A/N: Updates are gonna be slower until I graduate—so sorry, I'll make it up this summer, dear readers. For now, thanks to my inspiring reviewers: Kitsune-No-Youko-Sora, Vaughn Tyler, Son of Whitebeard, TearfullPixie, J.F.C., Baltaine Shadow, zeichnerinaga, samwaffleman, The Chaos Legionnaire, Giselle Pink, and Delia—since I can't PM you, thank you so much for you kind reviews :).
A/N2: This one is a little episodic, but I hope you enjoy. Any Alanna fans will no doubt see some elements bleeding through in this chapter. ^^ I don't own or charge for anything in this fic, so consider JKR and Pierce's bits disclaimed.
The Pureblood Pretense:
Chapter 17:
The break had been exhausting. Rigel—for indeed, she was Rigel once more with her dull grey contacts and her cousin's last name—watched the other Slytherins in the compartment smirk and joke, clearly rejuvenated from their two week vacation and felt something uncomfortably bitter in her heart. It was jealousy, she recognized with a detached sense of self-disappointment. She was somehow jealous of their relaxed, boring lives, and she turned her gaze to the window to try and suppress the unworthy feeling. She slowed her breathing and turned her mind inwards, like the book on Occlumency said to. Empty my mind. My mind is a fortress. My mind is an empty fortress… but then, who will guard it? An empty fortress wouldn't be fortifying anything. Maybe if I have some mind-guards… yes… no wait, empty, empty—drat.
Rigel sighed at the blurred scenery beyond the windowpane. She'd read the first few chapters of the book Archie had gotten her for Christmas, but she didn't think she was really getting anywhere. It said before she learned anything else, she had to learn to empty her mind. This seemed, to Rigel, who had always sought to fill her mind with everything related to Potions she could, to be a rather silly way of making the mind into a fortress. Unless it was a fortress of stupidity, but she didn't see how that would help her control her emotions. Perhaps she could find another book at Hogwarts to supplement her reading. Not that her reading load needed any supplementing. She already had several thick Healing tombs from the Potter Library in her trunk to peruse whenever she wasn't doing regular work or Flint's work. What an illusion free time was turning out to be. On the other hand, she had chosen this path—complaining about it would be just as unworthy as being jealous of her year mates for something they couldn't help.
"Hey, Black," Nott drew her attention away from the countryside, "Did you finish the Potions essay on the list of rare ingredient properties? I've got enough inches and I looked up most of them, but I couldn't find anything about limbus grass in my parents' library."
"Rigel did that essay months ago," Draco said.
"Did you look under truth serums?" Rigel asked, ignoring Draco's not-so-subtle boasting on her behalf, "It's too rudimentary to be in any serious Potions manuals, but you wouldn't have found it with herbal remedies either since it's considered somewhat dark."
"Oh, I see," Nott was obviously confused as to why she'd done the work early but he politely turned to Zabini and said, "You have a book on precursors to Veritaserum, don't you, Blaise?"
"Indeed," the reserved boy said quietly, "I left it in the dormitories over break. You may borrow it after the feast."
Greengrass, who through sheer audacity had wrangled a seat in their compartment once again, was not so inclined to overlook the oddity in Rigel's schoolwork schedule.
"What, does the teacher's pet get a list of the assignments ahead of time so he can look smart by memorizing the answers early?" the girl lifted an eyebrow in a crude imitation of the kind of eyebrow-lifting Rigel had seen Narcissa Malfoy and Rose Parkinson employ when the occasion merited it.
"Oh, my, didn't you know?" Pansy sent Greengrass a sympathetic look that oozed social poison, "Professor Snape has taken Rigel under his tutelage. He's on an accelerated learning program that will put him equal to the level of a post-NEWT student by the end of his third year."
Rigel bore the other students' awed looks stoically, though inside she marveled at Pansy's ability to fabricate so effortlessly. It was true that she was in an accelerated learning regimen, but Pansy didn't know the specifics, and the goal wasn't to bring her up to seventh-year standards by third. Instead, she would spend the first three weeks of each semester learning the theory behind what the rest of her grade would learn for the entire semester, then for the remaining three months or so Rigel would study things outside of the Hogwarts curriculum entirely, so that she wouldn't be too bored brewing in class, but would also learn all the things an Apprentice traditionally learned after his NEWT's. Professor Snape had agreed to give her a two-year trial run, and if at the end of those two years she proved competent, she would be given official Apprentice status. If she pulled it off, she would be the youngest Apprentice since the modern schooling system had been implemented.
"That's impossible," Greengrass said, though she didn't sound entirely sure of herself, "You'd never be able to keep up in the rest of your classes if you did that."
"So what?" Rigel shrugged, "All I care about is Potions."
Draco and Pansy exchanged rueful looks at that statement.
"Is that why you always just blow things up in Defense instead of learning the actual spells?" Nott asked curiously.
Rigel tried not to scowl, "The unfortunate explosions I am prone to in Professor Quirrell's class have nothing to do with my interest in Potions. My wand and I have differing views on what constitutes a flick and what constitutes a tap, and although I've taken the high road and agreed to disagree, my wand frequently takes matters into its own hands."
Nott laughed and even Zabini smirked a bit in amusement, neither knowing how true her words had been, but Greengrass ruined the joke by cutting across them.
"So in other words… you aren't good at anything else?" Greengrass smirked at Rigel, who lifted an unconcerned eyebrow in response.
"Who asked you?" Draco snapped. Rigel sent him a grateful smile at his defense, but shook her head as Pansy looked ready to tear into the other girl.
Unexpectedly, Zabini spoke up, "You ought to be careful what you assume, Miss Greengrass," he said, dark eyes giving an impression of deep fathoms that was only enhanced by the sly twist to his lips, "There is more to Rigel Black than Potions, you simply haven't had the honor of witnessing his true power just yet."
"And I suppose you have?" Greengrass rolled her eyes, "All you ever do is throw out obscure remarks like you know something the rest of us don't. Well, I think you're full of dragon dung."
"And I think you should leave," Draco glared at her, "We don't need people who toss around crude analogies and insinuate things out of spite in this compartment."
"You can't just kick me out whenever you don't like what I have to say," she fumed.
"I can't, but Crabbe and Goyle can. They're just one compartment over, you know, and they won't care how much money your daddy has when they toss you out on your ear."
"Ugh, fine," she spat, flinging open the compartment door and slamming it hard enough to rattle the window behind her.
The first years looked assessingly at one another in the silence that followed.
"All in favor of never letting that shrew into our compartment again?" Nott said wryly.
"Seconded."
"Agreed."
"Yes."
"Rigel?" Nott prompted.
She pretended to think very carefully about it, "Well, we still have an empty seat," she noted, "So it depends on who we have to let sit with us in her stead."
They mulled it over for a moment.
"Crabbe or Goyle?" Nott suggested.
"They really come as a set," Draco said.
"Davis isn't so bad…actually, yes, she is," Pansy sighed.
"Why can't we just put a trunk on one of the seats?" Nott asked.
"And have it fall on my toes every time the train brakes?" Zabini sniffed, "I rather think not."
"We'll figure it out before June," Draco said, "And besides, you're assuming there could be someone worse than Greengrass."
"Good point," Rigel grinned, "Motion passed."
After the Welcoming Feast, Rigel had waved her friends on to the common room while she headed to Professor Snape's office instead. She wasn't sure he'd be there the first night of the new term, but she had learned that Snape was something of a workaholic, so the chances were good.
She fiddled with her unicorn-hair bracelet as she stood before the familiar oak door. Pansy and Draco had both been wearing their gifts on the train, from which she inferred their appreciation. For their part, Pansy and Draco had shopped together for Rigel's gifts. Draco sent her a pureblood wizarding genealogy. Though the Black Family Library had several reaching back into the middle ages, the one Malfoy sent her was entirely up to date. It had all the who's who of modern wizarding society, and many of the newest entries were hand-written in her friend's carefully elegant handwriting.
Pansy had given her a blank sort of address book, but instead of short entries for name, number, and address like you might see in the muggle world, this book was entirely Slytherin in design. She had already filled out the first few pages with notable students Rigel was acquainted with, like Rosier and Rookwood. Each entry had a full-color moving photograph of the person (all obviously taken without the subject's awareness) as well as an abbreviated family tree, notes on the subject's strengths and weaknesses, talents and political clout, ambitions and dirty secrets. It was practically a book of dossiers. Pansy had only filled out the basics so far—it was up to Rigel to be Slytherin enough to fill the pages with truly invaluable information.
The silver door handle glinted mockingly at her as she stood before it. She should be comfortable enough to seek her Professor out by now, but the man intimidated the heck out of her even when he was being relatively kind. He was everything she wanted to one day be, and for all her efforts she felt so inadequate and weak standing before him. Unworthy, she thought, trying to stifle the bitterness that crept up her throat, I feel unworthy around him more than anyone, because he and I have the same ambition, but he didn't have to lie his way to the top. Who was she, a dishonest little upstart, to seek out a Potions Master like Snape?
Shaking off thoughts which were not only unproductive but which would be down right dangerous if she were carrying her presumptuous phoenix wand, Rigel rapped in what she imagined to be an unassuming way on the heavy door.
"Enter if you must."
Rigel set her shoulders and stepped into the office. Snape had long since replaced the jars of pickled ingredients on the shelves around the room, though neither had ever again suggested she compensate the professor for them or anything else. Really, it was stupid of Rigel to offer in the first place. Anyone with eyes could see how proud the man was. It was in the tilt of his jaw and the sharp defensiveness in his eyes. There was pride in every vertebrae, in every reserved gesture and in every exact syllable he uttered. Rigel didn't really understand pride—perhaps because she had never done anything she was particularly proud of—but she could recognize it, in a doting parent's smile or in a hippogriff's stiff neck.
"Good evening, Professor."
"Mr. Black," Snape looked up from the notes he was jotting in the margins of a thick, well-read tomb. "I assume you have your essays."
"Yes, sir," she placed the three scrolls she had brought with her on Snape's desk and hesitated just long enough for him to notice.
"Was there something else?"
"Yes, that is…" Rigel clasped her hands behind her back in an effort to stop their ridiculous trembling. Snape wasn't going to cut all ties with her just for asking. The worst he could do was refuse. "I was wondering if I might appropriate one of the empty rooms in the dungeons for a lab?"
Snape scowled and opened his mouth to reply, but then he paused. He narrowed his eyes in a piercing stare and Rigel tried to look trustworthy. She thought vaguely that trying to look trustworthy probably indicated somehow that she wasn't before Snape leaned back in his chair and said, "Giving a student license to brew unknown potions while unsupervised in a dungeon sounds dangerous, foolish, and unnecessary."
Rigel winced, but nodded in acceptance. It did sound rather reckless when put like that.
"Convince me."
Her eyes widened, but she wasted no time wondering at the rare mood she seemed to have caught the professor in. "I enjoy the theoretical work you've been setting me, sir," she explained, "But I think I would also benefit from practical, well, practice. I would pick the room very carefully; somewhere a bit off of the main tunnels so that I wouldn't be distracted by students passing by, but close enough to your office that you could reach me if such an event became necessary. I would provide you with a list of the potions I intended to practice ahead of time, and all potions would be turned in to you once completed, so that you would know I wasn't keeping the potions when I'd finished. I would also keep diligent logs of any ingredients I used from the school stores, which I would also run by you ahead of time."
It was as impossible as ever to fathom Snape's expression, but when she paused for breath he inclined his head as if to say, I'm listening.
"It would be very little inconvenience to you, sir, although I would ask you to approve the room and set up monitoring charms to alert you if an explosion of some kind were to occur," she went on, practically babbling but eager to leave him no room for objection, "I would wear protective gear at all times, a full suit if you like, even if I was only brewing stink-sap remover, just so that there was no possibility of injury. It won't change the level of attention I give to the written work, and I wouldn't invite other students to watch or, Merlin forbid, help out. Ever." She wracked her brains, but could think of no more assurances.
"I had planned on scheduling you an hour or two a week in the Advanced Labs," Snape said eventually, "I am not unaware that you need more opportunities to brew outside of the coursework, though I admit I was… unsure of how my NEWT students would respond to your presence."
Rigel grimaced. The last thing she needed was to offend one of the sixth or seventh year potions students by seemingly comporting herself as their equal in the labs.
"This is not an ideal solution," Snape gazed rather forbiddingly at her, "It requires a great deal of trust on my part, and frankly I have little enough faith in humanity without being asked to trust the spawn of a Marauder around an unsupervised flame. However," Rigel clenched her hands together so hard that even her stubby fingernails made indentations in her palms, "I am inclined to think that you are not accustomed to going so long without brewing, and I don't doubt that were I to refuse you would merely find somewhere I couldn't reach you in an emergency to set up your cauldron, so here is what is going to happen."
Rigel suppressed her triumphant grin and listened closely.
"All of the conditions you outlined will be effected, and in addition to that I will place a ward around the door that clocks your entrance and exit—I won't have you up at all hours of the night brewing, understand me?"
Rigel nodded, and Snape continued.
"You will not leave ingredients in this makeshift lab. You will not eat or drink in the lab. You will not leave potions unattended unless the recipe calls for more than three hours between steps, in which case I will place a ward around the door to keep everything else out while it stews," Snape paused, but apparently could think of no more limits to put into place, "I will expect a list of potions you wish to begin with and a selection of no less than three possible rooms for my approval by the end of the week. I will, of course, be adding potions to your list, but I will allow you some discretion as to those you wish to peruse as well. Are we clear?"
"Yes, sir. Thank you, Professor Snape."
"Return to the common room, Mr. Black, it is quite late."
Rigel nodded, gave a tiny smile of thanks once more, and left the office thrumming with excitement at the prospect of finally brewing again.
0o0
[HpHpHp]
0o0
Classes resumed, and with classes came disapproving looks from McGonagall and points taken by Quirrell, but she couldn't bring herself to care overly much. The phoenix wand took merciless vengeance for her neglect of it over the winter holidays, but Rigel would be brewing again soon, so no matter how pushy her wand got with her spell work—jerking mid-flick and making the parchment she was to be turning pink fold itself into a paper airplane and zoom around the room, for instance—Rigel contentedly ignored it, which in retrospect might have served to make it even more difficult, like a child looking for attention.
McGonagall didn't give her any more detentions, though she sighed very disappointedly when Rigel's teacup turned into a pocket watch instead of a pocketbook. Quirrell positively delighted in skimming emeralds out of Slytherin's hourglass every Monday and Wednesday, but diminutive little Professor Flitwick seemed to find her misbegotten Charms quite amusing, and almost always sent her off with encouragement to try harder again next time. Flitwick had a fundamentally unconcerned outlook on life, compared to a lot of people she knew.
Like Marcus Flint, for instance.
He cornered her on her way to the Library (thankfully not yet in disguise) on the first Thursday back. She was walking along the third floor corridor toward a bathroom when she was unceremoniously yanked sideway into an empty classroom.
Not quite over the whole Lee Jordan thing, Rigel instinctively wrenched her arm away and swung her bag around toward her accoster as hard as she could. Unfortunately, the older Slytherin's reflexes were faster than her heavy, blunt bag, and he simply ducked underneath the swing and grinned irrepressibly at her. She scowled, but lowered her bag to the floor and quickly shut the door to the classroom so they weren't overheard.
"What is it?" she said immediately, "If this is about your History essay, I haven't finished it yet."
"No, not that," he waved a hand negligently.
"I already gave you all the assignments I had from break," Rigel added.
"Yeah, I turned them in already, listen, would you?" Flint ran a hand through his dark hair, "Honestly, you've done better than I expected. Good, in fact. Too good."
Rigel swallowed deliberately, "Suspiciously good?"
"Damn right. Snape knows."
"Does he know I'm—"
"No, he doesn't know know, but he's unofficially known for a while and he pulled me into his office yesterday for a friendly little chat," Flint laughed humorlessly, "Don't look so worried, I learned Occlumency last summer, and I'm not great, but I can keep him out if he doesn't push too hard."
"What?" Rigel stared blankly at him. Occlumency was for controlling emotions, wasn't it? That's what the book had been about… probably. Admittedly it was a bit esoteric and abstract, so maybe she didn't understand as well as she thought.
"Oh, you wouldn't know. Snape can read minds," Flint said bluntly.
Rigel blanched, but Flint just chuckled darkly.
"Stop panicking—though it's kind of funny watching you change colors like that," Flint said, "He can, but he doesn't go around peeking into kids' heads for kicks. Only he's really riled up about this for some reason."
"Well, you are sort of cheating," Rigel said absently, thinking perhaps Snape had mentioned Occlumency the first time she'd met with him, after their minds had gone all weird, but whatever her magic had done that night had been much more focused on emotions than actual thoughts. "And he is a teacher. Maybe he takes it as a personal insult that you won't do his work."
"More likely he's upset that he hasn't figured out how I'm doing it yet," Flint shrugged, "Point is, you need to be extra careful from now on, okay? Don't bother changing the essays—at this point most of the professors have probably been told about what Snape thinks I'm doing—"
"What you are doing."
"—But they can't prove anything, and changing the style or handwriting charms will only let them know that we know that they're on to us," Flint said.
"So… do nothing different, but be more careful?" Rigel asked wryly.
"Brat," Flint rolled his eyes, "Keep the writing the same, but be extra careful you're not caught with an essay you shouldn't be doing. They'll be watching the older students if they've figured out it's someone here at Hogwarts doing my work, so don't ask them for help if you can help it."
Rigel nodded, "I'll be more circumspect, in any case. Do we have a fallback story, in case I am somehow caught with one?"
"Don't be," Flint grunted, "But if you're caught red-handed say you were paid to mail them to me by an older student you don't know the name of."
Rigel raised her eyebrow, "You wouldn't take me down with you just because you could?"
"Hey, don't think I give two knuts about your hide, brat," he scoffed, "I'd just hate to have to explain to Archie why I crushed his dream by getting his doppelganger expelled."
"Sure, Flint," Rigel smirked daringly, "I won't tell anyone that you're not nearly as tough as your name implies."
"Oh, you think so?" Flint said conversationally, "I wonder what your friend Draco would think about that? You know, maybe he could benefit from a few extra Quidditch practices on the weekends."
Rigel sighed, "Forgive me, oh stony one, I should not have dared question your obvious and impressive mettle,"
"Forgiveness is overrated. You can do an extra credit project for McGonagall instead," Flint smirked, his angular face fierce even in his amusement, "I love that look on her face when I turn in shit I couldn't possibly have had time to do, and she knows she has to grade it anyway. Even better, she knows our Quidditch team is practicing about twice as often as her little lions can manage, but without proof she can't take away our edge."
"And people say I have a sick sense of humor."
"People have a lot to say about you, Rigel Black." She was sure Flint's laughter would follow her to her grave. "Too bad they don't know the half of it."
She left the classroom without replying. As Pansy would say, it never does to dignify a bad joke with a response—it only encourages where honesty would be kinder.
0o0
[HpHpHp]
0o0
"Why, Rigel Black, as I live and breathe."
Rigel looked up from the potion recipe she was copying from a manual Snape had loaned her. She had gotten her small private lab approved a few days earlier and she was looking forward to brewing something entirely new later that evening. First she had to transfer the instructions to fire-retardant parchment so that she wouldn't risk Snape's book around the flame though. She was sitting in an out of the way chair in the Slytherin common room when the taunting voice shook her concentration.
"Rosier, what a…pleasant surprise," Rigel said a bit insincerely, "And Rookwood as well, how unusual to see the two of you together."
"Isn't he amusing, Edmund?" Rosier perched his lithe form on the arm of her chair gracefully while Rookwood sent her a friendly, though characteristically reserved, smile. "Come now, young Mr. Black, it's really been too long. We want to hear all about your break, don't we?"
"Indeed," Rookwood said in his mountain-voice, "Perhaps you should sit, Aldon. I believe Mr. Black is uncomfortable with you hovering over him."
"Well I suppose I could," Rosier sighed a bit down-heartedly, "I am such a good hoverer, you know."
"I'll add that to your dossier," Rigel assured him. Rosier laughed in that whimsically shadowed way he had and obligingly levitated a pair of seats over by Rigel's chair so that they could chat comfortably.
"Well, Black, don't keep us waiting," Rosier pressed once they'd settled in, "How was your Yule? Judging by the stains on your fingers I'd guess you spent the whole two weeks in your lab."
Rigel glanced down at her hands, which were noticeably splotched in different places from the brewing she'd done since having access to a lab again. Though she'd promised to wear protective gear, it was understood by potion-makers that certain ingredients had to be handled barehanded for efficacy's sake.
"Not the whole two weeks," Rigel said, though honestly she hadn't gotten any brewing done at all between trying to learn Archie's textbooks by route memorization, catching up with her family, and living in a constant state of deception that was so much worse than it was when she was Rigel all the time. "I wouldn't miss the chance to reconnect with my family after my first long stint away, after all. It is harder to be far from home than I had anticipated."
"Naturally," Rosier allowed with a peculiar twist to his lips that never really went away, "Though it's certainly candid of you to own up to such a thing. So many first-years pretend to an unrealistic self-sufficiency the moment they step onto the train. How refreshing to witness such open familial respect in these liberal times."
"No sense in pretending," Rigel shrugged artlessly, "I've always been a poor liar."
"Oh, now that I don't believe," Rosier shot Rookwood an amused glance, "In truth, I wonder what you seek to hide about your break, that you admit so readily to something most of your classmates would feverishly deny. I can only conclude that you've a much more interesting truth to keep hidden."
Rigel opened her mouth to reply, but Rosier held up a slender hand forestallingly.
"Ah-ah, no telling. I'll figure it out eventually," Rosier's smile had a sharp edge to it now.
"Pansy tells us you met with her parents over break to seek formal permission to befriend her," Rookwood said, "She believes it went quite well."
"I really couldn't say," Rigel gave a helpless smile.
"Yes, her father tends to have that effect on people," Rosier said knowingly, "But if Rose Parkinson likes you, everyone likes you, so I dare say you have nothing to lose sleep over."
Rigel couldn't think of anything to say, but Rosier was already switching topics again.
"Did you celebrate the Yule with any other families?" he asked, though the gleam in his golden eyes suggested he already knew the answer to that.
"Yes, our family is very close to the Potters," Rigel said, sending a silent apology to Remus, but still unwilling to bring up her controversial uncle around Rosier and Rookwood. People got a bit touchy when werewolves were mentioned.
"And how is the young Potter heir?" Rookwood asked politely.
"Harry is well," Rigel said, feeling that familiar sense of vertigo she got when talking about herself in third person, "It was nice to catch up for a couple weeks."
"You speak so fondly of Miss Potter," Rosier said slyly, "Childhood playmates, are you not?"
"Yes, I suppose we were."
"Hmm, betrothed, are you?" Rosier asked too-innocently.
Rigel nearly choked on thin air, "What? Harry and… No. No, nothing like that."
"Really?" Rosier didn't seem terribly convinced, "Years of friendship and no betrothal to speak of? Come now, Black, you can tell us about your blossoming romance."
"There is no romantic attachment between Harry and I," Rigel said firmly, "We are practically siblings, and shall always be nothing but close friends."
"Protests an awful lot, doesn't he?" Rosier said laughingly to Rookwood, "Well, if you're sure?"
"Quite sure."
"Then am I to understand that Harriett Potter is not yet betrothed to anyone?"
"Well, no she isn't," Rigel said slowly, trying to keep up with Rosier's conversational loops.
"Interesting," Rosier mused, "But of course she's at least had some offers by now."
"Not that I know of," Rigel felt strange—both defensive and incredulous at the way this discussion was going.
"None? Well, we'll have to remedy that, won't we Rookwood?" Rosier smiled breezily, clearly enjoying the look on Rigel's face at his pronouncement.
"Indeed we shall," Rookwood spoke blandly, but his eyes sparkled with a hidden mirth, "I for one have heard only good things about young Miss Potter—apparently her eyes are as green as finely polished serpent scales."
Rosier laughed gaily, "Oh, I'm telling Rose you made fun of her, Edmund."
"Then I shall tell her you teased her dear Pansy's new friend by asking for his cousin's hand in marriage," Rookwood replied unconcernedly.
"Who said I was teasing?" Rosier gazed penetratingly at Rigel, who was more than a little taken aback at that point, "After all, someone will have to marry her if the whispers I hear about the new legislation being pushed through this summer are even half-credible."
"Going to explain that?" Rigel asked, voice quiet but eyes intent.
"I wouldn't dream of counting my Ministerial reforms before they're ratified," Rosier said, his casual tone belying the seriousness of the subject matter, "But if one listens to rumors, which of course one always should, one might be a tad concerned for their lesser-blooded friends and family come June."
"Not 'concerned,' " Rookwood said swiftly, sending a warning look at Rosier.
"Oh, no, I'm sure I meant to say that one would be excited for their fortunate friends," Rosier agreed loftily, "After all, it's not every day social reform encouraging the lawful joining of mixed-blooded witches and wizards with their purer counterparts makes its way before the Wizengamot."
"And such encouragement," Rookwood said blandly, "Why the proposed legislation practically demands holy matrimony be established."
"And while certain parties still stand firmly in the way of this bold new step, you never know when something will happen to discredit those troublesome resistant groups. I'm sure your cousin will be thrilled to hear about the new opportunity soon to be afforded her," Rosier said, standing, "Alas, we cannot wile away the rest of the day with you, dear little snake. Adieu."
"It was enlightening, as always, Rosier," Rigel stood politely as they left, "Have a pleasant evening, Rookwood."
"I'm sure we'll see you around, Black."
Once they'd gone, Rigel sank into her chair abruptly as her knees gave out beneath her. She needed to write home immediately. It was clear that Rosier and Rookwood had for some unfathomable reason saw fit to give her this warning—she had to make what she could of it. She would write Sirius, and he and James and Lily and Remus would put their heads together and figure out what to do. Yes, everything would be fine, she tried to assure herself. Even if it was true, after all, the Wizengamot would never allow such a law, which would surely be repulsive to both factions (for what pureblood would willingly force themselves into a marriage with a non-pureblood, not to mention how the half-bloods would feel), to be put into place.
Would they?
0o0
[HpHpHp]
0o0
One Friday in mid-January found Rigel in the kitchens trying to learn a skin-cleaning charm from Binny to get rid of the splotches on her fingers from all the brewing she'd been doing since she got her own lab. Pansy had taken to staring pointedly at her black and yellow fingertips and sighing forlornly, so Rigel had mentioned it to Binny, who'd offered immediately to teach her a charm for lifting dye from skin. The problem was that house-elf magic didn't have any words to focus their spells. Binny said it was a mind-trick, and that one had to build up the spell in their head, gathering energy and intent, and then let it all out at once, using a finger snap to focus the energy, but Rigel couldn't duplicate it with her wand.
"You is pulling in the energy, Young Sir, but you is not letting it out," Binny tried to explain, wringing her hands worriedly as Rigel once again failed to remove any stains from her hands.
"I'm worried about letting out too much magic at once," Rigel said, "I don't want to accidentally erase my fingers along with the stains."
"It is not working like that," Binny shook her head so hard her ears flapped like little wings, "If you is not having intent to vanish fingers, then fingers is staying where they are."
"Sometimes my wand does things I don't intend," Rigel said, "I think it gets confused."
"Young Sir's wand isn't being confused," Binny said carefully, "Young Sir's magic is being confused."
Rigel glanced at the house elf, "Why's my magic confused, do you think?"
"Perhaps because Young Sir is confused about his magic, and his magic isn't knowing how to please him, because Young Sir isn't knowing what he is wanting?" Binny suggested tentatively.
Rigel thought that summed it up rather well. She was of two minds about her magic: on the one hand, she wanted to learn it so that at least she didn't stand out as a freak, but on the other hand, her magic was demonstrably dangerous. She couldn't go around casting spells willy-nilly, so each time she did cast a spell she was extremely careful not to want it to work too much, in case her magic got away from her. Rather than helping, however, her caution seemed to make her magic more agitated and, according to Binny, confused.
Everyone else thought she was being silly. She could see it in her teachers' exasperated looks and her friends' dismissive shrugs. But she hadn't asked for this power. She just wanted to brew Potions. Why wasn't that enough for everyone else?
"Not brooding, are we, Pup?"
She looked up to see George Weasley climb into the kitchen with an empty rucksack and an easy smile. Rigel raised an eyebrow when Fred didn't climb through the painting after him.
"Just me tonight," George confirmed, accurately reading her look of surprise, "Contrary to popular belief we aren't literally joined at the hip."
Rigel smiled slightly, "I know more than a few girls who will be disappointed to hear you two don't actually do everything together."
"For shame!" George clutched his chest dramatically, "What knave hath stolen thy innocence this night? Although, incidentally, we do do that together. You know, in case any of those girls happen to ask." He waggled his eyebrows in a way that looked patently ridiculous.
"We isn't believing you for a moment," Binny sniffed squeakily and George grinned unrepentantly down at her.
"Never try to lie to a house elf," George whispered conspiratorially, "Those ears aren't just for devilish good looks."
Binny blushed and swatted George's knee reprovingly, "You is wanting to make jokes or you is wanting sweets, Young Sir?"
"Ah, you know me too well, Binny dear, fill 'er up then." He surrendered the bag and the other elves pounced on it.
Rigel shared an amused look with the Gryffindor, but then his face grew serious again.
"What were you brooding about?" He glanced over her person critically, "You haven't injured yourself again, have you?"
Rigel rolled her eyes. As if she'd never gone an entire day without a disaster befalling her.
"I'm fine," she shrugged, "Just thinking."
"About?" George kicked her lightly with his foot, "Come on, don't make me drag it out of you."
"I'm having trouble with magic."
He looked incredulous for a beat, "What, all of it?"
"Most of it," she muttered darkly, "I can't seem to really control my magic. Sometimes it works like I want it to, other times it does nothing, and sometimes it does something completely different than what I tell it to. And my wand," Rigel gestured disgustedly at the holly wand on the table in front of her, "It's possessed. And it's mocking me."
George looked like he wasn't sure if he should laugh or not, "Well, it can't be unfixable. Show me. Do a spell or something."
Rigel looked dubiously at the holly wand.
"It's not going to bite you," George said, "Go on, try a simple object-to-object transfiguration."
"Okay," Rigel picked up her wand and pointed it at one of the saltshakers on the table. A moment later it morphed seamlessly into a muggle postcard, complete with tropical beach background and 'Greetings from Bora Bora!' written across the back.
"Wow, that's pretty cool," George picked it up to examine it, "See? You've just got to have a little confidence in—"
"It was supposed to be a brick," Rigel said flatly.
"Oh," George pursed his lips, "Well, if it's any consolation, the postcard it much more interesting than a brick."
Immediately, the holly wand pulsed hotly and all the saltshakers on the table became postcards.
"Antigua, Hawaii, Morocco—the North Pole!" George laughed heartily, "Well at least your wand has a sense of humor."
"It's mocking me!" Rigel growled moodily.
"Yes, I daresay it is, but is it really such a problem?" George asked, "I mean, has it ever let you down when you truly needed it?"
Rigel thought back. "No, I guess not. It always seems to work okay on real tests, actually." Rigel frowned thoughtfully. In truth, the only tests she'd failed were back when she was using the ash wand. And the holly wand had come through for her when Lee attacked even though she wasn't holding it and had no right to expect her magic to work.
"And has it ever hurt anyone? Made anything cruel or humiliating happen to anyone?" George smiled as Rigel slowly shook her head, "Then don't fret too much about it. Your wand might be a bit excitable, but it doesn't seem out of control in a dangerous way."
"That's kind of what my cousin said, too," Rigel admitted.
"You should listen to your cousin more, then," George stood and collected his now-full bag of junk food from the elves, "And try being a little nicer to your wand. Hey, can I keep these postcards? I want to show them to George."
Rigel smiled, "Sure, sure. Say 'hi' to Fred for me."
"Will do, little pup," George saluted her on his way out of the kitchens, "Stay sharp."
0o0
[HpHpHp]
0o0
For all Flint's dire warnings, Rigel wasn't worried about being caught until the last Saturday in January when she went to Percy with a routine Transfiguration question and instead of answering he looked at her in slight confusion and remarked, "How odd."
"What's odd?" Rigel frowned, "Do you not know?"
"I can answer your question," Percy said slowly, "In fact, I can answer it perfectly, because it's the same thing we're doing in Transfiguration right now. What's odd is that now that I think back on it, you're almost always confused about something my class is currently learning. It's just really strange."
"Oh," Rigel swallowed nervously, "Huh."
"It's not a problem," Percy said earnestly, "It's actually really helpful for me to explain what I'm learning. I'm getting even better marks in Transfiguration than usual, and McGonagall is pleased with all the questions I bring to class because of you. But it's a rather large coincidence to swallow. Are you doing it on purpose?"
"Yes," Rigel said, snatching the explanation and twisting it quickly, "Well, sort of. The thing is, I wanted to learn advanced magic, but I knew I wouldn't be able to learn Transfiguration on my own, so since you offered to help, I copied the syllabus from one of the Slytherin fifth years. That way, I thought I wouldn't be inconveniencing you much if I asked about things you were already needing to study."
"Oh, that was a really clever idea," Percy said, "Not that I would have minded helping you anyway, of course, but this does make things easier for me."
Rigel breathed an internal sigh of relief. Hopefully no one would think to ask the prefects which students they knew of who were doing work they shouldn't have been. Or at least she hoped Percy wouldn't think to mention her, since her interest was only in Transfiguration as far as he knew, and was explained.
"Are you thinking of becoming a teacher, Percy?" she asked curiously.
"Hmm?" he looked up from his textbook and frowned slightly, "No, I was planning on working for the Ministry after I graduate. Lots of room for advancement, you know."
"Well, sure, but it's all in someone else's hands," Rigel said dubiously, "I mean, the Ministry is great," when they weren't being a giant bigoted arsehole with a strong allergy to real social progress, "But you don't seem like the type to want to rely on someone else to be successful. The Ministry is crowded with political and social competition, and often the best, most honest and hardworking people are those who never get any real power."
"I, well, you think so?" Percy adjusted his glasses unsurely, "My father works for the Ministry, you know, but he's never been really promoted. Our family isn't well respected because of it, so I thought I should try to fix that."
Rigel nodded in understanding, "It's really honorable of you to want to further your family's name, but are you sure your family isn't well-respected because your father doesn't get promoted, or does he not get promoted because your family isn't very powerful?"
Percy blanched and Rigel put a hand on his arm gently, "I don't mean to be blunt, but if it's the later then going into the Ministry yourself won't help you make a difference. You should work somewhere your voice can really be heard, because it seems like you have a lot to say. You certainly have taught me a lot."
"Well," Percy's voice was dry, so he conjured a glass of water and gulped it hastily, "Well, I daresay that makes some sense. I'll have to think about it. I'm not sure I'd be a very good teacher though, Rigel."
Rigel started to protest, but he held up a hand and spoke with a bitter wryness that could not be refuted, "I know how my personality comes off, especially to kids. I have several younger brothers, and none of them has ever listened to any of my advice or teachings. I could teach the Ravenclaws of the world, but those like my brothers would always resent me and undermine the effectiveness of my teachings because of it."
"I imagine it's hard for younger siblings to admit that older ones know better," she said tentatively, "Especially when the older sibling always seems to be perfect. Your younger brothers are probably a bit intimidated, and that Weasley pride won't let them submit to your authority."
"I wish I could believe that, but it's not only them," Percy sighed, "When I got my prefect badge, I thought people would start listening to me, or that I could help other students with their problems, but no one listens and no one asks for help. I'm too unapproachable to be a teacher."
"You can't be worse than Professor Snape," Rigel smiled, "And he's a wonderful teacher."
Percy laughed, "I think you're the only person in the entire school who thinks that."
"Well, forget being a teacher then," Rigel said, "Be something else, like…a lawyer."
"A lawyer?" Percy blinked behind his horn-rimmed glasses.
"Yeah, why not?" Rigel said, warming to the idea of Percy Weasley in trial robes, "Everyone respects lawyers, because they're terrified of them, and people have to listen to what they say. Your success depends on you, and it doesn't matter what your personality is like, because if you're good people will seek you out for advice anyway."
"That could be…yes," Percy grinned a bit manically, but Rigel thought he was just not used to smiling much, "Attorneys make a good chunk of galleons, too, and as a lawyer I could really help people. The Ministry is bound by the laws of the wizarding world—as they should be—but the lawyers make those laws. I could write laws that everyone would have to follow!"
Well, that was one way of looking at things.
"You'd know all the loopholes, too," Rigel pointed out, "So if someone tried to use your law the wrong way you could put a stop to it."
"I could, couldn't I?" Percy scrambled for some parchment and ink and began scribbling down notes, "This would be a big change, though, I'd have to re-think my NEWT courses, of course, and my Head of House would need to be notified immediately." He stood distractedly, still muttering to himself, then glanced up and said, "Say, Rigel, you don't mind if I…?"
"Go ahead and see McGonagall," Rigel said, "I think I understand my reading now, anyway."
"Thanks," Percy grinned that slightly manic smile once more, "Really, thanks, Rigel."
He hurried off with his parchment and clambered out of the portrait hole like destiny itself were after him.
While Rigel was packing up her things, Ron and Neville came over to say hi.
"What did you do to my brother?" Ron asked curiously, "I haven't seen him that happy since he got his prefect badge in the post this summer."
"Good thing, too," Neville said uneasily, "Your brother's kind of scary when he's happy."
"He'll need to be scary if he goes ahead with switching his plans for after graduation," Rigel commented.
"He might not be going to the Ministry anymore?" Ron asked, looking pleased, "I didn't want to say anything, but he's fooling himself if he thinks he'll get anywhere with that useless bunch of bureaucrats."
"It's true," Neville sighed, "My Gran mentioned me becoming a politician once, but I told her unless you're in the Cow Party, you haven't got a chance these days. The only reason Gran's on the Wizengamot still is because they haven't revoked the Seniority Clause yet, though I've heard rumors that they've been trying to."
"Wow, Nev, you know a lot about this stuff," Ron stared at his friend surprised.
"My dad's an Auror, so he works under the Ministry, and he always says the key to keeping your family safe is understanding the flow of the government," Neville explained, "He has to be really careful to keep his head down at work since he's not in the Cow Party, and mum works at the Archives. All the laws go through the Archives, so she's always telling us about the new proposals people come to the Archives to get help writing. Apparently it's really difficult to introduce new legislation. You have to research precedents, word everything just right, and they go through lots of drafts that never leave the Archives, so mum can usually warn dad and Gran when something that affects us gets proposed. That way we can change our stance before it gets put into law if we have to."
"Merlin, Nev, I wondered why you always kept up on current events so obsessively, but I guess that makes sense. Lucky the Weasley's are so unimportant no one cares what we do. Haven't got anyone on the Wizengamot or anything," Ron shrugged.
"Not yet, maybe," Rigel said.
"What's that mean?" Ron asked, eyes widening, "Oh, no, what've you done? Tell me Percy's not going to try and run for the Wizengamot or something."
"I didn't do anything," Rigel said innocently, "I just suggested that Percy's might think about being something else besides a politician."
"Like what?" Neville asked curiously.
"A lawyer."
"Oh, Merlin, he took right to it, didn't he?" Ron groaned, "I knew we shouldn't have trusted you around Percy. Fred and George tried to warn me that you and Percy would only encourage each other, and now look what you've done!"
"What's he done?" Neville looked back and forth between them, confused.
"He's created a monster."
"Well, you should probably be a little nicer to that 'monster' from now on," Rigel smiled in a way that wasn't meant to be reassuring, "Percy could use his lawyer powers for good or for evil, and which he chooses will probably depend on how strong his ties to his family are. Would you consider Percy tied particularly strongly to his family at the moment?"
"Well, I…don't know," Ron deflated, "Merlin, I have to go warn the twins. If they aren't nicer to Percy he'll probably write a law that makes pranking illegal just to spite them."
"Give your brother a little more credit," Rigel said, "Percy's a good person. He wants to help other people as much as he wants to help himself. He just needs help knowing how to go about doing it."
"Yeah, yeah, you're right," Ron sighed, "You know, I think Percy will make a great lawyer. I just don't know if Percy being a great lawyer will be a good thing for the rest of the world."
"Then again," Neville said thoughtfully, "If he's on our side, the rest of the world won't know what hit it."
0o0
[HpHpHp]
0o0
The first time the Potion she was brewing didn't turn out perfectly, Rigel was shell-shocked. The second time she tried the Potion with similar results, she nearly cried. After the fifth attempt, she did cry. Fat, silent tears fell unheeded to the stone as she stared into the cauldron of sky-blue Allergy Relief Potion that was supposed to be murky lavender. The consistency was right, the smell was correct, but the coloring was all wrong. Rigel bottled a sample numbly and put it next to all the other insistently blue attempts. Failure, these were tears of failure that made her eyes all puffy and sore. She couldn't even wipe them off until she'd cleaned up her workstation and washed her hands of ingredient residue, and by then they'd mostly dried up anyway. She sat in the cold dungeon room-turned-lab for a good twenty minutes, going over and over the steps in her head and wondering what was wrong with her that they didn't work.
She berated herself for being dramatic, but it didn't help. She hadn't botched a Potion since she was six years old, and she'd never messed the same Potion up more than twice in a row. She'd followed the instructions perfectly, and yet it didn't work. This wasn't supposed to happen, she told herself, the whole point of Potions was that once you figured out the correct process it worked every time, otherwise there would be no point in a recipe. Rigel set her shoulders stubbornly. There had to be some mistake. She would get to the bottom of this. She put all five samples in her bag and locked the door carefully behind her. Snape would have her head if the equipment got stolen because she was too upset to lock up after herself.
It was late Sunday afternoon, and while any other teacher would be in their quarters relaxing, Rigel knew Snape would be in his office working, like he always was. He gave more essays and quizzes than most of the other core professors combined, and because of that he was constantly turning them over in his office. Sometimes Rigel wondered if he assigned so much work not to punish his students, though that was part of it, but to give himself something to do when he wasn't researching. He didn't seem like a man to sit idly.
As expected, his gruffly irritated voice sounded in response to her knock and she walked quickly into his office, determination emitting from her in waves. Snape looked up and trained his sharp eyes on her face. Rigel ignored the tightening of his lips as he took in her reddened eyes and freshly scrubbed face and instead fished in her bag for the vials. She placed them with fingers that shook slightly with the force of her upset onto his desk.
"What was this supposed to be?" he asked, examining one.
Rigel flinched, but said, "Allergy Relief Potion. As you can see, it's gone wrong every time and I can't—that is, I don't know—please, Sir, can you tell—" Rigel broke off with an exasperated toss of her head and took a deep, calming breath, "Why won't it work?"
Snape gazed at her for a long moment, his eyes assessing, distant. He said, "You followed the instructions exactly?"
"Yes, sir," Rigel pursed her lips unhappily.
"But it didn't work. What have you learned?" the Potions Master stared expectantly at her.
"Nothing," Rigel frowned, "I don't know why it isn't working."
"You don't know why the Potion isn't right, but you know what's wrong," Snape corrected.
How could she know what was wrong without knowing how to make it right? Rigel frowned. To know one was to know the other, wasn't it? She tried approaching it from another angle. Okay, what was wrong in this scenario? The answer was immediate.
"The instructions are wrong," she breathed, her face alive with betrayal.
Snape smirked, "Yes and no. I did not give you faulty instructions with the intent to make you fail, so stop looking at me like that." Rigel blanked her face again, slightly mollified. "The instructions you worked from are the same ones printed in every textbook or manual that contains the Allergy Relief Potion, and yet, as you correctly realized, they do not alone provide a perfect template for the successful brewing of this Potion. This will be the case with most NEWT level Potions, and it will be the case with most of the extra-curricular Potions I give you to work on from now on."
"Why would incomplete instructions be printed in a textbook or manual?" Rigel asked, openly disapproving, "Is it just a way to keep the un-initiated from achieving success?"
"One wonders why you seek to become a Potions Master, Mr. Black, if you think them as a group to be so petty and exclusionary as to orchestrate a mass-conspiracy of misinformation in order to horde true knowledge for themselves," Snape growled.
Belatedly, Rigel realized she'd insulted the man with her thoughtless accusation, "Forgive me, Professor Snape, I should have realized there was a reason I had not yet come to understand. Would you please explain it to me?"
"Better, but still presumptuous," Snape sneered, "Use your head, Mr. Black, what good could come of leaving recipes, for lack of a better term, incomplete?"
Rigel's brain stalled for a moment. Surely, no good could come of it. Incomplete Potions recipes made cauldrons explode. Then again, her cauldron hadn't exploded, so they obviously weren't leaving dangerously incomplete recipes lying around. What had Professor Snape said? Use your head. Oh.
"To make people think," Rigel said slowly, "Like a test?" But that didn't sound right either.
"Warmer, but what purpose could there be in a test that no one knows is a test?" Snape asked.
Well, if you didn't know you were being tested you couldn't cheat, Rigel supposed, but that didn't seem to be what Snape was looking for.
"Feel free to think out loud so that I can cut you off sardonically when you stray from reasonable paths of thought," Snape said still smirking. Rigel supposed that was his idea of a joke.
"If people don't know they're taking a test," Rigel said slowly, trying not to sound like an idiot, "Then they won't be trying to pass it. So it must be a test you can pass without trying, right?" Snape nodded, looking smug. "And it wouldn't be very fair or reliable if it only caught the people who got lucky without trying, so it must be testing something that you can only do without trying." Rigel frowned, "But what would that have to do with Potions?"
Snape looked rather triumphant as he breathed, "Everything, Mr. Black, everything. Do you know why children can't brew complicated Potions?"
Rigel was taken aback by the non sequitur, but she answered, "Because they're really difficult. Children would have a hard time understanding all the steps, and they lack patience, and the fumes could be dangerous for them to inhale, and—"
Snape waved a hand impatiently, "Aside from all that. Say you walked a child through it, step by step, made sure they did everything right, made them wear a face mask, got rid of all the usual objections, what then?"
"I guess they could brew it then, sir," Rigel shrugged.
"Incorrect, Mr. Black," Snape said, "A child cannot brew Felix Felicis for the same reason a squib cannot and someone suffering from a magically draining injury cannot. What do they all lack, Mr. Black?"
"An adult magical core," she said slowly.
"A stable magical core," Snape corrected.
Rigel blanched, "But then, that's why the Potion isn't working for me? There's something wrong with my magic. I knew it. Does this mean I'll never brew anything more complicated than what I already have? That isn't fair," Rigel clenched her fists and glared at the damningly blue vials on Snape's desk, "I'm to be stuck doing theory work the rest of my life, writing papers about Potions I can never brew, for something I can't control? Why didn't you tell me I couldn't—? Why'd you let me think—"
"Calm down, Mr. Black," Snape snapped, and Rigel glared furiously at the desk while she bit her lip to keep quiet. "I have better things to do than to crush my students' dreams for sheer novelty, I assure you, though I admit it says something about the sheer strength of your particular dream that after believing you could never brew you did not abandon the field, only your occupation within it," he mused thoughtfully, then said, "Are you a squib, Mr. Black?"
"No, sir," she muttered ungraciously.
"And have you recently been the victim of an incurable magical malady which attacks you magical core?"
"No, I haven't."
"Then stop sky diving to conclusions," Snape rubbed his temple, "I swear, there is nothing more dramatic than a Black. Cissa, Bellatrix, even old Walburga, and it's apparently not limited to the women of the family."
Rigel scowled at the Potions Master, but held her peace.
"As you will find as you progress in Potions, some students are seemingly 'talented' at this subject while others can't manage stink-sap remover to save their life," Snape went into lecture mode as if he'd been born reciting a dissertation, "This is not because the one is intelligent and the other mentally unendowed, but because one likely has an extremely stable magical core and the other a core which emits magic erratically, which causes a disruption in the brewing process. Your core, unlike either of these examples, does not emit magic either stably or erratically at this time. When you first started here, you emitted magic unconsciously without any trouble, however, at some point since the night you destroyed my office trying to force magic consciously out of a bad wand, you appear to have clamped down on your magic entirely, even what you had been doing unconsciously. At this point, your core does not emit magic at all."
"Why is that necessary for Potions making?" Rigel asked, feeling worse than stupid for asking such a basic question, but truly she had no idea what he was talking about. She could guess when she'd clamped down on her magic—probably just after it had gotten away from her and attacked Lee—but she didn't see why it was a problem.
"Potions are a kind of magic, not because they use magical ingredients, but because of the magic involved in the brewing. Yes, the ingredients are enough to imbue the Potion with magic for the low-level Potions you've been brewing so far, but the more complicated the Potion is, the more magic a Potion will be required to perform, the more important it becomes for the person brewing the Potion to be magical," Snape explained, "Wizards emit magic constantly from their core, and it is this magic which is imbued into a Potion and transformed by the properties of the ingredients to cause a certain effect. This is one of the reasons only wizards of considerable strength will be able to brew Wolfsbane no matter how hard they try; the change the Potion is meant to effect simply requires too much magic for the average person to give."
"Is that also why that Potion costs so much?" Rigel asked as comprehension dawned, "I thought it was the time and difficulty which made it so scarce, but it's also because a Potioneer can't brew it very many times without exhausting themselves, isn't it?"
"Yes, very good," Professor Snape acknowledged, "The drain to the magical core is considerable for upper-level Potions, which is why I don't want to hear of you attempting them until I deem you ready."
"I understand, sir," Rigel said.
"Good. I chose this Potion for you to attempt for a reason, Mr. Black. As you now know, it does not reach its final color until imbued with the necessary magic. What these samples show me is that your core is not emitting the energy necessary for Potions that require more magic than the sum of their ingredients allows," Snape said, "While that is not good, it does not leave us without recourse. You will simply have to learn to emit magic consciously, since your core does not emit it unconsciously. This will not hinder you in the long run." Snape assured her seriously, "All Potion Masters eventually must learn how to do this, because Potions like Amortentia require more magic than even powerful wizards unconsciously emit, and so must be purposely imbued with raw magical energy. The only difference is that you will learn to do this with all the Potions you make, and while it will be difficult due to the nature of your attitude toward magic, you already have the necessary control—you must simply learn to invert it so that you push your magic out instead of keeping it locked in."
"So, I can't brew more complicated Potions until I learn this?" Rigel asked, thinking hard. It sounded a lot like what Binny had been trying to get her to do earlier.
"That is correct."
"Then, let's start right away."
Snape smirked, "I thought you might say that." He pulled out a bag from a drawer in his desk and passed it to her. Inside were about twenty rubbery balls in different sizes, some as small as marbles, others the size of her fist, all a striking shade of red.
"These are used to train Medi-wizards to consciously emit specific amounts of magic," Snape said, "You will practice pushing your magic into each one consciously. If you imbue a ball with the right amount, it will turn green. Too little and it will be brown, too much and it will explode. Come back to me when all are either green or exploded and we'll move on to the next step."
"Okay," she stashed the balls into her book bag, "Will this take long, do you think?"
"It will be especially challenging for you, Mr. Black," Snape admitted, "But if you are properly motivated the control will come, and it will probably help you in your spell casting classes as well."
"Alright, thank you, sir—"
Just then an alarming dinging noise sounded around the room and Professor Snape leapt from his seat to point his wand at a blank stretch of wall. At his unveiling spell, a fireplace appeared where there had been nothing only a moment before and the flames roared to life, acid green with the effects of floo powder.
"SEVERUS? ARE YOU THERE?" came the loud, frantic voice through the floo. A woman's head appeared in the flames and Rigel recognized her after a few seconds as the school Mediwitch, Madam Pomphrey.
"I'm here, Poppy, what is it?" Snape crouched down so that the head in the fireplace could see him clearly.
"Thank goodness," Pomphrey said shakily, "You must come through immediately, Severus. Miss Jones' case has worsened considerably. I need your talents."
"Very well, stand back. I'm coming through," Snape said, and Pomphrey's face disappeared from the flames. "Mr. Black, go back to your dormitory immediately. The door will lock behind you," the Professor said, and then he was gone, presumably to the Hospital Wing, through the fire.
Rigel gathered her bag and left the office, shutting the door firmly behind her. She wondered what kind of medical emergency could need a Potion Master's expertise so desperately. It wasn't as if one could make Potions at the drop of a hat, and a Mediwitch wouldn't need advice on which Potions to administer to a patient. The whole this was rather curious.
0o0
[HpHpHp]
0o0
It only got more curious as January bled into February. The Headmaster made an announcement not long after the Sunday Professor Snape had been called out of his office that informed the students that the Hospital Wing was under strict quarantine, and that in the case of a medical emergency they were to seek their Head of House first and any other teacher if the Heads of House were for some reason unavailable. A couple days of lessons were postponed while all the professors participated in mandatory seminars on emergency first aid, but after that things resumed as usual.
Until the next student fell ill.
Susan Bones and Hannah Abbot followed their year-mate to the Hospital Wing, and not long after that a couple of second year Hufflepuffs disappeared behind the magical barrier Dumbledore had set up around the medical wing as well. Justin Finch-Fletchly followed barely a day later.
"I heard there's a bad strain of Spattergroit going around," Nott told them in the Slytherin common room one afternoon.
"It can't be," Draco said, frowning, "Spattergroit causes extreme fatigue before the pustules ever start showing up, and all of the missing students were reportedly just fine until they collapsed."
"Well, I heard that Jones girl angered a vengeful spirit by sleeping with a mudblood and the spirit cursed the entire Hufflepuff House!" Davis said, a bloodthirsty smirk looking totally out of place on her otherwise unassuming face, "They say the curse won't be appeased until every last member of the House is taken beyond the grave."
"Oh, be quiet, Tracey," Pansy frowned prettily, "You don't know what you're talking about."
"That's right, Parkinson," Greengrass said nastily, "You're mother was a Hufflepuff, wasn't she? I suppose the curse will get her, too, before long."
"How dare you!" Pansy's composure visibly slipped and she glared at Greengrass vehemently, "There is no curse, and my mother's health is none of your business."
"Let's go," Rigel said, pulling Pansy gently up from the couch by her elbow. She walked the blonde girl back to the dorms room with Draco close behind them. They all sat on Draco's bed as usual and Draco patted Pansy's hand reassuringly.
"It's not a curse, Pans, they're just full of nonsense as usual," Draco said softly.
"I know," Pansy sniffed disdainfully, though her eyes were wide and worried, "They just have no right, talking about my mother that way. Dumb harpies."
"Let's talk about something besides this weird quarantine thing," Rigel said, hopping up to find a deck of playing cards in Draco's bedside table. It was a mark of how close their friendship had become that neither of them thought anything of this breech of privacy.
They played exploding snap for a couple of hours, and then Pansy left to dress for dinner. A few minutes later two deafening shrieks were heard coming from the girls' dorms, and Draco and Rigel exchanged a dark look before leaping up and throwing open the door to the hallway.
They needn't have hurried, it turned out, as Pansy hadn't been one of the ones screeching.
The girls' dorms were set up so that Pansy shared a room with Bulstrode and Greengrass shared with Davis. The door to Pansy's dorm was ajar and she and Bulstrode were peeking out into the hall where Davis and Greengrass stood like frozen statues—not magically frozen, just too shocked after their initial bout of shrieking to do more than stare at one another in horror.
Both girls were covered in what looked like yellow paint, but more pressingly: they were both completely bald. A bucket suspended above their doorframe revealed how they had gotten themselves covered in the sharp-smelling yellow liquid, but the furious hate in their eyes as they finally broke their trance and swiveled their heads around to where Pansy was watching with awed shock from her doorway revealed exactly who they thought was responsible for the malicious prank. Pansy started shaking her head slowly while next to her Bulstrode was clearly fighting an amused smile.
"PARKINSON!" Greengrass' fingers contracted and she leapt forward toward Pansy with an inhuman roar, Davis hot on her heels.
Rigel surged forward to catch the incensed Greengrass by a section of her robes the yellow liquid hadn't dripped to yet and Draco whipped out his wand to throw a Shield Charm in front of Pansy's doorway before Davis could reach it.
"Let me go!" Greengrass whirled on Rigel, "Look what that BITCH did to me!"
Rigel dipped her finger gingerly into the yellow stuff and brought it to her nose, "Eugh," she wiped it quickly onto her robes, "Yep, definitely Hair-Removal Potion."
"We know what it is!" Davis spat—literally, there was spittle flying from her lips, "Take down this shield right now! That little bint is gonna be sorry she did this!"
"I didn't do this!" Pansy called from behind the Shield Charm. "I was with Draco and Rigel for the past two hours, so I wouldn't have had time to set it up."
"Anyone could have done it," Draco pointed out, "The bucket's outside of your dorm, not inside. And Pansy has been with us this whole time."
"You're just saying that because she's your friend!" Greengrass growled. She was trying to flick the mess off of her robes but was only succeeding in getting it all over the hallway.
"We're saying that because it's true," Rigel said calmly, "Pansy would never do something like this. The girl can barely eat a chocolate frog—no offense, Pan—much less actually plan an attack on someone."
It was true. Pansy fought with words, not weapons, and even then those who knew her well could tell she mostly just made up insults for the fun of being clever. Pansy Parkinson didn't have a cruel bone in her body.
"Then who did?" Davis demanded, glaring at them all.
"You can figure it out later," Rigel said bluntly, "Because if you don't go wash that Potion off of your skin in the next five minutes it will start to burn like crazy. Professor Snape can re-grow your hair, but the rash the Removal Potion will give you won't go away for a week."
"Urgh! Out of my way!" Greengrass stomped into her dorm room, with Davis following after her, and slammed the door behind them.
Draco took down the Shield Charm and Pansy and Bulstrode stepped cautiously out into the hall.
"Will it really give them a rash, Black?" Bulstrode asked quietly.
Rigel pinned her with a frankly assessing stare, "Why? Feeling guilty?"
The thicker-set girl flushed slightly, "They deserved it. Megan Jones is a friend of mine, and those two have been spreading sick gossip about her all week."
"Maybe they deserved it," Draco said, "But Pansy got blamed for it."
"She has an alibi," Bulstrode lifted her chin, "And it's not like I hurt them. I didn't know about the rash."
Rigel smiled slightly, "The only way they'll get a rash is if they're allergic, so there's about a 2% possibility."
"Oh," Bulstrode grinned at Rigel, "Thanks. And sorry you got pinned, Pansy. If Snape somehow believes them, I promise I'll own up to it, okay?"
"In that case, well done," Pansy smirked, "I wouldn't have thought of it, but I can't say they didn't have it coming."
It turned out they needn't have worried about getting into trouble. Snape dismissed the incident in light of more pressing concerns. That night the first Ravenclaw fell to the mysterious sickness, and sent new waves of panic throughout the school.
Rigel didn't know what was going on, but she wasn't going to count her stars just yet.
The firestorm had only just begun.
0o0
[HpHpHp]
0o0
[end of chapter seventeen].
A/N: Thanks for reading! Here's my justification for making Percy a lawyer: He'd be happier, and all my characters should be happy :), also, there is not mention of lawyers in the books, but at Harry's trial fifth year Dumbledore acts as a third party with the requisite legal knowledge to speak on Harry's behalf—sounds like a lawyer to me. And someone has to write all those laws that the Wizengamot enforces, so why not a lawyer?