The Pureblood Pretense

by murkybluematter

Harriett Potter dreams of going to Hogwarts, but in an AU where the school only accepts purebloods, the only way to reach her goal is to switch places with her pureblood cousin—the only problem? Her cousin is a boy. Alanna the Lioness take on HP.

19. Chapter 19

A/N1: First off, as little as apologies mean after the fact, I wanted to say sorry for the wait. My graduation is on Saturday ^^ and after that I'll be free as a bird to write all day long lol. You guys will be so sick of the updates you'll get this summer, lol. So thank you for your patience, and I hope you enjoy this chapter, which is based off of two books I definitely don't lay claim to.

A/N2: Also wanted to note: this story officially has over 100 reviews, and it makes my heart burst a little just thinking about it, so a big big thanks to the following for reviewing the last chapter: hentai18ancilla, Vaughn Tyler, Geriana, PintoNess, J.F.C., TearfullPixie, zeichnerinaga, Cathy Willow, BaltaineShadow, Celena Black, Giselle Pink, Kenzieloveify, Son of Whitebeard, Plush, she-who-wanted-hyphens, DemonOfShadow, cheekysorcerer, Neidan, theoriginalolive, and Frecklefreak. I'll be replying to your reviews just before I post this, and to the following anonymous reviewers: to no one, I'm glad you laughed, to tosleepperchancetodream, my sincerest thanks for your kind review—I'm glad you like it, to delia, you flatter me beyond what I deserve, but thank you, to lara, I hope you have luck in your own writing and that you enjoy the chapter, and to kk, as always thanks for your friendly reminders :).

Enjoy ^^

The Pureblood Pretense:

Chapter 19:

Snape's POV:

Severus Snape approached his office door with the confidence of a man who knew precisely what he would find behind it. Being a man who could in most situations use the phrase "been there, done that" with complete truthfulness (not that he would, as that particular phrase had too much bounce to be used by someone as serious as Severus Snape), he considered himself to be in general thoroughly unimpressed with life's little surprises.

It was in this frame of mind that Professor Snape entered his office, and looking back he could only be thankful that Poppy hadn't been with him at the time. Or worse, Minerva—nay, Albus! He didn't think he'd be able to live down being made to gape like a first-year encountering a three-headed dog if there had been any witness. As it was, the sight that greeted him upon disabling his wards and entering his office made him stop. Stare. Frown. Stare some more. Finally he reached up to rub tiredly at his eyes, sure that the fatigue must be getting to him at last.

His office had been almost entirely overtaken by crates. Part of his mind noted in a distant way that this explained where all his crates had been disappearing to, but most of his mind was still trying to wrap itself around the fact that his office was filled with crates—and not empty crates, but crates with potions in them.

There must be two dozen at least, he thought, moving forward finally and reaching in to the closest crate to pull out one of the beakers inside with his free hand. It contained Sweat Inducer; that much was immediately clear. What was less clear was how roughly 30 crates of Sweat Inducer—for indeed it appeared to be the same potion in every one—had gotten into his office. The obvious answer nearly made him growl with vexation.

Of course, he scowled, Give a Black an inch…

What was that fool boy thinking? Hadn't he told the little idiot that quality was more important than quantity? Severus would be lucky if any of them were viable, and even if he ended up with one good crate after all, the rest was a waste of ingredients so flagrant he was tempted to curse aloud. Severus carefully set down the two crates of Snowhit he'd been cradling under his arm to take to Poppy and rounded his desk to dig through the drawers for the Pepper-up potion he kept there. He wouldn't be able to deliver the potions until he knew which were usable and which were duds, and with his magical core so depleted from brewing Snowhit Draught he'd need something to tide him over while he went through them all.

Face grim, Severus turned to the nearest crate and set to work, flexing his magic toward the first potion to get a feel for it. Sighing at the thought of doing this another 800 or so times, the Potions Master settled in for a long night.

[HpHpHp]

Normal POV:

Rigel's breakfast Sunday morning was interrupted rather spectacularly by an irate Potions Master who looked as if he hadn't slept all night. Snape's robes were rumpled and his hair looked lankier than usual, but those things were completely eclipsed by his scowl, which Rigel thought worthy of epic poetry. The first years around her shrank back, not eager to be caught in even the peripherals of their Head of House's rage, and Rigel hastily scooted her butter knife out of Snape's reach, just in case.

Luckily for the Slytherins around Rigel, Snape didn't stay long. He barked out the words, "Black. My office. Now," before turning and stalking out of the Great Hall as quickly as he'd come.

Unluckily for Rigel, it didn't sound as though Professor Snape was inviting her to tea. Under the sympathetic and slightly fearful looks from her Housemates, Rigel stood and sent Pansy and Draco a small rueful smile before heading off toward the dungeons.

She had no idea why Professor Snape would be so angry with her, but she could only assume that a) he was angry about something else and happened to need to speak with her at the same time or b) it was something to do with the potions she'd left in his office the night before.

Did I not brew enough? Rigel wondered as she walked down the stone steps from the Entrance Hall, I was sure he'd be happy with how much I accomplished, but maybe it wasn't enough. That would be strange indeed, for Rigel had yet to meet an adult who expected more of her than she expected from herself. Maybe Mrs. Norris got into the office somehow and spilled them all? Or Peeves? No, surely Snape would have wards against animals and poltergeists. It's got to be something else, she mused, but what?

The familiar office door stood half-open, and Rigel wasn't sure if she was glad she didn't have to pause and work up the nerve to knock or not. She knocked anyway as she entered the room, which seemed much smaller when it was filled with crates. After a moment, she realized that the crates weren't where she'd left them. They were stacked on the opposite side of the office instead, as if someone had methodically moved them from one side to the other. Snape was seated at his desk, and the look on his face was one of a man physically restraining himself from doing something rash. Rigel gently closed the door behind her and moved to stand before the desk quietly, hoping that by seeming unobtrusive she would be less likely to draw his anger onto herself. Given the fact that there was no one else present for it to fall upon, she felt she should take every precaution.

Silence reigned, grating on her nerves until Snape finally spoke, in a voice as hard as a grinding wheel, "Tell me, Mr. Black, do I seem to you to be an overly trusting sort of wizard?"

Rigel blinked, pretty sure there was no polite way to answer that, but Snape went on.

"When I give my trust to someone, let's say when I assign them a task, for instance, do you think it pleases me to have that trust abused?" he pressed, black eyes crackling with small lightning bolts of anger.

"No, sir," Rigel said carefully, mind working clumsily to try and figure out what Snape was implying.

"Then perhaps, Mr. Black, you understand why I am less than pleased this morning," Snape said darkly as Rigel stood rather taken aback at the fury in his tone, "No? You cannot think of any reason why I might have called you in here to explain yourself to me?"

Rigel swallowed heavily and cleared her throat when it seemed as though the Potions Master was in fact waiting for an answer.

"Is it… because I used all the hellebore from the student stores?" she guessed, unable to think of any other way she might have abused his faith in her, "Because I ordered more, and I was planning on replacing—"

"That is not why, you foolish child," Snape slammed one hand down on the desk and Rigel bit her lip to keep from flinching. Snape grabbed a flask from a crate beside his chair and thrust it into her line of sight, "What is this, Mr. Black?"

Rigel gazed at the potion helplessly, "A beaker of Sweat Inducer, sir."

"And who brewed this Sweat Inducer, Mr. Black, can you tell me that?"

"I did, sir," she said softly, still confused.

"How do you know this one is yours?" he asked, a snide tone to his voice she didn't understand. Had he been brewing Sweat Inducer, too?

"It is my handwriting on the label," she said slowly.

"All of these potions have your handwriting on their labels."

"Yes, sir," Rigel agreed, thinking, Of course they do.

"But you did not make all of these potions, Mr. Black," Snape said. It was not a question.

Rigel's eyes narrowed in frustration, "Excuse me, sir, but I did."

"Do not take me for a fool, boy," the Potion Master growled, "You expect me to believe that you brewed over 100 cauldrons of Sweat Inducer in two weeks on top of maintaining your studies, which the other Professors assure me have not slipped?" he scoffed dismissively, "You would have been smarter to deliver a tenth of these Potions and turn the rest in slowly over a course of a couple months. That would be, at least, believable."

Rigel frowned, the point of Snape's tirade finally penetrating her brain. She had been met with skepticism when it came to her brewing before, when she was younger, but never outright accusation. And still he was not through.

"But no, not you Black, you just had to try and look like a hero," he taunted, "Just had to try and impress us all with your talents and selflessness. Just like a Gryffindor to try and take credit for another's hard work and—"

Rigel had had enough. Her hands were shaking in clenched fists and she was not going to stand there and let him belittle her without just cause no matter how much she admired him.

"That's not true!" she said loudly, glaring at Snape, who looked ready to commit murder at having been interrupted so rudely. She went on before he could stop her, "Aside from the fact that a few beakers of Sweat Inducer wouldn't make anyone a hero, I didn't do whatever it is you're accusing me of, Professor." Her voice was back to a reasonable octave, but the tone was harsh and defensive. "I would never take credit for another's work, not least because mine is probably better," she said, missing the look of surprised recognition in his face as she ranted, "I worked my butt off brewing those potions, and you'd better believe that each and every one of them is perfect. I didn't ask for help, mostly because I don't like taking help from anyone but also because I know how important it is for this project to remain a secret!"

Rigel whirled around and stalked the few paces to the door, then whirled back again and advanced on the Potion Master's desk, "You think I would really jeopardize both your trust and my classmate's health just so I could look cooler by contracting the potions out to other people and claiming them as mine? I am not my father, Professor Snape. Maybe I was trying to impress you, because you're everything I ever wanted to be and I respect your opinion, but I want to impress you on my own merits. Not because I want to show how hardworking and selfless I am, but because success matters to me, and it doesn't mean anything if it's someone else's work." Rigel was panting now but she had one more thing to say. She glared at her Head of House, "And I am a Slytherin. You of all people should know that."

It took her several moments after her tirade to realize that the roaring in her ears wasn't Snape yelling back at her, but rather the sound of her own erratic heartbeat and breathing. Snape was just sitting there, eyes narrowed and focused beneath a heavy frown. Finally, when she was starting to feel a bit embarrassed that she'd exploded again at the Potions Master, he said, "Swear on your magic that you brewed all of these potions."

Rigel bristled, but Snape snapped, "Spare me a child's pride, Mr. Black. You have spoken convincingly but I must be sure."

Rigel took in a long, slow breath, and let it out as she thought. Considering the nature of the illness, she supposed, it was not an unreasonable demand. After all, if she had contracted the potions out, the potion-maker could have nefarious intentions and poisoned the potions somehow. Snape could not clear them for administering to the children at Hogwarts unless he had absolutely no doubts as to their origin.

"I swear in risk of my magic that if these are the same potions I and Alesana Selwyn delivered to this room yesterday, then I did brew every one myself," she said carefully, sure to word it so that if somehow a potion she hadn't made had gotten mixed in with the ones she'd delivered she wouldn't lose her magic on a technicality. Rigel felt the bone-deep thrumming in her core as the magic induced by the vow swept over her mind and soul to assess the validity of her claim. Both she and Snape relaxed as the oppressive magic faded harmlessly away.

Snape cleared his throat, "I owe you an apology for—"

"Please don't, sir," Rigel cut across him quietly, "In truth I think I hoped to surprise you with how much I'd gotten done, so it is partly my fault that I did not consider how suspicious such a surprise would seem in the current climate." Snape nodded in placid agreement, and Rigel added, "That said, please don't doubt my word, whether given or implied, without reasonable proof from now on."

Snape's sharp eyes pierced her flat grey gaze, but she refused to back down on this. If they couldn't trust each other, they couldn't work together.

"Such a thing should not have to be asked for," he allowed, and Rigel nodded in acceptance of his unspoken concession, "Perhaps we should overlook the past ten minutes and start this meeting where it should have begun." Snape took out his wand and conjured a chair, "Please, have a seat, Mr. Black."

"Thank you, Professor Snape," Rigel said, taking the chair without hesitation, "I see you've received the Sweat Inducers. I trust everything was in order?"

"Quite," Snape said wryly, no doubt wondering why their every meeting devolved in such a way. Rigel thought it was likely a combination of Snape's approaching every situation involving her from a biased point of view because of who her father was and her reacting defensively to even the slightest hint of accusation or censure because she was constantly aware of her duplicity and the reasons behind it, thereby making her insecure and prone to overreacting. Whatever the Potions Master thought, he continued, "I am somewhat at a loss to explain how you managed to brew so many potions in two weeks, Mr. Black. Perhaps you could enlighten me?"

Rigel shrugged, "My average was four hours of brewing a day, and I usually had two or three cauldrons brewing at once. I was busy, but not overly burdened, sir."

Snape frowned, "It is not that you brewed almost 800 beakers of potion in two weeks that strains the imagination, Mr. Black. Had you turned in 33 crates of Boil Cure I would not have batted a lash, I assure you. Sweat Inducer, however, is not Boil Cure."

Rigel tilted her head to show her incomprehension, and Snape went on, "Boil Cure requires no magic to be imbued on the part of the brewer as it relies on the innate magic in the ingredients. Sweat Inducer is not viable unless magic is consciously imbued."

"Yes, sir," Rigel said, trying not to sound patronizing but really not seeing what the problem was, "You explained it to me when I got the recipe."

Snape sighed, sounding like he was like pulling teeth, "The magic required for a batch of Sweat Inducer is nothing for a first-year to sniff at. Last night I checked each and every one of these potions, and they are all viable, so the obvious question is how you managed not to pass out from magical exhaustion after brewing it 65 times a week. Were you taking Pepper-up at every meal?"

"No, sir, Pepper-up can have disastrous long-term effects on both neurological and magical pathways," Rigel said, reciting from a study she'd read in Potions Quarterly when she was eight.

Snape shot her a look that clearly said, I know, but he asked, "Stronger magical stimulants, then?" At her offended expression, he said, "I didn't think you would, but it simply doesn't make any sense, Mr. Black. You see now why I was so quick to jump to ignoble conclusions?"

"I don't see why it doesn't make sense to you," Rigel said plainly, "I imbued each cauldron carefully with enough magic, but it's not like it was all that hard. I never even felt tired, aside from the obvious fatigue from brewing in the early mornings. I think you're overestimating how difficult imbuing is. I mean, it was hard at first when I was still figuring out the Medi-minis, but once I got the hang of it, imbuing was the easy part of brewing compared with the delicacy of adding the feverfew thistles in the third stage."

The expression on Snape's face was a lot like the one she was growing accustomed to seeing on Draco's when she did or said something that a 'normal' pureblood wizard wouldn't have done or said. A pensive expression crossed his face, and he said softly, "The simplest explanation indeed, but the likelihood…"

"Sir?" Rigel prompted when he'd stared at the wall behind her long enough to make her feel a bit sorry for the blank stone.

Snape blinked and leaned forward in his chair, looking at her like she was a puzzle he was close to figuring out, "The simplest explanation for this…chain of events also happens to have a simple, though rather delicate, test. I require your permission before I proceed, however."

Rigel eyed her Professor a bit warily. She remembered Archie saying that a Legilimens needed permission legally to look inside a person's mind. "Proceed to do…what exactly?"

"With your permission, I would establish a temporary link between our magical cores," he said, face inscrutable, "It is not unlike the link established when one imbues a potion with their magic, the difference being that another person's magical core is not a passive receptor like a potion is. It is the only way to get an accurate…read on another person's magical core, however, and I believe it would help clear up a few things for me to have a sense of your magical core in general."

"It isn't like reading minds, is it, sir?" Rigel asked cautiously, "What kind of things can you tell about a person with that kind of link?"

"It is not very like Legilimency, Mr. Black," Snape said, speaking slowly in the way she'd come to realize he did when he wanted to be honest and was therefore choosing his words with care, "The link is created between two magical cores, not two minds, and as such it can only reveal information about magical cores. It will tell me the depth and state of your magical core. I will be able to tell things like how often you exercise your magic, if there are any blocks on your magic, and so on."

"But it can't tell you anything specific about the person whose magical core it is?" Rigel clarified.

Snape narrowed his eyes sharply at her with what was probably suspicion, and she winced inwardly, but he merely said, "That is correct. If I may?"

Rigel nodded slowly. Snape pointed his wand at her torso and Rigel tried not to gulp. She wondered how many wizards had survived being held at wand point by Professor Snape, who seem altogether too fearsome to be a school teacher, and decided she'd do better not to think about it.

After a moment, Rigel felt something peculiar in the region of her magical core, and if she hadn't been expecting it she didn't doubt that her magic would have lashed out threateningly. As it was, she turned her magical senses inward and watched with fascination as foreign magic approached her core. Her core was a sphere of pure magic situated in her gut not unlike a ball of yarn in that it had strands and ropes of magic all coiled around the center. Unlike a ball of yarn, the coils moved and flexed lazily when the foreign magic, which felt a bit like an iron stick, prodded them experimentally. Like Devil's Snare, she thought absently, or like a pit of snakes. Quietly, she asked her magic to extend a tendril of its own out to the inflexible stick of alien magic and complete the connection. The two appendages of magic fused instantly, the edges melting together and forging a magical conduit, which zinged happily to life.

Snape jumped and Rigel's real-world senses watched him stare at her in surprise before he concentrated on the link between their cores once more. It was somewhat hard to tell where her rope of magic stopped and Snape's metal rod began at that point. Rigel felt Snape tug a bit on the connection from his end, and the link twanged with resonance that sent what felt like pulses of pure magic back along the rope toward Snape's core. The pulses seemed to tell him something, as her physical senses told her he was frowning with concentration. Rigel thought it looked rather like magical echolocation. She wondered if the link worked both ways, so she asked her magic to carefully poke the connection the same way Snape had. She felt a brief resistance, and then the tension eased and she could sense magical pulses relaying back and forth across the connection. When they came back to her magical core, her magic seemed to digest the pulses for a moment, then Rigel was hit with a bundle of knowledge that she hadn't had a moment earlier, and realized it was information gathered from Snape's core.

If her core was made up of snakes and tendrils of magical energy wrapped in a ball, Snape's core was shielded behind a thick growth of briar. The vines made up in flexibility what the razor thorns attached to them lacked, and it was difficult to tell what lay underneath with the briars curled around his core so protectively. The stick he'd sent out to bridge the gap between their cores was in fact an elongated thorn, but Rigel was right to think it felt like iron before. All the vines of briar were made up of various kinds of metals. Iron, steel, platinum, silver, all kinds of metals, some pure and some alloys. She supposed they might represent different kinds of magic Snape used, or perhaps they just allowed for a more versatile and many-faceted magical system.

It was fascinating, assimilating information via magical pulsar. She found out that Snape's vines moved more slowly than her snakes and ropes did because he was tired, having expended a good deal of his magical energy in the last 48 hours. A strange bit of magical energy floating around the peripherals of his core, but unattached to anything, told her that he'd taken something like a Pepper-Up recently and was still running partially off that. She guessed that if he were to perform magic while the connection stood it would tell her even more about his core, but Snape withdrew his magic with a deft hand a moment later, unmelding it from her own and breaking the link as he did so. Her magical sense snapped back from his core to moment there was no longer a connection, and it took her a few moments to regain her orientation and then release her magical senses completely and focus on the tangible world once more.

"I trust you found that as enlightening as I did?" Professor Snape asked dryly when she'd regained herself. Belatedly, she realized she hadn't asked permission to view his magical core, as he had. She grimaced apologetically, but he waved her away unconcernedly, "Relax, Mr. Black, a magical pathway is usually offered two-way, for the sake of politeness, though I did not expect you to have so much control over your magical core that you would be able to take advantage of the link, considering where you were with magical control just a few weeks ago." He gazed at her rather sardonically as he added, "One day I will have to stop underestimating you, child."

Rigel didn't know what to say to that, so she asked, "Did it tell you what you needed to know?"

"Yes and no," Snape said, folding his hands on his desk thoughtfully, "Yes, because if the reading of your magical core is to be believed, you have quite extensive magical reserves beneath the first level of your core, which could account for why sacrificing magic for imbuing does not tire you noticeably. No, because your father's magical core was above average, but nothing at a level to be responsible for this." Snape paused, then went on delicately, "I did not know your mother very well. Was she magically powerful?"

Rigel blinked, taken aback at the question. Of course her mother was powerful. Everyone knew of how powerful Lily Potter was, no matter that she had muggle parents. She—

Rigel mentally smacked herself. He means Diana, she realized, feeling rather thick.

"I'm not sure," she said semi-truthfully, "Father doesn't like to talk about her much anymore, so no one mentions her around me. I suppose she might have been."

"Hmm," Snape mulled that over, "Well in any case, your magical core reads much stronger than I would expect from a first-year, in addition to having naturally deep wells of magical power. I suspect the strength of your core is a result of the suppression you exercised near constantly toward your magic as a child. It made your core dense and tough, but I believe you constrained it too much at some point, which is what caused it to lash out whenever you lost control as a result of strong emotional turbulence."

"So, my always fighting against my magic has made it…stronger? Because it had to struggle all the time?" Rigel clarified, and Snape nodded.

"I believe so. Also, your own control over your magic is unnaturally developed because you struggled against it so often," he said, "You and your magic were like old rivals, each improving in order to best the other, so the result is that you both become stronger for the competition."

"Were?"

"At the moment, your core isn't fighting much at all," Snape told her, "If flexes every now and then, but for the most part you and your magical core seem to be in tandem."

"Yes, I've come to an agreement with it," Rigel admitted, "I perform magic often enough to please it, and in return it doesn't do magic without my direction. Much."

Snape gave her an odd look, but Rigel had another question, "Sir, what did you mean by the 'first level' of my magical core?"

He went into teaching mode immediately, "Most wizards have two layers to their magical core. Some magical creatures have multiple layers, some have only one, and some don't have a magical core so much as a de-centralized network of magic, but returning to the point, what did you notice when you used the connection to perceive my magical core?"

Rigel shrugged, saying, "It looked like a briar patch."

"What shape did it have?"

"It was spherical. Are all cores spheres?" Rigel asked.

"Not necessarily," Snape said, "The sphere is the most intuitive shape for consolidating power, so usually a person's core is roughly rounded at the least. In my case, the briars you noticed are only the outside of the core. They grow around the second level and act as both a primary defense for the magical core and as a flexible surface layer that deals with everyday magic. A wizard's first layer, briars in my case, is replenished by the true core whenever magic is used, so often a person's true core is depleted before the outer layer is expended. In this way it is difficult to gage the depth and state of a person's magical core without practice."

"Okay," Rigel said, "But what does a true core look like? Do I have one? I have never sensed anything but the surface coils from mine."

"The true core varies in appearance as much as the first layer does," Snape said, "According to how a person's magic naturally flows and how that person conceives it to be, to some extent. It takes prolonged meditation to glimpse your true core at first, though it gets easier in practice. All that is important at the moment, however, is that your true core is indeed deep enough to imbue potions on a higher level than most first years would be capable."

"So that means I can help you more with the harder potions, right?" Rigel leaned forward in her chair with poorly suppressed excitement, "Sweat Inducer only needs three doses a week even if given constantly. Those cases should last for at least three months even if 100 kids get sick. Let me help with something else, sir. Please."

Snape made a great show of considering her request carefully, but Rigel had seen his magical core, seen how tired he was all the time and how hard he worked just keeping up with the needs of the Hospital Wing, and knew he could use the help weather he liked it or not.

"I suppose Aurora's Breath is a good potion for an aspiring Master to know in general," Snape said carefully, and Rigel grinned openly in response, "I will give you the recipe I prefer during dinner tonight, Mr. Black, along with my notes on the potion." He fixed her with a stern look, "This potion requires even more magic than Sweat Inducer, though not quite as much as Snowhit. You will make no more than 25 cauldrons a week, is that understood? That will be plenty to keep Poppy stocked, considering each child needs only a beaker a week and one cauldron makes six beakers."

"Yes, sir," Rigel agreed easily. She was willing to trade less brewing hours for a new and more difficult potion to brew.

"You are doing a rare thing, Mr. Black," Snape told her after a moment of silence.

Rigel recognized his words as an unexpected and unofficial thank you, so she said, "It says more about the world we live in that using your skills to make a difference is a rare thing than it does about me for doing something rare, Professor Snape."

Snape's face was unreadable, but Rigel wasn't expecting an answer. Instead she asked, "Professor, have you learned anything new about the illness? How it spreads or what its goal is?"

"Goal?" Snape said sharply, "What do you mean by that?"

"Well," Rigel said, remembering something Archie had once told her, "Every illness has a goal, so to speak. Viruses often infiltrate living cells in order to facilitate their own reproduction, which they can't do without a host, for instance. What is this illness caused by, and what does it want with humans? Food? Shelter? Is it a parasite, dependent on the continued existence of the host or does the death of the host make no difference to it? Does it attack children because they are more susceptible or because they have something adults don't have?"

Snape considered her words, "That is an interesting way to look at disease."

"I've toyed with the idea of being a Healer from time to time," Rigel said, "I'm interested in inventing and experimenting with Potions, and there are many obscure diseases that currently don't have a cure or even viable treatment options."

Snape gave her a look that made her uncomfortably aware that he most likely knew how Diana had died and was probably pitying her for something that happened to her cousin.

"Well, I can answer at least one of your questions in any case," Snape said finally, "The reason children appear to be more susceptible to the sickness is, we believe, related to the way the illness is transmitted. It moves mind to mind, though proximity seems to be a factor as well."

"How is that possible?" Rigel wondered, "Unless all the victims were practicing Legilimency on one another."

Snape snorted with amusement, "Magic, Mr. Black. Magical illnesses are transmitted via magical currents, including mental currents in this case. Unprotected minds leak mental energy, to a certain extent broadcasting their mental state to those who perceive such things. When unprotected minds spend a great deal of time around one another, the mental energies they leak tend to mingle and form tenuous ties to one another. Because of this, sometimes grown wizards who have been friends a very long time will know when the other is nearby. The illness is using these projected currents to move from one mind to another one, usually one 'familiar' to the original mind, and take up residence there."

"So the younger a child is, the more open and unprotected his mind is, generally speaking? And I suppose friends would infect other friends first, because their minds were peripherally familiar with one another," Rigel said, "That makes sense, I suppose, but what does the sickness do once it gets into the mind?"

"As far as we can tell, with the exception of the very first student to fall ill, Miss Jones, who slipped erratically into a coma, the illness comes on subtly, slowly taking over the mental faculties of a child until it reaches a point at which it can assume more or less complete control. At this point, it shuts down the mind it has taken over like a fortress, cutting it off from the outside world as completely as any Master Occlumens could."

"And the kid collapses into seeming unconsciousness," Rigel said, fitting the pieces together, "Is it contagious even after the mind locks down?"

"Yes," Snape said shortly, "Madam Pomphrey is careful not to spend too much time with any one patient, less she unwittingly facilitate the disease in spreading to her own mind by creating familiar mental pathways. It is not a high level of concern, however, as Pomphrey's mind is generally well protected in any case."

"What about the fever?"

"Sometimes the fever is strong, other times it is weak, sometimes it lasts, sometimes it doesn't," Snape said, "We know the fever can't be stopped with Fever Reducer, because that potion affects the mind directly, and none of our Potions that affect the mind have any effect on the sickness. The only thing that might account for the fever itself is if the fever corresponds to how violently a child mentally resists the sickness once he becomes aware of it, once the child is trapped in his own mind with it, that is, but we cannot know for sure. None of our scans can reach inside the mind when it is so well protected. All we can do at the moment is keep the body alive so that when the sickness leaves there is no lasting damage."

"To the body," Rigel said seriously, "How do we know their minds aren't being permanently damaged while the sickness maintains control over them?"

"We don't," Snape admitted, "But for reasons I will not share with you, I do not believe the illness will cause any significant damage once it has the mind locked down. It seems to be working much like a coma-curse in that respect."

Rigel frowned in thought. What Snape said didn't make much sense in terms of the way a disease worked, but he sounded quite certain. If it was something more like a curse, a contagious curse for that matter, and less like an actual illness, then Rigel supposed the goal of the sickness would depend not on what the sickness gained from infecting children, but what the intention of the caster was, like with any spell. That would assume that there was a person, a wizard, behind this sickness, but Rigel had a hard time seeing how such an illness could benefit a person. It could incapacitate your enemies, but it worked too slowly to be useful in battle, and she doubted Hogwarts children could be considered the enemy of anyone with enough power and skill to engineer an entire epidemic.

Rigel sighed, thinking that perhaps she should just trust Snape to know what he was talking about, and decided to concentrate on finding a way to keep herself safe from the illness first and foremost. Archie was right after all. More than just her health was at stake if she fell ill and was left to the mercies of immodest Healers. She knew for a fact that the doses for Snowhit were slightly different for girls than for boys, so if nothing else the Healer would have to double check her sex for that reason.

She thanked Professor Snape for telling her what he had, knowing he was under no obligation to satisfy her curiosity, and left his office with a new focus for her never-busy-enough life. If the sickness preyed on open minds, then she would just have to make sure her mind was as closed as possible.

[HpHpHp]

A couple weeks flew by between brewing Aurora's Breath, keeping up with classes, and trying to ignore the ever-mounting number of children confined to Quarantine. It wasn't until early March that she caught up with Flint after what had looked like a particularly gnarly early morning Quidditch practice. He was checking over the team's equipment in the Slytherin section of the school storage shed, making sure his team members had cleaned and stowed theirs properly, when Rigel slipped into the shed and shut the door loudly after checking to make sure there was no one else inside.

Flint whirled, wand half-raised, and Rigel held up her hands in the universal "don't shoot" posture, making sure her face was clearly visible in the morning light that filtered through the grimy window to her right.

Flint grunted and lowered his wand, but he didn't turn his back to her again. Instead, he said, "What?"

"It's about out deal," Rigel said quietly, and Flint rolled his eyes before leaning back against a crate of practice quaffles nonchalantly.

"Oh yeah?" he said mildly, "Finally decided you've had enough?"

"No," Rigel said, frowning. Surely he didn't expect her to just quit and go home. "Look, it's not that I don't trust you Flint, and so far you've kept your word, but things are getting…complicated."

"Complicated," Flint repeated.

"Dangerous," Rigel amended, "Blood identity theft is a bit deal, you know that." Flint nodded, so Rigel went on, "If it was just that I was afraid of what would happen to me if I got caught, I would take your word and consider our business iron clad. Unfortunately, I don't have that luxury anymore. The political climate is too volatile. If me and Archie's deception came to light right now, there are some who would use it as an excuse to go after everyone with blood like me. I don't want to sacrifice my goals to some abstract chance that by following the rules things will work out, but neither do I want to carelessly make myself into an excuse for an all-out war against muggleborns and halfbloods."

"Okay," Flint shrugged, looking particularly unimpressed, "So?"

"You're the only one besides Archie and I that knows the truth," she said, neglecting to mention that not even he knew all of the truth, "I need a guarantee that no matter what happens, our secret is safe as long as I hold up my end of the bargain and continue to complete your assignments for you."

Flint considered her silently, then said flatly, "You want a Vow. To ensure I won't tell."

"Not exactly," Rigel said, rather nervous about asking this but unwilling to show it, "Most Vows stipulate that a person can't do or tell something without suffering consequences, but the fact remains that the person who took the Vow could still technically break it, as long of he was willing to pay a price. I want to ensure that you can't reveal our secret, even under duress, even under a Truth Spell."

"And how do you plan to do that?" Flint said sarcastically, "Last I checked even if I took the strongest Unbreakable Vow, it wouldn't stop me from telling, it would just kill me."

"Well, there are two options, actually," Rigel told him, "The first is that you allow me to modify your memory when our contract is complete—"

"No."

Rigel took in the fiercely adamant look on Flint's face and nodded in agreement, "Right, well, that's good actually because I don't know how to modify someone's memory. The second option is a bit more intrusive, though."

"What is it?" Flint said tiredly, "Just spit out your demands already, I have breakfast to get to."

"It's a Sealing Curse," Rigel said, "I want you to let me Seal the knowledge of our duplicity in your soul. If done right, the spell prevents the knowledge from ever being shared or relayed in any way either voluntarily or involuntarily. It's not as bad as it sounds," she added quickly, anticipating Flint's objections, "It does take away free will just a tiny bit, but you wouldn't ever have to worry about accidentally slipping up ten years from now, and it gives you an easy out if the secret comes out some other way and the authorities ask you why you never told anyone if you knew. You just tell them I cursed you with a Sealing Curse, and you're off the hook."

Rigel was actually quite proud of herself for finding such a spell. It was one of the many contingent spells that purebloods had developed over the centuries to place guarantees or restrictions on matters of honor. There were Vows, Seals, and Bindings of all kinds, though most of them had fallen out of use, being rather…extreme. This one had been referenced as an example in one of the volumes on pureblood customs she'd borrowed from the Black library (which she was really planning on reading more carefully one of these days), and she'd tracked down a description in an old dueling book of all things in the Hogwarts Library the night before. Apparently the forfeits for lost duels used to be a good deal more restrictive.

Flint was staring at her with something like disbelief wrapped around the suspicion that he was witnessing something insane and didn't know what to do about it.

"You want me to let you curse me—permanently, so that I have no choice but to keep your little secret, which will probably be revealed in a year or two anyway because of the sheer ridiculousness of the nature of your duplicity, is that about the gist of it?" It was hard to tell what Flint was thinking, but Rigel nodded reluctantly. He'd pretty much summed it up, though of course she didn't think their pretense would be revealed so easily as he assumed. "What's in it for me?" Flint asked bluntly.

Rigel had to think for a moment to see what he meant, "You mean, since I'm upping the ante on our deal technically, you want an additional concession as well?"

"Yes, I do," Flint said, smirking now.

"And in return for this additional concession, you'll take the Sealing Curse, just like that?"

"Yes, I will."

Rigel shrugged, aware that she was in no position to bargain at this point, "Then, you can have whatever you want, I guess."

"I can, can't I?" Flint mused, eyes glinting with amusement as he made her wait on edge for his decision, "Hmm, the possibilities are rather endless. I could have you carry my books between classes, or personally cut up my steak at dinner, but I really think a life-long curse merits something equally…how did you put it? Intrusive. Don't you think?"

"Now who's prevaricating?" Rigel muttered, though she didn't disagree with the upperclassman. She was demanding a lot, so she'd find a way to pull off whatever he wanted in return. Frankly he could have reported her a long time ago, and she owed him for offering to make a deal with her in the first place, if for nothing else.

"Well, the trouble is I can't think of anything I really want at the moment, what with you already doing my assignments for the foreseeable future," Flint said, "So I guess I'll just have to take a leaf out of your book and demand something rather similar."

Rigel swallowed nervously at the smug look on Flint's face. She could already tell she wasn't going to like this.

"I want a Vow of Undisclosed Debt," he said, flashing his canines at her in a feral sort of grin.

"That sounds pretty self-explanatory," she remarked.

"It is," Flint said, "It's a Vow that basically acknowledges an unfulfilled debt to another person, and when the person it's keyed to calls the debt in, the Vow activates and monitors the person who owes the debt until they satisfy it. It's pretty loose on the timeframe, unless the person who calls in the debt specifies something, but if is senses you don't intend to fulfill the debt to the best of your ability it steps in."

"Steps in?" Rigel frowned.

"The Vow has been known to take control of a wizard's mind and magic and ensure that the debt gets repaid if the opportunity arises and the wizard seems reluctant," Flint shrugs, "But you wouldn't try and weasel out of it, would you? So you've nothing to worry about."

Rigel sighed, seeing the many ways in which things could go horribly wrong, depending on what Flint asked for, but not seeing any other option if she wanted to ensure that the leak Flint represented was plugged, so to speak.

"Can I qualify that slightly?" she asked

"How so?" Flint raised an eyebrow, seeming surprised at something. Perhaps he'd been expecting a flat refusal? As if she'd give him the excuse to call the deal off entirely.

"When you call this debt in, can you run what you plan on asking for by me before you actually invoke the Vow?" Rigel widened her eyes imploringly, and Flint snorted.

"What for? Going to kill me if it turns out to be something you don't want to do?" He seemed amused at the very idea.

"Of course not," Rigel said, "But there are things you don't know about me, and if you happen to ask for something that would be literally impossible for me to do, I would like a chance to explain why it would be a bad idea to ask for such a debt."

"Like what?" Flint asked curiously.

"Well what if you asked me to kill my sister, but it turns out I don't have any sisters? What would the Vow do then?" she pointed out. She really didn't want to know what would happen if he called in the debt for something that would be physically impossible for a girl to do, simply because he assumed she was a boy.

Flint shrugged unconcernedly, "I doubt it would be something like that, but sure, I'll give you that."

"So the agreement is as follows," Rigel said, making sure she had it all straight in her head, "I will complete all the school assignments you ask me to for an unspecified amount of time, and I will also take a Vow of Undisclosed Debt to be paid at any time in the future. In return, you will allow the knowledge of my and Archie's duplicity to be Sealed permanently within you, and will warn me before you call in the Undisclosed Debt in case I have a reasonable objection. You also won't tell anyone of my secret before it is Sealed, and I will do my best to keep anyone from finding out that I am the one doing your assignments. Agreed?"

"Deal," Flint said, "We'll swap Vows and Seals on Saturday morning. Meet me here before the sun rises."

Rigel nodded. She went to leave the storage shed, but turned over her shoulder at the last moment and said, "Thanks, Flint."

"Don't thank me just yet, kid."

[HpHpHp]

In the end, the exchange of promises with Flint turned out to be easier than she was expecting. They forwent a binder, for obvious reasons, and because there were only two of them in the room while they made the Vow and Seal, no names were required either, because the pronouns "you" and "me" were referentially obvious.

The Sealing Curse was child's play, as far as curses went. Because it was a precursor to the Fidelius Charm, it required the consent of the cursed to be effective, and it was for this reason, not any difficulty in the spell itself, that it fell into disuse. Once absolutes were considered honorable in pureblood circles, but nowadays most preferred to have a little wriggle room in their commitments.

Both ceremonies took barely twenty minutes, and when she left the Quidditch shed Rigel felt much lighter. No one could ever get her secret out of Flint now, and with both she and Archie working on their Occlumency as much as possible, their plans were that much closer to turning out successfully.

Speaking of Occlumency, she thought as she trekked back to the castle. Now would be a good opportunity to practice some more. She was determined not to let this sickness have a crack at her, and the best thing she could do based on Snape's description of the transmission would be to shore up her mental defenses whenever she could.

Rigel made her way to her dorm room to surreptitiously pick up her "Gryffindor" disguise, and then went up to a bathroom near the Library to change. She was getting good at ensuring she was unrecognizable in her disguises, and as she deftly tucked her hair into the red wig and slid the glasses up her nose she automatically assumed a slumped sort of posture and a faraway expression. She left her Gryffindor tie a bit crooked and shuffled out of the bathroom toward the Library.

She found a nice quiet corner where she could meditate undisturbed and curled into the chair in a way that made her look more like a bookworm taking a nap than a focused wizard exercising advanced meditation techniques. She retreated into herself. It was sort of like what she did when she used her sixth senses to 'look' at her magical core, but instead of her magic, she was focusing on her mind. The same sort of visualization took place, but unlike her magical core, her mind didn't move or react independently from her will. She could act on her mental landscape, change it and shape it, but it wouldn't do anything she didn't specifically will it to do.

The mists that made up the peripherals of her mindscape parted before her awareness and revealed the great, white mountain that made up the center of her mind. It was huge in her mental estimation, and the whiteness came from the ice and snow piled on its face. She shivered in the cold wind that blew around her mountain and quickly made her way to the small opening near the base that was hidden behind an illusion of a wall of ice. Once through the illusion, her mind opened up into a warm cavern, which glowed with the light of a huge fireplace and several torches burning on the walls. The cavern looked like an underground Potions Lab, with crates and cabinets of ingredients filling the space. There were invitingly comfortable couches where she might sit and peruse the memories bound up in the various scrolls intermixed with Potions recipes. That is, she might if she didn't know that the main cavern was one big decoy, a reflection of what people would expect her mind to look like.

Since she had built these caverns herself, Harry—for indeed, this far in her own mind she was Harry and her mental avatar looked like she thought she would have if she'd never cut off all her hair—walked straight through the cavern to the big, woven rug that lay before the hearth. She pulled the rug back to reveal the trap door beneath, grinning a bit as she hauled it open. It was so cliché but she just loved having a trap door hidden under a rug in her mindscape. When she had first gotten a solid visual on the White Mountain, as she referred to her mental fortress when she was feeling particularly cheesy, she hadn't been sure what to make of it. It took several more meditation sessions before she could figure out how to enact changes in her mental scene that would remained permanent even when her awareness left. Once she'd gotten the hang of it, though, it was a lot easier than even working with her magic. She didn't have to ask for anything here, she just imagined it, and willed it into being.

Harry dropped through the trap door to the tunnel beneath, which was carved roughly from rock, but embedded with pale green crystals that lit up automatically when the trap door swung shut above her head. The tunnel led in half a dozen directions currently, to help confuse any intruders, though the false branches didn't extend very far as of yet. She worked on them in her free time, but someday she hoped to have a labyrinth worthy of Daedalus carved out. As it was, she took the third path from the right and followed it as it sloped upwards, moving further and further into the heart of the mountain.

She emerged from the tunnel eventually into her favorite place in her mindscape so far. It was a vast, hollowed cavern that stretched as far as the eye could see, completely ignoring the laws of physics that would consider the encompassing of such infinite space within a mountain, no matter how large, to be an impossibility. And space it was. The cavern was dark as night, lit by the light of a thousand stars, which twinkled in a way that Harry knew stars really didn't as they floated by her in the enormous space. These stars were her true memories, not the decoy potion scrolls in the comparably miniscule cavern at the entrance to her mountainside. They drifted peacefully for the most part, though a select few zoomed by, leaving a trail of light behind them as they went.

In truth her Astronomy professor would be appalled to see this, Harry thought happily. In addition to the stars drifting aimlessly about the endless black space, there were planets too. The planets housed her more troublesome memories and emotions, the ones she wanted to keep a close hold on, and the number of rings around a planet corresponded to how securely she wanted the memory or emotion to be bound. The planets glowed with subtle light of their own as well, but they paled in relation to what lay at the center of her outer-space room.

Harry pushed off the floor of the cavern and drifted upwards without constraints of gravity to worry about, floating toward the center of the space so she could admire what lay at the heart of her Snow Mountain, the center of her universe. It was a sun, burning bright and brilliant, and in truth she could not even take credit for it. It had been here when she'd first burrowed inside the mountain to seek shelter from the cold, windy mists, and it was what made everything possible. The sun was her magic. It was the energy that powered everything in her mindscape, from the snow on the peak of the mountain to the fire that burned merrily in the hearth of the decoy potions lab. Because it had looked like a sun when she'd found it, she'd fashioned the room that housed it to look like outer space accordingly, albeit a skewed and disproportioned version of it, considering that the 'stars' were so much smaller than the sun, when in a proportioned reality they would be roughly similar sizes.

When she reached the sun, she could feel the warmth and energy radiating off of it. She spent a moment basking in the feeling of pure life that wrapped around her mental form when she got close enough, but soon she drifted back toward the tunneled entrance to the Space Room. It wouldn't do to get too comfortable here, or she wind up spending all her time in her head.

Harry touched earth and took a moment to steady herself as gravity kicked back in before heading off to work on carving more tunnels. Perhaps she'd see about implanting some explosives in the walls of strategic tunnels, so that she could collapse them remotely if she ever had to…

In real time, she spent about four hours meditating. She knew this because she checked her watch when she came back to herself. Mental time was a strange and not strictly speaking reliable thing. Rigel stretched out the kink in her neck and glanced around her corner of the Library. The tables around her were still empty and her book bag didn't appear to have been disturbed. Not that anyone would find much to disturb if they tried. Most of the important things she carried—Flint's assignments, the Map, and letters she was writing to her parents and Archie—were inside compartments that wouldn't open for anyone else.

She was just about to take out her Herbology book and get started on an essay for the following Tuesday when a sound caught the edges of her senses and she stilled, cocking her head to listen closer. When she zeroed in on the sound, she realized it was someone crying, and they were somewhere in the stacks to her right. Whoever it was also seemed to be attempting to stifle the noises rather unsuccessfully. Rigel sighed, but picked up her bag and moved in the direction of the muffled sobbing. It wasn't that she was a Dora Do-Gooder or anything, but she couldn't exactly concentrate on her schoolwork with someone crying nearby, could she? She ignored the voice in her head that suggested she might simply move to a different table, and peered around the edge of the bookcase that sounded closest to the source of the noise.

Sitting on the floor, knees bent and hugged tightly to her chest, was a Ravenclaw girl with long dark hair and pale pink stockings that peeped out from under her robes. Her shoes had been discarded next to her book bag, which was upturned on the floor next to her, as if it had spilled and instead of righting it she'd sunk down to the ground and just broken down.

Rigel cautiously approached the girl, not trying to sneak up on her but not wanting to startle her either. Her bag brushed against the bookcase as she passed it and the Ravenclaw looked up at her immediately through straight black bangs. Her face had an Asian look about it, and Rigel thought she might be a second year. The girl wiped her sleeve across her eyes ruefully, as if she fully expected to be teased and wasn't going to bother being embarrassed about it. Rigel dropped her own bag to the floor and slid down the stacks to sit down next to the girl.

She fished in her bag for the handkerchief she (as a pureblood boy) kept in there, and offered it to the Ravenclaw, mentally thankful that Archie didn't have his handkerchiefs monogrammed like Draco did.

The girl took it after only a moment of consideration, which frankly surprised Rigel until she remembered she was wearing Gryffindor robes, not Slytherin. No wonder the girl didn't look like she was waiting for Rigel to hex her.

"Rough Morning?" Rigel asked, not sure how to get a stranger to open up, but deciding to start out general and then work her way to the specifics.

"It's this sickness," the girl burst out, "It got Marietta this morning, and I don't want to be next."

Or, Rigel thought bemusedly, they could just skip right to the point.

"You might not get sick," she started to say, but the older girl shut her up with a glare before she could get too far into the platitudes.

"All the first year Ravenclaws are ill, and it's just me and one other second year left in our dorm. Most of the Hufflepuff first through third years are sick, and Ravenclaws have the most classes with Hufflepuff, so of course I'm going to be next," she said. Her voice was sharp but her eyes were flat, "I watched Marietta collapse. She didn't even stir when Flitwick levitated her off to Quarantine. I don't want to just fall into darkness with no warning, no way to fight it or even accept that it's happened. Marietta was still smiling when she went unconscious. I won't even know before it gets me and-and-" she heaved a shuddering breath in and closed her eyes as she whispered, "I'm frightened."

Rigel sat in silence for a moment, not sure what to say. It was true that the illness had grown progressively worse over the past few weeks. Slytherin House was the least affected, probably because they seldom deigned to mix with the other Houses, and even then most of the first years were gone and almost half of the second years. Crabbe and Goyle were sick, as were Davis and Greengrass. Millicent had fallen ill just the day before. And Theo was still sick too, of course.

She'd known on some level how scary the illness was to most of her classmates, but she'd been so busy she hadn't realized what it must feel like to be able to do nothing. To have no choice but to sit around and wait for it to take you, and no one telling you anything. It was heartbreaking. Rigel hoped she never felt like that, and she made a vow to keep twice as busy if this sort of hopeless panicking was the alternative.

Still, she could at least do something for the girl.

"What's your name?" Rigel asked quietly.

"Cho," she said, still sniffling a bit but mostly together, "Cho Chang."

"Cho, did you know that the sickness that's going around isn't deadly?"

The Ravenclaw stared at her before slowly shaking her head back and forth, "How do you know?"

"I overheard some teachers talking about it," she invented, unable to tell her about her unofficial role in making potions for Snape.

"So it's not true that the Quarantine is just to hide the fact that the kids die and aren't coming back?" she asked tremulously.

"No, that's not true," Rigel said firmly. She hesitated, not wanted to reveal too much, but a look at Cho's scared and lost expression had her giving in. Please don't let her be an agent of evil, she thought wryly. Truly she didn't think there would be any harm in telling Cho a few things about the sickness to make her feel better. If nothing else, the girl was right. If the sickness traveled on mental pathways, then those who spent a lot of time together would infect each other. If Marietta was a good friend of hers, Cho likely would be one of the next to get sick. "Can you keep a secret, Cho?" she asked seriously.

Cho narrowed her eyes at her, but she nodded slowly, "Yes."

"Good," Rigel said, "Then I can tell you that all the kids who are sick are still alive and not at all in mortal danger."

Cho opened her mouth, but Rigel shook her head, "I can't tell you how I know, but I do. The illness just put them all to sleep. The Quarantine is because the sleeping is contagious, but when they cure it, all the kids will be fine."

"Sleeping?" Cho sounded skeptical, but hopeful.

"Yeah," Rigel nodded, taking the handkerchief back from Cho and stowing it in her bag while she talked, "When you go to sleep at night, can you remember the moment you stop being awake?"

"No," Cho said.

"And does that scare you? Do you think it would be scary if you fell asleep smiling because of something you were thinking about when it happened?" Rigel pressed, appealing to the Ravenclaw's logic.

"No, of course not," Cho said, smiling a bit.

"You see? The sickness is just like that. Like falling asleep," Rigel said softly, "And when you wake up, it'll be Springtime again, none of this dreary March wind. Think of all the boring History classes you'll miss."

Cho chuckled quietly, "Yeah, and maybe I'll sleep through finals too."

"And your friends won't miss you, because they'll all be asleep too," Rigel said.

"Yeah," the Ravenclaw sighed, "At least I won't be worrying about it anymore."

Rigel smiled, "Everything will be okay, Cho Chang. If nothing else, you'll get to catch up on your beauty sleep."

"Hey, what are you trying to say?" Cho laughed, shoving her shoulder indignantly.

"What? Nothing," Rigel said innocently, "I'm just saying it couldn't hurt."

"Alright, stop talking now," the Ravenclaw said. She reached for her shoes to slip them back on and started gathering up her spilled belongings as well, "Seriously though, thanks. I feel better now."

"No problem," Rigel shrugged. She stood and scooped up her bag by the strap.

Before she could leave, Cho said, "Wait. What's your name?"

Rigel hesitated. What could she say? Technically the red-haired, glasses wearing boy she was dressed as didn't exist. Oh well, it's not like Cho would go check the registry.

"I'm Reggie," she improvised, "See you around."

"Yeah, bye," Cho called as Rigel turned and headed out of the Library.

Really, what was one more lie?

She changed back into her normal Slytherin robes and stowed the wig and glasses in her bag before heading back toward the dungeons. She had an urge to see what Pansy and Draco were doing. It came to her rather suddenly that Pansy and Draco were first years too, and the thought of their vulnerability to the sickness made her acutely uncomfortable. She wanted to see for herself that they were both still conscious, even if it meant being scolded for disappearing all Saturday morning.

-*_*-[Hp]-*_*-

A few nights later, Rigel snuck out of her dorm at five minutes past midnight, invisibility cloak tucked under one arm and Marauder's Map tucked innocently in her robe pocket. She had letters to mail to Archie and Sirius and assignments to mail to Flint, and lately she'd been more on edge then usual about the attention others might pay to her correspondence. She knew it was mostly paranoia, but in general Rigel thought paranoia was a survival trait, especially for those who led potentially hazardous lives.

Perhaps it was this paranoia, on top of her admittedly rather potent curiosity, that had her slowing down, stopping, and narrowing her eyes at the Map when she caught sight of two unlikely figures standing awfully close together.

Two dots labeled Severus Snape and Quirinus Quirrell were barely a millimeter apart on the Map, and after a brief and rather disturbing moment in which she considered the possibility that they were having an "adult" moment, Rigel quickly discarded that ridiculous scenario (with no small amount of grossed-out-ness) and changed her course on a split-second whim. Letter mailing could wait in light of the information that two of her teachers were either trapped in close quarters by a band of rogue suits of armor or strangling one another.

Rigel wrapped herself in the invisibility cloak and set off toward the basement corridor the Map indicated. A few minutes later she quietly wiped and folded the Map, which was already heating up to indicate the impending presence of a teacher after curfew, so she'd have both hands to keep the invisibility cloak steady. When she was sure every part of her was covered, she rounded the corner silently and drifted down the hallway toward where she could now see Snape and Quirrell having what looked like a heated discussion.

She got just close enough to hear their conversation clearly, wishing she could get close enough to see their faces in the dim lighting but not sure she could keep her breathing quiet enough to escape Snape's notice at that range.

Snape had Quirrell backed against the wall, and looked to be keeping the reluctant Defense teacher frozen in place with his glare alone, "…need to know more, Quirrell."

Quirrell was muttering something indistinct under his breath and Snape growled menacingly in response, "Don't lie to me, Quirrell, you are the only one in this school high enough in His favor to have been charged with this mission. If you know anything about this sickness you must inform me now."

Rigel's eyes widened beneath her cloak and she frowned in concentration, straining to pick up what Quirrell was mumbling.

"If He didn't tell you, Severus," the pale-faced man said nervously, "I really can't—that is, perhaps you aren't supposed to know. Perhaps He doesn't trust—"

"He gives me no more information than necessary, that I might play my part convincingly, Quirrell," Snape snapped, "But what was necessary has changed. I must know how to end this sickness, should the need arise."

"It will be called off when the legislation has gone through," Quirrell protested.

"Fool! The sickness is spreading more rapidly than anticipated," Snape said impatiently, "I have already used up all my stores and the local suppliers are running dry as well. Without the ingredients to keep their bodies alive, it doesn't matter if the sickness is recalled when He's gotten what He wants."

"I don't know what you want me to do, Severus," Quirrell whined, flinching under the Potions Master's presumably dark expression.

"Tell me how to counter it," Snape pressed, "Just in case, Quirrell. The mission is important, but do you think He wants pureblooded children to end up dead? That will not sit well with His plans, especially if this ever gets traced back to Him somehow. Their parents will turn on more than just Dumbledore if these children come to any actual harm because you haven't given me enough information to step in if I judge it to be necessary."

"I can't, I don't know how myself, Severus," Quirrell said finally, speaking quickly, as if to convince Snape all in one breath, "But I will ask Him. I will tell Him what you say, when I am next called, and surely He will have a solution."

Snape growled wordlessly and spat, "You'd better hope you see Him soon," before turning and stalking off down the corridor at a furious pace without looking back. Rigel held her breath as Quirrell shakily adjusted his collar and walked slowly passed her, his eyes glazed with some combination of fear and relief.

When Rigel was alone in the corridor, she took out the Map once more and made her way slowly but surely back to her common room. She had to think, and to do that she needed to be somewhere she could afford to space out. Rigel hurriedly stowed her cloak and map in her trunk and then returned to the main common room area and sank down into a low-backed couch to figure out what she'd just seen and heard.

The first and most obvious conclusion she was faced with was: Snape knew who sent the sickness. There was no doubt that the sickness was magically constructed now, and it had definitely been sent to Hogwarts for a purpose. Also obvious from what Snape had said was that the purpose of the sickness was not to kill. It was an intimidation tactic of some kind, meant to undermine the confidence parents had in Hogwarts and therefore the Headmaster. Someone wanted people turned against the Headmaster, and it had something to do with legislation. Her mind immediately reminded her of the friendly warnings Rosier and Rookwood had given her about legislation that was being pushed forward in June. Just a few months away, and no doubt this was when people would begin to take sides on this issue.

Rigel nodded slowly to herself as the pieces began to come together. The SOW party wanted new anti-muggle-blood legislation, but to get it ratified they needed to sway popular opinion away from Dumbledore, as well as get a good amount of Light parents away from the Headmaster as well. To do that, they infected the children of the most powerful purebloods, both Light and Dark, in the country with a seemingly serious sickness while Dumbledore was supposed to be responsible for said children. Faith in Dumbledore wanes, new legislation gets pushed through, children are miraculously cured when the sickness is called back, no harm done to them, but for muggleborns and halfbloods it's too late. The Marriage Law is already on the books.

But where did Snape come in?

Clearly he knew something about where this illness originated from, but if his words to Quirrell were truthful he didn't know how to cure it and seemed to be genuinely concerned about it in a practical sense. He didn't seem overly concerned in a moral sense that the sickness had been sent to a school full of children to make a political point, supposedly harmless or not, and Rigel wasn't sure how she felt about that.

Well, okay, she was pretty sure she didn't like it, but on the other hand it wasn't really her place to judge her Professor, who was older, wiser, and probably had a rational reason for most of the things he did. Also there was the fact that Snape might have been bluffing in his knowledge to Quirrell in order to trick the cure out of him, which Rigel sort of hoped for Snape's sake he hadn't been, or else things could get awkward when Quirrell told Him (whoever He was) what Snape had been fishing for.

All in all, Rigel was both more enlightened and more confused than she had been when she left for the Owlrey just half an hour earlier. She guessed she could still go to the Owlrey, but she was exhausted just thinking about it. Instead, she went back to her room and tried to fall asleep even though the sound of Theo's quiet breathing, which she hadn't even realized had been familiar, was conspicuously absent.

[HpHpHp]

The next morning Rigel dragged herself up to the Owlrey to send her post, and on her way back down was waylaid in the Entrance Hall by Alesana Selwyn, who Rigel had trouble placing for a moment due to the fact that she'd never spoken to the upperclassman outside of Snape's office.

"Hey Black," Selwyn said after taking hold of Rigel's elbow, forcing her pause and peer tiredly up at her, "Wow, you look like crap."

"Thanks," Rigel muttered absently. Her brain felt like mush that morning and she hadn't had breakfast yet.

"Well, just a heads up," Selwyn said, "Rookwood's looking for you. He finally figured out what was in that vile you gave him, and he wants to rail at you for misleading him or something."

Rigel blinked at the smug smirk on Selwyn's face and repeated, "He just figured it out? Does that mean you win?"

"Well, this round, sure," Selwyn said easily, "It took him more than two weeks, which means I actually get an extra point for this one."

"You guys keep score?" Rigel frowned. How long did these games run?

"Of course," the older Slytherin said, "Whoever has the most points at midnight on December 31st wins, and then next year we start all over."

"What do you win?" Rigel asked, stifling a yawn.

"I'll tell you when you're older," she winked, then strode off down the steps to the dungeons, humming contentedly.

Rigel shook her head dazedly and stumbled into the Great Hall to find food and hopefully something to wake her up a bit more.

When she sat down at the table, the first-year end of which was looking depressingly sparse, Rigel barely had time to acknowledge Pansy's polite "good morning" before Rookwood squeezed his way abruptly between the two first years with a hurried, "excuse me, Pansy," and stared expectantly at the side of Rigel's head.

Rigel turned her head slowly to look at the large upperclassman, whose stare was moving from intimidating to creepy the longer he sat there not saying anything. Finally she said, with as much emotion as she could muster after the night she'd had tossing and mentally turning over what she'd eavesdropped on, "It seems Selwyn wasn't joking about you wanting to talk to me."

"I can wait until you've eaten something," Rookwood said seriously, still turned in his seat to face her, eyes boring into her face like blank drills.

Rigel raised an eyebrow. Like I'd be more comfortable with you watching me eat. "No, that's okay," she said bracingly, "Go ahead."

Rookwood spoke immediately, "Why did you tell me you'd collected the sample you gave me yourself? Did Selwyn tell you to lie to me? I need to know if she's changing the rules of the game to include unreliable messengers, you see."

"Uh, she didn't, because I wasn't lying," Rigel said, frowning, "I collected the venom not twenty minutes before I handed it to you, Rookwood."

"Unlikely," Rookwood said thoughtfully, "Though of course its very unlikeliness is what made me dismiss the possibility of dangerous snake venom until it was too late. How did you get venom from a boomslang snake? Did Hagrid help you?"

"He did what?" Pansy leaned around Rookwood to frown disapprovingly at Rigel, "What have you been getting up to, Rigel? You look just awful this morning, and Draco said he heard you come in way past curfew last night. You really should take better care of yourself. Honestly, snake venom? That can't be safe."

Rigel smiled fondly at Pansy and shrugged noncommittally just because she knew it would annoy the blonde. Pansy just sighed and went back to her breakfast. Rigel told Rookwood, "My dad really likes snakes, believe it or not. He raises them in our courtyard, so I've gotten pretty good at handling snakes in general." Technically all of that was true, Rigel thought to herself, rather proud at how good she was getting at misdirection.

"Sirius Black, a snake-lover?" Rookwood shook his head wryly, "Well I suppose that explains it, but who could have guessed?"

"One of my father's many goals in life is to continually surprise people," Rigel said, a slight smile on her face as she thought of how true that was.

Rookwood was apparently satisfied with her explanations, for he stood and bade her good day, moving to join the other fourth years further down the table.

Rigel gratefully tucked in to her breakfast and listened to Pansy fill her in on the breakfast gossip.

[HpHpHp]

That Friday evening Rigel went to Snape's office to deliver the latest batch of Aurora's Breath. She had taken to just bringing Snape the crates as soon as they were full, so that she didn't end up having to transport so many in one go again. He didn't answer her knock, but the door was slightly ajar so she pushed it open further with her foot and went in, carrying the crate carefully while at the same time trying to see if the Professor was there. She heard his voice, but she couldn't see him right away. After she set the crate down on his desk she looked around and realized that the stretch of wall that was normally blank housed a large fireplace as she had seen it do once before, and sure enough the floo network was activated, as evidenced by the emerald green flames casting eerie shadows around the room.

The head of a mostly bald middle aged wizard with a thin mustache was floating in the hearth, and Professor Snape was kneeling on the stone in front of it, looking not at all happy at what the bald man was telling him.

"You know I would if I could, Snape," the head said earnestly, "But you've cleaned us out. I don't know what the heck you need so much Ginseng for, but you know how hard it is to grow, especially in a northern climate. What did you expect after three months of snatching up every available crop?"

"Surely there is Ginseng somewhere," Snape pressed, "I need it, Horace, you have no inkling of how vitally."

Rigel silently agreed. Ginseng was one of the main ingredients in both Aurora's Breath and Snowhit Draught, due to its incredible nutritional value. If they were running low, things would go downhill very quickly.

"Well you won't find it in England," Horace sighed, "You know I'd never give away business, so if I'm telling you to look to foreign suppliers…"

"You truly don't have any recourse available," Snape finished wearily, "Damn. I don't like working with suppliers I don't know. This…project is too important to blindly trust in the quality of imported ingredients."

"Sorry, Snape," Horace said, "Have you considered using Acai berries? They aren't quite as potent, but the effect is similar."

"I have, but Acai berries cause other complications in the recipe," Snape said.

"Well, you're the Potions Master," Horace said, and Rigel got the impression that if his shoulders were visible they'd be shrugging, "Good luck with whatever you're doing."

"Indeed, Horace," Snape said shortly, "Good day."

The head disappeared and it occurred to Rigel that her presence in the room would now be a bit awkward, but when Snape stood and turned he didn't look at all surprised to see her.

"Mr. Black," Snape acknowledged.

"Hello, sir," Rigel said, not all that apologetically. She and Archie had come to the general conclusion in their youth that one could either feel bad about overhearing something one shouldn't or embrace eavesdropping and all the advantages and disadvantages that came with it.

"Another crate already?" Snape frowned at the Aurora's Breath on his desk for a moment and Rigel quickly reassured him.

"Still under my 25 cauldrons a week, sir."

"Ah," Snape said, looking tired and stressed, "Very well then."

"Sir?" Rigel ventured, "What are we going to do about the Ginseng?"

Snape looked at Rigel seriously, "Pray this sickness does not last much longer, Mr. Black."

"And if it does?" Rigel persisted.

Snape sighed, but took a moment to think seriously about the problem, "I will be honest with you, Mr. Black. We have no Ginseng unless you have any left over from this last batch of Aurora's Breath."

Rigel shook her head ruefully. In truth she had used both what Snape had given her and what she had in her personal kit to finish off the last cauldron.

Snape nodded as if he expected as much, "Then I will attempt to find alternate suppliers. I will have to go in person. I cannot accurately judge the quality of potential ingredients remotely. In the mean time, we will begin using Acai berries as a substitute in both potions. I will give you the revised recipes."

Rigel blinked at him in surprise, "Recipes?"

"Yes," Snape said, looking reluctant but resigned, "While I am gone you will be in charge of producing both potions. I do not know how long it will take for me to find a viable supplier. Ginseng is extraordinarily difficult to grow properly, so I've no doubt I will have to sift through scores of sub-quality crops to find something we can use."

Rigel's eyes widened and she swallowed. That was an awful lot of responsibility to give to a first year.

Snape eyed her knowingly, "It is a lot to ask. Normally, I would find an older student to handle things while I am gone, and indeed the prefects and other professors will likely pick up most of my duties, but I have no time to teach and test another student and you know how to make Aurora's Breath already. I've seen you watching me brew Snowhit as well. You know what both potions should look and feel like, and your magical reserves are deep enough to handle the strain for the days I am gone."

"Can the Hospital Wing afford for our production to be halved?" Rigel asked worriedly.

"It cannot," Snape said, "That is why as of Monday you are excused from all classes and assignments until I return."

Rigel took a deep breath, "What will I tell my classmates?"

"Tell them nothing except that you have a task related to your studies that will take up all of your time," Snape said, "I will speak to Dumbledore this evening, and leave tomorrow morning. If you have anything you need to take care of before you start brewing, I suggest you do so tonight. Snowhit is a demanding potion, more so than Aurora's Breath. I believe you can handle this burden, but only if you do not waste energy doing other things. You will eat three meals a day, you will sleep eight hours a night, you will brew, and you will do nothing else. Is that clear? Pomphrey will check on you periodically, and if she sees you overdoing it you will be forced to stop."

Rigel nodded, "I understand, sir. I won't let you down."

"If I thought for a moment you would, I would not have entrusted this task to you, I assure you," Snape said, "Go and rest up, Mr. Black. I will leave the recipes in Lab One along with the changes necessary to accommodate the Acai berries. The wards will be reset to allow you admittance. Any questions?"

"No, sir," Rigel said grimly, "Good luck, sir."

She left Snape to his planning and headed straight to her dorm room to grab her book bag. She had to finish Flint's assignments and mail them tonight, so that she would not be distracted from brewing while Snape was gone. Rigel wasn't going to mess this up, no matter what.

[HpHpHp]

The weekend passed in a frenzy of brewing. Rigel had often been accused of eating, sleeping and breathing potions, and never had that been truer. She woke and headed straight to Lab One, brewed for two hours, went to breakfast, brewed for eight hours with a short break to eat the lunch Binny brought her, went to dinner, brewed another four hours, showered, and collapsed on her bed until she woke to her alarm and repeated the cycle.

The brewing was hard. She kept up a cauldron each of Snowhit and Aurora's Breath constantly, and by dinnertime each day she could actually feel her magical core getting tired. She wondered if this was how potion-makers were supposed to feel when imbuing high-level potions. It was a bit disconcerting to feel the loss of magical energy; she felt somehow vulnerable. She went to bed each day feeling pretty much tapped out, and knew that if she hadn't been getting a full night's sleep and three meals a day like Snape ordered her magic would be hard pressed to recover by the time she started brewing again each morning. Rigel knew that she was working just barely under her limit, and didn't know how long she would be able to keep it up before she had to cut brewing back to twelve or even ten hours a day. The Snowhit Draught in particular was noticeably more draining than the Aurora's Breath, especially since it required extra magic to force the Acai berries to substitute relatively seamlessly for the Ginseng berries.

Her mind was entirely encompassed by her task, though she vaguely noticed the concerned looks she was getting from her friends. It wasn't until Tuesday evening as she tiredly moved toward her bed once more that one of her friends decided enough was enough.

"Rigel," Draco pulled her attention away from her welcoming pillow with a hand on her shoulder, "Rigel, don't go to sleep just yet, I need to talk to you."

Rigel blinked tiredly at her blonde friend, and turned to face him, sitting down on the edge of her bed to rest her feet, which ached from standing all day for the fourth day in a row, and looking up at him. "Okay," she yawned, "What's up, Draco?"

"Well that's what I want to know," Draco said, frowning down at her, "You've been like a ghost for days, and Pansy is really worried."

Rigel smiled slightly at that, raising an eyebrow.

"Well, fine, I'm worried too you prat," Draco rolled his eyes, "Because no school project is worth this. You work yourself into exhaustion every night, then get up and do it again. It isn't healthy, and the more tired you are, the more likely you are to catch this sickness when your immune system is weak. You need to take it easy."

"I can't, Draco," Rigel told him tiredly, "I'm sorry, and I know you're worried, but believe me when I say I have to do my best on this. I won't get sick, I promise. When Snape comes back I can take a break, but right now—"

She broke off, staring in confusion that rapidly turned to surprise as Draco's eyes grew unfocused before rolling back into his head. Her friend collapsed like a boneless doll, and Rigel dove off of her bed instinctively to stop his head from hitting the corner of the bedside table.

She knelt with mounting horror, Draco's head still cradled in one of her hands, the other going to his shoulder to shake him first gently, then with increasing urgency, "Draco? Draco! Wake up, get up, Draco." She shook her head wildly, "Oh, no, no, please no." But Draco didn't answer, didn't twitch, didn't wake. He slumped awkwardly on the floor, unresponsive and rapidly growing paler. Rigel jumped up, no longer tired in the slightest, and ran out to the common room as fast as she could.

She skidded to a stop in front of Salazar Slytherin's portrait and gasped out, "Salazar, Salazar, get Snape. I need Snape."

The portrait looked concernedly down at her, "I'm sorry child, but Professor Snape is still absent from the school."

Rigel groaned, she knew that, damn it. Think, she scolded herself, Draco needs to get to the Hospital Wing. But I can't carry him there, and I don't know how magic interacts with the sickness.

She looked wildly around the common room, and spotted a familiar face watching her curiously from a low-backed chair nearby.

"Flint!" she called, relief evident in her voice. She could trust Flint with Draco. She ran over to him, panting, "Flint, I need your help. Draco's collapsed, and he has to go to the Hospital Wing, and Snape's gone, so you have to carry him—"

"Slow down, Black," Flint snapped, "Get a hold of yourself."

Rigel gulped down air as quietly as she could and waited for the upperclassman to do something.

"Now, Malfoy collapsed. It's okay, he's not in immediate danger," Flint said, oddly soothing, "Did he fall unconscious in your dorm room?"

"Yes," Rigel yes quickly, feeling a bit calmer now that Flint was taking charge.

"Then I can't go collect him, and neither can any of the other upperclassman. Only first-years can get into the first-year hallway," he said plainly.

Rigel cursed at herself, she had known that too, but had forgotten in her panic. Panicking wasn't helping. She had to think.

"Crabbe and Goyle are both sick," Rigel said, frowning unhappily, "I don't know where Blaise is and Pansy won't be able to lift Draco either."

"Then you'll have to do it," Flint said obviously.

Rigel groaned, "I can't, I'm—" she broke off to take a huge steadying breath before she said something she'd regret, "I don't have the strength."

"You just have to carry him as far as the common room," Flint said flatly, towing Rigel firmly across the common room and pushing her toward the first-year dorms, "Do you want to help Malfoy?"

Rigel nodded.

"Then go help him," Flint said.

Rigel nodded again and hurried back down the hallway to her dorm room. It would have to be the last one in the hall, she thought disgustedly and she propped open the door with someone's shoe and went to where Draco's prone form was still lying awkwardly on the ground. Somehow, she hoped Draco never found out she'd left him on the floor for a good few minutes while she panicked, as his Malfoy dignity probably wouldn't survive it.

Rigel bent and lifted one of Draco's arms around her shoulders, trying to get enough leverage to haul her friend up off the ground. The angle was awkward and Draco was dead weight, no matter that he really wasn't much bigger than she was. He was denser because of the muscle he'd put on under Flint's Quidditch regimen. Rigel's arms were tired from stirring all day and her sore feet ached in protest and she dug them into the carpet and strained upwards against their combined gravity. She barely got them upright when she went staggering sideways into Draco's bed and accidentally dropped her unconscious friend down onto it when her arms gave out. She stared down at the now-disheveled blonde hopelessly while she caught her breath.

I can't do this, she thought, her frustration mounting, I'm just a weak little girl with no upper-body strength. If only I was stronger. If only I really was a boy. If Archie were here, he could do it.

She didn't know if it was her imagination, but she thought Draco looked flushed. The fever was starting and there was nothing she could do to help him.

No, she shook her head, despair is what won't help Draco. If I can't carry him with my arms, I have to carry him some other way.

With renewed determination, Rigel sat on the edge of Draco's bed and hauled his torso up so that his arms went around her neck. With a little maneuvering, she managed to get most of his weight on her back and stood carefully, gripping his upper arms and bent nearly double to keep her friend from slipping off onto the floor again. Slowly, with crab-like steps, Rigel carried Draco across the room, out the door, and down the hallway. She had stop and lean against the walls several times, but she eventually managed to make it to the end of the hallway where Flint immediately lifted Draco from her back and onto his shoulder in a muggle fireman's lift.

Rigel panted, hands on her knees, and Flint clapped her on the back bracingly.

"Well done, Black," he said, "I'll take him from here."

Rigel took a halting step after Flint as the upperclassman headed toward the common room entrance with his burden, but he waved her off.

"There's nothing more you can do, kid," he said firmly, "They won't let you in the Quarantine. Just go to sleep now, and deal with the rest of it tomorrow."

Rigel felt all the energy drain out of her once more, and realized the adrenaline from watching Draco collapse was probably wearing off. She thought about waking Pansy and telling her about Draco, but couldn't bring herself to do it. Let her get one more night of sleep, she thought, Flint's right, there's nothing we can do tonight. But tomorrow, when her magic and strength was recovered once more, Rigel would find a way to see Draco somehow.

She knew, logically, that Draco was going to be fine. She knew, objectively, that Pomphrey would take good care of him and that the sickness wasn't even meant to be fatal. But somehow, she had a really bad feeling in the pit of her stomach that had nothing to do with rational thinking.

[HpHpHp]

[end of chapter nineteen].