A/N: In which there are – you guessed it – murky doings.
Chapter 19: Murky Doings
For what must have been the hundredth time since his last lesson with Quirrel, Antares thanked God, Morgana, and whatever saint would listen for his decision to avoid the man. Yes, the decision had put him, Blaise and Tracey on tenterhooks for the twelve or so days left of the Easter holiday, and yes, Antares' conversation with Snape on his return from Spinner's End had not been very pleasant, but Antares could not but feel a fervent sense of gratefulness that he'd seen the light when he had.
Because, after his last lesson with Quirrel, the man's behaviour had taken a turn for the worse. That fucking turban had been present at every meal during Easter, and continued to be present at nearly every meal since then, causing Antares no little trouble in avoiding Quirrel whenever he could. Until Snape had finally deemed it prudent to have a chat with Quirrel, Antares had rushed through every breakfast, lunch and dinner in an effort to get out of the Great Hall before his former tutor. Blaise and Tracey had been forced to do the same after being cornered by Quirrel once or twice at breakfast, and, once Draco returned, he wasted no time in poking malicious fun at the three of them.
"Rushing off for another odd job, Black?" Draco would say, smirking, even as Antares tried to eat quickly and not look like he was openly keeping an eye on Quirrel at the same time. "Not enough hours in the day to pay your way here, I suppose…"
Antares, of course, had known better than to bother retaliating. He'd never realised how much food you could stuff down in the time it took to prepare and deliver a really nasty comeback, and as he knew very well that time wasted at lunch would mean that he'd have to run and hide that much faster to make sure Quirrel couldn't get a hold of him during his lunch break. Carrying his Cloak had become less of a habit and more of a necessity, as it was beyond useful in a pinch, especially if Antares was tired or his back was itching hard enough to distract him – ducking into a classroom and sweeping on the Cloak usually served just as well as a complicated route down to Slytherin and into the common room.
Or so I thought.
Maybe it was the fact that Quirrel had started missing meals like he'd used to. Or maybe it was the knowledge that Snape had given the weird bastard a talking-to. All Antares knew was that he'd made some kind of mistake, and was about to be caught, all because of frigging Flitwick and his stupid Charms project –
Someone shuffled in the corridor outside the classroom, and Antares went still, clutching the silver folds of the Cloak tighter around him. He tried to seize hold of his growing panic, tried to soothe the fear that was squeezing coldly at his heart. Tried and failed – that was a footstep, he could tell. Antares bit his lip and gave up, hoping somewhat futilely that Quirrel wasn't looking out for stray emotions or something crazy in that vein. Why hadn't he been faster this time? He'd seen Quirrel in the staff room when he'd entered; it wasn't like he hadn't –
"Why, Quirinius! Fancy spotting you here –"
…and Antares could breathe again. Snape, thank god –
"S-simply taking a s-stroll, S-Severus –"
"Allow me to accompany you, then," Snape said, his bizarrely courteous tone underlain with a hint of steel. Quirrel laughed nervously, and – that sounded like they were going away – oh god, I hope so –
The silence seemed to ring in Antares' ears as he waited for one minute, then two, then three, just in case. He didn't intend to waste his lucky chance by being impatient, but neither did he want to stay here for long enough that he missed the meeting with Adrian and Charles – part of the real reason for his being up here at all. Antares fidgeted under the Cloak, and finally decided to take it off and put it away – if he was caught now, it would be better to have it out of sight anyway. Not that it would be seen straightaway in the first place, but Antares knew well enough that Quirrel was good enough at Legilimency to sense someone's presence in a room – if he'd been caught, it would only have been a locking spell and a few minutes before he'd been spotted and seized.
A door shut somewhere, the sound seeming to come from far away, and Antares realised that it might be the door of the staff room. No sense in waiting any longer…and Morgana, he was right, the corridor was empty, and he could finally leave. Antares' sigh of relief sounded too loud in the relative silence around him, but he couldn't bring himself to care. Checking quickly that a corner of the Cloak wasn't sticking out of his robe pocket, Antares set off immediately for the less-used stairs to the dungeons.
It seemed to take ages to make his way past all the empty classrooms and struggle down the slightly crumbling stone staircase, but Antares felt a lot better on opening the heavy wooden door at the foot of the stairs and slipping through into the dungeons. One thing that had given him and his friends great comfort during Easter was the fact that, other than the Slytherins and some of the Hufflepuffs, no one really used the many empty dungeon rooms apart from Snape and Filch, who, according to legend, still kept a small, stifling room down here filled with torture tools of all sorts. So Antares, Blaise and Tracey had been able to vanish into the dungeons for hours on end and count on Quirrel not being able to find them. They'd explored the dungeons closest to Slytherin out of boredom, and had even found one or two that seemed to be worn-down former dormitories with closed-off connections to some unknown room in Slytherin.
The memory of that day brought a small smile to Antares' face as he moved briskly through the long, cool corridor, counting off as he went along – Tracey had insisted they cut a hole in the door and search for it from inside Slytherin at night, and Blaise had argued that whoever wanted to close it off would have made sure that no one could find it again from inside Slytherin, and the resulting fight had been one of the most entertaining ones Antares had witnessed between the two of them.
Wait – was that the fifth door on the right I just passed, or the sixth?
Berating himself for not paying attention to what he'd just been trying to do, Antares tried the door in front of him, first poking carefully at the heavy handle with his wand before trying to shove it open – it didn't budge, and when Antares put a careful ear to the door, no sound came through. Of course, that might not mean anything other than the fact that Adrian or Charles knew how to do a Silencing Charm (Antares scowled – it really wasn't fair that that charm was so bloody advanced. He needed it, for crying out loud), or something close.
Still, there was no point hanging around a silent door, so Antares quickly retraced his steps and found, to his relief, that the door he'd passed by mistake was actually ajar. The muted sounds of a relatively calm Quidditch discussion hit Antares' ears as he shouldered his way into the room, which, he noted in slight shock, was really rather large. The two arguing boys were seated on two of the many dusty wooden chairs in the far corner of the room, and even as Antares closed the door and walked toward them, Charles stood up and began to sketch out a rough, chalky map on the stone floor with his wand, talking animatedly all the while.
"Hey, Adrian," Antares tried. Adrian jumped, twisting round in his chair to stare at Antares as he came closer. "I'm not late, am I?"
Charles looked up then, and gave Antares a quick nod while reaching forward to poke Adrian in the head. "Don't look so bloody frightened, Adrian – does he look like Boily Bole to you?"
"Fuck off," Adrian said, sounding disgruntled as he tried to brush the chalk out of his hair. "I'm still not sure I see the point in asking him to do what we can't –"
"Still don't see the point? You didn't even hear him come in, you stupid –"
"That doesn't mean he did it," Adrian said, loudly. "Did you, Antares?"
Antares only just stopped himself from rolling his eyes, settling instead for a slightly insolent look and the calm extraction of a small Gringotts-embossed bag from his trouser pocket. Adrian stared as Charles accepted the bag eagerly, untying it with relish as Antares shrugged his shoulders and tried not to look too pleased with himself.
"They're not all here," Charles said, after rifling rapidly through the coins in the bag.
"And? You said he was flashing it around – spending it, eh?" Antares said, keeping his expression mild despite Adrian's accusing look. "We had an agreement, yeah, but that map isn't worth getting knocked about for looking through Bole's pockets, and you know that just as well as I do."
Looking outraged, Adrian opened his mouth to protest. But – "Forget it, Adrian," Charles said, cutting him off, "Even if he swiped some of it, we can't prove it. Unless you feel like taking it up with the Boily when he finds out…?"
"Shut up gloating, you pig," Adrian said, casting Antares a look of grudging admiration as he regained his seat. "But Black, that's the last time you cheat us, understand? It took us two years to get the maps of the library correct, so –"
"I understand," Antares said, carefully. Adrian sighed, now fishing about in his pockets for said map, and Charles gave Antares an oddly approving grin and began to rub out the chalky Quidditch play on the floor. "Wait, don't – isn't that the Chaser's movement from the Ravenclaw game last weekend?"
"Yeah, actually – I still think they shouldn't have bothered with it against Hufflepuff. Anything more complicated than a Side-Swiper's completely wasted on that lot."
Adrian bristled, momentarily forgetting to hand Antares the roughly folded piece of parchment as he turned to face his smirking friend. "Oh, shut up, Charles, they're better than that –"
But Charles simply rolled his eyes. "Yeah, what would you know? When they play, the only person you're watching's Minnie Moon, anyway. Eh, Antares?" As Adrian spluttered and turned a telling red, Charles snatched the map from his hands and moved past him to hand it to Antares. "We're done here, yeah?"
"Yeah," Antares answered absently, his attention already half on the surprisingly neat map of the Restricted Section, complete with section titles and arrows pencilled in on the shelves Adrian thought were most likely to have the copies of Ars Decoctum that Antares would need to look through and test. "This is really good, by the way."
"Better be," Adrian said, morosely, still quite pink. "My dad's in mapmaking for Gringotts and all that – he's really mad about me practicing it regularly and everything –"
"Mapmaking? For Gringotts?"
"Blame my dad's lack of direction," Adrian replied, his tone a little dark, "You know, second son syndrome – he went looking in the Pucey annals and found out we were mapmakers something like a century ago, and that was that."
"But isn't he doing it for Gringotts? It sounds really interesting, so –"
"Trust me," Adrian said, darkly, "It isn't."
Charles snorted. "I'd leave now if I were you – any longer, and he'll actually tell you why. In really detailed detail, if you catch my meaning."
Antares grinned slightly, tucking away the map. "I'd better take your advice, then. See you later, Adrian."
An hour or so later, Antares tore himself away from the map and the various notes he'd made concerning his still slightly sketchy plan to retrieve The Artes Wich Neede No Sighte from the library – a plan he'd been forced to revise because of Miles Bletchley's defection (after Easter, the arsehole had stopped using the dungeon he'd been originally using to practice Beating indoors and had refused to even look at Antares since) and, an hour and a half ago, Flitwick's refusal to allow Antares a pass to the Restricted Section for research for his stupid Charms project. Now, as Antares rose and stretched his aching legs, the only sensible thing to do was to use the map he'd gotten from Adrian and Charles to sneak into the Section at the night, under cover of the Cloak.
Sighing, Antares dipped his hand into the robe pocket containing the Cloak, fingering it possessively. He didn't like the idea of risking the Cloak for even something as important as getting the book back, but there wasn't really much else Antares could think to do at this point. So far, he'd tried (and failed) to blackmail Bletchley into getting the book for him, as well as argued uselessly for a pass to the Restricted Section so he could research the advanced and less legal versions of the Charm family he was supposed to be studying (Locomotion Charms, which he despaired of ever writing about properly because of the massive branches of spells that fell under the family). It was really about time he got the book back, anyway – wasn't it something like a month and a half till the end of term?
Antares, rubbing at his slightly protesting stomach, decided that he could worry about it later. Dinner had probably begun while he was plotting the right approach to the shelves he needed to search, and he was hungry.
It was really quite a shock to walk into the half-empty hall and realise that Quirrel wasn't at the staff table. Antares only just stopped himself from gaping by biting his lip, but copped a malicious comment and a round of sniggers from the older end of the Ravenclaw table as he couldn't help pausing to look. Somehow, Antares got himself to move again, heading automatically for the free space between Tracey and Blaise while trying not to think of how easily he might have met Quirrel on his way to the Great Hall.
"Where've you been?" Blaise demanded as Antares sat down, and it was an awkward moment before he could remember what he was supposed to say to indicate success at getting hold of the map.
"Library," Antares said, shrugging.
"You shouldn't have bothered asking, Zabini," Draco said maliciously, from nearby. "Isn't it his second home, now? Oh, wait; he doesn't have a first home –"
"Shut it," Antares started to say, fiercely, but Blaise cut him off.
"Antares," he said in a loud, exaggerated tone, "will you be my friend?" Draco's eyes widened slightly at that, and reddened when both Tracey and Antares hid their laughter behind badly faked coughs. "Antares, I'm serious here –"
"Black, you absolute little shit –"
Tracey gasped dramatically. "Draco, language!"
"Do either of you mind?" Blaise said, sounding highly affronted. "I'm trying to carry on a serious conversation here!"
Draco, scowling horribly, leapt up from his seat on the bench and began shoving his way over to Antares, wand in hand. "You'll pay for that, Black, I swear –"
"Put that away before you hurt yourself," Antares said viciously, taking great delight in the way Draco flushed at the contemptuous words. "I mean it, Draco; you'll have someone's eye out –"
"Well, I hope it's yours!"
Antares pretended to perk up. "Does that mean you're challenging me to a duel?"
Draco sputtered for a moment, then drew himself up, glaring down his pointy nose at Antares as he went on to say, "I don't duel with scum, thank you."
"Not going to chastise him for talking back to his betters, Malfoy?" someone said from farther down the Slytherin table. "Oh go on, let's see it –"
But Antares could feel Snape's narrowed eyes boring a hole in the back of his head, and knew to just end his involvement in the whole silly scene with an insolent smile and turn back to his meal, nudging at Blaise and Tracey to do the same. When Draco stormed off, Tracey put down her cutlery and had a proper, quiet giggle, and Blaise whispered his request to please really be friends, and Antares couldn't help but set down his own fork and knife and do the same.
After that, conversation on their end of the Slytherin table was stilted, with Pansy glaring meaningfully at Antares and Blaise and Vince giving them threatening looks as Greg put away a roll or two for their dearly departed leader. Antares ignored it as best as he could, keeping a lazy eye on the double doors of the Hall as he steadily went through as much roast chicken as he possibly could. This was one of the least rushed meals he'd had for three weeks, and he intended to make the most of –
"Leave me alone, Neville!" Granger's frenzied whisper, which was loud enough that probably the whole Hall could hear it, cut through Antares' one-sided thoughts. "I've told you a million times –"
But, by then, Granger was shouldering fiercely through the double doors, Neville Lupin in hot (and probably angry) pursuit, and to the chagrin of probably the entire Slytherin and Ravenclaw tables, the conversation could no longer be heard. Whispered, laughing speculation replaced the slight lull that the loud whispers had caused, and Antares reddened slightly when he realised something like half of the Ravenclaw first years were staring in his direction.
"Oh, stop that," Tracey said, nudging him carelessly. "It's your own fault for telling the little idiot anything in the first place."
"I didn't tell her anything," Antares muttered, poking irritably at his chicken, avoiding the meaningful look Blaise was directing towards him. "All I said was –"
"You shouldn't have bothered talking to her in the first place, and you know it," Blaise said, cutting through Antares' hesitant words, and for once, he didn't feel inclined to argue. Antares sighed, slotting another piece of chicken into his mouth as he mulled over the whole sorry issue. First, there had been that stupid Nicholas Flamel thing in the library – Antares well remembered how devious he'd felt, tricking Granger into owing him a favour. That had been followed by her irritating attempts to cancel it out, and despite Antares' pointed comments and prolonged hours of ignoring her in lessons, Granger had kept on bugging him.
Things had taken somewhat of a turn for the worse when she started palling around with Lupin and Weasley. Granger had obviously cried off to them about him or something, and then they'd started hinting clumsily that he'd be in trouble if he continued to withhold the fulfilment of her debt to him. But even that was preferable to the strange behaviour the three of them had begun to exhibit, even before the Easter holidays had begun. Somehow, they'd gotten it into their heads that Snape was trying to do something illegal.
Antares sighed, finally laying down his cutlery. As much as he himself distrusted Professor Snape, that was just – just ridiculous, and he'd told Granger so, as many times as she'd asked him for help in (of all things) spying on the man to see if he was trying to do something wrong. Snape took great pleasure in rules in most circumstances, except for when he was favouring Slytherin House – which Antares frankly didn't see a problem with, in relation to how he saw the other teachers treating the older Slytherins. Some of whom probably deserved it, but still – Snape was roughly within his rights most of the time, and just because he was harsh and uniformly rude didn't mean he was trying to do 'something really, really wrong', as Granger had put it.
Although it was odd, the way he never seemed to be around on weekends. Antares smirked as he and his (already bickering) friends stood. At least, it probably looked odd to Lupin and Weasley's pure Gryffindor eyes – Antares knew quite well that Snape was more interested in going off to dreary Potions conferences and lounging about at home on the weekends than in stalking about the school and looking fishy.
Well, if they can't see that, then that's their bloody problem, Antares thought, poking both Blaise and Tracey hard in the back to take their attention off their silly argument about dining etiquette as they squeezed out the doors of the Great Hall through the small crush of lower-year students that seemed to have built up around the exit. And then, the next minute, Antares had forgotten all about the repeated success of his new method of stuffing up his friends' convoluted arguments, because he could suddenly see why people were milling around and whispering –
"You're holding out on us, Hermione! You always are –"
"I don't know why you won't believe me," Granger was whispering frantically back, waving her arms jerkily about, "but I'm telling the truth! That's all he said –"
"Well, curse me," Tracey whispered, from somewhere just in front of Antares, "that relationship didn't last long –"
Antares sighed, guilt creeping up on him uncomfortably as Blaise sniggered at the spectacle. It really was one – Neville was practically shouting in Granger's face, and Granger kept jabbering the same thing over and over again, and looking increasingly like she would cry. Not that Antares blamed her very much – Neville's temper was shockingly violent when properly roused, and, when Antares thought about it some more, he really should have seen it coming. Snape was always an unfailing bastard to the daft dolt in class, and always in a way that Neville couldn't do much against or in retaliation against. Antares privately thought that if it had been him in Neville's place, he'd have resorted to openly sabotaging classes and stealing Snape's belongings as much as possible – he could well imagine, now, how furious Neville would have to be when told that his rather wobbly suspicions about Snape were wrong, and that he was wrong. That he couldn't get Snape in trouble for something – couldn't pay him back.
Antares sighed again, pushing past Blaise and Tracey and ignoring their looks of surprise. As stupid as this would probably make him look, it really wasn't fair to leave the almost blubbering Granger to Neville's fierce lack of mercy.
"Pack it in, Lupin," Antares said firmly, speaking loud enough that he cut through Neville's current tirade. "Can't you hear what she's saying? She's been telling you the –"
"And I suppose you'd be the perfect person to be able to tell, you – you Slytherin," Neville snarled, turning abruptly away from his sometime friend. "This is all your fault!"
Antares bit back a rude comment, settling for just a rude tone of voice. "Oh, really?"
"She never tells us anything anymore – because of you!"
Antares rolled his eyes. "Newsflash, Lupin; the reason she doesn't tell you anything's because I don't tell her anything. If you really want to bully someone, pick on someone your own size, all right?"
Neville's eyes widened. "You mean you're the one that –"
"And the wheels finally start turning," Antares said viciously, unable to hold it back on seeing the way Granger was obviously trying to distance herself from the conversation even now. "You know, Lupin, if you don't use that Boy Wonder brain, it rusts."
"You take that back," Neville said, faintly, his hands shaking. Antares looked at him then, really looked at him, and suddenly remembered that Snape had said that, just the other – "Take it back, Black!"
Antares paused deliberately, letting the sudden hush that had fallen around them deepen and enrich his answer as he slowly said it. "No."
Neville made a strangled sound and reached into his robe sleeve, obviously going for his wand. Antares tensed slightly, reaching for his own –
"What on earth is going on here?" Snape's harsh, demanding query snapped into the tense silence around them, startling Antares enough that he almost jumped. "Ah, Lupin – laziness in my class does not content you, obviously, seeing as you choose to exhibit the same foul behaviour openly in the corridors. Fortunately," Antares stilled completely, gulping as he felt Snape's eyes pass over him, "there are those who are smart enough to see through your folly and combat it. Get out of my sight, you worthless boy! A point from Gryffindor for obstructing passage from the Hall, and four points from Gryffindor for further exhibiting your stupidity in public."
Neville opened his mouth as if to say an angry retort, but Granger intervened, practically hauling him away despite the obvious misery on her face and the less obvious look she sent in the scowling boy's unseeing direction. Antares suddenly found himself hard pressed to keep back a smile – if that wasn't similar to the militant expression he sometimes saw on his own friends' faces, then –
"And as for you, Black," Snape said, curtly cutting off Antares' somewhat bemused train of thought. "Five points to Slytherin for timely intervention in such a foolish spectacle." Black eyes surveyed the rest of the abashed-looking students still milling around the double doors. "The rest of you may leave. Immediately."
Antares stood rooted to the spot until Snape strode away towards the staircase that led down to the dungeons. By then, almost everyone that had been watching the whole sorry business had scarpered. Everyone, unfortunately, except for his friends.
"Antares, I really don't know what to say," Blaise said quietly, as Antares turned somewhat reluctantly back to them. "I just – I just don't know what to say."
Tracey, a strained smile on her face, simply reached out and patted Blaise on the shoulder gently. "I think he's just like that, Blaise, really – no point worrying about something we can't change."
Antares blushed, and didn't bother to explain himself then. What was the use, if everyone just constantly misunderstood him, anyway?
Blaise kept on muttering and giving Antares accusing looks all the way down to Slytherin. There, a few second years – some of them part of those that had just scarpered on Snape's appearance upstairs – were lounging around near the entrance to the common room, speculating in low, excited whispers about something Antares had a sinking feeling was the embarrassing incident upstairs. When they saw him, their whispers grew more intense, and as Antares, Blaise and Tracey pushed past them to say the password and retreat into the common room, Antares thought that one of them might be on the verge of saying something to him.
Perhaps it was the harried look on the faces of his friends, or even the thoroughly unfriendly scowl Antares had barely been able to keep back on spotting his housemates, but somehow, he only had to whisper the password and slip into the common room after Blaise before the girl that had looked like she was about to speak started to say anything. After which point it could easily be ignored – Antares could not even think of how to explain his recent actions to his impatient friends, much less a bunch of nosy older kids that liked to prank him and snigger at him from time to time.
The common room was just half full, and even as Antares headed purposefully for the corner he and the others had taken to sitting in, another pair of students entered the room behind them, arguing lazily about something Antares couldn't be bothered to find out about. And then Antares could no longer pretend that this was another normal evening, and that he was just sitting down to rest his feet and gossip idly with Blaise or Tracey about the awfully exciting end of the league final between the Falmouth Falcons and the Holyhead Harpies (and it had been – Daisy Penrose, the Holyhead Seeker, had somehow taken a Bludger to the shoulder and still caught the Snitch). Certainly not – the look Blaise and Tracey were now exchanging was enough indication, at the very least, that somehow, tonight would involve Antares talking and talking and explaining and explaining. A lot.
Tracey gave a little nod in Blaise's direction, and suddenly, the questioning had begun.
"Why'd you bother interfering, Antares?" Tracey began, calmly. "I mean, it's not like Granger's anything special."
"It's not about anyone being special, Trace – I just – look, it was my fault she didn't have anything to say to that idiot, so I thought –"
"But how was it your fault?" Blaise burst out, interrupting Antares with an irritated look on his face. "If she was that smart, she'd have invented something to tell him. Looked to me like all he wanted to know was whether you thought Snape was brewing baby-killer in the dungeon, or something."
"I got the impression that it ran deeper than that, though," Antares said carefully, clearly able to recall the almost frenzied air of secrecy that had surrounded Granger's tentative question when she'd last cornered him in the library. "I mean, she just looked like –"
Tracey rolled her eyes, sighing audibly. "I think it's worse than we thought, Blaise – he's got a bloody crush –"
"Give it up, Tracey," Antares said, for what felt like the fiftieth time since the end of the Easter hols, when Granger had actually almost waved to him at the start-of-term feast. "I mean, that hair – eurgh."
"Maybe next time she bothers you, you can stick your hand in – you know, see if it's a nest," Blaise said, almost thoughtfully. Antares couldn't help chuckling to himself – Blaise was always at his most horrible when he wasn't actively thinking about being nasty. "Oh shut it, you haven't even answered my question!"
"Oh – right," Antares said sheepishly, wishing his friend didn't have such a clear grasp of when his uncomfortably insightful questions had been answered. Or not. "Didn't I, though? I just basically told her to leave me alone – as politely as possible – and told her they're all being delusional about Snape. And now that I think about it – or, at least, when I thought about it at that point – I probably should've gone with the baby-killer angle, just to satisfy Neville, if anything. I didn't know he'd go all mad on her about it, so…" Blaise sighed expressively. "Oh, what now?"
"Just let it go, Blaise," Tracey said, cutting off Blaise just as he began to speak. "Just let it go – he's just not going to see it that way."
Antares groaned. "What way?" It was really beyond him sometimes, all this arguing about caring and not caring and –
"The way that would've had you keep your mouth shut and not bother speaking to Granger in the first place," Blaise said bluntly. "The way that her whole stupid disagreement with Lupin and Weasley – wherever he is. He wasn't with Lupin, was he, Tracey?" Tracey shook her head, and Antares had to stop himself from doing the same. Funny, he almost hadn't noticed that – "Thought not. Anyway, that's all her business, Antares – not yours. And definitely not ours –"
"I don't understand how on earth it became your business just because I –"
"Give the boy a prize," Blaise said sarcastically. "Of course it's our business, you idiot – you're not our friend for decoration. Even if I'm not quite sure you ever agreed to be my friend in the first place –"
"Can we just drop that, Blaise?" Tracey said, cutting in a bit rudely. "I mean, it's not funny if we don't do it around Draco, so…"
Blaise's face took on a belligerent expression. "And? I'll do it when I want, thanks –"
"So basically," Antares said hastily, "Granger is Not My Business. See? I've got it now – everyone happy?"
"Whatever," Blaise said, his attention now more focused on the rude faces Tracey was making at him. "Tracey, you bint –"
"And did I tell you how I got the plans to the Section?" Antares said loudly, fishing them out of his pocket as quickly as possible, in order to head off the argument he could see brewing again. Tracey ceased her face-making in order to snatch at the bit of parchment, and it was only by sheer luck that the small map didn't get torn when Blaise made a lunge for it too. Thankfully, Antares was able to put a stop to the mini struggles by seizing the map and, after a quick look around, spreading it out on a small table nearby so they could all look at it.
"It's really well done, actually," Blaise commented, after a brief silence. "Looks like a real map, and everything."
"Well, Adrian said something about his dad being a mapmaker, so –"
"You mean Pucey, right?"
Antares sighed, fighting the urge to roll his eyes. Tracey always asked that, every time – "Yes, I mean Pucey."
"Then why don't you just say –"
"Because he's my friend, Tracey, and calling him Pucey feels weird," Antares said, cutting her off. "And anyway, that's not the point, here – I'm thinking of going to get the, er, item. Since I've got this now," he added, lowering his voice to a whisper as he tapped the map. Tracey nodded thoughtfully, but Blaise looked sceptical.
"When would you go, though? It'd have to be at night, wouldn't it?" When Antares nodded, Blaise continued on in a rather hesitant tone. "But wouldn't that mean…"
A slightly distorted image of silvery folds seemed to fall abruptly into Antares' mind, startling him. "Blaise! Could you not do that without asking me next time, or –"
"Well, sorry," Blaise said defensively, crossing his arms, "but we haven't really practiced it, and it seemed like a better idea than for me to go whispering about the Cl–"
"I hear you," Antares said firmly. "I know exactly what you mean, all right? But think about it – we're well into the summer term, right? And when exam prep starts, I won't even want to think about going out at night. It just makes sense to do it now, I think."
"I suppose so," Blaise said grudgingly, still looking a bit offended. Tracey nodded by way of assent, a cheeky grin lurking somewhere underneath her sober expression. "And you can just stop looking like that, Davis – the image was clear, wasn't it, Antares? I mean –"
"Blaise, just let it go," Antares said wearily, almost at the same time as Tracey did. They both looked at each other and laughed then, over Blaise's indignant mutter, and proceeded to while away the evening by playing Exploding Snap with quite a bit of cheating via furtive, image-based Legilimency. It did mean that Tracey won almost every game, as she was really the sneakiest at it, but it made for a nicely tiring evening and a few rounds of helpless laughter at the grossly funny images Tracey used to confuse both Blaise and Antares.
Thursday passed by in a blur of charming vegetables to dance and some extremely twitchy Transfiguration work with mice, the latter resulting in near chaos when Blaise took it in his head to set the mice free from their cages before Antares could. That action had more far-reaching consequences than Antares imagined it would at the time, while swearing at Blaise's stupidity and feeling fairly resentful at how much his friend was laughing at the panic of the girls in the class instead of trying to help Antares and McGonagall round up the excessively lively mice. After class, Tracey had frostily demanded to know why Blaise had been practically giggling himself to death alongside Draco and Ted when a mouse made a brave sally and extraordinary leap into her hair, and Blaise had had only a sort of joke as an answer.
It had easily escalated into a serious argument, with truly horrible names and expressions thrown down on both sides – an argument that had ended badly, with Tracey accusing Blaise of being 'just like Draco, only darker'. Antares had only just been able to drag Blaise away and bully him into a classroom so he did no one any harm. By the time dinner had come around, Blaise had been as cool and collected as ever. Only this time, he was purposely cool and collected to Tracey, and barely spoke to anyone at the table at all. That evening's usual gathering in the common room was horribly tense, with Blaise withdrawing politely after about a quarter of an hour, and Tracey shooting poisonous looks over in his direction as he went off to the dorm.
Antares had gone to bed with a heavy heart but woken and dressed with some hope, on seeing Blaise's normal smile and hearing his chatter. Sadly, at breakfast, things returned to their former state, with Blaise and Tracey glaring coldly at each other over the table, and Antares went to the dreaded Potions class with more dread than usual.
It didn't go very well. Neville Lupin was horrible throughout, a thousand times clumsier than normal, and all with a sort of set to his face and an air of determination that made Antares feel like the stupid berk was upsetting their ingredients and randomly throwing in pinches of parsley on purpose. And then, that was when Antares was paying attention to the work, and not trying hard to see if his friends were killing each other three tables away.
"Don't tell me, Black – Lupin's slothfulness has infected you too," Snape's sarcastic voice said menacingly from behind them both, snapping Antares' guilty eyes back to the cauldron they were sharing. Oh no – "Otherwise, I cannot fathom how on earth you have managed to produce this – this cauldron of filth." Antares gulped as he looked down – that was filth, really. Thick, grey sludge stuck to the stirring rod he'd been using to prod vaguely at the mixture, and it smelt strongly of parsley, something that was probably Neville's fault. "Please put down that stirring rod and stop working – there is clearly nothing to be gained from this exercise for you. Either of you."
Antares did so immediately, feeling cross and ashamed all at once – true, he could have paid attention to the base potion he and Neville had so spectacularly failed at making, instead of keeping a firm eye on his two lowly bickering friends. Then again, Antares thought, with a resentful sideways look in the idiot's direction as he began to clear away his needlessly pillaged ingredients, Neville could have actually bothered to be of use, somehow. True, he did seem to blight every potion they tried to make, but Neville was good at Herbology, and was perfectly fine at chopping things if he didn't get too excited, and if Snape wasn't paying especial attention to the pair of them. But today –
"You're not so smart, are you?" Neville suddenly said, his fierce whisper muddling Antares' thoughts momentarily. "You're always going on about how I'm a menace, and how I need to be watched, and there you were, away with the fairies."
Antares' eyes narrowed at his irritating partner's snide tone, but he somehow managed to keep his own voice level as he answered in an equally fierce whisper. "Fine, I wasn't paying attention – how about you, then? If you're so smart, why didn't you prove it today? Funny, all I can see in that cauldron is something that looks like kneazle shit and stinks of parsley." Neville reddened satisfactorily, driving Antares to go on, half out of spite and half out of a desire to set thing straight. "Look, I don't know if it's escaped you somehow, but exams are in less than two months, and I can't be your partner. If I were you, I'd grow a bloody backbone and get practicing."
"Why? Snape'll just fail me anyway," Neville muttered back, his eyes flitting warily from side to side, instinctively watching out for Professor Snape as he too began to pack up his things.
Antares gave him a look. "Think about it, golden boy. If he failed you for something flimsy, you could easily – easily sort it out by going to McGonagall or someone else, if you deserved to pass. He hates you for a reason, you know – I think it's like a nagging tooth with him, not being able to punish a student however he likes."
"But that's so stupid," Neville began to say, sounding resentful and bewildered. "I –"
"Ah, Lupin, the realisation has finally sunk in," Snape said, a horrible smirk on his face as he loomed over them both, having appeared from nowhere once again. "Dare we hope that it lasts? Anyone care to place bets?"
"A Galleon says he'll be just as stupid tomorrow," Draco said nastily, from somewhere behind them, and that put a tense end to Antares' strange conversation with the Boy Who Lived. As Snape drawled out homework and suggested (more like ordered) that everyone submit it to Antares by Monday morning, Neville's scowl got more pronounced, and Antares could practically feel Blaise and Tracey's eyes burning holes in the back of his head.
"Stay a minute, Black," Snape said, languidly, after gloating shamelessly over his projected weekend-long absence and bidding them all a good afternoon in the tone that implied he'd rather they were all dead come Monday morning. Antares nodded politely, keeping his eyes down and only moving his things to the desk closest to Snape's large one as his classmates jostled him and whispered fearfully over the horribly taxing assignment they'd been set on their way out. As soon as Blaise and Tracey, giving Antares pointed looks, had exited the classroom, Snape shut the door with a hard flick of his wand and twisted his wand in a curious pattern. The damp, oddly chafing feeling of added magic would have startled Antares if he hadn't been used to the way Professor Snape programmed his wards – it had actually made him jump, the first time he'd seen and felt it happen. He'd felt grateful at the time, though – oddly safer even under the seemingly suffocating wards, because he'd just sort of sensed that they weren't the type someone like Quirrel would find easy to get around.
"As you might have already guessed, I will be making a detour at Spinner's End," Snape said boredly, counting and identifying the vials of potion on his desk. "I trust that you can have a letter ready for your mother in time for my departure tomorrow morning…?"
"Yes, sir," Antares said, shifting a little uneasily on his feet, trying to suppress the excitement that welled up in him at the sudden realisation that this weekend would be perfect – perfect for sneaking around. Perfect for getting his bloody book back – "Another convention, sir?"
Snape gave him a sharp look, scratching some sort of tally onto the broad scroll of parchment Antares vaguely knew as the roster on which the professor marked down each practical lesson's submissions. "Drop the 'sirs', you little fool – I know very well you don't mean them."
Antares blinked. "Er, professor –"
"I saw you talking to Lupin, Antares," Snape went on, as if he hadn't heard Antares' hesitant answer, "Do you really wish to rot your mind that badly? If so, do try to go about it in style, and with students that aren't Gryffindors, for one."
"It wasn't anything important," Antares said, a little despairingly. Did everyone have to be on his case about just talking to people? It wasn't like Gryffindors were some kind of flesh-eating, mind-eroding –
"Then I suppose you wouldn't mind divulging the secrets of your little discussion," Snape said nastily. He smirked a little as Antares reddened, fighting to keep the thought of what he'd said to Neville so matter-of-factly about Snape off his face and somewhere deep inside his head. "No? Too bad, then."
"Look, sir –"
"All those 'sirs' won't get that letter written, boy. Get out." Stifling a sigh of relief, Antares retreated, his Potions supplies in tow. The feeling of damp oppression seemed to grow as he got closer to the door, enough that it actually slowed, then stopped him.
"Sir?"
"Oh, for goodness' –"
"The wards, sir," Antares said, just to be contrary. Snape sighed expansively, sitting down, but soon his wand was in the air and making that pattern – is that in reverse to…oh, right – again, only sort of in reverse. The air seemed to lighten, and when Antares put a tentative hand to the door handle, it felt about as normal as the rest of the doors in Hogwarts usually did.
"Either produce quill and parchment and write now, or –"
"Sorry, sir," Antares said, his lips twitching with a smirk as he slipped through the door. "I'm going now, sir –"
"Out!" And, to emphasise Snape's point, the door firmly closed behind Antares, leaving him only a few minutes to yank himself and his heavy-feeling cauldron through. Antares remained there for a moment, just grinning at how easy it could be to get under the professor's skin, then was reminded by his restless stomach that it was lunchtime, and that he was better off standing and smirking in the Great Hall.
Dear Mum,
It's getting warmer and warmerer here, thank Merlin. It's weird how the summer term just started, though, and how fast it's going by – I'm starting to feel like any moment, exams will be here, and then I can come home again. Which I can't wait to do, after your news – I can't believe, still, how quick the Ministry were about getting the permit for magic in Professor Snipe Snape's house, considering you were applying for it. Do you think Dumbledore helped? I haven't seen him much at school for a bit, so it might have been him.
Anyway, I think I'm going to have lots of fun this weekend – it's a Hogsmeade one, and Adrian Pucey and Charles Warrington (I told you about them, remember) are third years, so they can go, and they always bring back more sweets than they can afford, because they sell them to the lower years. If I'm careful, I can usually get first pick by harassing them immediately when they back, and this time I've got a special request from Tracey – she wants Jelly Slugs specifically. Problem is they're all the rage in Slytherin just now – Adrian's going to scalp us, I think, but I'll see how low I can get him to go on them just the same. He's a really good bargainer, for someone who doesn't need to do any.
Speaking of people who don't need to bargain, Mum, you'll never guess – Draco Malfoy's starting to see hallucinations. Really, though – he's been bothering us all the way through lunch about catching Neville Lupin and his friends at smuggling dragons. Dragons, mum, I'm not making this up! He said he saw them talking to one in Hagrid's hut, and that he's going to catch them at it and win Slytherin lots of points and all sorts of other useless things like that. It's absolutely hilarious watching him argue with Millicent, mum, because she's always the last one to believe him about things, and he's trying so hard to convince her and everything, while he can hear me and Blaise and Tracey sniggering nearby, and he knows that he hasn't convinced anyone else, not really. I think he's really serious about it, which only makes me think more that it's a hallucination – I think I remember him asking about dragon laws in History of Magic on Monday this week. Then again, I was half asleep, so I don't really know.
Anyway, that's enough about slimy sickly Malfoy. How are you, mum? You said last time that you're getting busier now, to fill up the fallshort of something – I can't remember exactly, but still. Do you still think you'll have time to train me a bit over the summer, now that Malkin's is so busy? I miss you – I can't wait to get home and get started. I'd better finish this off, so I can get this to Professor Snape before he leaves, so I'm going now. Lots of love and jelly slugs,
Antares.
PS: I forgot about my burns – forgot to tell you, sorry. The salve Snape gave me has never worked, and I'm starting to think I should go to Madame Pomfrey as well. Do you really think it'll be okay to say I don't know where I got them, or would that be too suspicious? Yours again, Antares.
"…and check," Tracey said triumphantly, watching the unstoppable advance of her knight on Antares' shrieking king. Antares groaned as she laughed – more like cackled, really. Tracey, naturally competitive at the best of times, was absolutely murderous when high on sugar. Antares sent a plaintive look over at Blaise, who was still steadfastly pretending not to watch from behind his increasingly tattered copy of this month's Mod That Broom, wishing that he could have been playing him instead. Though just as competitive, Blaise was a lot less giddy about his success when it came around – success that, when playing against Antares, was pretty much inevitable. Antares shook his head and muttered useless curses against his remaining, rather traumatised pieces; he'd never been any good at chess.
"Could you keep it down, Davis?" Blaise asked, his tone the very soul of cool politeness. Tracey's face reddened, and she stuck out a rather childish tongue in Blaise's direction, causing a sneer to rise to his face as he turned his huffy attention back to what he was trying to read. Antares sighed, poking Tracey meaningfully with a foot and grimacing at the irritated look she sent him as she began to slam the chess pieces back into their respective boxes. The situation between her and Blaise had only seemed to get worse with the passage of time, as nothing Antares could say or do seemed able to make them apologise to one another and just forget about the stupid argument they'd begun with.
Doing Transfiguration homework Saturday night had been torture, in fact, as he'd been forced to shuttle back and forth between them in an effort to help both of them with the most difficult questions, and that hadn't been any easier to do while Blaise was making pointed comments about some people being too dim to understand Transfig theory. Even Draco had noticed by now, and would have been having a field day insulting all three of them right now if he hadn't been arguing vehemently with Vince and Greg – something he'd been doing for the past half hour, if Antares was right. Antares grinned then, in spite of himself – it seemed that Greg and Vince were sceptical about Draco's garbled dragon tales as well, and might be –
"Well, fine, I'll just go without you, then!" – refusing to accompany Draco on his silly witch-hunt. Draco began to shove his way toward the common room door, ignoring protests and snide comments about the fact that it was after curfew and where the idiot first year thought he was going. Antares was grinning so hard at the spectacle that he almost missed the identical grins on his friends' faces, but not hard enough that he didn't suddenly recall that he had a nightly errand to do as well. Rising abruptly to his feet, Antares dug a hand into the usual pocket to check – yeah, there it is – if the Cloak was inside.
"Still going?" Tracey said quietly. Antares nodded, and gave her a quick smile before setting off. "Be careful, will you? Watch out for Quirrel."
"He won't need to, Tracey," Blaise said, sounding insufferably superior. "I mean, as twitchy as that bastard is, he wouldn't expose his nerves and that awful turban to the school at night." Antares, sensing another argument from the way Tracey's mouth had now set into a thin line, sped up his footsteps so he could get out of the room that much quicker. He was tired of mediating between them, to be frank, and wished they'd just get over whatever they needed to get over instead of bickering endlessly about it.
As Antares left the common room, a few of the older years gave him stern looks – understandable, they obviously didn't want him being caught – but for the most part, since he was as polite as possible about weaving his way through the crowded room, no one gave him any dirty looks as he slipped out. The corridor was clear of all but a pair of blushing fourth years, one of whom Antares fleetingly thought might be a Ravenclaw, but as soon as he stepped out, they gave each other knowing looks and separated quickly. Antares kept his face blank as he quickened his footsteps, not looking back until he was quite out of sight and could do so with impunity – yeah, he's a Ravenclaw, all right. I wonder what her sister'll think of that.
Restraining the desire to hide and watch a bit longer, Antares sped up, heading immediately for the Occlumency dungeon (Blaise had christened it, if rather stupidly. He'd argued something about how everything had to have a name, which was daft, since there really was only one dungeon they ever went regularly to). He was there in a thrice, and inside in a minute. Putting on his Cloak, after the weeks of practice skulking about in fear of Quirrel, was faster than ever, and though Antares wished he could somehow muffle his footsteps or movements with a Silencing Charm to make his disguise truly foolproof, he felt rather content as he darted out of the dungeon, soft folds swishing around him.
It took time to work his way up to the library, what with avoiding the occasional professor (Sinistra, who seemed to be out and about the school a lot at night) and the not-so-occasional pairs of furtive-looking students, but soon enough, he was sneaking through into the pitch-black interior or the library, and casting about for a method of lighting his way so he didn't trip over something or get lost. After some fruitless bumping around, his eyes adjusted somewhat to the darkness, and he was able to feel his way over to the table where the lamps were kept.
"Lumos," he whispered, as quietly as possible, and when the lamp flared into being, Antares almost dropped it from laughing at the way it looked, as if it was floating in midair. He soon got a hold of himself, and made his way to the Restricted Section slowly, with plenty of stops along the way in the more dubious sections of the library, where Antares had known not to be seen going. The silver-and-black binding of the copies of Ackerson's Curse Compendium glittered enticingly in the lamplight, and Antares, after spotting one or two books on mind magic among the grisly sub-section on Curses of Control, couldn't think why he hadn't thought to come here to search for more information on Occlumency and Legilimency. True, both of his books had said curt things about the Blind Arts 'not being respected' – shorthand for people thinking that they were Dark, in Antares opinion – but Antares could name at least five books in the shelves around him that contained spells that were significantly less deserving of 'respect'.
Eventually, Antares made his way all the way back to the rope dividing the Restricted Section from the rest of the library. Before stepping over it, he paused to extract the map Adrian had given him – a rather irritating task, with the way he had to make sure the Cloak didn't slip off while holding the lamp in one hand and shuffling about in his pockets with the other. A minute or two saw him stepping carefully over the dividing rope and moving to the last of the shelves on the left and counting away from there, so he could be sure he had the right one.
The notes on Adrian's map guided him safely around a shelf full of books chained to queer metal struts built in the back of the shelf, and advised him to avoid a sinking patch of floor a few paces away, and by the time Antares had wriggled and stumbled his way down the long shelf, he'd begun to think that he'd gotten the better deal out of the exchange with Adrian and Charles. The next moment, he'd forgotten all about that, because he could see the three copies of Ars Decoctum right in front of him, and his hand was already reaching out to the one on the left, because he could practically feel the traces of his hasty, exhausting Transfiguration still lingering about the heavy, almost ugly binding of the book.
Thankfully, it eased off the shelf with no problem, and when Antares lowered the lamp to the floor and checked the back half of the book – yeah, this is it – he found the cramped, telltale print of the last section of The Artes Wich Neede No Sighte, which he'd not been able to change or disguise. Antares fingered them possessively, his irritation at Granger and her insatiable curiosity resurging as he shrunk the book and shoved it deep into his trouser pocket; he had no time to change it now, and would rather do it deep in the safety of the dungeons anyway, rather than here, crouching low in the Restricted Section.
Antares was out of there in a trice, having chosen to go to the end of the current row and circle round to go back to the dividing rope past one of the rare shelves with no traps or enchantments lurking about. He stepped over the rope with a light heart, and even indulged himself a little by leafing rapidly through one of Ackerson's Compendiums to see if he could find anything to better his casting of a fairly tricky curse that made you unnaturally clumsy for hours on end. It was only when he realised his the candle in the lamp was melted almost half the way down that Antares closed it and scrambled to his feet, eager to get back to the dungeons.
Unfortunately for him, it would be a lot less easy than he thought. There seemed to be voices everywhere – footsteps thumping up and down, accompanied by angry whispers and something that sounded uncannily like the grating wheeze of Filch. By the time Antares had manoeuvred his way down to the second floor, he'd begun to feel extremely paranoid that he would be caught by whoever seemed to be following him somehow, and by the time he'd clattered down the stairs that led down into the front hall, he'd already decided what to do. Slamming carelessly into the broom closet next to the doors of the Great Hall, Antares whipped off the Cloak and stuffed it away in his pockets as fast as he could, heart pounding as the sound of dragging footsteps and Filch's cackling came nearer and nearer.
The footsteps diminished after a while, as if the unlucky soul caught by the horrid caretaker was being led down into the dungeons – a Hufflepuff, maybe? – and Antares began to breathe easier again, and soon decided it was safe enough to slip out of the closet and head for the stairs to the dungeons. He was wrong.
"Oh, this is absolutely preposterous! You there, stop immediately!"
Antares froze. No, it couldn't be –
But it was. Professor McGonagall's eyes seemed to pierce Antares as he stood there, feeling helpless. "Four students out in one night – ridiculous!" She seized hold of him angrily, propelling him toward the stairs to the dungeon. "And I suppose you have another tale to tell, like the others? That Malfoy – the most foolish sort of imagination I have ever seen –"
Antares spluttered then – Draco? Draco had been caught? That could only mean –
"I will have words with Professor Snape over this," McGonagall continued, in the same steely tone, her grip only tightening on Antares' arm when he stumbled at the foot of the stairs. "If you have some excuse for your behaviour, Black, you'd better start voicing it, immediately."
Antares paled. If she'd caught Draco, that would mean points, and since she'd got him as well…"Professor, I'm sorry, but I thought –"
The patchy apology Antares had been about to make faltered and died on his lips as they turned the corner. For there was Snape, towering menacingly over a frightened-looking Draco as Filch looked on gleefully. The look on Snape's face alone would have made Antares quail in itself, but coupled with the knowledge that he would be facing that look with immediate effect, it stopped his tongue almost entirely, especially because Antares had thought Snape wouldn't be back this early, what with the way the man had ordered everyone to give their homework to him on Monday. It felt horrible being marched up like this – as if something or someone was conspiring against him.
"This is not to be borne," Snape pronounced immediately on seeing Antares, his already thunderous scowl becoming even more so. "Tell me, Mr. Malfoy, of the mental disease you clearly suffer from – is it catching?"
"I found him loitering around in the front hall," McGonagall said darkly, letting go of Antares' arm as if it burned her. She sniffed disdainfully, turning away almost immediately. "I trust you will deal with the matter?"
"Twenty more points from Slytherin," Snape said tersely, by way of answer, giving Antares a look of loathing. "Now get out of my sight, Black – I don't wish to taint my ears with whatever cock-and-bull story you have to explain your useless behaviour."
Antares, eyes widening, immediately began to obey. But that was not all – "Oh, and Black? Detention. Perhaps that will teach you not to listen to the nonsense of Mr. Malfoy." McGonagall added from behind, her tone full of doubtful disgust, clearly signalling that she didn't think it would work. Antares tensed, but kept his mouth shut – there wouldn't be any point to arguing, now, that he hadn't been involved in whatever dragon rubbish Draco had probably spouted. "Good evening, Professor – Mr. Filch."
"I believe I can also bid you good evening as well, Mr. Filch," Snape said darkly. "You can rest assured that Mr. Malfoy will be punished…adequately." Antares didn't dare look back, not with the way Draco gulped, obviously frightened of the talking-to he was about to receive. But Antares, heading quickly for the safety of Slytherin, couldn't think about Draco's predicament for too long, considering his own plight – twenty fucking points, twenty, and all because he hadn't thought to wait a little longer in a stupid bloody broom closet.
Antares sighed, mumbling the password again when the wall refused to budge. He'd probably never hear the end of this, and what was worse, he couldn't explain it. At least Draco had a cock-and-bull story that, though ridiculed, seemed to hold some sort of water with Snape and McGonagall. Antares, still shocked by how easily he'd been caught, could only muster up a feeble sequence about him going to the library at night, which, as he repeated it silently to himself on the way down the dorm corridor, sounded even more embarrassing than Draco's fantastical tale. Who got caught sneaking out to the library, anyway?
As Antares found over the next week or so, not many people got caught sneaking off to the library. Or, at least, not many that would admit to it. Despite the sleepy brainstorm he'd had with Blaise on returning to the dorm immediately after the fact, Antares had been unable to come up with anything that sounded as true – he certainly wasn't meeting with any girls after dark, and couldn't bear the thought of linking his actions that evening with Draco's monumental stupidity.
'Exploring the castle' had just sounded weak, and 'trying to find my missing schoolbag' sounded even weaker, leaving Antares with the relatively least pathetic excuse of wanting to read something dodgy in the library. The second and third years mocked him for a few days by turning up to disturb him whenever he tried to study in the library, and one or two of the prefects warned him to pack it in whenever they saw him out close to curfew, but overall, Antares didn't get treated too badly, and certainly didn't get mocked as viciously as Draco did.
Then again, Antares didn't really have anything to complain about, as far as unpopularity went. He'd never really been popular to begin with, and to be sniggered at and elbowed roughly in the corridors was nothing that new. What would have been really horrible was what was happening to Neville Lupin and Hermione Granger, who, Antares quickly found out, had also been caught out on the same night. Tracey, on hearing the news, had disappeared for well over an hour, trading information with various first years she knew in the other houses, and even looked a little unconvinced when she returned to the Occlumency dungeon to deliver the news she'd found.
"It just doesn't make sense," she'd kept saying, with the usual irritated little frown that melded itself to her expression whenever she found something particularly puzzling. Blaise and Antares had explained and argued in vain of the fifty points Neville and Granger had lost for Gryffindor – a hard-won fifty points from the narrow Gryffindor-Hufflepuff game in back in February, which the Gryffindors had obviously been hoping would take them all the way to the House cup with judicious management. Tracey had shrugged, despite everything, still saying something was off about the whole fake dragon thing.
"I mean, Granger's smart," she'd finally said, "but lying to Draco's something I'd have done. Granger's too rule-mad to think of stuff like that."
"But there wasn't a dragon," Antares had said, irritably. Tracey had just shrugged again and said something nothing being impossible, which had sparked off a mini-argument between her and Blaise again – thankfully nothing serious, though. Antares didn't know for sure, but he thought his friends had come to a sort of truce after the loss of points. All he hoped was that it would last.
"D'you think you'll be all right?"
Antares groaned. "Blaise, no offence, but you've asked that about ten times this evening –"
"Don't be rude, he's just worried," Tracey said, looking up from the Charms notes she and Blaise had just been fighting over. "Filch is an absolute pig at detention, I've heard, and yours is so late in the day –"
"Tracey, it's not like he can chain us up and whip us or something – he'd get in trouble," Antares said crossly, peering over her shoulder at the weird diagram she was sort of poking at on the notes. "And look, if you're going to draw on my notes –"
"Oh, that thing? It was there already – maybe Blaise did it."
"Don't look at me," Blaise said hastily, looking only a little guilty. "When have I ever scribbled on your notes anyway, Antares?"
Rolling his eyes, Antares suppressed several examples that sprang to mind – the note from Professor Snape had said to be in the Potions classroom at 10:30, well in time for him to escort the two boys up to the entrance hall and hand them over to Filch for their detention, and it was almost twenty-five past. "I think I'm just going to go – it's almost ten thirty, so." Antares nudged Tracey as he straightened up. "And Tracey? That incantation is fine, don't cross it out – Flitwick told me."
Tracey grumbled something about Apprentices and their stupid privileges, but blotted impatiently at the parchment anyway. "Just be careful, all right? If you just keep mum and do what he asks, I've heard he'll just grumble and leave you alone…"
Antares couldn't hold back a grin. "Whatever, Trace. Don't wait up all night." He set off quickly, carefully avoiding the more rabid older students, all of whom seemed to be gathered round one of the larger sofas in the centre of the common room, arguing about something to do with Runes. With all the tension of exams being around the corner, Antares' loss of points seemed to have been largely forgotten, and things had gradually simmered down to an all-round helping of resentful looks, which, if not normal, was a lot better than having people jostling Antares and his friends in the library, especially at such an important time.
Antares sighed as he left, noticing that Draco was nowhere to be seen – that meant he himself might be late, or would at least be seen to be. Snape's note had been uncompromisingly short and simple, with a steely threat behind it that promised worse than a detention with Filch if Antares and Draco didn't show up on time. When Antares finally knocked on Snape's door and sidled in as it opened of its own accord, he realised he needn't have worried – Draco was nowhere to be seen.
Snape, seated at the large teacher's desk in the empty classroom, barely looked in Antares' direction as he approached, his eyes and hands busy with the reams of parchment scattered on and over the surface of the desk. By the time Snape actually looked up, Antares was twitching in the direction of the slowly reopening door to the side – a moment later, a sullen-looking Draco had shuffled in and was trying vainly to close the door.
"Stop that," Snape snapped, dark eyes fixed uncomfortably on Antares as he said so. Draco abruptly put an end to his struggles, shuffling nervously to stand beside Antares in front of Snape's desk. "Tempus – ah, late as always, Draco." Draco tensed, but did so in vain – the only real reaction Snape displayed at the ghostly grey figures that appeared between them was a look of disdain. "As you are both here, you will make your way to the entrance hall, from where Mr. Filch will convey you to your detention."
"Sir," Draco said, almost immediately, sounding bewildered, "in your note, it said –"
Snape sighed heavily. "I am well aware of what was in that note, Draco. Have you somehow failed to notice that I am, in fact, very busy?"
"Sir, I –"
"Then I suggest you take yourself off to the entrance hall immediately." Draco's face fell, and he actually lingered behind for a minute as Antares headed for the door, wanting to get this over with as soon as possible. Antares didn't bother waiting for Draco to fall in behind him, setting off as fast as possible for the entrance hall. The earlier they got through whatever lousy errand Filch had in mind for them, the better –
Soon enough, Filch's gleeful voice could be heard. "And here they come! Look at them, dragging their lazy feet, as if they weren't caught fair and square…" Antares shuddered minutely, hoping that whatever task that had been set them wouldn't take too long. All he could think about was that humongous backlog of History of Magic notes he needed to reread in time for the exam, as well as the comprehensive plant list that he'd begged off Terry Boot so he and Blaise could catch up on Herbology, and – "Now, we wait for the other two little sneaks – shouldn't be long."
Antares blinked. The other two? But –
"Who are we serving our detention with?" Draco demanded. He needn't have bothered, for Antares could already see the slouched forms of Neville Lupin and Hermione Granger descending the marble stairs behind them. Antares sighed – now, as well as dealing with Filch's gloating, he'd have to deal with Draco and Neville arguing and insulting each other, and maybe even Granger's whingeing –
"Follow me," Filch said, sounding entirely too happy for Antares' comfort. Antares did, steadfastly refusing to look in the direction of Draco or the other two as they were led out the front doors, the guttering light of Filch's lamp bobbing before them in the darkness. For one thing, he just didn't feel like saying anything – whatever prank Granger and Lupin had been playing Draco to get him to believe that nonsense about the dragon had certainly contributed to Antares horribly unlucky capture. And for another, he was far too busy wondering what they were going to do – muck out the greenhouses? Because otherwise, he couldn't see why they were being led out this way. And, of course, Morgana forbid he asked – Filch would only cackle some more and scold him for being impertinent, and maybe even change his mind so that –
Wait, we're not heading towards that hut, are we? Because if we are –
"Filch, is that you? Hurry up, then, before the night's over." Antares gulped. Hagrid. Of all the people to possibly be overseeing the –
"And I suppose you think you'll be having it easy with that oaf, Lupin?" Filch said, the gloating tone in his voice now almost sickeningly strong. "Well, I've never thought a night in the forest easy, myself –"
"The forest?" Draco said, suddenly stopping in his tracks. "The Forbidden Forest? We're not allowed in at night, it's dangerous!"
"Next time, you'll think about that before you go tramping about after curfew, I suppose," Filch said, cackling. "If there is a next time for you, that is –"
Antares barely heard the rest of the sentence, because Hagrid – Hagrid was stamping up to them, sounding like a thousand earthquakes even on the short grass near his horrid little hut. And that dog with him was huge, growling and snarling as it came up –
"Yer' late, Filch," Hagrid boomed rudely. Filch gave him a look of disgust as he strode up, his attention diverted from the clear look of relief that Neville and Granger were sharing. "Bin waiting quarter of an hour for yeh – s'abou' time yeh finally showed up." Hagrid gave Neville a curt nod. "All right, Lupin?"
"He won't be for long," Filch said, leering nastily at all of them. "Those werewolves in there get mighty hungry of a night –"
"That's enough, Filch," Hagrid said firmly, starting to swing around. Filch simply cackled in answer, heading straight for the castle, his light bobbing crazily as he made his winding way for the front doors. "Now, if you lot jus' follow me –"
"I'm not going in there," Draco said, sounding panicked. "I – there are werewolves –"
Hagrid snorted. "'Snot full moon, Malfoy – no werewolves to be had in the forest. Now, if you'll –"
"Didn't you hear? I'm not going in that forest!" Draco was starting to sweat, now, and his eyes were wide with fear. "This isn't proper, we should be writing lines, not tramping about doing servant's work at night –"
"Lines? Lines?" Hagrid snorted, turning back round to face them. "What use are lines to anyone, eh? This is Hogwarts, boy – yeh can be useful, or yeh can twiddle back to the castle, and tell yer parents why Dumbledore expelled yeh for refusing to serve a simple detention." Draco paled at that, his expression furious, but he looked down in the end. There was really no answer to that statement, even for him –
"Now, if yer all done complainin'," Hagrid said, sounding irritated, "follow me, an' be quiet. Our job tonight's dangerous, an' I don' want no one takin' risks, all right?" Granger and Neville murmured something that sounded like a reply, which seemed to satisfy Hagrid, for he turned immediately and began to lead them to the very edge of the forest. Draco lagged behind but didn't dare do more than glare at everything in sight as he did so, and Antares, despite his own apprehension, couldn't help but notice that Draco didn't lag very far behind.
"Look there," Hagrid said, jolting Antares out of his somewhat bemused, nervous thoughts. Antares looked, and saw the track the man's large arm was pointing down, his large lamp swinging slightly. Good god, this couldn't get any more creepy – "See that silvery stuff shinin' – there, on the ground? That's unicorn blood. There's a unicorn in there –"
Antares tuned out. Unicorn blood – unicorn blood. Christ, he'd never hear the end of this if his mother found out. And besides, if something was repeatedly injuring unicorns in the forest like Hagrid had just said, the forest was the last place Antares would ever want to be. He found himself wanting to agree with Draco – if not for the lines, then for more normal detentions, like scrubbing floors and polishing things and so on. Anything was better than walking aimlessly in the forest after dark looking for something mad enough and powerful enough to hurt a unicorn this badly.
"And what if whatever's hurting the unicorns finds us first?" Draco was asking belligerently, his fear showing openly on his face.
Hagrid waved his hand dismissively. "There's nothin' livin' in the forest that'll hurt yeh if yer with me or with Fang here," he said, gesturing fondly towards the growling dog at his side. Antares gave the large beast a wary look, feeling unsure of whether whatever was hurting the unicorns would wait for Fang to hurt him first, or – "Right, we'll split now – trail goes in two diff'rent directions, so we'll go in two parties. Poor thing must've been staggerin' since last night, with all the blood everywhere."
"I want Fang," Draco said quickly. Antares gave him a look of consternation – god, he hoped he wasn't put with him and that dog –
"Mightn't do yeh much good," said Hagrid, handing Fang's leash over to Draco all the same. "I warn yeh, he's a coward." But, seeing Draco seize gratefully at the leash, Hagrid shrugged. "Suit yerself, Malfoy. So now – Neville, yeh can go with Draco an' Fang, and Hermione and Black can come with me. Green sparks if any of us finds the unicorn, and red if yeh get in trouble, so we can find yeh – practice it, go on –" A somewhat baffled mixture of red and green sparks flew into the air, and Hagrid hurriedly waved at them to stop. "Right. Be careful, everyone – off we go."
Antares swallowed hard as they set off into the dark, silent forest. They soon separated, with Draco, Neville and Fang taking the right fork in their path, and Antares, Granger and Hagrid taking the left. Silence shrouded them, muffling their footsteps oddly as they went along, eyes noting the spots of silvery blood on the ground. Antares' heart, which had been beating almost twice as fast as normal as they started into the forest, had just started to slow down when he saw a faint shower of red, just above the –
Shit. "Sir, look, there's red sparks –"
"You two wait here," Hagrid growled, drawing a huge crossbow off his back – one Antares hadn't even noticed around the man's hairy bulk – and setting a large arrow to the string. "Stay on the path, yeh hear? I'll be back!" And, just like that, he went crashing away through the undergrowth. The hair on the back of Antares' neck prickled horribly, and he felt his grip tighten around his wand – when had he drawn it? – almost unbearably.
"They can't have been hurt," Granger whispered faintly, sounding terrified. "They can't, we just got in –"
Antares had nothing to say to that. He simply held on to his wand, listening hard despite fact that he could only hear the rustling of leaves around them now. Being afraid was all very well, but if something did happen to them now, and he just froze up –
Granger gasped, and Antares almost did the same – what was that?
"Did you hear –" Granger began shakily, but there it was again, a slithering, whispering movement, like a cloak dragging across the leaves –
Antares seized her by the arm. "Be quiet," he mouthed, raising his wand, already preparing himself to cast a quiet Legilimens – it wouldn't hurt to know if something was nearby, and anyway, she wouldn't know –
Pain flashed thickly through Antares' head, and he knew immediately that something was very wrong. The very leaves seemed to have stopped rustling, and fear seemed to hum across his skin in piercing fragments, his instinct shrieking insistently at him to move, and move now –
"Synagrapho," Antares finally breathed, giddy with the sudden realisation of what he could do. Why hadn't he thought of it before? It was so easy –
"What are you doing?" Granger hissed, alarmed at the way the leaves and the ground beneath them shimmered briefly.
"Making a Safe Circle," Antares said calmly, relaxing his arm as the spell took hold, enveloping them in what felt like a tight circle of calm. "It's not great, but I've been told it works best outside – should hold us all right until Hagrid comes back –"
And, almost as if in answer to Antares' shaky confidence, a loud crunching noise signalled Hagrid's return. Antares had to force himself to stand still and not shrink back in alarm – the large man was furious, and was berating Draco and Neville, who trailing sulkily along behind him.
"A ruddy waste of time," he growled, handing Fang's leash to a startled Antares. "Can't even go minutes without fightin' – be lucky, we will, if we see anythin' now –"
Antares' heart sank, for he had an idea of what was coming. "But sir –"
"Go on with Malfoy, Black," Hagrid said sternly, giving Draco a hard look. "Least he'll have a harder time pickin' fights with his housemate." Hagrid gave Antares an uncomfortably direct look, making no effort to mask his words as he went on. "Flitwick's always told me yer one for keeping yer cool, Black – up to it?"
There was really nothing for it. After that little fright, Antares was ready to do anything, now, to finish up this awful detention and get back to the castle – going along with Draco wasn't much of a trial, compared to the thought that they could be doing this all night. "Yes, sir," Antares said, a little regretfully. Draco was glaring at him now, as if he'd somehow forced Hagrid into saying something so oddly flattering, but he supposed it couldn't be helped.
Antares reminded himself of that when Draco lost no time in bickering with him and demanding that he be the one to lead the restless Fang. Antares, gritting his teeth in annoyance (does he want to stay in here all night?), gave in without complaint, not particularly caring to hold on to the dog, which he'd quickly discovered was about as far from menacing as one could possibly be, and irritatingly free with its slobbering tongue.
He and Draco soon found the path, and after complaining for some time, Draco finally subsided and began to concentrate on actually looking at the progressively thicker splashes of blood on the leaves and tree roots. Antares gradually began to realise that the odd, bittersweet smell that hung heavy in the air around them was that of the unicorn blood. It smelt somehow wrong, a thick, cloying sort of wrong that raised the hair on the back of Antares' neck and had him wishing fervently that they'd find the poor injured thing and just end this fruitless search. The path was getting thicker, too, and he and Draco were starting to have to stumble on tree roots and squeeze round thick tree trunks to keep on it. It was hot work, and they scratched themselves several times, which only strengthened Antares' resolve to finish this and be gone.
Suddenly, the path seemed to widen a bit, then twist around an old, old oak tree. And then –
"Merlin," Draco muttered. Antares remained silent, for it was impossible to be anything but, at the sight before them. The unicorn was dead, all right – the stiffened arch of its pale neck and the way its legs were splayed awkwardly on the ground told Antares so. The smell of blood had intensified, and indeed, silvery blood was splattered thickly around the bright white of the fallen unicorn. It was horrible in all sense of the word, and it was a while before Antares thought to turn to Draco and suggest that they send up the green sparks.
But Draco's eyes were wide, his attention elsewhere, and Antares turned his head impatiently in the direction Draco was looking, because he looked so –
Draco screamed, and Antares nearly followed suit. And good god, they had reason; there was a dark figure loping hungrily over to the fallen unicorn, silver splashes speckling its coat in the most horribly suggestive manner. And then Antares could barely see or think any more, for pain had split him down the middle – he could faintly hear what sounded like Draco bolting, and could even feel his wand in his hand, burning terribly as magic seemed to boil out from the very pores of his skin –
Something crackled above him, whipping air over his head, and somehow it jolted him into action. Fighting the awful pain, Antares turned and ran, his back feeling like it was on fire, and like the fire was spreading to the rest of his limbs. He didn't dare look back, didn't dare, it might be following him –
"Not that way!" someone seemed to shout at him, and Antares turned obediently, almost before he realised what he was doing. But he couldn't stop to see who was speaking, because he thought he'd seen that tree before, and maybe he'd gotten back to the path – "Stop running, will you? I can't keep up." Antares jumped, whipping around to face whoever it was that had spoken so loudly behind him, only to see –
No. Just – no.
But the fairly large snake was rolling off the tree in front of him in thin, grey coils, and it was already speaking again. "I thought you'd never hear," it said crossly, its words coming shortly, as if it was out of breath. "You don't seem to listen very well."
Antares tried to hold back the question, but it was impossible. "Are you – are you talking to me?" he demanded, his own breath coming quick and fast. Silence seemed to prevail in this part of the forest, and that – that thing seemed to be nowhere in sight, so that was good. His back still felt like it was on fire, but he could move, and that was good. Everything was good.
Except that the snake was still talking. "You also don't seem to think at all," it said testily, slithering up to Antares and rearing up as if to look him over. "I'm not sure I should have bothered to help, now, but there you go –"
A crashing sound began to come from nearby, interrupting the snake mid-complaint. "I don't suppose you couldn't drop by again sometime, when it's not so busy in here," the snake grumbled, now heading past Antares, who felt almost unable to move or speak. "You seem rather stupid, but you could probably catch rats well enough…" Antares gulped, unable to take his eyes off the sinuous movements as the snake slithered away into the undergrowth, its voice growing fainter as it did so.
The crashing sound intensified, and Antares thought he could hear Hagrid's booming voice. It felt painful to raise his stiffening arm, like his back muscles had frozen partially of their own accord, but Antares did it anyway, sending up a shower of red sparks. If it was Hagrid and the others coming, it would make it easier for them to find him. And if not, well – he'd deal with it, somehow.
The minutes ticked by slowly, and Antares felt the pain in his back diminish almost in proportion to the strength of the crashing sounds as they drew nearer. Finally, just when he was contemplating trying to strike out on his own – he knew faintly how to perform a Four-Point spell, and remembered vaguely that Hogwarts was east of the forest – Antares heard Fang barking, and a minute later, Hagrid crashed into view, Fang at his side.
"Did Draco find you?" Antares asked faintly, finally allowing him to sit down. "Because –"
Hagrid made an impatient, almost worried sort of motion with his large hand. "Malfoy's fine, Black – what happened to yeh?" Antares shrugged, still trying inwardly to process all that had just happened. "Up to walkin'?"
"Y-yeah," Antares muttered, rising shakily to his feet. Hagrid snorted, and Antares didn't even have time to protest or exclaim in alarm as he was swept up awkwardly by the arm and somehow tucked under Hagrid's arm. It was a moment before he'd stopped feeling horribly dizzy, and by then, they had started moving again, and it was too much work keeping the branches and leaves out of his face for Antares to even try to gather together the words to refuse this sort of treatment. And he realised very quickly that Hagrid was moving far too fast for him to have kept up anyway – something that he appreciated, since every step took him farther away from the awful scene with the unicorn and the infinitely more confusing one with the snake.
They soon got back on the path, at a point where the blood was much thinner than Antares had seen when walking with Draco, and it only took a few more minutes before they came upon the others. Draco was there, looking thoroughly frightened, as were Neville and Granger, and – Antares' eyes widened – there were two centaurs with them, pawing impatiently at the ground and squinting hard at Hagrid and Antares as they came closer. Antares wriggled in embarrassment, his face growing hot with the thought of just how stupid and weak he probably looked, being carried under Hagrid's arm like a – like a paper bag, or something, and when Hagrid finally stopped, Antares was only too glad to be set roughly on his feet.
"I appreciate yer help, Bane – Ronan," Hagrid was saying gruffly. "Wouldn've wanted to leave the children here on their own while I went to fetch –"
"Black?" Antares started, nodding hesitantly. Had one of the centaurs just – "Your classmates told us your name."
"I thought you were behind me," Draco said stiffly, looking thoroughly uncomfortable as he did so. "Didn't think you'd be daft enough not to run –"
"There'll be none of that," Hagrid said sharply, giving Draco a quelling look. "'Tis time you lot were back at the castle, anyway."
Granger looked relieved, and so did Neville. But the idiot couldn't seem to help himself, somehow, going on to protest in a small, irritatingly brave tone. "But Hagrid, the unicorn –"
"I know where it is," Hagrid said shortly, looking determined and somehow angry. Antares, thinking back to the heavy smell and the shocking silver-and-white in that clearing, couldn't help but understand why. "I'll deal with it just fine – as for you lot, it's high time yeh were back at the castle." He turned abruptly to the centaurs, who had begun to drift away from the group. "Thanks again, you two."
One of them nodded slowly, and the other, a pale blond with a palomino body, gave Antares a piercing, unsettling look, before looking back at Hagrid. "It was our pleasure, Hagrid," he said, simply. And then his eyes were on Antares again, making him want to fidget. "And you, Black – next time, I advise you run." His companion gave him a sort of warning look, and the next minute, the two of them were galloping away down the path and back into the deep forest.
"I wouldn' worry my head abou' that warning if I were you," Hagrid said gruffly, breaking the small hush that had fallen over all of them. "They're not one for giving straight answers, are centaurs."
It was a long walk back to the castle, and seemed even longer because of the stiff silence that fell on all of them as they wound their way up to the double doors. The moon shone high in the sky, and the darkness seemed even thicker about them somehow, the slightly dimming light from Hagrid's lamp casting deep shadows every which way. Antares' back had stopped itching so fiercely, and had subsided to a low, insistent throbbing – manageable, but irritating. Almost frightening, in a way, considering how it had flared up so much when he'd met that – thing.
Shivering, Antares tried to keep from thinking too hard about the encounter until they reached the castle, and even then, he felt like his mind had frozen over when Hagrid strongly suggested that they all return to bed as quickly as possible, and advised that Draco and Antares go down to Professor Snape before they did so. Neville and Granger exchanged a significant look at that, but Antares could not bring himself to care – he felt scratched and painful and sore in a way that went deeper than the scratches on his arms and legs, and in no mood to think about whatever stupid theories the Gryffindors were thinking up now.
As they descended the stairs to the dungeons, Draco tried to speculate about what they'd seen in the forest. Ignoring him didn't seem to have any effect, and he chattered nervously all the way down to Snape's classroom.
"…they should cleanse the forest," Draco was insisting as the door opened soundlessly before them, "If there weren't werewolves and strange things in there, then maybe unicorns wouldn't get hurt all the time. Or they could –"
Snape's voice cut through Draco's, the annoyance in it like the cracking of a whip. "Is there any conceivable reason for your presence here, Mr. Malfoy? Mr. Black?"
"Professor, we were attacked!" Draco exclaimed immediately, and it was a long time before Snape could silence him. His eyes continually strayed to Antares despite his silence, or perhaps because of it – Antares couldn't think to add anything in a way that wouldn't end up with him explaining just how he'd gotten away from the unicorn-killer in the woods, and the last thing he wanted to do was explain that in front of Draco.
"Now, if you'll just drink that," Snape said, sounding a little weary, "you should be fine. Is there anything else, Draco?" Draco, clutching fiercely at the small vial of Calming Draught that Snape had barely had to convince him to take, shook his head. "Good. Now, if you'll excuse us." Draco left hastily, giving Antares a speculative look over his shoulder as he left the classroom. Antares sighed – he was sure everyone would hear about the unicorn-killer and how he'd somehow been ripped open by it, or –
"Come this way," Snape said, and Antares followed blindly. He barely heard Snape's office door shut behind them, and sat down only at the firm urging of the professor's hand. He just didn't think he could do this – "I suppose a Calming Draught wouldn't be out of the question…?"
Antares shook his head, and, a few minutes later, was gripping a vial of some Calming Draught almost as tightly as Draco had been, just moments ago. It seemed to taste of nothing, but something seemed to relax within him as he drank, and soon enough, Antares set the vial down, his breathing coming easier.
"There was a snake," Antares found himself saying, without prompting. "I talked to it." He didn't look up – didn't want to. "It – it talked to me first, so that was all right. I wasn't rude."
"Antares –"
"I think it saved me," Antares said, quietly, ignoring the alarm in Snape's voice. He continued, easily pushing away the thoughts of the way that alarm wasn't quite complete, the way that alarm was shot through with curiosity, because if he thought about it – "I just – when I saw the thing, you know, that hurt the unicorn, I just froze. It was like…" Antares faltered, "…like someone was splitting me open, from the back." He took a deep breath, hoping that Snape would just stay silent, just let him finish – "I don't know if it heard Draco scream, but – I didn't wait. The snake was – I think –" Antares waved stiffly above his head, flinching at the way the pain in his back flared up again, "– up here. I don't know, it just – just shook me out of it, I guess, and I ran." He stopped, then. There was really nothing else he could think of saying, nothing but stupid things to do with why on earth he'd heard the snake and how he was still sort of sure it was an illusion, and that the unicorn-killing thing had sent him mad, and –
"Take another sip," Snape said shortly, rising up from his restless seat behind the large desk in the office. Antares did, and noted with some alarm that his hands were shaking. "Would you – do you wish to speak with your mother, or…?" Antares nodded hard. Snape nodded slowly as if in reply, and moved toward the fireplace on the side. Flames shot up in the hearth at a word from Snape, and then he was sprinkling Floo powder into the fire sticking his head into flames, his words muffled but familiar – "Spinner's End!"
And then, after some muffled talking and withdrawing of heads and so on, Bella's tired face was in the flames, and nothing seemed to be quite as frightening as before.
A/N: I can't believe I did this. I came into this weekend with only 4000 words done and a massive amount to get through, and somehow I got to the end of this. Somehow. I really hope you enjoyed reading this, as I did enjoy writing it, even though it exhausted and even bored me at points – it gets hard to stay on top of things when you're not writing consistently, as I've found. But anyway, the next chapter, which is the second-to-last for first year (finally, eh?), will be called Three Examinations, and is set to be even more pivotal than this one. Hopefully, I'll not drop the ball on it during the week like I did for this chapter. Till next time, Adios, amigos! As always, reviews are love.
