A/N: In which things just get worse. Then better, sort of.
Chapter 6: Early Days
"I still can't believe it," Blaise muttered, early the next morning. He'd helped Antares into his bed last night, miraculously free of questions, and, this morning, had quietly forced him to sit down and let him fetch a salve as soon as he heard Antares moving slowly around the dorm. "Is he that stupid? Your mum would go mental if she found out how he just left you like that."
Antares froze, his hand still in the jar of salve. "But – I – how did you know?"
Blaise blinked, then grinned at him, and Antares wanted to curse himself – god, how stupid was it to fall for such an easy – "Well, I know now," Blaise said smugly, passing him what Antares strongly suspected was one of his handkerchiefs. "Wait till I tell Tracey, she was dead certain Sn –"
Antares glared at him. "Sshh!! If anyone's awake –"
"Don't 'sshh' me," Blaise said, but his voice was far lower, and he actually ducked backwards through the curtains on the other side of his bed to look at the other boys. Evidently satisfied, he turned back towards Antares. "As I was saying," he said, the small grin returning, "Tracey thought he wasn't doing anything with your mum. Went on and on about it being a joke on your part." Blaise's grin got wider. "I can't wait to see the look on her face –"
"Shut up," Antares muttered, peering at the – it was a handkerchief. "Blaise, this isn't –"
"Shut up and use it," Blaise ordered, immediately. "The elves'll get it clean again, if that's what you're worried about."
"Blaise, I'm still bleeding! It'll –"
"If you want to bleed to death, just say so," Blaise said, shrugging. "If you don't, I'm not taking it back from you."
"Wounds as small as this don't kill people," Antares groused, but he wound up tying the soft, clean thing around the wound on his knee. It was partially scabbed over now, but still hurt like hell, and Antares just knew it had stained his sheets. Last night, he'd been too tired and miserable to care, but now he cringed at the sight of his bloodstained sheet, which looked more like evidence from the scene of a crime than the bed he'd slept in last night.
"I still can't believe he didn't even bother to clean it," Blaise grumbled, scrambling off his bed and leaning forward to peer at the spot of blood already visible on the makeshift bandage.
"He did do this spell," Antares said, feeling almost a little defensive. "It's one I know, yeah? And it got the wounds clean –"
"That must've hurt," Blaise said, sympathetically. Antares shrugged – he remembered being too bloody angry and humiliated to think about the pain, so – "I can't wait to see those bullying bastards' faces when they see we've lost points –"
Antares, though he now thought he understood why, couldn't help feeling a little angrier at what he was about to say. "He didn't take any, Blaise," he said quietly. "He said it would be –"
"You mean Sna- you mean he's not going to punish them?" Blaise's eyes were wide. "But that's so –"
"According to him, he didn't even find me last night, so he doesn't know," Antares said, slowly, bitterly, remembering some of Snape's words that he'd ignored then. "It would make people suspicious, anyway."
"And where does that leave you?" Blaise snapped, startling Antares. "It's all right for him, he's not got seventh years out for his blood –"
"If they found out, they might be," Antares said wearily. Blaise gave him a doubtful look, but let him keep talking. "It's – I think he might punish them if they try it again, openly, but…"
"Cold-hearted bastard," Blaise muttered. Antares felt tremendously like saying the same thing, but didn't; he knew it wouldn't do any good. "Come on – I think the Hospital Wing opens before breakfast."
"What if it doesn't?" Antares asked, but he was half on his feet already, and thought he might know the answer to that. But he didn't want to make Blaise feel like –
"We'll stay there until it does," Blaise said firmly, forcing Antares into a thick, comfortable dressing gown he'd produced from his trunk. "Come on."
The trip up to the Hospital Wing…well, there wasn't much that didn't hurt, and Antares' eyes were half shut and his teeth gritted against the pain by the time they reached their destination. The Hospital Wing was indeed open, to his relief, and the knowledge that help was within reaching distance gave Antares the strength to limp through the door and straight for the first empty bed he could see.
"What on earth –"
Antares tried hard to keep from hunching over or lying down as he sat, but that hurt too. So he braced himself up with his arms and tried not to wince too much when he found that they hurt, too.
"What can you have been doing to yourself, Mr. Black?" Madame Pomfrey demanded, advancing on him much like Snape might, after spotting a troublemaker. "Oh, your knee –"
"He fell all the way down the stairs on the way to the dungeons last night," Blaise said quickly, giving Antares a pointed look that made him swallow the hesitant lie he'd been about to tell. "Great git didn't want to bother you till I made him come up this morning, so –"
Pomfrey pursed her lips at Antares, now busy checking his head. "At least one of you's sensible," she groused, now shifting her attention to the makeshift bandage on Antares' knee. "Now, let's have that raggy bandage off and see the damage."
Antares complied stiffly, trying desperately to hide how much it hurt to bend over and tug the bandage off. Which hurt, in and of itself, because the cool air of the wing felt like needles against his knee.
"Celere Sano," Pomfrey said promptly, twitching the bloodied handkerchief out of Antares' trembling fist and waving her wand over the wound. "And lie down before you fall down, Black – you boys are all the same with that useless bravado." She bustled off to one of her cupboards as he succumbed gratefully to the softness of the hospital bed beneath him, clattering vials about like no tomorrow. "Now where is that – aha!" A few minutes later, Antares felt himself being coaxed into a half-sitting position by what felt like an odd, raw warmth. He twisted feebly around to see if Blaise – but no, there wasn't anything beneath him.
Pomfrey easily noticed his fidgeting, and gave him an oddly kind smile. "It's a spell, Black. Now, drink up."
Antares drank. The potion that had been offered him tasted sickly sweet and utterly strange, but its empty vial felt somehow familiar in his hand. At a glance, it was revealed to be a fairly popular potion for treating non-magical bruises and scrapes – usually it went on your skin, and burned like hell. Antares' back itched then, as if in memory of the times when Bella had practically soused his back in it. He rolled the small, rounded thing in his hand, and wondered absently how you'd go about juggling some of these without breaking any of them.
Then he spotted Pomfrey watching him carefully, and wanted to slap himself.
"Er – sorry," Antares said, holding out the vial to her. "My – I remember them, from when I was young." Hopefully she didn't think he wanted to…steal it, or something, though he couldn't see why she'd think something like –
"Really," Pomfrey said dryly, floating the vial out of his hands and over to one of the counters with a wave of her wand. "I take it you were an active child?"
"Not really," Antares lied, but Pomfrey seemed to no longer be listening. She headed straight for a small, dark wooden desk that stood next to one of the larger, longer counters, and drew out some paper and a quill. "Um – how long –"
"Five minutes should be more than enough," Pomfrey said immediately. "In ten minutes, you two can go."
"Thanks, Madame Pomfrey," Blaise said, sounding mightily relieved as Antares half stumbled, half rolled on the bed. "Just stay on the bed, Antares –"
"I'm fine," Antares grumbled, but he sat back down anyway. "Really, Blaise, she said five minutes –"
"Stay down or I'll hold you down," Blaise said crossly, in a way that indicated that he actually might. Antares rolled his eyes, but stayed put; the last thing he wanted was to make a scene here, while Pomfrey was still bustling about and quite obviously keeping an eye on the both of them. "Is the pain going down?"
"Yeah," Antares said, unsteadily. His head was spinning now, and he felt dizzy, as if he'd spun in one spot and sat down suddenly. "I – um –"
"Dizziness starting to come on?" Pomfrey asked, from over by her desk. "That's why I told you to sit down; the potion can be quite unsettling when taken for the first time, so…" She waved the small roll of parchment she'd just written on over into a half-empty scroll holder, and rose to her feet. "The dizziness will probably return for a minute or two just before you sleep, considering how long it's lasted now –"
Antares blinked, but the dizzy feeling remained. "But I didn't –"
"I'm a mediwitch, Mr. Black," Pomfrey said wryly, now checking something on a board over her desk. "It's my business to know these things." She checked her watch. "Well, if you're still dizzy, I suppose there's no point in waiting longer – it'll reduce once you stand, and fade away during breakfast. Which you should make sure to eat."
"Yes, Madame Pomfrey," Antares muttered, wishing that he didn't need Blaise's hand up quite as much. As it was, he was still a bit dizzy by the time they'd got to the staircase, and trying not to be sick from how unsteady everything looked around him. The staircase was moving, which made things worse, but by the time he and Blaise had got to the ground floor, the dizziness was all but gone, and Antares steps only wobbled a little.
"Are we going to the Great Hall already?" Antares asked. "Breakfast's only just started, you know, and we'll need our bags for lessons."
"Best get it over with right now," Blaise said, steering him away from the next staircase, which would take them down to the dungeons. "If we're quick, we can get our bags before the first lesson and have time to spare." He gave Antares a grin. "And there'll still be French toast – there's never any left when we come down…"
It was actually quite nice, eating an early breakfast. The Hall was close to empty, and those students that were there were mostly older years with big books propped up against whatever was nearest to hand. Few of them looked up at he and Blaise's arrival, and even fewer of them looked at him for more than a minute before turning their attention back to their books. It was glorious.
Blaise didn't even bother looking round to assess the people at breakfast. He was far too immersed in picking pieces of the fragrant, steaming French toast that were (in his opinion) the right size and right colour, and, after that, getting hold of the nicest-tasting pumpkin juice. Antares watched him for a few moments, amused, then set to getting his hands on some of the toast. It was easy, now, to push away the morbid thought of what on earth Snape, conspicuously absent from the staff table, might be saying to the first years about Antares.
It wasn't as easy to watch Blaise eat out of the corner of his eye and try to stop himself wondering what he would make of Bella's French toast – usually exquisite when she had the time – or even to stop thinking how amused his mother would be to see Blaise and Tracey argue over chess. Or to push away the thought of them all playing chess together at Spinner's End on the almost suspiciously soft carpet in the sitting room. Antares tried not to frown, but couldn't help it – it was just something that was never going to happen, what with the Prophet's ravings about Bella being involved in numerous year-old murders and the last big illegal blood rite. Which she obviously hadn't been seen or caught at. But then, there was the Prophet for you –
A cheer went up from over by the Gryffindor table, interrupting Antares' somewhat miserable train of thought so that he looked up, wondering what on earth – ah. He rolled his eyes at the spectacle of Neville Lupin being patted on the back and jostled into a seat at the middle of the Gryffindor table along with Ronald Weasley.
Blaise snorted opposite him, stabbing irritably into the wad of toast he'd just amassed. "Wonder what he's done now," he muttered resentfully. "S'not like they even have extra points this morning –"
"There you are!" Tracey's relieved voice interrupted Blaise mid-mutter, and soon after she was jostling Antares as she slid onto the bench beside him. "Ooh, French toast! Blaise, can I –"
"No," Blaise said immediately, twitching his dwindled pile of carefully selected toast out of her grasp. "Choose your own."
"But you've got all the best ones!" Tracey said pleadingly, reaching out to poke one slice as if in demonstration. "None of the other ones are as nice as yours…"
Blaise just rolled his eyes, batting Tracey's insistent hand away. "Sucks to be you, then," he said, snagging another slice of toast for himself. Antares, done with his own small pile of toast, decided to get in some cereal as well. Tracey glared at Blaise for a bit, then busied herself with picking at the greatly diminished platter of toast that he had plundered.
For a few moments, there was nothing but the scrape-slide of cutlery and the heavy thump of the milk jug Antares had just splashed his cereal with, and then, sure enough, Tracey struck, snatching three prime bits of toast from Blaise's plate before he could fend her off.
"Tracey, you cow!"
"It's not like you can eat every single one, you greedy prat," Tracey said crossly, now tearing her booty into regular little pieces, as always. Antares sighed inwardly. Of course, that would mean –
"At least I'm not tearing them into stupid little triangles!" – that Blaise would probably insult her for it. Blaise huffed sarcastically, pulling his plate closer to him with a light scowl on his face. "Did I miss something this morning, Trace? Few screws loose –"
"I'm not the one guarding my toast with two forks instead of eating it like a normal person," Tracey said, giving Blaise's angry fingers a scornful poke with one of her own forks. Blaise gave a pained yell at that, but simply started trying to jab back at her, knocking bits of his precious toast here and there. Antares tried hard not to laugh out loud; it was just so –
"Look, Greg, just like Professor Snape said – barbarians, the lot of them," said Draco from behind them, sounding uncommonly gleeful. "I'd stay away from Black if I were you, Zabini – he's so filthy it's already rubbing off on you."
"Better stay on his good side, too," Vince added from just beside Draco, with a nasty smile. "We all know what'll happen if you don't…" He exchanged a grin with Greg, and chorused with him at the same time: "Mummy'll get you!"
Antares rolled his eyes, searching inwardly for something to say to such a stupid taunt. It hit him in the next instant, just as Draco had grinned and leaned forward to continue the whole thing – "I highly doubt she'd need to come all the way to 'get' anyone – eh, Blaise?"
"Nope," Blaise said immediately. He leaned forward, his tone mockingly eager. "Don't tell anyone, but Antares' mum can travel through stone!"
"She uses air to strangle people from hundreds of miles away," Tracey added eagerly, not willing to be left out. "She nearly did for my mum this summer for saying she was poor!"
Now, Vince and Greg looked a little apprehensive. "You're all lying, no one can do that," Greg insisted. "Can they, Draco?"
"Of course not," he said, sitting down a little way away. "I'm sure Antares wishes she could – ow!" Vince and Greg jumped, and Tracey looked startled at how Draco was frantically rubbing his arm. Antares forced his expression to remain surprised as he let off another Stinging Hex under the table in Draco's direction. "What the – ow!"
Blaise caught on first, having spotted Antares' wand after a minute or two of confusion. "What's that, Antares? Your mum again?"
"You know how she is, Blaise," Antares said, sighing exaggeratedly. "Can't stand being made fun of –"
"You did that, didn't you?" Draco said, having caught on as well. Antares gave him an innocent smile, ready to fire again. "You stupid wank – ow!"
"Suppose she doesn't like people being rude to him either," Tracey said, grinning. "Best watch that temper, Draco –"
Draco didn't seem to find that half as funny, fishing his wand out of a pocket instead, a determined look on his face. "I'll show you temper, you filthy half-blood –"
"Oi – take that back," Antares said, in an injured tone. "Don't you read the Prophet? I'm half Lestrange and half Black, and they're certainly not –"
"Ten points for disrupting breakfast, Black," someone said from behind him. As Antares turned in his seat to see who it was, something shoved him, making him spill the contents of his cereal bowl all over the table, and nearly into his and Tracey's laps. Antares' heart sank as he turned to see that the person that had spoken was none other than one of the bastards that had beaten him up last night, now sporting an ominously glinting Prefect's Badge. Sure enough, the emeralds in the mostly full Slytherin hourglass began to recede into its upper bulb, each one adding to the rapidly growing lump in Antares' throat.
"Enjoy last night?" the prefect said, a simply nasty smile on her face. "I'm sure you did. You probably get more of the same at home." Draco sniggered, as did Vince and Greg and – if Antares heard rightly – Ted. And him with that reportedly violent crazy of a father, he had the guts to – "So, Black – what does Mummy do when you've been a naughty boy?"
Embarrassment surged through Antares as that set other people snickering around him.
I don't have to listen to this, he told himself. I can bloody well leave –
Even then, it took a lot to wipe the smears of milk off his robe sleeve and slam down his spoon. It was horrible, like everyone was watching his every move, just waiting for him to screw up. As Antares stood up, the prefect put a heavy hand on his shoulder. "Where d'you think you're going? I'm far from finished with you –"
Antares tried to wrench his shoulder from her grip. "Leave me –"
"Only way that happens is if your mum gets my dad out of Azkaban," the prefect snapped, pulling him closer despite his struggles. "Since she's a cowardly, sneaking traitor, I highly doubt that's going to happen." Antares bit his lip and tried to twist away her, but her wand jabbed hard into his side, and that quickly stilled him. If no one had interfered yet, he now doubted they would do anything if she started cursing him – "Just because you're some pissy little apprentice here doesn't mean you're not as scummy as she is, and I'll eat my own bloody wand before I let you forget it –"
"Hands off my Seeker, Rookwood," Flint said suddenly, from halfway down the table. Rookwood's hands faltered on his shoulders for a moment, allowing Antares to twist out of her grip and stumble over the bench and away from the table. "Not if you want us to win anything this year –"
"He's never Seeker yet," a frowning seventh year said, turning to face them with a dark look in Antares' direction. "Is that the way you're running the team now, Flint? Sticking scum in even before tryouts?"
"Fortunately, Yaxley, I am the captain, and I say hands off my Seeker." Flint gave Antares a hard look, openly ignoring the glares of Yaxley and Rookwood. "Get while the getting's good, you."
Antares didn't waste a moment, elbowing rudely through the few gawking third years between him and the doors without a backward glance. Someone was following him, he could tell, but he bloody well wasn't going to risk looking back and hitting them with a good Jelly-Legs until he was out of sight of the stupid professors at the high table, and –
"Merlin, slow down, Antares!"
Antares slowed down immediately, relief washing over him as Blaise appeared to his right, looking rather worried.
"Don't let what they said get to you, Antares," Blaise said immediately. "It doesn't –"
"Do you see me letting it get to me?" Antares snapped, giving him a glare as they passed through the double doors. "I'm fine, I just needed to –"
"Leave the Great Hall? Get away from them?" Blaise sighed. "Look, you're not handling it –"
"Oh, I was just supposed to sit there and smile while she told me –"
"Oh for god's sake, you idiots, buck up!" Tracey pushed between the two of them without so much as a by-your-leave, her schoolbag knocking into Antares' side almost hard enough to hurt. "Especially you, Antares – we've got Potions in fifteen minutes, and you two don't even have your bags!"
"Don't look at me like it's my fault –"
Tracey rolled her eyes, cutting Blaise's injured tone off with a shake of her head. "Well maybe you should've been thinking about it instead of trying to tell him to shut up around Rookwood, especially since you know –"
"Come on, Antares," Blaise said, darting around Tracey to tug at Antares' sleeve. "If we get going, we can probably beat her to lousy old Potions anyway."
Antares rolled his eyes, but let himself be dragged around to the stairs to the dungeons anyway – at least, until they'd gotten to the staircase. There he broke free so as to be able to wriggle around the sleepy-looking Hufflepuffs that were just emerging from the –
Antares fell down, hard, before he even quite knew that he'd been tripped. A snigger from above him had him fishing angrily for his wand even as Tracey and Blaise started to tug him to his feet.
"What's the problem, Black?" asked one of the Hufflepuffs, a snide smile on his face. "Can't stand a bit of dirt?"
His mates sniggered. "Ruddy mystery, that," one of them said, scratching his head with an exaggerated look of perplexity on his face, "'Specially since he was born in it –"
"Antares, come on," Blaise said, a little desperately, his grip tightening on Antares' arm. In a moment, him and Tracey were forcing Antares down the stairs. "Buck up, or we'll be late –"
"There something you want to say, Black?" the first Hufflepuff called after them, voice shaky with laughter. "Oh, come on, you know you want to –"
"Oh fuck off to class, you lazy wankers!" Tracey burst out, letting go of Antares' arm with a convulsive little jerk. "Bloody idiots – no wonder they're always bottom in everything –"
The Hufflepuffs just laughed harder, one of them stopping to make a rude face at Tracey. "Looks like you've got a girlfriend, Black! And she's got quite the temper –"
Antares gritted his teeth, wishing dearly that Quirrell had bothered to teach him a spell for hitting someone in stomach from a distance. "If one more person calls someone my girlfriend, I swear to god –"
"Antares, for Merlin's sake – Tracey! Weren't you supposed to be getting to Potions?" Blaise let go of Antares immediately, choosing to focus his attention on hauling the muttering Tracey away from the stairs. "Come on, you – Antares? Get our bags, will you?"
"So now I'm your fucking errand boy, is that it?"
"I'm going, I'm going!" Tracey snapped, wrenching free from Blaise's hold. "Antares needs watching more than I do –"
"Excuse me?" Antares snapped, glaring at her as she sullenly pretended to dust her arm off. Blaise scowled at her for a minute, then latched onto him again. "Get off –"
"Just come on, all right?" Blaise said pleadingly, half-dragging, half pushing him towards the left fork in the current corridor, which would take them to Slytherin. "Oh, fine, be like that! I'll probably beat you there anyway…"
"Yeah, right," Antares muttered, refusing to do more than walk. Well, until he remembered that being late to Potions would be just like handing Snape an excuse to insult him all class on a golden platter. Then he ran, ignoring Blaise's snigger as he passed him, because he just didn't feel like thinking about it. By the time he'd gotten to the hidden door, though, he was starting to remember –if against his will – just how loud Rookwood had been in the Great Hall, and just how many people had given him sideways looks as he struggled to leave. Which made him think of how there had been three bloody professors at the high table, and how they'd just gone on eating while Flint and that Yackley or Yaxley argued about whether Antares could get sat on some more or not.
Swearing, Antares kicked the wall, ignoring the way Blaise tried to make a big fuss about him being too fast for his own good.
"You're not even out of breath, you wanker –"
"Can we just get on?" When Blaise didn't quite answer, Antares turned his attention to the entrance to Slytherin. "Re – oh fuck –"
"Recte nunquam est," Blaise said quietly, giving him a look of concern. Antares ignored it, focusing instead of the smooth slide of the door. Once they were through and inside their dorm without any hassle, he stifled the urge to just Accio everything he needed, and instead opened his trunk and began to search out what he would need for the first class of the day –Potions.
Antares grimaced at the thought of having to face the fake, angry Snape in Potions today. He still didn't quite know how to feel about how Snape had helped and openly not helped him last night. And, from what Draco had said, how the man had insulted him in front of Slytherin this morning, probably during the start-of-term talk that Antares and Blaise had missed because of Antares' injuries. How Potions would go – fuck that, how the whole year would go with Snape not being on his side when it counted was beyond Antares.
Especially if no one else is on my side, Antares thought grimly, cramming the last of his ingredients into his cauldron. And that, after this morning, seemed even more likely than he'd thought last night, considering how no one had even bothered –
"Antares? Antares –"
Antares blinked, turning to see Blaise glaring at him from not very far away. "What?"
Blaise gave him an irritated look, zipping his schoolbag closed with an impatient tap of his wand. "Can't you even try to listen when I'm talking to you?"
"Look, Blaise –"
But, surprisingly, Blaise cut him off with a wave. "I know you're angry, all right?" he said defensively. "Just – it's not like I was cheering Rookwood on–"
"I know that, all right? I'm just –"
"Then you can bloody well listen to me, can't you?" Blaise snapped. "You're not the only one being snubbed by everyone –"
"Being – being snubbed?" Antares said, hardly believing his ears. "Oh, so that's what you call it, is it?"
Blaise seemed to realise just what he'd said, going pale. "Antares, I didn't mean –"
Antares left, grabbing his bag as he went. He walked fast, ignoring Blaise's huffing behind him, and refused to say anything when Blaise caught up to him just as they were approaching the Potions classroom. A few of the other first – no, second years were already there, most of them giving Antares wary looks as he approached them.
His desire to hit something resurfaced when he saw that Draco was there, and when he bumped into the gaping Granger, he couldn't help but lash out.
"The fuck're you looking at, Granger?"
She jerked away slightly, reddening. "I wasn't –"
"You leave her alone!" Neville Lupin was in Antares' face before Granger could stammer out any more, his thoughts bravery and fear almost overwhelming in their strength. "She didn't do anything to you, and –"
"She's a witch, and ten times smarter than you. I'd say Granger didn't need the help of –" here Antares deliberately pinched Neville on his rounded arm, "– the Tubby who lived."
Neville reddened, swatting his hand away as Pansy and Daphne snickered in the background. "Leave off my arm, you –"
"Leave off shoving your fat face into other people's business, and we'll see about that," Antares spat, ignoring the way Blaise was pulling irritatingly at his arm. "Blaise, fuck off –"
"Do shut that filthy mouth, Black," a horribly familiar voice said from behind. "Despite what your mother must have taught you, Hogwarts is not a pub, and this hallway is not a street!" Snape's hand dug painfully into Antares' shoulder, forcing him to turn abruptly. "Unless, of course," Snape said slowly, his tone becoming even more dangerous, "you…disagree?"
"No, sir," Antares got out quickly, trying not to fidget under the press of Snape's cold eyes and colder sneer. In the next moment, the professor had let go of him, and was flicking the door to the classroom open with a disgusted look on his face, as if touching Antares had somehow –
"Have you all lost your wits? Places, now!"
And then Antares had no real chance to think for the next ten or twenty minutes, being jostled every which way by the Gryffindors that mysteriously chose to shove past him on the way to their desks. By the time that was over, Snape had begun to insult people. Each slur made Antares feel more apprehensive – if the man was being that horrible to the other students, what would happen when he noticed Antares again?
Antares scowled at the thought, knowing that it was unlikely that Snape would forget to insult him today, considering the almost too convincing act he'd already put up so far. And, sure enough:
"Disgusting execution, Black. Pretend those lilies have no need of torture, I beg you."
"Did you leave your brain in Slytherin this morning, boy? Focus!"
"Is that nightshade you're adding, Black?" Snape's tone, now, was almost as low and dangerous as it had been at dinner last night. It made Antares' slightly shaking hand shake harder, which shook some of the roughly chopped nightshade into his cauldron. "Oh splendid, Black – I do believe I've the honour of overseeing your first detention this term."
Antares nearly put his hand in the potion out of shock. "B-but –"
"When I ask a question of you, boy, I expect an answer. And instead of answering my question, you ignored – deliberately ignored –"
"I was at a critical stage!" Antares protested, biting his lip as he continued to sloppily sprinkle the nightshade into the potion despite Snape's glare. "You said we shouldn't pause when adding nightshade, so I didn't…"
But Snape's eyes were gleaming with what Antares did not quite want to believe was triumph. "Are you interrupting me, Black?"
"Sir, I was at a critical –"
"Another question unanswered, Black? This simply won't –"
"Professor, my potion's finished," Antares bit out, now stirring it as quickly as he could. If this could just be done, if it can just end, maybe he'll –
"Your potion," Snape said poisonously, "is inadequate." His hand shot out, knocking Antares' mechanically stirring hand from the stirring rod so that the potion, which needed only two or three more stirs to be done, turned an unpleasant, sickly green. "Your potion," Snape continued viciously, "hardly merits a mark – I can see that from here." He tapped the stirring rod sharply with his wand, peering briefly inside the cauldron, a grim smile on his lips. "Useless, as I supposed. Detention."
What the – two detentions? Two? Antares knew he would sound plaintive and silly, but couldn't stop the words from coming out. "But you just knocked my –"
"And a third, for daring to imply I would stoop to sabotaging your wretched potion," Snape said smoothly, eyes gleaming. "A fourth for disrespect – I assure you, Black, that I allow no one to take that strident tone with me, least of all the brat son of a known criminal." The class was deathly silent now, and all Antares could hear was the thudding in his head, the dull thud of confused resentment that dogged him even as he thought he saw what Snape was doing. "Be proud, Black – you're well on your way to following in your illustrious uncle's footsteps. He had detention every night of the week, as I recall. As you do now –"
"But I didn't –"
"No," Snape said, his grim smile becoming nasty, "you didn't. But five is such a – such a nice number…"
Antares blinked furiously, now unable to feel his hands. He thought he understood – Snape was trying to keep him out of the way so those bullies couldn't get to him, he was almost sure of that. By the time the man turned slowly away, Antares felt feverish with gratitude and disgust, disgust that Snape could even say such things about Bella, with the way he looked at her, with the way he'd all but snatched her from Antares –
The class ended, but Antares didn't quite know when. All he did was start and vaguely notice that everyone was packing up now, then follow suit. He had to bite his tongue not to say anything when Snape praised Draco's potion over and over again, or when Snape spared a bland comment for Granger's hellishly perfect one – all the while, he scrubbed the green goo out of his and wanted – wanted –
Antares dug savagely at a particularly stubborn lump, ignoring the way Tracey and Blaise were slowing down over at his left so they could wait for him. There was nothing to want. If he started thinking about this, it would get to him, which he did not need, especially if any other professors were half as horrible to him as Snape had been. He'd have to keep his mouth shut somehow, despite everything.
"Get out, you two," Snape said coldly, from behind him. Tracey and Blaise fled reluctantly, Tracey giving Antares a look of concern over her shoulder even as Blaise urged her out. The door shut abruptly, making Antares jump, and then there was Snape, elbowing him aside and waving his wand over his cauldron. When all the mess in it disappeared with the next wave, Antares wavered between sighing with relief and shouting at Snape.
The latter won, almost a little too easily. "A week of detention! A fucking week –"
"Be silent," Snape said firmly, in a way that had Antares obeying even before the professor had steered him firmly into his seat. "I could use the help, of course."
"Bastard," Antares said, but it was lower than before. "It's not fair!"
"If I cared, I would suppose you'd change your estimation of its fairness if it kept your attackers from you, at least at night," Snape said, rolling his eyes. Another wave of his wand sent Antares' scattered belongings flying to tuck themselves into the right places. "It might not work, but is the best I can do on such short notice – where do you think you are going?"
"Lunch, you miserable bastard," Antares spat. "Oh, it might work. Do you know how long it took me to get up to the Hospital Wing this morning?"
"Antares –"
"If that's all you can do, I don't want your fucking help," Antares went on, seizing his schoolbag with trembling fingers. "I don't – I don't want it." He tried not to think about what it might mean, that he was able to open the door to the classroom and lurch into the empty corridor outside.
It didn't work, of course, and by the time Antares was halfway up the stairs to the Great Hall, he was torn between going to lunch and going back to find Snape and take it back. It didn't help that people snickered and sneered at him all the way to the Hall – everyone seemed to notice him and react, some whispering among their friends, some glaring at him, some actually calling after him and saying things Antares instinctively tried to ignore. Shoving through the press of students to get into the Great Hall started to look like an impossible task, and when Antares was finally faced with it, he made a quick decision, turning for the stairs to the dungeons instead, hoping he wouldn't meet Rookwood or the other bullies on his way to the kitchens. There was just no way he could face lunch in the midst of a Hogwarts that hated him right now, and that was that, even if he got beaten for his pains –
Approaching footsteps jolted Antares out of his confusion momentarily, then sunk him back in deeper. God, what had he been thinking? He turned this way and that, praying for – there, an alcove, thank Morgana – and rapidly squeezed himself into it, ignoring the scrapes he got in trying to press as far into the dark corner as he possibly could –
"…him and the Black kid, I don't know who's worse," someone complained, their previously quiet words abruptly becoming louder. "Lupin's as puffed up as anything after that stupid thing with the car –"
"Wasn't that stupid, John," another person said, interrupting. "That car must have been pretty high up, even if people could still spot it –"
"Please – that's just because you're afraid of heights…"
Antares relaxed somewhat, hearing that bizarre conversation fade off into the distance. After a minute or so of silence, he peered cautiously out of the alcove he'd hidden in, half wishing he knew that spell Bella had used on Diagon Alley, when they'd –
Antares scowled. Bloody Lucius bloody Malfoy – why on earth did he and Draco have to ruin so many things for him and Bella? Still scowling, he left the alcove and made for the kitchens, going slowly and making sure to listen out for footsteps or voices as he went. It seemed to take forever to finally reach the portrait of fruit that was the entrance to the kitchen, probably due to how many wrong turns Antares took on the way, but he was inside in a trice, and overloaded with food from the elves ten minutes after he'd got in.
So lunch was a strange, seemingly endless meal of hot, delicious chicken pie filled with interruptions from unnervingly happy house-elves. Antares felt a little guilty leaving the kitchen with a large small slice of the sponge cake that several elves said would be the base for some sort of desert tonight, and his guilt only intensified when he realized that he was late for History of Magic. Before setting off, he made sure to sit somewhere and finish off the cake – only right, since he'd need to run up to the first floor to get to class, and he didn't want to get there with cake in his hands.
Ten breathless minutes later, Antares slipped through the ajar door and into the History of Magic classroom, thanking Merlin that Binns wasn't the sort of professor to even notice him or know he exis-
"Late again, Potter," Binns said, his droning voice a little sharper than usual. "Following in your father's footsteps, I suppose?" When Antares, embarrassed, didn't answer, Binns sniffed. "To your seat, to your seat, boy. Potters. They're all the same – unlike the Garnagaks." Antares rolled his eyes and, shaking his head at the old ghost's bizarre behaviour, began to make for the empty seat he spotted beside Tracey, who looked like she was about to rear out of her seat and drag him to where she sat. "As I am sure all of you know by now, the hereditary gene malfunctioned noticeably with them. The only constant with them was, in fact, that none of them were remotely similar in action, word, or –"
"Where have you been?" Tracey hissed, ignoring Binns' drone as Antares finally flopped into the seat next to her and Blaise. "Did Snape –"
"I went to the kitchens," Antares said, interrupting her as soon as possible. "Look –"
Tracey cut him off with an impatient noise. "But if he didn't do anything, then why –"
"Let's not talk about it, for once – how about that?" Antares said, giving Blaise a pointed look. "I'm sick of talking about this, for god's sake."
"Fine," Tracey said, giving him a slightly injured look. "I was just worried –"
"Well thanks, then," Antares snapped, finding it difficult to keep his voice down despite the way Pansy and Daphne were staring at them. "Look, we can talk about it later, I just –"
"You're just an irritating prig, that's what," Tracey snapped back, the squiggles she'd been drawing across her partially empty roll of parchment becoming violent. "Be that way if you like – it's not like we're the only people who give a toss."
"Tracey –"
"No talking, Potter," Binns snapped – actually snapped, this time. "How many times must I tell you? The Garnagaks never failed to understand commands, as you should –"
"Bugger the garglers," Antares spat, infuriated by it all. Who gives a shit, anyway? He thought, rising jerkily to his feet despite Binns numerous deranged orders to 'Potter' to sit down and shut up, unless he wanted to fail his OWLs – "Good bloody afternoon, Professor." And with that he was outside, breathing harder than anyone would after just leaving a stupid class, his bag weighing heavily on his shoulder. A moment of angry thought decided him – he'd just go to the dungeons and do some Occlumency, and Tracey and Blaise and the whole of Hogwarts could go fuck themselves.
Scowling so hard his face hurt, Antares headed for the dungeons. The corridors on the first floor were empty, as were the corridors he passed through as he descended to the dungeons, a fact he dully thanked Merlin for. This time, his journey went by all too quickly – in what seemed like no time, he was sliding his tatty schoolbag off his shoulder and dropping into one of the rickety chairs he'd helped scrounge for the room last year, and trying to understand how things could have changed so quickly.
Honestly, though – at the beginning of today, he'd had two friends. Now –
Antares violently suppressed that thought, and so started a short, yet brutal Occlumency practice. It went frighteningly well – came of really not wanting to think about half the things he resolutely folded away – and was done and finished with in less time than he'd thought.
"Tempus – wow." Only just five – so supper's still at least an hour off. Antares lowered his wand slowly, sighing. After that little argument in History, it was highly unlikely that Tracey would bother looking for him, or that she or Blaise would even suggest it instead of going off to Slytherin without –
There's got to be something else to do here, Antares told himself, absently pocketing his wand. It slid halfway into his robe pocket, but no further, puzzling him. In a trice, he'd pulled it out and shoved a hand into the pocket to see – oh. That.
The tatty old diary needed to be wrenched out of the pocket, from being squashed in so. Antares, examining it curiously, didn't wonder long why he'd left it in there – he usually stuck his wand up his sleeve, or in a different pocket, and today hadn't been a day for methodically emptying a robe before he sleepily crawled into it.
Shrugging, Antares sat down, diary in hand. Wishing for an actual table to put it on so he could – well, look through it better, although there was nothing to look through – he opened it slowly and turned to today's date, wondering if the weird sinking thing would still happen if he wrote in it. A moment later, he'd retrieved a battered Self-Inking quill from his bag, and was eyeing the diary with a smidgen of anticipation.
Well, Antares thought, here goes nothing.
Hello, he wrote slowly. Anyone in there? A moment passed as the words dried slowly on the page. Then, little by little, began to sink into the thin page in the same way they had when Antares and Adrian had –
Oh, appeared in their stead, in a much neater hand than Antares thought he could ever aspire to. You again.
Antares blinked in surprise, then supposed that it wasn't such a long time ago since he'd wrestled the diary from Adrian's hands and drawn that silly tree in it. Just because that felt like weeks ago didn't mean the diary wouldn't remember, especially since it was so old. Antares twirled the quill once, then wrote on.
Suppose it's no surprise that you remember my handwriting, he wrote slowly, trying hard to make sure his words were in a straight line. It was always so difficult keeping them level on unlined paper. If there was a time he'd really missed something about primary school, it had been when he'd realised that he was going to have to write on blank, unlined parchment every day. Sighing, Antares went on. You can't have been written in for ages, I think. Are you a very old diary? You certainly look it –
Antares blinked, pausing as his words abruptly disappeared, only to be replaced by five words.
I am NOT a diary. Antares stared – the handwriting of the diary was so much shakier now, so much that it looked a little like his own when he was trying very hard to be neat – Not just a diary, anyway, the diary continued, these words looking a little less shaky. I'm a boy, and my name is Tom.
Antares' momentary amusement at the huffy tone of the first two sentences vanished abruptly as he saw the last one. From his (limited) experience with magical objects, only the oldest and most heavily used ones even thought of bothering to assign themselves names. He wasn't sure why that happened, either, as Bella had never really explained about the few objects that named themselves voluntarily except to say that it wasn't normal. But she'd said enough for him to know that the diary shouldn't think it had a name. It was empty, for Merlin's sake…though that probably didn't tell him anything, if it had the tendency to absorb conversations like it had just been doing –
What is your name? the diary prompted. Absently, Antares scrawled a quick answer under the question, then wanted to hit himself as the two words shimmered a little, but stayed put. He'd written his surname automatically, for fucking – you'd think that after all that had happened, he'd know not to – Really? I used to know a Black in school.
In school? It was all Antares could do to momentarily stop himself from writing that immediately, especially since the diary could easily have been angling for such a response. This was getting stranger by the minute, though, especially considering the fact that the perhaps not so confused diary thought it was a boy, and knew it had been to school. Antares could grudgingly imagine some poor street boy getting roped unwillingly into dark magic and somehow ending up with half his soul essence in a diary, but for it to happen to someone who'd gone to Hogwarts? With, Antares thought enviously, handwriting as good as that? It didn't make sense –
So, he'd answer it. If the – if the boy-diary-thing wanted him to ask, maybe it wanted to tell him.
In school? he wrote slowly, trying not to fidget. What school did you go to? Though that was a daft question, since everyone knew Hogwarts was the only wizarding school in Britain. The boy didn't seem to be writing in French or something else, so that ruled out the other schools on the continent –
Hogwarts, the boy replied. And you?
Same, Antares scribbled quickly, fidgeting with wary excitement. It was a bad idea, probably, but the diary couldn't just have thrown out the thing about the Blacks without expecting to be asked about it either. Or at least that was what Antares told himself as he scribbled in his next question. Which of the Blacks did you know?
There was a long pause after that, long enough that Antares began to think he'd somehow offended the boy – the diary – by asking like that, instead of maybe going through more stupid small talk about their wands or Houses or whatnot. That was probably just another side effect of something wrong having happened to the boy – maybe that's why it had been abandoned in Flourish and Blott's, stuck into a used book and forgotten about like the little unhappy bookmarks he found in some of his used books once in a while, still refusing to budge from the same page they'd been set to keep to by their careless creator –
But wait, the boy was writing something under Antares' question – I didn't know her very well, but her name was Walburga.
Antares' eyes widened – god, wasn't that Bella's aunt's name? The one that had left money, despite everything? That had to have been ages ago, and far too long for the boy to have –
She was about a year up – pretty crotchety, the boy wrote smoothly, but really conscious of supporting family. Never let even her second cousins be bullied, though they weren't full Blacks.
Well, that sounds like a Black, Antares wrote, head buzzing with the thought of asking Bella about it, or, better still, looking up a Walburga Black in the library, and checking to see who was in the year below her – At least you didn't say she was an out and out snob. My mum used to call her that.
Well, the boy wrote back slowly, I daresay she was right. Very concerned for her family, was Walburga – and for no one else.
Grinning, Antares turned the page. So, he wrote, who else did you know?
It was a long while before Antares could stop smiling, after closing the diary and tucking it away as he hurried to go to dinner. He felt hugely bolstered by the fact that Tom – the boy in the diary, that is, had known Professor McGonagall as a first year, and that everyone had thought her the most disobedient troublemaker that Hogwarts had ever seen. Even more pleasing was the knowledge that Abraxas Malfoy – Draco's grandfather, apparently – had been absolutely pitiful on a broom. Antares wasn't quite sure how to work that sort of an insult into his next spiteful conversation with Draco, but he'd be quite happy to settle for watching him fumble moves in the air during Quidditch tryouts and wondering sarcastically when the Quidditch genius was going to show up, and knowing that, on his family alone, Draco wasn't one, and probably wouldn't ever be –
"Speak of the devil," Blaise muttered irritably as Antares slipped jauntily into the space next to him.
"And shall he appear," Antares said companionably, reaching for the mouth-watering bowl of soup that was right in front of Tracey, who was almost glaring at him. "What? My mum always says that, and no one –"
"Check my memory, Tracey, I think he actually heard me," Blaise said, giving Antares a hard look. "I mean, for that to happen, I've got to have killed someone, or something!"
"Rookwood, by any chance?" Antares said, spooning out a steaming portion of the soup for himself. "Or – what was that arsehole's name –"
"You know, I'm starting to think I actually should," Tracey said sharply, setting down her fork with an irritated look on his face. "Maybe he's actually carried out that stupid threat and removed the memory of it, or –"
"Nah. But we do need to practice it sometime," Antares said around a mouthful of soup. He turned to the left, having decided to make a test of Tom's words, and found Draco glaring at him as usual. "Is your grandfather's name Abraxas, by any chance?"
"Black, why don't you just –"
"Use your brain, Draco, it's a yes-or-no question," Antares said sarcastically. "Ah, fuck it, shouldn't have bothered." He sighed and turned away, and had only thought of reaching for the nearby basket of rolls when Draco cracked.
"Just because your family sucks doesn't mean you can stalk mine," Draco said snootily. He gave Antares a prim smile. "We don't take in trash, thanks."
"But you fly like it, don't you?" Antares grinned, turning towards Draco again. "Simple problem, isn't it? Your father was on the Quidditch team, but it actually lost more than it won, then. And your dear old grandfather certainly didn't win any House Cups –"
"You take that –"
"Which, given your talent, leaves me a bit curious as to how on earth you think you're getting on the Quidditch team this year," Antares went on, relishing how red Draco was going. "You know, I don't think I've ever asked you –"
"Black, I'm warning you –"
"– which position you're trying out for." Antares grinned. "Tell me it's not Seeker, and I'll be quiet."
Draco spluttered, and darkened a shade further, and Antares was hard pressed to not combust with suppressed laughter. "Go on, Draco, you can do it. You'll probably be reserve Chaser if you try out for it, true, but reserve isn't such a bad thing, is it?" Antares smiled tightly. "Probably what you'd get, if you tried out for Seeker."
"The only reason you fly so well," Draco said, through gritted teeth, "is because your mum fucked herself with a broom while she was still pregnant with you."
Antares didn't even wince, hard as it was. It was more than easy to smile nastily at Draco, now. "All comes down to family, doesn't it?" Antares said simply, into the tense silence around them. "Guess you won't be trying out for Seeker. Your mum was probably too tired to fuck any more brooms, to get past just how bad dear old Granddad –"
Draco, cursing, went for his wand, and that was when it all went to pot.
"Ah, Mr. Black – making a nuisance of yourself again?" Snape's voice was smooth and poisonous behind them, and the grip with which he dragged Antares to his feet was iron. "I don't suppose that week of detentions is quite enough to stop your sorry tongue. Perhaps two, instead."
Several people snickered as Snape let Antares go, ensuring he'd stumble over the bench as the smirking bastard motioned him on, the look in his eyes so malevolent that Antares refused to think of even trying to retaliate. Snape caught hold of his arm as soon as he was free of the bench and shoved him forward, obviously meaning to begin the detention as soon as possible, and Antares just managed to stay on his feet, despite the few legs and arms that got mysteriously in his way on the way out of the Hall.
Whispers and giggles, though partially silenced by Snape's glowering presence, followed them all the way to the dungeons. Antares was hot in the face with shame, and shaky with anger and the same sort of drowning humiliation he'd thought he'd had just about enough of earlier on – Snape pushed him into the dungeons without a word, and pointed him to a stack of dirty cauldrons over by the sinks and just left, as if Antares deserved to be there, when –
"Fuck it. Sano –"
"You will give your wand to me," Snape's voice said, startling him. Antares could only watch as the complete, utter bastard actually came out from his stupid office and took the wand from his hand without so much as a – "That little – that stupid display was the most foolish thing you've done all day. And that is saying something."
"Excuse me?"
"If I find you absent from lunch without due cause again, I will see that a house elf is assigned to search you out and drag you into the Great Hall," Snape snapped, giving Antares a furious look. "Do you know how cowardly it looks, missing meals just because of a few –"
"Maybe you should just let me get this done," Antares said, interrupting quietly, his tone pointedly calm. When Snape glared at him, seemingly speechless with fury, he turned and began to look for cleaning supplies. Eventually, Snape stopped fuming over behind him and left for his office again – not Antares much cared by now. Every blob of grease and slimy potion became Snape's face in his mind, and the diary felt heavy in his pocket.
"I do this only for your own good, you wretched boy," Snape had muttered just as he left, obviously not quietly enough, as he didn't wait for an answer.
Well, Antares thought, my finding out about your parents will only be for my own good, you cold-hearted, mean old sod. I just bet Tom knows about them – he knows everything.
The detention wasn't quite as tedious then – not with Antares imagining several conversations between him and Snape, largely involving him telling Snape that he was uglier than even his mother, and that that was saying something. And when Antares left, he headed straight for the Occlumency dungeon, and settled right in with the diary almost as soon as he'd locked the door and sat down.
I don't suppose you could tell me if you ever knew a Snape…?
The boy only took a moment to answer. Snape? Never heard of any. Why'd you ask?
Antares felt faint with too many things to write very well, but he wrote something just the same. Just curious. Are you sure?
Why would I lie to you?
Oh, I don't know, Antares thought wryly, rolling his eyes, why not? But he didn't write that, asking absently about Flitwick instead. Tom gave him an almost exhaustive description of the professor, and how there had been scandals about the mercenary way he duelled – something Antares didn't quite believe just yet – and seemed very surprised to find he was actually a Hogwarts professor now. But all the while, Antares thought quietly about the fact that Tom, who seemed to know more than Snape probably did about the Blacks and Malfoys and other pureblood families, did not know Snape's family. And what that could, and probably did mean.
Smiling grimly, Antares wondered what Bella would do if she knew. Just because she'd given up many of her prejudices didn't mean she'd stopped thinking purebloods were better than anything. And if Snape wasn't a known line, then that left only one conclusion. The only thing Antares wasn't sure of was whether he should tell Bella sooner or later, or – nicely unlikely – whether she already knew.
Well, Antares thought, finally closing the diary, I'll just have to find out, won't I?
A/N: Jesus Christ, but I'm sorry this took so long. Blame Lois Bujold's Vorksogian books and Firefly, and you've successfully shamed two of my major distractions over the past couple days. Then you can go on to blame my school and exams and projects and all the rest of them to get the other offenders.
This was quite the talky chapter, wasn't it? Hopefully you enjoyed the ride nevertheless. Anyway, the next chapter is from Snape's POV, and will have Lucius in it at some point. And will be out in two weeks, if I have to kill myself to do it.