"Stinging Hexes," Antares interjected, catching on. "And an Impediment Jinx, but that didn't work, so. Stinging Hexes, Impediment Jinx, and one Disarming Charm." Behind Snape's coolly interested face was Quirrel's own, and Antares tried to suppress yet another blush. Quirrel, though quite pale, was actually beaming –

"Three defensive hexes, hmm?" Snape mused. "Thirty points to Slytherin, then, for a discerning use of magic in time of need." McGonagall's face went red, her lips thinning out even more. Antares and Blaise kept their faces as blank as was possible, knowing not to show any signs of pleasure, and soon enough – "You may return to your dormitories, boys, as the threat is passed."

Exchanging a look of positive relief – for a moment there it had seemed like they were about to get detention from McGonagall, of all things – Blaise and Antares didn't need to be told twice to go back to Slytherin. They fairly ran, giddy with the thought of Snape standing up to McGonagall on their behalf, enough to give them, and Slytherin, twenty points. Blaise, wheezing slightly, waved away at Antares, who whispered the password ("Toujours droite") with new pleasure.

Tracey was the first one to reach them. "Where have you been!" She practically dragged them over towards the other first years, looking them up and down as they went. Antares, looking down at himself as they crossed the mostly staring common room, realised his robes were torn all across one arm and some of one shoulder, and filthy besides. Blaise wasn't much better off, his expensive robes speckled with filth and damp from dragging Granger through and around the rubble in the toilet. "And what were you doing? Daphne's fine, she's down here, but we didn't know – "

"We met the troll," Blaise said, suddenly finding his voice. Everyone stared at him, including Tracey, and Antares couldn't help smiling as everyone began speaking at once, all clamouring for details and telling them they had to be fibbing. After Antares quietly seconded Blaise's almost too exciting statement, everyone began to listen in earnest, Antares included. He lolled happily in an armchair beside him, proudly taking in how rapt the silence that surrounded the first years was. If anyone could tell this story, it was Blaise. Really, he thought even the second years were listening. And, of course –

"I'm sorry you had to come after me," Daphne muttered, after a hard prod from a wide-eyed Pansy, who was sitting beside her.

Blaise snorted. "Are you kidding? Antares gets off on rescuing, for crying out loud – you should've seen him, 'Get in here, Blaise', like there wasn't a frigging troll inside there with him and Granger." He kicked Antares' foot with his messy shoes, a slightly thoughtful look on his face. "We are even, aren't we? I think fighting a troll with you – "

" – doesn't quite cover it," Antares said coldly, struggling not to laugh as everyone stared at him. "One every morning should be fine, if we can find them – "

The first years dissolved into laughter, Antares among them, and Blaise's was the loudest of them all. Antares grinned, leaning back. He could get used to this absence of tension, of rivalry. He really could.


A/N: I'm back in the game, folks! I've been wanting to establish a regular pattern of updates for AST for so effing long…anyways.

FYI, this is not a shipping chapter of any kind. May I remind you that Antares will not begin any sort of romantic escapades until maybe third year? I'm going for realism, as I've been saying all along, and shipping is part of that. Or not part of it, as it goes. Oh, and forgive me if my reference to Heroditus is wrong as it probably is – just wanted a Roman name, his was the first to pop to mind. This make-believe architect has nothing whatsoever to do with the real Heroditus, I'm sure.

FYI (because I want to show off my mad Latin skillz), "Mordeo" means "to bite, sting", at least from the perspective of my ever-helpful Latin program. "Toujours droite" means "always right" in French. Oh, and the next chapter's Christmas, and from Bella's POV, and tentatively called "A New Kind of Holiday". You'll love it, hopefully.

FYI (last one, I promise!) there's a spoiler competition on my LJ for those who are interested. Remember? "e-m-pink . livejournal . com", with the spaces removed. If you win, you get 350 words from my raw outline for AST from the year of Antares' school life of your choice, so go ahead and try it.