A/N: In which we meet the author of the pranks. Warning for violence, creepiness and moderate to serious cliffhanger – I advise waiting until the next chapter (of which about a third is written) is up. This, for anyone who cares, is about where I really start to go AU. Enjoy!

Chapter 8: Imaginings

All of Slytherin whispered, nowadays. Antares remembered when it used to be only when he walked by – "Scum, that Black…did you hear he…wonder why they…"

Now, though, things were different. "He knew! I know, I don't know why –" "Surely you didn't actually say –" "I didn't! I wouldn't! I just –" "I hear he thinks Willa did it – bollocks, don't you think?" "Well everyone's acting like we did it, I'd say she might as well be on the chopping block, same as we are…"

Antares stopped short, only partially surprised. Those last comments, those had to have come from –

"But Adrian, seriously, you're being paranoid," Charles said in a fierce low tone, his back to Antares. He sat opposite Adrian on the floor, near some armchairs opposite the entrance to the common room. "Surely Snape couldn't have –"

"Shut up," Adrian said, as his eyes locked on Antares. "What do you want, Black?"

Antares hesitated for a moment. They had to be talking about their interview with Snape, who was doggedly terrorising everyone in Slytherin in private about the chicken pranks – Antares hadn't been subjected to one yet, and no one seemed to be talking much about them except to whisper and look suspiciously at each other. "Er – wondered if you two could tell me –"

"No," Adrian said, flatly. When Antares just stared at him, taken aback, he shifted restlessly in his seat. "Private conversation, Black, all right? Don't just stand there, push off!"

Antares gave Charles an incredulous look – no, scratch that, gave the back of Charles' head a look. Charles didn't do more than shift a little in place, as if Antares wasn't even there. "Fine," he said, hoping his voice sounded normal. "See you at tryouts." It baffled him that Adrian didn't even say a thing to that – just watched him all the way to where he normally sat in the common room, and that was that.

Just as Antares wearily sat down, the common room door slid open. In stumbled two third years, looking like they'd just narrowly escaped something nasty. A murmur greeted their arrival, but quieted as soon as one of them spoke.

"Andrea Lang and Sarah Frothwistle are next," she said tiredly. "And Snape said to say that they're the last for today." An audible sigh went up from several older years, and forced her to speak louder. "Rest of third year is tomorrow, then second year's on."

Antares went still, suddenly considering what Adrian had said. He knew, I don't know why –

Fuck, Antares thought, cursing the shaky logic that had had him reassuring himself over the last few days, thinking that Snape couldn't afford to use Legilimency on anyone just now, and that there would probably be someone there to keep watch on what he did to interrogate the students, or – I have to know for sure, for fuck's sake. He was up and going after the pair of third years in a second, and right behind them in a minute. "Er – hey! Hey, excuse me!"

The girl that had just spoken paused for a moment, though already on her way to the dorms. Her companion paused too, then strolled off, obviously not considering whatever Antares had to say as worth her time. With a sinking feeling, Antares realised the girl left standing before him was probably one of those third years who had joined those jeering at him two days ago when Rachel Rookwood and her mad twin brother had decided Antares needed to be magically blind for an hour. Since then, his vision went weird and blurry regularly at around eight at night, an occurrence that was still probably perplexing Madame Pomfrey right now.

"Was anyone there apart from Snape?" Antares asked, anyway, knowing that this wasn't the time to be picky about sources of information. "Because I heard –"

"Why do you want to know?" the girl asked, mulishly. "Got something to hide?"

"I'll just ask someone else, then," Antares muttered, turning away. When she grabbed hold of his shoulder, he twisted away, flicking out his wand on instinct.

"Touchy," the girl said, letting go of him with a sniff. "You're scared of Snape, aren't you? He hates you, you know –"

"Wow, thanks," Antares said, sneering at her. "I'd never have guessed."

"Aw, poor little Black – no one's going to save you from him tomorrow, if that's what you wanted to know," the girl said, sounding fiendishly happy at the prospect. Antares rolled his eyes uneasily and turned away, trying to tell himself to not – "It's just going to be you and him, Black. Just you and Professor Snape, all alone –"

"Fuck off," Antares muttered, out of principle, finally deciding to go to his dorm. She obstructed his way for a bit, not letting him pass, and even followed him a little way into the hallway that split off from the main one and into the boys' dorms, concocting all sorts of strange things Snape would probably do to him. Antares, walking into his dorm, closed the door behind him with a little more force than was necessary. Bloody bastards, each and every one of them –

"Black? What the…" Draco cursed, sliding off his bed immediately despite the game of cards he had going with Greg and Vince. "Is Snape calling second years yet?"

Antares ignored him, heading straight for his bed with a will. Blaise, absorbed in a book, only looked up as he swept by. When Draco actually began to head their way, Blaise sat up.

"Black, I'm talking to you –"

"And how many times do I have to say that I'm not talking to you?" Antares burst out, refusing to look at him. "Just piss off."

"This is important, you stupid –"

"I wouldn't spit on you if you were on fire," Antares pointed out, in what he knew wasn't a very calm tone. "I wouldn't look back if I left you in a burning house, you stupid fuck. What makes you think I'd do anything to keep you from getting in trouble?"

"Look, just because –"

"You can't get my teeth knocked out and pretend I won't hate your guts, you idiot!" Antares shouted, throwing his hands in the air. "Just fuck off, for god's sake."

"We're in the same house," Draco insisted, looking – good lord – puzzled. "Or do you think no one'll prank you –"

"You lost the right to bullshit about us being in the same house a long fucking time ago, Draco," Antares said, through gritted teeth. "Now, fuck off." He drew out his wand and pointed it straight in Draco's direction, and watched with grim satisfaction as Draco sneered at him and began to make for his own bed again as if nothing had happened.

"Some people just can't take a hint," Blaise said quietly, closing his book. "Stupid, really – especially when he could just've listened to you tell me what was going on."

"No one asked your opinion, Zabini!" Draco called out, going so far as to flick a few cards in his direction.

"But it's a perfectly obvious solution," Blaise mock-protested, giving Draco a beseeching look. "Well, not if you're daft, but I suppose –"

The pillow that Draco threw hit Blaise squarely in the side, making him turn round and give Draco a glare. "It's not like I'm lying here, you stupid –"

"Let it go, Blaise," Antares muttered, flopping down into the space between their beds and leaning back against the side of his own. "He's too thick to get it, remember?"

"I heard that!"

Antares rolled his eyes at Draco's indignant tone. "Cover your ears, then!" he called back sarcastically, now reaching under the bed for his overflowing schoolbag. "What he needs is a permanent silencing charm," he muttered, digging through the bag for a quill. "You know, a personal barrier? Only a lot closer to him than normal, so no one can hear his stupid whining –"

"You are going to tell me what's going on out there, aren't you?" Blaise asked, rolling over to peer at Antares. "I mean –"

"Obviously," Antares said, fishing out the diary from a pocket. He'd be damned if he helped Draco in any way by saying the unsettling news out loud, and anyway he'd need to tell Tom later on to get him to help. "Just a minute…there. Here you go."

"Cripes," was all Blaise said after peering at his note. "D'you think he'll do the last third years during first break? If he's done with them by then, could he start calling us in?"

"The boys are the ones left over, so no," Antares said, frowning in thought. "He can't do all four of them in twenty minutes, and even if he could, he wouldn't have time to call us in without making them and any of us late for our classes."

Blaise nodded, began to reach for his book again, then stopped, a look of horror coming over him. "God, we've got Transfig tomorrow, don't we? Can you even imagine –"

"Snape wouldn't dare," Antares said shakily, unable to stop himself from imagining just how likely Snape was to dare, especially if it somehow meant Antares getting to Transfiguration hideously late. "I mean, blowing off Lockhart's classes, disrupting them? He'd probably do that just for the hell of it. But McGonagall…"

"I suppose so," Blaise said grudgingly, after thinking it over for a moment. "And anyway, the third years could have Flitwick or Sprout right then," he went on, sounding more and more hopeful as he wriggled closer to watch the words Antares had written on the page sink in, as always. "Fuck, they might even have him."

Antares shrugged, then began to rise shakily to his feet. If Snape decided to be horrible – extra horrible, tomorrow, there wouldn't be anything they could do. And besides, what was the idea of being late to Transfiguration next to the spectre of what Snape would do if he saw exactly what Antares had been doing these last two weeks?

Chicken scratch, Antares found himself thinking hysterically. Merlin, if he sees – "I guess we'll find out tomorrow, then –"

Blaise grabbed hold of his sleeve. "What about Occlumency?" he whispered. "Should I –"

"Oh god," Antares said, suddenly remembering that both Tracey and Blaise knew – knew about the Cloak, about Quirrell, about – "Fuck! I thought it'd only be me –"

"Idiot. Sit down," Blaise insisted, his tone now almost too quiet to hear. "Tracey asked me – said she found out that Snape did the interviews on his own and all that. Probably reading everyone's minds as hard as he can –"

"I – I –" Antares forced himself to take a deep breath, to shove down the panic. "I – I think I've got a plan, for me. But I don't know –"

"Think, you idiot – memory charms! Didn't we just start practicing the wand movements?"

Antares stared at him, completely unable to believe – good, great Morgana, I've got to be imagining this… "Don't be daft, Blaise. That's not the same as –"

"You're the best at doing them already, Antares," Blaise said, his whisper becoming alarmingly fierce. "It's perfect, all right? You've already got a plan for yourself, you can just –"

"No," Antares said, a little too loudly. He ignored a rude comment one of the others called over, still trying to wrap his head around what Blaise – what Blaise and Tracey were asking. It wasn't working. "No, Blaise, it's too dangerous."

"Antar –"

"If I fuck up –"

"You won't. It's one thing, Antares, one simple thing you'd need to take out – do you not remember what the book said? Our minds would fill in the details –"

"Blaise –"

"If you don't do it, Tracey will," Blaise said quietly, heedless of Antares' protest. "And then she'll try to do it on herself."

"Blaise!"

"One weak link is all this needs, Antares – you know that," Blaise pleaded, his hands picking violently at his duvet cover. "You – you weren't going to try to do the same thing, were you?"

"No!" Antares said vehemently, striving to keep his tone quiet. "I wasn't – that's – I was going to do this spell –"

"On yourself?"

"Not exactly," Antares grudgingly admitted, picking up the diary out of defensive habit. "Tom said –"

"Oh, so Tom says, and you don't care what Tracey or me –"

"That's not it, Blaise! He's smart, all right? If he'd never told me, I'd never have found the spell!"

"He," Blaise said, in a tone of vast exasperation, "is a diary. You talk about it like it's a bloody person –"

"I know it's weird, all right? It's just – it's just a habit, Blaise –"

"And you want to trust a habit with knowledge like that? Merlin on a stick," Blaise said, his tone becoming louder and louder. "Sometimes, the way you think things through –"

"You're talking about this like we have options, Blaise," Antares snapped, surging to his feet, feeling like the irritation was going to start pouring out of his fingers. "It's this, or I don't do the charm." Squashing the diary back into one of his pockets, Antares climbed into his bed without a backward glance, sloughing off his shoes with sharp, restless movements and throwing them over the other side of his bed. Blaise stayed silent on his left, not even replying to Draco's stupid remarks about contraception charms and how it was only an amount of time before one of them knocked up the other – "Shut up, Draco, or god help me, I'll come over there and shut you up myself!"

Greg laughed nastily. "Yeah, after we knock you to pieces –"

"Or I could just stick a Tickling Charm on him and let him laugh himself to death," Antares said, unable to keep himself from becoming louder and louder with rage. "Didn't you know, Draco? There's Rictusempra and Rictusemproprium." He kicked aside his bedcurtains and began to get out of bed, wand already in hand. "Just an extra syllable, don't you remember? Just like Flitwick said –"

"Oh for god's sake –"

"What would you like to bet that I'd get it on my first try?" Antares found himself saying, through gritted teeth. "Murder by mistake, eh?"

Blaise sat up at that. "Antares, just –"

"Fuck off, Blaise."

"Stay where you are, Black," Vince said threateningly. Antares ignored him, stamping around to Draco's bed regardless of how both Vince and Greg were glaring at him through their open curtains. "Black, I'm warning you –"

"No, I'm warning you," Antares spat, stopping firmly opposite Draco's bed. "I'm telling you you'd better fucking consider that cheering people on while they blind me and therefore fuck up my eyes is a very big incentive for me not to give a shit what happens to me should I happen to feel like getting my own back." He pointed his wand straight at Draco head, relishing the way he flinched. "Or should I say that in smaller words?"

The door to the toilets opened suddenly behind him, and Antares felt his wand slipping from his hand before he even heard Blaise's half-shouted spell. Shaking a little, he let it go, not taking his eyes off Draco in a bid to see if – yes. The bastard was reaching for his wand, and his wand hand was shaking.

Somehow, that made it easy for Antares to smile and walk away. Calmly, despite Draco's hushed conversation with Ted – for it was him that had just entered the dorm – about what on earth had just happened.

"Here," Blaise said as he approached, tossing him his wand as if nothing had happened. Antares smiled at him too, recklessly. "You do know how stupid that was?"

"A laugh, though, wasn't it?" Antares ducked under his bed to hunt for a quill, taking deep breaths as he did so. It was odd to be so angry, and still so calm – "I'd hit him again, just to see that." Having found two quills and tossed back one, he climbed back into bed, drawing the curtains as he did so. So it wasn't a surprise that he only barely heard Blaise's response.

"Just be careful," it sounded like. Antares mumbled something in reply, already on the way to that, fishing the diary out of his pocket. He'd ask Tom about that spell right away, and if he wouldn't be reasonable, well. He'd just have to lay it on thick…

What's wrong now Tom wrote crossly, true to form. Oh, don't tell me, you want to talk about spells. AGAIN.

It's not my fault if I need to know them, Antares wrote quickly, making his handwriting as shaky as possible. Snape is a godawful bastard, and he's better at Legilimency than I am at Occlumency – he'll know in seconds. You've got to help –

I don't have to do a damn thing, Tom said, his writing starting to look more cross by the minute. You knew he knew Legilimency – sort it out.

If I could memory charm myself, I would. I can only do my friends, and that still leaves me.

Tom wrote slowly, exaggeratedly. And that's my problem why?

Antares paused, twisting the quill in his hands. That was the crux of it, really – Tom wasn't afraid of anything. The only thing Antares could think of that might do the trick might easily make Tom decide that teaching him how to remove his memories of the two pranks so Snape couldn't get his greasy brain on them wasn't worth his time. Still, though… What do you think he'll do to you when he finds out?

The only person that would worry me in that way is your mother, Antares, was Tom's answer. And she's not here, is she?

Antares bit his lip, hard, cursing himself for ever boasting about his mother's proficiency at, well, everything. Why do you think I'm asking for help in the first place? She'd be the first to know.

It was a minute before the reply to that began to appear. Why do you want my help so badly? It's not like you'll be expelled if they find out.

Antares restrained himself from throwing the diary against the headboard. If Snape knows about the pranks, he knows about the cloak, you idiot! I'll be handing it to him on a fucking platter and Antares stopped, shocked, because his words had sank away almost immediately, and Tom's reply –

You mean it's actually real? – was already there in their place.

Despite the fact that he'd thought about this, over and over again, Antares still hesitated before writing his answer. Yes.

It shimmered on the page, briefly, before sinking out of sight. Have you ever borrowed something from the Restricted Section?

That was easy to answer. Yes, Antares wrote, impatiently. You mean without permission, right?

You scoundrel, Tom wrote slowly, under that. Well, you'll need to do that tonight. There's a book on the fifth shelf that you'll need – fifth shelf, second row from the bottom, five books from the start of the row when approaching from the rope…

Antares rubbed his bleary eyes carefully, with his aching wand hand. Tom had been very, very clear on that – that his left hand wasn't to be used for anything for five hours after the spell. It had taken what felt like no time to steal into the library and retrieve the book. Thankfully, there was no need to return it, as all Tom had wanted him to do was read the spell description so that he knew what he was getting into.

Antares had spent most of his time trying to decipher how the meaning of Impertio sons, which was literally something like 'share the guilt', would do anything to transfer his memories to Tom like he'd insisted it would. He'd given up after a while, replaced the book, then returned to his dorm ready to tell Tom that he didn't think it would work. And then Tom had urged him to do it then try to remember strangling anything anywhere.

Antares still couldn't. Tom had said that that was a good thing, and had made sure Antares repeated the spell just to get rid of the memory about some cloak or other, which Tom had also insisted was important. When Antares had sarcastically asked him how on earth Snape wouldn't just be able to order him to fish out the diary and reverse the spell, Tom had said something vague about the spell being able to sort that out when it was time. By then, Antares had been too tired to do more than seize the chance to nap while it was still dark out, and had been asleep in minutes.

It hadn't done much good, though. He was still so tired, and Blaise had actually had to shake him awake –

"Are you all right?" Tracey said, from nearby. Antares shrugged, wiped his eyes again, and continued to eat. "Blaise, is he all right?"

"Just give it up, Tracey, he's been like this all morning," Blaise said, sounding irritated. "I think he just had a bad night –"

"Oh." Tracey slid into her seat opposite Antares, still looking worried. "Did you tell him –"

"He'll do it, yeah. Won't you, Antares?"

Antares nodded slowly, a little confused. "Um, I think so."

Blaise stared at him for a moment, then smiled. "It worked, then? So soon?"

"Yes…?"

Tracey looked about as unhappy as Blaise looked excited. "Don't tell me you let him charm himself –"

"No, no, it's fine – he had help from his mangy little book," Blaise said quietly, grinning at him. "Didn't you?"

"Oh right, yeah," Antares replied, finally understanding. Maybe he and Blaise had even talked to Tom about doing the spell – Im – Im-something was all Antares could remember now. Blaise was now whispering on about some conversation they'd had last night about it, and he seemed to think it was good that Antares couldn't remember a strange cloak. So did Tracey, interestingly enough. It was a little confusing how relieved they looked at that, and how Antares asking for Blaise to pass a jug of apple juice flew by him so easily because of it. Shaking his head at it all, Antares poked Blaise in the arm. "I thought you were going to pass me that." When Blaise looked at him in confusion, he sighed. "The juice, Blaise, for Merlin's sake –"

"Calm down, I'm passing it," Blaise said cheerily, having started to float it over to him. "And oh – Antares, you never told me if the diary said anything about the spell being flexible."

Well, that was easy – probably that vague stuff Tom had said about it earlier on. "I think it said so, yes," Antares said, eyeing the wobbling jug as it came closer to him. "Blaise, for fuck's sake, be careful –" Too late. The jug sloshed into his plate as it thumped down before him. "You know, this is only funny if you do it to Draco."

"God, you're a genius – Wingardium leviosa!" The jug sloshed some more all over Antares' already soggy toast before wobbling away in the direction of the unsuspecting Draco. "So you'll be able to sort us out during first break then?"

Antares shrugged. "Why not?" He'd probably be able to get them out of Charms early, too, if Flitwick was in the mood to rush this morning. Minutes later, he found that he wasn't too tired to laugh – Blaise's lack of aim resulted in making Draco's hair look like it was covered in pee, and for once, everyone at the table began laughing at someone other than Antares. Or, at least, they did, until every half-empty jug on the table emptied themselves on Antares' head some minutes later.

For once, the staff table was roused, and Antares soon had the joy of watching Avery and Rookwoods scowling carefully at McGonagall, and thinking that having them lose points like that was the next best thing to finally getting back at them himself, if a little less satisfying. He yawned, following Tracey and Blaise out of the Great Hall as quickly as he could. At least he couldn't be punished for anything just now, as he might have been if he'd done anything to the bullying seventh years. God knew what Snape would do to the idiot who'd done that strange stuff with the chickens – Antares didn't know why the man was still pretending it might have been anyone other than an upper year, with this interviewing crap. It was only making it worse for people like Adrian and Charles, who everyone suspected, but probably hadn't done a thing.

Antares shrugged, staying as still as he could while Tracey dried him off, still giggling. I suppose that's Snape for you.

Antares sighed. How on earth had he ever thought they'd get out early from Charms? Flitwick was still stuck on Freezing Charms, and had been merciless with the forced practicing for the last few classes. Every single time they'd revised the charm, they'd gone on working past the bell for first break. Today was no different – Flitwick only just let them go ten minutes into break, after whingeing from the Hufflepuffs, which Antares was still resentful about. When Slytherins whinged, teachers glared about, but when Hufflepuffs –

"Do you think we still have time?" Tracey whispered frantically, cutting short Antares' inner grumble. "We've only got five minutes –"

Antares stumbled, suddenly remembering, suddenly understanding – "It'll only take five. Let's find a classroom, quick –"

In minutes, they were huddling in an empty classroom not far from McGonagall's, and Antares was trying to ignore the guilt he felt after locking the door with an Offirmo. Blaise and Tracey had a quick, panicked bicker about who should go first, and then Antares was slowly saying the charm, eyes shut tight, mind straining to remember what his friends wanted to forget. For some long, strange moments, it felt like he'd detached from himself and was watching someone else remove and obscure Blaise and Tracey's memories of the Cloak, and of the last few Occlumency lessons they'd had, because those were dangerous too.

Then it was him, feeling disoriented as he gripped his wand in his strangely aching hand, and wondering –

"What were you saying, just then?" Blaise asked, looking puzzled. "Don't we have Transfig in a minute?"

"Yeah, sorry," Antares said, feeling equally perplexed. "Well – can't remember, so let's just go. Do you think she'll do a pop quiz this time, or…?"

"Face it, the cow can't help herself," Tracey said, tugging confusedly at the door. "She just wants – oh, this stupid door –"

"Affirmo," Antares said at it, not knowing why he thought it would work. He lowered his wand in surprise as the door seemed to shrink, and come violently open at Tracey's determined pull. "Come on, we don't want to be late –"

They were anyway, huffing and puffing into their seats while Draco glared at them. McGonagall's own chilly glare seemed less chilly than usual, for some reason, and she didn't stop to ask them where they'd been, and why on earth they were late. Antares liked to think it was because of the scene in the Great Hall, and inwardly thanked whatever the reason was anyway; he wasn't quite sure he'd have been able to answer why they were late, if asked. And, from Tracey and Blaise's relieved expressions, they probably couldn't either.

The lesson went by quickly, if a little strangely. Antares found that he really didn't dislike sharing out the beetles to everyone this time, even if several of them bit him or almost escaped up his sleeves. It was such an odd feeling to not be as wary of them as he remembered that he couldn't quite concentrate on turning his own beetle into a button. He got round to that soon enough, of course, after McGonagall glared directly at him for the second time, and his button turned out to be an exact replica of the kind Bella liked to use on the robes she made, square and shiny and strangely soft.

Blaise's button turned out an ominous, dull black – almost the shade of Snape's robes. Not a coincidence, really, as he and Tracey kept on glancing nervously at the door and exchanging worried glances. Antares thought it a bit silly, since he knew they hadn't had anything to do with the chicken pranks, and hadn't been doing anything seriously against the rules just yet. As horribly as Snape might behave outwardly to him and, by extension, his friends, the man probably already knew who he'd accuse of the pranks, and was just terrorising everyone in Slytherin for show.

When Antares tried to explain that to Tracey as they left McGonagall's classroom, she scoffed at him. "He's got to have an agenda, don't you see? He can't just be doing it this way round for nothing –"

"Well, couldn't it be him just wanting everyone to think that way?" Antares pointed out, patting his pockets absently for the diary. Tom would have – hadn't Tom even said that, or something like it? Antares blinked and thought, and shrugged when he couldn't remember anything like that. "Anyway, who cares? I definitely don't, if he pulls me out of DADA to interview me. Eh, Blaise?"

"Well obviously, but –"

Antares elbowed him in the side, unable to keep back a grin at how worried his friends looked. "Relax, all right? It's not like we can do anything about it now, is it?"

Later on, as Snape herded him mercilessly toward his classroom with a distinctly predatory look on his ugly face, Antares began to plan to apologise to Tracey about the 'just relax' bit. Several times. For some reason, Snape had decided on fetching him himself just after the bell for second break had gone, and just when Lockhart was just about to select someone else to subject themselves and everyone else in class to yet another reading from one of his awful books. Antares still wondered how on earth someone could manage to make staying in Lockhart's presence look like the safer option.

As it turned out, though, his fear was in vain.

"Right," Snape said, wearily, once the door had closed behind them. "Sit down if you like, this won't take a moment…" Antares, staring a little at the way Snape's scowl was now more tired than anything, took a little longer than usual to sit fairly near the front of the class. Snape ignored him completely, simply settling into the chair behind his desk and sighing irritably.

"Um, I thought –"

"Just be quiet, for goodness' sake," was all that was snapped back at him. "Good grief, what I would give for silence –"

"You mean you aren't going to question me?" Antares asked incredulously, ignoring the glare that was sent his way at the question. "But shouldn't you –"

"Be quiet or I will make you so," Snape said firmly, and that was that. Antares fidgeted in nervous disbelief as the minutes passed by with Professor Snape humming darkly to himself and shifting papers around on his desk. Just when Antares had decided to risk asking another question, the humming stopped, and Snape looked up. "I would appreciate it if you flew into one of those rages if anyone asks you what went on just now," he said – and Antares couldn't help boggling at this – encouragingly. "Out with you. And send in Bullstrode after you, with Crabbe to follow."

"Yes, sir," Antares said faintly, feeling oddly relieved that that had been all. For a moment, he'd thought Snape would try to ask him an actual question relating to the pranks. Then again, that was a little silly, considering that the man knew just as well as Antares did that he had had nothing to do with them.

Hours later, when Blaise returned to the common room muttering dark, wickedly funny little insults about Snape's hair and breath and parentage, Antares began to feel rather grateful that the man hadn't decided to grill him for authenticity's sake. From the grim look on Tracey's face after she had returned from her own questioning, he had a lot to be grateful for – not only had Snape thoroughly unnerved her, he'd made her bitingly suspicious of Pansy and Daphne for reasons she refused to talk about. As for the rest of the year –

"I didn't tell him, Draco, honest!" Greg cried again and again, looking truly unhappy at the way Draco was icily ignoring everything he said. "I didn't even think about it!"

"Well maybe you did!" Draco snapped, glaring at him. "Merlin on a stick, it's like he could hear what I was thinking –"

"Too right he can," Blaise muttered, writing so fiercely on his parchment that the ink bled through to the other side. "Bloody bastard's got a mind like rotten fruit…"

Antares, after a look at his friend's angry face, decided that now would be the worst time to ask what on earth that had to do with Snape being able to read minds. He sighed instead, hoping it sounded vaguely sympathetic, and went on trying to help Tracey get her head around the beetle-button conversion. "You know, if you just think of them as still and pretty – just imagine them as how they might look like as a button –"

"But I did that," Tracey exclaimed, throwing down her quill. "I'm not stupid, you know; I actually listened to McGonagall when she went through the theory side of things!"

"I know, Tracey, I just mean –"

"I'm not stupid, okay? I can see when people don't like me, after all – when they're just using me for their own sick little games because they think it's all a laugh," Tracey went on, glaring down at her Transfiguration notes with a fervour that Antares was quite sure they didn't deserve. "Can't I, Antares?"

"You know, maybe we could save Transfig for later –"

"You know, I'm starting to wish I did know who did those pranks," Blaise suddenly burst out, throwing down his own quill. "Then I could suggest they did Snape's rooms next, with a – with a fucking cow or something."

"If they used a cow, his room would be knee-deep in blood," Tracey said, shaking her head. "Don't you remember? They'd just need a small animal – the spreading spell's what makes it look like there's blood everywhere –"

"Yeah, but why would Snape's rooms being knee-deep in blood be a bad thing?"

"Because it'd mean the person who did it would get caught in five minutes," Antares said, finally laying down his own quill. Wasn't like they had been getting anything significant done while waiting to be interviewed, anyway. "Can't you feel the wards in his classroom? It's like a bloody onion in there."

Blaise snorted, the disbelief almost tangible in the look he gave Antares. "And how the fuck do you know?"

"It's – it feels heavy in there," Antares said lamely, fighting to remember just why he knew that that sort of heaviness meant wards, or could mean wards, or something. "And it's obvious, all right? If someone really wanted to, they could just, I dunno, lob something in someone else's cauldron. Like fireworks or something. No one ever does that – fuck, no one even thinks about doing that –"

"Including the Weasley twins?" Tracey said sarcastically. "God, it's good to know they're no one."

"Shut up, they're obviously – I doubt the wards up to stop people thinking like that wouldn't have a chance against them," Antares said hastily. "Maybe it just works on people who haven't already thought about it."

"Or maybe you're full of shit, and there aren't any wards like that," Blaise shot back, rolling his eyes. "Thought wards, honestly –"

"QUIDDITCH!"

Almost everyone jumped at Flint's piercing shout. Antares cursed and caught the table he, Blaise and Tracey had been writing on as it toppled over from the way Tracey had kicked it as she sat down again.

Flint looked smug as he turned and wafted a lurid little flyer over to the notice board, where it stuck itself right over several others. "Trials are Saturday after lunch, as usual. I will actively work to make every new person trying out throw up. Thanks for your time, everyone!" Grumbling set up as he sat down again, looking enormously pleased with himself.

Antares tried not to grin as he noticed the too-calm expression on Draco's face – served him bloody right, after all the times he'd teased Antares for refusing to eat much at meals before practices last year –

"Are you trying out, Black?" someone said from behind him, nudging him a little in the neck. Antares, startled again, turned round to snap at the person and found only an embarrassed-looking Daphne staring down at him.

"Does he need to?" Blaise asked mockingly, rolling his eyes. "Christ, what a question –"

"Actually, he does," Tracey said, a horridly sweet smile on her face. "So you and Pansy do have a reason to come along and make bets with everyone about how long it'll take him to fall off his broom. Wicked fun, isn't it?"

Daphne, looking flustered, started to edge away. "We were only joking, Tracey –"

"So that's why Pansy promised Draco she'd try to hex Antares' broom before tryouts, is it?" Tracey went on, her tone becoming horribly sarcastic. "Oh, no! I don't think I was supposed to say that – was I?"

"Don't be an idiot, Trace! You know Pansy can barely leg over her own broom, much less hex anyone else's –"

"But she was going to try," Tracey said, nodding in mock approval. "I understand, Daphne, don't worry."

"You know, for someone who thinks everyone's out to get them, you say a lot of things you wouldn't like other people to know, much less tell everyone else," Daphne said coldly, her colour rising dangerously. "Oh, sorry, Tracey – I forgot that you think you don't have any secrets –"

Tracey's wand appeared in her shaking hand, causing Daphne to go still. "Go on, Daphne – spill."

"Expelliarmus! Expelliarmus –"

"What – Antares, give it!"

Antares, already nearly in front of a bored-looking Millie Bulstrode, didn't stop to listen to the half-shrieking of Tracey behind him. "Here, Millie – hide them –"

"You stupid little freak, give it back!"

Antares blinked, surprised at just how loud Daphne could shout, then turned, having made another decision. "Expelliarmus!"

Pansy squealed, then turned to glare. "What the hell are you playing at?"

"Making sure this is a fair fight," Antares said, pressing Pansy's wand into Millie's eager hands to join Tracey's and Daphne's. "You won't give them back, will you?"

To say Millie looked smug at that would be an understatement. "Nope," she said, tucking all three wands into one of the giant pockets in her robes.

"Good luck, then," Antares said hastily, now heading for the common room exit as quickly as was possible. Hopefully, Pansy and company wouldn't think of following him – if they did, it was bound to be an unpleasantly cold night.

As it turned out, the girls did try to hunt Antares down, but gave up after a few minutes, deciding to try for Millie instead. In any case, Antares stayed put in a neat, if drafty little dungeon not far from Slytherin for almost half the night, judging correctly that no one would bother to come looking for him, be they bully or friend. Getting back to Slytherin was a cold, boring little journey, and thankfully remained that way all the way to his bed. That it was bare of all but the mattress and the curtains didn't upset him at all – with the curtains drawn, it was warmer and softer than any other bare bed he'd slept on in his life.

The next day went by surprisingly quickly, in a blur of classes and whispering and wanting, the last on his part. For while his housemates looked over their shoulders and obsessed about what Snape might be obsessing about, temporarily closeted in his rooms to think on the evidence he'd extracted from Slytherin over the last few days, Antares looked ahead and saw the Quidditch tryouts. He saw himself finally getting on the team and becoming the Seeker it badly needed to be truly good. He saw a few hours of easy flying, and maybe some minutes of snickering at those foolish enough to try to compete for a position he already saw as his.

Somehow, the thought that that small victory was around the corner didn't compare to nibbling absently on a warm roll and watching Flint stalk into the Great Hall looking smugger than ever, and knowing that it was minutes away. Antares watched Flint and his cronies settle farther down the table carefully, as usual, knowing that not leaving for practice when Flint left would be a sure way to becoming the first to fly laps around the pitch upside down that day.

Then Flint rose, and it was Quidditch time. Walking out to the pitch seemed to take only seconds, despite the fact that almost no one spoke to Antares. As it was, he felt too keyed up to really care – this was the first time he'd flown since that day before term had started, and he couldn't think why he hadn't even tried since then. Well, apart from the worrying thought that Avery and the rest would actually follow him out and bother him on purpose, but that was almost second nature these days.

Antares didn't try to keep the bitter half-smile off his face at that thought, though it dropped off when he spotted Yaxley coming out onto the pitch with the Rookwoods. What on earth were they –

"Hey, Black! Just because I do this every practice doesn't mean you shouldn't be listening," Flint snapped, putting an abrupt stop to Antares' line of thought. "Eyes front, for fuck's sake."

"Sorry," Antares muttered quickly, not caring that it was ignored. It was always a bad idea to forget to apologise to Flint, so –

" – as we've got so many lily-livered applicants this time around, we're going to play a bully game," Flint continued, a rather ugly look on his face. "Get the real balls out, Warrington – no sense in stinting."

"Including the Snitch?" Charles asked, looking disbelieving. "I mean, I love Quidditch, but I don't fancy playing for five hours out here, if you what I mean…"

The incredulous disgust on Flint's face made Charles splutter into silence. "Are you daft? Black can catch that thing with his eyes closed. Or d'you think I'd actually play a bully match if I didn't think my side would win it?"

Adrian, typically, stepped in. "Look, Marcus, Charles wasn't –"

"Keep answering for him, Pucey, and I'll see you take the curses for him too," Flint said menacingly, not even deigning to look in Adrian's direction. "Balls, Warrington, and be quick about it."

Charles, already headed off in the direction of the broom shed, didn't wait for a repetition. After a moment of nervous consideration, Adrian followed him, leaving Antares, Higgs, Bole and Derrick to preserve the uncomfortable silence that had just sprung up.

Well, except Higgs. "Marcus, you know what putting Black on the team without tryouts'll do to Eddie –"

"And that's exactly why I'm doing it," Flint said, smiling slightly at the nearing troop of hopeful students, which was headed by a rather smug-looking Edmund Yaxley in what looked like full Quidditch gear. "I've fucking had it with his whingeing – he was a crap captain, for all that posturing. I'm just making sure he feels like a crap player as well." He gave Antares what looked frighteningly like an encouraging glance. "Right, Black?"

"He's stronger than me," Antares found himself saying, at a loss for anything else.

"And bigger, yeah," Flint said, his smile becoming scary with anticipation. "Which means you'll be lighter, and fly faster. Which means we'll win." Dropping the smile, he stepped forward to meet the group of potential team members with his usual cheer, leaving Antares to wonder if he dared to think he could beat Ed Yaxley in the air.

Fifteen minutes later, he amended the question: it was more a thing of whether he dared to beat the bastard, really. Apart from Flint being right about his being faster than Yaxley in the air, Antares was still trying to get his head around the realisation that he was just better than him on a broom. He turned easier. He ducked quicker. His dives had more angle, more edge. And though he had to squint to see it, he was probably faster at spotting the Snitch.

"GO GET IT!" someone was roaring madly on the sidelines, as Antares flew straight at the telltale glint hovering in the air some feet away above the action of the game. If he'd had a breath to spare, he'd chuckle and look to see if it was Tracey – if anyone was a random spotter, it was her. But he didn't, so he just flattened to the broom and aimed for passing just a little to the left of the glittering Snitch, watching it, watching it –

Someone shouted below him, and Antares, only half listening to what they'd said, impatiently dodged a Bludger, and somehow the Snitch had done what he'd thought and gone to the – well, that wasn't important, now that he had it, wings beating madly against his fingers. Yaxley swung to an angry stop in front of him, glaring at Antares as he nudged his restless broom into turning him upside down so he could catch his breath.

"That was a lucky catch, and you know it," Yaxley said, sounding like he was speaking around gritted teeth.

Antares could only stare at him, then hastily turn himself right side up, just in case Yaxley was angry enough to actually try something. "That was Dart method, straight up," he said slowly, since the older boy was still hanging about as if he wanted an answer. "Flint taught me."

"Your angle was off, and you rolled too soon," Yaxley said matter-of-factly, his tone disgusted.

"Actually, randomisation makes it more accurate," Antares shot back, despite knowing how he'd scoffed to himself when Flint had said it with near-religious fervour. "And I've got a good reach, so…" he shrugged, and could nearly not resist waving the Snitch in Yaxley's sneering face. "Who knows. Maybe I am just lucky – oh, hey –" The Snitch, which had been struggling in his grip, slipped out.

Antares lunged after it, mindful of the fact that if Yaxley caught it, it would be only too easy for him to pretend he'd gotten it first. Yaxley lunged too, nearly colliding with Antares in his desperation, but he was already too late – the Snitch was now fluttering again in Antares' grip.

And still, Yaxley sneered on. "Bet that little idiot Malfoy was right," he said, flicking his eyes up and down Antares with disgust. "Maybe your mum did fuck herself with a broom while pregnant with you. Think it was worth it?"

"All right, then," Antares said, hoping his voice was steady. "Best of five." He flung away the Snitch, watching in satisfaction as the stupid bastard lunged after it again as it sped off. "Next time, though? Forget using the Maymouth lunge – only works if you don't weigh five times your broom. Fatarse!" Yaxley tried to veer round in his direction, a murderous look on his face, but in the next moment, Antares was diving steeply down for the bleachers, fast enough that there was no point in trying to follow. A quick word in the right ear, and the game had started up again, and Flint was grinning outright as he decked all but one of the other team's Chasers and turned to hound the only one that was still trying to score.

Antares, still angry, just tightened his fingers around the handle of his broom and willed the Snitch to appear. No way he was letting it do anything but play right into his hands, not now. No fucking way.

"Best tryout ever!" Blaise yelled, his arm tightening around Antares' neck until he could barely breathe. "God, whose idea was it to do the match?"

"I don't know," Tracey said, tossing another arm around Antares' shoulders, "but I think they're a bloody genius. Did you see Draco? And that Chaser? Poor girl, I actually felt sorry for her, having that git crash into her –"

"At least he doesn't stink like our friend here does," Blaise said, finally detaching his arm from around Antares' neck. "No offence, mate, but I thought Seeking was easy for you – sweating this much can't be natural –"

"Didn't you see? He was doing a one-on-one with Yaxley!" Tracey said impatiently. "What was the score again?"

"Five-zero, best of five," Antares repeated for the fourth time, unable to stop himself from grinning again. "Last one was the best – thought I'd puke laughing at the look on his ugly face –"

"Found that funny, did you?"

Antares, easily recognising the threat in that sneering tone, drew in a sharp breath and reached for his wand. He was lucky – Yaxley would have had it in a minute, just like Blaise and Tracey's wands. This way, Antares got to stand shakily with them and cast the first spell. "Mordeo!" Antares shoved at his friends as soon as he saw Yaxley wince – god, maybe this'll work – and began to cast, darting backward with each spell he let off. "Mordeo – Instabillartus – Mordeo –"

Tracey's scream stopped him in his tracks, and the next second, he was wandless and watching Blaise drop, senseless, to the floor, from a burst of red light from Avery's raised wand. The desperate choice to Accio a wand, any wand, was taken from him with the burn of the spell that hit next, and rendered impossible by the sudden realisation that he couldn't feel his hands. Darkness descended the next minute, just as he was about to hit the floor.

And then, minutes later, it was gone.

"Eddie, stop that! He can't take it!" someone insisted, from far above. Antares tried to move – unwise – and found himself retching something red onto the floor beneath him. Blood, he realised, I'm vomiting blood –

Yaxley scoffed, and cast something else that made Antares feel like he was coughing out his insides. "Don't be a baby, Rachel –"

"I'm not saying stop, I'm saying lay off the Coughing Curses, you prick. They can kill him!" Antares, closing his eyes, tried to curl away from her voice, away from everything, but found that her brother's voice was on the other side.

"…we doing this or what? Crap, the bugger's moving – Inhaereo solum!"

Antares tried to scream, and found himself gurgling instead. Why on earth had he thought his hands were numb? They hurt, everywhere hurt, like his skin was stretching violently all over him somehow. When he tried to turn, he found that his cheek was glued to the floor, and –

"Having fun, Black?" Yaxley said, from nearby. "Don't worry, this next one's even better –"

"No, Eddie, let me," Avery said, her eager tone easily drowning out his low, pleased-sounding voice. "Just watch – Caligo."

Antares began to choke, more from anger that they were using that spell against him than the horrible feeling of having his mouth fill with blood. He tried hard to cough it out, but there was so much – he could hear laughter. Laughter. It hurt so much it felt like something was cracking inside of him.

I'll use a cow, next time, he thought madly, starting to cry. I'll drown you, I'll drown you all –

Rachel Rookwood's low giggle cut off his fragmented train of thought. "Look at the little idiot cry!"

"That's nothing, Black," her brother said, the smirk in his tone almost overpowering. "You can do better than that. Ploro!" A horrible, gulping wail set up somewhere nearby. It took the hysterical laughter around him and the burning in his eyes for Antares to understand that it was probably him.

"Fucking perfect, Robert, look at him!" Yaxley crowed. "D'you think he'll choke on those?"

"I don't see why we can't find out –"

"Oh, let me, let me! Obsaturo!"

The feeling that that spell induced was one of the most terrifying Antares had ever felt. Before the curse, he'd started swallowing blood out of desperation; after it, his throat closed, and he inhaled some by mistake, and the burning that that caused made him fight weakly against the hold of the stuff that held him to the floor. His eyes burned still, and he found himself fighting to scream, and then he couldn't breathe –

When the darkness came this time, it was welcome.

A/N: Again, apologise for the cliffhanger. Hopefully, the next chapter should be up in a few days. Criticsms? Outrage against my writing? Glaring errors? Tell me about them, either on my livejournal or with the comment facility around here – I will answer you eventually, and I love getting them, so fire away!