A/N: As per usual, none of the examinations are truly academic in nature.


Chapter 20: Three Examinations

Waking up with his back itching would have seemed rather odd to Antares weeks ago. But today, it only felt like yet another pressure he had to bear up under until school ended, and someone who actually knew anything about his burns (i.e., Bella) could take a good look at them and try to find out what the problem was instead of dosing him with foul-tasting remedies and forcing him to rub on sickeningly sweet salves. So Antares only gave in to a grimace or three as he squirmed stiffly out of bed, picking up things for his morning shower along the way.

"Tempus," Antares said quietly, tapping his wand on the side of his bed as he rubbed the sleep out of his eyes, and he wasn't surprised to see that it was about six – he'd evened out to waking up at that time sometime after the spring term. What he was surprised to see was how many people were awake and shambling about the shower room as well. Antares had sort of expected a few more than the usual one or two sleepy fourth or fifth years, as it was exam week, but not more than a dozen people, barely speaking to each other as they privately recited things under their breath.

Well. It definitely made for a more awkward shower, but thankfully didn't lead into the few people that actually noticed Antares trying to corner him to ask him questions. People had been doing that lately, ever since Draco's dramatic, embarrassing revelation of his and Antares' ordeal of sorts in the forest, and though Antares was as discouraging as possible towards them, there were always one or two who felt like taking a chance.

After a rather quick shower, Antares trooped back to the dormitory to dress up. The tension in the shower room followed him, bending his thoughts to the long-dreaded History of Magic exam that would take place sometime today – everyone said History came first all the time, except for during the OWLs and NEWTs, the timetables of which were more random. The most he could remember right now wasn't promising, and it stopped Antares from smiling back when Blaise shot him a bleary grin on his own way out to the showers.

Blaise frowned predictably, and Antares wanted to kick himself. Somehow he'd forgotten how worried Tracey had been last night when he'd avoided Blaise's intense questioning about what had happened in the Forest yet again – this just wasn't the time for confrontations. Antares had a strong feeling that if he didn't tell them something soon, they'd try to make him or even try to examine his mind or something, which was the last thing he needed right now.

For, all this week, his mind had felt as raw as his back, especially after the 'chance' meetings Antares seemed to have with Quirrell more and more as the days went by. He'd forced himself to talk to Snape once about it, and when that hadn't helped much at all, Antares had decided to just tough it out until the end of term, which was blessedly close now. There were only about three weeks left of the summer term, and once the exams were over, Antares knew he could avoid Quirrell easily by just sticking to Slytherin, which he hadn't been able to do up till now. It would be rather a lousy way to spend his last few days of almost-freedom at Hogwarts, but compared to what might happen to him if he remained around that turbaned bastard any longer, it was a lot better.

Blaise returned from the showers soon enough, and they were soon out of the dorm and on the way to breakfast, after dragging Tracey away from some last-minute studying in the common room. It was just as they'd climbed up and out of the staircase and into the entrance hall when trouble struck.

"Hey, Black!"

Antares turned as slowly as he could, trying hard to restrain the ready reserve of rage that had sprung up within him, itching to burst out. Oh, it was them. The last three times this had happened, it had been them – them being some Irish brat called Finnegan and some other turd called Thomas, both in his year. Both Gryffindors. Both stupid enough to keep on attacking him with questions about the Forest, despite the increasing strength of the Stinging Hexes Antares regularly turned out in their direction.

Antares didn't restrain the urge to sneer in their direction as they strolled up, malicious smiles on their faces. The first time he'd snapped and hexed someone, it had been because his back had been driving him mad, and because of how many times he'd caught himself thinking vaguely of a plan to sneak out into the Forest to meet with his inadvertent saviour of a snake. The second time, it had been Anthony Goldstein to cop the hex, and that had mostly been because Antares didn't want people thinking he'd go soft on a sort-of-friend-but-more-sort-of-an-acquaintance.

Now, the third time –

"We just wanted to know –" – it had been Seamus Finnegan, and the way he'd turned up at the Slytherin table had seemed suspect –

"You really are stupid, aren't you?" Antares felt satisfaction run hotly through him as the Thomas boy flinched at his tone. The fourth time, he'd been the one to tap Antares on the shoulder and actually smirk at him while asking stupid questions. "Do you really need more of a reminder than last time?" Last time had been the fifth time, and had involved both of their stupid arses. Or, rather, had involved neither of them being able to sit down in Potions a few minutes later.

Antares almost grinned at the thought. Snape had liked that –

"You think you're so tough, hexing people left and right," Finnegan said, his tone becoming nicely angry. "You think no one's going to find out, don't you?"

"Yep," Antares replied, resisting the urge to cross his arms and smirk at the pair of them. "I mean, anyone finding out would first think I was horrible, but then…" He shot Tracey a sly look, and she finished the idea off for him, pretty near perfectly.

"Then they'd wonder why you didn't just put up and shut up," she said sweetly, after catching his eye.

"Like good little Gryffindors," Blaise added, not one for being left out when there were nasty comments going around. And it was good that he did, actually – he was the only other person apart from Snape that Antares thought could possibly make Gryffindors sound like slimy, alien and incomparably stupid beings. "Maybe we should all hex them so it sticks."

"But Blaise, that would be like training them," Tracey said, sounding scandalised. "Wouldn't want to waste time on that, would we?"

"Not really," Antares said, flicking out his wand. "I'll just do the honours, then. Mordeo!" But just then, the doors to the Great Hall, previously almost closed, burst open, and Antares bit his lip, thinking suddenly that the Gryffindors' empty threat might not have been so –

"Ah, Mr. Finnegan – just the person I need to see of a morning." Snape's almost painfully sarcastic tone, now normally a relief for Antares to hear in tight straits, sounded almost like a godsend. "That colouring – just as good as tea, the shock. And Thomas, I suppose you have some sort of reason for making such rude faces in my direction…?"

For, having been the first person Antares thought to hit with the Stinging Hex, Dean Thomas was contorting his face in the most awful expressions to keep from crying out. Antares couldn't help whispering another hex in Finnegan's direction, just in case – oh, good lord, had Snape noticed?

"Ah, and Finnegan is your accomplice," Snape said, smiling horribly. "Detention, effective immediately –"

"Mworh!" Finnegan said desperately, the sound somewhere between a squeal and a groan. Antares bit his tongue – wouldn't do to laugh. Draco was daft like that frequently, and it usually got him into trouble, so –

"Don't worry, you'll have some more time to cram before your first exam, as useless as that would be," Snape said, his advance unstoppable. "This way – if I remember –" – he seized the two boys, each by one arm – " – Filch had the most important thing –"

It was all Antares could do not to laugh until Finnegan and Thomas had been marched round the corner with Snape. Even then, as he clutched at his sides and leaned precariously on nothing, he could hear some titters around him, from people who had been watching, as well as some grumbles.

"We'll be late," Blaise finally said, but weakly, as if all that laughter had drained his voice. Antares nodded, and as he, Blaise and Tracey went into the Hall, he noted with a private grin that some of the other first years gave him wide-eyed looks as they entered.

Now that would put an end to most of the questions. For, despite the very pointed example Antares had made of the first few people to ask him rudely, he'd only ever noticed more people eyeing him with a sort of determinedly gossipy gleam to their eyes. Tracey was getting quite good at spotting older years that might have given Antares serious trouble in fending them off – she insisted they had some sort of mental glow about them, but neither Antares nor Blaise had ever seen such a thing – and thinking up ways to avoid them.

Antares sat down with an impatient sort of thump. It was all very well having fun doing it, but lately, it just felt like he was avoiding everyone for some reason – Quirrell, obviously. Snape occasionally, especially when he'd tried to talk to Antares again about the snake thing. Half of first year and the sprinkling of older students that still persisted in thinking there was some kind of mysterious secret to what had happened to him while Draco had been hieing himself off into the Forest, shrieking all the way –

It really didn't bear thinking about, just now, and after a fervent wish that he could just go home, Antares forced himself to stop, concentrating instead on the nice breakfast before them. It worked until Tracey started arguing with Blaise about the location of the last known camp of the High Goblins, after which Antares found himself frantically dredging up every fact of History that he could remember – which wasn't much. Which was upsetting, so –

"I've had enough of this," Antares said tiredly, not bothering to see if either Blaise or Tracey had heard him. "I think –" – good, Quirrell still stuffing himself – " – I'll go to the library." As half-expected, his announcement went unheard or unnoticed, and Antares soon found himself on his way out of the Great Hall, fingers itching for a way to test himself properly on the stuff in History of Magic he just knew he needed to know, and had forgotten –

"Hey, look out, will you?"

Antares caught himself just before sounding off a Stinging Hex – it was getting to be a bloody habit, that – and realised who it was. Terry Boot, and looking rather disgruntled. Which wasn't strictly Antares' fault, but…

"Sorry Terry," he mumbled. "Just – bloody History of Magic's got me in such a –"

"Seen the timetable, have you?" Terry said, interrupting almost immediately. "There's Herbology first, before that."

"Oh thank god," Antares sighed, angling so he could fit through the slight crowd talking nervously in front of the doors. "I just know I don't have the bloody Goblin succession down, at least I'll have time to –"

"Speak for yourself," Terry said shortly, interrupting again. "Herbology's a nightmare, for me. That frigging Sprout, she hates me, she's going to make it hard on purpose –"

"At least she answers your questions," Antares said, feeling a little heartened nevertheless. "Everything I say to Binns, it's all 'stop talking, Black', or even 'stop talking, Potter' –"

"So it's true? He actually –"

"Yeah. I mean, they're all dead, you'd think he'd know…and anyway, I don't look like a Potter, do I?"

Terry made a sound somewhere between a sigh and a laugh. "Wouldn't know, duh. Like you said, zip – all dead. My mum's mad for heraldry and genelgy and stuff like that, but she's never interested in dead people. Ixtinc lines, she calls them."

Antares sighed. Now if only Bella would just stop talking about their nearly er, ixtinc line, she'd probably decide on marrying into one of the ones that were alive and kicking, and fallen into disrepute or whatnot. Although he wasn't quite sure his mother would stand for doing that – she was rather too proud for Antares to even imagine her putting up with someone's low status that way, even if they were madly rich or whatnot. Though that would make a difference. Or maybe if Antares somehow managed to get the stupid famous Black fortune willed to him – whoever had been being choosy before about marrying someone with Bella's past would definitely stop being choosy then.

And then Antares began thinking of how exactly he would manage to get the Black fortune, and the varied and mostly fantastic thoughts and schemes lasted him through his feverish search for Ugorir the Beardless' children and even the rather longer Herbology exam, which mostly consisted of answering inane questions about plants and pruning stuff very carefully.

Antares finished fairly quickly, ignoring the poisonous glance Neville Lupin gave him when he did so – Neville was officially the best at Herbology in their year, and it always seemed to upset him when someone came close to stealing his so-called title, especially now. Antares, bored of sitting still, quietly approached Professor Sprout and asked if he could help with setting up the batch of plants for the second or third years that he gathered would be coming in next, and grinned to himself when she indulgently said yes – mostly at the angry colour on Neville's face.

For the rest of the exam, Antares helped to tease the nameless plants – well, not really nameless, but I don't know their names yet, right? So it's pretty close – into the sort of fits of temper he'd never seen a plant get into without some serious intervention. He tried to keep the grin off his face as Neville stomped up to stonily request to do the same thing, but the would-be grin soon faded when he spotted the aggrieved look on Blaise and Tracey's faces by chance.

Great Merlin – that meant a lecture on Antares' Purpose As A Slytherin, if he knew anything. They'd been getting really frequent towards the end of term, despite what he thought was rather nasty behaviour on the hexing front, and though Antares had a feeling that it was to do with those times he sort of kind of went out of his way to help that Abbott girl (really, she was so pathetic at one of the locomotion charms that he'd had to help her, if only to stop her setting herself on fire), he had no intention of backing down or doing more than promising vaguely to 'behave better'.

As soon as Sprout had bustled them from the greenhouses, ignoring the groans of a few unlucky people, Antares' friends struck. It started, as always, with Blaise.

"There's no way you can explain that whole thing back there, Antares – don't even try," Blaise said, sounding upset. Antares refrained from pointing out that Blaise might (just might) be taking out the frustration of the exam on him – from what he'd seen, it hadn't gone well for Blaise at all – but soon, Antares wished he had. "I mean, it's just moronic, now – Sprout could've gotten on just fine without you stinging those poor vines –"

"They're not poor, they're strong enough to strangle a man," Antares pointed out, his tone just this side of smug. "And she was having trouble with them. Wasn't she, Tracey?"

"I'm not even sure I want to get into this," Tracey muttered. "Blaise, just let it go this time, will you? I need to think about History of –"

"Screw history, Tracey! If we don't break him of this stupid habit now –"

"Actually, if you do break me of the 'stupid habit', I won't have any reason to tell you what really happened that night," Antares said almost eagerly, interrupting Blaise mid-rant. His satisfaction grew as Blaise literally stopped talking, and almost stopped walking for a moment, as he quickly realised exactly what night Antares was talking about.

"You mean you're really going to…" Blaise's voice trailed off uncertainly, as well it might. Antares remembered how adamant he'd been about sticking to the bare details of what he felt he could tell Blaise during their sleepy, frightened conversation when Antares had finally gotten back to the dorm. And of course, he'd hexed Goldstein, too acquaintance-y friend or no. Blaise and Tracey had known very well to stay off the subject, especially when Antares had even threatened people who had very cunningly decided to ask them for juicy details instead.

"Well," Antares said thoughtfully, "I might not tell you now, but –"

"Oh, you git! You can't just –"

"Yes he can, Blaise," Tracey said firmly, pinching him hard enough to stop him mid-sentence. "Shut up."

Antares quickly fixed on a look of indecision, and that headed off Blaise's determination to search out the facts, and quite nicely, too. As they entered the castle and trudged wearily into the Great Hall for lunch, Antares couldn't help thinking that a bit of indecision seemed to work for him very well, and perhaps needed to be applied…a little more often.


Indecision, Antares had soon decided, after a spate of experiments, was definitely the way to go – especially now. It was the third day of exams, and he'd somehow weathered the more and more determined onslaughts of Blaise's desire to know about Antares' ill-fated trip into the Forest with increasing amounts of threats and carefully crafted indecision. Antares could even remember Tracey looking a bit conflicted about her own, subtler part in the questioning, which was outstanding considering Tracey. But now, fidgeting nervously in the clumsily enlarged DADA classroom, Antares instinctively knew that this was the real test.

Quirrell.

Antares, sensing a movement to his right, looked down at his sparsely-covered scroll and dipped his quill again, making as if to write another sentence. He felt an odd pressure on his mind as Quirrell stumbled by, and didn't feel safe letting out the breath of relief that was gathering in his chest each time the Professor's almost hungry eyes slipped away from him. Praying fervently that his expression of tortured indecision over the exam (which he'd finished quickly enough, a combination of his desire to leave quickly and the fact that the exam was almost disgracefully easy) continued to pass muster, Antares pretended to write on his scroll of parchment, knowing that Quirrell wouldn't be able to tell if he really was writing from all the scratching that was going on in the room. It, to put it bluntly, sucked to have to pretend in these careful steps (never 'writing' when Quirrell was nearby, and certainly never when he seemed to be watching closely) all because he'd finished early, but Antares reasoned that he could 'finish' about at the same time as everyone else, and be reasonably safe leaving the class with everyone else, instead of isolating himself by visibly finishing too early or too late, and then having to leave alone. Which would mean Quirrell would follow him, and –

The quill snapped suddenly in his hand, and Antares cursed, his voice sounding too loud in the almost-silence. Several people huffed or gave him disapproving looks, but most of them went on writing and looking over their work as Antares carefully set down his quill and took out his wand, meaning to repair the thing before Quirrell could offer to –

"W-W-Wait a m-moment –"

"Reparo," Antares said, loudly, to make it clear that he wasn't cheating. God, he hoped the spell would take – oh, thank Merlin – so Quirrell couldn't try to mend it for him, and cut him in the process, or do something equally nasty. The Gryffindors off to the left were actually looking up from their scrolls, looking scandalised and rather resentful, but their reactions weren't the important ones here. Quirrell looked strangely thoughtful, and didn't even try to interrupt as Antares spoke nervously into the mini lull that had crept up on the class. "I'm sorry, I just wanted to –"

"Spells a-a-are s-strictly f-forbidden during written e-exams, Black," Quirrell said firmly. "The rules are c-c-clear –"

"It was just a Reparo, and there's no way to modify them so that –"

"R-rules are rules, young man," Quirrell said again. It surely wasn't Antares' imagination that the bastard sounded pleased – oh no, there was an almost greedy look in Quirrell's eyes, made worse by the slight, triumphant smile on his face. Which, in turn, was made worse by the way the Gryffindors smirked over at him, as if – "P-please put d-down that quill –"

Gritting his teeth, Antares did so, wanting to snap the stupid thing again. By the self-satisfied look in Quirrell's eyes, it may not even have snapped because of Antares' inner tension – oh, you fucking

"Y-your ex-xam is s-suspended, Black," Quirrell said, approaching slowly, the weight on Antares' mind growing steadily as he did so. "P-please stay b-behind…"

Antares didn't even look up. Bastard, bastard, bastard – he'd been damned either way, he'd had to be. However would he get out of staying behind, now?

Thirty minutes later, Antares still hadn't answered that question for himself. His head felt close to bursting, and his burns were starting to really hurt, and not only from whatever they were always hurting about, but from the way he was hunched over his desk. It wasn't like he'd even been caught cheating, which made everything worse – Slytherin's points were going to get hacked, positively hacked for this, and Antares would probably be forced into giving up blood in some ingeniously legal way into the bargain. And then –

He closed his eyes, and took a deep breath, ignoring the sounds of one more person handing their paper in. There just had to be a way out, and he wasn't going to find it by panicking once he was the last one here.

"Th-thank you," Quirrell said, sounding tired. Antares wished fervently that his turban was crushing him, strangling the thought out of his fat head – what he wouldn't give for Snape to burst in at this very moment – "Black, y-you may come up."

Antares restrained the desire, once again, to snap his quill and throw it into Quirrell's eyes or stab him with the pieces, and drew himself up. His back ached, and it felt like tendrils of fire were pulsing through his burns, but Quirrell didn't know that, and he wouldn't, he wouldn't

"Black," Quirrell said again, sounding almost annoyed. "I-I caught y-you fair and s-s-square, you kn-know."

"I didn't modify the quill," Antares said, as calmly as he could. "All I cast –"

"Y-you cast a ­s-spell, boy, and it's n-n-not allowed," Quirrell said disapprovingly, taking the last two scrolls of parchment from a very worried-looking Tracey and Blaise without even looking at them. Until – "Y-you may be e-e-excused, you two."

Antares steadied his shaky nerves with a hard look at his desk, and quickly buried all thoughts of his friends somehow working to distract Quirrell while he escaped under the Cloak. It wasn't even wildly possible even with them in the room and looking fairly ready for anything, as they had been – not with that shrewd look on Quirrell's face. It wasn't fair

"D-did you f-finish at all?" Antares nodded stiffly, trying to ignore how Quirrell had stood up and was making his way over. "L-let me see…"

Antares made no move to hand the scroll to him, staring stonily ahead as Quirrell picked the scroll off his desk, his slow, almost reluctant movements signalling that Antares had been wise not to do so. "Ah…I s-see." The scroll betook itself over to the overflowing pile on Quirrell's desk and hovered there, not settling down to join the others. "N-now, young man, y-you have a choice."

Antares gulped.

"A-all I r-require is an evening of y-your t-t-time," Quirrell went on, hardly seeming to even notice how frozen Antares had gotten at that statement. "Tomorrow evening s-should suffice –"

"No," Antares said, almost before he could think it through. An exam cancelled – appearances of cheating – both would be horrible on his record, and would probably cost Slytherin points, yes, but to spend a whole, unsupervised evening –

"Come now, boy," Quirrell said, his tone bewildered. "It is f-for something i-important, and r-really –"

"No."

Quirrell leaned closer, almost forcing Antares to lean back to glance at his face. "No, boy?" His tone had taken on a hard edge, one that had Antares hoping desperately that the door – "No, you must be j-joking."

"I didn't cheat," Antares said, simply, trying to keep his voice steady. "You shouldn't be punishing me in the first place, so –"

"A-and who will the Headmaster believe?" Antares froze. The coldness in Quirrell's voice, right now – "A – a m-modified, scrubbed-up, aggressive street urchin, o-or –"

"I said no!" Antares half-shouted, wrenching himself away from the fear that that image called up. God, he could be expelled, expelled, it was obvious – just because – just because of Quirrell and his fucking –

"Well then," Quirrell said coolly, with a strange smile. "Go."

It felt like waking up from a dream, to hear that single word. But as soon as he'd heard it, Antares immediately knew that he had to, before he broke down, gave in. He seized his bag with an angry, reckless flourish, whipping out his wand and holding it tight enough that he couldn't feel it in his fist as he began to stalk out of the classroom. For a moment, Quirrell was silent – almost as if he was shocked. And then –

"Black, wait –"

The lightest of words, of phrases, it still felt like a command. Antares' body almost turned of its own accord, making him stumble, hard, against a desk and chair that he ran into mid-turn. The shock seemed to clear his head, and this time, he didn't wait for another offer, another suggestion that he could fix this by doing something he just knew was dangerous.

Shouldering his bag closely to himself, Antares ran, bursting through the door and slamming it satisfactorily after himself, the rage and fear boiling in him seeming to increase at the thought that it should have been locked, if Quirrell was really serious about getting his attention. That last command –

But Antares laughed, dryly, harshly, heading hard for the nearest staircase that would lead to the dungeons, ignoring the stares of the few people milling around in the corridor. Oh, he could just see it – Quirrell had thought he'd give in, had thought it so much that he'd just forgot.

A taste like bitter gall flooded Antares' mouth as he somehow bit down on his near-hysterical laughter, but he kept on moving, somehow. Snape would fix this. He had to.


"So, been exposed for the cheating scum you are, then?" Neville said. "Now, I can't remember how many points Slytherin lost for that. Ron, can you?"

Antares shut his eyes as hard as possible, trying to force back the angry swirl of magic that kept trying to find its way out. It'll pass, he told himself, desperately, tightening his grip on his fork. Lupin will move on, and this will pass, and you'll be fine

"Has anyone given you detention yet?" Weasley said, smirking. Antares wanted to shove a fist into the stupid little arsehole's grinning mouth, see if he continued smirking then – "Maybe they'll let Filch have the honours – let him lose you properly in the Forest this time –"

"Yeah, Black, maybe you can find your way back to wherever you went last time," Neville said, nastily. "Come on, Ron – we don't have time for this lot –"

Blaise gave Antares a warning nudge as the two smirking boys began to move off towards the doors of the Great Hall, but he just couldn't take it. "Yeah, Lupin, I know you wish you could cheat on Potions. I guess you know it'd just take Snape looking at you to wet your fucking pants on the scene –"

Neville paled, turning back. "Excuse me?"

"You heard me," Antares snarled, satisfaction positively boiling through him as Neville paled even more. "Now fuck off and pretend to study – suppose it's better than remembering you'll fail anyway."

Weasley, red as his hair, stepped forward, his fists already balling up. "You take that –"

"Weasley, leave the talking to your betters – 'specially since you won't cheat for him anyway. You know, Lupin, you might want to find a more useful sidekick sometime –"

"You –"

" – but I suppose you're too busy wanking over catching Snape in the act." That sent Neville speechless, and even sent a few people tittering nearby. "No, really, Lupin, I believe you – Professor Snape's doing something illegal, and you're the only one who knows!" The titters grew into laughter, and despite the embarrassed look on Granger's face as she lingered over by the exit, Antares surged on. "Newsflash, Lupin, you're not the Auror of Hogwarts, and you're not a fucking hero today. Take a de-aging potion if that's really what you need, or just sod off."

"That will be quite enough, Mr. Black," McGonagall said icily, from behind him. Antares snapped his mouth shut, but didn't bother looking up or apologising – no point, she was already going to punish him anyway – "You might resent Mr. Lupin's sacrifice, but I, for one, do not. Ten points from Slytherin, young man, and you'd do well to learn some respect for the dead."

"Oh, for Voldemort?" Antares' reply came out on its own, and had not, as he suddenly realised, by the silence around him, remained firmly in his thoughts.

"Fifteen points from Slytherin," Professor McGonagall said, her tone silencing the whispers that had started going up. "And detention, Black. In my office, after your last exam. Although I've a mind to sweep you in there now, if only to beat some sense into that thick head of yours." By the spate of lowered eyes around him, Antares sensed, through a sort of disbelieving haze, that McGonagall was glaring round at everyone on the Slytherin table. "If I ever hear that sort of joke again among you, there will be consequences. Am I understood, Slytherin?"

"Yes, Professor McGonagall," rang up and down the table, in mostly irritated tones, and by the time McGonagall had finally stalked off back to the high table, Antares' shoulders had sunk down in defeat. He just couldn't seem to do anything right –

"Oh, well done, Black – that's twenty-five points you just lost us," Draco snarled. "Ever heard of keeping your mouth shut?"

"Leave him alone," Blaise said, immediately, but he didn't sound half as convincing as he had before, while Draco had been rubbing salt into Antares' wounds earlier on in the common room. Antares didn't dare look up to see just how much Blaise didn't want to say anything on his behalf. Or to see Tracey's face right now, after all the times she'd warned Antares to just ignore everything after he'd come back from Snape's office in a rage from the bad news.

Instead, Antares continued to eat, woodenly. Right now, the only thing he could bear thinking about was the fact that he wouldn't have to struggle against the urge to just give up and help Quirrell no matter how distasteful or frightening the task he would be set would turn out to be, seeing as he had detention.

And if that wasn't cold comfort, Antares honestly didn't know what was.


As Antares trudged out of McGonagall's office, dragging his feet as he went, he supposed that it hadn't been as bad a detention as he had been expecting, in theory. The worst part had instead been the way McGonagall watched him like a hawk throughout, never seeming to take her eye off him as sorted through scrolls and scrolls with increasingly numb, aching hands – as if he'd steal one, or something. Or perhaps that was just Quirrell's doing – Antares had a strong hunch that the absolute bastard had probably been playing up his own side of the story, and bringing up Antares' former 'thieving urchin' status up as much as he could afford to, never mind how illegally that knowledge had been gained.

Never mind how Quirrell had set him up in the first place. Never mind how Snape was being so fucking cowardly and hush-hush about whatever he was supposedly doing to combat Quirrell's godawful behaviour. Never mind how McGonagall watched him out of her office down to the last second, her blue eyes feeling like skewers in his back. Never mind that Antares didn't feel like going back to Slytherin.

Antares stopped briefly to think, rubbing at his chilly arms through his robes. It was only logical that the last place he'd want to be about now would be the Slytherin common room. And especially not, after some idiot named Oxbridge had run afoul of McGonagall in exams after Antares' stupid mouth had run off with itself at lunch. The fifteen points Oxbridge had lost had had absolutely fucking nothing to do with the twenty-five Antares had lost, but catch Slytherins trying to think logically about the fact that they were now third in the House Cup rankings with only three weeks of term to go.

At any rate, I'm not going back to the common room, Antares said firmly to himself, picking thoughtfully at a sleeve. He'd do anything not to be in there right now – later on, he could sneak in, and would be just fine sneaking out again before anyone could wake up and see him. It would mean a firm risk of getting caught loitering after curfew again and losing more points, but…

Wait. Didn't he have the Cloak on him…? Antares checked feverishly, moving rapidly into a nearby abandoned classroom, so he wasn't seen by anyone (and certainly not by McGonagall, whose office was distressingly nearby) while pulling the irritating thing out of his – there. Sighing, Antares shook it out of its slightly set folds, wishing that it was at least a little warmer.

Then again, the lightness of it would come useful in the summer, which meant he could go about outside…

Antares whiled away the time, walking about until his legs faltered and keeping up a constant stream of relatively inane questions to ask Bella when he got home, as well as running slowly through the list of spells he'd learnt over the year. It was pointless, yeah, as it was the last day of exams, but what the hell. Wasn't like he had anything to do, and certainly wasn't like he might be treated all right in the library, which was really the only safe-ish place he could think of going now. Nevertheless, what seemed like an hour or so later, Antares found himself lingering foolishly on the second floor, then, when that palled, climbing steadily up to the third, and wondering absently whether he could sneak into the library anyway.

But when he remembered that it was nearby, it didn't take time for him to feel sort of drawn to the famous banned third floor corridor, and didn't take much longer for him to make an excuse to go. And he'd heard enough from Adrian and Charles about the weird noises they'd supposedly heard while listening at the door that Antares even made an excuse to stop and try as well. The door was locked, as usual, but as Antares listened, he could hear nothing of the snuffling, growling sounds Charles had described. Odd, that.

Maybe the thing in there's asleep, and it can't…but no. It was surely all right that it was silent. Maybe that was part of the experiment the Headmaster was putting the poor thing through, or something – nothing came to mind immediately, but that didn't matter either, since Antares didn't really know very much about magical experiments in the first place. In fact, the only real evidence Charles had kept repeating in support of his theory was that the door was always locked, as if to keep people from interfering with the progress of the experiment.

Antares, suddenly realising that he was standing around in front of the silent doors and starting to think of maybe taking a look, quickly began to retrace his steps. He was in enough trouble as it was already – no need to practically ensure that he lost even more points by poking around inside the banned corridor.

It was after passing through a stubbornly cold pocket of air that always resided mysteriously around the entrance to the mouldy old trophy room that Antares suddenly heard something, and stilled. God, he had to be overreacting, but – didn't those – were those voices?

Or, even worse, one voice? Quirrell?

Antares froze for a moment, then went into a sort of mad frenzy in the next. He retreated back past the trophy room, and, after a look into the armour gallery, decided it would probably do for the best hiding place, with all the soft creaks from the fidgeting suits of armour. Now, if he could just –

Clang! Antares bit back a foul curse as he picked himself up off the floor, staring at the stupid shield he'd just disturbed by mistake. Giving Antares – for the Cloak had been half-dragged off him when he fell – what he could sense might be a scolding look, the suit of armour he'd disturbed began to creak, in a horribly certain way that told Antares that it actually wanted to recover the damned thing itself, giving him away in the process.

Desperate, Antares tried to whisper a warning. "Wait just a –"

"In there!" someone insisted, and suddenly the door Antares had hastily closed was opening. He spun, shooting a locking spell at it out of desperation. It shut the door, but not for long – "Hey, you!"

"Petrificus Totalus!" The spell curled off Antares' tongue quicker than he'd ever imagined, and the little scream of shock just outside as someone's black-robed body stiffened and fell only increased his desire to get to the bottom of things. He struggled over the fallen body wedging the door open, not bothering to identify it as he darted after the two other people running away. "Stop – Locomotor Mortis! Locomotor Mortis!" They dropped with hard thumps onto the stone, despite Antares' initial hesitation, but it looked less painful than what would have happened to him if he'd used the Petrificus on them instead.

He'd do that now, anyway, but still – "Petrificus Totalus. Petrificus Totalus," Antares said, trying hard to ignore the frightened breaths of one of the fallen students – they're all students, I think – as he slowly approached. His instinct to get that done before trying to question them had been right – one of them had been reaching in for their wand, or something similar, from the stiff position of his arm.

"Now, who are – Weasley? Granger? What the…" Antares trailed off into shocked silence as he fully absorbed the fact that Granger – rule-mad, proper Granger was with them. And he said them, because he had a strong idea who the first person he'd taken down was – "And Lupin. Christ." It may have been the spell, but Neville Lupin's eyes were almost unnaturally wide, and followed Antares' progress with disconcerting amount of anger and shock. But Antares didn't have time to figure out why, because the last thing he wanted to do was for anyone to find him like this, just as the next to last thing he wanted to do was to release the Gryffindors.

Honestly, after everything he'd said and done today, if he released them, there'd be hell to pay. Instead, Antares painstakingly dragged Neville into the armoury, ignoring the anger in his unnervingly wide eyes, and carefully levitating the other two into the room one by one. On any other day it would have been ridiculously funny to see the Gryffindors lined up side by side on the cold stone floor in such strangely fixed contortions, all with the suits of armour creaking interestedly and sort of shuffling about to get a good look. But today –

Well. Antares just hoped he could sort this out without anything going massively wrong. It was obvious that he'd have to unbind one of them so he could find out what was going on. A quick look at Weasley and Lupin's faces crossed them firmly out, and that left Granger, who, despite her scowl, would probably be the easiest to talk with.

"No funny stuff – I'm faster than you, Granger, and if you hit me with something, I'm not going to be throwing safe little Body-Binds about. Finite." She scrambled predictably for her wand, but Antares was watching her too closely for much to happen. "Locomotor Mortis – Expelliarmus…"

But even then, all Granger did was growl and try to seize hold of either Neville or Weasley's wands. Antares sighed, but his wand was already flicking distinctively, and he knew there was no getting round moving her so she couldn't do any harm – "Locomotor Granger." It was hard, hard going, getting her struggling body over at a distance far away from the other two, and by the time Antares had done it, sweat was trickling coldly down his back. "Look, fighting this isn't going to do you any good, Granger. Just talk, and maybe –"

"You bully!" she cried, hardly even listening to him as she wriggled uselessly, trying to roll towards the other two. "Let me go!"

"Don't be daft, Granger," Antares said steadily, his eyes now drawn to the silver pile just out of their line of sight. And if that wasn't another incentive not to let any of them 'go', Antares would fuck himself with a doxy. "Look, you just startled me, all right? Just tell me what you're all doing up here, and I'll give you your wand back –"

Granger had stopped struggling now, and was staring at Antares with anger in her eyes. "Neville was right – you are working for Snape!"

"Oh, not this again," Antares groaned. "Look, there's nothing illegal about Snape, all right? I don't know what gave you the idea –"

But Granger wasn't listening – " – and when he steals the stone, it'll be all your fault!" Antares blinked. He'd once overheard something to that tune from Granger in the library, after the whole business with the Forest, but it had seemed like so much nonsense that he'd just joked about it to Blaise ("Can't even make up anything good about Snape, now, can they? Nothing properly evil, anyway –") and left it at that. But the way Granger –

"Has he even told you what he's going to do with it?" Granger went on, her voice surprisingly unyielding. "Bet he's told you he'll share all the gold with you, and everything –"

Antares tried not to laugh in bewilderment, but his amusement seeped into his tone all the same. "Gold? What gold? You know, Granger –"

"And he's doing it all against Dumbledore! He tricked Hagrid into telling him how to put the dog to sleep, Antares –"

Antares' mouth fell open. "Wait, there's a dog? What –"

"He had you on guard, didn't he? Didn't you hear it fall asleep?"

Suddenly, Antares remembered the eerie quiet behind that door, and doubted that whatever had been behind there was that lucky. But no, this was all nonsense, how could he –

"Did he even tell you what he was going to steal?" Granger was demanding, her voice getting shriller with every word. "It's the philosopher's stone, Antares! And you know about him taking it, he'll just kill you, or –"

"Wait, the what?" Antares said sharply. He sort of remembered something that sounded like it from all the stories Bella told him, but surely – surely it wasn't real. But, from Granger's babble and frightened, desperate expression – "You're telling me a – telling me a Philosopher's Stone is at Hogwarts? First of all, it doesn't –"

"We told McGonagall about it, Antares!" Antares froze. So that had been – "We told her it was in danger, but she didn't listen to us!"

Antares' mouth began to go dry. "Didn't listen to us" didn't sound like McGonagall thoroughly putting an end to what sounded like a silly rumour produced by overheated Gryffindor minds – which was exactly the sort of thing she'd do and do firmly. And Granger wasn't half deluded enough to lie about something like that, either; Antares could see her desperation, and if he exerted himself just a bit, could see the truth of it.

She wasn't lying, and that stunned him. "Please, Antares, you need to let us go, or we'll never stop him! Dumbledore isn't even here – we're sure Snape led him off or something, it's so convenient –"

"Shut up and let me think," Antares snapped, his head hurting with the thought that Snape might – but no, no, no. What was he thinking? Wasn't there someone else, someone far more suited to the sort of conniving behaviour that would involve sending the Headmaster away on purpose? Someone whose late actions had disturbed Antares to the bottom of his very being?

Antares gulped, but the truth was there, right in front of his eyes. That favour – god only knows what Quirrell had intended him to do tonight. Perhaps stand and guard his way through the banned corridor, or maybe even as bait for the monster behind the locked door –

"Antares, please –"

"And if I let you go, what'll you do? Go after him?" Antares knew his tone was harsh, but the mere thought of Quirrell trying for something as valuable as the Stone, if it was real, was so nauseating that he could barely keep it out of his voice. "You three wouldn't stand a chance in hell against a teacher, much less – much less Snape." Antares hoped his stumble hadn't been too obvious – he didn't know if he was right about Quirrell, definitely, but to suddenly introduce him into the mix would only raise questions he didn't want to answer. And pretending he thought it was Snape would only make Granger trust him more. "No, none of you's going anywhere."

"But how will you –"

"I'll go to McGonagall," Antares said automatically, ignoring the look of disbelief on his face. "If I can't get her to believe me, I'll try Flitwick – he likes me enough to check, at least."

"Go to him first," Granger said, eagerly, despite the looks of dismay in her still-frozen companions' eyes. "Please be quick –"

But Antares was already heading for the Cloak and stuffing it roughly into his pockets. "I'll try," was all he said before pelting out of the room, hoping it sounded suitably brave and trustworthy.

And try he would – just not for the exact same thing.


The run down to the dungeons seemed to pass by in a flash, he was going that fast. Antares marvelled that he hadn't broken something or run afoul of Filch as he panted up to Snape's classroom door – he hadn't had time to be careful. If what he thought was correct, he would barely have time to get his story out to Professor Snape –

"What is it now?" Snape said, eyebrows rising as the door swung open. Antares stepped in jerkily, his hands aching from how hard he'd pounded on the door. "I don't know where you get the idea that roaming –"

"Quirrell's after the Stone," Antares got out, between his wheezes. "Just caught Gryffindors going – going after him, thinking it was –"

"The Stone?" Snape seemed to move lightning-fast, darting from his position just in front of the huge teacher's desk and through the door that led into his office proper. "Where did you catch them?"

"Third floor," Antares said, only just mustering the energy to follow Snape into his darkened office. "Just – and there – was silence. Behind the door, to that corridor –"

"Completely silent?" Snape demanded, lighting a fire in his hearth with a harsh flick. "I warned them, I warned that old fool –"

"Sir, I'm not sure –"

But Snape wasn't even listening to Antares anymore, his attention all focused on the handful of Floo powder he'd just seized and thrown into the fire. "Minerva's quarters!" he barked, startling Antares as he did so, then suddenly reaching round for him. "Come with me."

There was no argument to make to counter that implacable tone, and Antares found himself being hustled hastily into the hearth as Snape snapped what sounded like a password. The nauseous spinning made him dizzy, and he only just stumbled out of the large fireplace in time enough that Snape didn't land directly on him.

"Minerva! Minerva, come out this minute!" The urgency in Snape's voice as he strode off the hearth, not even bothering to spell off the soot, was highly alarming, especially combined with the fact that Professor McGonagall had just stalked into the room, swathed in a faded tartan nightgown, looking thoroughly put out.

"Severus, I cannot imagine –"

"You certainly can't," Snape shot back, moving forward with a seriously agitated cast to his expression. "The Stone is in danger, Minerva –"

"Oh, you can't be serious –"

"Then where is Albus? Why did he leave, Minerva, at such an inconvenient time?"

McGonagall stared at Professor Snape as if he was mad. "Severus, are you well? There was an owl from the Ministry, as you well remember –"

"How detailed? And how urgent that he would leave the school so immediately?" Snape asked rudely, his expression becoming angrier by the minute. "Can you not see, Minerva? This is not a coincidence! Young Black here just told me he couldn't hear anything from outside the door to the corridor –"

"At this time of night?" McGonagall demanded, suddenly seeming to notice Antares. "Oh, good grief, child! How many points must one –"

"This is not a matter of points," Snape hissed. "Check the mirrors, Minerva – I can feel it, something is very wrong about this sequence of events –"

McGonagall looked unconvinced. "And who would you say was our thief, Severus? As wretchedly as that Lahiri girl fared against Hagrid's –"

"Lahiri was a student, Minerva – our thief is a teacher," Snape insisted. "Check, for Merlin's sake, so we can have some certainty – I know Albus would have transferred the mirrors to you when he left, as little good as that will do us."

"Fine," McGonagall said tersely, after a long, strained moment, and a hard stare in both Snape and Antares' directions. "If you're wrong –"

"If, Minerva. It won't turn to when by us standing here," Snape said quietly, but with a hint of steel in his tone. McGonagall huffed, tugging her nightgown tighter about herself as she moved over to a small pile of what Antares first thought was a set of small, slim books, but turned out to be largeish, squared, plainly made hand mirrors, all of them as normal looking as any mirror Antares had ever seen.

McGonagall, with a few flicks of her wand, impatiently moved one of the little side tables by the small, cosy-looking armchairs in the room to a clear space in the centre. She then began to set the mirrors on the suddenly growing table, one by one, and all by hand. Snape, surprisingly, didn't move a finger to help her – maybe using them was all about who could touch them, or –

"Incipio Spectatus," McGonagall intoned, her wand flashing in a complex gesture Antares barely saw. One by one, the normal, reflecting surface of the mirrors darkened, then began to look like scenes, all of them different. McGonagall gasped as she ran her eyes over them – in most of them, there was little or no activity, but in one – "Defigo!"

"I knew it," Snape said, darkly. Antares shivered at his tone, but more at the greedy look on Professor Quirrell's face than anything else. For it was unquestionably the slight, nervous features of Quirrell that the middle mirror had just focused on, illuminated starkly by the bright light in the room of what Antares realised was chess pieces – giant ones.

"You bastard," McGonagall whispered, seemingly oblivious to everything as she watched Quirrell silently give what was probably an order. Something huge and black passed briefly in front of him, obscuring their view of him, and in the next moment, he was gone, moving out of the focus of whatever monitoring spell was on the room. "Severus –"

"I can't do it," Snape said, almost immediately, shocking Antares. It didn't make sense – wasn't he the only one Quirrell really seemed to fear? "I can find Albus quicker than you can, Minerva, and besides…" Snape leant closer to her, looking deadly serious, "…I don't think Quirrell is acting alone."

"But he wasn't –"

"Not in that way, Minerva," Snape said quickly, his tone bitter. "Not in that way." McGonagall finally looked away from the mirror, which was now being crossed regularly by something hulking and black – probably one of the chess pieces Quirrell was somehow passing through. The look on her face took away the need for any sort of question – it was clear enough that she could simply not understand who might be aiding Professor Quirrell in such an unseen, insidious way. "For some time now, I have been experiencing…sensations, in my Mark." Antares' eyes grew wide – surely he couldn't be telling McGonagall about – but no, Snape wasn't that stupid.

Or was he? "I dismissed them. But tonight, when Black came to me with his tale, I realised they dated from that assault on Gringotts – around when our dear Quirinius suddenly became inseparable from his turban."

McGonagall gasped, her face paling horribly. "No – no, it can't –"

"It does seem to fit, doesn't it?" Snape said quietly, interrupting yet again. "You understand why I cannot take the chance?"

By now, McGonagall was rising to her feet, a grim look on her face. "Perfectly." Antares looked from her to Snape, trying to stifle the acute sense of horror at the conversation. Surely Quirrell wasn't – harbouring anything. Anyone.

Besides, Antares thought firmly, the only 'anyone' that could affected Snape's Dark Mark like that is very, very dead. Right? As Antares looked up at Snape's grim face again, he suddenly didn't feel so sure.

"I will set off immediately," Snape was now saying, drifting purposefully towards the fireplace. I should be able to find Albus and head him off, somehow –"

"What about the boy?" McGonagall asked, after murmuring something that leached the dark scenes from each mirror, turning their surfaces normal again. "I can't leave him here –"

Snape paused for a moment, his dark eyes moving unerringly to Antares' pale face. "Where did you leave Lupin and company, boy?"

"Armoury," Antares said shakily. "On the third floor –"

"Then I suggest you lock him in with them," Snape said immediately, giving McGonagall an urgent glance. "Notify Filius before you go down, Minerva – just in case."

McGonagall nodded curtly, seizing a battered tartan dressing gown from its haphazard position over the back of an armchair. "Be careful, Severus." Professor Snape didn't even answer – just grabbed a handful of Floo powder from a pot near the fireplace and was on his way. The green flames gave the mostly red room a queer glow, but Antares didn't have time to notice it, as Snape was soon gone, and McGonagall was already steering him firmly towards a locked door he'd not noticed before, talking all the while. "I don't know what on earth you were doing out so late, but that can certainly wait. We must be quick, understand?"

Antares nodded stiffly, marvelling at how quickly McGonagall was able to usher him out into the corridor and shut and ward her door, which, from the outside, looked more like part of a stone wall. But the quick way she'd moved through the door was nothing to the pace she set as soon as they were through it – Antares almost had to run to keep up with the professor then. After clambering down some stairs, they moved through what seemed like a room doused in red, and climbed through some sort of awkwardly placed door. McGonagall paused as soon as they were through, whirling round to shut the door –

Antares' eyes widened. Wasn't that –

"Minerva?" It was a portrait, with only one person in it – "What is –"

"Don't let anyone out," McGonagall said, interrupting the sleepy words of the lady in the portrait. "I don't know if – time – oh, I might as well bind you myself." She shot a quelling look at Antares, then whipped off her dressing gown and began to fold and twist it in a very, very odd way that made it appear long and thin and… Antares gulped – he could feel magic spinning tightly about that thing, and it didn't surprise him as much as it would have in any other case, to see that the garment had become a light grey staff, with complicated spirals carved into it in a way that made them look like they went on forever.

McGonagall didn't waste a moment in brandishing the staff, muttering some Latin that Antares could barely make out – words that raised the hair on the back of his neck and made him horribly aware of the cold draft in the passageway somehow gathering about them –

He gasped. The portrait had gone blank, and looked like it was freezing over, but all in a peculiar way that made it seem part of the world. Antares gaped, but didn't gape for long, for the next minute, McGonagall's warm hand had seized him by the shoulder again and was propelling him along.

"We must be quick," McGonagall said, almost as if to no one, and though the rate at which they were going did not increase, everything seemed to pass by them quicker. With his own eyes, Antares counted fifteen paintings that they passed in one short stretch of corridor, and when they finally reached some stairs and began to whirl down them, he had to stifle his fear, for it was like running up stairs that were just about getting ready to change or move from their current position…only that they were running down, and the stairs seemed to be moving with them –

"Adaperio!" McGonagall suddenly cried, and the staircase swung to a horrible, jerking stop before a door Antares realised was the door to the third floor. "Thank Merlin, that didn't take long…"

They were soon out in the dim corridors, but were going at a much slower pace. Antares felt somehow grateful that the paintings didn't flash by like they had upstairs – it went a fair way to making a boy sick, thinking of the castle somehow moving so much around them. He really didn't think he ever wanted to go through something like that a-

"Here we are," McGonagall said. Confusingly, they were just outside the Charms classroom. That didn't seem to faze her in the least, as she boldly opened the door Antares was sort of sure should have been locked, and herded him inside without so much as another word. Antares soon realised why they were here as McGonagall opened another door that he'd thought would be locked – the one that led into Flitwick's cheery, cluttered office, which, though dim, had a small fireplace.

Moments later, McGonagall was crouching before green flames and speaking quickly to a rather sleepy-looking Flitwick, who looked less and less sleepy as she went on. By the time Flitwick's head winked out of the fireplace, he looked very angry indeed, and McGonagall looked even grimmer.

"The armoury, I believe?" she said absently. "Don't just stand there; come along." Antares followed her out of the classroom, his fingers itching to try the door after she closed it again, just to see if it was – "Don't dawdle, Black. And keep up – we haven't got time for staring up and down, as you well know."

That little admission gave Antares the courage to finally speak. "Professor, is Professor Snape going to…" his voice faltered as McGonagall gave him a narrowed look. "I mean, will he –"

"Who did you say you would go to?" she said, cutting him off and rendering him momentarily speechless. "To Weasley and the others, Black – surely you told them something to make them stay put."

"Erm," Antares said, a little desperately. "I almost – well –"

"I'll wager that you told them you'd come to me, or Flitwick," McGonagall said calmly, tugging on Antares' shoulder to keep him moving. "Stick to that story."

"Yes, Professor," Antares said, resigning himself to the shock she would probably display at the way he'd left the three Gryffindors body-bound. Unfortunately, the journey to the armoury went by just as quickly as everything else had tonight, and McGonagall hardly seemed to pause, shoving the door open and ushering Antares inside with what felt like a grip of steel – one that turned steelier when she caught sight of the three bodies lying motionless off to the right.

"Professor, I can explain –"

"And I don't have time to hear it," McGonagall snapped, looking as if she wished she had as she stepped briefly into the room. "Finite Incantatem. Now all of you stay here – someone will fetch you when this is all over."

"Professor! We –"

"Do not try the door," was all she said, and mostly to Antares. In the next moment, the door had slammed shut and begun to ice over and somehow melt into the wall. Antares stepped back, disorientated by how quickly everything had happened –

And met what felt horribly like the business end of someone's wand.

"You move, and I'll hex you," Neville Lupin's voice came from behind Antares, confirming his fear. "Drop your wand – now." Antares did so, pulling it out slowly and wincing as it clattered to the floor. "Ron –"

"Got it," Weasley said, his tone one of sickening satisfaction.

"Neville –"

"I'm just going to ask him some questions, Hermione," Neville said, almost defensively. To Antares' disquiet, she seemed to believe him, and certainly made no further protest as Antares was firmly sat on the floor, well away from his wand, which he quickly realised was nowhere in sight.

"I honestly don't –"

"Shut up! You were gone for thirty minutes, for crying out loud –"

"Oh, you think McGonagall would've believed me, just like that?" Antares said sarcastically, his mind racing. "She bloody well marched me down to Snape's office and everything – only he wasn't there."

"I knew it," Weasley muttered. "Probably gotten the Stone already –"

"I don't think so," Antares said, very truthfully. "McGonagall Flooed Flitwick and told him to seal something up, and then we Flooed back to her rooms, for some reason –"

"What?" Granger said, sounding startled. "But that's in –"

"He doesn't know, Hermione," Neville said, interrupting her. Antares repressed the urge to roll his eyes – he still remembered some of the pictures he'd seen on the way down here. Wasn't like he couldn't go back if he really wanted, no matter how secret they thought it was – "Go on, Black."

"She got out some mirrors and checked something – I didn't see what, but she looked really angry," Antares said slowly. "I think it might've been Snape, but I don't know –"

"How'd you get down here so quickly?" Granger said, a little too eagerly. Neville gave her a cautioning look that spoke volumes – wherever McGonagall's rooms had been was obviously important to them. Or they'd been there before, and didn't want…wait.

McGonagall was head of Gryffindor. Perhaps she lived near their house, like Snape did with Slytherin? It would definitely explain the way they were –

"She asked you a question, Black," Weasley said, firmly. "Answer it."

"I don't know," Antares said, a little testily. "Now, would you stop poking me with your wand?"

"What do you mean you don't –"

"Did you even see how she locked the door?" Antares said, interrupting Neville with a sharp, mocking look. "I've never seen a door locked that way – have you?"

"But –"

Antares rolled his eyes. "And if someone asked you how she locked it, what would be the first thing you'd say?"

Weasley sighed, grudgingly. Surprisingly, what he said was even sensible – "He's telling the truth, Neville," he said, as if the words were choking him.

"And anyway, McGonagall teaches Transfiguration," Granger said, practically. "Stands to reason she'd know how to get down here quickly, and lock the door that way –"

Neville frowned. "But what if she needs help?" To Antares, who knew just how much help McGonagall might need, if what she and Snape had hinted at in her rooms was true, the question was horribly apt.

Antares sighed. "Well, we'll be glad she locked the door in a way we don't know, won't we?" All of the Gryffindors, who had been exchanging worried looks, now gave him sharp ones. "You know, you can give me my wand back now…"

"What's to stop you from cursing us again?" Neville demanded, his own wand still firmly poking into Antares' arm.

"It's three against one, and I had you surprised the first time," Antares said shortly, rolling his eyes. "And anyway, I only hexed you because I thought you were going to hex me."

Neville gave him a hard look, but the sense of that argument got to him quickly enough. A minute later, Antares was handed his wand, and left to help himself off the floor as the Gryffindors huddled over on the right, talking lowly about McGonagall's chances against Snape. Sighing, Antares went over to the suit of armour that had betrayed him earlier, looking for a place to sit. It looked to be a long wait, and juggling something in a sitting position would keep him at least a little warmer than if he was hanging about on his feet.


It certainly seemed a long wait, especially when Antares cast another Tempus and found that it was nearing midnight. They couldn't hear anything from the corridor outside, probably because of the weird spell McGonagall had put on the door, so all resigned themselves to shivering in the cool armoury and talking over the faint creaking that came from the suits of armour.

Or, at least, the Gryffindors were talking. Antares hadn't bothered trying to join up with them, knowing they'd probably say no or that their conversation would be stilted with him sitting nearby – not that it didn't already seem stilted from where he was sitting. They all kept looking over at him, as if he really cared what they said about their exam results and how well McGonagall would do against 'that slimy git' – that is, Professor Snape. If Antares hadn't known why Snape hadn't gone down to deal with Quirrell in the first place, he would have rebelled against McGonagall's curt advice, just to shake the idiots up. The way they were talking about Snape, you'd think that he'd somehow cast some worldwide spell that told everyone to distrust him but still let him have a good job teaching children and wandering about a castle chock-full of dangerously valuable items that he might steal.

Just as Antares, idly juggling away, was trying to figure out a way to interrupt without seeming like he was in favour of Snape stealing the Stone, the ice on the door cracked loudly and suddenly began to recede, all before their shocked eyes. Antares struggled to his feet, wand firmly in his cold, slightly stiffened fingers as the ice seemed to melt away to nowhere, leaving no traces on the increasingly normal-looking door. When it opened, he had a spell on his lips, just in case –

"You can lower your wand, Mr. Black – everything is as it should be." Antares heard the Gryffindors sigh in relief, and very much wanted to as the familiar, if weary figure of the Headmaster stepped through the open door. But though he tried, he couldn't think of a reason for Quirrell to disguise himself as Dumbledore if he'd been victorious, and certainly couldn't think of whether Quirrell would have cared to find out where he and the other students were – "Yes, Mr. Lupin?"

"Oh, Professor Dumbledore, what happened to Professor Mc –"

"Professor McGonagall is in the Hospital Wing, Neville, and a bit worse for the wear. However, the Stone is safe, and Hogwarts safe with it, thanks to all of your quick thinking," Dumbledore said blithely, his eyes moving over all of them and pausing on Antares. "Quirrell was stopped, and –"

"But sir, Professor Snape –"

"Was completely innocent," Dumbledore said, firmly, his eyes still on Antares. "In fact, he was the one who alerted me to the situation, and ensured that I would be back in time." The Gryffindors were speechless, looking between themselves with expressions of bewilderment, and Antares quickly feigned a similar expression when Granger looked in his direction.

"Now," Dumbledore said, beaming tiredly at all of them, "it is late, or rather, early, and you all should be in bed. Come along," he said stepping out of the door and beckoning to them calmly, "I will at least see you to the staircase."

Antares kept a somewhat wary eye on Dumbledore the whole way to the stairwell, ignoring the whispers flowing frantically between the other three. His vague suspicion that someone else would take him down to Slytherin was confirmed by the fact that Professor Snape was waiting at the stairwell, looking both windswept and highly irritated to be there. Antares had to stifle a grin at the accusing looks Lupin, Granger and Weasley gave him, and at the look Snape returned in kind.

"Were you feeding them sweets the whole way along, Albus?" Snape complained as they stepped in, pushing Antares none too gently in the direction that would lead down to the dungeons.

"Would you have preferred that they did not know what role you played tonight?" Dumbledore said, his tone somewhat mild in comparison. Snape simply gave the Headmaster an almost too irritated look and prodded Antares into descending before him, without much more than a curt 'good night' flung over his shoulder in Dumbledore's direction.

Antares didn't know how he kept silent all the way down to the second floor, but by then, he could take it no longer.

"Professor –"

"I have had a very long night, and so have you," Snape said, giving him a hard look. "Best that you were –"

"Oh please, if I didn't tell you that –"

"Quirrell would still have experienced defeat, or at least frustration," Snape said, ignoring Antares' exasperation. "One protection on the Stone held, and held him until Minerva could get her scrawny arse into the chamber."

"But what did she –"

"Destroyed it," Snape said, shortly. At Antares' look of confusion, he sighed. "You wouldn't understand, so keep your mouth shut and leave me in peace."

Scowling, Antares did just that. Oh, he'd find out eventually – Snape would have to tell his mother sometime, and with the Cloak, he could easily listen.

The problem, really, was only how to wait out the three weeks of term till then.


A/N: Sorry about the confusion of this past couple weeks – as you might have noticed, I will still be writing AST, only at a less rigorous schedule. Hope you liked this latest chapter – my plans for another one for this year, as you may (or may not) suspect, changed drastically towards the end. I'm now thinking of sort of seamlessly going from one year to the next in the next chapter, or, failing that, doing a short sort of 4000-word deal and starting the next chapter in Antares' second year.

Till the next chapter, then.