A/N: In which Antares faces the music, and does not like what he hears.
Chapter 5: The Pretence Begins
Honestly, Antares didn't know what he'd expected when he'd got up this morning, bleary-eyed and slightly bewildered about why he was in this bed again. He'd actually taken quite well to the weird feeling that Blaise should be there in the bed on his left, moaning about being woken up early. Or that Draco would come out of the showers any moment and laugh at Antares for something, anything.
Antares certainly didn't know why he was shocked now, watching the goings-on at the single table in the Great Hall. McGonagall was – she was almost smiling. Smiling. At Ginny Weasley. Paying attention to Ginny's nervous-looking questions, and obviously not in a hurry at all.
Antares hardly had a moment to examine the disgusted outrage starting to bud in his chest before Charles and Adrian bumped into him. They'd talked in sleepy tones behind him all the way here about toast and hot chocolate, but did not seem to be able to say anything just now. Well, except –
"The cow," Charles said slowly, disbelievingly. "Adrian, are you seeing what I'm seeing?"
"I'm trying not to, but it won't stop," Adrian said, in a quiet tone. Antares looked up at him, and saw his outrage mirrored in Adrian's narrowed eyes. "Of course I can see it, you prick. Come on."
Charles muttered something angry and unintelligible, but he followed Adrian anyway, and even tugged half-heartedly at Antares' robe sleeve as he passed him. "You too, Black," he said, curtly. Antares followed in a daze, but not so deep within one that he didn't notice the way all the professors seemed to be looking at him; like he was something about to…what? Explode?
It was hard to sit down in the face of all those stares, but Antares did it. And, because he was still outraged (lousy flea-bitten, favourite-keeping old cat), he found himself giving everyone that was still looking at him a pointed glance. He ignored Snape, though, as well as Dumbledore – even if he hadn't known that Snape was as likely to stop glaring at Antares as to cut off his left foot, Antares would have recognised that there wasn't much you could do against that sort of hate-filled stare apart from ignore it or meet it with one that was just as bad. Which he couldn't do.
Antares looked down at his hands, confused and angry, only to find that they were shredding uselessly at his bacon. He made himself eat it, and made himself ignore the freezingly polite comments being exchanged around him, most of them about the weather. Which reminded Antares to look up at the ceiling – no matter how many times he looked at it, it still surprised him a little – and wonder desperately how such a fine day could start on such a bad note.
Screw bad, Antares thought, stabbing a sausage onto his plate. He ignored the way half the professors seemed to start at the scrape, scowling absently at his plate instead. This is going to be awful.
He couldn't help glaring at McGonagall, just a little. With one stroke she was ruining any chances of Charles and Adrian (who had calmed down a bit last night with several reminders of the fact that nothing they did would stop Ginny Weasley from being an Apprentice) of being anything close to polite. Now, he'd be lucky if they didn't lock her in the greenhouse and try to get it knocked down.
And, seeing McGonagall's obvious readiness to please Ginny, Antares wasn't so sure he wouldn't join in. He forced himself to eat anyway, and wished the merrily chatting professor locked up in her tower.
Just as Antares didn't think he'd be able to stand anymore without rearing up to tell the table that McGonagall had spoken barely fifteen words to him on his first day here, Adrian nudged him sharply in the side.
"In a minute, we're going for the greenhouses," he said quietly. His expression was one of forced calm. "Let's see if McGonagall lets her precious Weasley come with us." Some seconds later, Charles stood up, shoving his chair back with a loud, rude scrape. Adrian followed suit, his expression hard.
Antares rose simply, taking care not to scrape too loudly as he felt more eyes land on him. Though he hated the idea, Bella's pointed suggestion that he act a little more politely did seem more and more like it would make a difference, especially among the professors, who he was starting to think would relax if they saw he was just the same as he'd always been. Pushing his chair slowly back in place, Antares almost didn't hear the soft, steady question from the Headmaster.
"Done so soon, Mr. Black?" The noise of cutlery and conversation dimmed almost immediately, and Antares tried not to fidget with the way everyone was looking at him now.
"Well – um…" he trailed off for an instant, then remembered himself, gesturing towards Adrian and Charles, who had stopped to wait for him. "We're going to the greenhouses, as usual." Antares tried not to look at McGonagall, but didn't manage it. She was staring at him along with everyone else, so he didn't look at her long, returning his gaze to the Headmaster's kind eyes instead.
"Splendid," Dumbledore said. "Off you go." His expression was odd, somehow guarded. Remembering that strange afternoon when he'd called Antares aside and told him his parents had been murdered, Antares turned his eyes away from the old man's shrewd face. He couldn't help looking once more at McGonagall, though. It was outrageous; even after he'd openly said they'd be going to the greenhouses, she'd pretended that that didn't apply to Ginny, who she was still chatting to. Ginny herself looked only relieved to not have any of the other professors talking to her – much like Antares would have felt in her position, though the thought didn't make him any less angry at her or McGonagall.
Somehow, though, the sight of Ginny's nervous expression gave Antares pause. And, after a second, revealed an idea to him in a flash. "Weasley, are you coming?"
Ginny started in her seat, then looked at McGonagall uneasily. "Er – do I have to?"
McGonagall had stopped talking, and her stern, suspicious gaze was on Antares now, and it made him uncomfortable. But – "Yeah." – not quite enough that he would be backing down. "It's one of our duties as Apprentices," Antares explained, feeling even more uncomfortable at the sharp look McGonagall and Dumbledore were now exchanging. "We've got to do it every year."
Ginny nodded in understanding, not seeming to notice that Dumbledore and McGonagall were both staring at her. "Right," she said, struggling to her feet. She didn't take half as much care as he did, and her chair scraped loudly enough that she flinched and didn't bother trying to push it back towards the table. "Er, which way are the –"
"They're outside, Weasley," Adrian said, from startlingly close by. Antares only just stopped himself from starting in surprise – he hadn't heard his friend come up behind him,that was for sure – "Come on, you two. Sooner we start, the sooner we finish." Antares, though conscious of the eyes on all of them, waited patiently for Ginny to blink and start following Adrian towards the double doors before starting after them himself. He walked casually, hoping that it all looked natural, but couldn't quite resist trying to take a peek back in McGonagall's direction just as they left the Great Hall.
"Hey, no peeking," Adrian said tugging him away from the doors. "Leave her to wonder."
"Yeah," Charles said resentfully, from ahead of them. "She deserves a little paranoia now and then, I think."
Ginny, who still looked quite nervous, gave Adrian an uneasy look. "Are you talking about –"
Adrian ignored her, giving Antares a wink. "And you just know the Headmaster'll be like – 'oh, such good chaps, those Apprentices, taking little Weasel under their wings' –"
"Don't call me –"
"Or what?" Adrian said coolly. "You'll tell on me? Go on, run back – I'm sure McGonagall's already worried about her little weasel –"
"Adrian, you're blocking the bloody door, you know," Antares said quickly, poking at him. "Didn't you just say –"
"And you," Adrian said, suddenly rounding on him. "That was the most utterly, spectacularly brilliant idea you've ever had. Congrats – welcome to the Slytherin side." He grabbed Antares' hand and tried to shake it, but Antares, stung to the quick by the implied insult, wrenched his hand away.
"Can we bloody get on with this then?" he snapped. When Adrian only grinned at him, Antares shoved at him, elbowing his way outside into the courtyard. Charles was there, though, and he didn't seem to get why Antares was irritated either, grinning as hard as he was.
"Touchy, touchy," he said, turning to face Antares. "He's right, you know."
"Give him a bloody prize, then, if he's so right," Antares shot back. "Now, can we get on with this?"
But Adrian, still grinning, wasn't done ribbing him. "Sarcasm, Charles!" he gasped, stumbling for Antares with wide open arms. "It's all we ever dreamed of –"
Antares sidestepped him, biting down his irritation. "Come on, Weasley – greenhouses are this way."
"Just marry her, Antares," Adrian said mercilessly, his words forcing an involuntary blush to Antares' cheeks. "Since you've been so bloody set on having her work with us –"
"What happened to you calling that a brilliant idea?" Antares said, trying to ignore Ginny's indignant expression. It wasn't as if he'd asked Adrian to say something so stupid –
"It was also a really stupid, pathetic one," Charles explained slowly, as if to someone stupid. "Why'd you bother at all? It was like you wanted her with us, when you were just as –"
"What I want is to not spend all bloody morning in the fucking greenhouses, all right?" Antares said coldly, trying to keep his irritation out of his voice. Adrian would be all over that in a minute, if he sounded angry enough about it, and so would Charles. "You were the ones whingeing about not being able to fly your brooms – well goodbye, opportunity to fly before lunch!"
"And I wouldn't marry him if he asked," Ginny added suddenly, into the thoughtful silence that had sprung up between them. "His mum was a –"
"Yeah, and your family lives with rats," Charles snapped. "Leave off his mum, you stupid –"
"Both of you shut up," Antares said, firmly. "Greenhouses, for god's sake. Now!"
Adrian didn't move. "So you're just going to let her say –"
It was hard not to shout in frustration, with the spectre of being able to fly his broom well before term started floating ever further out of his reach, but Antares managed it. Well, almost. "She knows," he said slowly, "I could make her cry in five minutes, talking about her family." He gave Ginny a hard look, pouring all his irritation into it. "I'd get Blaise to write a song about your mum," he went on, his tone as threatening as he could make it. "Half the school hates your older brothers, you know? They'd sing it. You'd sing it. I'd make you." Ginny paled, but wouldn't look down. Antares didn't care, though – he'd made his point, if he wasn't quite sure who he'd made it to.
Charles whistled nearby, and when Antares looked reflexively at him, his smile was tinged with something like approval as he glanced at Adrian, amused. "This just keeps getting better, doesn't it?"
"Right in one, Charles," Adrian said, smiling nastily at Ginny. "Though I still think you should marry her, Antares."
Antares started walking, having already seen the expression on Adrian's face that meant worse was coming. "When you're done talking to yourself, Adrian."
Obviously, he hadn't started soon enough. "You know what they say, Antares – redheads are great in bed."
It took a lot not to turn back, but Antares managed it, even with the curious half-squeal, half-snarl that someone had just made behind him. Antares, hearing the sizzle of a spell behind him, felt maliciously certain that it was Ginny.
It took longer than he'd thought for Adrian, Charles and Ginny to catch up to Antares on the way to the greenhouses, but by the time the familiar structures were drawing close, they were walking with him, their tense silence smothering Antares' slight impulse to start another conversation. He was too busy noticing things and being alarmed at what he'd noticed; that Ginny was over on his right, and that Charles and Adrian were walking in front of them rather than with them.
It made Antares sigh, and scowl. How things had got to this point, he didn't understand. What he did understand, though, was that he wasn't going to stand for anyone else telling him that he did or didn't belong in Slytherin, and so he stifled his urge to say anything when he glanced irritably around him and saw Ginny look away, quickly. Guiltily, as if she had been looking at him.
And when Antares shot a quick look at Charles and Adrian to see if they'd noticed, Charles was looking at him. Worse, Charles winked at him. Antares scowled harder. There goes any chance of them not teasing me for weeks…
When they reached the door, they found it locked, and, after a silent bit of awkward shuffling, all found seats on the thankfully dry grass nearby. Ginny sat next to Antares, and he wanted very much to push her away – couldn't she bloody see how this was turning Adrian and Charles against him? They were seated opposite Antares, and were exchanging amused looks that boded no good, and it was driving him mad –
Ginny shifted uncomfortably, sending a wave of weird-smelling – well, not so weird-smelling scent toward him. It smelt a little like the robes Bella always brought home to work on – robes that, come to think of it, Antares couldn't remember her bringing home since the bother in Flourish and Blott's –
Adrian started humming, and Antares suddenly realised what it is. His face burned as Charles took up the tune, too – it was a slightly strange version of the – the – wasn't it called the Wedding March?
Antares fished out his wand. Whatever it was called, he'd had enough. "Instabilartus!" he said sharply, flicking it hard in Charles' direction. He couldn't help but pause to admire the way his friend wobbled to the ground as his arm gave way, and that was probably why he missed Adrian in the next instant.
Ah well, Antares thought, nastily, I'll just sting him instead. "Mordeo!"
"Adimo!" Adrian said, but his Deflecting Spell was off, and the Stinging Hex only bent away from him and splashed into nothing against the door to Greenhouse 1. "Mordeo –"
Antares just sidestepped it, ignoring the slight wave of pain that washed over his right arm when he didn't quite succeed. "Expelliarmus!" He concentrated hard, willing the spell to yank Adrian's wand from his hand as quickly as possible, but was still a little surprised to see the wand do just that, cutting his friend off mid-incantation. "Instabillartus – Expelliarmus –"
Charles was openly laughing now, despite the fact that his wand was also streaking steadily toward Antares. Adrian didn't look half as amused – the Jelly-Legs had caught him in his left leg, and he was barely able to keep to his feet – "All right, all right, we'll stop!" Charles said, still gasping with laughter. "God but you're fast with that –"
"Still," Antares said coolly, feeling fiercely proud that Adrian had finally succumbed to the Jelly-Legs and flopped onto his arse, "I don't think I'll be giving you your wands back just yet."
"Good thinking, mate," Adrian said, his tone heavy with sarcasm. "Just stop it, all right? I can barely sit up –"
"If I ever hear you sing that stupid song again –"
"We know, we know – you'll Jelly-Leg us to death," Charles said, grinning. "Seriously, Antares, can you just finite it?"
"Don't think so, actually," Antares said, trying and failing to keep a grin from edging on to his face. "You two look just as comfortable as Weasley, here – the grass is quite nice, isn't it?"
But Adrian and Charles weren't looking at him anymore, and they'd stopped laughing, and Antares just knew that he was in trouble, as his neck was prickling horribly in a way that meant a Professor –
"What on earth is going on here?" Antares closed his eyes at Professor Sprout's strident, certainly-not-cheery tone, but didn't hesitate to try and answer.
"Oh, Professor – I was just –"
"You were just, what?" Sprout's bushy eyebrows had knotted together horribly, and Antares couldn't think of a thing to say. He waved Adrian and Charles wands uselessly, then moved to just end the stupid spells, so that he could explain.
"Fini…" Antares trailed off, staring at Professor Sprout. Why was she so pale? Wasn't he – Christ. "Finite. Finite incantatem," he muttered, not quite understanding why Sprout looked relieved. Charles was the first to get to his feet, and the way he snatched back his wand from Antares was a joy to see – he was grinning, as if it was all a great joke, and hopefully –
"Sorry for the fright, Professor," Adrian said easily, not sounding angry or irritated anymore as he dusted himself off. "We were just – yeah, thanks, mate – we were just pretending to duel, see –"
Sprout seemed to have already recovered, for she bristled at the word 'duel'. "Outside my greenhouses," she said, narrowing her eyes. "Really, Warrington, Pucey – how thoughtless of you! You could at least have curbed young Black's enthusiasm –"
"It was our idea, actually," Charles cut in, his tone friendly as he cast an improbably fond look in Antares' direction. The expression in his eyes, however, was mischievous. "We bet he couldn't take either one of us out, and everything –"
"Duelling," Sprout muttered, pushing past him to tap the door handle sharply. "And I thought Apprentices were supposed to set an example –"
Adrian and Charles exchanged a wicked look behind her back. "Aren't we, though?" Adrian said innocently. "I mean, isn't duelling an incentive to learn better defensive spells? You do know that Antares is best at DADA, it's quite –"
"That's enough from you, you two," Sprout snapped. "You, Warrington – get watering. Weasley, follow him – don't do anything until he's told you which plants are safest. And I'll be watching to see you re-pot those seedlings, Pucey, so no funny business…"
Next to the humiliating conversation he'd endured while getting there, working in the greenhouses with Adrian, Charles and Ginny wasn't half as bad as Antares had thought it would be. Adrian and Charles couldn't do much more than hum more strains of the Wedding March and grin irritatingly at Antares when Sprout wasn't looking, and Ginny couldn't do more than follow Charles around and worry childishly at her lip.
Antares, for his part, ended up planting disgusting-looking Mandrake seedlings in two large trays, a task that was much more difficult than it looked. At the end of it, he was covered in slime and had the vague beginnings of earache in both ears, and couldn't stand to think about actually having to work with the horrid things once term really started. Professor Sprout had said something about them being time-delayed or whatnot – unless, he couldn't see how they would have been at any sort of useful stage for them to study in Herbology sometime this week –
"That's enough, I should think," Sprout said, from over by Adrian. Antares bit his lip to keep from sighing – he was starting to be rather hungry, and positively couldn't wait to get into a shower or bath of some sort. "You'll want to clean up before lunch – you especially, Black. And mind you scrub hard – Mandragora residue is a little toxic at this stage. I assume you've got earache…?" A moment after Antares nodded, something hard and small bumped him in the shoulder. "That should take care of it."
'That' was a vial of quite harmless-looking potion, which Antares was quick to open and sip from. It tasted awful, but then, he didn't want earache –
"…quite a good job on the vines, Pucey," Sprout was saying grudgingly. "Consider that as full marks on your first assignment."
Charles' cry was indignant. "But Professor –"
"You do like to believe I'm deaf, don't you, Warrington? Weasley, come away from that tray immediately – didn't I tell you to observe only? I'm of a mind to take points from the both of you, disregarding simple orders –"
"But Professor, she offered –"
"You told me she wouldn't mind!" Ginny retorted hotly. "And I didn't offer –"
"Dismissed, Weasley, and five points from your future house," Sprout said briskly, ignoring Charles' splutter of protest. "And ten from Slytherin, Warrington – yes, that's ten. You are more than mature enough not to mislead your younger ones, and I say –"
Antares, left, wholly uninterested in what Sprout had to say. His skin was starting to itch, and his stomach was starting to turn with hunger. And then there was the minor thing about maybe, possibly getting to fly his broom if he was fast enough at getting showered and eating lunch and everything – Charles' predicament didn't hold a candle to the thought of that. Antares barely realised Weasley was still with him until she asked him, sounding rather uncertain, if they had to go back into the castle and all the way up – or down, she hastily amended – to their houses to get a shower.
"Feeling pretty Gryffindor already, aren't we?" Antares couldn't help saying. "Don't worry, we use the Quidditch changing rooms for that."
Ginny looked almost absurdly relieved, which tickled Antares all the more, because he now knew she had to have been thinking of climbing all those stairs to Gryffindor tower. Which, if he recalled properly, was a long journey even with the Head of House getting the castle to do very strange things to help you along. "Then do you know where the changing rooms –"
"Just think about that question for a moment," Antares said, in what he hoped his most sarcastic tone. "Really – just let it run through, let it sink in –"
"Shut up," Ginny said, scowling, but Antares was already hard pressed to stop himself from laughing as they headed for the Quidditch changing rooms. They were empty and a bit chilly, and the seeming absence of any doors to the girls' changing rooms caused them both a bit of confusion, but Ginny managed to turn up the creaky door to the Hufflepuff girls' room halfway around the other side.
"You remember the way back to the Great Hall, don't you?" Antares called out after her. "If you don't –"
"I'll find my way down on my own," came Ginny's indignant answer. "I'm not an idiot, not like Adrian and Charles have been sa –"
"It was a 'yes' or 'no' question, Weasley," Antares returned, rolling his eyes as he entered the Slytherin changing room. The door shut out her no doubt equally indignant answer, and Antares wasted no time in stripping and heading for a shower. He scrubbed himself as hard as possible, but took far less care than he normally would. Really, the less time he spent here, the more chance he had of getting to ride his broom, so he thought cutting corners was all right.
Charles and Adrian came in at the end of his shower, arguing loudly. It only took Antares a moment or so to understand that Sprout hadn't been any kinder about the points she'd taken off Charles, and that Charles was blaming Adrian for convincing him to put 'the Weasel' to work.
"…and how come your ideas always end up putting me in trouble, then?" Charles was saying now, the bar of soap in his hand entirely forgotten. "I told you Sprout would notice –"
"Well next time, don't make fun of me in front of my aunt," Adrian snapped, looking a little more angry than usual. "You did that all holiday, and I didn't do a thing – serves you bloody well right, getting on the wrong foot with –"
"Lunch starts in ten minutes, you two," Antares said cautiously, drying his hair with one of the towels laid out in the lockers in the middle of the room. Sometimes, it wasn't worth it to try and break up an argument, but he thought he might at least –
"You can eat that towel if it's so bloody important to you," Charles snapped, from behind Antares. That decided him – with a shrug, he got dressed and left the changing room as quickly as possible, taking care not to answer when Adrian called hotly upon him for his opinion on whether Charles was like an old woman about house points or not.
The walk back up to the castle seemed to take next to no time, despite the fact that Antares intentionally slowed down, revelling tentatively in the – in the Hogwartsness of it all. Sometimes he actually forgot he was in Scotland, here – everything around seemed to belong not to his childish memories of biting cold and sharp green sun, but to Hogwarts and everything that came with it. But then, he smelt a familiar plant, or looked up and away from the castle, and remembered that clear whistle of the air around him (it was windy today), and couldn't help remembering his first glimpse of Bella in Wigtown, on a day much brighter than this.
In a few moments, though, Antares was darting through the slightly ajar front doors and heading for the Great Hall, and there was no more time for remembering that day. As he entered, everyone seemed to look at him, and it was hard to pretend a jaunty pace and slide into a seat somewhere as far away from both McGonagall and Snape as possible – all without looking like anything was wrong, like he didn't want to eye Flitwick right back and see if the man still cared that he could learn Charms faster and better than anyone else in his year.
And then he noticed Weasley was absent, and stifled a groan. He'd forgotten entirely about Ginny in watching the whole nonsensical argument between Charles and Adrian – he'd thought to check on her or something, before he left, no matter what she'd said. And look, now McGonagall was giving him suspicious glances as if he'd buried Ginny somewhere, and everyone seemed to be very cautiously noticing the absence of the other Apprentices, but not asking Antares anything outright.
I should've just stayed with her no matter what she said, Antares thought angrily, torn between pretending he had truly forgotten her and leaving the table to go and find her. It wasn't hard to get back to the castle from the general Quidditch area, really – it was just getting to the right point and not wandering all over the nearest wall looking for the front doors. And she didn't know how to do that –
"Mr. Black?"
Antares started, but managed to look attentive as Dumbledore spoke to him. "Er –"
"We were just wondering where the other three were," Dumbledore said casually, giving Antares a kindly smile that he didn't think he should trust. "Although it's only ten minutes since lunch started, we would like you all to finish at an appropriate time, as there's some discussion to be done on the subject of your timetables and such…"
"Right," was all Antares could say. That didn't sound like free flying time to him, and it made him want to groan – why this year, of all years, did the Headmaster suddenly decide to change –
"Of course, none of you will be able to speak with all your teachers," Dumbledore went on calmly, obviously ignoring the disturbance at the doors to the Hall. "Your Defence Professor – I believe you know of Mr. Lockhart? – will come in on this evening's train."
"Leave me alone!" That certainly got Dumbledore's attention – it was Ginny, looking more and more embarrassed by the minute as she staggered into the Great Hall, dripping what looked like green water. She froze a minute after – probably realised everyone's watching her – an action that didn't stop Peeves from floating after her and dumping one more merrily coloured water balloon on her head.
"Peeves, you scoundrel!" McGonagall exclaimed, rising from her seat almost immediately. Peeves stuck out his tongue at her, and, laughing wickedly, fled from the hall as McGonagall and now, Sinistra dried Ginny off and marched her to the round table, where everyone smiled at her in the way they'd used to at Antares and said rude things about Peeves. Only Snape stayed silent – he was still giving Antares the evil eye – but then he was always silent.
Antares smiled faintly at the jokes being made around him, and concentrated on taking out his irritation on his shepherd's pie. By the time the guilty-looking Adrian and Charles finally came in, the table was merry with jokes and recollections of the Hogwarts ghosts' most outrageous exploits from days gone by, though Antares wasn't paying attention too closely. All he could keep thinking about was that they were wasting bloody time talking about how Nearly Headless Nick had nearly driven a student to fits early on in his eternal existence, time that could be put towards sorting whatever they needed to sort the fuck out. Time he could be spending on his broom –
"Oh, heavens, the time!" Dumbledore eventually said, looking awfully unsurprised despite the tone of his voice. "Minerva, I believe classroom eleven is finally cleared…? Good, we shall adjourn there." The rest of lunch was taken up in people excusing themselves and occasionally pausing to chat with Ginny, Adrian or Charles, despite how hard Charles had been scowling all the way through lunch. Antares pretended not to notice, and wondered if he would go insane from all the pretending it looked like he was going to have to do.
The uncomfortable thought occupied him all the way to the so-called classroom eleven, and did so so thoroughly that by the time they reached the classroom, Antares was half-lost in a horrifyingly mesmerising daydream where he injured himself falling down a flight of stairs, and people just kept hopping over and stepping round him, until his leg inflated with soreness and pain and –
"Mr. Black? Mr. Black?"
Antares blinked, then coloured at the distinctly annoyed look McGonagall was now sending his way. "Erm –"
"Glad to know you're with us," she said repressively, handing him an oppressively neat-looking timetable. Antares coloured even more, especially when he saw that nearly all the professors in the room were giving him disapproving looks – even Flitwick – "If you find any causes for concern –"
Adrian materialised suddenly at his elbow, scanning his timetable with an agitated air. "Of course there's a problem!" he said hotly, seizing the thing and stabbing angrily at an unfortunate bit of the parchment, "Antares has Quidditch practice with us on Tuesdays – he can't have Apprenticeship class then –"
"As far as I understand it, Mr. Black here is not yet on your Quidditch team," McGonagall said sharply.
"But he will be!"
McGonagall's lips thinned. "Until then, his class on Tuesday –"
"We have the same problem as well, Professor," Charles cut in, looking scandalised. Antares snuck a look at one of the two timetables Charles held, and sure enough, there was an Apprenticeship class at the very end of the others listed under 'Tuesday'. "Is there no way –"
"I do not make it my practice to reschedule classes merely for the convenience of students," McGonagall said firmly. "Your professors held that this timetable is most convenient for them, so it stands –"
"And how come there are so many more classes, anyway?" Adrian demanded, handing Antares' timetable back to him without a backward glance. "Last year –"
"Last year was the last year of a fairly long-running experiment," someone said stiffly from over to the left, where most of the professors were seated. The person speaking now was a dark-skinned woman with an oddly calculating expression. "We –"
Professor McGonagall sighed irritably, cutting the woman off. "Vivian, there is no need to tell them –"
"They asked, Minerva," Vivian said, shifting lazily in her chair. "Questions should be answered. Now, as I was saying –"
"You mean you were experimenting on us?" Charles said indignantly. "But that's –"
"Who else were we to? We wished to see what length of class time would produce the best results, and we did." Vivian shook her head slightly. "The results were not promising."
Flitwick snorted, surprising Antares. "Vector, you are indeed the queen of understatement."
Vivian – no – Vector shot the squat professor a rather irritated look, but he gave her no time to say anything. "Several promising students fell behind their peers," Flitwick explained, ignoring how Vector was now glaring at him. "The experiment was primarily focused on the lower years – we supposed productivity might increase if they had fewer classes a day, as the sixth and seventh years do. Unfortunately, that was not the case."
"Well," Vector said, almost a little peevishly, "Black didn't. Neither did Pucey, nor Warrington." Antares tried not to feel proud at that. He almost managed it, with the way the seated professors were now eyeing him, but – he suppressed a grin – not quite. They could make him feel like a leper, yeah, probably. But they'd never say he was anything but a smart one –
"What was worse, the new muggleborns had the worst time," Flitwick went on, staring thoughtfully into space. "Except for Granger, I suppose, and one or two others – but the rest…" he shook his head.
"It was inevitable," another professor said testily. Antares tried to think – wasn't the man – "I told all of you that less class time would just compound the problem, didn't I? They're used to more of a course load than what we normally have – almost twice as much –"
"Bollocks," Adrian muttered under his breath. "Hogwarts has the highest course load in Europe –"
"Lowest," Antares said, shaking his head. "Last year, anyway."
"What would you know about it?" Charles asked, giving him a bewildered look. "You never –"
Antares rolled his eyes. "Where'd you think I learned to write?"
Adrian gave him a scornful look. "Hmm, I don't know, Antares – maybe your mother?"
"Not everything," Antares said irritably. Adrian said it like Bella had had time to swan around – around gardens, or something, teaching Antares all sorts of things. Was he really daft enough to think that they had enough money for that? "She had work," Antares said, instead of asking anything insulting. Adrian shot a confused look in Charles' direction, but Antares went on anyway – it couldn't be that hard to understand – "I went to primary school for a bit – it was easier."
"Primary school?" Adrian said, his eyes widening incredulously. "Muggle Primary –"
"Yeah, Muggle primary school," Antares snapped. "What's the big deal? Like I said, my mum worked! And anyway if she'd had to teach me more than writing, we'd have ended up killing each – each…er." Great Morgana, everyone was staring at him now. Antares forced up a weak smile – had he been that loud?
McGonagall cleared her throat, giving everyone in the room a stern look before she spoke again. "Then there are no objections to the timetable? No conflicts?"
Everyone murmured answers in the negative. Antares' protest stuck in his throat when he glanced up at Adrian and Charles – they looked just as uncertain as they had done on the train, and –
"Well then! The meeting is over." McGonagall rearranged the few rolls of parchment she'd brought along – not that Antares had seen her unroll one enough to put the others out of order. "We've assigned you this classroom for your Apprenticeship classes – all that business of reporting to different offices is quite over. So when you have an Apprenticeship class, you will report here, as will your professors." McGonagall, ignoring the professors that were already leaving, gave each of the students a look. "Any questions? No? Excellent."
"Pro – professor?" Ginny piped up, nervously. Charles and Adrian shot her glares, but Antares couldn't be bothered to. A tiny little Tempus had just told him that it was just about 3 o'clock, and since none of the professors seemed eager to stay and teach them anything extra – "What are we supposed to do now? I don't think everyone's here yet for a few hours, and –"
"Oh, that's quite simple," McGonagall said, giving Ginny another one of those faint smiles. Antares forced a sneer off his face – no way was he ruining his chances at having a good long fly just because McGonagall was so – "Come with me, dear – I'll sort you out." She headed smartly for the door, Ginny trailing her uncertainly, with a swift glance back at Antares. Which he pretended not to see.
"Finally," he breathed, instead, waving away the ghostly numbers that were still hovering down at his right. "I can't wait to fly…" He grinned a little to himself, already feeling the air whistling wildly in his ears –
In the next moment, Charles' sharp voice abruptly dispelled his little daydream. "Your mum never worked," he said, crossing his arms, a small scowl on his face. "It was a good way to startle the professors, yeah, but –"
Antares stared at him. "Why would I lie about that?" he demanded, but already he knew what they were thinking was the answer, and it both sickened and irritated him. "Look, did you ever hear of any of the Blacks, except about them dying of old age?"
"Antares –"
"Hear me out, for fuck's sake," Antares demanded, ignoring how Adrian started a little at that. "Look – right. The last few Blacks around lived at Grimmauld Place, but haven't for about five or six years now, if I remember right. And neither of us has been seen there, for years. It's the only Black house my mum can go to – her mum and dad disowned her, and she hasn't been on speaking terms with her sisters since – since everything." Antares glared at his friends, not caring that it made him look more suspicious – if there was anything that angered him, it was how people seemed to dismiss the fact that Bella had had to stand on her own feet, completely on her own, for ten bloody years. To hear the same thing from his friends –
Well. He'd make them understand. "My mum was left nothing in any of the right wills," he said angrily. "The Lestranges won't speak to her – why would they, when she betrayed her husband?"
Adrian's eyes widened. "But you – doesn't that mean –"
"I don't care what you think about me. I don't even care who you think my dad is – I don't know, and I don't care. I do know that my mum didn't have a Black penny to her fucking name, and I do know she worked her fingers off for the both of us. Don't believe me? Fine. I just never want to hear you say my mum never worked again." Antares' mouth felt dry, after all that, and he couldn't quite summon the strength to look his friends in the eye. "If it's all the same to you, I'm going out for a fly." He headed sharply for the door, tension tied thick in his chest – god, but he shouldn't have even started –
Adrian's tone almost stopped him. "But Antares –"
Antares turned vaguely in his direction, but for a different reason than either of his friends might have thought. "And Merlin, if I ever hear anything from anyone that makes me believe you told someone –" he shook his head jerkily, almost a little desperately, then decided to leave it hanging. They were afraid of him, weren't they? It would be enough.
The abrupt silence in the room that settled after his threat seemed to follow him out into the cool corridor. Antares gritted his teeth against it and headed for the entrance hall, so he could get down to Slytherin and grab his broom. He bloody well deserved that fly now.
Despite everything, it was a glorious fly. There wasn't a soul out on the Quidditch pitch but Antares, and it made him feel free. Free to try and fit himself and his new, wonderful broom through one of the nearest golden hoops. Free to swerve aside at the last moment when the thought of being trapped up there if he failed occurred to him. Free to dive down, and spiral around the rod that held the solid-looking hoop up –
It made Antares' head spin madly as he pulled out of that dive, but by then, he was too strung up on the smell and taste and feel of the air around him to care. He just swivelled over and over, made a weak effort at diving for a random patch of grass, and kept on flying.
Higher up, the wind was stronger. It whistled shrilly around him, like a train, like the train that would be bringing hundreds of hateful stares and whispers here this evening –
Antares drowned his panic in another dive, then another, then another. New panic caught at him at the top of each soaring climb, and fluttered away against the pull of gravity and the shrieking of the wind in his ears on his way down. It never really went away, though – by the time Antares circled his third Tempus spell in the air, he was still a little stiff with panic, and the thick black letters before him showed just enough time for him to be ready for the Feast.
Gritting his teeth, Antares spun and tore through the already fading letters, and took off on one last, sharp soar. Panic climbed with him, matched him speed for speed, spiral for spiral. He only dived when he couldn't feel anything but the wind and his dread, and that dive tore at him, tore the breath out of his mouth until he was almost suffocating in its force. He pulled out a moment later, biting his lip in fear and exhilaration when his speed almost didn't let him do so, driving his broom towards the ground at a gentler angle, but with no less force.
Antares' landing was rough, spilling him off the broom and hard onto the grass enough to knock the breath out of him, but it felt good. He didn't feel, anymore, like he was brimming with rage and fear. He felt mostly tired and panicked, which he thought he could handle.
He rose slowly, stroking the broom as he told it to settle. It did so, obliging him immediately, and Antares felt better about his silly habit of talking brooms down after he was done with them. He knew it wouldn't last – knew, miserably, that this clear, simple tiredness wouldn't last, so he held the feeling tightly to himself as he trekked off for the changing rooms for the second time today.
A swift shower later, Antares was on his way to the Great Hall. His robes were a little wrinkled from all the robing and disrobing he'd done today, but they would do all right. Wasn't like it was going to be a particularly pleasant or special meal, this Feast, so it didn't bother him much. His hair was still a little damp, though, which worried him – if he didn't dry it thoroughly with a spell, it was always absolutely awful to manage –
Just as he came within reach of the castle doors, a loud rumbling set up. Stupidly alarmed, Antares found himself looking up and down for the train before he remembered belatedly that Hogwarts didn't have a special platform, and that the students would have to come in some other…
…way. Antares stared his fill at the strange carriages while he could – they looked so heavy, and yet nothing drew them. And he couldn't hear anything in the rumbling the wheels made against the path that sounded like anything that wasn't just that – heavy carriages on heavy wheels, on the gravely path up to the castle.
The doors opened behind him, and Antares jumped, only to find that it was just Professor Flitwick, looking just as startled as he was.
"What are you doing out here?" Flitwick asked, impatiently. "Go on – might as well sit down with the other apprentices." Antares held back a sigh – Flitwick wasn't looking him quite in the eye – but did as he was told, slipping into the Great Hall and heading for the Slytherin table. Ginny was nowhere to be seen – probably still being coddled by McGonagall – but Adrian and Charles were seated at the Slytherin table, loudly discussing the contents of what looked like Quidditch magazine.
Antares, a little stung by the way they seemed to ignore him, let his eyes flit up to the high table, and noticed only a few of the professors were actually there. Dumbledore wasn't, and neither was McGonagall. Weirdly enough, Snape wasn't present either – it puzzled Antares a little, until he realised that the man might now be just finishing off that 'talk' with Dumbledore that he and Bella had kept referring to back at Snape's home.
Antares shrugged, then, to himself. It wasn't really anything to be worried about. What he should be worried about was how Adrian and Charles were pointedly discussing their magazine and not even sparing him a glance –
The noise of chattering students began to trickle in little by little. It increased as people started to actually come in, and increased still more as waves after waves of Hogwarts students entered the Hall, all of them seeming to glance in the direction of the Slytherin table at least once on their way to their chosen seats.
For his part, Antares played indifferently with his cutlery, and pretended to be wholly uninterested in the way half the gradually filling Ravenclaw table was staring at him. It was hard – it was like a thousand eyes were running over him, just now, noting his damp hair and stubby nails and the fact that no one was sitting anywhere near him, or even directly in his line of sight –
"There he is," someone said, and Antares stiffened in reaction until he realised it was Tracey, and she was grinning at him as she came up. "You git, why weren't you on the train?
"Apprentices are supposed to come down early," Antares replied, unable to hold back a nervous smile. "Didn't I ever say?"
"No," Tracey said, shrugging. She dived under the table and resurfaced in the seat across him, earning some annoyed looks from further down the table. "Though I should probably have figured it out, what with you saying Pucey and Warrington were there with you the first time. Hey, Blaise – this way!"
"No need to shout," Blaise's voice said from nearby. He popped into view a minute later, looking dishevelled and rather put-out as he slid into one of the empty seats beside Antares.
Tracey shrugged unrepentantly. "If I hadn't, you wouldn't have found us."
"Yeah, right," Blaise said sarcastically, but in the next moment, he was scrutinising Antares so hard that he felt like it should hurt. "You all right?"
"Duh," was all Antares said, but he held on to the almost painfully warm feeling that that question had brought, all the same. "What happened to you on the train, anyway? You've what – three hairs out of place?"
"Fuck off," Blaise muttered, nudging him in the side. Antares smiled – for one moment, everything felt astonishingly normal. Just as he was about to tease Blaise for his bad language, the illusion broke.
"Well, well, well," Draco Malfoy said, from behind him. "I always knew a halfblood couldn't be as powerful as you are – I suppose I was right." He sat down with an irritating thump in the empty space on Antares' other side, an innocent smile on his face. "Even if you're the very worst sort of pureblood, it is nice to be proved right."
Antares said nothing. What was there to say? And, besides –
"So tell me, Black," Draco said, emphasizing the last word as if it was filthy, "what did dear old mum get up to all those years? Alone, unmarried, unemployed…or was she?"
"Just shut it, Malfoy," Antares finally let himself say, trying vainly not to sound like he wanted to strangle Draco right this very moment. He did, yes, but not without kicking his face in and stuffing his hands into his mouth and making him take back every single fucking word first, though, as well as every single rumour he just knew Draco had been spreading about him. No.
Draco grinned, not seeming to sense how close he was to Antares' breaking point. "And what if I don't?"
Antares sucked in a sharp breath, trying valiantly to keep his eyes on the table. It wasn't that he didn't know anything he could do. It was just that none of his options was bad enough that he'd be able to throw off the enormous, snarling curl of anger inside him. Maybe he could use that to strangle Draco –
Draco laughed. "Coward. Always knew you were –"
"And I suppose you know that because you're the bravest person in our year," Blaise retorted. Antares didn't want to look up at his friend's expression, so he just continued to twist the fork in his hands. But it helped, a little, that Blaise seemed to be using his most derisive tone on Draco, right now – "Brave enough that Antares had to goad you into actually facing Lupin in a duel –"
"He did not –"
"Brave enough that you nearly wet your pants when Quirrell came in screaming about that troll," Tracey said, her tone just as mocking as Blaise's. "You'd probably've left Daphne to die down there if it'd save your pasty skin."
"We understand your problem, Draco," Blaise said, sounding fakely sympathetic, "he's ever so much better than you are at Quidditch –"
Tracey snorted. "And magic, and schoolwork –"
"Pretty much in everything except being a nosy, pasty, foul-mouthed little git," Blaise finished, his tone hard.
"And who died and made you judge, Zabini?" Draco sneered. "Not like you've got any sort of moral capacity, with that mum of yours –"
"Let me guess, Draco – to be a Malfoy's to be a saint?" Blaise laughed nastily. "We both know if my mum wanted your dad, she'd have him in a minute. From what she says, it's a mystery your mum ever got pregnant –"
"The next time I see you talk, Zabini, you'll be the first fool to lose us House Points this term," Snape said suddenly, from frighteningly nearby. "And you, Black – dredge up whatever manners you've been taught and sit like a wizard." Antares straightened immediately, hoping that Snape would just – "And my, my, my, aren't we light-fingered – replace that cutlery immediately, or you'll know the reason why."
Antares blinked in surprise. "But I wasn't –"
"Detention," Snape said, anger lacing his tone tight enough that no one dared to even whisper, "and ten points for disputing the opinion of a professor."
Antares stifled his retort, knowing it would be useless. He laid the stupid, cursed fork on the table carefully, trying hard to reassure himself that this was all planned, all part of the plan, and that Snape didn't really –
"If I hear another word from this end of the table, Black, you will be sorry," Snape said, quietly, almost as if he was just speaking to Antares. As if the whole table couldn't hear him, wasn't straining to hear – "And you, Calsworth – meet me in my office as soon as this wretched meal is over."
It took a lot for Antares' hands to remain steady until Snape walked away. After that, they couldn't stop shaking. It just felt – just felt like – it felt real, and fit in painfully close with the way Draco was smirking at him and Tracey now, with the way some of the third years were giving him sideways glances that didn't say anything nice. For a long, long moment, Antares felt like he was going to be sick.
Somehow, it didn't happen. Either Tracey nudged his arm, or Blaise kicked his foot, or the appearance of the food on their tables calmed him some more, or –
Or everyone was looking at him, whispering about him, and yet he couldn't hear more than a few. Antares bit hard into his turkey sandwich and tried not to think about the taunts. Or Snape. Or his classmates, or the professors, or anything except how much he longed, longed to be at home in front of the fire, toasting something, being angry at Bella, at Snape – the real one, that picked his teeth and snored very quietly and had strangely hairless arms that were good at making delicate dishes, but not – not this one, not –
Then the first years marched in, and Antares finally had something else to think about. McGonagall almost – well, preened at the head of the line. She kept casting tiny little looks down at Ginny, who looked dwarfed and very nervous in her robes, and was fidgeting something awful. Antares pretended not to see the way Draco was mimicking his actions beside him, instead choosing to be smug that he hadn't fidgeted half as much as Weasley was doing when it had been his turn –
Draco, Greg and Vincent all began to laugh quietly. Antares, grinding his napkin in his hands, didn't hear a single word of the Sorting Hat's song. Clapping for the first Slytherin Sorted was a near thing – he was too dazed from anger, from sick humiliation that he had to just sit here and take this, and he couldn't –
"GRYFFINDOR!"
Antares almost clapped at that one, before realising it was the last person to be Sorted, and it was Ginny Weasley, and he couldn't clap for a Gryffindor. Blaise was saying something loudly and indifferently about her, something about the Hat taking it's time. Draco's eyes weren't the least bit interested in that. Draco's eyes were more interested in exchanging glances with the third years over his own immaculate shoulder and raking over Antares' shabby sleeves as if –
"…and let the feasting begin!" Dumbledore looked peaceful, almost excited, as if he probably hadn't seen fifty of these things go by the same way. McGonagall's lips were thinner than normal, as if she had to compress her excitement more just now, as she sailed off with the Hat and the stool. For an eerily long moment, Antares hated her – bouncing around, practically (for her, anyway), when he was doing all he could to not start stabbing people with the golden cutlery that someone had accused him of stealing –
"No wonder you ate so much at your first feast, Black," Draco was saying. "Probably never seen that much food in your life –"
"Shut it, Draco," Blaise said shortly. "What's wrong with you, d'you want Snape on our case again?"
"On our case?" was all Draco said, smirking. It was all he needed to say, really. It made Antares nearly choke on his piece of potato, how smug Draco sounded, and yet, it was how he was supposed to feel about it all. It was just – just so unfair – "God, Black, cover your mouth –"
"Or didn't your mum teach you manners?" A third year said, from further down the table. "Merlin knows she had time to teach you other things –"
Antares put his fork down. Then his knife, a little more quickly. It wasn't a good idea to have a weapon on him at this point, so –
"Go on then, Black," someone else said. "Give us a show, yeah?"
Someone gripped his shoulder, making him start. "See, that Ravenclaw – stun her –"
"No, make her stop breathing –"
"Oh come on, you lot, aim higher!" the first third year urged, sounding gleefully sarcastic. "You never know, he might actually do it –"
"Get off," Antares found himself saying, his voice strained. When the hand on his shoulder only tightened, he stood up, satisfaction tearing through him as the idiot behind him stumbled in surprise. In a thrice he was over the bench and shoving them hard out of the way, barely hearing the taunts or heeding the way people were giggling openly now. He just headed straight for the double doors and tried not to think of what he would do if he was stopped, or touched by anyone.
It turned out he didn't have to – the Ravenclaw seventh years watched him leave with cynical smiles, and no one called out his name except to say something nasty, or laugh. Cool air hit his heated face as he left the Great Hall, but it didn't strip away the humiliation gathering thickly at the back of his throat.
Turning sharply, Antares nearly fell over himself in his haste to get down the stairs to the dungeons. He tried not to go too fast, but couldn't help speeding up as he finally reached them – the cool, damp smell made his teeth chatter, and the only way to stop that was to run.
He did, for a minute, just darting blindly down passages – most of which he knew. I won't get lost, Antares told himself, panting a little with the effort of it, I can't. It would be so stupid –
He stumbled a little, almost fell, and that was the end of the running. Antares slowed down abruptly, feeling somehow adrift, somehow useless. This wasn't going to change anything. If anything, it would only make things worse, him leaving the feast so openly. But if he'd stayed –
"Does your mum teach you cutting curses? Bet she does…"
Antares shook his head, hard, and began to retrace his steps, heading for the Occlumency dungeon. It was his dungeon, almost. He could lock the door, he could sit, he could just stare at the dusty furniture in it for a bit – it would calm him down. It had to. If he stayed this angry, it would only end in him putting his fist in someone's rich, spoiled face, and it wouldn't take much more than that to have him on probation. And it would make things harder for Bella.
Antares entered his dungeon slowly, sighing as he saw the familiar outlines of chairs and a table in the darkness. Turning, he closed the door, then hesitated for a moment.
"Offirmo," Antares muttered, ignoring the guilt. He needed something strong; something few people would think to try and break. He'd just make sure to get out on time, so that he wasn't locked out for Slytherin for the night.
By the time Antares left the Occlumency dungeon, he was sick of staring at stone, and starting to feel quite light-headed; whether it was from fear, worry or both, he did not know. Not that they felt separate from any of his feelings anymore – if he was locked out of Slytherin tonight, Snape would –
"There he is," a tall, burly seventh year said, turning toward him impatiently. Antares felt an involuntary urge to turn and run as he approached the group of older Slytherins standing about the door to the House – stupid, but probably not that stupid. Hopefully –
A short, red-haired girl turned towards him, and glared. Antares swallowed, but forced himself to keep moving for the door to Slytherin.
Don't show fear, just keep going –
Perhaps that was why he didn't see the first fist. Someone struck him in the shoulder, hard, and Antares tried to turn and run, but they had him surrounded and he shouldn't have come back –
"Black slime," the red-haired girl snarled, her hand curled so tight around her wand that her knuckles were white. "You and your traitorous bitch of a mother –"
"Don't –"
Someone hit him from behind, as if that was the signal. Antares fought for moments, then, realising his stupidity, tried to curl and protect himself, but the hands of his attackers were determined, and obviously knew their stuff. Someone forced him onto the floor so they could kick him, and stamped on his fingers several times. Curses and insults filled his ears, mingling with the roar of pounding blood until Antares was no longer sure –
It ended suddenly. One moment, Antares was shuddering from the impact of a kick in the shoulder, and the next people were jumping over him and slipping away, into what seemed like nothing, but Antares knew – Slytherin. He tried to move, tried to stretch out his hand, madly thinking the door wouldn't close –
He heard it grind closed, and felt cold and pain bite him hard, forcing tears up from somewhere he'd forgotten. They didn't last long, because his face hurt, and the tears made it worse.
Antares picked himself up off the floor somehow. He didn't remember how, after he was done – just shivered against the wall that could lead to Slytherin, but wouldn't, because he didn't know the password, and –
Fuck. Footsteps –
"Black?" Snape. "What on earth are you still doing outside? It's past ten!" Snape swept up to him, not seeming to see anything but a disobedient student until Antares shivered involuntarily from the draft the Professor brought with him.
He barely heard Snape's sudden sharp words, and only vaguely registered the feel of the spell the man used because Bella had used it so many times –
Antares bit his lip savagely hard, ignoring the blood. He wouldn't cry now. He couldn't. But for a long moment, it felt like he was about to, especially with Snape standing over him with that almost pitying look on his face as he went on and on and on about how this was part of the plan –
"You understand why I may not heal everything," Snape was saying, eyes intense. "Boy, are you listening?"
Antares nodded, numb.
"Good." Snape half turned, then paused, as if he'd just – "I – I thought I should tell you. Tomorrow morning will not be…pleasant."
Antares blinked, but before he could form any kind of answer, Snape was off, striding away from him. Antares looked down at his hands, suddenly realising that that was all Snape had done – heal them. So he could – so he could work, could –
Antares swallowed, binding the thought, the terrifyingly strong wave of indignation sweeping through him. All – all this happened, and he was just supposed to work, to pretend –
The door to Slytherin began to slide open, making Antares jump. Looking around, he saw nothing but the stone and damp, and, after a tired scan of the area he could see before him, headed into the Slytherin common room. It was empty, a blessing, and Antares limped gratefully for his dorm, thanking Morgana that he'd thought to lock his trunk and hide his things before leaving earlier on. If the Slytherin seventh years could beat him up and get away with it, Draco would definitely rifle through Antares' things, stealing and ridiculing as he went along.
Not that he felt like it mattered now. What was the fear of Draco's filthy hands rifling through his things to the fact that people from his own house had just beaten him up? It wasn't like they wouldn't, or couldn't do it again. Wasn't like Snape would stop them.
Antares stood still in the hallway that led to his dorm, unable to move for the anger inside. I'll get them back, he told himself, rubbing emptily at his shivering limbs. It didn't warm him, so he tried again, putting fiercer resolution behind the promise. I'll make them pay. That satisfied, somehow, and he was moving again, limp or no. Antares urged himself along with vivid thoughts of how he'd get back at each and every one of them – especially that red-haired bitch, calling Bella such names.
What he refused to tell himself, as he finally shambled into the dorm, was that he had no idea how.
A/N: Jesus H. Christ, but this was a surprise. I was horribly worried that this chapter would go awry, would fall flat, would be too weak – and it didn't. I suppose most of that is subjective, and just my opinion, but I just really feel like I'm on track with this. I'm definitely getting back in the zone now, and it's a relief.
Next chapter will be called Chapter 6, and will feature Antares' first few classes/days at Hogwarts. I'll make up the bloody title as I go along, since that's what I end up going with half the time.