A/N: Okay guys, hold on to your hats for this one ^^. I've had concerns about pacing, and I completely agree, it's just that so much had to happen in the first month to set everything up. It is moving faster, but also still detailed, I hope. A lot happens in this chapter, spanning November and part of December. Resolution to a pesky problem (I wonder if anyone will guess?), and a couples of surprises as well (I hope). There's a POV switch in the middle, so don't get confused. As always, I don't own any of JKR or TP's stuff, and thanks for reading! Enjoy. P.S. I think I overused the parentheses in this one… ah, well.
A/N2: I can't believe how many people I want to thank for their reviews on the last chapter. I try to respond to most reviews personally, but I still want to mention you guys right now because it really means a lot to me (and I know everybody says that, but it can't be said enough in my opinion), so great thanks to: TamariChan, Vaughn Tyler, hentai18ancilla, TearfullPixie, Debate4Life, BaltaineShadow, Cathy Willow, Awakez, Kenzieloveify, AlainnRain, and Gemstones. I tried to respond to everyone in a PM, but if I missed you, let me know!
A/N3: Oh man, I feel so bad—I was halfway through answering reviews when the server jammed again, so even though I got people excited for the next chapter I didn't get a chance to post it. And then it wouldn't post, but I gifured out I had to re-affirm the terms and conditions on the site so… I fixed it, but again sorry, and so not intentional!
The Pureblood Pretense:
Chapter 15:
It was a good thing her academic load was lighter in November, Rigel reflected, because with the way her Housemates (and even Neville and Ron) had been stalking her all month, it was becoming increasingly difficult to sneak off to the Library. Once she was actually in the Library, ensconced behind her alternate Pince-proof personas, Rigel could work in peace, but so determined were her friends and fellow snakes to keep her from being jumped on their watch (yes, Pansy had made up a watch schedule) that Rigel was hard-pressed to use the bathroom alone, much less run off to complete secret assignments in disguise.
Her marks had been steadily improving with the use of a (mostly) working wand, so without the extra credit assignments (she'd sent an owl to Flint begging him to stop accepting extra work until her friends stopped following her), Rigel was actually managing okay—at least with her written work. Her practical work was still hit-and-miss, and honestly Rigel came to prefer the 'misses' because she was less likely to get points off for failing to do a spell than she was for accidentally liquefying Quirrell's turban and revealing his awful comb-over to the whole class. Rigel stubbornly considered this an accident, because even though she might have wanted it to happen, and possibly she even secretly wished it would happen, she didn't actually will it to happen, so surely it couldn't be her fault, could it?
Quidditch season was in full swing, with Hufflepuff losing to Ravenclaw and then turning around and beating Gryffindor when Alicia Spinet was hit with a Boneless Hex the morning of the match. Pranks were at an all time high, and students on both sides of the war were becoming increasingly paranoid, particularly during meal times. By late November it was not unusual for Pansy, Draco, and Rigel to automatically scan their seats for potions spilled on them, duck down to examine the underside of the table, and pour themselves drinks from sealed pitchers (which the elves had begun providing the tetchy students with after Halloween), all before they sat down to breakfast.
"I'm not sure I can take much more of this," Pansy admitted on the last Wednesday of November after she discovered that someone had sawed halfway through the bench on her side, so that it would collapse once enough students sat down on it. She simply sighed and moved to sit between Rigel and Draco, catching Professor Snape's eye and making sure he saw the hazard as she did so.
"It is becoming rather tedious," Draco said, "After all, what's the point of a prank that isn't a surprise?"
"Not to mention the students in this school appear to be a rather uncreative lot—that's the third dormouse I've found in my teacup this week," Rigel commented.
Draco made a face, "Don't let the Weasley twins hear you say that—they'll take it as a challenge."
"Speaking of," Pansy glanced over her shoulder at the Gryffindor table, "I honestly expected a lot more out of those two, considering their reputation."
Nott, who had just joined the table on Draco's other side, chimed in, "Oh, the Weasley twins haven't been participating."
"What?" Draco raised an eyebrow, "They've been trying to start a prank war for years, haven't they?"
"Well, if they are participating, it's to prank the Gryffindors," Nott said cheerfully, "Word is they're on Rigel's side, which makes them on the Slytherins' side, if you can believe it."
"It seems you inspire loyalty in all your friends, Rigel," Pansy said amusedly.
Rigel just shrugged. She really didn't know what to think about the Weasley twins. She hadn't seen them since before Halloween, and since then they'd been almost suspiciously inconspicuous. She'd been to the Gryffindor common room on several weekend days, when she could sneak away to get help from Percy on Transfiguration essays, but they hadn't shown their faces even once. Every now and then one of them would catch her eye at meals or in the hallways, but whoever had seen her would always look away quickly or drag the other twin in a different direction. It wasn't like they owed her anything, she reminded herself when she thought about their strange behavior, but in truth she'd grown a bit fond of them.
The screeching of owls broke her from her contemplation, and Rigel automatically began clearing a space on the table as the post came soaring in—Pansy or Draco often received packages from home, and it was better safe than splashed with porridge as Rigel had unfortunately discovered the day an owl landed like a high-diver in her breakfast bowl.
Unfortunately, the space wasn't big enough for the two Eagle owls that both tried to land there at once. In the end, it was Draco's owl, Archimedes, that won the spot, and the owl offered its leg victoriously (and rather smugly Rigel thought) to the Malfoy heir while the second Eagle owl dropped its letter sullenly into Rigel's lap and took off to nurse its pride in the Owlrey.
Rigel turned the letter over in her hands, noting that it hadn't been delivered by the speckled owl Rosier and Rookwood had used. She thought the handwriting looked like Archie's, so she stowed it trepidatiously in her pocket for later.
Malfoy glanced over from his letter to say, "Mother sends her regards, Rigel."
"Would you be so kind as to send mine in return with your next letter?" Rigel asked.
"Certainly."
"You know, we've all met Draco's parents now, but Rigel, you haven't met mine yet," Pansy said thoughtfully, "It's too bad your father won't allow you to socialize with our Families outside of school, Rigel, or you two could come and stay with my parents for a few days over Christmas. They'd love to meet you, I'm sure."
"Perhaps we could arrange something at Kings Cross," Draco suggested, "The train station could almost be considered part of the neutral, school strata. What do you think, Rigel? Would your parents go for it?"
"Uh," Rigel's brain stalled painfully. How on earth was she supposed to field this? "Well," she said slowly, "I would certainly like to meet your parents, Pansy, however perhaps I should meet them first without my dad or uncles there to cast their social shadow, so to speak."
"Ah," Pansy was nodding with deep understanding, "I see, yes, it might be best for you to be introduced on your own first, then. In fact, that would be even easier. You can meet my parents before your family gets to the station—just send them a letter that tells them to meet you half an hour later than the train arrives."
"Good idea," Rigel said, "I'll do that."
It was just after DADA, when she'd slipped her bodyguards and hidden in a shaded alcove behind a suit of armor, that she got a chance to read the letter. It was indeed from Archie, and Rigel smiled as she read.
Harry,
Sorry if I freaked you out with the Eagle owl—it's not an emergency, I just couldn't figure out how to put all this in code, so I'm not going to bother. From now on, Eagle owl means un-coded, and if it's real urgent I'll write your name in red ink on the envelope, ok?
I got a letter from your dad. Uncle James said that Sirius received a notice from the school nurse saying you'd been injured somehow. James said you wrote Sirius explaining about it, and they both seem to think you're involved in some kind of prank war based on House rivalries and things. Quick thinking in keeping Sirius from going up to Hogwarts and investigating, but you haven't fooled me. Since I know you're really you, not me, I know you'd never get involved in a war with pranks that could really hurt someone, if you even got involved at all. So how did you really get injured? I know the Mediwitch probably fixed you up (and I bet you panicked, thinking she was gonna find out your secret, because I know how paranoid you can be), but I'm still worried. It's not like you to make enemies. Are you in trouble? Do you need some kind of help? I know I'm pretty far away, but you can count on me for anything, you know that.
Speaking of, don't worry about the PJ Potion. I've got a plan to get my hands on some well before Christmas break. Expect a package in a couple of weeks, and for Merlin's sake don't open it at the table, ok?
Now that the serious (I kind of miss that joke, you know?) stuff is out of the way, how've you been? My studies are so interesting, Harry, and I can already heal bruises, minor cuts, and we're working our way up to broken bones in December. America is great! Well, I mean, not that I've seen anything but the AIM campus, but all the kids in my tract are really cool. You've really got to meet Hermione—she's as brilliant as you are, I think, and not as stiff-backed as I thought. She's instrumental in my daring plan to get the PJ Potion, so don't worry, because with her on board nothing could possibly go wrong.
And with those ominous last words, I leave you.
-Archie
Rigel read the letter twice more, then ripped it into tiny pieces, vowing to dispose of them in various trashcans around the school. Rigel realized belatedly that she'd have to start studying Healing theory in the Library as well—it would be suspicious if Harry, who was supposedly in the Healing program, came home without an ounce of Healing knowledge. She was relieved that she didn't have to worry about trying to make Polyjuice in the next month, but if Archie got caught it would mean a lot of awkward questions… Rigel shrugged off her worries. Nothing she could do but hope that Hermione girl was as clever as Archie said. Her cousin needed some sanity in his life, and after a few months at Hogwarts, Rigel wasn't sure she qualified anymore.
Since she was already 'loose' she figured she might as well slip up to Gryffindor Tower and ask Percy about Selective Vanishment Spells. Pansy and Draco would have her hide either way, so Rigel tried to at least get something productive out of it. As usual, Percy and Rigel got carried away with their academic discussion, and Percy needed help on a Potions assignment, and so it was an hour after dinner when she finally clambered out of the Fat Lady's portrait hole.
She headed straight for the hidden stairway that would take her down to the fourth floor. Rigel wasn't looking for trouble, no matter that it always seemed to find her, and she honestly thought she had the best chance at passing through Gryffindor territory unseen if she used passages fewer people were likely to know about. In retrospect, perhaps it would have been smarter to chance being caught in the open than to ensure that if by some chance she was caught, it would be in a seclude area with poor lighting and no one around to yell for help.
Rigel had barely twitched the edge of the tapestry of young girls picking flowers that concealed the entrance on the seventh floor, when she was grabbed by the shoulders and dragged brusquely through the entrance, then casually passed off to another pair of waiting arms. She was too disoriented to struggle immediately, and when her eyes adjusted to the Lumos Charm her captors hastily cast she sighed in relief.
"Is there a reason you've resorted to kidnapping to get my attention?" Rigel asked dryly, "Unless I'm mistaken, you two have been avoiding me."
Fred Weasley grinned infectiously in the dim light, "We're doing an experiment to see how people under stress respond to sudden, perceived violence. We knew you'd be coming back this way from your afternoon with Percy and thought you could be our first subject."
Rigel rolled her eyes, "Put me down for annoyed exasperation."
"Aww, you know you're glad to see us," Fred said.
"For the first time in nearly a month," Rigel allowed a bit of hurt to creep into her tone.
"We're sorry, little snake," George's voice was right above her ear and she realized with a start that she'd been standing within the loose circle of George's arms since Fred, who had apparently grabbed her, had passed her off to him. She turned, using the movement to dislodge the redhead's hands from her upper arms, and looked between them expectantly. George explained, "We have been avoiding you, but it was necessary. After Halloween…" he grimaced, "Those fireworks used for the distraction? They were ours."
Rigel blinked, not expecting that.
"We recognized them immediately, since some of them were bought a while ago, and would be pretty hard to get a hold of these days," Fred put in seriously, "But we couldn't figure out how someone else had gotten a hold of them. We keep all out Zonkos products well hidden."
"Obviously it was a Gryffindor, or at least someone with regular access to Gryffindor Tower," George said, "And as we started to narrow it down we realized that there was a possibility that we were the reason behind some of the perpetrator's animosity toward you."
"We suspected, of course, but we had no proof," Fred ran a hand through his hair, outwardly frustrated, "But we were pretty sure that if we stayed with our suspect you'd be safe—"
"Provided we weren't wrong about who it was—"
"And all the signs pointed to them—"
"The Zonkos products—"
"Especially the tablets—"
"And targeting you in particular, considering your family—"
"So as long as we kept away from you until we had solid proof, like a confession, we thought it would be okay," Fred finished. He then exchanged a dark look with his twin.
"But it isn't working," George said, "We're no closer to getting proof. That's why we thought we'd warn you in the meantime, so you don't get caught alone with—"
A sharp "Meow!" broke through George's hurried speech. The three of them froze under the lamp-like eyes of Mrs. Norris, who had just appeared at the top of the stairs.
"Oh, no," George groaned, reaching out to pull Rigel down toward the other end of the stairwell, "Come on, we've got to go."
"It's not curfew yet," Rigel pointed out.
"We're supposed to be in detention with Filch," Fred informed her, not sounding terribly concerned or contrite, "But it was the only time we could talk to you without him being suspicious of where we were—"
"Forge, move faster," George hissed, glancing behind them at Mrs. Norris, who was following them down the stairs and meow-ing even louder.
"I'm trying," Fred said apologetically, "But puppy's bag is really heavy—it's like he's got books in here or something."
Rigel grabbed her bag from Fred's hands swiftly, thinking he must have taken it from her when he yanked her into the passageway, "You guys run, it's not me that'll get in trouble."
The redheads hesitated for a split-second, clearly reluctant to leave her alone.
"Go," she shoved them forward, out into the fourth floor corridor, "I'll distract the cat."
"Thanks, pup," George called over his shoulder and he and Fred took off running. It wasn't until she was trying to coax Mrs. Norris into an empty classroom that she realized they still hadn't told her exactly who she was meant to be avoiding.
Rigel was hungry, but she knew she'd get it from her 'guardians' if she stopped by the kitchens before checking in, so she headed straight to the dungeons after making sure the twins had gotten a sufficient head start on Mrs. Norris.
She was halfway to the common room when she heard a rustle of cloth on stone from behind her. She whirled, ducking on instinct, but the spell shot at her from the deep shadows of an alcove she hadn't thought to check was aimed at her feet, and she fell hard as ropes exploded from the point of impact and wrapped themselves around her from knees to shoulders. She landed on her side, her arms secured straight against her body down to her wrists, and gasped as the breath was knocked out of her from the impact on unforgiving stone.
Rigel was twisting on the ground like a helpless worm, trying to at least face the caster so she'd know what was coming, when she heard her attacker's voice for the first time and froze in disbelieving recognition.
"You know, I'm almost disappointed," he said conversationally. She heard soft footsteps and stopped squirming. Apparently her tormentor had gotten tired of his game. "I would have thought the son of infamous Marauder Sirius Black would be a little more on his guard."
He stepped around her prone form so that she could look up awkwardly into his dark face.
"Jordan," she said, her tone evidencing her confusion.
"I'm sure I told you to call me 'Lee,'" the boy said mockingly. He tossed a dreadlock over his shoulder and she noticed he was wearing dragon hide gloves on his hands. She thought it strange, but pulled her mind to more immediate things as he squatted down in front of her and peered intently at her pale face, "But you Slytherins will do as you please, I suppose."
"Is that what this is about?" she asked. It came out more wheezing than she had intended, but the ropes were constricting her breathing somewhat, "My House?"
Lee smiled without humor, and though the familiar white teeth flashed in the semi-darkness of the flickering torches, she could see no evidence of the cheerful third-year prankster in his large brown eyes.
"Don't be tiresome, Black, even if you hadn't stolen the twins' attention from me, you must know what your family has stolen from mine," he spat vindictively onto the ground in front of her and Rigel wracked her brains for some clue.
Seeing her blank look, the older boy became, if anything, more enraged. He stood angrily and paced back and forth in front of her, "No, of course you don't know, you wouldn't care, would you? No skin off your back if my mother and sister have to live in squalor because your father and his little friends put my dad out of a job."
Rigel pressed her lips together exasperatedly. The position she was bound in was uncomfortable and she really wished Lee would get to the point, enact whatever petty revenge he seemed to think himself entitled to, and let her go on her way.
"I don't know what you're talking about, Jordan," she tried explaining, "I don't even know what your dad does, much less how my dad could have pushed him out of it—Sirius doesn't even work, for Merlin's sake."
"Exactly!" Lee paused in his pacing to round on her, his eyes cutting like razors in their scorn and righteous anger, "You father's filthy rich off his twisted family's money, but is it enough? Oh, no, he has to take business from people who need it with his stupid little joke line—"
"That's what this is about?" Rigel said incredulously. Exasperated annoyance was probably only going to further anger the Gryffindor, but she couldn't help afford to let it segue into deeper, darker emotions that would undermine her control, "The Marauders' joke line at Zonkos? Look, whatever you've got against it, I have nothing to do with stuff like that. I don't really even enjoy pranks."
"Oh, I know," Lee sneered down at her, "Everyone knows you don't care about anything but your little Potions, but I see right through your ploy. You may have the other competitors fooled, but I know how many prank products are Potion-based. But I'm going to be the next greatest joke inventor. I'm going to salvage my family's fortune and my father's reputation, and I don't need the next-generation Marauder spawn getting in my way."
"But I won't be," Rigel said again, "I'm not going into prank development, Jordan. So just let me go, and we'll pretend this whole thing never happened."
"Maybe you're telling the truth," Lee said, his face once again calmly poised, "But the only way to know that you won't be in my way is to ensure that you can't be."
He reached slowly into his robes, as if savoring the moment, but as he pulled out a small, dragon hide bag that was squirming violently in his hand she realized he was just being very, very careful around something that was obviously very dangerous. Rigel eyed the wriggling bag apprehensively, her mind running through the list of things that small that could really hurt a wizard. The bag was about half the size of Lee's fist, so it might hold a very small scorpion, but any snake that could fit in there would be too young to have developed fangs or poison of any potency. Judging by the erratic nature of the movements, it was something with more joints than a mammal, so probably not a mouse, and she had finally concluded that it must be some kind of insect when Lee laughed softly and began to open the lip of the bag slowly.
He dipped a finger, protected by the gloves he was wearing, into the bag and when he removed it a small, many-legged thing like a cross between a spider and a crab clung to the finger with barbed forelegs. It had a hard shell on it's top, and a row of unnatural looking teeth on the underside of its belly, which Lee took grate care to show off before her uneasy gaze.
"Isn't it beautiful?" Lee crooned and trailed a finger soothingly down the tiny insect's back, "A combination of painstaking genetic crosses and magical enhancement, this little guy is my father's greatest invention yet. Greater even than those tablets your little friends seemed to take such exception to."
"Bit dark for a joke-inventor, isn't it?" Rigel said, an awful feeling building in the pit of her stomach.
"Yes, that's what Zonko said," Lee curled his lip, "But what does that old fool know? This little beauty is the perfect prank. You see, after her venom does its work, it dissipates, leaving behind only trace particles, which make their way swiftly to the victim's brain and erase all the memories connected with my pretty's existence. So it can never be traced back to the prankster, and even the victim won't remember how they came to be in the state they are."
"And what state is that?" Rigel was struggling against the robes again, but they were too tight for any amount of movement to loosen them.
Lee watched her squirm for a bit before saying, "Oh, don't worry, Black. I'm going to let my pet bite your hands, but I promise it won't hurt a bit. In fact," he laughed coldly, "I promise you won't be feeling anything in those hands ever again."
Rigel froze, her mind rebelling at the implication behind the other boy's words. Permanent loss of sensation. What kind of a joke was that? Without sensation there could be no reliable motor control. Without reliable control, there could be no brewing. She'd lose everything. Her Potions—her Mastery—her Potions. No! She bucked wildly against her restraints and started screaming as loud as she could.
"HELP! Help, somebody, anybody, please!"
Her voice was muffled abruptly by the feeling of dragon hide pressed tightly across her mouth. Lee had darted forward and covered her screams with his spare hand. He was close enough now that she could feel his uneven breathing and the thought that he was excited by her horror made the thick wave of anger and denial swell up inside her so that she was nearly drowning in it. Lee pinned her legs beneath his knees and his other hand, with it's ugly, malformed passenger perched menacingly atop it, moved steadily toward her left hand, which was balled helplessly in a fist, unable to move more than a centimeter or two away from the paralysis-inducing fangs.
"Maybe over the break I'll stop by and see how my dear friend Rigel is doing after his inexplicable accident," Lee whispered gleefully into her ear, "I do need to take care of your cousin, the Potter brat, too, after all."
Perhaps it was the threat against Archie that did it. Or maybe it was the vile little insect reaching out a leg to touch the sensitive skin on the back of her hand—sensation that she would never feel again if she did not do something. And she had to do something; she knew then that this was real, it was happening, and nothing was going to come along and stop it in the nick of time. A tear squeezed its way around her ugly grey contacts and blazed a trail silently down her cheek.
She let her emotions swallow her.
He first rational thought as the thrill of power rushed through her was that it felt as though a light had gone on in her soul, and all the ugly, shameful things that had been hiding there like cockroaches began fleeing the premises at once. An oily, thick energy boiled through her veins, like the stagnant slime of water that had sat too long in once place. As it coursed out of her like liquid heat, something felt disturbingly right about it, as though the water had just realized that it used to be a mighty river, before the damn was built, and was reveling in its freedom once again. The feeling was heady, drug-like, and it was a good thing she was already on the ground for all her muscles relaxed weakly in the wake of her magic as it stretched, coiled, and struck.
The revolting insectizoid that was poised a breath above her precious hand combusted into harmless ash, and Lee was thrown bodily across the corridor by a wave of uncontrolled magic to smack into the stone wall with an all-too satisfying crunch. Rigel gasped in air that her lungs had been screaming for around the dragon hide glove, and a fierce pain in her side made her realize that the phoenix wand she had shoved negligently into her pocket before breakfast that morning was burning a hole through the fabric.
Lee struggled brokenly to his feet, but her magic swept forward again and sent him careening into the wall on the other side of the corridor. A sharp snapping noise told her overwhelmed mind that his left wrist had been broken, either from the impact or from her magic's deep-seated need to revenge itself for the hurts he'd caused. And still it was not enough. Her rage, fuelled by the helplessness she'd felt and the threats against her family, her health, her greatest dreams and ambitions, would not be assuaged. It beat against her chest and swelled in her throat like a battle cry, but the part of her that wasn't anger and hate and frustration (and admittedly it was a small part), but the part of her that had spent years curbing her emotive impulses was whispering frantically in a voice that sounded an awful lot like reason. Don't kill him, can't kill him, be expelled, be feared and hated, don't, no more, no more.
She tried to cast around for something to direct her magic toward. She took a deep, shuddering breath—or tried to, and when she figured out why she couldn't she set her restless magic to loosening the ropes that bound her before it could lash out at the unconscious Gryffindor any further. As the ropes fell away from her she channeled the leftover energy, still pouring from her magical core to her wand to the air around her, to unraveling the ropes strand by strand. She hoped that would give it enough time to settle down.
Rigel was just moving her stiff joints into a seated position when she heard footsteps running down the corridor toward her. She looked up to see Blaise Zabini sprinting in a most undignified way from the direction of the Slytherin common room. He was closely followed by Draco and Pansy, who themselves were followed (though more distantly) by Pucey, Rookwood, Rosier, and Bole, of all people. It was obvious that the upperclassmen had left the panicked running to the youngest three.
The three first years skidded to a stop as they reached the scene, gasping for breath. Rigel raised her eyebrows in what she hoped was a vaguely unconcerned way, but knew her weary body language would be a dead give away to her upset state. Pansy threw herself into Rigel's arms when she saw that she wasn't bleeding anywhere, muttering about crazy Black's who scare the living doxies out of their best friends, and Rigel patted her back awkwardly, inwardly amazed and grateful for the feeling of plain Hogwarts robes beneath her fingers. She was starting to come out of her dazed shock and realize that she really was okay, and her life wasn't ruined.
Draco took several deep breaths and swallowed hard at the sight of his friend's obvious distress, but he didn't dissolve into tears as Pansy was now doing (though she muffled them discreetly against Rigel's shoulder). Instead the young blonde aristocrat drew himself to his full height and turned his attention to the crumpled form of Lee Jordan, apparently content to channel his concern into a disgusted glare at the unmoving boy.
Zabini was the first to speak up clearly, once he's regained his breath. He leveled deep eyes at Rigel and said, in a deceptively casual tone of voice that belied his obvious lack of detachment, "Heard you scream as I was coming from the common room, Black. Didn't want to try handling it alone like some brash Gryff, though, so I doubled back to pick up some reinforcements."
"Though it seems we were unneeded," Rosier said, signaling the arrival of the four older Slytherins as he slipped over to peer at the unconscious third-year, "Hmm, Lee Jordan, isn't it? How interesting."
"The Weasley twins' friend?" Bole swore softly, "They in on this too, then?"
"No," Rigel said, her voice somewhat hoarse from the brief but intense screaming she'd done, "They tried to warn me about him, I think. They just didn't get a chance to explain before he caught me alone."
Draco sent Rigel a dark look that clearly said they'd be having words about that later, but he held his tongue for the moment, merely saying, "The Jordans don't have a feud with the Blacks."
"As far as the Blacks know, anyway," Zabini said cryptically, "Did he explain why he was attacking you before you… actually, I don't know what you did to him."
They all turned to look at Lee, who was bleeding sluggishly from a cut on his temple, his wrist bent at an unnatural angle.
Rigel shrugged as best she could around an armful of Pansy, "Something about my dad's joke line. He wasn't making much sense."
Zabini's eyes held the light of understanding. When it was clear that everyone else was in the dark, he explained, "Jordan's dad works for Mr. Zonko as an inventor. He was quite successful for a number of years, having a bit of a monopoly on the market, but when the Marauders came out with their famous line, it was wildly more successful. Mr. Jordan continued to make prank and joke products, but he couldn't keep up with the Marauder Line's popularity and appeal. His jokes became significantly crueler and less light-hearted as he struggled to out-do his competitors and regain popularity, to the point that after the transfiguring-tablet fiasco, Zonko stopped stocking Jordan's inventions altogether."
"Jordan's father invented those awful tablets?" Pansy sniffed delicately and dabbed at her eyes with Rigel's robe sleeve before turning to face the other Slytherins, "That explains why he had access to them."
"Yes," Zabini said, "Although why he used Zonko's fireworks considering how much he must hate the man…"
"He stole them from the Weasley twins," Rigel said, "That's how they started suspecting him, I guess."
"How on earth do you know all this, Zabini?" Pucey asked incredulously.
"My family has several shares in Zonko Enterprises, so naturally it is vital that we have information about the company's suppliers," Zabini shrugged nonchalantly.
Rigel was deep in thought, piecing Zabini's revelations together with Lee Jordan's heated words. She supposed she could see how he would be angry, thinking that the Marauders, especially Sirius and James who were both rich off family money, were so much more successful in a business that Jordan's father needed to be successful in to make a living.
What she could have told him, though, was that the money made from the Marauder's Line didn't go to the Black and Potter family vaults. In fact, it all went to Remus Lupin, who couldn't hold a paying job due to Ministry regulations against werewolves. Rigel had overheard her father talking about it to her mother once, and he'd said that Remus thought he was getting an equal third of the profits, rather than all of it, because they knew he'd never take money from his friends, but he sorely needed it to be able to afford Wolfsbane Potion, among other things.
That, coupled with the fact that it wasn't her family's fault that Jordan's dad thought modifying someone memory to be a good joke, stopped Rigel from feeling any sympathy toward the boy who had anonymously tormented her for the last few months. Pity, yes, but not compassion. Not after he'd tried to destroy the hands she needed to make her livelihood.
"Well, whatever his reasons, it's done now," Pucey said. He prodded Lee's ribs with a booted toe. There was no response.
"You didn't kill him, did you?" Rosier cocked his head to consider her like she was the finest entertainment, "Because we'll have to cover it up before a teacher stumbles along."
Rookwood scanned the Gryffindor with professional eyes, "Not dead. Probably passed out from the pain and shock when his wrist was broken. Unlikely to die of blood loss from that cut on his forehead."
"Oh, good, no rush then," Rosier smiled, his golden eyes glinting with satisfaction as he gazed down at Lee.
"Someone should get Professor Snape," Draco said suddenly. He crossed the corridor to sit on the ground next to Rigel and Pansy and the others traded looks among themselves.
Finally, Bole nodded evenly, "I'll go back to the common room and alert Salazar's picture, if someone else hasn't done it already." He left at a brisk trot.
Rookwood came over to take a look at Rigel and make sure she wasn't damaged in any way, and Pansy moved to sit next to Rigel, rather than on top of her. When she was pronounced healthy but magically exhausted, Rigel remembered the ropes that she had set her magic to dismantling. Where the tangle of ropes used to be was a pile of what looked like wheat. Rigel rolled her eyes inwardly when it dawned on her that her magic had not only un-spun the robe fiber by fiber but had in fact reverse-transfigured it into the original hemp stalks. She thought she felt a gentle tugging from within her, like the smug nudge of an errant dragon as it humors its captor by returning to its cage and going back to sleep as if it had never escaped and run amok in the first place.
A few minutes later, Snape, with McGonagall on his heels, walked briskly onto the scene from the end of the corridor that led up to the Entrance Hall. McGonagall gasped as she took in the seven Slytherins standing or sitting is various positions of repose and the single, unconscious Gryffindor that lay vulnerable on the cold, stone floor. Rigel immediately knew that she was going to jump to an unflattering conclusion, and judging by the rueful knowledge in the upperclassmen's eyes, they hadn't counted on McGonagall being with Snape.
"What is the meaning of this?" she asked in a shocked and highly affronted tone of voice, like a cat with its back up, "We received a message that Rigel Black had been attacked, but all I see is—"
"I received a message that one of my students was attacked," Snape cut across her firmly, "I just so happened to be in your office discussing final exam schedules at the time, Minerva, but think for a moment before you say anything unfortunate—if the situation were as simple as it appears, why would the Slytherins purposely bring it to their professor's attention?"
McGonagall flushed and cleared her throat brusquely, "Yes, well, Severus why don't you handle the questioning in this case? I'm sure there's a reasonable explanation."
"Thank you, Minerva," Snape nodded politely, if a bit sardonically, to the Head of Gryffindor before turning his sharp eyes on the rest of them. He spotted Rigel beside Pansy's sophisticated haircut and said, "Mr. Black, as you are the purported victim in this incident, you will enlighten us of the circumstances that led up to this unfortunate scene—that is, as long as Mr. Jordan is not in need of immediate medical attention?"
Rookwood cleared his throat, "Jordan is not in medical danger, just unconscious. It's kinder to keep him that way, until his wrist can be looked at."
"Very well, Mr. Black, if you would?"
It wasn't really a question, so Rigel cleared her throat, which was still a bit hoarse, and said, "The circumstances of tonight only, sir, or the events that led up to them as well?"
"If the incident on Halloween is somehow included in this narrative, I think you'd best start at the beginning," Snape said shrewdly.
Rigel grimaced, but she nodded her acquiescence. As she tried to frame the explanation in her mind, knowing that anything she left out would only be discovered later when Jordan was questioned by school or Ministry officials (depending on how much fuss was made over the incident), Pucey conjured her a glass of water, which she sipped on gratefully as she began. She decided to keep it as honest as she could without revealing her secrets, so that she wouldn't be accused of lying later on if something Jordan said contradicted her.
"I think it started the first Friday of school," she said slowly, "That was the day I met the Weasley twins, and also the day I met Lee Jordan. I think he was trying to warn me off his friends, the twins, even then, but he was interrupted before his intent was clear."
"Was Mr. Jordan jealous of your friendship with Messrs. Weasley?" Snape asked, his voice clinical and detached, which helped a bit.
"I'm not sure," Rigel admitted, "Looking back I think he just hated me, and saw Fred and George's interest in me, because I'm the son of one of their heroes, as a sign that I was like my father, who he already hated. I didn't see Lee again until much later, but the attacks started the very next day."
"Attacks?" Draco burst out, "How long has this been happening, Rigel? Merlin, don't you know when to ask for help? I thought we were your friends, I thought—"
"Mr. Malfoy," Snape said repressively, "Please save your questions until after we get to the bottom of this."
Draco subsided, but the wounded look he sent her made Rigel's next words come out more softly than before. In the silent dungeon, however, no one had a problem hearing them.
"I was on the East stairway on the fifth floor, the one that by-passes the fourth floor, you know? I got about halfway down it when I was hit with a Trip-Jinx. I fell the rest of the way and passed out, so I didn't see who it was until they were long gone," Rigel explained.
"Why did you pass out?" Pucey asked, raising his hands apologetically when Snape sent him a look.
"I…my wrist got tangled in the strap of my bag in the fall. It broke when the strap pulled taunt, and I think I passed out from the pain," she admitted. Most of the others were staring at her now, bar Rosier and Rookwood, who already knew.
"I don't recall Madam Pomfrey mentioning any broken wrists the first weekend of the term," McGonagall pursed her lips and frowned down at her.
"I didn't go to see Madam Pomfrey," Rigel said, cringing at the disbelieving looks her friends were sending her, "I don't like Hospitals, or Healers, so I just… wrapped it up."
"You just wrapped it up?" Pansy was the one shouting now, "That would have taken weeks to heal on its own. Of all the stupid, martyring Gryffindor things to do—"
"Enough, Miss Parkinson," Snape said shortly, though his eyes were piercing through Rigel as well, no doubt cataloguing all the things a broken wrist would have explained—one-handed chopping of ingredients, Sprout's comments about a lack of ambidexterity, poor performance in Flying lessons, etc.
"I can't believe you played Quidditch with me anyway," Draco muttered disgustedly, "Should have known… dicto-quills my ass…"
"So, then on Sunday something similar happened," Rigel said hurriedly, hoping to distract them from the whole broken wrist thing, "I was on the Northwest stairs coming back from the Owlrey when I got caught in a trick step."
"There are no trick steps on those stairs," Snape said, and McGonagall nodded in agreement.
"Yeah, well it was lucky, really, because by falling into the trick step I missed the curse someone sent at me from behind. I guess it was probably to make me fall down the stairs, or something, because they didn't bother re-casting it. They just tossed a dung bomb at me and headed off. Before you ask, I didn't see them because I was trapped in the stair facing the other way, and I couldn't get myself out of the stair because one of my arms was useless," Rigel said.
"You said Peeves threw that at you," Pansy said, her lips pursed in a good imitation of McGonagall.
"It could have been Peeves, for all I knew at the time," Rigel said evasively, "Flint happened along and helped me out of the stair. Nothing happened again until the next Friday, after I got out of my detention from McGonagall. I was approached from behind, again, and fired on from around a corner. They got me with a stinging hex on my right arm, but I could run that time, so I lost them in the dungeons."
"That we can verify, sir," Pucey spoke up, "When Black came back into the common room that night, it was immediately evident he'd been attacked."
"And no one thought to inform me of this?" Snape's voice was soft but menacing.
"We didn't realize it wasn't an isolated incident," Rosier said smoothly, "The House felt that it was just random anti-Slytherin sentiment rearing its prejudiced head as usual, and treated it as such."
"Very well, continue, Mr. Black."
"Well, the next thing I guess was that Saturday. I was up in the Gryffindor common room doing homework with Percy Weasley," she determinately ignored the strange looks she was getting for that one, "When I met Lee again. He warned me pretty explicitly away from the Weasley twins, but I didn't think anything of it. I thought they'd had a fight or something. Things were quiet after that, and I think part of it was that the twins started escorting me when I was in Gryffindor territory so no one could try anything. Rookwood healed my wrist. Then came Halloween, and, well, you know about that."
The rest of them nodded, looking troubled at the reminder of that incident.
"Tonight I was coming back to the common room after studying with Percy again. I ran into the Weasley twins, who had by then suspected Lee, I think. But they had to go before they could warm me properly, and then, well, I found out for myself anyway," Rigel said.
She took a deep, steadying breath. This was the hard part, the part that was still a bit too fresh to look at objectively.
"You were walking alone through the dungeons?" Snape prompted, his voice uncharacteristically kind.
"Yes," Rigel said, "I was going to stop in the kitchens, but I thought my friends would want to see me right away, to make sure I was okay, but Lee was waiting in that alcove," she nodded toward the spot he'd attacked her from, "And he got me with an Incarcerous Spell before I even knew he was there. He was angry, ranting at me. He said my father and uncles were the reason his father was run out of the pranking business. He thought I was going to go into pranking like my father. He said he would make sure I co-ouldn't."
Her voice broke, and she hung her head, shamed by this weakness. Pansy wrapped one arm around her waist and Draco slung an arm of his own over her shoulders. She couldn't bring herself to smile at them, but she was grateful for the support.
"Jordan had this thing, like a bug or a crab, that his father had been breeding. It was supposed to cause localized paralysis, irreversible, and he claimed its venom carried a sort of neuro-toxin that would modify the victim's memory of the incident," Rigel was speaking faster now, just trying to get it all out so she could forget about it, "He tried to make it b-bite my hands, and I couldn't get away, and I called for help, but no one came, and—oh, sir, I didn't mean to," she gazed up at Snape, asking for his understanding with her eyes, "You know how my magic gets, and he was trying to take away my hands, my Potion-making hands, and I just got so angry and—and… it stopped him."
"What did?" McGonagall could not keep silent any longer, it seemed.
"My magic," Rigel said, "I was upset, and my magic is a little unstable sometimes when I feel things strongly, so it destroyed the little bug-thing and threw Jordan into the wall over there. I set it to work on the ropes so I could have time to calm down and not hurt him anymore," she gestured toward the pile of hemp sitting innocently on the floor, "And then my Housemates arrived."
Zabini took up the explanation from there, detailing how he had heard the screaming, but fetched help before investigating, and their subsequent arrival at the scene and decision to contact Professor Snape through the portrait system.
McGonagall looked overwhelmed, but she conjured a stretcher and lifted Lee Jordan onto it briskly. "This will be looked into further when the board of governors gets wind of it," she said, "But right now I would like to apologize on behalf of Mr. Jordan, as he is a member of my House, and I hope that in the future you realize that you can report this kind of thing before it escalates this far, Mr. Black."
Rigel nodded, just glad the other boy's limp body was finally being taken away.
Once the Gryffindor Head was gone, Professor Snape turned his dark eyes over them all, and most of those present cringed beneath them.
"Ten points from Slytherin, Mr. Black, for suffering needlessly like a melodramatic Gryffindor," he said, ignoring the look of disbelief on Pansy and Draco's faces. They didn't disagree with the sentiment, but there was no need to take points. He swept the rest of them with an assessing gaze, "And five points to each of the rest of you for assisting a Housemate in need."
"Lucian was here too, sir," Pucey put in mildly, "He was the one who alerted Salazar's portrait."
"Then five points for Mr. Bole as well," Snape allowed. I expect that the details of this encounter will stay, if not a complete secret, then at least within the House of Snakes."
They all nodded agreeably.
"Very well, then please escort Mr. Black to the common room. I will deal with the Headmaster and the school officials."
"Thank you, sir," Rigel spoke up as he made to leave.
"It is my duty as your Head of House to deal with problems of this nature. See that you remember that in the future," the Potions Master swept back toward the Entrance Hall once more, leaving his students to make their way back to the common room, where they would spend the rest of the evening answering question after subtly phrased question from their Slytherin Housemates.
[HpHpHp]
Lee Jordan was formally withdrawn from Hogwarts by his parents in the face of charges of assault and attempted maiming, and rumor had it he was to be enrolled in Beauxbatons after the break. It was only after several frantic letters to Sirius that he decided not to come storming up to the school, demanding justice for his son, but the Black Family Head finally agreed to wait until the winter holidays to assure himself of his son's wellbeing, since it was only a few weeks away at that point.
The week before the break, Rigel did indeed receive a package from Archie, and when she opened it later that night behind the hangings of her bed she discovered the promised Polyjuice Potion. There was enough hour-long doses to last her an entire day of continuous transformation, and Rigel wondered incredulously how on earth Archie had gotten so much of it. Along with the package was a lock of Archie's hair to activate the potions, and a letter, which detailed the entire, hair-brained adventure. Rigel found herself laughing and shaking her head as she read Archie's account. Only her cousin would be able to pull such a thing off…
[HpHpHP]
[Switch to: Archie's POV]
[HpHpHp]
Archie never could have done it without Hermione. As he told her several times a day, she was the brain to his body, the light to his cave, the muse to his song, the—okay, okay, no need to hit so hard, Hermione.
Anyway, as winter break approached, Archie started thinking about how he and Harry were going to coordinate their return. His father would be picking Harry up from Kings Cross, of course, while James and Lily would collect Archie at Heathrow Airport in London. It would be a little awkward to explain why he didn't look like Harry and why Harry didn't look like Archie, so he knew they had to get a hold of some more Polyjuice somehow. He wouldn't even attempt to brew it—so Harry's thing—and there was no Uncle James to pilfer from this time, so the question became: who was he going to pilfer it from?
The answer came, like a beacon sent from one of those muggle torches, one Monday in Basic Healing. He and Hermione had all their classes together, because they were both in the Healing tract. He'd asked her why she decided on Healing even though she didn't have to choose a tract until third year, and she had told him it was the closest thing to a profession her parents would understand, since they were both dentists.
Archie didn't know what a dentist was, but the way Hermione described it, it sounded painful.
But back to the story, he was sitting in Basic Healing, which was his favorite class, and one of only two classes offered for the Healer tract first year that was not a gen-ed, the other being Magical Psychology, when Professor Marsh came in, dragging an upperclassman with messy brown hair and horn-rimmed glasses behind her. The upperclassmen was in one of the Mastery tracts, as designated by his green-colored robes (Career tracts like Healers and Alchemists wore blue and Undecideds wore plain black), and the patch on the front of the robes identified him as part of the Potions Mastery tract. His reason for being in the Basic Healing class was clear when Professor Marsh presented the boy to the Healing teacher, Professor Willoweed, and pulled up the older boy's sleeve to reveal a nasty scrape along his forearm.
It was tradition for other professors to bring students who were only slightly injured to the Basic Healing classes, so that the beginners could practice on them. It helped out the young Healers-in-training, while also discouraging other students from injuring themselves carelessly, lest they be made into guinea pigs. The students in the Healing tract were very dedicated and competent, and usually the students who were brought in as 'patients' didn't protest overmuch. This upperclassman looked mutinous, however, and he was complaining loudly to Professor March, who taught Flying and Physical Activity, about his presence there.
"I can't stay here, I have to go to Advanced Potions," he said furiously, "Look, it's just a scrape, and I get that they need the practice, but we're doing Polyjuice right now, and it's very time-sensitive, and Professor Tallum always takes all the stasis spells off at once! So if I'm not there to add the ingredients precisely when they need to be added, weeks of work will be undone and I'll have to start from scratch!"
"Well, you should have thought about that before you messed around in my class and crashed your broom," Professor Marsh sniffed unconcernedly, "I'll leave him in your hands," she said dismissively, and she left the small classroom deaf to the Potions student's pleas.
Professor Willoweed smoothed the front of her red teaching robes serenely, saying, "No need to be alarmed, Mr. Bannett, it won't take long at all to fix you up."
"Every second is too long, Professor Willoweed, please," Bannett begged, "I'm in the Potions tract, for Circe's sake, this is important."
"Professor Willoweed," Archie said suddenly, a mad, wonderful idea popping into his brain, "Why don't I go with Bannett to his Potions Class, and heal him on the way?"
Willoweed looked skeptical, but Archie threw her a dashing smile that Harry would have smacked right off his face if she'd seen it, "It'll be a good chance to learn to Heal under pressure, on the move," he invented, "And it helps the patient out as well, and shouldn't we always try to help the patient?"
"Oh, very well, Mr. Potter, but I expect you to come straight back here," she said, giving him a knowing look.
"Oh, yes, Professor, I certainly will," he smiled brightly at her, glanced innocently at Hermione, who was giving him a suspicious look from the seat next to him, and followed the relieved Bannett out of the classroom.
Archie examined the scrape as they moved briskly through the giant labyrinth of hallways and rooms that was the American Institute of Magic. "So, Polyjuice, huh?" he said conversationally as he ran the standard diagnostic spell they'd been taught back in September. It told him his patient had a scrape. On his arm. "Is it as difficult as they say?"
"More so," Bannett seemed happier now that they were on their way to his class, and was more than willing to talk about Potions, "It's so exact, so demanding, you know? If you don't do every step perfectly, you might as well start again. It takes slow, carefully controlled action—too sudden and you spook the ingredients into reacting. It's like the Potion wants you to earn it."
Archie personally thought that not even Harry talked about Potions like they were some kind of wild animal to be tamed, but he nodded gently—whatever Professor Willoweed said, he had a fantastic bedside manner when it suited him. "How long have you been working on this one?"
"Two and a half weeks. It'll be another week and a half before it's finished," he added, "And it's only going this quickly because Professor Tallum scheduled it very precisely so that certain steps lined up with the lunar—"
"Wow, sounds tough," Archie said absently as he coaxed his magic into the gentle waves needed to Heal minor scrapes and bruises. The marks slowly began to fade before his eyes, and when he finally declared it sufficiently healed he realized they were almost to the Potions Labs, which were in the Basement of the school. "Do you at least get to keep it when you finish?" he asked.
"What? Of course not," Bannett shook his head at the silly little first year, "Polyjuice is highly illegal." Archie didn't think it prudent to mention that in general things were 'legal' or 'illegal' with no degrees of legality in between. "I'm sure Professor Tallum will dispose of our samples after he shows us our grades next Friday. As he should. Well, this is it, thank you, Mr…"
"Potter," Archie said, "Harry Potter."
[AbAbAb] (= see what I did there?).
Hermione Granger, Archie thought to himself as his muggleborn friend read him the riot act back in the Healer tract dorms that evening, was much more observant than any witch had a right to be.
"I don't know what you're planning, Harry Potter, but if you think you're going to ruin some poor seventh year's Potions grade by stealing the Potion he's been working on for weeks, then you'll have to go through me, because I won't stand by and—"
"Hermione!" Archie clapped a hand over his friend's rather loud mouth and dragged her to a more secluded corner of the common area, to a table they were less likely to be overheard from. "Hermione, sweet Hermione, loyal, talented, brilliant Hermione," he began.
Hermione scowled suspiciously at him, but he bravely weathered on.
"You don't really believe me capable of such evil, now do you? Look—I solemnly swear that I am not planning on ruining anyone's grade, test score, or academic career."
"I—really, Harry?" Hermione still looked skeptical, "Because you seemed awfully interested in that boy once you heard he was brewing Polyjuice."
"I would never steal someone's Polyjuice potion before it was graded, Hermione, honestly, I thought you knew me," Archie shook his head sadly.
"Oh," Hermione looked abashed, "Okay then, I thought—wait. Oh, no."
"Oh, yes."
"Oh, no."
"Oh, yes!"
"Harry you can't be thinking—"
"Hermione, my pearl, I couldn't possibly think without you, you know that."
"This is serious, Harry!" Hermione wrung her hands and glanced around the common area nervously, "If we get caught—"
"Lovely, knew I could count on you, Hermione," Archie kissed the bushy-haired girl's fingertips with extravagant devotion, and Hermione smiled ruefully, like she always did when Archie was playing the fool.
"I want this planned to a T, Harry," she said sternly.
"I was just about to suggest a diagram, dear Hermione."
[AbAbAb]
The following Friday, everything was in place. Hermione didn't approve of the plan at all, which Archie took to mean it would probably be great fun. Not that Hermione wasn't fun, because she was, but there were some kinds of fun you had to be a little crazy to appreciate, and as anyone in Britain could tell you, the Blacks were a predominantly crazy lot.
Professor Tallum was scheduled to give his seventh years their grades on their Polyjuice assignment that day. What that meant was that he would hand each student back the beaker they'd turned in the class period before, and each beaker had a letter grade written on them in ugly red ink. Once each student had noted their grade, with the option to hear in colorful recitation exactly why they had been scored that way (no one usually took that option), the beakers would be handed back in, accounted for, and disposed of.
Archie thought that was a very good system, but he had slightly different ideas for how the class period would pan out.
He glanced at his watch, one of the few things that actually belonged to him, besides his shoes and wand, that he had allowed himself to bring to America. It had been given to him by his mother and father, and he couldn't bear to part with it, and besides, he really didn't think anyone would recognize the family crest on it at AIM. So anyway, he watched his watch (a somewhat ironic pastime, to be sure) and when enough time for Professor to start handing out the sample had passed, Archie readied himself mentally for the superb and impressive feat of acting he was about to perform.
Hermione kicked him pointedly from beneath her Disillusionment Charm, which she had learned precisely for their little escapade, bless her brilliant mind, and Archie decided that was the signal to stop fixing his blonde wig to look 'frantically windswept' and get a move on.
Archie stole out of the empty classroom in the Lab section of the basement, which he and Hermione were basing their operations out of that day. He checked both ways before taking a deep breath and breaking into a sprint down the corridor, his shoes slapping wildly on the concrete floor and the unfamiliar Mastery tract robes he'd acquired for the occasion flapping like green sheets around his ankles. His exertion gave him a flushed and slightly crazed look, which would be vital to his deceit.
He tore through the Lab level, and once he reached the Advanced Potions Classroom he flung open the door dramatically and cried into the room full of startled students, "TRROOOLL IN THE BASEMENT!" there was a beat of pure silence, into which he added, "Thought you ought to know," before turning back around and sprinting the way he came. Archie ran all the way back to the empty classroom as quickly as he could, then froze, silent and motionless, until he heard the sound of a dozen or so students making their way past his hiding place and up the stairs to the Main level. He silently cheered and wished Hermione the best of luck. It was all up to her now.
(Change in POV: Hermione)
Hermione suppressed a sigh as she slipped, invisible, into the classroom in the wake of Harry's over the top entrance. She hurriedly moved to the side of the room while everyone was distracted, and she was well out of the way when Professor Tallum pulled himself out of his shock and ordered an immediate evacuation to the main level. Hermione thought this was rather ridiculous, considering that if there actually were a troll, it would be safer to remain in the classroom, but Archie had said the policy was to evacuate first and think second, and, though she would never say it to his face, he was usually right about these things.
When the room had emptied, Hermione took out a bag she had asked an upperclassman from the Charms Mastery tract to spell an Undetectable Extension Charm on to. She made her way as quickly as she could around the room, grabbing all the flasks of Polyjuice that had an 'A' written in bold red ink on the side and upending them into various empty vials she'd brought with her for the transfer. Really, she could not believe she was doing this, but ever since she'd met Harry Potter her life had been constant surprises—though not many of them bad, she had to admit.
When she had all the Potion that would probably be safe to ingest, she stowed the bag with the filled vials in it under her Disillusioned robes and left the classroom as silently as she'd entered it. She made it back to the empty classroom just in time to avoid the approach of a dozen confused students and one very upset Professor Tallum. He was likely to be more upset, Hermione reflected, when he realized someone had upended all of the students' Polyjuice flasks onto the floor of the Lab. Archie had wanted to make it look like a prank, like someone was just making a mess, and not really stealing the Potion, and to do that all the flasks had to be emptied without seeming to have gone anywhere by the time the class got back from their wild goose chase.
(Back to Archie's POV)
Archie swung Hermione in a spontaneous little jig and inventoried the vials she'd collected.
This will last us for both coming home and leaving again after break, he thought gleefully, Harry will be so impressed when I tell her how I got this…
[HpHpHp]
Rigel folded the letter with a fond smile. She couldn't wait to see Archie again. She just had to get through one more week, and then she would be home, with her own eye color and her own name, and Archie, wonderful, crazy Archie, who would surely know how to handle all the things that seemed so insurmountable when they were separated by an ocean. She liked Draco and Pansy, she really did, and Fred and George and Neville and Ron and even Flint wasn't so bad sometimes, but she couldn't talk to them about some things, not because they weren't as good of friends, but because she was lying about them, and they couldn't help with her problems unless they knew the truth. But Archie would know what to do. He wouldn't be scared or freaked out when she told him about what happened to Lee. He wouldn't judge her as weak or silly for being scared of her own feelings.
Two weeks without lies, Rigel thought, that's what I need.
How easy it was to forget that the people at Hogwarts weren't the only ones she'd been lying to.
{HpHpHp}
[end of chapter fifteen].
A/N: Well, there you have it. I hope the POV switches weren't too confusing, and that the bit of re-cap in the middle didn't bore you too much. In case you're wondering, AIM is not the only institute for learning magic in the states (the USA's population is about five to six times that of the UK, and with all the muggleborns and halfbloods being shipped over there from Britain, well, it just wouldn't be feasible to only have one school). On that note, hope you liked Archie's POV, since some of the reviewers requested it ^^ I live to serve, lol. The next update will span winter break, so look forward to that, and I'm still at about 22-23 chapters total for the first year, so it will move faster in the spring semester. I hope no one was too terribly disappointed that it was Lee Jordan. I wanted a Ralon-like figure, but more mysterious, to tide the story over until the real stuff starts happening in January, and I gave Lee a motive because… well, I hate to play the 'AU' card, but… there you go. Anyway, thanks for reading, I can't say it enough.