A/N: Hello again, my pretties. I will start by saying that everyone reading has my most abject thanks for contributing your time to this story I'd especially like to thank: hentai18ancilla, Vaughn Tyler, Debate4life, Shaded Eclipse, TearfullPixie, greyRest, theoriginalolive, Cathy Willow, AlainnRain, Kenzieloveify, and Baltaine Shadow(p.s. sorry for misspelling your sn in my pm) for your wonderful, amazing, inspiring reviews of ch13 (I've never had so many on one chapter). I was going to post this hours ago at 8000 words, but for you guys I added part of the next chapter to this one so you'd have more to chew on this week. Hope you like it.
A/N2: All references to Harriet Potter will now be made using 'Harry' instead of 'Harri,' because it looks silly with an 'i' and I think everyone gets that it's short for Harriett now, anyway.
A/N3: Because something bad must always happen on Halloween—sorry Harry! But don't worry, life gets better soon… sort of. I am speeding this up a teensy bit, so I'm not sure how many chapters to expect until the end of year one now, especially since they're getting longer. As always, thank you so much for reading.
The Pureblood Pretense:
Chapter 14:
On Saturday, Professor Snape stopped by the Slytherin table while Rigel, Pansy and Draco were immersed in a discussion of one of their Transfiguration quizzes over breakfast.
"I just don't see how it's a Switching Spell if only one of the animals gains something," Draco was saying, "It's got to be a combination Vanishing and Partial Transfiguring, doesn't it?"
"No, because even though it seems like the nose of the Mouse just disappears, in truth it gets switched with the beetle's nose—the only thing is, beetles have no noses, so—" Pansy broke off her explanation when their Head of House loomed suddenly up behind them. "Good morning, Professor Snape."
"Good day, Miss Parkinson, Mr. Malfoy," he nodded curtly. The Potions Master was dressed in his usual all-black robes, but the protective overcoat he wore while teaching or brewing had been left off, "Mr. Black, immediately following this meal you will accompany me to Diagon Alley. I will await you in the Entrance Hall in twenty minutes time."
"Yes, sir," Rigel said after swallowing, though she wished she'd kept her mouth full when her friends turned expectant expressions on her.
"Why are you leaving the school with my Godfather?" Draco asked, "Is he taking you to buy Potions ingredients or something?"
"Well, not exactly," Rigel shrugged apologetically.
"Oh, dear," Pansy sighed gracefully, "You've forgotten to tell us something important again, haven't you?"
"Kind of," Rigel said, "Remember that meeting Professor Snape called me in for on Thursday?"
"The one you were being all mopey about? Yeah, we remember," Draco said, grinning a bit to show that he was teasing.
"Well, it was about my spell-casting, or rather, my lack of spell-casting," she told them. Pansy and Draco both leaned in closer to show their attention. "He examined my wand, and he thinks it may be part of the problem, so I'm to get a new one today."
"But that one is new, isn't it?" Pansy pointed out, "Didn't you get it at Ollivander's?"
"Yes, but I guess it wasn't an exact fit," Rigel said, trying to work out how to explain it. In the end, she told them everything she and Snape had figured out, though she significantly downplayed the part where she had lost her temper and trashed the entire office. When she was finished, Pansy looked a bit confused and Draco looked pensive, but they didn't have time to discuss it much as she'd used her entire twenty minutes relating the events of Thursday night, so she told them they'd talk about it when she got back.
Rigel made it to the Entrance Hall at about the same time Professor Snape did, and the two of them set off without a word between them, down the sloping lawn toward the main gates. They walked in silence to Hogsmede, and if Rigel thought it was odd that Snape would rather walk in the brisk morning air than take a carriage, she didn't question it. The little town did a bustling business on Saturday, and she and Snape wove their way to the Three Broomsticks with difficulty, but they got there eventually, and Rosmerta, the pretty-faced owner of the pub, allowed them to use her floo right away.
Rigel had never liked the floo, which for some reason always insisted on spitting her out, instead of sending her on with a gentle push, the way it did everyone else. Archie used to say it was because she tasted like Potions ingredients. She called out, "The Leaky Cauldron!" optimistically, however, and when she was indeed catapulted out the other end at least she had the consolation that Professor Snape had let her go first, and so wasn't around to witness her humiliation.
Tom, the barkeep, helped brush the soot off with a grin, and by the time the Potions Master strolled through the flames like he didn't even notice them, Rigel was once again presentable and poised. Snape took her through the back alley wall and glared a path through the throng of Saturday shoppers to Ollivander's dusty little shop.
When they reached the door, Rigel said, "There's no need to wait for me, Professor Snape. If you want to go down to the apothecary, I can join you as soon as I'm finished."
"Don't be daft, boy," Snape said dismissively, brushing past her into the shop, "I'm not leaving you unattended in Diagon Alley."
Rigel frowned, but followed Snape into the shop, hoping that Mr. Ollivander's memory was not really as good as people claimed.
The inside of the shop looked much like it had the last time she'd been there. It was dimly lit and packed with boxes of wands from floor to ceiling. Ollivander himself was whittling slowly at a piece of birch wood when they entered, but he set it aside easily enough and stood from behind the counter to greet them.
"Don't get many younglings once term's begun," he spoke softly, his milky-white eyes peeing through the gloom at her—but he wasn't searching her face, she realized, he was looking at her hands, looking for a wand to identify her with. He remembers the wand first, and who bought the wand second, she thought, how attached he must be to them. Suddenly she felt a bit nervous about returning one to him, as though it were incredibly rude, or as though she were returning a child to an orphanage.
Snape held his own wand out for Ollivander to see, and Rigel realized it must be customary for a wizard to do so when he returned to the little shop, for Ollivander seemed pleased, but not surprised.
"Ah, yes. Thirteen and one half inches. Ebony and dragon heartstring," Ollivander smiled at the wand as if looking upon an old friend, "Highly non-conforming and good for combative magics."
Rigel glanced quickly at Snape's face, but there was no clue there to how he felt about such an assessment. Perhaps he had heard the description before.
"And you, youngling?" Ollivander looked so expectant that Rigel found herself pulling the ash wand from her pocket and holding it out to him. "Hmm, ash, twelve inches, and a hair from a particularly docile unicorn. I parted with this wand but a month ago. What seems to be the problem, Miss…" Rigel caught the ancient wandmaker's eye and widened hers beseechingly. Ollivander hesitated, taking in her Hogwarts robes and masculine haircut in an instant, and continuing, "…ster, ah, Mister… forgive me, child, but I cannot recall…"
"It's Black, Rigel Black, remember?" she smiled gratefully at him, thinking that Ollivander reminded her somehow of the Hogwarts Sorting Hat, and missing the incredulous look Snape was giving Ollivander behind her back, "I came in with my cousin, Harry Potter? Harry got an elm wand, with a unicorn hair as well."
"Ah, yes," Ollivander smiled in a way that almost twinkled, which relieved Rigel but reminded Snape eerily of Dumbledore, "I know why I don't recall you—I didn't really consider that wand sold, after all. Knew you'd be back, Mr. Black, and here you are."
"Yes," she shrugged ruefully, "You were right, and this wand doesn't work for me."
"Well, give it here, no harm done," Ollivander said, "You've not bonded with it properly anyway, so I'll wipe it clean and it'll go to someone who really needs it. Now, this time I am going to find you a wand if it takes me all day."
He hummed happily and stowed the ash wand in the back room before tottering around the stacks and collecting boxes as he went. He sat Rigel down in a chair despite her pleas to let her help him with all the boxes, and when he had a good amount he took a stool next to her chair and held the first wand out for her to take.
"Maple and unicorn hair, rather springy, try—oh dear!"
The wand had bucked in her hand the moment she grasped it and a potted plant in the corner met an untimely end in an explosion of singed leaves.
"Ah, yes, I'd forgotten just how explosive your magic is, Mr. Black," Ollivander waved off her apologies with a smile, "No matter, no matter, we'll have to do things a bit differently, that's all."
"Professor Snape thinks that I've suppressed my magic to a dangerous level," Rigel said, glancing at the silent professor, who seemed content to watch the process carefully from the sidelines, "Will it even be possible for me to bond with a wand as I am now?"
"Oh, yes, I should think so," Ollivander scratched his white head of hair, "It's true that usually I can sense a kind of magical leakage from younglings like you, and I believe that ambient magic is what the wand uses to choose the right wizard, but even if your magic is tightly controlled, the right wand would be sensitive enough to pick up on it."
"But there's no way for us to know without trying them all?" she clarified.
"Yes, I'm afraid without being able to sense the pull myself, it is difficult for me to know which wand to try," Ollivander said, "But you tried a great many last time, so we can eliminate those right off."
"How many does that leave Mr. Black to try?" Snape asked, his voice tight with annoyance.
"Oh, no more than six or seven hundred," Ollivander estimated, missing the look of horrified resignation on the Potion Master's face, "Unless… but of course I haven't used that in years…"
They waited patiently for him to continue, and he did, after sending them a slightly hurt look that suggested he'd been hoping for them to rise to the bait and say something like 'Unless what?' or 'Used what in years?' He puttered back behind the counter and pulled out a dusty old book that looked like it had been bound in the early days of parchment making. It was yellowed with age and cracked in several places along the spine. Ollivander cheerfully flipped it open, completely ignoring the musty smell that was so strong Rigel sneezed twice to clear her airways before she could breath again.
"This is a book that I haven't used since I was in training under my great uncle," the wandmaker told them, "It's a wand-predictor, useful for wandmakers who cannot yet sense the resonance between wand and wizard for themselves. It won't pinpoint the exact wand, but it gives a good idea of where to start."
He gestured for Rigel to come forward, and she saw that filling the pages were rows and rows of thumbprints done in some kind of red ink, with a suggested wand wood and core beside each one. When Ollivander seized her hand and pricked her finger with the tip of a quill, she realized belatedly that the thumbprints were done in blood, and she reluctantly coated her thumb with enough of her blood to make a clear print. Within a few minutes, a new word had appeared beside her name.
Holly.
"Hmm, good, good," Ollivander said, "Sometimes it takes a while for the book to figure out the core, but Holly would indeed fit you quite nicely I should think. It is a volatile wood, and good for dealing with impetuous emotions. It's also quite protective, and I daresay any holly wand that chooses you won't be quite so keen to give you up as that ash wand was."
He broke off as the next words appeared beneath the wood suggestion.
Phoenix Feather.
Ollivander was quiet for a long moment. He peered pearly eyed into her very soul, it seemed, before he said, "A rare combination. A phoenix's allegiance is hard won, Mr. Black, and they are creatures capable of both great detachment and great initiative. Combining the aloof nature of the phoenix with the passionate nature of Holly usually results in disaster, and as such I am afraid I have only one wand which fits these specifications at the present time."
Ollivander shut the book carefully and pulled a box from a shelf near the back of the shop. The box looked quite old, as if it had been waiting around for quite some time, and for some reason the back of Rigel's neck prickled as she gazed at it. Ollivander opened the box reverently, but instead of taking the wand out and handing it to her, he simply held the open box out toward her. "Holly and phoenix feather, eleven inches, nice and supple.* Go on and take it."
Rigel gazed at the holly wand with trepidation. Her neck was tingling fiercely now, as though Fate herself was breathing on it, and as she took the wand the tingly, prickly feeling moved from her neck to her head and swept through her entire body. She thrummed at the wand, andthe wand thrummed back. Sparks like scarlet plumage shot out of the end of the wand, and for one moment it was as if she could see the phoenix that gave the feather for her wand, yes, her wand, and she felt its blessings like a rising sun.
"Oh, bravo, Mr. Black, yes, very well done," Ollivander was smiling at her, but it seemed strained for some reason. "How curious," he muttered as he wrapped up the wand for her. He refused to charge her, since she had returned the ash wand in good condition.
"What's curious? The combination?" Rigel asked, curious herself now about what could make a wizard of Mr. Ollivander's age curious.
Ollivander looked her very carefully in the eye, "Mr. Black, I will not lie to you—this wand was meant for great things. The phoenix whose feather resides in you wand gave another, just one other. When two wands share the origin of a core, spectacular things are known to happen. I wonder what this connection will mean for you. I am curious to see if you ever find your wand's brother."
Rigel wasn't sure what to say to that, so she thanked Mr. Ollivander politely and followed Snape quietly back to the Leaky Cauldron, thinking all the time.
Shared cores? Great things? Sure, Rigel wanted to do great things—what Slytherin didn't? —but not with a wand. Still, the holly wand had chosen her, so who was she to say? She thought perhaps 'great things' came on their own time, and that the best she could do was focus on the present. She certainly had enough to be getting on with.
[HPHPHP]
Her new wand was brilliant, Rigel found over the next few weeks, but temperamental. Sometimes she could perform a spell perfectly, while other times the holly wand would force more magic than Rigel had intended into the spell and magnify or distort it in some way. It happened once in Defense Against the Dark Arts, and Professor Quirrell was less than pleased when the straw dummy she and Draco were supposed to be casting the stunning spell on exploded into a million pieces instead.
"Don't worry about it, Rigel," Pansy said when Rigel had gotten a week's worth of detention for destroying school property, "It's not your fault. Quirrell's been looking for an excuse to give you detentions again since you started being able to do the spells properly."
"Does he hate my father, too?" Rigel said, half-serious—heh, half-Sirius indeed.
Draco and Pansy exchanged a guarded glance.
"Well, Quirrell is a big supporter of the S.O.W. party," Draco said carefully, aware that politics were a touchy area when you had a blood-traitor best-friend.
"Of course he is," Rigel sighed, "But he doesn't give the kids from other anti-S.O.W. families the same kind of trouble. Why is it me in particular?"
"Perhaps he feels that the Blacks, especially, should believe in the Save Our World organization's message," Pansy said, "Since in the past the Blacks were so… so…"
"Vehemently obsessed with blood-politics?" Rigel suggested. It had been a weak attempt to lighten the mood, and neither of her friends laughed, "Well, there's nothing that can be done this moment, so let's talk about something else."
When she asked Snape about her wand acting up, he told her it was likely siphoning off the built up energy in her magical core whenever it could, and that the solution was simply to do more magic with it. Rigel wasn't so sure. At times the wand seemed to have a will of its own, but it wasn't that the wand was doing things she didn't want it to do, exactly. More that it was doing things she wasn't willing it to do.
Once in a crowded hallway Rigel had stubbed her toe against a suit of armor on her way past. As she stopped to examine the toe, cursing and dreading being late to her Potions Practical class, she'd noticed the pain receding at the same time she noticed the wand in her pocket heating up. By the time she'd gotten her sock off, the injury was completely gone, despite the small amount of blood left on the inside of the sock to attest to its presence. Just as she'd thought this, however, the wand in her pocket thrummed once more, and the bloodstain disappeared as well.
By Halloween, she was ready to bury the wand in the deepest cavern she could find and pretend she'd never laid hand on the menace. It had taken to completing the spells she was supposed to learn in class almost before she could form the incantation. No one else noticed, but Rigel couldn't help but feel cheated. To prevent her want preempting her conscious direction, she had to very carefully not want the spell to work until she'd said the incantation and done the wand-movement correctly. Even then, she had a sneaking suspicion that her wand was only humoring her.
October had been extremely trying even setting aside the rather spirited nature of her new wand. Most of her professors had oh-so-generously assigned her extra credit work to bring up her grades in the classes she'd been failing most spectacularly at with the ash wand. While she understood that they were only trying to help, she was absolutely swamped with work (hers and Flint, who seemed to be cheerfully accepting extra credit assignments of his own just for kicks) for most of the month, and her friends were getting rather sick of hearing that she'd been in the Library despite the fact that no one had seen her there (because she was still going incognito in deference to Madam Pince's completely unfounded paranoia).
Perhaps that was why Rigel was so looking forward to Halloween Feast that she sped recklessly through the dungeons on her way to the Great Hall. She was late, because she'd gotten caught up in an essay on basic ward theory for Flint's DADA class and had to rush back to the common room to stash her book bag (with her costume inside) before going back upstairs to the feast. She left her wand in her bag, too, to prevent it from doing something unpredictable at the feast. She just wanted to have a nice, quiet, uneventful few hours with her friends, thank you very much. By the time she eased into the Hall, the feast had started. Pansy had saved her a seat on her left, with Draco directly across the table, and Rigel took it gratefully, glancing around in awe at the mountains of food she had to choose from. She was fairly sure the house elves had invented some of the things on the table, if for no other reason than that there couldn't possibly have been that many dishes of edible things already in existence.
"We were beginning to think you weren't coming," Pansy nudged her jokingly by learning her left shoulder on Rigel's briefly.
"Wouldn't miss it," Rigel said as she began filling her plate with bits from different dishes, "Just got caught up—"
"In the Library," her friends chorused wryly.
"Of course you did," Draco said in what she thought was meant to be a conspiratorial tone. It came off a bit patronizing, as Draco was of the opinion that he was doing Rigel a gracious favor in humoring her every time she 'lied' to them about going to the Library. Rigel didn't blame him for doubting her—apparently her disguises were quite good.
"Well, wherever you were, you just missed quite a bit of excitement," Nott said, leaning around Pansy to grin cheerfully at Rigel.
"Oh?" she raised an eyebrow curiously. She was only about ten minutes late to the feast, but perhaps the Headmaster had started things off with a bang.
"Someone played a prank on the Hufflepuff table," Zabini smiled his usual, cryptic smirk.
"Stupid duffers," mumbled Goyle into his pumpkin pie. Rigel thought that was rather saying something in Goyle's case.
"What happened?" Rigel had a good view of the Hufflepuff table over Draco's shoulder, and nothing appeared to be wrong with the badgers.
"A couple of the jack-o-lanterns on their table exploded into fireworks," Nott said. Pansy had given up eating and simply leaned back politely while Nott filled Rigel in, "Nothing special, just a bunch of common Zonko's, but bits of pumpkin sprayed everywhere, and they went on for a good five minutes I think. It was amusing watching the 'puffs scatter like Cornish pixies while the professors tried to contain them."
"Strange," Rigel commented as she judiciously applied caramel in a faint drizzle over he apple slices.
"What's so strange, Rigel?" Draco said, "Hufflepuffs get pranked all the time."
"Does Ravenclaw House do much of this pranking?" Rigel asked.
"No, of course not," Nott looked just as confused as Draco, "It's all Gryffindors and Slytherins, mostly."
"Then it's strange that Hufflepuff would be attacked in the middle of a prank war in which Gryffindor and Slytherin are supposed to be targeting one another," Rigel shrugged, "They must have really annoyed someone."
"Oh, yeah I guess," Nott turned back to his food once more and Pansy allowed herself to continue her own meal with a look of resigned indulgence you'd expect from a mother with her children.
The food was excellent, and Rigel made a note to tell the house elves that they'd outdone themselves between the feast and the decorations. The caramel was much thicker than she'd realized, however, and she made a face at the sticky feeling on her gums as she reached for the glass of pumpkin juice sitting by her plate.
The goblet was halfway to Rigel's lips when someone cried out in sudden alarm from behind her and a hand came flying over her shoulder to knock the pumpkin juice violently from her grasp. The goblet spilled onto the table with a loud clanking noise and the liquid inside splashed onto her right hand and arm. Immediately, Rigel knew it was not pumpkin juice. It burned in the places it had spilt onto her bare skin and her robes were smoking and fizzing where the liquid had splashed them. She leapt up from the table, shouting, "Stay away from it!" to everyone sitting near them. Rigel hauled Pansy out of her seat with the hand that hadn't gotten splashed and pushed the blonde girl behind her toward the Gryffindor table. The boys sitting near them had all stood and moved away from the area of the spill, and she didn't think any of them had gotten hit. Thank Merlin the House tables were widened to accommodate the extra food that night or Draco might have gotten a lap full of the stuff. As it was, only Rigel was hurt, but gods it hurt.
Pansy grabbed a pitcher of water from the Gryffindors' table and upended it quickly over Rigel's right hand and forearm. There was instant, cooling relief, but it was short-lived. Soon her skin was burning again, even as Pansy grabbed another pitcher and poured it over the affected area, going slower this time and trying to prolong the relief.
"Move aside, move aside," Professor Snape's loud growl cut a path for the teachers through the press of students, mostly Slytherin and Gryffindor as they were the closest, who were trying to see what was going on.
Rigel was spun to face the Potions Master, who took quick stock of the situation and with cool efficiency reached out and ripped the right sleeve off of Rigel's robe completely. Her arm was revealed as she'd only put on a short-sleeved polo under her robes that day, and the patches of bright red skin stood out like stripes on a candy cane. Snape pulled out his wand just as a matronly woman in a white habit, who Rigel assumed uneasily to be Madam Pomfrey, appeared beside them to pull hers out as well. They both cast Aguamenti onto Rigel's arm, and the steady stream of soothing, slightly cool water made Rigel sag with relief. Rigel eyed Madam Pomfrey as the older woman examined the arm, and prayed that the superficiality of the wound would insure that the Mediwitch didn't need to do any deeper or more general health scans.
Draco was there to brace his hands on her shoulders so that she wouldn't sway dangerously toward the floor, and when she looked over to smile gratefully at him she ended up wincing at the thunderous look on his face instead. He was tightlipped and shaking, and his anger seemed to be entirely directed at Blaise Zabini—no, wait, at the little blonde girl Zabini was holding tightly by the elbow.
Seeing the quizzical look Rigel was sending him, Zabini smiled in his peculiar way and said, "What shall I do with your little blonde butterfly? She seems to have become discontent with merely watching you, Black."
The girl flushed deeply, her pretty blonde pigtails quivering slightly as she shivered under Zabini's predator stare. Rigel blinked as she recognized the first-year Hufflepuff.
"Abbott?" Rigel asked blankly, "You're the one that's been following me?"
"She's the one that knocked the acid onto your arm," Draco hissed in her ear, glaring at the girl, who whimpered.
"Please, I didn't mean to," she said brokenly, and Rigel could see that she was crying now, gazing tearfully at Rigel's injured arm, which Snape and Pomfrey were taking turns keeping under water while the other teachers tried to reinstate order somehow.
"It looked pretty purposeful to me," Pansy said darkly, righteous indignation in every breath, "You were running right at him, and you practically dove for that goblet."
"I was trying to stop him!" Abbott blubbered fearfully, she looked back up at Rigel imploringly, "I thought I was too late when I saw you about to drink from it, so I panicked! I didn't know it would burn you, I just knew you couldn't d-drink it."
Snape left off treating her arm, apparently content to let Madam Pomfrey poke and prod at it now that Rigel was out of immediate danger. The water had washed away all traces of the chemical, and even as Pomfrey cast various disinfectant and healing spells over it, house elves were popping in to take care of the acid that had spilled over the Slytherin table. The wood was smoking underneath the puddle of the corrosive stuff, and all the house elves were wearing thick protective gloves and dental masks.
"If you did not know it was acid in the cup, then how did you know that the juice had been tampered with in the first place?" Snape barked at the diminutive girl.
Abbott began crying in earnest once more at the black look on Snape's face, but she choked out, "I over h-heard it. I left the f-feast to go to the bathroom, and I heard someone mention Rigel's name—Black, I mean."
Pansy shot Rigel a look that demanded to know why Abbott was using her first name. Rigel sent her a helpless, don't-look-at-me shrug and turned her attention back to her attacker—who was looking more and more like her rescuer if her story was true.
"It was a b-boy, I think," Abbott said, still sniffling pitifully, "I was passing the alcove by the stairs, and I heard him say he'd gotten the t-tablet into Black's drink, and then he laughed, and he was thanking someone for setting off the fireworks at our table earlier."
Almost every Slytherin who had been sitting near Rigel's empty place scowled darkly at the realization that they'd been played for fools. The Gryffindors at the table behind them were listening in, some openly frowning as they put two and two together and realized that their House was the most obvious perpetrators, since the fireworks had ensured everyone was looking away from their table when they went off.
"I realized the prank m-must have been a distraction, and that whoever it was had used the confusion to slip something into Black's drink, and I ran back in as fast as I could to try and stop you from drinking it," Abbott widened her impossibly innocent eyes further, and Rigel felt strangely like someone expected her to kick a puppy, "Please, Ri—please, Black, I didn't know it was acid or anything, I just thought it was poisoned. I didn't mean to hurt you." She whispered the last part dejectedly, ducking her head in guilt but unable to turn her face away because Zabini was still holding onto her arm, albeit more gently now.
Rigel sighed tiredly. Pomfrey had patched her up with a bandage, and she broke into the conversation to say, "You should be good as new by tomorrow morning, Mr. Black, but I will leave a draught to ward off infection with Professor Snape tomorrow, and I expect you to take it." Rigel nodded meekly in the face of the Mediwitch's no-nonsense tone. She wondered why Dumbledore hired so many stern, matronly witches to work at Hogwarts.
Snape surveyed the lot of them balefully, "If I find out you are lying about this incident, Miss Abbott, you will rue the day you got your Hogwarts acceptance letter. As it is," he took a deep, fortifying breath as his gaze shot from Rigel's newly bandaged appendage to Abbott's tearfully sincere face, "Ten points to Hufflepuff, for preventing grievous injury to another student."
The Hall gaped with silence, and Rigel was sure she saw Snape's lips twitch ever so slightly upwards as he swept out of the room with a sinister flourish.
"Prevented—" Abbott stuttered, "But—I caused—"
"Professor Snape is right," Rigel smiled tiredly at the other girl, "You couldn't have known it would hurt me to spill it—and even then, it would have been worse if I had drunk it like I was supposed to. I owe you one, Abbott."
"Oh, no," she smiled tremulously, probably relieved that the Slytherins didn't think she had been the one trying to hurt one of their snakes, "You saved me on the stairs that day, anyway. I'm just glad you're okay."
Rigel could have pointed out that the railing had saved both of them that day on the Owlrey stairs, but, as a Slytherin, she was obligated to take get-out-of-debt-free cards without asking questions. She smiled her thanks once more to the Hufflepuff and nodded at Zabini to release his 'prize butterfly.' She wondered if she imagined it, but he looked almost disappointed as he dropped the girl's arm and pushed her gently toward her House mates, all of whom congratulated and admired her for her heroic good deed.
The whole Great Hall was staring at Rigel, she now realized, and with a brief sigh, she said, "I'm gonna head back to the common room. You guys enjoy the feast."
She started to turn away, but—
"As if!" Draco caught her left arm and dragged it over his shoulder in a blatant show of support and Pansy gently set her hand in the crook of Rigel's right elbow, above the bandages. The two of them escorted her proudly and defiantly out of the Hall. Rigel took note of several faces on her way to the doors. Rosier and Rookwood were both following her with their eyes, Rookwood carefully and Rosier lazily. Ron was sending her a sympathetic grimace, and Neville, sitting next to him with his head in his hands, looked decidedly green. She'd really have to stop injuring herself in front of the poor kid. Flint was seated at his end of the Slytherin table, looking for all the world as if he'd never gotten up, but he sent a pointed, unimpressed look toward her bandage that clearly said she was not going to be getting out of writing essays for this. She rolled her eyes discreetly at him. As they left the curious and calculating eyes of the students behind them, Rigel could not suppress the traitorous little part of her mind that noticed the Weasley Twins, usually so easy to pick out of a crowd, were no where to be seen.
They made it back to the common room in no time at all, and the three of them collapsed (well, Rigel collapsed and her pureblooded friends sat swiftly on either side of her) onto a low-backed couch. Pansy's eyes darted helplessly between Rigel's tired, resigned face and her bandaged arm, and she stood just as swiftly and strode off toward her dorm room. Draco made a move to go after her, but Rigel held his arm. "She'll be back, she just needs something to do." Sure enough, Pansy returned a minute later carrying a tea tray in her hands, with a tin of her grandmother's biscuits levitating shakily behind her.
As she set about making them all tea, Draco started what Rigel knew was going to was going to be an awkward conversation.
"Who would do something like this?" he stared incredulously at her arm, and Rigel wondered how much worse it must have been to stand and watch helplessly while a friend was hurt. She laid a hand reassuringly on Draco's arm, and his eyes finally moved away from her bandaged leg. "I just don't understand. If it was a Slytherin, okay, one of them might resent you for your family's politics, but we already know it isn't, presuming this is the same coward who attacked you in the dungeons before, and besides, there are very few who's pull something so nasty on a first-year, particularly a Slytherin first-year. It goes against everything this House stands for."
"I doubt it's a Hufflepuff," Pansy said, her voice perfectly poised though her hands shook ever so slightly as she passed out the tea cups, "You saw how pleased they all were with Abbott's actions, and presumably Abbott would have recognized the voice she overheard if it was a Hufflepuff."
"It would have been difficult to set off the fireworks without help from a 'puff, though," Rigel said after taking a sip of the sweet jasmine tea, "I think probably whoever it was had an accomplice in Hufflepuff, but the accomplice likely didn't know how serious the prank was going to be until it was too late. We can't count on them coming forward, since he or she will be too scared of both the instigator's retaliation and his housemates' disapproval."
"That leaves Ravenclaw and Gryffindor," Draco said, "But I think we can rule Ravenclaw out because their table is on the far side of Hufflepuff's in the Great Hall. The only ones who could have used the window when we were looking at the fireworks effectively are the Gryffindors."
"A lot of them didn't look too happy with the prank, either," Pansy pointed out, "It's no wonder the Weasley twins high tailed it out as soon as it was clear that Rigel was okay."
"What?" Draco frowned, "You think the Weasley twins did it? I guess they would be the most likely to have a supply of fireworks on hand."
"I don't know," Pansy shrugged, "But whether they did or didn't, people are going to suspect them. We know there were two people involved, and that at least one is probably a Gryffindor. We also know that there were Zonko brand fireworks used, and that they have a history for pulling pranks that are timing-sensitive, as this one was—oh I still can't believe they slipped something into your drink without anyone noticing, Rigel, I'm so sorry."
Rigel shook her head, "Don't worry about it, they might have floated whatever it was into the cup for all you know, and how could you have noticed that, with all the fireworks? And speaking of, what was that? I've never heard of a Potion that makes beverages into corrosive acid."
"It was a tablet," Draco said, "My father told me about them, because the Ministry's been having a lot of problems with them lately. They started out as a joke, sold—again—at Zonkos. It was supposed to be a gag; you slip the little tablet into your friends' drink, and it turns the drink to solid wood, but without changing the appearance of it, so your friend tries to drink it, the liquid won't come out, everyone laughs. The problem is, these converter tablets turned out to be a lot easier to tamper with than they expected. People were buying the tablets, tweaking the spells slightly, and turning their enemies' beverages to cleaning solution, or to tiny pellets of lead, and since it projects a sensory illusion of whatever was originally in the cup, people would ingest the stuff not knowing it was going to kill them until it was too late."
"Merlin, all this from a joke product?" Pansy shuddered, "Imagine if you had drunk it, Rigel. We'd have never known until it was too late, and I doubt your insides would rinse as well as your outsides did."
Rigel grimaced in agreement. She had never heard of such a tablet, but then, she didn't take much interest in her family's pranking unless it involved her hair falling out, and even then she just brewed up a Hair-Replacement Serum.
"Of course, they pulled the line at Zonkos after only a month on the shelves, and they tried to collect as many of the sold tablets as they could, but I suppose they were bound to miss some," Draco scowled, "But why'd it have to be you, Rigel? I thought you got on with the Gryffindors."
"I do," Rigel shrugged, "Or I thought I did. Maybe someone objects to a snake being so friendly with a few lions."
"Or maybe they resent your family, since before your father the Blacks were always associated with the darker side of Slytherin politics," Pansy suggested delicately.
"What is it with Gryffindors and that whole 'sins of the fathers' thing, anyway?" Draco asked, "I mean, we're all purebloods at this school now, so what does it really matter at this point who tricked who? But no, those stubborn Light-headed little griffins think it's their civic duty to try and undo everything we've worked to hard to accomplish. It's like they want to rub elbows with people who can barely hold a wand straight."
Rigel flinched before she could stop herself. That comment stung more than it should have—Draco didn't know she was one of the 'ignorant muggle-tainted' people of whom he spoke, and she knew that her spellwork had nothing to do with her blood. Still, it struck a painful chord to hear her friend unknowingly disparaging her and everyone like her. Pansy kicked Draco, dexterously avoiding Rigel's feet in the process, and glared fiercely until he cringed and started backtracking wildly.
"I didn't mean you, of course," he patted her awkwardly on the shoulders, "It wasn't your fault you couldn't hold a wand straight and—"
"Draco!" Pansy exclaimed, exasperated at his rudeness.
"—and you do spells as well as anyone now, of course," Draco went on hurriedly, "And you're a proper pureblood, Slytherin and everything, no matter what unfortunate politics your family's wrapped up in. Why, I bet by the time you graduate you'd be easily accepted into the S.O.W. party. My father could get you a high rank, even, if he likes you."
Pansy groaned at their friend's tactlessness, but Rigel shook her head at the other girl, silently telling her not to bother.
"I'm afraid I don't care much for politics, Draco, pureblood or otherwise," Rigel said carefully, but politely, "Your offer is kind, but I fear I won't have much need of it. As for the Gryffindors, everyone is entitled to their own opinion, don't you think?"
"I suppose," the boy shrugged indifferently.
"Think of it this way," Pansy said lightly, "How can the Malfoys be right all the time if they don't let other people be wrong?"
"Very well, they can be wrong, but they certainly aren't entitled to attacking my friends," Draco's face was a mask of determination, "When we find out who did this, they better hope the Headmaster expels them."
"In the mean time, don't go running off with those Gryffindor friends of yours," Pansy said, holding up a staying hand when Rigel would have interrupted her, "I know you don't want to suspect your friends, but at least stay away from their common room. It's just foolish to go there alone when you know one of them probably wishes you harm."
Rigel hesitated. She hated lying to her friends when she didn't have to, but Pansy's face was drawn and worried, and if she could alleviate some of that worry, she would. Even if it meant lying. "Alright," she said softly, "I'll avoid their territory until the person who did this is uncovered." She wouldn't, not if she needed Percy's help with an essay (which she usually did if the essay was Transfiguration), but Pansy was relieved to hear the words, so she dismissed the guilty feeling inside of her and reached instead for another of Pansy's grandmother's biscuits.
Their talk turned to other things, like Quidditch, and the upcoming match that weekend against the Gryffindors. Draco wouldn't be playing, unless something really dreadful happened to Higgs, but he was so excited and proud on his team's behalf that the prospect of watching the whole thing with the other reserve players seemed nearly as wonderful to him as actually getting to play. Pansy was jokingly critiquing the Slytherins' strategy, which she neither cared about nor understood one whit of, when the common room wall slid open and students from the feast started filing in.
Many of their year-mates came over to offer their sympathies (real or contrived) to Rigel, and even some older students stopped by their couch to assure the first-years that this would not go unanswered. Rigel half-heartedly tried to sway them from getting revenge on the Gryffins, since nothing was proven yet, but the general consensus was that the evidence spoke for itself at this point, and to take it lying down would just be an invitation for more abuse.
As Rigel lay in bed that night, she thought at least she'd be able to write Sirius that she was almost single-handedly responsible for increasing the number of pranks in the school by a factor of ten.
[HPHPHP]
The first week of November was pure chaos. The Slytherins had launched a no-quarter campaign against the Gryffindors, and the Gryffindors, as soon as they realized what was going one, retaliated in kind. Nearly every meal involved a prank of some kind going off, and even Dumbledore, who always seemed so amused when people's hair turned a funny color or a student sang the school song at the top of their lungs, was looking worried and troubled by the third consecutive day of the prank war. It was all the Claws and Puffs could do to stay of out the warring Houses' way, and the only bright side was that the house elves had never been happier cleaning up all the messes that the chaos resulted in. Filch was on a rampage, giving detentions for 'looking suspicious' left and right, and the only places safe from pranks were the common rooms (mostly) and Snape and McGonagall's classrooms. Neither Head of House was at all pleased by the situation, though it was really all they could do to keep order in their own classes.
The situation was not helped by the looming Quidditch season. Anticipation was high the week before the first match, and players from both teams were targeted especially viciously in hopes of winning an edge before Saturday. Draco was relatively safe, being both a first-year and only a reserve player, but someone had left a huge tarantula in his book bag on Wednesday, and it left a nasty bite on Draco's hand when he reached in for his Charms textbook. Luckily, Draco wasn't allergic, and a quick trip to the Hospital Wing patched him up good as new, but the incident had them all paying closer attention to their things and the people they let near them.
The tension that had been building all week finally reached a fever pitch on the day of the match.
Pansy had woken them all up early again to help Rigel dress appropriately for both meeting the Malfoys and attending a school Quidditch game. In the end, she was dressed in casually-cut robes of dark grey with emerald green embroidery along the cuffs and a deceptively delicate scarf of the same color green, which was actually quite warm—she'd certainly need it up in the teacher's box. Pansy herself had on equally casual-yet-elegant robes of deep green, with silver trim and a black, cashmere scarf that made her golden blonde hair stand out brilliantly. "Of course, it'll still look common next to the Malfoys' hair, but there's nothing to be done about that," she'd shrugged when Rigel complemented her on it.
Draco ate just as heartily that morning as he had the day of tryouts, and it was all Pansy and Rigel could do to keep him distracted so he didn't work them all into states of agitation with his constant mutterings about the chances of such-and-such play working against so-and-so a player. Instead, Pansy and Rigel asked him questions about his parents and advice for meeting them.
"Well, Father is very proper in mixed company," Draco said slowly, never having thought too hard about his own parents, "So don't be offended if he's quite formal. Mother will probably be a bit friendlier, if only because she'll see you as family, Rigel, and already likes Pansy so well."
Pansy smiled brightly, "I do adore your mother, if you don't mind me saying so. She has the most marvelous tea sets she uses whenever my mother and I visit for the afternoon; I don't think I've ever seen the same set twice."
Draco rolled his eyes at Rigel, who dutifully sent a look that said she quite agreed that tea sets were a silly, girly thing. Pansy kicked both of them with her prim little shoes under the table.
"Whatever you do, don't mention politics or Father's work in the S.O.W.," Draco said suddenly, "He loves Quidditch, though you won't know it by looking at his face during the match, and he hates to have his leisure time interrupted with his work."
"Easy enough," Pansy shrugged, "I'm not eager to converse on such subjects with the Malfoy patriarch—I've no doubt I'd make a fool out of myself, being so out of my depth."
"Everyone is out of their depth when it comes to Father," Draco grinned, "That's what makes him a Malfoy."
Rigel and Pansy laughed. Flint finally stood and signaled his team (Wood following right after and doing the same for his team), and Draco stood, still grinning, and waited patiently for Rigel and Pansy to finish offering luck and well wishes (none of them acknowledging that he wouldn't actually be playing), before heading off after his team.
Pansy carefully smoothed her hands over the shoulders of Rigel's robes and brushed a few of her short curls into place before nodding, smiling, and standing to go. Rigel offered Pansy her arm, a habit she was finding less uncomfortable as she got used to it, and the two of them made their way slowly out toward the pitch.
The teachers' box was large and spacious, with comfort charms on all of the benches and plenty of room between the rows to stretch out one's feet, or else mingle congenially with the other people in the box. Most of the teachers were already present when Pansy and Rigel arrived, including the Headmaster, who turned twinkling eyes their way for a few moments when he saw them (well, mostly Pansy with Rigel being towed along) breeze into the box as if they owned it. Mr. Malfoy was already there, unless there was some other man in the wizarding world who looked as though he'd cloned himself in Draco, rather than merely fathering him. He and his wife were seated in the second row. Professor Snape sat to the elder Malfoy's left while the seats beside Mrs. Malfoy, the ones farthest from where Rigel and Pansy stood, were empty and likely being saved for them.
Pansy smiled brightly as Mrs. Malfoy turned her head and caught sight of them. The regal, beautifully cool lady stood immediately and beckoned them forward with an outstretched hand. Her husband and Professor Snape looked around to see who had garnered her attention, and the Malfoy patriarch stood as well, followed a moment later by a sardonically amused Snape, who raised his eyebrows at the first-years, but said nothing as they strode forward in what Rigel hoped was a convincingly confident way.
The Malfoys were dressed to match in striking silver robes, and their hair did indeed shine like they held individual lights captive among the strands. Pansy stepped forward first, as was proper since she would be making the introductions.
"Narcissa, how wonderful to see you today," she smiled charmingly up at Draco's mother and dipped a small curtsey, "And looking as lovely as ever, I see."
"Pansy, my dear, I see formal schooling has not robbed you of your natural charm," Mrs. Malfoy inclined her head with a strange sort of regal fondness, "You remember my husband, Lucius?"
"Pleased to see you looking well, Mr. Malfoy," Pansy made a deeper curtsy this time.
"Likewise, Miss Parkinson," Mr. Malfoy said, his voice as elegant as his silver-tipped serpent cane, and, Rigel suspected, just as deadly when called upon. His hair was long and it framed his aristocratic visage perfectly. His jaw-line was just a tad stronger than most pureblooded men, and it gave him an especially powerful aura that Rigel could immediately tell was not contrived in the least. "Your father is well, I trust?"
"Quite well, thank you, sir," Pansy said. She then turned to Snape and dipped a shallow curtsey for him as well, for although it was well-known that Snape was not pureblooded, he was held in high respect by most of the pureblood circles, "Good day, Professor Snape."
"Indeed, Miss Parkinson," Snape nodded shortly, his dark eyes sweeping restlessly around the box even as he spoke.
"And who is your patient escort today, Pansy?" Mrs. Malfoy asked, a friendly smile playing at the edges of her mouth.
Pansy turned slightly to indicate Rigel to the three adults and said, "Mr. Malfoy, Narcissa, may I introduce to you Rigel Black? Rigel is a dear friend to me, and to your son. Rigel, this is Draco's mother, Mrs. Narcissa Malfoy, and his father, Mr. Lucius Malfoy."
"A pleasure to make your acquaintance at last, Mr. Black," Mrs. Malfoy held out a delicate hand, which Rigel bowed over respectfully, though she didn't kiss it in deference to the lady's husband.
"Likewise, fair lady," Rigel said upon raising her head once more, "Though word of your unmatched beauty did often reach mine ears, I fear the tales of your grace and poise were greatly understated, for never in my life have I known elegance until this moment."
Mrs. Malfoy's smile bloomed like the sweetest rose, and she said, "Though before I would not have thought such a feat possible, you are even more charming than your father, Mr. Black."
"Please, call me Rigel, Mrs. Malfoy, for I could not bear to risk being mistaken for my father in the eyes of such a queen," Rigel smiled with her whole face for a brief moment, tilting her head to catch the light of the afternoon sun across her contacts so they shined.
Mrs. Malfoy's laugh was as delicately sweet as the rest of her, "Very well, Rigel, then to you I must be Narcissa."
"As you wish, my lady," Rigel said gravely. She turned to look up at Mr. Malfoy, her face schooled into pleasant engagement once more, "I am honored to be making your acquaintance, Mr. Malfoy."
"The pleasure is mine, Mr. Black," Malfoy inclined his proud head just so as she bowed deeply before him, "Draco has told us much about you."
"I fear that Draco has far too good an opinion of me, so I can only hope our meeting does not pale in comparison to your expectations," Rigel said, allowing warmth to creep into her eyes as she spoke of her friend.
"I am not in the habit of forming inflexible expectations of people, Mr. Black," Malfoy said easily, "Particularly not on the word of my son, who I would be the first to admit is prone to idealization."
Rigel smiled in fond agreement, thinking it was perhaps best if Draco was not present to hear himself discussed with so much amusement by those closest to him.
"It seems as if at least some of the things Draco hinted at are quite true, however," Narcissa commented, and the sparkle in her eye made Rigel realize that the older woman was teasing her gently, "For instance, I will certainly be warning the other mothers in my tea circle to mind their daughters around you, Mr. Black."
Rigel affected a look of acute distress, "But what cruel inference is this? Pansy, my friend, you must put pain to this unfortunate rumor."
Pansy sent her a knowing smile, but played along, sniffing delicately and saying airily, "Alas, I would, if only the trail of broken hearts you leave behind you did not speak so condemningly for itself."
Rigel turned her gaze toward the Potions Master, wondering if she was mad to try and play on his notoriously thin sense of humor, but wanting to include him in the conversation nonetheless. "Professor Snape, you aren't going to allow them to malign my good name so freely, are you, sir?"
Snape looked down at her consideringly, "I'm afraid your name is blackened beyond repair already," he said with a wry twist to his lips, "However, it is rather difficult to imagine you finding the time for such conquests when one considers the amount of homework I assign you every week."
Mr. Malfoy turned surprised eyes on his friend, perhaps not expecting him to join in the joke so easily, "I never thought I'd see the day when Severus Snape admitted to the inordinate demands he makes of his students."
"And you never shall," Snape rejoined, smirking darkly, "I am, if anything, too easy on most of my students."
Pansy shot Rigel an incredulous look, and Rigel smiled wryly back.
"Mr. Black, however, is not most students," Snape continued, ignoring the surprised and pleased look Rigel was giving him. To think that Professor Snape was subtly backing her in front of the Malfoy patriarch! Perhaps she'd made more of an impression on the dour Potions Master than she thought. "The demands I make of him are entirely warranted, and rather easily met if the incredibly insignificant amount of time he takes to complete my assignments are any indication."
Rigel fought a blush as the elder Malfoys turned appraising eyes on her. She was dancing like a fool on the inside, but now was not the time to show how relieved she was, as it would indicate that before that moment she had been unforgivably insecure about her talents. Instead she tried to look as though the praise were, of course, her due, though she didn't think she completely quelled the proud glint in her eyes.
Just then, Professor Quirrell broke into the conversation abruptly from the row behind them.
"Mr. Malfoy, so good of you to come watch our little game," he said a tad too loud to be gentile. His voice was so oily he might have been trying to ooze his way into their company.
"Ah," Mr. Malfoy turned politely to incline his head toward Quirrell, though the thin little man didn't seem to remember to bow himself, "Professor Quirrell. Good day."
"Yes, indeed, if you like this sort of thing," Quirrell waved a hand at the Quidditch stadium as if gesturing to an especially odious display of frivolity, "I was wondering, Mr. Malfoy, how the progress on that new bill is coming? You know the one—"
"Yes, I do," Mr. Malfoy pressed his lips together thinly and cast swift eyes over to where Dumbledore was chatting away with Professors McGonagall and Sprout, "That particular issue is still in the workings, and probably will not proceed apace for some time, due to certain immovable objects that at present stand in the way."
Quirrell looked quite disappointed, "Hmm, what a shame, I had hoped to see the changes wrought within the year, you know."
"Well, luckily this matter was not contrived for your convenience, Professor Quirrell," Malfoy was clearly impatient at this point, and Rigel thought Quirrell must be especially dense to bring up what was obviously a sensitive subject in mixed company—company including Albus Dumbledore, the leader of the opposition to the S.O.W. party, which had to be involved in whatever they were talking about. "It will move forward when the climate is more appropriate. Now if you will excuse me, I believe the match is starting soon."
Mr. Malfoy turned pointedly away from Quirrell and Rigel caught the look of utter disgust that flickered across his face before he turned back to face them, "My apologies for interrupting our conversation," he said, "It seems I am unable to escape my work even at my own son's Quidditch match."
Narcissa placed a gentle hand on her husband's arm. He immediately clasped it in his and gave her a small smile that likely meant something only she would understand.
"Not at all, Mr. Malfoy," Pansy demurred, "I believe you were correct, in any case, and the match is about to start."
Sure enough, Madam Hooch was striding onto the field as they turned to the pitch.
Rigel pressed Pansy's hand into her elbow once more, though she was only escorting her another few feet to their seats, and said, "I very much enjoyed our meeting, Narcissa, Mr. Malfoy."
"I am certain it will not be our last, Rigel," Narcissa said, moving aside with her husband to allow Rigel and Pansy access to their seats.
"I hope you enjoy the game, Professor Snape," Rigel said as she maneuvered Pansy around the Malfoys, trying to convey in her warm expression just how grateful for his tacit support she was.
"I will enjoy watching Slytherin win," Snape said confidently. Rigel noticed McGonagall throwing her college an unsportsmanlike look behind his back.
They settled in to watch the game, which was being commentated by Lee Jordan, of all people, and it soon became apparent that in terms of the short-term game, the scales were tipped decidedly in Gryffindor's favor. The Slytherin team had practiced hard, it was true, and it showed in how smoothly coordinated their chasers and beaters were, but no matter how finely they maneuvered through their plays, the Gryffindor chasers were simply better. They flew as if they had telepathic connections to one another, with the kind of teamwork that wasn't found in rehearsed drills, but rather in the perfect synchronization of movement, which allowed for improvisation and split-second adaptations in maneuvers that the Slytherin team just couldn't compare to.
The Weasley twins were like whirlwinds and seemed to be able to anticipate the bludgers' movements, for whenever a bludger veered off somewhere, one of the twins was there to steer it somewhere else. The Slytherin beaters were focused mainly on defending their players, not even bother to try offense with the Weasleys monopolizing the bludgers the way they were.
But although Gryffindor racked up a seventy-point lead in the next forty-five minutes, it was the Slytherin seeker that spotted the snitch first, and it was clear to everyone when the Gryffindor seeker tried belatedly to follow that he was no match for Higgs. Rigel happened to glance over at the Malfoys as the seekers went into steep dives after the little golden ball, and she noticed with surprise that Mr. Malfoy's face was rapt with attention as he fixed his cool grey eyes on the fast-moving players. It was the same, intensely focused look Draco affected when he was really excited about something but knew better than to show it. The engrossed look on his face faded a few moments after Higgs caught the snitch, but it made Rigel feels better about the aloof aristocrat now that she knew he could be passionate about something as benign as a school Quidditch game.
After the game, Rigel and Pansy politely thanked their hosts once more, and said goodbye to the Malfoys and Professor Snape.
"Give my regards to your father, Mr. Black," Narcissa said, her face betraying no discomfort in acknowledging her estranged cousin.
"I will, my lady, though it will be cruel of me to make him so jealous of my good fortune in meeting you," Rigel said, pulling out one last smile for her friend's parents.
Narcissa laughed delightedly as they left, and Rigel couldn't help but smile a bit proudly at how well she'd done in playing Archie. She was charming and proper, which was all anyone could really ask of a pureblood at their age. Rigel and Pansy spent the rest of the day with Draco, who was flushed with exaltation at Slytherin's victory and eager to regale them both with each and every play that he deemed interesting enough to dissect.
It wasn't until much later that Rigel would look back on that day and wish she had paid more attention to what a certain Malfoy had been saying… but then, that day was a long way off, and for now it was enough for the three first-years to share in their House's victory and celebrate as only the very young and very innocent are want to.
[HPHPHP]
[end of chapter fourteen].
A/N: * All this information on wand woods and cores is taken from the HP Wiki page, so I'm afraid I can't take credit for making it up (including the tidbit that holly wands are known to act without their owner's consent at times—though of course I've expanded on this idea), and the quotes from HPSS belong to JKR, of course.
A/N2: Thank you all so, so much for reading (and reviewing, I can't believe I received eleven on the last chapter alone!). Only 10,700 words this time, but I hope I made it interesting enough to hold you over for another week. Until next time, my friends.