A/N: Merry Holidays, etc. So sorry about the last few weeks—my dad surprised us with a trip to Europe, which means I lived like a caveman without internet for the entire break. It was super fun, but I felt so bad for neglecting this story (which I doubt many people are reading, but still), so I'm updating three chapters at once and the next as soon as I finish it. As always, thanks for reading, and if you have any questions just ask—sometimes things make sense in my head but not to anyone who is… not in my head.
(A/N2: ignore the Lily / regret symbolism in Potions class if you know what I'm talking about)
(A/N3: James, Sirius, and Remus presumably made several improvements to the Map after they reclaimed it, in hopes that their children would one day carry it. It automatically updates all passwords set on doors and passages in the castle, though it won't, of course, get you through places that need a magical signature to open. It also heats up if a Professor approaches within fifty feet of you after hours, unless it recognizes you as being in one of the dorms. It can't differentiate between students, so you still have to watch for prefects, but if you ask it to find a certain person it zooms in on their location.)
The Pureblood Pretense
Chapter Six:
Rigel woke Thursday morning in a rare mood, filled with a childish excitement that was largely foreign to her, and she thought perhaps Hogwarts was good for her temperament. It seemed to breathe magic into the most ordinary of things. Not that Thursday was ordinary- it was their first day of Potions theory.
Rigel was the first to arrive in Potions that morning. The classroom was near-freezing to accommodate the ingredients and was almost blindingly well-lit. The tables were wide enough for two cauldrons to sit comfortably and still have enough room to prepare ingredients, and the aisles were spacious, so that people could walk without brushing their robes against another's station. Rigel thoroughly approved and happily stowed her bag under the table closest to the black chalkboard after taking out her textbook for a quick refresher of the Potions in chapter one.
She had managed to give Malfoy and Pansy the slip during breakfast mostly due to the fact that neither of them was speaking to her. Wednesday had been a trial for all of them. The day started off fine. She and Pansy took their pre-breakfast walk, this time about the second floor, and Malfoy hadn't bothered her once about the events of Tuesday's Flying class while they ate. Then they had gone to Charms, and Wednesday turned like old dairy. She couldn't reproduce the Levitation Charm ("Yes, Malfoy, I am trying") for Professor Flitwick, which lost Slytherin five points and caused her housemates to suspect her of sabotaging them on purpose, since they'd all seen her perform the Charm perfectly the day before, in defense of a Gryffindor, no less.
She had to hear about it from Malfoy and Pansy all through History, and by the time they got to Defense, Rigel was so sick of it that she went and sat with Crabbe and Goyle, neither of whose said anything when she couldn't do the Lumos Charm. Malfoy took the hint but Pansy took offense and publicly snubbed Rigel by sitting pointedly with Davis and Greengrass during dinner. She hadn't spoken to Rigel since.
Malfoy kept his cool until Astronomy. After explaining how their telescopes worked, Professor Sinistra set them all to identifying various stars and constellations. Malfoy pestered her for answers, and when she finally told him she didn't know which star was Orion, Malfoy scowled darkly and accused her of being a stuck-up git who was selfishly hording his knowledge of spells and stars from his friends. He didn't believe Rigel really couldn't perform the spells in class (because he'd seen her do it the day before) and that she really didn't know the names of the stars (because, after all, why wouldn't the Black Heir know the names on his own family tree?). He'd stormed over to work with Zabini And Nott after that, and so it wasn't much of a hassle for Rigel to slip away from two people who were sternly ignoring her at breakfast Thursday morning.
She was glancing over the footnotes on cauldron bottom thickness- fascinating stuff- when Neville and the youngest Weasley came in carrying rolls and napkins filled with bacon between them.
"Are you sure we're allowed to have food in here?" Neville asked as they made their way to a table on the other side of the room.
"Probably not," Weasley shrugged, "But we'll finish before Snape gets here, and better this than being late because we stayed at breakfast. Remember how mad McGonagall was?"
"I'll never forget the look on her face," Neville shuddered, "She would have eaten us if she was any big- oomph!" Weasley had noticed Rigel and promptly elbowed Neville in the side, "Wha- oh. Hi, Rigel."
"Hi, Neville," Rigel nodded politely, "Hello, Weasley."
"Black," the redhead nodded back stiffly.
"How are you feeling today, Neville?" she asked, speaking just loud enough to carry across the room. Neville grinned at how silly they were all being and came bounding over to stand by her table, followed slowly by Weasley.
"Fine," his round face smiled widely, "Madam Pomphrey made me stay in the Hospital Wing for the rest of the day yesterday. My gran talked to the Headmaster when they fire-called her and- well, she was really rude, actually, but I'm excused from Flying lessons for the year on account of trauma."
He looked quite pleased with this, so Rigel said, "Congratulations."
"Thanks," he grinned, "And thanks for saving me, too."
"I already told you why he did that," Weasley muttered.
"Rigel didn't mean that, Ron," Neville said, "He just has to say stuff like that to be a good Slytherin, right?"
Rigel smiled, "Yes, well, about yesterday," she widened her eyes earnestly, "It wasn't really anything I did that saved you. My wand did the spell by itself."
"That's impossible," Weasley scoffed.
"Well, that's what happened," she said, "I think since that's the only spell I knew, my wand reacted instinctively to my panic."
"I guess that makes sense," Ron said slowly, "Though I've never heard of accidental magic with a wand."
"Still, thanks." Neville said.
"Don't thank me," she made a small motion with her shoulders that could have been a shrug, "We were just really lucky."
Neville made a sound of fervent agreement while polishing off his roll. Weasley eyed her warily, and then stuck his hand out toward her with violent determination.
"You're an alright sort, Black."
Rigel took his lightly tanned hand, "You as well, Weasley."
He made a face that twisted his freckles around, "Ron, please. I have too many siblings here for you to call us all Weasley."
"Very well," she said, "Then I am Rigel."
"Not Arcturus?" he pronounced the name awkwardly.
"Rigel is my middle name," she said. The door to the classroom opened and Malfoy walked in, closely followed by Pansy and Nott.
"See you, Rigel," Ron said, walking back to his table.
Neville darted a nervous glance at Malfoy and jerked his head up and down, "Bye, Rigel."
Rigel turned back to her book, but had only read three sentences when a pale, perfectly manicured hand snatched it away from her. She looked up into angry grey eyes and knew for a moment the formidable man her young classmate would become. She'd heard it said that eyes could be arresting, and though Malfoy's certainly were, Rigel thought coming under his gaze when he looked like that was a lot more like landing on the moon. There was a moment of confused disorientation when she was surprised by something she knew she shouldn't be. Then the sensation that she couldn't find her footing again, and then the fear pressed in; the momentary fear that something was pulling her away from the ground, instead of toward it, as if the universe has reversed itself and no one told her.
Then Malfoy spoke, a sharp, petulant sound that broke the illusion and brought her back to Earth with a relieved jolt. She blinked rapidly and focused on Malfoy's refined forehead instead of those anti-gravity eyes.
"Those no-account peasants call you by your first name?" he demanded, not bothering to keep his voice down. Rigel glanced over at Neville and Ron, who were fortunately too engrossed in finishing their bacon to notice. Pansy and Nott had heard, however, and both smirked at her, clearly enjoying the sight of a Malfoy practically up in arms at someone.
"Yes," Rigel said, turning her gaze pointedly toward the book he was holding hostage. He moved it behind his back just as pointedly.
"I don't even call you by your first name," he bit out.
"That's true."
Malfoy huffed and his lower lip protruded ever so slightly, "And Pansy only uses it so that others will think she's in good with the mysterious Black Heir."
"Hey!" Pansy said, "Rigel that's not true-we're friends, aren't we?"
"Are you speaking to me again?" she asked innocently, and Pansy flushed, "I'm not mysterious, though," she said, leaning to the side and trying to see around Malfoy to where he was hiding her Potions book.
"Yeah, right," Nott snorted.
Malfoy moved sideways so that he was directly in front of her again, "Stop that!"
Rigel straightened up obediently and blinked in a way she knew made her look like an abandoned baby owl, "Why are you so upset, Malfoy?"
It was Malfoy's turn to stare stupidly down at her, "Upset- I'm not-"
"You can call me 'Rigel' if you really want to," she said, making her eyes go even wider and tilting her head just so.
"Well, alright then," the blonde boy said uncertainly. Rigel wasn't sure if 'the look' worked the same without her startling green orbs, but from Malfoy's dazed and vaguely apologetic expression it was still effectively disarming with short hair and grey contacts. He gave his head a little shake and said quickly, "But you have to call me 'Draco.'"
"Okay, Draco," she said, and she smiled with her whole face for a single, agonizing second. She made sure her eyes crinkled and her nose scrunched up the tiniest bit and her teeth flashed shyly, and then she whipped her hand around and snatched her book from the dumbstruck boy's slackened grip before he could remember his name.
Pansy and Nott chuckled loudly. The door opened again and Nott went off to join Zabini at a table in the back. Pansy sat at the table next to them, where she was joined shortly by Davis, and Draco sat down distractedly in the seat next to Rigel. She flipped cheerfully to the index and began to cross-reference stirring-rod materials with their uses and dangers. Five more minutes went by before Draco finally turned to her and said, "How did you do that?"
She glanced at him blankly.
"Oh, never mind," he muttered, pulling out a parchment and quill to take notes. Rigel smiled on the inside as Draco ran a hand through his hair with vague confusion in his eyes. She didn't feel sorry for him- he had stolen her Potions book after all, and he still hadn't apologized for blowing up at her yesterday. 'The look,' which was really a series of looks that took advantage of her delicate features had been developed with the help of Archie, who could do 'the look' even better than she could, worked every time on family, friends, and enemies alike. The theory was that most people had a deep-seeded infant-instinct that caused them to respond unconsciously to things that trigged it, like puppies and babies, even if they weren't the type to show it openly. A species survival thing, maybe. 'The look' was scientifically engineered to activate those instincts by arranging the facial muscles to express innocence, helplessness, fragility, etc. Rigel wielded it with merciless humor when it suited her.
A few minutes later, the door at the front of the classroom swung open and the entire class fell silent as Professor Snape stalked like a shadow into the room. He flicked his wrist at the door leading to the dungeons. It slammed shut and locked with an audible click just as the bell rang. Rigel saw Ron nudging Neville knowingly out of the corner of her eye.
Several people gulped.
"Clear your desks," Professor Snape said. He moved to stand at the blackboard and gazed down his nose at them. There was a sense of rehearsal about him as he called roll that spoke both of old familiarity and new disdain. Every now and then he paused on a name and something that on a man with free facial expressions would have been a grimace tilted the edges of his mouth. He wasn't old enough to have taught any of their parents, so Rigel thought he was recalling names from his own years of school, like hers, or older siblings, like in the case of Ron Weasley. She didn't think the grimace meant anything good for those unfortunate enough to remind Snape of their relatives. He seemed to be less than endeared with his memories of them.
After Zabini had waved his hand half-heartedly to indicate his presence, Snape began to pace the length of the room. About twenty pairs of eyes followed his movements, the way a weaker animal tracks the gait of a panther that may or may not be hungry. Snape's voice was soft and slid so smoothly into the silent air that most didn't realize he'd begun speaking until halfway through his second sentence; they were left mentally scrambling to catch up.
"Many of you have already heard about this class, and for those of you who haven't," his smirk was a nasty piece of work, "You will. However, for the sake of those of you to whom comprehension does not often follow explanation- and I don't doubt this will include a percentage of you large enough to give me new dread for the future of the magical race- I," here he paused directly in front of Rigel and fixed his nearly-black eyes on her, "am Professor Severus Snape, the Potions Master."
Rigel dropped her gaze to the table, her heart beating erratically with nervous anticipation. It was finally time for her dream to start becoming reality. Now she was studying under Potions Master Snape, arguably the greatest creative mind in the Potions community. Now, finally she would learn the things the Potions journals and articles only mentioned and the books only hinted at. She held her breath without realizing it as she heard Snape move away once more, all the while speaking in that sibilant baritone, which was practically engineered for dripping secret Potions knowledge into an eagerly waiting student's ears.
"Potions is a demanding art," he told them, "One which always takes more than it gives."
"Sounds like my father's mistress," Nott snorted indelicately from the table behind her.
More like the basic laws of energy, Rigel thought, irritated that Nott had interrupted the Professor so disrespectfully, Of course the end result is less than what you put into it- there will always be energy and matter lost in the transaction. The point is that you also get more than you put in, because you end up with something that wasn't there before. Professor Snape is just reminding us of the invisible sacrifices that get lost sometimes in only focusing on the process, both literally and metaphorically.
"Unlike your father's latest two-Knut paramour," Professor Snape glanced repressively at Nott, "Mastering this subject will give you things your soft little minds can scarcely dream of. Pay attention, work hard, and I can teach you how to bottle fame, brew glory, and even put a stopper in death." (HPSS).
By now Professor Snape was back at the front of the room, and not a soul moved a muscle until-
"Weasley!" Snape barked at the redhead, who jumped and gaped for a moment before remembering how to speak.
"Y-yes?" Ron shifted nervously, his hands clenching and unclenching on the table.
"What is peeled shrivelfig most commonly used in?" Snape took a single step toward Ron's table and the boy paled dramatically, his freckles standing out like speckles on a Thrush egg.
"Uh... no idea, sorry," he said.
Draco scoffed a tad too loud to be tasteful, "What kind of brainless oaf has never heard of a shrinking solution?"
Snape turned his attention to the blonde, "Correct, Mr. Malfoy. Five points to Slytherin."
The Gryffindors seemed to deflate simultaneously.
It's also used commonly in Euphoria Inducers, Rigel thought, And technically it's the juice inside the skinned shrivelfig that's used in shrinking solutions.
"Patil," Snape turned toward a girl with caramel skin and luminous golden eyes, and a plait of black hair down her back, "When would you ingest the leaves of the aconite plant?"
The girl bit her lip. Her pretty eyes shifted from her desk to Professor Snape's collar, and back, "Um, never? Because it's poisonous, isn't it?"
"I wonder what you will do, Miss Patil, when your blood pressure is dangerously high, but you refuse to take the heart sedative because there is aconite in it," Professor Snape said with a bit more rancor than was perhaps needed to make his point, "Or when you can't take a sweat inducer for your fever for the same reason."
Patil shrunk back into her seat, cheeks red and lip trembling. Rigel thought Snape might have mentioned that aconite leaves are poisonous, and that you only ingest them in potions with strong neutralizing agents, and you never should eat the leaves by themselves, but she assumed Snape meant to show them that there is no "always" or "never" in Potions so she refocused on the next person being questioned with a mental shrug.
Draco answered a question about whether angel trumpet flowers were poisonous correctly, and Pansy took a wild guess when asked for the uses of armadillo bile, but Rigel wasn't called on until after Goyle suggested that antimony was used to keep vampires away. Professor Snape swooped down on her (or so it seemed from her admittedly low vantage point) and from his emotionless expression and the fact that he had put her off until last, Rigel assumed he was trying very hard to treat her neutrally. He couldn't favor her like he would any other Slytherin yet, because of the way her "father" Sirius had treated him in school, but because she was a snake he also didn't want to be seen treating her like a Gryffindor.
"Black," he said when he was close enough to pierce her with his sharp eyes, "What would I get if I mixed powdered root of asphodel into an infusion of wormwood?"
Rigel blinked. That potion isn't anywhere on the first year syllabus. The other questions have all been about ingredient usage and dangers, which makes sense for an introduction class, and I guess this qualifies, but I doubt anyone else will know that-
"They make the Draught of Living Death, sir."
Snape's eyes sharpened to black drills, boring across the distance between them and studying her as if she were a strange plant he'd come across in the forest but wasn't sure whether it could be used in a Potion or not.
"And what is the difference between monkshood and wolfsbane?" he pressed.
Rigel, surprised to get a second question, glanced at Draco, who had also answered his correctly, but he was equally mystified. Snape noticed their strange looks and said smoothly, "You are the last student, Mr. Black, but I have a few questions left over. The material must be covered, so I will simply ask you. Unless you don't know the answer," Snape suggested reasonably, "In which case I can always ask Longbottom again."
Rigel didn't have to glance at Neville to know he was probably sending her a pleading look, "They are both the same as the poisonous plant Patil mentioned earlier," she said, "Aconite."
"Indeed," Snape said. She thought she heard a thoughtful note in his voice, but that was probably wishful thinking on her part, "What is a bezoar, Mr. Black, and where would you look if you needed to find one?"
"It's a small stone which neutralizes poisons, though it doesn't work very well on snake venom or nightshade-based toxins. It is usually taken from the stomach of a goat that is older than fifteen months but no older than eight years," Rigel said, ignoring the intensely interested look Draco was giving her and focusing only on Snape. He didn't look angry that she'd run her answer on longer than necessary, but he didn't look as though he were gearing up to offer her an apprenticeship on the spot either. Rigel mentally rolled her eyes at the very idea. It's okay if I don't dazzle him on the first day, she berated herself, I have to back off the know-it-all train before I rouse his disdain.
Snape peered at her for a few more seconds before turning away to address the rest of the class, "You will be tested on all of the information given today. Class dismissed." Snape swept his robes behind him and left by the same door he'd entered through. He left behind him a class mentally exhausted from sitting in fear of being called on and then wracking their brains for the answers, some of which weren't even found in chapter one of their book (the only thing on the syllabus for that week).
Rigel gathered her things from under the table and headed for the door. With any luck they'd get to lunch before the Great Hall was too crowded and noisy. Draco and Pansy fell into step beside her before she'd gone far in the winding dungeons.
"How'd you know all that?" Draco asked.
"Yeah, did Professor Snape warn you about the questions ahead of time like he did Draco?" Pansy asked innocently. Rigel glanced sideways as Draco, who flushed slightly, "Ha! I knew it," Pansy grinned.
"What? He's my Godfather, of course he's going to he me out," Draco said, "But I know he didn't tell you."
"That's true," Rigel said, slipping her hands into her pockets to warm then after that cold classroom.
"I think... you were telling the truth the other day when you said that ridiculous thing about being a Slytherin to get on Snape's good side," Draco said slowly, as if he were still in the process of convincing himself of this, "You actually knew all that stuff, didn't you?"
Rigel smiled slightly at the disgruntled look on Draco's face. He really wasn't so bad, for a pure blood snob.
Pansy sighed, "So you really can't do spells for coppers, if that's how up-front you are when you're actually good at a class."
"Spells are much harder than Potions," Rigel said, "And not as interesting."
Draco and Pansy exchanged a long look, then Draco nodded and pressed his mouth into a line, "Rigel, we're sorry for yesterday. We understand you better now... sort of." He grimaced, but shrugged and slung an arm over them both, dragging them by the neck up the main dungeon stairs, "Now let's go eat before the upperclassmen eat all the treacle tart."
Pansy extracted herself from Draco's strangle hold gracefully, saying, "Yes, and this afternoon we'll get Rigel to show us how to do that Needle Transfiguration."
"I told you," Rigel said, letting Draco tow her along passively, "You just have to really want to poke someone," she glanced up at the blonde boy through her hair, "I could probably do it right now, if you want."
The slightly taller boy glared down at her and Pansy smiled cheekily at them both. Rigel knew suddenly, like she knew that Doxie Eggs were two sickles an ounce, that the three of them would be friends for a long time. She hoped they wouldn't hate her on the day her secrets refused to be kept. With any luck, that day would be years down the road.
She couldn't produce the needle in Transfiguration, but that was okay; after all, she didn't really need a needle. Professor McGonagall favored her with a severe look, but then again, all her looks were severe.
After dinner, Pansy went off with Bulstrode, who wanted to introduce her to a few upperclassmen, and Draco went to the Owlrey to send a letter to his father. Even though he'd glanced at her about fifteen times while writing it, Rigel thought it definitely wasn't about her.
Left to her own devices and not yet brave enough to venture the spare Potions workrooms she'd found in the dungeons, Rigel went to walk the third floor with the Marauder's Map. She was about two-thirds of the way through exploring the floor from North to South when a crashing noise rent the air and a door up ahead of her shook on its hinges.
She quickly checked the Map, thinking it might be Peeves, who she was quite interested to meet, but not about to go running in just in case it was the caretaker, Filch, getting on the wrong end of some student's practical joke. The little dot on the Map, however, said "Marcus Flint." Disappointed, and reasoning that even if that explosion meant he was in some kind of trouble it was nothing a first-year could help an upperclassman with, she stowed the Map once more and walked straight past the room, mentally reminding herself to come back later, just in case there was something interesting in there.
She was three more doors toward the far end of the corridor when the one she had passed slammed open. She kept walking, but a second later Flint's low voice filled the hallway, stopping her. Rigel turned, recognizing the guy instantly as the same Flint who'd been rude to her on the train (she had assumed there was only one Flint in Hogwarts, but who really knew?).
"Hey!" he called, his voice naturally harsh, so that she couldn't tell if he was angry or not, "What's a snakelet like you doing lurking about so far from the dungeons?"
"Walking," she said evenly, "Sorry to have disturbed you, Flint."
He walked over to where she stood, looked her up and down, and nodded to himself, "Thought that was you, Black," he said her last name oddly, "Learned some manners since the train, have you?"
"Yes," she said, thinking she would be a fool indeed if she made the mistake of antagonizing Flint twice.
He grunted, his dark green eyes tracing her features lazily, "Don't think that will be enough to save you, little snake," he grinned down at her, "If it was just rudeness between us, I'd leave you be, but I'm afraid we've other business to settle."
She frowned openly, unable to think of any other animosity between them. As far as she knew, the Flints had no beef with any Black.
"Oh, don't look so perplexed, snakelet," he said, "I'm not angry with you- in fact you've caught me in a good mood as I've just blown off some steam- but I know your secret, and we don't keep such dangerous secrets for free in Slytherin, even if we are feeling generous."
Rigel went very, very still and fixed her solemn eyes on Flint's bronze-flecked dark green ones, "My secret?" she asked neutrally, "Pray tell, what secret would that be?"
"What, got so many you can't keep track?" he laughed- actually laughed!- at her, "I don't doubt that, but I was referring to the fact that you've been using someone else's name."
Rigel's eyes sharpened into ice chips and she turned sharply toward the nearest door, yanking it open and gesturing for Flint to proceed her, "Why don't we take this out of the corridors?" she suggested politely, the steely look in her eyes belying the illusion of optionally. Flint stepped through to the old classroom, smirking assuredly. She closed the door firmly behind them and took a relaxed posture against the door. The worst thing she could do would be to draw her wand or act too defensive- aka guilty.
"Now what's this really about, Flint?" she asked lightly, "After all, everyone knows Rigel isn't really my first name, but you must admit that Arcturus is a bit pretentious." She smiled cajolingly, the way she'd seen Uncle Sirius do when he wanted Uncle Remus to join in one of his more ridiculous and irresponsible ideas.
Flint merely smiled enigmatically down at her from the closest row of desks, which he had propped a hip against. He crossed his arms and said, "Nice try, little snake, and if I wasn't already 100% sure of my information, I might even have believed your act. However," he pinned her with his fathomless eyes again and she knew she wouldn't be able to talk her way around this one, "I've known Archie Black since he was old enough to understand Quidditch, and though you're a good actor, you're not him."
Mentally, Rigel cursed Archie for his forgetfulness- the one other pureblood he'd probably ever met and Archie neglected to mention him. Outwardly she was calm and calculating, "What do you want, Flint?"
"Oh, several things," he said easily, as if he had not just accused her of a serious criminal offense- blood identity theft. Such a deception was treated very seriously in the current political climate. If she were found out, the consequences would be much more crippling for her than they would be for Archie—but she'd known that going into it. Flint continued, "I'd ask why, but I think I've got most of it figured; you can just confirm it for me. You see, Archie has been going to see the Wimbledon Wasps every home game since he was about four. His father books them two seats in the VIP Box for every match, which is where my father and I happen to sit every game."
Rigel was becoming more and more annoyed with Arch the more Flint talked. She'd known he went to those games every season, but had no idea he'd struck up a regular friendship there. They were practically childhood playmates! Her "cousin" had a lot of explaining to do if they made it through this intact.
"We talked often," he continued, "Gravitated toward each other as the only boys of a relative age in the box, and after his mother died and he started coming by himself because Black Sr. refused to leave the house, Archie told me his ambition of becoming a Healer." Rigel tried not to show her surprise that another knew of Archie's dearest wish, and still Flint talked, "I figure the only way you're here is because Archie's where he wants to be, in America, but needs someone to pose as him so his father won't catch on to the fact that Archie's not at Hogwarts. That's where you come in," he nodded at her, an expression of satisfaction on his face, "You must have been originally slotted to go to America, so that Arch could take your place, but your accent is British, which means you must not really be a pureblood at all, or you'd have been down for Hogwarts. Your features are refined enough to pass as Archie, though, so I doubt you're a muggleborn- and you're in Slytherin besides. So you're a half-blood, posing as Arch so that he can get his Healer training, and you benefit from this by getting to go to Hogwarts, the best school for general education. The only thing I don't know is who you are."
Rigel took a deep breath, but was grinning a bit inside. He didn't know she was a girl, he didn't know she was a Potter, and he thought the whole thing was Archie's plan, and she just a convenient stand-in; he was friends with Archie and so was unlikely to ruin his dream by turning her in, and he hadn't sneered enough when he said half-blood to want to turn her in just for spite. That meant he just wanted to blackmail her, and blackmail she could handle.
"I'm just a friend of Archie's," she said.
"Archie's never mentioned any male friends to me," Flint countered.
"He's never mentioned you to me either, obviously," she said the last word with just the right amount of bitterness, and Flint laughed again.
"Fair enough, I guess it doesn't matter. I'll call you Rigel, since Archie hates his middle name anyway," Flint said, still gazing at her with smug expectation.
"You haven't told me what else you want," she said, looking him in the eye as if she was completely unafraid of his demands. And she was. Mostly.
"I'm in a good mood, like I said," he drawled, "And there's really only one thing I need right now. You know I had to repeat this year?" he asked, clearly more amused than upset at doing his fifth year over again, "Well it wasn't like everyone thought, that I failed all my exams. It was because I didn't do a single assignment or paper last year, so they used that as an excuse to hold me back, even though I knew the material."
Rigel nodded, both to show she followed and to prompt him to get to the point.
"McGonagall and a few others are already on my case this year," he rolled his eyes, "So what I need is a bright, eager little snakelet to do my work for me. I win because I don't have to waste my time writing about things I've already learned, the Professors win because they can pretend their methods are working, and you win because as long as my homework is done on time I don't think anyone needs to know where the real Arcturus Black is. Oh, and Archie wins, too, I guess," he smirked again, apparently pleased that all was right in the world.
Rigel took her time in thinking it over. As long as her Potions work didn't suffer, she could afford to take on extra work. She'd just make sure it didn't affect her friendships with Draco and Pansy so much that anyone suspected.
"Can a first year really do a fifth year's work?" she asked slowly, "Won't it make you look bad?"
"I don't care what gets turned in as long as it meets the requirements and they can't find an excuse to hold me back again," he said, "And it's not like you have to do the spells, just research them. There's a whole library for that, I hear."
She considered this. If nothing else she was bound to learn a lot of advanced stuff, some of which might be applicable to Potions, besides the Potions homework itself. And to keep her secret and preserve both her and Archie's ambitions? She would do nearly anything for that.
"Deal," she said, holding out her hand, which Flint shook solidly, "Mail me your assignments and I'll mail them back before they're due," she straightened from the door, hoping her legs would hold her through her relief, "I hope you will consider our business from here on to be concluded."
"Who can say what may come up in the world of business," Flint prevaricated, "But for now I am quite satisfied."
Realizing this was all she was going to get, Rigel nodded, opened the door, and strode off toward the stairs, calling, "I'll leave the handwriting charms for you to figure out," over her shoulder. The sound of Flint's harsh laughter followed her down the corridor.
By the time she got to the first floor, her hands were shaking, and she hurried through the dungeons to a small alcove concealed behind a tapestry of Salazar Slytherin's familiar, a foot-long baby basilisk which didn't move like the other paintings. Rigel took a fleeting moment to hope that was because the painting hadn't been treated in the right glaze, not because the basilisk was still alive. She collapsed onto the shallow, window-seat-like projection in the alcove and buried her hands in her short hair.
That was close she told herself, First thing in the morning I need to owl Archie and make sure he hasn't forgotten anything else. Then I need to find a fifth year student to help me with Flint's assignments. Most of it I can find in books, but there will be things that only come from cumulative learning experience, which I'll need to ask someone about. I need someone who won't ask too many questions. A fifth year would be ideal, since they'll have the most relevant knowledge, and they'll be so stressed-out going through their first big exams that they won't think too hard about an overly curious first year.
I'll also have to find an excuse for slipping away to the library so often. My spotty spell-work might work. It is sort of strange if I really think about it... Ah, well, she shrugged, I'll have to work on that in my free time, too. I can't continue Potions unless I at least pass my other classes, after all. She stood, already stronger than she was a few moments ago and checked the Map before stepping into the dungeon corridor; though it would have warned her if there were any Professors about, it couldn't recognize prefects. She made her way toward the common room.
According to the Map, the password had been changed to "Caduceus." She gave the new password to the wall and stopped at Pansy's room on the way to her own. They chatted about the older Slytherins Pansy had met that evening, and Rigel expressed her regrets to Pansy that she couldn't take their walk the next morning because she had to write and send a letter to her cousin.
By then it was quite late, and Nott was already asleep when she entered her dorm room. Draco was in the bathroom, probably brushing his teeth judging by the sound of running water coming from the open door. She took off her shoes and waited for Malfoy to finish and douse the lights. He came out with a towel over his face, gently patting his skin dry, and Rigel stifled a smile. A Malfoy would wash his face every night before bed at the tender age of eleven. Then again, all pureblooded children were raised to be as mature and self-controlled as possible, at least around their parents.
Draco lowered the towel and jumped a little at seeing her sitting there on her bed, "Where've you been?" he asked bluntly. His face was splotchy from the hot water on his pale complexion and a few drops of moisture fell from his bangs to land on his delicate nose.
"Library," she said, laying the foundation for her cover story, "I'm sure I'll be able to do those spells if I understand them better."
"Oh," he said, reaching into his wardrobe for his night-shirt, "Good idea."
Rigel nodded, and went to close the hangings when Draco's voice stopped her.
"Rigel?" he said, his voice soft in defference to their sleeping roommate.
"Yes, Draco," she glanced over at him. He was propped up on his pillows, staring at her very seriously.
"I wrote my father tonight," he said, still staring at her, the way a child stares at a bird they are trying not to scare away.
"I know."
"He and Mother are very curious about you," Draco said carefully, "Since we're cousins. I wrote a bit about you. I hope you don't mind," he added quickly, "It's just that I told him we were friends and... a Malfoy is always honest with his real friends," he gazed expectantly at her, so she offered him a slightly bewildered smile, "We're real friends, aren't we?" Draco prompted, stiffly vulnerable.
Rigel hesitated, a strange sort of sad guilt coming over her, "Draco, I'm a very private person. I am honored that you would consider me a true friend, and I would like to return that regard," she smiled as gently as she could, "You remind me of another true friend, but I demand no honesty from you. There are things I probably won't feel comfortable telling you about me, but I would value this friendship as much as I am able."
Draco surprised her by grinning, "Spoken like a true Slytherin," he said, "And I accept your not-necessarily-honest friendship as long as you're okay with me writing home about some of the more interesting possible-truths about you."
Rigel blinked, nodding dazedly. The Malfoy scion was unpredictable as well, it seemed. She wondered at his easy acceptance of such a strange friendship. Could they have a true camaraderie with secrets and lies between them? Rigel didn't know, but somehow in the last week the proud, impetuous, impossibly demanding, suddenly earnest, and unexpectedly human boy had become something more tolerable than a burr and less dangerous than a viper in her mind. He was a friend now, for better or worse- Pansy, too. Rigel had been called many things, from Potions-obsessed to creepily apathetic, but she was not cold-hearted. She lied to her family and friends out of necessity, but she valued them all the same.
"Great," Draco said, hopping up to douse the lights, since they hadn't learned the Nox spell yet, "Then you should know that Mother has invited you to sit with us for the first Quidditch game."
"What?" she blinked in the darkness.
"Father is on the Board of Governors, so he comes to watch the school Quidditch games in the Staff Box sometimes with Mother," Draco said, climbing back into bed, "I wasn't allowed before, because I was too young, but now I have a seat because my family sits there, and Mother has extended the invitation to you."
"What about Pansy?" Rigel asked softly, her voice seeming louder in the dark.
"I already asked her, which was mostly for propriety's sake, since she actually corresponds with Mother through their tea circle, but she hates Quidditch and doesn't even want to go to the games," Draco said.
"Alright, then," Rigel grimaced since no one could see her face, "I'll send you mother an owl tomorrow accepting her gracious invitation."
"Okay, night, Rigel."
"Goodnight Draco," she said, trying not to think about how she was going to convince Mrs. Malfoy that she was the son of the Sirius Black when Mrs. Malfoy had actually known Sirius and grown up with him as cousins. She had too much to think about already. She rolled over and pulled the blankets over her head. When in doubt, recite Potion recepies, she thought, Blood-Replenishing Potion: Step One, treat the inside of the cauldron with a non-acidic moisture-catching oil. Step Two, heat the cauldron over a small, dense flame until the oil begins to glisten. Step Three, add half a liter of hand-filtered dragon bile, making sure no stray pieces of the dragon's stomach lining make it into the cauldron while it is hot. Step Four, crush two stalks of St. Stewart's Bane...
[end of chapter six].