A/N: Hopefully no one died from the wait for an explanation.

Chapter 9: Revelation

Antares didn't know when the darkness gave way to dreaming, but by the time he realised it, he was somewhere in Hogwarts, walking slowly. There was no pain, no burning, no laughter. It was beautiful, and made him wonder absently if he was dead, or a ghost, though the latter idea repelled him. As much as he dearly wanted a chance to pay Avery and Yaxley and everyone back, he hated the idea of having to hang around, well, forever, to do it.

Still, this was nice. Antares felt half as if he was watching himself stroll up and down the corridors, turning here and there in the half-darkness, brushing a hand he couldn't feel against the walls. Second floor, he decided. Second floor.

That was important, his dream self urged. Important – left, right, left, left, enter there. Antares sighed in relief as he watched himself open the door to what looked like the girl's loos – not a ghost, then. And even if this was a dream, he wasn't a ghost, because ghosts didn't dream –

"Open," he heard himself say, and suddenly they were somewhere very dark. Smelly, probably, by the way he heard himself curse. Moments passed in the dark before they emerged…somewhere. A hall, it looked like. Antares bemusedly watched himself wander them, and only began to pay attention when he saw himself open a set of ugly, menacing doors with just a word.

Finally, this dream gets good –

"Speak to me, Slytherin, greatest of the Hogwarts Four," his dream-self said. Antares watched in bewildered awe as something cracked, high above them, impossibly high – is that – could that be a snake?

Antares stared at it. Huge, bloody – huge, was all he could think. And graceful, fuck yeah, to be swirling down from so high and landing without a fuss in the dust at their feet. Its eyes were closed, strangely. He wasn't sure why, but found himself wanting to know – wanting to see the massive snake's eyes, wanting to talk to it, see what it was like –

"Master," it murmured, and Antares grinned. If only this dream was true – the things one could do with such a snake – "I hunger, master. Feed me."

Antares gulped. Well, perhaps –

"Four snakes, for you," his dream self said, smirking. "I will lead you to them soon." Antares sighed, knowing exactly who he was talking about. Merlin, if only – "Be still, for now. We will speak again."

"Yes, master," the snake said, after a pause. It flicked out its massive tongue at him, almost a little petulantly. Antares, who remembered being rather hungry after that ill-fated practice, could deeply understand. Practically, however, it didn't stop him or his dream self from edging away as the snake slithered around him slowly and began to surge off the floor for the mysterious opening above. For a moment, its scales gleamed dully in the light from the place where it had come from – green, a bright, malignant green that made Antares shudder in fascination – and then it was gone, its huge tail sliding out of sight.

After that, of course, the dream went back to being boring again, a string of senseless journeys, first through the strange halls he'd wandered through to meet the snake, and then up and into Hogwarts, and round and round and up until his dream self blundered into the Hospital Wing and slid into bed, and that was the end of it, and it was dark again.

When Antares opened his eyes again, he wondered wistfully if he was dreaming that strange dream again, and if there would be any leading four snakes to a big snake to hit them and pay them back. Then he tried to move, and grimaced against the pain – definitely no dream, then. It was dark around him, oddly – he wasn't in the bed he'd seen himself slip into, and though it was stupid to expect that he would be, it still niggled at him. Antares tried to sit up slowly, and was hit with a horrid, stabbing pain in the side of his head for his – ha, ha, very funny – pains.

I wish I had my wand, he thought, not daring to grit his teeth against the pain for fear that that would hurt worse. Maybe I'd be able to see where the sodding hell I am –

The lights came on, then, and that did hurt worse. Antares tried to close his eyes, and had to stifle a scream – oh, god, oh god, turn off, turn them off –

"Are you mad?" someone shouted, echoing his feelings exactly. "Nox, NOX, you idiot!" The lights went off, and someone stamped into his room. "Malfoy? You stupid little maggot of an ingrate, get out, get out!" Someone squealed, and a door shut, and there was silence again. Antares let his eyelids relax, and couldn't bring himself to care when he started crying again. At least that didn't hurt –

The door opened again, and the shouter began to speak again. "Should've taken fifty points," they muttered, coming closer and closer. Antares tried to shrink away out of habit, and whimpered in pain as he jarred something. "Don't move, you stupid boy –"

Antares nearly nodded before he caught himself. Then he realised who was talking to him and, now, fussing with his covers. "Pomf – ow –"

"And don't talk!" Pomfrey snapped. "At least this time I don't have to listen to fake excuses – god knows what you or Zabini would have called this –"

It was hard to keep himself from blinking, then, or trying to talk – "Mmmuf!" Antares said, helplessly, torn between wanting to find out what had happened to his friends and wanting to not feel that horrible ache again.

Somehow, Pomfrey seemed to understand what he wanted. "Oh, Zabini's just fine," she said crossly. "As is that Davis girl – your friend as well, I take it? No, don't say anything," she said, quickly. "I'd be stupid not to know, with how many times they've complained about not seeing you. Wingardium Leviosa – keep still, this won't take a minute." Antares did so, despite the weirdness that was feeling himself being floated up into the air and rolled carefully around as Pomfrey tutted and scribbled.

"Honestly, the way these keep spreading is ridiculous," she muttered, turning him right side up again. "Settle," she said finally, and Antares sighed when he found himself being floated back down. "Well, you'll be fine by this evening. No, don't say anything – it's Sunday evening, Mr. Black. And I'd be very grateful to Marcus Flint if I were you; he brought you in Saturday night. Wouldn't say a word about what on earth happened, of course. Slytherins. I suppose I should be glad he brought you and your friends in at all." As Pomfrey paused to check his still slightly numb hands, Antares' heart sank at her words – that had to mean no one knew what those bastards had done to him. It wasn't fair, not fucking fair –

"Thank god your friends have their heads screwed on right," Pomfrey went on. "It was harder getting them to stop talking, frankly. Of course, your house master," she said, lingering over the words like they were poison, "insisted on Pensieve proof, though that didn't change a thing. I don't think I've ever been so glad to see the back of four students in my life. Don't even think about it, Black – shut up. Temporary suspension, is what Dumbledore called it." Moving away, she snorted. "I'd bet my wand he'll make it permanent within the day, for all that nonsense about having them on the premises. I still can't understand why Severus argued for that gesture – he must know Dumbledore won't be allowing them into Slytherin again until term end, at least. Or," Pomfrey continued, her tone turning grim, "at that's what he should be thinking. Hooligans, all four of them."

Antares murmured in heartfelt agreement, flinched as the pain hit, then finally settled down to listen to Madame Pomfrey mutter little comments about how she wished she could round up every professor in Hogwarts and give them a stern talking-to about the dangers of students lacking discipline and accountability. He wasn't quite sure when he fell asleep, but by the time he woke again, he was in the dream again.

And, as he looked around, someone was sitting on the bed opposite him – well, between him, rather, since his dream self had somehow decided to lie down in his bed and pretend to be asleep. Antares could barely make the intruder out in the dark, but could see enough to know that he had no idea who he was. Strange – was that a Slytherin crest on his tie? Baffled, Antares peered closer at the older boy, wondering how on earth he'd never seen him with any of the other older years.

"Hello, Antares," the boy said, confusing him even further. "Feeling all right?"

"Do I know you?" Antares asked, after a pause. If this was a dream, well, then –

"Oh, I should think so, yes," the boy replied, smiling faintly. "We've spoken a lot, but never face to face."

Suddenly, the odd, formal way the boy spoke made something click together in Antares' head. "Wait…this is a dream, you can't –"

"Not quite a dream, unfortunately," the boy said, his smile widening. "Not quite." There – that infuriating repetition, it had to be –

But it couldn't. As far as Antares knew, diaries didn't, no, couldn't do astral projections –

"My diary's in your pocket, actually, so it's not that much of a strain," Tom said, leaning back a little. "Though I certainly wouldn't call it astral projection per se –"

"What are you doing here?" Antares asked, something a little like fear making his tone sharper than it should have been. "You shouldn't – even if you can project yourself from the diary, shouldn't it drain your resources? I mean, it's small –"

"Actually, that's not a problem," Tom said, shaking his head gently. "We'll get to why in a minute, don't worry. It's part of what I'm here to ask you, really –"

"I don't think –"

"You've got a choice to make, here," Tom went on, ignoring Antares' bewildered protest. "It's complicated, but we both know how well you do with complex things. Brilliantly well, really – rather like I did." The smile disappeared, a serious expression replacing it in a blur of motion that made Antares blink and realise –

"You're transparent," he said, wonderingly. "Why –"

"I'm sure it looks strange, but I doubt you'd want me to drain you more, just so you could feel like you weren't talking to a ghost –"

"Is that what you are?" Antares asked eagerly. "Can they do that? Put a ghost in, in an object? Like…wait." Antares drew in a sharp breath, repeating Tom's last few words in his mind. "Did you just say –"

"I'm getting to that," Tom said, shifting impatiently. Antares shivered, realising he could almost see the bed through him. "Like I said, you have a choice to make –"

"I don't see what that has to do with draining me," Antares said, narrowing his eyes at Tom. "That's what you said, isn't it?"

"I," Tom said, coolly, "am getting to that."

"Well get to it faster, then!"

Tom rolled his eyes, sighing impatiently. "You know, I'm being very pleasant about this," he said, through gritted teeth. "D'you think I'd give a toss if it wasn't you lending energy? But no, I'm actually trying. And the first thing you do is scoff – how do you think that makes me feel, Antares?" As Tom continued to speak, his voice became louder and louder, and he started to become less transparent.

And, as Tom solidified before him, Antares began to feel like he was shrinking down, into a small, more tired, more helpless version of himself. Suddenly, he noticed that he could still see his dream self on the bed Tom was sitting on, and that he was getting paler and paler –

"Oh, now you're quiet," Tom said contemptuously. "Typical, isn't it? You only shut up when you see the stakes are higher than you think." Then he sighed, exaggeratedly, and blinked slowly, as if to calm himself down. "But it's a shock. I understand that. Why don't we talk about that choice of yours, then? Get it out of the way?"

Antares gulped. "Sounds good." Tom's smile was frighteningly sly – almost a smirk, and one that said I know what you're thinking. Simple words, really, though they seemed deadlier off a page and in the eyes of someone not quite a spectre, of someone who was draining him –

"Oh, don't be paranoid," Tom said, making a negligent gesture with one of his thankfully less-solid looking hands. "I wouldn't be bothering if I didn't think you could handle making the right choice."

"Is that supposed to help?" Antares asked, in what was a rather less than scornful tone. He tried not to shiver as Tom gave him a long, hard look, and found he couldn't repress a tiny sigh of relief when he just continued to speak.

"I'm more than pleased to help you sort out those bullies of yours, really," Tom said, leaning forward. "Thing is, I can't exactly do it if I haven't drained you already."

"Well, you could just tell me how to –"

"Oh, that," Tom said, cutting into Antares' shaky reply without a thought. "Make that 'won't', then."

"I thought you said you were offering me a choice!"

"And I am," Tom said, shrugging slightly. "It's either I drain you, or I drain someone else."

"You mean it's either I die, or I help you kill someone else," Antares said bitterly, starting to shiver in earnest. "Unless the definition of 'drain' has changed in the past hour, I don't think."

"You know, for someone who constantly presents himself as smart, you're being remarkably stupid," Tom said, smiling mirthlessly. "If I were you, I'd try negotiating so that the person I drain is someone who you can stand to see go."

"How the hell would that matter to me? I'd still have killed someone –"

"The word you're looking for is betrayed," Tom said, coolly. "I'd be doing the draining, obviously – as good as you think you are, I don't see you draining someone of their life force even a tenth as well as I could –"

"And that's a problem how?"

"Antares, you really are starting to try my patience with this ridiculous behaviour –"

"How is it ridiculous that I don't want to kill anyone?" Antares shouted, starting to shake with panic at the look of annoyance on Tom's face. "I don't do things like that –"

"You killed those chickens," Tom said, his tone horribly matter-of-fact. "Very efficiently, too. I'm assuming your mum taught you how…?"

"No," Antares said, shaking his head in fearful disbelief. "No, that was the prankster –"

"Oh, I forgot – our little memory spell." Tom smiled, as if at some secret joke. "I suppose you don't need that right now –"

Antares reeled, covering his eyes in a futile bid to stop the pain. With it came memories, clear and sharp, of him Obliviating Blaise and Tracey as Tom looked on, of him breaking the neck of a struggling cockerel in the dark, biting his lip when he stained his robes with the blood, repeating that awful spreading spell over and over again until it took –

"You see," Tom said quietly, as Antares bit down the nearly overpowering urge to scream, "don't you? It's a small switch, really, from animals to people. Seems big at first," he said, nodding slightly, "when you start. But you see, after a while, that it's not that different. Not that difficult. I know you, Antares – you'll learn. You can learn anything, you know? Anything you put your mind to." He paused, smiled. "Just like me."

The scream came out then, floating on a torrent of rage, yanking Antares back into his body with a jolt. His eyes ached – everything did – and when he opened them, sobbing, Tom was still there, turning around to face him with an oddly pitying look on his face.

"You'll get used to it," Tom said, fading already. "I'll make sure."

Antares coughed, and flexed his hand, and found that he hadn't moved it. Indeed, he couldn't move anything – felt so heavy – so heavy –

Waking was nice. Like a dream, like the other one – the other one that had been green and exciting, and was now blurring horribly. Antares remembered Pomfrey's warnings from the last time he'd woken up just in time to stop himself from shrugging. Instead, he sighed. Something was telling him that it had been one of those ones you wanted to remember –

No use now, he supposed. All Antares could remember now was green, and how that had seemed exciting to him before was a mystery. Sighing, he decided to try opening his eyes, despite the pain – it would only hurt for a bit, really, and being unable to see where he was was starting to bother him –

Something shifted nearby, and Antares was already blinking and darting his gaze around before he even thought about it. There was no pain, thankfully. When he smiled in relief, foolishly, it didn't hurt. He blinked, hard, and tried to see more than a blurry, darkened little room, and didn't succeed, except when he squinted. The blur went away a little, then.

Just then, the door that had let in Pomfrey before let her in again. She, without a squint, was a blurred mass of familiar-looking shapes – god, when do my eyes not fuck up nowadays – and seemed to be standing at the door for no good –

"Is he awake?" someone asked softly, their blurred, irregular outline barely visible just inside the door.

"Ask him yourself," Pomfrey said briskly, heading in toward Antares. "See? Of course he is. I really don't understand how you feel just fine questioning my appraisals of his situation, and don't even say a peep when Severus says –"

"Poppy, please," the other person said, slowly following in her footsteps. Antares squinted at them, hard, then finally began to feel nervous. What was Professor Dumbledore doing, visiting him? "Of course I trust your judgement. I simply wish to make certain –"

"Make certain away, then," Pomfrey snapped. Antares coloured in shock – he didn't think he'd ever heard someone be so rude to the Headmaster. Having abruptly changed direction and begun heading for the door, she actually went on. "Perhaps you don't really need a qualified medical practitioner on these grounds, seeing as you and your housemasters are responsible enough to spot and deal with these little accidents."

"Poppy –"

"I think I'll just be along now," Pomfrey said, her tone still hard. "Besides, his mother should be here for this, shouldn't she?"

"Of course," Dumbledore said – quickly, almost like he was embarrassed. Approaching, he waved a blurry hand and conjured a rather garish-looking armchair right beside Antares, close enough that he shifted slightly to the left, unable to stop himself from twitching. Something solid jabbed him horribly in the leg and fell noisily over the side of the bed just as Dumbledore sat down, making Antares redden further as he tried to sit up so he could see what it was. "Calm down, calm down, it's not hurt," Dumbledore said soothingly, waving the small book into Antares' nervous hands. "Nothing torn, at least."

"Yeah," Antares muttered, staring at the logo and recognising the diary, which he couldn't remember taking out of his pocket on the way back to Slytherin. He remembered making sure to keep it stuffed out of sight in his worn robes, in case anyone came up with the bright idea of stealing it, but certainly didn't remember searching it out once he woke up in the Hospital wing, let alone putting it in his bed. Which left – "Did – could anyone have brought this…? I don't quite –"

"Your mother came in to see you late last night," Dumbledore said, settling back into his chair in a way that looked alarmingly like he was going to be there for a while. Antares gulped. "And, of course, so did your friends." He peered curiously at the diary as Antares set it down by his pillow, but did not say anything more about it. Rather, as Antares sat up properly, he leant forward again. "You are all right, I take it? No strange pains…"

"No, sir," Antares said, shaking his head for extra emphasis. He stopped, suddenly feeling dizzy, wrong –

"Mr. Black?"

"I'm, I'm fine," Antares muttered, breathing deeply. The room came slightly into focus, and stopped its slow spin. "Just dizzy, a bit."

"Poppy told me your eyes were affected by the attack," Dumbledore said, blurry concern in his expression and tone almost reassuring. "I wished to know whether that was as a result of this most recent…attack, or –"

"Um," Antares said, hesitantly, and was saved from saying more by the entrance of a grim-looking Pomfrey, followed by – "Mum!"

"Darling," Bella said, crossing quickly to him. Her hug was tight, familiar safety – so good it almost hurt. Antares blinked fiercely and tried to listen to his mother's disjointed, whispered rambling about how she should have written and tried and made them stop –

"Ahem," Dumbledore said, politely. Definitely embarrassed, now. Antares did not turn his way; couldn't, not with Bella's arms tight enough about him to physically hurt. "Ms. Black –"

"Be quiet," Bella snapped, her low tone sounding muffled, familiarly close by. "Let me have this, for god's sake. For all I know, this is the last time I'll see him unscarred." An awkward silence ensued at that, in which the crackling of a fire Antares couldn't see seemed to be the only real sound in the place. Then Bella straightened, slowly, her arms winding away from around him, and suddenly Dumbledore was asking Antares questions in a slow, odd voice that Antares couldn't hear very well, no matter how hard he tried.

"Wells? I don't –"

"Spells, Antares," Bella said finally, interrupting Antares' confusion. "Spells – the Headmaster wishes to know what spells were –"

"What they hit me with? Oh. Right." Antares paused for a moment, trying to push down his embarrassment – words weren't forming right on his tongue, and the room was starting to spin gently again – "There was a ploro," he eventually said, feeling stupid at how even Bella, now sitting beside Antares, had to lean forward to hear him. "It made me – erm –"

"I see," Dumbledore said, his voice sounding far away. "And the others?"

"Obsaturo," Antares said, after a hard think. "And Caligo." Somehow, that second spell made him grit his teeth – Antares shook his head again, to get rid of the heavy feeling of anger, and tried to keep on. "One of – one of them said something about a coughing spell…?"

"That makes sense," Pomfrey said, sounding thoughtful. "Certainly accounts for the lung damage…unless you believe their account, Albus?"

"Certainly not," Dumbledore said, firmly. "Not at all, Poppy, not with the evidence –"

Bella's hand, which had been squeezing Antares' arm, stilled. "But without it, you might have believed them?"

"Ms. Black –"

"So that's why they're still on the grounds," Bella muttered, standing abruptly. "Excuse me – thanks for calling me, Madame, but I just realised –"

"Ms. Black –"

"If you'll wait just a moment, I'll tell you where I'm going," Bella said, turning to Dumbledore with an awful look on her face. "I believe you said my son's bullies are still within the school…? Good. A visit will do them good."

Dumbledore stood quickly. "Ms. Black, you cannot be meaning to –"

"Oh, I know you've protected their rooms," Bella said coldly. "Be that as it may, I am determined to see them anyway."

"I say again, you cannot be meaning to attack –"

"But most of all, I am quite puzzled," Bella went on, ignoring Dumbledore as she began to move towards the door. "Really, I didn't know what to think when I heard that my son's bullies were protected by your spells. I really didn't." Bella's voice, already angry, was starting to get louder with every word. "And as far as I've heard, you intend to continue protecting them until this – this case of aggression is solved. From what I've heard, you could have solved this 'case' almost a week ago. His housemaster knew who the bullies were, as did everyone in his house, and somehow that little fact escaped your notice…and here you are, extracting evidence from my son, as if you didn't have the testimony of a confirmed Mediwitch to go on –"

"Ms. Black, the school board requires –"

"Then they should be brought to their senses!" Bella shouted. "If my son still has to see those little bastards even a day after this, Dumbledore, we are through. Maybe it's time you started thinking just how badly I could raise him if I put my mind to it."

Dumbledore sighed. "You're not –"

"I don't care," Bella said, now moving back to Antares' side with barely a glance in the Headmaster's direction. "Madame, I believe you said something about my son needing his rest…?"

Antares had to strain to see Pomfrey's expression, and what he could see of it didn't bode well for Dumbledore. "Why, I believe I did," she said, briskly. "Professor, I think you'll have to come back later – Antares is due for some tests."

A short pause later, Dumbledore sighed again. "I see," was all he said, but the look he gave Pomfrey seemed to say a lot more – a lot more that Antares couldn't quite understand. "Good day then, Mr. Black, Ms. Black." He left then, seeming not to notice that Bella barely looked in his direction at that. As the door closed behind him, Madame Pomfrey sighed, and began to bustle about near what looked like some cupboards.

"What are the tests my son is due for?" Bella asked unsteadily. "I thought –"

"Just a quick look at his eyes, Ms. Black," Pomfrey said, drawing closer. She paused for a moment, waving away the armchair Dumbledore had conjured with a disgusted snort, then directed Antares to hold his chin up and stare at her as she began the spell. "Delibero sanitatis oculi," she said slowly, blinking a little. Antares, used to the way his face itched under the spell, did his best to keep still. It was strangely exhausting, and so he was glad to lean a little on Bella when the spell ended, and close his dry eyes. "Your new name suits you, you know," Pomfrey said quietly, confusing him. "Well – not quite new, but –"

"I don't care what you think," Bella said, stroking Antares' neck in a way that made him wriggle closer despite how stupid it probably looked. "But thank you, all the same."

After that came sounds of Madame Pomfrey moving away and bustling around doing mediwitchy things, cut through with Bella's comforting silence and occasional sighs. This time, Antares knew when he fell asleep – it was just as Bella had pressed the third (and longest, and therefore most embarrassing) kiss to his forehead. By then, he was already half lying down, and it was easy to let himself be gently pressed down into the soft pillows, and let sleep take away his confused thoughts.

Antares was let out – and led out – of the Hospital Wing half an hour after he woke up the next time, still confused, but feeling a lot less achy. It was nice to leave behind the discussion Pomfrey was having with his mother about the temporary stabilising spell she'd put on his eyes to make them better and actually enjoy the clear sight – a bit clearer than he was used to, actually, which probably meant Pomfrey's horrid solution of glasses or corrective somethingy wasn't half as daft as he'd thought. Bella had listened closely and took notes, which was probably the most alarming thing, but right now, just now, Antares decided he'd earned not having to think about it.

Blaise, who was happily leading the way to breakfast – no, lunch, that's what he'd said – still had quite a nasty bruise on his arm from the fall the other day. "Of course I didn't show it to her," he'd said when asked just out of the Wing. "She'd have healed it, you idiot."

"But shouldn't you –"

"No way," Blaise had insisted. "We had to have something to show people, you know – Tracey couldn't manage to keep anything, but since I did, everyone knows what those seventh years are like." He'd paused then, looking thoughtful. "You know, maybe if we'd left some of your bruises before –"

"Just don't," Antares had said, and somehow Blaise had listened. Looking at him now, it was hard to think why – Blaise looked embarrassed whenever Antares almost walked into something, but that didn't stop him from telling him to piss off when he'd jokingly suggested that Blaise didn't want to be seen with him. It was quite –

"Watch it," Blaise said again, pulling on his arm so he didn't quite knock into a fidgeting suit of armour as they turned a corner. "You know what the funniest thing is, though? Lockhart, yeah, Lockhart was spouting all sorts of crap to people about how if he'd been Head of House for Slytherin, he'd have sorted Avery and the rest within the first week of term."

"He should try telling my mum that," Antares said, shaking his head. "God, if you'd been there – she actually went out for Dumbledore, I swear to god –"

"And it's taken you five minutes to actually – no, you idiot, go on, go on!"

"I think she threatened to do something to them," Antares said, hesitantly. "I mean, she went on about why they were behind – behind spells while I wasn't –"

"Good fucking question."

" – and god, Blaise, you should've seen it – Pomfrey sided with her! Well, sort of –"

"What d'you mean –"

"Sort of as in, I needed tests then," Antares said, his tone becoming slightly smug as he remembered the tension in the room. "That eye spell, you know? The one that takes, like, one second?"

"Did he leave?"

"Hasn't been back," Antares said, nodding triumphantly. "I wonder if he went out for the school board, too, like she told him to –"

"Well, I dunno – Draco's dad's been around to his office, so I don't know. He's on the board, if you didn't know, but…anyway. Although that was probably because Snape set Draco detention for the rest of the term after he tried to bother you in the wing –"

"Bother me?" Antares said, wonderingly. "I'm not sure I –"

"Pomfrey denounced him at breakfast, before Dumbledore's speech," Blaise said gleefully, eyes faraway. Well, that sounded like it would've been fun – "And oh, my god that speech –"

"Wait, go back to denouncing – what did she say about him?"

Blaise stopped short, stiffened and glared at Antares. "Henceforth," he said angrily, in a sort of tinny imitation of Pomfrey's scolding tone, "no Slytherin shall be admitted into the Hospital Wing without a real injury. You will ring the bell provided and wait for me to address you outside. Otherwise, none of you will be able to enter. I doubt that will stop you trying to keep other unfortunate souls from recovering, but there's only so much a body can do…Professor? You were speaking?"

Antares blinked. "But she didn't mention –"

"Everyone knew right away, though," Blaise said, starting to walk again, a big grin having replaced the fake anger. "I mean, Slytherin was down loads of points Sunday morning, those four bastards get kicked out, everything's quiet…until Slytherin loses twenty more points Sunday evening. That night, Snape puts a tracking charm on Draco in front of everyone in the common room after supper and gives him detention for the term. Not hard for everyone to put it together, don't you think? What Pomfrey said just sealed the deal."

Antares tried not to smile too hard. "Tell me no one's talking to him…"

"No one is looking at him," Blaise said, his grin getting wider. "It's like – you know, like heaven. Watch it, there," he said, pulling preventing Antares from entering the stairwell they'd come up to. "We need to find a moving one, I think – can't imagine you making all these –"

Antares jumped as the stairs before them creaked into motion, and forgot to be embarrassed when he saw the wary shock on Blaise's face. "That is creepy, right?"

"Convenient, really," Blaise said, steering him gently onto the staircase, "but very, very creepy, yeah."

"So, uh," Antares said, trying not to think about whether the castle or the stairs or the walls were alive, or if someone – right, stop thinking about it – "that speech?"

Blaise looked like he was trying to do the same. "What?"

"The speech," Antares said, over the creaking of the stairs. "Dumbledore's speech –"

"Right," Blaise said, straightening happily. "Now, I can't remember everything –"

"About half will be fine," Antares said, smiling. "I mean, I think this thing's getting faster, so you won't have time to finish…"

"Let me bloody start, will you?"

By the time they got to the Great Hall, it was half empty, and neither Professor Dumbledore nor Madame Pomfrey was there to see how red Antares' face was after hearing the whole speech. Blaise, of course, hadn't forgotten the most embarrassing bits – that is, the ones that referred to Antares' brave defence of his friends in the face of danger, or rot like that – and the way he'd told Antares to shut up when he'd called it rot had felt a little too serious to mean anything other than Blaise thinking it was true.

Antares reddened further, just thinking about it – looking back on the whole awful thing, it had been stupid to assume Edmund Yaxley wouldn't have had anything to say about how Antares had wiped him in tryouts. It was even more stupid to have gone around grinning and joking about it with his friends. However hard he tried to turn it in his mind, though, he couldn't think it stupid to have tried to fight back – at least they hadn't done anything to Blaise, or Tracey, that they might have been planning to out of spite.

Or maybe not. Either way, Antares was glad that none of the teachers there at the high table were giving him embarrassing looks, like the Headmaster or Pomfrey possibly just might have. It didn't stop everyone else from eyeballing him, but well, you couldn't have everything.

"Where's Tracey?" he asked, just for something to say as they sat down at the nearly empty Slytherin table.

"She's fine, you know," Blaise said, giving him an meaningful look. Antares almost scowled – that was obvious, with her not being in the Hospital Wing with him, wasn't it? But – "She says she'll thank you in History of Magic – Binns hasn't been teaching all day, for some reason, or at least that's what we heard…"

"Hey, Blaise, look out," Antares said, quietly. "That's Draco's –"

"Yeah," Blaise said, just as quietly. "That's him." Antares stared at Lucius Malfoy as he closed the door behind him and Dumbledore, smiling – wasn't that that little room behind the Hall? He remembered speaking to the Headmaster in there, once, last year. It hadn't been very fun – certainly not fun enough to make Mr. Malfoy smile like that as Dumbledore spoke quietly to him just in front of the door, ignoring the way the whispers got louder at all the tables. "Do you think…"

"I really hope they're expelled," was all Antares could say, watching Mr. Malfoy shake Dumbledore's hand and begin to walk in his and Blaise's direction, still smiling. Antares looked down as the man swished by expensively, wondering why he wasn't more angry to see him strutting about while Bella –

"Bastard," Blaise muttered, sounding appropriately angry. "You know what? I bet he got Dumbledore to cancel Draco's detentions in payment, if he's expelling Avery and that lot –"

"Yeah," Antares said, pushing at his food. "Bastard."

The day whirled by after lunch, blurring occasionally when Antares cast too strong a colouring charm during his free period with Tracey and Blaise. He shared his game of seeing just how many charms you could put on a bit of parchment before it began to smoke with them all too happily, and laughed when Tracey, no longer annoyingly grateful, complained that he was cheating.

"All in the layering," he'd said, smirking. "And don't put a colour on right after making it fly – those charms don't hold well together done in that order."

Just now, he could almost see Tracey rolling her eyes. "Says you," she'd said, doing it anyway. The parchment exploded after the third colouring charm, and Antares had laughed so hard he'd thought he would die.

Funny. Wasn't he dying now?

He didn't remember how he'd gotten here, and that struck him as bad, but not as bad as the fact that he couldn't stand any more, and that everything around him was starting to dim. As he sunk down against the wall, something heavy seemed to slither by behind him. Slither, heavy –

"Don't worry," someone said kindly. "I'll finish this myself." Antares felt himself stir, and put a stop to it right away, wheezing. "When I'm done, go back to your dorm."

"Done?" was all Antares felt he could safely manage. He was wrong. "Doing what?"

The person chuckled – something about it seemed – "Four snakes, Antares," they said, smiling. Antares wanted to shake his head – how the fuck can I tell that he's – "You don't remember, of course. No matter…"

For a moment, Antares jolted to his senses. I know who says that, something screamed in him. Stop them, stop it –

"Now calm down," the boy was saying. It's him, someone else was sobbing to Antares, in his ear, it's him, he'll kill them – "Oh, come in, if you're so worried –"

For a moment, someone screamed. They stopped, then Antares got to his feet, and opened a door, and found himself inside a room with four beds, four inhabitants, two sitting up, staring at him –

The boy beside him was so pale, almost like a ghost – "See? All you need to do is use a mirror."

One of the boys on the beds reached for something, and instinctively Antares opened his mouth and hissed, come forth, and the air seemed to shimmer around them – "Specularis," he found himself saying, turning the walls shiny. Why is my wand in my hand? Antares wondered, a moment later, over the taunts that the boy who had been reaching was saying. He remembered suddenly, and laughed. "Wakey wakey, you bastards – open your eyes…"

Something broke in a corner of the room, and green began to fracture the world around them –

Antares woke up shivering.

It took a long minute for him to reassure himself that he was in his bed, in his dorm, away from wherever – wherever he'd thought. He still shivered, remembering green. Green, green scales, bright eyes…

It took even longer for him to realise he was crying, and didn't know why. Antares, mortified, tried to keep it silent. What on earth was he coming to, that the colour currently surrounding him in the darkness could scare the shit out of him merely by appearing in a dream?

It wasn't that colour, the crying part of him insisted. It was like poison –

"Shut up," Antares said, quickly. He tried not to think about what it meant to be talking to your- fine, so he did. So he was mad, or getting there – so what? He sighed. At least I'm not crying anymore –

"Are you okay?" Blaise's sharp question made Antares jump…in his seat? How did –

"Leave him alone," Tracey said, across from him. They were at the table, at breakfast, in the Great Hall – Antares frowned. Is this a dream, or am I – "…can't blame him. Must've been a bloody shock for whoever found them first."

"I know," Blaise said. "Does anyone know what happened…?"

"Daphne told me Hannah Abbot says they're dead, but I don't think so," Tracey went on. Antares stiffened. Something about this conversation – "I mean, why would Madame Pomfrey keep them in the Hospital Wing if they weren't?"

"Bet it's that prankster," someone said, from behind Antares. He turned to see a slightly sheepish-looking Terry Boot fidgeting behind him. "Snape didn't catch him, did he?"

"Who says it's a he?" Blaise said contemptuously, as if the very idea was beneath him. When Terry reddened, he only glared harder at him. "Well, who? I think that's a –"

"It could be anyone," Antares said quickly, giving Blaise a 'calm down' look, though he wasn't sure why he did so. Terry looked even more embarrassed at that, if it was possible, and it struck Antares then that he should probably be angry that Terry'd never once asked if the rumours about him and Bella were true. That he and the equally blushing Anthony Goldstein had just gone along with everyone else and believed it all. Antares shrugged, helplessly, wondering how he could take it so calmly, and repeated himself despite his confusion. "I mean, it really could. Could be you, couldn't it?"

"Me?" Terry spluttered. "No way – the spells for petrification like that are like, sixth year –"

"Petri-what?" Blaise said scornfully, but not quite as scornfully as he could have.

"That's what happened to them," said Anthony, authoritatively. "At least I heard so from my sister –"

"Yeah, and it's right hard to do," Terry added, nodding sharply. "She said you had to –"

"Yeah, whatever," Blaise said, standing up. "Come on, Antares, we'll be late for Transfig."

"Yeah," Antares said slowly, not quite feeling sorry for the beet-faced Terry and Anthony, but… "Yeah, let's go."

"Wait for me," Tracey called out, from behind them. "Just a second –"

"Pig," Blaise said, rolling his eyes when he saw why she'd waited. "Tracey, lunch is only in a few hours –"

"Says the man who's going to try – and fail, remember that – to steal some of my croissants when I'm not looking," Tracey said smugly. She grinned at Antares as they pushed through the surge of students leaving the Hall, and waved half of one buttered one at him. "Want some?"

"Why does he get offered some instead of me?"

"Because he," Tracey said, batting away Blaise's unhappy hands and handing the warm croissant half to Antares, "was too busy feeling guilty to eat."

"I wasn't –"

"Look, Antares, it's perfectly okay if that prankster or whoever it was got revenge for you," Tracey said, interrupting him with a wave of the other half. "Really – wish I'd thought of it. Can you imagine how mad they'll be when they wake up?"

"Yeah," Antares said, smiling a little. Somehow, that did make him feel a little better. "I can imagine, yeah."

And really, he could. Yaxley's face would be red – maybe even redder than it had been the last time Antares had snatched the Snitch before he even saw it, and the Rookwoods would glare at him in that stupid dark way of theirs, stupid because even after this, they couldn't touch him. And Avery – well. She'd bite her lip and sneer, and that would be the end of it.

Antares almost laughed, he felt so happy. He couldn't though, since he was still sort of chewing on the croissant, which really didn't taste as good as it smelt –

The world bent around him, hard, and he fell.

Antares, waking to unfortunately familiar stone walls, sighed. As far as he could see, Pomfrey was nowhere to be seen, and –

Who was the boy sitting at the foot of his bed? Tap, tap, he flexed his foot, and suddenly Antares found himself on his back again, wheezing, when he'd barely realised he was starting to sit up.

"Any moment now," the boy said, nodding. "Good work with those snakes, no?"

"Who are you?" Antares tried to say. Nothing came out.

"Oh, sorry," the boy said, standing. "I suppose this isn't the best time –"

"Mr. Black," Pomfrey said through the door, footsteps announcing that she might soon be walking in, "if I enter that room to see you up on your feet, you will be sorry."

"See you in a minute," the boy said, walking close, shrinking. Antares tried to move, tried to peer over the side of the bed to see, but there was only his schoolbag there, and Pomfrey –

"Sit back, for the love of Merlin!" – was staring at him like he was crazy. "I don't suppose it's any surprise that you fainted, if you carry on exerting yourself in this way –"

"I'm sorry," Antares said, confused, trying not to stare at his bag. Where had –?

Pomfrey sighed as she closed the door behind her. "I suppose you can't help it," she muttered, wrenching open the cupboard before her a little harder than was needed. "It's in your blood to be difficult, you Blacks. Why, when your mother was here…" she shook her head. "Horrible trouble to treat, that girl. Awful troublemaker too, to boot." She finally fished a glass jug of frothing liquid out of the cupboard, tapped it hard, then floated it over to Antares along with an ornate glass cup he hadn't noticed was on the table beside him. "No idea why you're more sensible than she was," she said, closing the cupboard with a sigh. "These things usually get worse every generation – especially considering your father, you probably should…hmm." Pomfrey tapped her wand against her shoulder, looking thoughtful. "Pour yourself a half – no, a cupful of that – a full cup, mind you – and drink it down."

The jug was lighter than it looked, and actually floated itself to the bedside table once he was done, the bright liquid inside it frothing away. Antares stared dubiously at the very still quantity in the cup, then took a sip.

Merlin, but it burned.

"Drink it down, Mr. Black," Pomfrey said, as if she could sense Antares wondering how to pour it somewhere and still make it look like he'd – "I mean it, young man. You were absolutely exhausted when your friends brought you in, and the more you drink of that Reviving potion, the less likely you'll be here all night." She flicked her wand, and caught the jug as it zoomed toward her without spilling a drop. "Take your time if you like, but I've always found that it's best to be done with it in one gulp."

Grimacing, Antares decided to take her advice. If he had to sip down that – that stuff, slowly, he'd probably just spill it on himself 'by mistake'.

"Don't spill any, please," Pomfrey said, as if she could read his mind. "It tends to burn rather quickly."

"And yet you want me to drink this?" Antares asked bitterly. He sighed, steeling himself after a moment of pointed silence from Madame Pomfrey's direction. Better now than later, right?

Wrong. He coughed hard, afterwards, and had to blink away the water in his eyes, but he got it down all in one go, somehow. Feeling something cold splash on him, he realised the cup was now full of water, and drank it down thankfully, and tried not to look too gratefully at Pomfrey, who was stowing away the jug with a thoughtful look on her face.

"Try getting out of bed," she said, after closing the cupboard. Antares, shaking, found that he could – found, in fact, that he wanted to. He blinked again, fidgeted, and wondered what the fuck had been in the potion. He felt so alive, now, that it – "Better?"

"Definitely," Antares said, scratching his head. "That's – that's a good sign, right? It feels like one."

Pomfrey, instead of wryly agreeing and shooing him out, just frowned instead. "I suppose so," she said, slowly. "But perhaps I should –"

"What time is it?" Antares said desperately, interrupting her. He wasn't sure he could stand to spend another minute in the Hospital Wing – "It's just – I'm sort of hungry –"

"Yes," Pomfrey said, her expression turning steely. "Not eating breakfast will do that to you, won't it?"

"Um," Antares said guiltily. Crap – if there was ever a disadvantage to having friends that cared enough to drag you up to the Hospital Wing when you passed out, it was them constantly tattling about your every mistake when you did. "I did eat some bread."

"I suppose you also ate 'some bread' last night, too," Pomfrey said, shaking her head in disgust. "Get out of my ward, you silly boy. And see you go straight down to the Great Hall and eat a good lunch – I'll be there in a moment, and don't think I won't see if you don't –"

Antares didn't need to be told twice. "Thank you, Madame Pomfrey!" he called behind him, darting into the main ward without a backward glance. He stopped short almost immediately, speechless.

Petrified is a good word, he thought stupidly, staring at the four stiff students on his left, their stiff features eerie even in the daylight pouring into the windows behind them. Two of them were fixed in a sitting position, one twisting away from something with such a look of fear on his face that it gave Antares pause. After a moment, he made himself walk past, trying to feel happy again, that his bullies had gotten their comeuppance.

Somehow, he couldn't. It bothered him all the way down to the Great Hall, though he was there so fast that it was unreal, having run half the way, feeling restless. Blaise and Tracey looked surprised as he slid onto the bench between them, jostling them in the process, but he didn't care. The blood was humming in his veins, and he felt like going outside and flying, like doing something, so much that jostling his friends at the table and grinning at their surprise felt like a poor substitute.

"You're not Antares, are you?" Tracey said accusingly, narrowing her eyes at him. "He doesn't smile like that anymore –"

"Or burst into the Great Hall like the doors were on fire," Blaise continued, elbowing him gently in the side. "What on earth did she give you?"

"Reviving potion is what she called it," Antares said, already beginning to pile his plate with food. God but he was hungry – looking at the mashed potatoes and enticing pork chops nearby, he felt like he hadn't eaten in days. "It burned like holy fuck going down, so it's not something I'd do everyday."

"Imagine, though – you could stay up all night before exams and just drink it down, and you'd be fantastic the rest of the day."

"Yeah, but Blaise, when I say it burned, I mean it burned –"

"Isn't that Draco's dad again?" Tracey said, poking Antares excitedly. "Hey, Draco! Daddy dearest's here, go hug him –"

"Lay off, Davis," Greg said from nearby, but Draco, rising from his seat, looked like he hadn't been listening in the first place. Tracey chortled as he slipped off the bench and stumbled his way to his father, looking about as relieved as Mr. Malfoy looked uneasy. Which was odd, Antares thought, cocking his head at them. Surely Draco hadn't done anything new to get himself in trouble –

"I wonder why he's here again," Daphne said from opposite Antares, startling him from his thoughts. "I mean, it only got in the Prophet today that Avery and that lot were going to be expelled, so I don't see how he knows –"

"Expelled?" Antares said, surprised. "I thought they were only being suspended, though."

"Dumbledore announced it earlier on, before you came in," Blaise said, sounding satisfied. "I mean, rum lot for them, being Petrified and everything, but still. They bloody deserve it."

"How can you say that?" Daphne said, sounding taken aback. "I've heard they won't wake up for months unless their parents can get grown mandrakes in somehow –"

"Mandr – they don't need mandrakes for anything, Daphne, they're Petrified –"

"Yes they do! I was talking to Professor Sprout on Monday, and she was worried that the cold snap would kill the crop we've got in the greenhouse," Daphne said crossly, giving Blaise a glare. "You always act like I'm so stupid –"

"Well maybe it's because –"

"Shut up, you," Tracey said, reaching around Antares to shove Blaise in the shoulder. "Daphne, you were saying?"

"Traitor," Blaise said, sticking out his tongue at Daphne as she opened her mouth to speak. "That Charms assignment you wanted help with, Tracey? Forget it."

"I'll just get Antares to help me," she said, shrugging. "Won't you, Antares?"

"I haven't heard a word anyone said in the last five minutes," he said immediately, winking at Daphne. "I think you were saying something about Avery being expelled, right, Daphne?"

Blaise snorted. "Yeah right, traitor the second –"

"Can't talk, mouth full," Antares said, chewing a nearly nonexistent mouthful of food. "It's rude, didn't your mum tell you that?"

"Wanker," was all Blaise said, rolling his eyes. And that was almost the only thing he said to Antares after that, even during Charms, which followed right after lunch. Occasionally, he substituted 'wanker' with 'traitor', especially when Antares failed to look less than interested in Daphne's whispered conversation with Tracey about the mandrakes, but started talking to Antares in earnest towards the end, when Flitwick sent them out early, only for them to meet an irritatingly jovial-looking Lockhart just outside the classroom.

Thankfully, Lockhart didn't seem to be interested in trying to hound Antares for no good reason just then – he barely seemed to notice the students, really, and disappeared into Flitwick's classroom and shut the door firmly behind him as soon as Hannah Abbot, usually the last out, had stepped out looking as unhappy as usual.

"Poor Flitwick," Blaise said, shaking his head. "What do you think –"

But his question was rendered useless almost immediately, when Flitwick and Lockhart emerged from the classroom, both looking serious. Or, at least, Flitwick looking serious, and Lockhart only looking less happy than usual.

"Get on with you, you lot," Flitwick said good-naturedly. "Oh, and Black? Staff meeting, so no Apprentice class for today."

"Pity," Antares found himself saying. "I could've used one today – I think we were doing some Charm theory –"

"Oh, so you're feeling better, then?" Flitwick asked, making him start a little when he realised the professor was still listening. In fact, the professor had paused and, despite Lockhart's stupidly obvious nudges, was giving Antares an uncomfortable once-over. "Try not to get in any more trouble, Black."

"Er, yeah," was all Antares could think to say, before Flitwick turned away. He stared at the man's round profile as he and Lockhart went off towards the nearest stairwell and disappeared around a corner, wondering if the fact that Professor Flitwick had actually looked him in the eye just then should make him feel better. It did, somehow, but not all the way down. Which was strange, considering his reaction before to Terry and Anthony, when they had –

"Wakey wakey," Blaise was saying sarcastically, snapping a finger near his ear. "Don't suppose that potion could've done away with the staring into space –"

Antares shook his head, forcing himself to remain calm. What was it about those words, stupid, silly words, that had just sent a jolt of fear into his heart? Or maybe it had been the snapping finger –

"Antares, come on –"

"Is there a loo near here?" was all Antares could think. He felt sick, now, horribly so. "I – I think I'm going to –"

"Don't you dare fall on us again, Antares," Tracey said from nearby. Someone – probably her – grabbed his arm and began to lead him to the right, in the opposite direction of where everyone else had been heading. "Oh move on, you idiots, this isn't a circus –"

"Quiet and let me think," Blaise snapped, grabbing hold of Antares' other arm as his head began to dip down of its own accord. "Come on, come on, I know there's a loo on this floor – look, Antares, it's round the corner, just hold on –"

Antares held, but didn't know what he was holding. Himself, maybe?

Wakey wakey –

He began to shiver, and felt guilty that his friends fell silent, and only increased their efforts to drag him toward the toilet. He could see the door ahead, now – he closed his eyes, and suddenly they were inside, and he felt an urge to laugh. "You shouldn't be in here," he muttered. "Tracey –"

"Get his bag, I think he dropped it," Blaise said, ignoring him. "Go on, I'll handle him –"

Antares coughed, felt himself fall, and wanted to laugh when he felt himself hit something and begin to slide down. Just like that –

No, that was a dream, only a dream –

"Antares, I can't hold you up forever," Blaise said crossly. "Just – get on your feet, on your feet, that's it. Just lean over there, that's good –"

Wakey wakey –

"Are you listening to me?" Blaise was saying, sounding oddly distant. "Shit. Just – just stay there, I'll go get Tracey –"

Wakey wakey –

"I'll just be a second, all right?" Blaise rushed away, slamming the door to the toilets behind him. It closed with an odd thunk, and suddenly the boy was there again, walking toward him. Antares slumped over the toilet bowl in the stall, unable to care that he was now kneeling on the floor. The stall door shut behind him, and suddenly he was looking at black shoes, black trousers –

Tom.

"Sorry I did that," he said, leaning back against the wall of the stall, looking unconcerned. "You weren't taking it as well as I thought, so I thought I'd just –"

"Fuck around with my memory?" Antares rasped. He tried not to remember laughing as Yaxley screamed when the snake had come in. It didn't work. "Why?"

"Why…?" Tom said, sounding incredulous. "Because you don't leave enemies behind. Not alive, anyway."

"But they're –"

"That was your fault, though, wasn't it? Still," Tom said, a thoughtful expression sliding onto his face, "I suppose we could kill the mandrakes. That'd keep us safe for months extra, I think, and it'd only be a simple frost spell –"

"I am done," Antares said, with great difficulty, "with killing things."

Tom smiled at him. "You're done when I say you're done," he said, calmly. "Or did you think that great fat snake came from nowhere? You owe me."

"I don't owe you –"

"And if you don't pay me back, our little memory spell will kill you," Tom continued, as if he hadn't heard Antares' shaky protest. "The Sharing spell's a little touchy like that. But you know that already, don't you?" His smile grew a little wider. "Next time, when someone tells you to read up on a spell, do it. Although I doubt you'll have that problem with me, from now on. Will you?"

Antares gulped. It hurt.

Tom leant closer. "Now, I've made this really quite simple. In a minute –" he broke off, looking at the door to the stall, clearly able to hear Blaise pounding on the toilet door outside. "Well. Like I said, you owe me. And you will pay that debt exactly as I wish." He looked back at Antares, green eyes intent. "Got it?" He faded, so quickly and so suddenly that Antares started in spite of himself, in spite of the shaking in his knees.

"Antares, what in the fucking hell –"

I've made this simple for you, Antares, Tom's voice said, cutting across the sound of Blaise's desperate pounding. Get up. To his horror, Antares found himself doing so. Opening the door of the toilet stall. Walking towards – All you have to do is let him in, all right?

" – let me in, you berk!"

Antares was at the door, and his wand was in his hand, though it was shaking. See, Tom said, as he made Antares mouth a spell he almost did not hear, as the door handle began to turn properly, it's easy.

"Finally!" The door began to open, impatiently, and Antares could feel himself sinking already, and Tom was already –

At the door.

He stumbled forward, slamming himself against it even as his legs failed him. "Run," he tried to call, but already he could feel Tom's cold fingers, half-solid, wrenching at his shoulder –

I won't move, he told himself, letting himself go limp. You can't move me –

Tom laughed loudly, and it pierced him. "It'll be easy once you're dead," he said, smirking. "He'll even help me – feel that?" Antares could. Blaise was pounding again, shoving at the door so it thumped into him, started to even shift him – "I wish you could watch. Obviously, you can't have everything…"

Antares closed his eyes in defeat, but pushed himself back, against the door. There was no warning – the pain –

The world exploded. Colours sparked to life behind his eyelids, and Antares felt himself convulse, really felt it, every single pulse and shake and shiver, the floor beneath him cold, the air sharp, and he marvelled that he'd not noticed the strange lack of feeling long before, long before –

The convulsions stopped, and something burst in his pocket, wet. Before Antares could wonder if it was some kind of vein or something, a scream set up, piercing, stabbing through his head like nothing else.

Probably me, he thought, suddenly dull and lifeless again. I'm sorry –

It all abruptly stopped. Everything – the pain, the screaming –

The door banged open, jarring Antares down to his very toes as it shoved him aside, letting Blaise run in, feet frantic –

It wasn't until Blaise had found him and called him a bastard five times over that he realised he wasn't dead.

"Am I a ghost?" Antares tried to ask, but all that came out was a gurgle.

"What the fuck did you do to him, Blaise?" Tracey shouted, barging in, schoolbag obviously forgotten. "Look at him –"

"I can see him, all right?" Blaise yelled back, kneeling in front of him so he couldn't quite see the horror on Tracey's face. "Antares –"

"Where's Tom?" he finally got out, coughing. Blaise ignored him, shutting the door, conferring with Tracey and then putting hands under and above and trying to get him to his feet – "Where?"

"Maybe just one of us should go to Pomfrey," Blaise said shakily. "I don't know if we can make it without –"

"Oh, so you can bang into him with a door again?" Tracey spat, rising to her feet.

"I didn't do it on purpose!"

"Wait," Tracey said, suddenly leaning close. "Help me turn him over."

"Shouldn't we –"

"Shut up and help me!" Antares felt the world twist as they did that, and couldn't stifle a whimper at the pain – "He's bleeding, Blaise."

"But that's not blood –"

"Do you really want to argue about this? Just go –"

It worried Antares that Blaise had no answer to that, and worried him even more to hear the hurtful thumps of Blaise's feet as he ran off. Like he should have run before –

"No you don't," Tracey said desperately, shaking his shoulder. "You keep your eyes open, understand?"

"M'not bleeding," Antares forced out, as it hit him. What was in his pocket? Or no – what was – who? Pockets –

"Open your eyes, Antares –"

"S'Tom," he slurred, no longer able to pay attention, not when his head felt so empty, when he could reach inside and touch his memories, all of them – "'S bleeding –"

"Open your eyes!"

When the darkness took him, he smiled. From the way Tracey was shaking him, though, he didn't think she found it quite as funny. Look who's dead now, Antares wanted to say, to Tom.

Well, not really. But close enough.

A/N: I can't believe I've finally got to the fecking point, here. Hopefully you enjoyed reading this chapter more than I enjoyed writing it – at times, it was like pulling very healthy teeth. Mostly at the beginning, but still. As for chapter count – well, well, well, only about two more to go, if the story doesn't throw me any more curve balls. Again, review as you like.