A/N: In which Antares returns to Hogwarts, and the grand drama begins to unfold.
Chapter 4: Crossing the Threshold

Many emotions had run through Antares over this long, confusing summer. Anger, betrayal, fear, disgust, happiness; it went on and on and on in an interminable flood of moments he could feel the confusion thick on his tongue like salt, numbing his reactions and causing him to do and say things that he knew might just add to the storm, but did and said anyway. Somehow, over the last few days, Antares had begun to try to think of the constants that had always been part of his life – well, constant, because there was only Bella. But thinking about what she meant to him had led him to realise an important fact.

Snape, and her (still quite disgusting) relationship with him, were not going to go away. The realisation hit him for the first time as he watched them bicker and plan after Snape's unlucky outing to Diagon Alley, at the moment when Snape told her sternly that what mattered was that she was safe, even if their relationship didn't work out. Antares' brain had shut down momentarily, trying to deal with the stress of hearing Snape say something so – so selfless, and seeing his mother half-smile at him because she clearly believed that it…wasn't an issue.

In the next moment, Bella had quietly revealed to Snape and, unknowingly, to Antares, that if she and Antares ever left Spinner's End, it would be to exchange it for Grimmauld Place, the only Black residence that no one cared about, and that Bella had access to. Antares had numbly tucked the news away for examination later, though. The realisation that Bella didn't think she would end things with Severus in the future was much more important, and more devastating than anything he'd ever heard.

Later that night, Antares had huddled quietly in his bed, turning the thought over and over in his mind. It forced him to see the connections, to look at his mother and realise that she wasn't the type of person to flit from person to person, lavishing attention on whomever she was with at the time. He'd sort of understood, even when he was much younger, that Bella wanted permanence, and would go after it in a way that not many people would. For one thing, she'd never even mentioned the idea that he might want to go to someone else, want to be adopted by someone else. Not that she'd not thought of it – there had been times when they'd been in a bad situation, when her whole frame would almost vibrate with regret that she'd brought him along. But she'd still never asked, never offered a polite way to speak of him ever wanting to leave. It wasn't what she wanted, so she'd never asked.

Antares had drifted off to sleep with that on his mind, and woken with the further realisation that Bella would therefore never ask Snape to leave if she did not want him to. And that sealed things, really – despite the bitterness of it, Antares knew that he'd have to change his behaviour toward Snape. Not just because Bella liked him a lot more than Antares had ever supposed, but also because it was beginning to drain on him, maintaining a hard front all the time, and thinking and thinking of ways to make Snape's life worse when Antares' life was merrily digging itself into a hole all on its own, aided by the Daily Prophet and their ever more unbelievable hints and accusations against him and Bella. Added to the fact that the situation with Snape, for all purposes, was not going to go away, Antares couldn't wait to shed the anger, the bitterness over the whole thing.

Of course, that had been harder than he'd thought.

"Morning," Professor Snape muttered quietly as he entered the kitchen, the look on his face extremely grudging, as if simply greeting Antares was a hard thing to do. As he'd done for the last three days, Antares just nodded calmly and busied himself with poking sharply at the eggs he'd just started frying up for breakfast, so he wasn't provoked into saying something snide. It had worked so far, which was about all Antares could say in its favour. Knowing that Snape wasn't going to suddenly decide that Bella wasn't worth the trouble that Antares was causing him (ha) was worlds removed from actually trying to live with Snape and his numerous prickly edges. It was so hard that despite Antares' growing dread of Hogwarts and facing what people would say about Bella, going back there began to look far more desirable than putting up with those sharp black eyes skewering him at breakfast, or those strong, yellowy hands poking through his things from time to time.

But there were times when it was worth it. Yesterday had been one, with Antares being taught by Bella and Snape at the same time. They'd argued and argued and argued over the potential uses for a seemingly simple charm for checking what Snape had called the in-in-ingetrity of things, which Bella had rolled her eyes at and said that Antares would use it to check his food to see if it was safe for him to eat. Somehow, that had led to Snape saying that the charm was far more useful than Bella seemed to think it was, and that had led to the most entertaining argument Antares had seen in days. They'd called each other the most awful names, and their insults had implied very many things Antares still refused to think about, and Bella had called Snape an insolent whelp, and told him to keep his sneaky mind out of her thoughts, or else. They'd only stopped when Antares became unable to contain his laughter, and they'd still sniped at each other over dinner after that.

Of course, there were times when Antares couldn't help but wish Snape would just find a stream and conveniently fall into it. Snape had a far sharper memory than Bella, and always seemed to remember the promises Antares had made but not really meant to keep, such as the one about tidying his wardrobe, or rewriting that stupid essay for Transfiguration (so there'd been a few ink blots here and there. So what?), and Bella, too tired or too busy to argue, usually deferred to Snape's opinion on the matter. Which was how, despite Antares' pleas and grudgingly praising remarks about both their ability to find a curse on a glorified piece of wood (Snape had looked startled and highly annoyed at Antares quoting him there), he still hadn't been allowed to try out the new, maddeningly shiny Nimbus 2001 that had arrived not three days after Snape's meeting with Lucius Malfoy. The broom was currently in his trunk, torturing Antares with the thought of it lying fallow until he got to Hogwarts and could convince someone to let him fly on his own on the Quidditch pitch, something which he didn't think Bella would take kindly to him doing.

Though that was increasingly becoming a bit of a sore point, the way Bella still ordered him around. True, despite the fact that Bella had deceived Antares for almost a year, he still considered her his first really good bit of luck, and the parent he'd never thought he deserved. It didn't mean that he wasn't angry with her – far from the contrary. He felt guilty about how many horrible things he wanted to say to her, yet wanted to say them anyway, and wanted to smack Snape on the nose even when he was doing something as noble and helpful as getting hold of Antares' broom for the year because he'd never have done it if Bella's safety had not been involved. In his worst moments, Antares resorted to thinking up and (unwisely) writing down snide things about how Bella and Snape's desire for each other seemed to grow with each added problem in Antares' life, but those were only the moments when he thought he would burst if he didn't say something to someone.

Antares sighed, guiltily. Of course, that 'someone' should never have been Blaise, even if Blaise was his friend. Antares now wondered if he should amend the definition of that word for both Blaise and Tracey, so that 'friend' meant something more like 'people who'll support you, with plenty of questions asked and many sideways looks', instead of something noble and sigh-worthy and irritatingly out of his reach. Just three days ago, he'd learned, to his chagrin and shaky relief, that even the accidental revelation of the alarming news of Bella and Snape's relationship would only prod forth more questions from his two friends, when he'd written one of those snide things about desire down in a letter to Blaise by mistake.

Antares resisted the urge to cross his fingers, but it was there. Blaise had written a garbled letter full of 'I told you so's at the beginning and full of confusion at the end – apparently, he'd actually taken the time to Floo Tracey to ask if anything referring to Bella and Snape was in her letter (which it thankfully wasn't), just to see if it was just Antares making a nasty joke. That was what Blaise had eventually decided, sounding rather cross about it all, and it still gave Antares the shivers to think of the kind of questioning that might follow his revelation of the identity of his mum's new conquest – if he ever actually said anything about it to his friends. It was, Antares thought, shifting from foot to foot, the kind of news you never wanted anyone to know. Ever.

As if he'd sensed the thought, Snape gave Antares a glare, pointing firmly at the table. "Must I ask you to sit down as well as eat? Surely –"

"I'm sitting, I'm sitting," Antares said sullenly, doing just that. Bella wasn't down yet, so he thought he was allowed to be sullen, and even a little rude, as he slapped his plate of finished omelettes down on the table and moved it away from the centre of the table when Snape gave him a pointed look. After that, Antares fell to standing about and 'accidentally' getting in Snape's way as they tried to get breakfast together, get the post in and get ready for the early train to Hogwarts in only two hours.

Soon enough, Antares was slapping said post down loudly on the table, making sure to hand Snape the Daily Prophet first – it wasn't worth getting snapped at for withholding that – before rifling carefully through the small pile of letters that was left, keeping an eye out for anything from Tracey.

Nothing again, and it made Antares give a little sigh of relief – maybe Blaise really did think the relationship thing was just a joke. If he didn't, he'd have told Tracey, and she would have written Antares by –

"Stop humming, for god's sake," Snape muttered, eyes already scanning the lurid headlines on the front page of the Prophet. "How many times do I have to tell you it's distracting?"

Antares gave up on the pile, pulling the plate with his half-eaten omelette towards him. "I thought you said you wished you could hear something other the useless drivel of –"

Snape actually lowered the paper at that, and glared at him over the top. Quite satisfying – "Quote me again, boy, and I'll –"

"But I was just –"

"What is it now?" came Bella's cross voice from over by the door, and Antares quickly suppressed the grin that was trying to fight its way onto his face. "Sometimes, I can actually hear you from the bedroom, you're that loud…" She clicked into the kitchen, looking a little less severe in the simple green robes she'd actually mended for the occasion, obviously wanting to look as smart as possible on platform nine and three quarters. It would be her official second sighting in the wizarding world since Diagon Alley, as she'd used Glamours at Madame Malkin's for the last few days, half at her employer's polite request and half because Snape had said something about locking her in the house if she would not take even the simplest precautions.

Snape had baulked at Bella wanting to be seen personally accompanying Antares onto the train, but he eventually agreed, however reluctantly, that it would be important for her to do so, so she could at least try to pretend that things were normal. Not that they were, with her wearing those attractive, slightly formal robes, but well – no one would know that. Antares cast an approving eye at them again, but his desire not to miss the coming attraction kept him silent.

True to form, Snape started a little, stared – probably because of the robes – then began to hastily fold up the newspaper. Bella spotted him right away and headed for the table, looking even more determined than usual. Ever since the Prophet had re-discovered Bella's existence and begun to peddle useless gossip about it, Snape had always been the first one to read the newspaper –

"Severus, not again –"

And, like now, always the one to insist that it wasn't good for Bella to keep on reading it. This time, his expression was as forbidding as ever, but he didn't bother hesitating to hand over the folded paper. The first time he'd tried that, Bella had taken it anyway, and after that, Snape had openly flouted the stupid rule of negotiation that he'd quoted at Antares when he'd cornered him into telling him what broom he'd wanted, giving up the newspaper yet arguing that she shouldn't read it.

"Will you at least hear me out?" Snape said, sounding peeved.

Bella didn't even give him a look. "Severus, you know we need to be informed on the press's opinion of what is happening in the wizarding world. Why you persist in this childish game is beyond me."

"I am as informed as I ever want to be," Snape said stubbornly. "You shouldn't have to read the ravings of that mad Skeeter individual every day –"

"– and yet it is important that I do so," Bella said irritably, flipping through the paper impatiently as she drifted absently towards the sink. "For any of our plans to work –"

"– only one of us need be informed!" Antares, surprised at the vehemence in Snape's tone, perked up. He remembered that marathon planning session quite well, thanks to all the horrid realisations that had been forced on him. But he didn't remember them saying anything about being informed of –

Bella's tone grew cold. "Are you suggesting that it be you?" she demanded. "Do you know me at all, Severus? When have I ever been one to stand aside and let others do my duty?"

"It is not duty to punish oneself by ingesting poison every morning," Snape spat, surprising all of them. As Bella looked on, silent with shock, he paused for a moment, closing his eyes, before continuing in a slightly calmer tone: "Bella, I am only asking you to consider yourself –"

"And I say for the fifth time that I am considering myself in this, Severus," Bella said firmly, shutting the newspaper and approaching the table. She sat down a moment later, setting the newspaper back in front of Snape as she did so. "I cannot be calm in public if I do not know what I have to fear."

Snape sighed, and the tired look he gave Bella was familiarly soft, in a way that alarmed Antares, because he'd felt that weariness before, when trying to rebel against his mother on something she would absolutely not allow. "Will nothing I say –"

"Not in this, no," Bella said, interrupting him with a look that was a bit too fond for Antares' tastes. Snape scowled, but in a way that made him look only irritated, and he certainly didn't refuse the way Bella squeezed his hand. It made Antares roll his eyes – thankfully, only for a minute. For, a moment later, Bella was giving Antares a fond smile and speaking again. "We'd better hurry," she said, her smile now also encouraging as she reached out to pick absently at Antares' messy hair, "since the train leaves at eleven – it's almost ten two, now."

Snape directed a cursory look at the tiny clock over the stove at that, and with his next words, Antares stiffened further. "Have you packed that broom?"

"Obviously," Antares said, though he knew very well that it wasn't. Snape obviously still remembered how hard he had argued, and, from the way he was looking at Antares now, suspected that Antares might have tried flying the thing in his room. Which he hadn't, though he'd thought long and hard about it, and which he hoped Snape would believe and leave him alone. Snape, disobliging as ever, just gave him a long, hard look and returned his attention to his own plate.

But not before beginning to ask Antares something that had been positively drummed into his head after agreeing to pack away the broom and not fly it. "I hope I don't have to remind you –"

"– to ask my friends if they've tried their brooms out," Antares finished irritably. "You've only said that a million times, for fuck's sake…" he trailed off as Bella gave him a tired look. "Mum, he has said it a –"

"It may be annoying," Bella said, ignoring Snape's angry mutter, "but it's still not incentive to swear."

Antares, a complaint on the tip of his tongue about this being the fifth time she'd ever complained about his swearing, suddenly got it. Suddenly understood. For a moment, the words swirled madly around in his head as he fit them into the right groups, and it was minutes before he finally felt able to say something sensible. "This is because of those articles," he said slowly, trying not to sound accusing. Bella was avoiding his eye – it had to be true – "Mum, that's so fucking stupid –"

"Antares!"

"No, mum, listen! You think it'll make a difference to anyone if I swear or don't swear, don't you? That's absolute crap!"

"Sometimes," Bella began, in a determined tone of voice, "you have to try anyway. I know it offends you –"

"If I was quiet and good, they'd say you'd brainwashed me into obedience," Antares insisted, interrupting on purpose despite Bella's warning look. "For fuck's sake, if I was normal, they'd pretend I wasn't – what do you think they'll say the minute they find out I'm an Apprentice?"

"Oh, for Merlin's sake! Swearing like a street urchin may make you feel better, but it's not going to win us any points –"

"There aren't any points for us to win!"

Bella slammed her cutlery down in an uncharacteristic display of anger. "There are points to lose," she snarled. "Everything they can say against you or against me counts, Antares – right now, it's only a matter of time before they find some parent gullible enough to let their stupid child speak for them on matters he has no comprehension of. If that child has seen you swear, he will say it, and that harridan of an editor will go on to infer that you should be thrown out, and voila! The same stupid, conscientious fart of a parent suggests such a thing to the board of governors, and where are we?" Her voice was more than unsteady with anger now – it was furious – "I'm not going to let my past deprive you of a future, do you understand? And you are not going to do it to yourself. Is that clear?"

Antares bit his lip, stubbornness welling in him like a black cloud. Why couldn't she –

"There's no need for this, Bella," Snape said suddenly, his voice startling them as it broke the tense silence that had sprung up after Bella's angry speech. "To a degree, both of you are right," he continued, pushing back his chair from the table with a slow movement. "There's only so much one can do to clear one's bad name in the press, in this country. But it must be done. I did it."

"And where did it get you?" Bella asked, snidely. "Under Dumbledore's thumb –"

Snape glowered at her. "Free to pursue my own business," he snapped. "Respected, if also feared – if also suspected, sometimes. But I earn enough to keep myself in the manner I see fit, and the Prophet has long tired of dredging up unmerited accusations against me. That's what you want, isn't it? No, in fact, it's what you need."

Bella was silent, but for only a moment. When she spoke, her tone was low, and oddly menacing. "What I need is Lucius to forget me and my son," she said quietly. "What I need is Antares' future to be secure. And with Lucius around –"

"Don't even start," Snape said, just as quietly. "You know just as well as I do that failure lies that way –"

Bella snorted, quietly. Her answer was almost inaudible, as if she said it only to herself. "Do I?"

Snape stilled, and the silence that grasped them all then was truly tense, in a way that Antares could nearly not remember –

Bella shook her head, and the tension abruptly decreased. "Antares, go get ready," she said, not even looking at him as he got unsteadily to his feet in obedience. She was staring at her mug even as he left, an undecipherable mix of emotions on her face.

Antares, climbing rapidly up the stairs, tried to ignore the worry that was now stalking him like an animal. There wasn't anything he could do if –

He didn't want to think about it, so he pushed the thought from his mind.

Not like I've got time to waste, Antares thought, suddenly spotting a pile of things in his wardrobe that rightly should have been in his trunk. I've got to pack those, then put my robes on top, then…

Leaving Snape's house was fairly silently done, when it came down to it. Tension hummed in the air around them as they did last-minute checks for the odd potion ingredient and quill, and Antares nearly forgot the new sweater Bella had gotten for him this summer in the silence.

"Just a minute!" he yelled, rifling frantically through the scanty pile of clothing in his wardrobe. It was a long minute before he finally remembered where it was – in his toilet, of all places, and still half-in and half-out of its brown paper wrapping – "I've got it!"

"Come down, then," Bella called from below, her voice sounding calm. She didn't look calm, Antares noted, nervously, as he stuffed the sweater into his open trunk under Snape's disapproving eye. He just didn't know if that was good or bad –

"Finally," Snape muttered, as Antares closed his trunk. "Remember, Bella – I'll Floo in tomorrow with news from Albus, if there's any –"

"I remember," she said coolly, as if it didn't matter, as if Antares couldn't see the way she bit her lip when Snape pressed an awkward kiss to her cheek then glared at Antares when he rolled his eyes. The man was gone in the next moment, his trunk disappearing silently with him, and then Antares had no more time to think irritably about why on earth relationships like that had to happen to his mum, because she was embracing him, and he had to steel himself for the coming Apparation, as it always –

Hurt.

When they arrived, Antares kept his eyes closed for a minute – the squeezing sensation, though something he was moderately used to, was sometimes enough to make him sick if he tried to look around immediately. Somehow, as Bella reluctantly let go of him, he found himself asking her about it.

"Oh, the squeeze?" she murmured, reaching down to tap his trunk with a careful lightening spell. "You'll get used to it eventually."

"But Mum, what happens if I've got to Apparate when I'm older, and –"

Bella cut him off with a sudden hug, one that was hard enough to stop his words in his throat. "It will be all right," she said, a little shakily.

Antares did not answer, partly because he was not entirely sure she was talking about Apparation, and partly because his own voice might be shaky. Bella let go of him soon – a little too soon, he felt, but people were staring at them, and it was obviously time for him to get on the train. As he did so, he surreptitiously eyed the people who were looking – there were definitely a lot more than last year, which made him nervous. And they were whispering, some of them –

"Take care, darling," Bella said quietly. Firmly. It helped Antares tug the trunk through the door nearest to him with ease, and even helped him to move on after a simple, cheery wave, though he didn't feel cheery at all, and kept stopping to look out of the windows as he made his aimless way down the train, moving from compartment to compartment. Bella remained where she was until she spotted him trying to walk past another open door – she smiled then, and held her chin up a bit higher, watching him struggle through to the next compartment.

It made him feel a lot better, which he needed, just then. Because Adrian Pucey and Charles Warrington were in the next compartment, and the way they stared at him on his entry was not – not promising –

"Well," Adrian said, after a long, strained moment of silence, "I don't really see a resemblance."

"Neither do I," Charles muttered, still staring. Antares pushed his trunk into the bottom rung of the rack, trying not to feel them staring. It didn't work.

"Do you know you don't look particularly like a Black?" Adrian asked, a moment later, and it was so far from what Antares had begun to expect that he nearly jumped. "Well – there's a bit about your eyes and your face shape, but –"

"No, he definitely doesn't," Charles said, nodding in agreement. "Else, I'd have known – didn't read all those awful genealogies for nothing."

Adrian shot Charles a familiar glare. "I would have known too, Charles –"

"No you wouldn't –"

Antares didn't bother to wait for them to argue it out. "So you lot aren't going to stone me, then?" At his weak approximation of a joking tone, they both seemed to realise he was still there.

"Well, no," Adrian said slowly, as if he was stupid. "Be hypocritical, wouldn't it?"

Antares nodded smartly, as if he knew what that meant. Which he didn't, really, but it didn't sound –

"Well don't just stand there mooning, sit down," Charles said irritably, stretching exaggeratedly. "And please, please tell me you have a broom –"

Antares finally relaxed. They wouldn't bother asking him that if they wanted to – if they thought – well. He supposed he should answer – "I've got one, don't worry." He couldn't help smiling a little at the thought of the Nimbus, then, no matter how guilty it made him feel.

Adrian seemed to notice, because he sat up a little straighter and leaned in. "Don't – you didn't get –"

"A Nimbus 2001?" Antares said smugly. "Maybe…"

Adrian grinned. "When mine came in, I thought I would die…" And the conversation was much easier after that. Charles actually strode over to his trunk and retrieved his own new broom, handling it like it was some precious thing as he talked excitedly about how the owls had nearly given his mother a fit, crashing through the kitchen window. Antares didn't quite believe him, of course, but it was all right – relief was coursing through him in strange, surprising bursts every now and then, because he'd thought a lot about how horrible the train ride to Hogwarts would have been if Adrian and Charles had –

"Hey, what's that?" Adrian said, breaking Antares' train of thought. "What the bloody –"

Charles looked around at the compartment incredulously, as if its shaking interior could actually explain why the slow grind of the Express was becoming slower, and not speeding up. "The train is actually stopping again," he said uselessly, scrambling to his feet, broom still in hand as he pressed toward one of the windows that looked out onto the suddenly quite stationary platform outside. "I think someone's getting on, too."

"Who is it?" Adrian asked just as uselessly, as he too was already scrambling to his feet to get to the window. Antares shifted round in his seat, too happy to care either way about seeing or not seeing the mysterious person – whoever they were, they could bugger on or off the train if they liked. He was – "Good god, it's a Weasley!"

Antares abruptly forgot his indifference. "What?" He surged to his feet as well, twisting round and shoving at Charles' bullish shoulder, which was in his way. "I can't see –"

"It's a girl Weasley," Charles said, ignoring him, his tone particularly scathing. "Merlin in a pond, we'll have to work with a Weasley –"

Antares groaned, unable to block out the thought of how uncomfortable it would be, working with someone like Ron all day tomorrow. "I thought all the Weasleys were at Hogwarts!"

"No, there was one left," Charles said, pulling back from the window with a scowl on his dark face. "My mum was saying something about it the other day, I think – didn't think it would be another Apprentice, though –"

"It? Why, what did she say?"

"She better not come to our carriage," Adrian said sullenly, slamming the window shut, his face also sporting a scowl. "Their whole family's cracked, especially the twins –"

"But you know Snape'll think of it," Charles complained, sinking back down into a seat opposite Antares, his broom now tucked back in his trunk. "He'll want all of us in the same place, I just know it –"

"Sometimes I wonder what he thinks we could do to the bloody train if we were divided," Adrian said darkly. "Then I remember he was probably born suspecting his brothers and sisters of stealing his food –"

The door opened, putting a swift end to Adrian's snide comment, and putting a damper on all three of the boys. For Snape was present now and, from the murderous scowl on his face, might actually have heard some of what they were saying.

Then Snape turned the force of that scowl on Antares, and he abruptly remembered the supposed charade the man was supposed to put on – the one of disliking Antares. It certainly didn't feel like a charade, though – Snape's eyes fairly spat anger as he stepped aside, nudging forwards a nervous-looking girl sharply as he did so.

"Weasley, you will remain in this carriage," he said imperiously, not even looking down at the girl, whose face looked awfully familiar for someone he'd never even heard of. "These are your fellow Apprentices – acquaint yourself with them." Snape turned away then, ignoring the look of surprise on the girl's face, but not before he had stared Antares' legs into what felt like shaky jelly. The snap of the door only seemed to add to the tense silence among them all, and when Adrian broke it, his tone fairly screamed that the Weasley girl was unwelcome.

"Put your trunk in the rack and sit down," he said coldly. "The train'll be moving again in a minute, like it should have been."

But his accusatory tone seemed to have little to no effect on the girl, who was now giving Antares a look that was bizarrely relieved. "I know you," she said determinedly, fiddling with her trunk handle. "You were in the bookshop."

For she, as Antares had realised, was indeed the girl from Flourish and Blott's that he'd bumped into twice. He saw her familiarly bright, red hair now and cursed himself for not realising then that she might be a Weasley – not that he'd cared to think about them at that point, with the threat of Lucius Malfoy's appearance hanging over his head. Antares hadn't even shrugged in reply before Charles had taken up the assault, his chin high with condescension, the expression on his face resentful.

"Bad news, Weasley – he's in Slytherin, like us," he said gloatingly. "Of course you'll be in Gryffindor – best not touch him, he might make you Slytherin."

Adrian grinned. "And the weasels at home would just hate that, wouldn't they, Weasley?"

"We're not weasels," she said, gritting her teeth, an incredulous expression on her face. "And he's not in Slytherin, he helped me –"

Adrian shook his head at Antares, then, a mean smile on his face. "Oh, don't worry, he's a special case," he said, as if Antares was some sort of slightly mad brother in his family. "We certainly won't help you, don't worry."

"Well I don't want your help," Weasley said crossly, though it was obvious by the way that she tugged at the trunk that she probably did. She got the door open behind her by sheer luck, and was out of the compartment before Antares could think of anything that wouldn't further label him as a 'special case'.

Five minutes later, he gave up the ghost. There was no way to say it but in the manner of, as his friends had oh-so-kindly put it, a special case. "You know, as much as I don't like Weasleys –"

"Oh please tell me you're not defending her," Adrian begged, his tone more mocking than contrite. In the next moment, it had sharpened, as Adrian shed all pretence of pleading with Antares. "Antares, she's a Weasley. Even their hair is Gryffindor!"

"And speaking of the hair, how could you not notice she was a Weasley when you met her?" Charles asked suspiciously. "And again, please tell me you're not defending her –"

"I haven't even said anything yet!" Antares spluttered, a little confused by the double attack.

"And we're not going to let you," Adrian said smartly, giving him a wink. "Helping Weasleys, Christ – wonder what the fuck the world's coming to –"

"Adrian, all I did was point out that she was buying a bad copy of a book," Antares said slowly, struggling to remain patient. "I do that to everyone, for goodness' sake. You're acting like I gave her gold or kissed her arse, or sold her maps to the dungeons – which I'll obviously see no reason to do, if she's not in Slytherin –"

Adrian's eyes widened incredulously. "If she's not in – this is ridiculous," he muttered. Antares watched him in disbelief as he got up from his seat, but swatted away Adrian's hand when he tried to touch Antares' head. "Hold still, won't you? I'm just –"

"Get off!"

"Why? I'm checking you for fever –"

"Leave him alone, Adrian," Charles said, his voice irritatingly amused. "He's not going to understand if we don't explain –"

"What's there to explain?" Antares snapped, itching to give Adrian a kick as he rolled his eyes and stumbled back into his own seat. "So the Weasleys are usually Gryffindors – I get it, there's no need to –"

"Adrian was just being an arse," Charles said, shrugging. Antares could almost not keep himself from rolling his eyes as Adrian narrowed his eyes predictably at that statement, and started to say –

"I was only –"

"I've had enough of this," Antares muttered to himself. Suddenly, he was on his feet, his body ringing with restless tension, and his mind humming with uneasy thoughts. That diverted the older boys from their lazy bickering. "I'm taking a walk," Antares added needlessly, just to see what they'd say. He could just bet –

"And if you run into Weasley?" Adrian asked, carelessly.

Antares tried not to bristle. "I'll kill her and bring her body back," he found himself saying, just as carelessly, hard pressed to keep the sarcasm from his tone. "Trophy for Slytherin, right?"

Charles laughed, but still sounded a little uneasy as he spoke. "Whatever you like, mate."

"Do you really think I could kill someone?" Antares asked incredulously, heading for the door, not really expecting an answer. When one came, it stopped him in his tracks.

"Well –"

Antares turned, and saw Adrian give him an uneasy grin. It made him blink in astonishment – surely they didn't – no. They'd been friendly to him. "You've got to be joking, Adrian – I'm twelve, for god's sake."

"Antares," Charles began, "it's not that –"

"The only thing my mum's ever taught me is how to cook," Antares said angrily, not caring if that wasn't quite the whole truth. But honestly, the most lethal thing he knew was a spell for boiling potatoes without water that Bella had told him to be careful with, since she'd adapted it from a much less mundane spell she'd refused to tell him the name of. And maybe those two spells from Quirrell – from the – anyway, the spells that she'd forbidden him to use. Antares scowled, remembering how that lesson had ended, and how the day had ended after that. The sight of Adrian and Charles lost for words at what he'd said only served to irritate him more. "And be logical, for Merlin's sake – how in blue hell does the Prophet know anything about us in the first place, if none of them has ever spoken to us?" With that, Antares left the compartment, slamming the door behind him as he went. It was all just too ridiculous for words, and if he'd stayed in there a moment longer –

"Go away!" the girl half-shouted at him, as he opened the door to the next compartment and walked in. Then she noticed him, and started to say something, then glared, probably having remembered that he was in Slytherin, after all.

"Oh," she said then, grumpily, "it's you."

Antares just stepped in and shut the door, ignoring the way Weasley watched him as he shuffled his irritable way towards the other end of the compartment.

"Got tired of your friends already?" Weasley said snidely, hitting the nail painfully well on the head. Antares stopped, turning to glare at her, and shot of the first excuse he could think of.

"No, I'm going to the loo," he said, just as snidely. When her gaze remained steady with disbelief, he couldn't stop himself from saying, "What are you looking at, Weasley?"

Weasley tossed her hair and sniffed, reminding him a little of Tracey. "The loo's the other way," she said pointedly, taking up a book she'd tossed to the side at some point, but merely ruffling its pages.

Well, that was stupid. Antares unsuccessfully fought the urge to blush, and tried to think of something else to say. Weasley beat him to it, still fiddling with her book. "My name's Ginny, not 'Weasley'."

Antares snorted. "Why should I care?"

Weasley – well, Ginny fidgeted, and started to look a little pink. "You helped me in that shop, you know."

Antares stared at her. "And your point is…?"

"You shouldn't be in Slytherin with them," she said, determinedly. "You're not like them."

"You don't know anything," Antares said, rolling his eyes, a little relieved that he could say something sensible and cutting without looking like a fool again. "I'm a Black – we're all in Slytherin…" Watching her stiffen at those words was like a sudden slap to the face. What was wrong with him, making such stupid mistakes just now? He'd almost forgotten the old impulse to snap back, to shove the one thing he knew about himself in other people's faces, because this summer, it'd been the last thing on his mind –

"You're her son, then," Ginny said quietly, eyes narrowed at him. "The son of that –"

"You be bloody careful what you say next," Antares said coldly. "That's my mum everyone's running their mouths off about –"

"How can you say that? She was a Death Eater, my mum told me –"

"Oh, your mum?" Antares said tightly, the image of Bella's tired, determined face goading him to scour his memory for anything that might hurt. He didn't know much about the Weasleys' parents – had never really cared – so in the end he just made it up. "I hear she's too fat to fit on the Express."

The scrunched, furious look of Ginny's face told him he'd somehow struck gold. "Don't you dare –"

"Oh, so you're allowed to insult my mum, and I'm not allowed to say anything back?"

"Doesn't count if she's a Death Eater," Ginny shot back. "It's true; you can't say it isn't –"

Antares shrugged, a nasty smile coming to his face. "I could say the same thing about your mum," he said quietly. "Not very logical, are you?"

"Oh, you –"

"And then you've got the cheek to tell me I shouldn't be in Slytherin, just because you say so," Antares went on, relishing the fury on the girl's face. He started for the compartment door he'd come in at, feeling full and fierce with triumph. "Don't worry, I'm not contagious," he sneered, when Ginny pulled her legs away from his as he passed. "And anyway, the Hat wouldn't make you Slytherin if you begged – you'd stick out like a sore thumb."

Ginny bristled at that, flinging her stupid book to one side. "I wouldn't want to be in Slytherin in the first place! You're the most horrid –"

But Antares had just realised the best way to finish this off, and he certainly wasn't going to wait for her blather to put the finishing seal on this daft conversation. "Think, Weasley," he said, cutting through her slightly shrill tone, "you insulted me first, if you remember. Maybe you were right – maybe I really shouldn't be in Slytherin. Not that I'd be very useful there with you around – you'd just go on insulting everyone in sight, like the good little Slytherin you really are." He had the door open in the short moment of shocked silence, which erupted into shouts of how he was the rudest, most horrible person she'd ever met. He smiled politely at her on his way out, closing the door behind him with a snort of laughter at just how angry she was.

Somehow, the fact that Antares really did need the loo now only made it funnier. He took his time, muddled thoughts about Blaise and Tracey running through his head towards the end. From their letters, he didn't think they'd even thought for more than a few moments that the stuff the Prophet had been saying about him was true, though he supposed he'd probably have to knock down their notions of Bella's life, present and past. Though they'd not really said anything outright yet, either of them – mostly, his friends had just expressed worry and sympathy for how Bella must be feeling, which was fine.

Antares sighed, watching the toilet flush itself before buttoning up his trousers and washing his hands. Waiting would be the hardest part of that, really, though weathering the storm of questions that was sure to come from Blaise's quarter, if not from Tracey's, came a close second.

"Where've you been?" Adrian asked, as soon as Antares entered the compartment. "Did you actually go talk to her?"

Antares sat down with a thump, suddenly nervous. He couldn't wait like this, not with Charles looking like he wanted to kick Adrian for saying anything, not with that look of concern on either of their faces. Antares leant forward, then, having made his decision. He didn't owe Adrian or Charles anything, but if there was some way he could get them to let go of the stupid notion that he was some kind of child maniac, he was ready to do it.

"Why don't we just talk about the fact that you think I'm some sort of miniature Dark Lord, or something?" Antares said sharply. "Much more important than telling you I went to the loo, I should think."

"We don't think –"

"You could've said that before I left, and you didn't," Antares quickly pointed out. "Adrian, you know me, you and Charles – how could you even start to think –"

"We don't think that –"

"Let it go, Charles," Adrian said, interrupting his friend. "Antares, it's really…we're just being careful, all right? You never showed us how you stole all that stuff, and we got to thinking…" His voice trailed off when he spotted the look of consternation on Antares' face. "You'd have thought the same thing, and you know it," he finally said, a little uselessly.

By now, Antares didn't care. There was nothing he could do about this, obviously, since there was no way in hell he was showing anyone how his natural – or, as they would probably say, unnatural facility with Charms helped him steal. He got up instead, heading for his trunk with the sound of Charles' cautious words rolling over him as he did so.

"That's not the only thing, Antares – you know that. You're good with magic, better than most of the people in your year. The teachers, you don't know how they used to talk about you, like you were some prodigal genius or something. Everyone's going to think of that, not just us – it's fine on its own, but with the fact that you're really a Black –"

"You know what, Charles?" Antares said, opening his trunk with a sharp tug after tapping it open. "Stuff it. Nothing I say's going to make a difference."

"That's not –"

"Believe what you like," Antares said, interrupting heedlessly. He fished out the first book to come to hand, the Standard Book of Spells for this year, and closed the trunk again. "How 'bout this – I'm the love child of the Headmaster and a fig tree, and Bella stole me in revenge for the Headmaster seducing one of her own fig trees away from her. Now she's training me as a figgy weapon so she can conquer Hogwarts and cover it in – you might have guessed it – fig trees." Antares suppressed his slight relief at the fact that Adrian choked and sort of grinned at that description, however – he couldn't spend all his time trying to convince everyone that he wasn't going to do anything horrible to them, could he? Not even his friends.

Charles didn't let the matter rest, though. "You can laugh at us all you like, Antares," he said crossly. "We're not the only ones wondering – and you can bet a lot more people won't be as nice about it."

"I'll just tell them to go fig themselves, then," Antares said, sitting down and beginning to search for the part that had talked about the harder Dancing Charms. "Now, where was that page...?"

Charles tone was irritated enough that Antares didn't need to see his face to know that he'd be scowling. "I'm just trying to help, you know."

"Sorry, but my fig mission must be done alone," Antares said, forcing his voice to sound far deeper than usual. It didn't quite work, and it made Adrian grin and shake his head at him. "Really, I hear you – I just don't think I'll bother to care about it, that's all…" Antares trailed off into a curse as something fell out from between the pages. For a moment, he almost Summoned it back to himself before belatedly realising that that would definitely be a bad idea around his already slightly paranoid friends. Swearing again, he scrambled out of his seat to retrieve it, and scowled when he stubbed his toe, hard, while trying to sit down.

Unsurprisingly, Adrian was curious. "What's that?" Charles gave Antares a curious look as well, over the top of what looked like the new edition of Wonder of the Wigtown Wanderers.

Antares shrugged, wondering absently if he'd be able to get Charles to borrow it to him. "Some stupid –" he peered at little book in his hand for a second – "– some stupid diary they left inside the textbook," he said dismissively, stuffing the thing into one of his pockets. Adrian shrugged, obviously uninterested, and Antares turned his attention back to his textbook.

About half an hour into a different, larger section on the theory of self-effecting charms, Antares began to pat himself for the diary, having already borrowed a Self-Inking quill off a slightly grumpy-looking Charles so he could make a note to himself to ask Professor Flitwick about the ridiculously complicated-sounding description of one of the charms referenced in the book. The diary turned up obligingly a minute or so later, and Antares tugged it out and flipped it open, thinking to tear one of its small sheets out for the note.

Antares examined the page, then, and quickly changed his mind. The year embossed up in the corners of the blank, slightly filmy pages was hard to make out, but not that hard – was that really 1943, on there? If the diary was that old – and, when Antares gave the cover a look, it did look that old – both the magical and normal bindings would probably be weak, and tearing out one page would do for all the rest of them, leaving Antares with an irritating flood of dated, too-thin paper he didn't want to use right now.

"You should probably just throw that old thing away," Charles said, giving the shabby little book a disdainful look over the tope of Wonder. "Looks like someone Banished it to a bin and forgot it."

"Whatever – I just need to write something down," Antares said, now flipping through its blank pages with mild interest. "It's empty, at any rate." He shook the quill reflexively, then decided on a page – January the 15th, which was as good as any day. A few drops of ink landed on the blank page and…sank into it, leaving the page as blank as it had been before. Antares stared, and tried squiggling on to the page again, but that, too, just glistened for a moment and disappeared into the book. "Fucking hell," Antares muttered. What kind of –

"What is it now?"

Antares looked up at Adrian, opened his mouth, then shook his head. Instead of trying to explain, he got up and sat down by him and, ignoring his sceptical expression, squiggled hard all over the page. Adrian's mouth fell open as he watched the ink disappear into the page in the order Antares had scribbled it on. "What the – that is so cool –"

"I know," Antares said, now engaged in finishing off a badly done tree. It took a little longer to vanish, especially after he'd written 'FIG TREE' smack in the middle of the uselessly large trunk. A moment later, the words reappeared, but with a question mark beside them. "Maybe it's one of those automatic diaries – the kind that records when you've brushed your teeth, and you have to use something key it to –"

"Let me have a go," Adrian said, wrestling the quill from Antares' hand. In a minute, a strange little map was shaping up on the page, complete with a wonky street or two and a little insignia that looked like a house. It stayed as he wrote, as if the diary itself was interested in his quick, thin lines, and it took a long time to fade once he'd written the words 'Fig Tree Road' on the street nearest to the house, and drawn a too-big arrow between the two. Then the ink sank in rapidly, and though Adrian and Antares waited and waited, nothing else happened.

Then Adrian began to shake the diary roughly – that pulled Antares right out of his little patient daze. "What are you doing?" Antares said, trying to snatch the diary from him. Couldn't he see that it was old, for crying out loud? One really rough shake and the diary could fall apart –

"It's supposed to answer back," Adrian said, evading his grabs for the diary as he hunched over it and began to draw into it again. "That's what –"

"Oh come on, Adrian, let me –"

Adrian snorted impatiently, still doodling crazily into the diary. "Hold your horses, will you? This is an experi – oh Charles, you bleeding spoilsport! Give it!"

"Don't be an idiot," Charles said irritably, thrusting the slightly more banged-up diary into Antares' hands with a hard look over his shoulder at Adrian. "It's just an old diary – its reply function probably stopped working a while ago."

"Makes sense," Antares grumbled, accepting the small book back. "Think it was made in 1943 – look on the cover, Charles –"

"See, Adrian, even the manufacturer's address is wrong," Charles said, peering closely at the small inscription on the diary's front. "Vau – V-something road, at any rate. Never heard of it in my life."

"Maybe it's one of those joke diaries that stopped working," Adrian suggested, his irritation at not being able to explore the diary quickly giving way to his speculation. "Mum used to go on and on about how they were all the rage in her year…"

"Yeah, well it's useless, now," Antares said with a shrug, closing the diary and crossing over to his trunk to tuck it away. "I certainly don't need diary paper, anyway."

Somehow, the small excitement over the diary made Antares relax even more as he begged a bit of parchment off of Charles. It felt like things were normal between all of them – just a little, in a way that reduced the fear of more people being like Ginny Weasley, hating him on sight just because of his name. Writing the note he'd originally wanted to write took a lot longer than Antares thought, partly because he couldn't find the referred charm at first and partly because he almost couldn't understand the explanation for self-effecting spells. Just phrasing the question was hard.

It was that task Antares was engrossed in throughout Snape's hostile visit to their compartment, and that task that gave him the restraint required to keep his face straight when Snape described the new Apprentice as being 'unsettled', and effectively warn them all that there should be no hanky-panky on the train. Charles had been unable to stifle a laugh for long, and by the time the usual voice had announced that Hogwarts was close, he wasn't laughing as much, but still caught up making dirty, dirty plans with Adrian. Antares simply shrugged and ignored it, now putting finishing touches on the small essay he'd ended up writing about the confusing theory not because he didn't find it funny (which he did not), but because he wasn't quite sure he wanted to let his mind wander down the track of doing dirty things to Weasley. He could only shudder as he imagined what his friends might say if they turned up the image in his – oh fuck, now he was thinking about it –

Antares finally gave up on the note at that point, shoving it into one of his pockets and settling back in his seat with the book propped in his hands to deflect suspicion while he went through the opening part of one of the Occlumency exercises that he'd always been able to do well. He hadn't trained much toward the end of the summer, and couldn't imagine what would happen if Blaise or, more likely, Tracey was able to get round his slightly weakened defences and reach for the thought of seeing Bella and Snape…together. Or worse, reaching for the thought of Weasley and someone –

Back to that exercise, now.

The rest of the journey dwindled away into nothing faster than Antares would have thought, and in no time, he was rising to his feet and struggling into his school robes while Adrian and Charles gossiped about all sorts of things, ranging from some girl in their year whose mum had transferred her to Beauxbatons for some reason to some bickering about the final score of a contentious match between the Montrose Magpies and Pride of Portree, which the Magpies had narrowly lost.

When it was time to get off the train, Antares stepped off with his friends, still barely listening to their conversation. Professor Sinistra, who he didn't think he'd spotted on the platform, was just getting off, looking dreadfully tired and curiously well-dressed for just a train journey. Then Professor Snape emerged from behind her, and Antares looked the other way, rather than catch the man's eye when such a disgruntled expression was on his face. Antares had found by costly trial and error that Snape was the sort of person that noticed almost immediately when you were looking at them, and –

"Can you please watch where you're going?" Antares looked up, and stifled the urge to roll his eyes. Why was he always bumping into Weasley, for god's sake? Adrian and Charles were glaring at her now, as if she'd somehow stabbed Antares with those words, and Antares noticed her face was red from exertion, and looked reflexively behind her to – ah. She'd tugged her trunk off the train, not knowing that the school house elves were supposed to sort them out for them.

And Adrian, it seemed, was about to remind her. "God you're an idiot, Weasley," he said, his tone disgusted. "I suppose you don't know anything about house elves?"

"The weasels at home can't afford any, Adrian," Charles said, grinning nastily, "Of course she wouldn't –"

"Just leave it there, all right?" Antares found himself saying, despite the annoyed looks on his friends' faces. "The house elves get it for you –"

But Ginny obviously wasn't ready to believe him. "You can stuff your advice," she hissed angrily. "You lot think you're so –"

"Is there a problem here?" came Sinistra's cool, easy tone from behind them. "The carriages are ready, you four – do get in."

Adrian and Charles nodded dutifully, nudging Antares in front of them and giving pointed little looks to Ginny as she lingered behind, asking Sinistra about her trunk. They laughed as Sinistra firmly encouraged her to leave it on the platform and go on to the horseless carriage Antares and his friends were already getting into, her movements and words impatient. And when Antares followed them into the carriage, he was prodded into a seat on the same side as Adrian and Charles, despite his protests.

"What's wrong with you both? This is so stupid – I don't want to squeeze to bits between the both of you, just because I might touch some stupid little –"

And then Ginny was there, eyes flashing as she hoisted herself into the carriage. "Stupid little what?"

"Weasley," Charles said, perfectly politely, as if in greeting, and though it was cruel, Antares almost laughed when she gritted her teeth and sat down on the other side of the carriage with a thump, because she'd walked right into that one. Adrian did laugh, until he was nudged by Antares, at which he just laughed harder and nudged Antares in the head.

"Fuck off," Antares said irritably as Charles got in on the game, nudging Antares hard in the neck. Weasley sniffed loudly, which just irritated Antares further until he remembered that he'd promised Mum that he wouldn't swear.

"What's this?" Charles was saying, now, sounding mockingly surprised. "Is it a dog as well as a weasel, now?"

Adrian laughed. "I think we should check –"

"Touch me and I'll hex you so bad –"

"Dog," Charles said, nodding knowledgeably. "Definitely dog."

"I'm more of the opinion that it's a weasel, still," Adrian said thoughtfully. "Antares, what do you think?"

"I think I should've fought harder for the window seat," Antares said snidely, rolling his eyes. "Weasley, d'you know if we're there yet?"

Ginny just glared at him, too. "Get up and look, nancy boy –"

"Hey!" Adrian said indignantly. "That's a Black you're talking to, you piece of Gryffindor shit –"

Antares sighed irritably. What a bloody waste of time – "You know what, I think I'll just look myself –"

"No you won't," Charles said, tugging Antares back into his seat when he tried to stand up. "Weasley, get off your stupid arse and do what he said."

She sneered at him, not looking cowed in the least. "Make me," she said, coldly.

Adrian gave her a nasty grin. "Drop you out of the window? It would be my pleasure."

Ginny paled, but lifted her chin. "You wouldn't dare."

"Just you wait –"

"Will you all just shut up?" Antares said desperately, trying to twist his arm free of Charles' grip. "Charles, fuck off and let me – I said, fuck off!" He wrenched free of his irritated friend, lurching clumsily to his feet. Ginny shrank back in her seat a bit, and whipped her wand into view, but Antares ignored her, stumbling purposefully toward the window – he'd never thought he could get sick of Charles and Adrian's antics, but this trip was on the last straw – "Oh, finally – we're almost there –"

"Antares, you sod, look what you did to my wrist," Charles said angrily, rising up to tug him back into his seat.

Antares tried not to shrink back, avoiding Charles' clumsy grab. "Charles, when I say fuck off, I mean fuck off. Leave me alone, you…hey!" Antares exclaimed, almost cracking his head on the tiny door handle nearby when the carriage lurched to a halt. "What the –"

"It's stopped, you moron," Ginny snapped, from behind him. "Open the door, all right?"

Glaring over his shoulder, Antares shoved the door open and stumbled out. Tomorrow'll be a bloody nightmare, he thought, watching Adrian and Charles try to trip Weasley on her way out of the carriage. Just the thought of all of them working in the greenhouses as they'd done last year was enough to give Antares a bloody headache, and that didn't take into account the fact that they'd have to sit with her at breakfast and lunch, or that they'd have to make sure she understood what she'd actually have to do as an Apprentice.

Shaking his head, Antares just strode for the open doors of the front hall to the castle. There really wasn't any point in thinking too long or too hard about the situation, especially since there was nothing he could do about it. With a sigh, Antares edged the thoughts of his friends and the new Weasley out of his mind, and focused, instead, on the delightful dinner that was now awaiting them in the Great Hall.

A/N: Christ, but this was a hard go. The outlining problems were the first thing, but actually writing the chapter was really hard for no good reason – like pulling pieces out of myself, almost. At 9000 words, I looked at it and just knew it wasn't finished yet, too. Ah well – hope you enjoyed it. Do feel free to review away and tell me this sucked, or point out any errors you found – I'm always grateful for help.

By the way, if anyone's got a nice papery base that's close to what an old diary would be made out of, could they email it to me or PM me or whatnot? Because I just had the most wicked idea for an icon, and all I've got is a lousy parchment base, which, since THE diary is a muggle one, doesn't work.

ETA: Re-uploaded this on the 23rd of October, 2006, after editing a few things. Nothing major changed.