The Pureblood Pretense

Chapter Three:

(Draco POV)

It was the third time Draco Malfoy leveled his gaze at Rigel Black, and still the boy remained unaware. It wasn't just any gaze, either. It was the one his father had taught him, the weighty one, meant to be felt across ballrooms. If Draco hadn't known the Black Heir was raised by blood traitors before, it would have been made obvious by the boy's sheer obliviousness. No child raised in a proper pureblood house would have been able to sleep through such pointed scrutiny, and each moment he stared, getting not so much as a twitch from the other boy, brought fresh annoyance to Draco's mood.

He was supposed to write a letter to his mother this morning about the sorting, and particularly about the Black Heir, but how was he to do that when so far he had nothing to say? He'd walked the train a couple of times before it had left the station, but hadn't seen anyone who looked like the picture of a young Sirius Black from his mother's family tree. He'd not looked again after that, but he had thought he would be able to meet Black at some point before the sorting, or at the very least during dinner if he was sorted into Slytherin like his mother had hoped. But although he'd initiated contact (the head nod in greeting) and given him plenty of impetus to speak to him (the blatant staring at dinner), the dark-haired boy hadn't reacted to his presence at all. And when they ended up in the same room, he thought—now for sure he'll introduce himself like any proper pureblood would. Nott certainly remembered his manners the night before, but instead, Black went straight to sleep! All in all, Draco Malfoy thought, the other boy was quite irksome, and he didn't know why his mother expected him to befriend Black, just because they were related. Clearly, he wasn't anything resembling company befitting a Malfoy.

Finally, at half-past sunrise, Rigel Black began to stir. Draco would have loved to take credit for that, but it appeared the darker boy was used to awakening at such a time, for he looked neither confused nor surprised when he glanced at the watch on his bedside table. Draco thought his father would be proud of him for the patience he showed waiting for Black to notice him. He may as well have been waiting for Goyle to find his brain, however, for Rigel Black apparently had even less self-awareness than he thought. The boy got out of bed and stretched, never once looking around. Draco's short supply of patience ran out when Black started to pick out his clothes for the day, and he cleared his throat with a practiced decorum only a Malfoy could have held onto so early in the day.

That got his attention, Draco thought exasperatedly, how did this airhead get into Slytherin?

"Going somewhere?" he said out loud.

Black paused, bent over his trunk, a towel slung over his shoulder and a brush in one hand, "Yeah," he said, shutting his trunk. He gathered his bundle of clean clothes (Draco inwardly winced at the way perfectly good robes were callously wrinkled) and strode over to the door to their bathroom, stepping inside and shutting it behind him. Draco heard the distinct click of the lock, and huffed grumpily.

"Well, good morning to you too, sunshine," he muttered, flinging himself from where he sat on his bed and striding over to the standing wardrobe where he'd unpacked and stored all of his robes the night before, like any normal person, he thought sourly. Forget the promise he made to his mother, no vague inkling of a political alliance in the future was worth it if that was how Rigel Black was going to be all the time.

By the time Draco had brushed out his robes and combed his hair back (and therefore felt like he had regained his dignity), he had calmed down somewhat. One week, thought Draco, I'll be friendly and (Merlin forbid) slightly solicitous for one week, but after that if Black is still a taciturn little nobody, even mother can't blame me for moving on to more suitable acquaintanceships.

HpHpHp

(Rigel POV)

Rigel leaned back against the closed bathroom door shakily. She didn't think she'd ever been stared at so much in her life. What did Malfoy want? A picture? She'd practically raced to the bathroom to get out from under his heavy gaze—the boy had a glare like a hammer!—but a quick look in the mirror showed nothing unusual. No green hair or fangs or subtle suggestion that she wasn't a boy. In short, nothing that would merit such intense scrutiny. Shivering slightly with a feeling of vague foreboding, she checked the lock on the door again and got undressed and into the shower. She was still getting used to how little time she had to spend getting ready in the morning without long hair to deal with, so she'd have to find something to do in the mornings now if she didn't start waking up later. Come to think of it, what was the Malfoy boy doing up so early (besides drilling holes into the back of people's heads with his eyes)? Deciding it was none of her business, she got out, dried her hair with a towel, and dressed.

As she re-entered the dorm room she was met with a blindingly cheerful smile and a "Good morning," from Nott, who was apparently just as bad in the mornings as Archie; all sunshine and bluebirds. He was waiting with tousled brown hair and a toothbrush in one hand, "Finished?"

"Yes," she said, moving out of the doorway, "Did I wake you with the shower?"

"Naw," he tossed a grin at her as he brushed past, "It was Draco with his Malfoy-stare-of-death."

Not sure what to say to that, she merely nodded and continued to her bed, which was between Nott's and Malfoy's, where she hung her towel over the silver canopy to dry. She saw Malfoy glance confusedly at her out of the corner of her eye, but ignored him, thinking he probably had never re-used a towel in his life, and so was wondering why she would hang her towel up instead of dumping it in the clothes hamper for the elves.

She was forced to re-think her conclusion when he intercepted her on her way to the door.

"I don't think we've been properly introduced," he said, "I'm Draco Malfoy."

"Rigel Black," she said, "Pleased to meet you."

"Are you going to breakfast already?" he asked politely, a friendly smile on his face as if he hadn't just practically leapt in front of her to formally introduce himself, "It doesn't start for another twenty minutes, I don't think."

"Unless you have a map of the school, it may take that long for me to find my way," she said, stepping pointedly around him. She knew it was rude beyond belief, but the one thing she didn't need, the one thing that could ruin everything, was attention from the wrong kind of people. And if Malfoy didn't qualify as wrong, she'd eat her Potions ingredients.

"You could ask an older student," he pointed out to her back. The lack of irritation or censure in his voice impressed her enough that she turned around to face him once more.

"I doubt they're headed to breakfast this early," she said, feeling every-so-slightly vindicated in her curt words when she saw his eyes flash and his lip protrude a tiny bit before the polite smile could distract from it. There was the spoiled child she'd expected of the Malfoy scion. Underneath all his cool, unpracticed artifice was the boy who pouted, however briefly, when things didn't fall into their place at his feet.

"They would be in twenty minutes, when it starts," he said slowly, his overly-patient tone that of someone explaining something he shouldn't have to.

"You're probably right," she offered him the tiniest of smiles, barely more than a crinkle, and proceeded to turn around and open the door to the first-year's hall, "Good morning, Mr. Malfoy."

She allowed herself another smile, this one genuine, at the look she imagined on his face as she shut the door firmly behind her. She had a habit of imagining other things onto people's faces that she'd picked up from a masquerade party her parents had dragged her to once. Every since then she'd juxtaposed exaggerated faces and expressions onto people's heads in her imagination whenever she got bored. It was entertaining, if perhaps a bit strange.

The common room was indeed deserted. Even though they had to finish breakfast thirty minutes earlier than they would normally in order to meet with their Head of House that morning, there wasn't any reason for students to be about before the elves had even begun serving it, so Rigel enjoyed the silence as she crossed to the common room entrance. Faced with the blank wall she realized she didn't know how to open it from the inside. "Ouroboros?" she guessed, pleasantly surprised when the wall slid to the side silently. It actually made good sense, she thought as it closed just as quietly behind her. This way, you wouldn't be able to leave the common room without knowing the password to get back in, making it less likely that someone would be caught outside in the cold dungeon air all night.

When she had walked far enough to be out of the immediate sight of anyone coming out of the common room, she pulled out the deceptively blank piece of parchment Archie gave her after Sirius had given it to him. James and Sirius had told Archie what it was, reminiscing about the time Filch confiscated it from them. Apparently they'd gone back a few years after they graduated and claimed it as their property, though they never admitted to the old caretaker what it was. They'd gotten Remus to help them improve it, as well, and Archie had explained the new features in jealous longing, but the Map wouldn't do him any good at AIM, so he'd handed it over, nobly refusing to take her dad's invisibility cloak in return.

With the Marauders' Map in hand, she traversed the dungeons, thinking she might as well start exploring what was closest to her new "home" first. After almost twenty minutes had past, she made a bee-line for the staircase that would take her back up to the Entrance Hall, and from there to the Great Hall. She wiped the parchment clean again and tucked it away as she started to ascend the stairs, and was halfway up when a voice called out from behind her. She glanced over her shoulder to see Nott hurrying up the staircase to catch up with her, Malfoy and an older Slytherin the blonde apparently knew quite well following at a more sedate pace.

"Are you just now going up?" Nott asked incredulously, "You left ages ago."

"The dungeons are quite extensive," she said, as the slower two joined them.

"So you've been lost all this time?" the older Slytherin, an athletic-looking boy with common brown hair and eyes asked, obviously amused.

"It's not as if I had a map," she said straight-faced. If Archie were here, he would share the joke.

"Well, no better way to learn than to get lost," the boy shrugged, leading the way into the Great Hall, "I'm Adrian Pucey."

She took his hand absently, "Rigel Black."

Pucey frowned slightly as they found seats near the middle of the Slytherin table, "Forgive me, but I had thought it was Arcturus Black."

"Rigel is my middle name," she said, noting as she poured herself a glass of milk that her roommates were listening attentively. Nott and Pucey exchanged a confused glance when she started eating a bowl of porridge and they realized that was going to leave it at that. She thought Malfoy's eyebrow might have twitched before he turned to his eggs.

Rigel was just finishing up when Pansy walked into the Hall. She came to stand behind Nott, who was seated to Rigel's left, and cleared her throat delicately. The lanky boy immediately moved down a bit, crowding the boy on his left to allow Pansy room to sit. She nodded like a queen who had just received a bow from one of her courtiers, and greeted Rigel somewhat coolly, "Good morning, Mr. Black," she served herself a plate of fruit, fussing over which piece of melon she wanted, before continuing, "I was a bit surprised to see that you'd already left this morning." There was an unstated without me at the end of that sentence, but if Pansy thought to throw Rigel off she should have been more direct. There was really nothing she did better than communicating without speaking.

"I've always been an early riser," she said. You weren't there when I left.

"I see," Pansy said, "and just what about the early morning do you find so agreeable?" Would it be worth my while to rise early as well?

"I find the general lack of noise to be appealing," Rigel said, pretending not to notice Pansy stiffening in offense as she paused to finish her milk before continuing, "it allows one to understand the few things they do hear more clearly." I wake early to avoid people, but I would make an exception for you because I value your company and would like to better understand you. Truly, the second half of Rigel's statement might also be interpreted as a desire to have more intimate conversation, away from prying eyes and distractions, but she thought that between their young age and Pansy's good sense she was unlikely to be misunderstood.

"There seems to be some value in what you say," Pansy demurred, offering a small smile to show that Rigel had escaped Pansy's irritation for the time being. Her statement was so neutral that it could have meant anything, but Rigel chose to interpret it as a maybe. Whether or not Pansy would rise early with her tomorrow didn't matter. Pansy had gotten what she wanted, an explanation and an invitation, if not an apology. Rigel wondered if she could expect such maneuvering from the blonde every time she became miffed at her. She certainly seemed to be enjoying herself from the smug satisfaction radiating from her every gesture.

Rigel inwardly berated herself for forgetting that as a pureblood "boy" who had made the acquaintance of a pureblood girl, it would be considered expected that she escort her to the next meal they had together, and was glad Pansy hadn't taken her slip as a personal snub.

At thirty-five minutes till the end of breakfast, Slytherin House rose as one and retreated to the dungeons, startling a few first-year Hufflepuffs on their way out of the Hall. Their Head of House was already present when they arrived. He stood tall and silent in the middle of the common room as the students crowded in and filled the edges of the room. The first-years kept together in a group by one of the study tables, unsure what else to do. When the silence had just begun to stretch from expectant to uncomfortable, he spoke.

"For those of you who do not know," he looked toward their group of eleven-year-olds and Rigel found herself riveted against her will. He had a gaze that sprung like a trap if you were foolish enough to let his eyes catch yours, "I am Potions Master Severus Snape, your Head of House. I apologize for my absence last evening; I was unavoidably detained, as will happen sometimes. Nevertheless," he began to turn in a circle as he talked, including everyone in the room by his gaze alone, "As the new term begins you will be expected to remember, or in the case of our newest members, to discover, what it means to be a Slytherin. To some of you, whose forbearers walked these dungeon halls, it means tradition, and to others it simply means unqualified acceptance, but for all of you, Slytherin means a chance to carve and forge your destiny as you see fit.

"As your Head of House it is my duty to assist you in furthering the ambitions that secured you your place here in this room. For seven years, your goals are my goals. Your plans and dreams and schemes will become my own motivations, and as long as you dwell herein I pledge to assist you in realizing all your endeavors," he paused for a moment to let his words, incredible as they were, sink in before continuing, "In that vein, if at any time you require assistance, simply seek a portrait of Salazar Slytherin, and he will find me posthaste," he gestured to a picture of a dark-haired, green-eyed man hanging above the main fireplace.

Rigel mentally looked her new Head of House over as he spoke, searching for the tell-tale signs… yes, there in the fire-proof robes, and there in the close-cut fingernails, and even there in the slight flaring of the nostrils as his nose prepared to inventory the scents in the room—this was truly a Potions Master. She took in his body language, proud and stiff. He looked more like a general appraising his ranks than any teacher she'd every heard of. When he turned to directly face the first-years, Rigel noted that he was much more menacing in person than he had seemed on paper, with his hawk-like features and looming presence, and yet at the same time his words were so much kinder than she'd expected. In his articles, he spent as much time tossing out acerbic comments about his incompetent contemporaries in the field as he did presenting his revolutionary findings and brilliant deductions. She'd already steeled herself against immediate hostility merely because of who Archie's dad was, but Snape seemed not to have even noticed her.

"In Slytherin House we stick together, because a lone snake is no match for a lion, an eagle, or, yes, even a badger sometimes. We draw strength from our solidarity, our connections, and any other resources that become available," he paused to smirk in a way that had most of the older students chuckling darkly, "There are very few rules in Slytherin that cannot be bent to some extent. One is the policy against inner-House fighting. If you have a problem with a member of your House, settle it with words in private or wands over the holidays. In this school, as far as anyone else is concerned, my snakes do not turn their fangs on one another. Any other issues are considered on a case by case basis. When you have crossed a line, you will know it, and pray you have the intelligence not to make the same mistake twice," he bared his teeth in a parody of a grin, and Rigel vowed then and there to never get on his bad side.

He nodded, apparently satisfied his point had been received (indeed even Malfoy looked like he wanted to squirm), and then he left. The vacuum left behind by his presence was such that it took several seconds after the common room wall slid closed for anyone to move. Finally a prefect cleared his throat and said, "Your schedules should have been delivered to your dorms by now, and whoever has class near the Charms classroom first is responsible for showing the snakelets the way."

Rigel met Pansy's gaze, and the blonde raised her eyebrow in a silent question. She took her time, mulling over her impressions as they walked toward their rooms, and finally decided that a shrug was the best reply she could give. Pansy smiled, as if she had expected such a reaction and was already growing fond of it. Rigel supposed she was nothing if not socially predictable.

"Well, I think he's cool," Pansy said, "My father tells me he's quite renown as a Potions Master, and everyone says he's a good Head of House."

Nott, who was walking behind them, snorted with incredulous amusement, "Everyone in Slytherin, maybe. The rest of the Houses think he's a right bastard."

Pansy frowned at his language, but merely said, "Who cares what they think? They're wrong."

Rigel left them to argue about it, still thinking about her first encounter with her… idol? Certainly not. If there was anything Severus Snape wasn't, it was worshipable. Her hero, perhaps? No, too childish. Her future mentor, she decided, with any luck at all. He was just as larger-than-life in person as she'd imagined, but despite his words about approaching him with their ambitions, there was something… inaccessible about him. She couldn't imagine going up to him and demanding his attention, especially considering the last name she was borrowing (and her real last name, for that matter). She'd just have to work twice as hard and make him notice her.

[end of chapter three]

So we're almost to the end of the perfunctory, explanatory chapters (yay), just bear with the tedium a bit longer *_*.