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.

21. Chapter 21

A/N: So I just wanted to say that my reviewers are clever, clever people! Several of you anticipated certain events in this chapter, so well done! I'm going to have to be more sneaky I can see in planning my plot elements…hmmm…yes, less foreshadowing and more nasty surprises? Lol, but really you guys sent in some amazing reviews this week, more than I've ever had on one chapter, so thank you so much for every single one. And a great big thanks to everyone who's been reading this story, especially those of you who've been reading since the beginning, even if you never reviewed—thanks for even trying the story out.

A/N2: Now for more specific thanks: Vaughn Tyler, J.F.C., PintoNess, theoriginalolive, .not., hentai18ancilla, TearfullPixie, Debate4life, Cathy Willow, Frecklefreak, zeichnerinaga, Kyandra, Geriana, Celena Black, jaz7, BaltaineShadow, Midnight Alwas, she-who-wanted-hyphens, skepsis66, PrincessKity25, Arana'a, Neidan, dhh, Sylva-Rose, and higito. I'll try to respond to every review by tomorrow, though there are a lot this time (not that I'm complaining), and to my anonymous reviewers: to kk, thank you, I hope you like the ending; to Amarantha, I'm glad you like it! Honestly, I'm shocked to get this many reviews. Any more and I wouldn't know what to do with myself ^^; to grinninglikemad, you anticipate a lot of what's going down, both in this chapter and the future—I hope you're not bored. I also hope your questions will be answered by the story as it goes on, but as for Parseltongue thing, I'm tweaking cannon so that the Parseltongue ability comes from the Peverell line, not the Slytherin line, and so that Slytherin was descendent from one of the Peverells, making Riddle still descendant from a Peverell like he was in the books, but also making it so that Harry Potter can be a Parseltongue by being descendent from the Peverells too, without being a Horcrux; to Shinga, you totally guessed the last section of this chapter, so kudos to you and it means a lot to me that you'd defend my story like that, so from the bottom of my heart, thank you, and I'm glad certain elements of the story are not so easily misunderstood.

A/N3: Well, this is the longest of all the chapters so far (24,300—and to think I originally planned on 3000 word chapters). It's fitting as this is also the last chapter in the first book of this story. The sequel will be up as soon as I get the first chapter written, but it will be under a different title/story, so look out for it if you're interested. Thanks to everyone who stuck with the story these past six months; at over 200,000 words and 160 reviews, I couldn't be happier with my first HP fanfic. I hope you enjoy the conclusion to book one in this series.

The Pureblood Pretense:

Chapter 21:

Harry felt decidedly self-conscious as she watched Professor Snape look around with interest at her mindscape.

"Usually it's much nicer," she told him as his eyes took in the huge mountain before them, "You know, when there isn't black tar all over everything."

Snape glanced at her, apparently unimpressed, "If you can still summon the energy to make obvious jokes, perhaps my presence is not needed here. Shall I leave you to tidy up around here by yourself?"

Harry backtracked quickly, "I wish you wouldn't, sir. Judging by the dimness of my magical core, I'd never get it all done myself."

"Where is your core?" Snape asked, looking around again, frowning in thought, "On the peak of the mountain?"

Harry shook her head, "It's inside the mountain."

Snape raised a brow, "You have built a passage into the mountain? That is to say, you have multiple levels to your mind?"

"Yes, sir," Harry said, "It seemed safest to get all the important things out of the open."

"Indeed," Snape's lips quirked for a moment, and Harry wondered exactly what the inside of Snape's mind looked like. "I need to see the sickness to banish it, so you will have to take me though all of the infected areas."

"Yes, sir," Harry agreed. She watched Snape concentrate on the blackened landscape once more and raise his arms imperiously. A moment later she felt her entire mind shiver, and some sort of power rushed through her mental awareness, like a strong wind blowing hair out of her face. The sickness was hurled out into the mists and beyond, at least all the sickness that they could see from that side of the mountain.

Slowly, Harry led Snape around to the other side of the mountain, then down to the base. She hesitated, not liking the idea of showing all of her mental tricks to someone else, especially a man that she knew she shouldn't really trust, for all that she respected him as a Potions Master. The fact was, Snape had spoken to Quirrell as if he were in league or at the very least working for whoever had sent the sickness to Hogwarts. That meant he was an SOW Party-liner, which meant he was against muggleborns and halfbloods to some extent, or passively okay with their mistreatment. In other words, he couldn't be trusted with her secrets. Still, Harry reasoned, she could always change her mindscape around after he'd left. Might as well get his help with the sickness as long as he's already here.

When they reached the ice wall, Snape stopped and looked at her questioningly.

Harry smiled, "It's just an illusion. Didn't stop the sickness any, but when I designed the place I wasn't expecting the intruder to rely on touch instead of eyes."

Snape smirked, "A valuable lesson in case you decide to pursue the mind arts further. A great number of wizards make the exact same mistake, and have mental defenses that merely look impressive, instead of taking the time and effort to create more lasting protections."

Harry frowned, "Why would they rely solely on illusions? I only have the one."

Snape glanced at her, "Illusions in the mind take much less mental and magical energy to execute in comparison to solid creations."

"Oh? I hadn't noticed," Harry said absently, walking through the illusion to the cavern inside, "And what do you mean mental and magical energy? Isn't the energy the same, from the magical core, either way?"

Snape considered her question as he glanced around the black-coated potions lab, "When you create something with magic, be it in the physical world or the mental world, you use magical energy from your core, that is true. However, in each case you also expend mental energy. By that I do not mean that your mind actually produces any magical energy of its own, but that magic requires concentration and strong intent to wield, especially when attempting to create something from scratch instead of simply altering something existing. This mental requirement takes a toll on the mind; extended concentration tires the mind and strains it, whether you are cramming for an exam or building a log cabin in your mind, and over time the brain is able to concentrate less and less until it requires rest to recover. It is this loss of mental ability, or energy, that I was referring to, not physical energy as magic is generally seen as."

Harry nodded her understanding, "And it requires more concentration and mental power to create permanent structures in the mind than it does to create lasting illusions?"

"Much more," Snape said, looking like he wanted to shake his head at her and sigh, "Destroying requires the least amount of mental energy, illusions and tricks of the mind just a bit more, but solid creation is something extremely taxing…to most wizards. I don't suppose you've been studying Occlumency since you were about four?"

Harry shook her head bemusedly, "I just picked it up this semester, really."

Snape did sigh this time, "You are going to be a lot of headaches, Mr. Black."

"Sorry, sir," Harry said, not sure what else to say.

"Do not be," Snape said, "With any luck you will also bring much acclaim to Slytherin House. Merlin knows we need it these days." He muttered the last bit as he turned to look around the decoy lab once more, and Harry tucked that admission away for later.

"Do you need to stand at the opposite side?" Harry asked curiously, "So you can blow it out the door?"

Snape sent her an amused look, "No, I can evaporate it directly from here, it just requires more concentration."

Harry nodded and stepped back. Snape closed his eyes once more, and when he opened them Harry nearly quailed, thanking Merlin those eyes weren't focused on her at the moment. He looked determined enough to simply wish her out of existence if he wanted to, and a few moments later it seemed as though that's exactly what he had done to the sickness. It was gone so completely from every surface that Harry had trouble convincing herself that it had been there in the first place.

He turned to her, "A potions lab? Creative, but a bit obvious don't you think? I suppose the recipe scrolls hold your memories."

Harry smirked, an expression she'd picked up from Draco and Pansy, "Entirely too obvious, sir." She walked over to the fireplace and nudged the rug out the way. She could see where the blackness had seeped under it and dripped down in between the cracks of the trap door to the tunnels below. She grasped the ring and levered it up to reveal the tar-covered ladder beneath. "After you, Professor."

Snape raised an eyebrow, "We may make a Slytherin of you yet, Mr. Black."

If only you knew, Professor Snape.

With a thought from Snape (or so it seemed to Harry watching), the blackness on the ladder and the part of the tunnel he could see was gone, and they traveled down into the pale green light emitted from the crystals embedded in the walls of the hewn rock. Snape glanced around curiously. "Do all of these tunnels lead somewhere?"

"No," Harry said, "But they are all covered with the sickness."

"Very well."

They traveled the tunnels with Harry as a guide, and eventually they had gotten all of them cleared except the one leading to her Space Room. She reluctantly led Snape along it and stopped when they reached the seamless door. He noted what was left of the path she'd blazed through the sickness on her way to the mists earlier.

"Your magical core is through there, then?"

"Yes," Harry said, "My…memories and such are through there too, but there isn't any sickness in there."

Snape regarded her carefully, "You are certain?"

"I am. I took precautions coming through, and there is no way for the sickness or anything else to get through by touch alone."

Snape inclined his head slowly, "Very well. I am not unfamiliar with the necessity of keeping certain things private. In any case, this explains how your physical body is still in meditation and not in a coma despite you leaving your mind unattended with the sickness for so long. You must have locked most of your physical controls away with your magical core and your memories, if perhaps inadvertently. You will inform me immediately if you sense any remnant of sickness within once I have gone, however."

Harry agreed. Snape eradicated what was left of the sickness, and the alien feeling that had been niggling at the back of her magical senses since she had first contracted the illness at Draco's bedside disappeared. She sighed with relief and led Snape back out of the confusing network of tunnels and up the ladder into the decoy cavern. "Thank you for helping me get rid of the sickness," she said as they walked through the ice wall and out onto the mountainside.

Snape turned serious eyes on her and said, "I would not have been able to, had you not broken through from the inside. That is especially true for Draco. My godson is…one of the few things I consider important in my life. It is I who must thank you for intervening as you did, though I expect a full explanation of just what you did when you get out of your trance."

Harry frowned slightly, "You shouldn't thank me. It was my fault to begin with. If I'd told you from the start that Draco was sick instead of trying to spare you the worry—"

"Then I would have rushed back, neglecting my important errand, and stood beside Draco's bedside just as uselessly as his parents and Madam Pomphrey did," Snape scowled at her the way he sometimes scowled at other kids in Potions class who gave answers that didn't make any sense whatsoever, "My expertise was not enough to save Draco or stop the sickness, and my knowing sooner would not have made any difference. You found a way when no one else did, and for that I expect you will have many people's thanks, including Lucius and Narcissa's. The other parents will be grateful if your method can cure their children as well, but the Malfoy's almost lost their son and Heir today. They will not forget that, and you should not treat your accomplishments so lightly."

Harry didn't know what to say, a situation that was occurring more frequently the more time she spent at Hogwarts. Luckily, Snape went on to fill the silence.

"Do not worry about developing an inflated ego," he told her, looking down his nose at her, "I can spot one coming years before it swells, and the very moment I sense you to be valuing yourself more than you merit, I will be only too happy to intervene." Harry ducked her head to hide a small smile. "Now let's get out of here so I can dress you down properly for your numerous offences, beginning with omitting pertinent information from a report to your superior and ending with recklessly endangering another student's mind by mucking about in it without a license in Mind Wizardry."

Harry winced, "Will this be before or after Madam Pomphrey chews me up for sneaking into the Hospital Wing behind her back?"

"After," Snape said easily, "But before Miss Parkinson wakes up and scolds you for once again heedlessly endangering your good health."

"Right."

Harry watched Snape fade through the mists of her mind, which were pristine and white once again, and breathed a sigh of relief. It was almost over. All she had to do was wake her self up and explain things so that Snape could cure the other students too. Then she could go back to her little Lab and brew potions that were actually on the first-year curriculum for a change.

With that thought in mind, Harry finally stepped forward into the mists herself, letting her physical senses drag her back to the real world and leaving the peaceful, sickness-free mindscape behind.

[HpHpHp]

When she opened her eyes, she flinched back with a start at the sight that greeted them. Draco was hovering scant inches away from her face, staring intently. He leaned back with a smile and Rigel could see that the Hospital Wing was more crowded than it had been…two days before? Whenever she'd last seen it. She felt bleary, like she'd been swimming with her eyes open underwater for too long and forgotten what the world looked like without liquid obstructing her vision.

"He's awake," Draco said to nobody in particular, or perhaps to everyone in the room. Draco was perched on a chair next to the bed she was laying on. It was the bed Draco had been laid on when he was sick, between Blaise and a first year Ravenclaw Rigel thought might have a twin sister in Gryffindor.

Rigel levered herself upright, feeling extremely uncomfortable lying down in front of most of the people in the room. There was Draco, of course, and Snape, Narcissa, and Mr. Malfoy all standing near the foot of the bed. She was surprised, however, to see that Headmaster Dumbledore was there as well, and Professor McGonagall right beside him. Madam Pomphrey was also there, hurrying over from a patient she'd been checking on two rows away.

"Don't move about too much, Mr. Black," the nurse said crisply as she arrived, waving her wand at Rigel automatically, who tried not to cringe. She really didn't trust Medi-witches. "You've been in mediation for nearly two days, and your body will feel quite heavy and unwieldy because of it." She frowned and waved her wand again, "You also seem to have weakened your magical core somewhat, though the levels are not much below what is normal for a first-year."

"In that case, Mr. Black has weakened his magical core significantly," Snape drawled.

Madam Pomphrey raised her eyebrows, "Well that is more along the line of what I would expect if half of the things young Mr. Malfoy have been saying hold any truth. One moment, and I will get you a bit of Pepper-up. It's not as good as bed rest and quiet, of course," here she glared a bit at Headmaster Dumbledore, "But I daresay those things will have to wait until certain parties are satisfied."

She went off, muttering about people who put information gathering above a child's good health, and a moment later returned with a potion and a stern advisement to drink the whole dose.

Rigel did so, avoiding the curious gazes of the adults and Draco for a moment longer. When Madam Pomphrey had taken the empty vial back, Headmaster Dumbledore stepped forward, saying kindly, "Thank you, Poppy. Now that young Mr. Black is recovered somewhat from the trying few days he has had, perhaps he will be able to explain a few things." The Headmaster turned genial eyes on Mr. and Mrs. Malfoy, "If your family would be so good as to give us a few moments, I'm sure it won't take long. In fact, I doubt Draco need remain the Hospital Wing any longer, as he is clearly free of the sickness."

Draco looked startled at Dumbledore's not-so-subtle attempt to get rid of his family, but Rigel privately understood and even sort of agreed with the Headmaster. If he knew what she suspected, that the SOW Party was behind the sickness, then it might not be wise to explain exactly how the sickness had been countered in front of one of the most notorious supporters of the SOW Party, namely Lucius Malfoy. From the look on Malfoy's face, however, he was not intending to go anywhere.

"My son does indeed appear to be free of this illness," Mr. Malfoy said smoothly, "A fact that I am most interested in understanding. I believe it is within my rights as a parent to know exactly what has gone on here, particularly as it seems to have involved the infringement upon my son and Heir's mental sanctity."

Rigel winced inwardly and saw Draco frowned out of the corner of her eye.

"Father, Rigel was helping me. He would never have gone into my mind otherwise. He even apologized for it already," Draco tilted his chin up with just a hint of defiance, "And I've said I've forgiven him. So he has no standing offence against me."

Rigel looked at Draco in surprise, knowing quite well he worshiped the ground his father walked on, but Mr. Malfoy seemed more amused than upset by his Heir's slight censure.

"I'm sure I will come to agree with you, Draco," he said unconcernedly, but with a hint of steel underlying his words, "Once I've heard the whole story."

If Dumbledore had been trying to get rid of the Malfoy's, he certainly didn't show any disappointment at having failed. He smiled benignly, seeming to include everyone in the room with it, and said, "That's just fine, then. I can tell this is going to be quite a tale, though, so why don't we make ourselves more comfortable?"

He waved his wand in a gesture that seemed to be more for show than an actual wand-movement, and six handsome chairs appeared around Rigel's bed. She noticed that the beds on either side of her were moved back gently to make room for them, and shifted a bit uneasily as the six adults sat down around her with varying expressions of curiosity and impatience on their faces. There was something extremely strange and perhaps a bit morbid about sitting in a room full of comatose children, with a half-circle of people looking at her as if she'd called them there for story-time.

Rigel felt stronger physically after the Pepper-Up had kicked in, but she was still drained emotionally and mentally from the past couple of days, and she didn't know quite where to start. She glanced around at the adults helplessly for a moment, but Professor McGonagall must have sensed her predicament, for she said gently, "I think we all know what happened up until Thursday evening. Young Mr. Malfoy fell ill, and the Malfoy's have explained that after discovering Draco's allergy to Acai and subsequent inability to rely on the usual potions you set out to try and find a way to work around the Acai. Obviously you were unsuccessful—"

Here Snape broke in sharply, "It is impossible to substitute a substitution, though a potions student of even Mr. Black's level would not have been expected to know that. There was nothing anyone could have done to make those potions work without Ginseng."

McGonagall nodded, lips pursed, "Of course, Severus, I meant nothing by it. Suffice to say that at some point Mr. Black gave up the search and came back here. It is there that the accounts become unclear."

The Gryffindor Head of House turned back to Rigel, who saw concern, but also kindness in her gaze.

Rigel nodded slowly, "Yes, I came to the same conclusion late Thursday afternoon. I went to dinner, and there I realized that sometime while I was working, Pansy had fallen ill as well. I came to the Hospital Wing—"

"How did you get into the Quarantine?" Snape interrupted.

Rigel held in a sigh. Clearly this was going to be one of those accountings where someone stopped her every other sentence and demanded clarification. "Madam Pomphrey escorted me across the line on Wednesday morning, when I brought potions to the Hospital Wing," Rigel said, "I think the line has a recognition memory of some kind, because after that it didn't refuse me access."

Snape sent a look to Madam Pomphrey, who pointedly ignored it.

Rigel continued, "I stood by Pansy and Draco's bedsides for a while, I'm not sure how long, just thinking, and when I was by Draco I felt something…strange with my mental senses. It was like something was poking at my thoughts, distracting me until I paid attention to it. Once I focused on it, I became sure that something was happening in my mind, so I fell into meditation automatically."

"You speak as though you meditate often," the Headmaster pointed out mildly.

Rigel nodded, already resigned to this particular secret coming out after she had overheard Pomphrey telling the Malfoy's. "I began trying to learn Occlumency this semester."

"How convenient," Mr. Malfoy commented.

Rigel looked at him flatly, "Not particularly. It was actually Professor Snape that gave me the idea." Snape raised his eyebrows to indicate his confusion. "He's been helping me with my magic this year. I didn't have very good control over it and it had a tendency to react to my emotions, as Professor Snape explained." Snape's eyebrows raised a bit further at the way she stretched the truth, but he didn't contradict her, though they both knew her control was, if anything, too good, and her constant containment of it was what caused most of her magical issues. "Over winter break my cousin got me a book on Occlumency, because she'd read that Occlumency could be used to control the emotions, and so this semester I've been working on learning it."

"Alright, so you developed enough mental awareness to sense to sickness when it first attacked and go into meditation," Pomphrey said, writing on a clipboard as she spoke, "What did the sickness look like when you first encountered it in your mind?"

Rigel thought back, "It came through the mists first, turning them black." None of the adults seemed at all confused about what she meant by mists, so she continued, "The sickness itself is like a big, black…"

"Monster," Draco supplied, "Like an octopus, all fluid with tentacles."

"Yes," Rigel nodded, "It's a blob of tar-like blackness, oily and fluid, that slowly expands to blanket the landscape of a mind. The sickness appears to be mindless, and it moves almost automatically. Once it gains entrance into the mind, it spreads through the mists and I guess that's where it sets up the mental barrier to keep other Legilimency-users out. Then it creeps over the landscape in every direction, spreading like a liquid would, except it goes against gravity if it needs to in order to reach all the surfaces of the mind."

Madam Pomphrey nodded, jotting it all down, "What does it feel like?"

"Well, mentally it just feels wrong, and maybe a little slimy, but I never actually touched it with my avatar. When I saw the black stuff moving out of the mists and across my mindscape, I retreated," Rigel admitted.

"So did I," Draco put in, "I mean I touched it once by accident, and it just felt sticky. My magical core washed it right off though."

"Hmm," the nurse looked up, "Continue your account, please."

"I barricaded myself in the place I keep my magical core," Rigel said, she spoke firmly so that no one would try and ask her for more details than that, "Once I was safe, I realized I was also trapped in my mind. Even though I was in meditation, and not a coma, I was still effectively cut off from the real world. This worried me because I knew that Draco only had another couple of days under the sustainment spells, and I was supposed to be helping him."

"You did help him," Narcissa spoke softly.

Rigel looked at the older woman and smiled, "I did. I was also very lucky, though." She hesitated for a moment more, still uneasy about explaining the 'cure' to the Malfoy's, but the look of grateful concern on Narcissa's face decided her. The Malfoy's didn't look to her like members of a political party. They looked like parents, worried and upset as any parent would be and many of the other kids' parents probably were. They, too, had been hurt by the sickness, no matter if they'd known of it before hand or not. They, too, deserved an explanation. "Professor Snape had taught me earlier in the semester how to imbue potions consciously, because my magic wasn't stable enough to imbue them unconsciously, and he also taught me to sense my magical core. Because of this, I knew about true cores and about forming connections between magical cores. I just sort of put all of those things together and worked out a plan to both get out of my own mind and to help Draco get the sickness out of his."

She received a handful of blank looks and a couple of incredulous ones as well.

"I don't get it," Draco said, and since none of the adults tried to explain, Rigel went through it as best she could.

"I discovered that a person's true core manifests itself naturally in their mind," Rigel began, trying to sound as sure as possible, especially since Pomphrey seemed to be recording her word for word, "So from that I theorized that if my magical core was the same in my mind as it was in the real world, that is, since I could pull magical energy from the core in my mind the same as I could from my real core, then the two cores must be one in the same, connected, otherwise there would be no magical pathway for me to draw magic from my core into my mind. From there it was easy to see that my mind had a back door in the form of my magical core. So I could use that connection to get out of my mind."

"It is true that a person's mental core is a manifestation of their true core," McGonagall said slowly, "But I don't think I've ever heard of someone attempting to move between them."

"It is possible," Dumbledore said thoughtfully. "Because the magic moves from core to mind and back, a person's consciousness is able to move back and forth as well, with enough will power."

"Yes, but that does not apply to anyone else's magical core," Snape said, "It sounds as though you mean to say you projected your consciousness through your mental core to your physical core along the pathway that naturally exists between them. Then you used what I taught you about forging a connection between two cores to build a pathway between your core and Draco's, all while still maintaining your meditation status, I might add. While all of that would be theoretically possible if one ignores the fact that you are an eleven-year-old wizard who has had a wand less than a year and has been practicing Occlumency for less than 6 months, that is as far as it goes."

Rigel frowned and opened her mouth to interject, but Snape held up a hand, "No, Mr. Black. I have many years of study in this discipline, and if you mean to suggest that you went on to project your consciousness into Draco's core, somehow using the natural connection between his core and mind to gain access to it, then I must disagree on the grounds of impossibility. Such a thing cannot be done."

"But that's what I did," Rigel protested. She felt the sting of betrayal as Snape once again refused to believe she had done something she said she had. "I forged a connection between our cores just like you did that one time, and then instead of sending magic along it I sent my consciousness. From there I moved through Draco's primary core to his true core, and then into his mindscape. It was the only way I could think of to get in to help him with the sickness' barrier still protecting it from the outside."

"I am telling you, it isn't possible," Snape said patiently, with a slightly apologetic look to his face that only someone who knew him well (which was pretty much everyone in the room) would catch, "You must have done something else. I don't mean to accuse you of lying. Perhaps you thought you went through Draco's core, but—"

"Now, now, Severus," Professor Dumbledore said cheerfully, "If this is what Mr. Black assures us is the truth, then we ought not to dismiss it too lightly."

"It is not for the sake of levity that I dismiss this," Snape said, glaring, "If Mr. Black had truly done what he said, the consequences would have been disastrous. For Draco."

Rigel paled and Draco looked confusedly between his friend and his godfather.

"Draco, cast a spell," Narcissa said abruptly. They turned to look at her, but she was staring very intently into her husband's eyes. Mr. Malfoy was glaring back, and the two seemed to be having some sort of silent argument. When Draco hesitated, Narcissa tore her gaze from her husband's and said, "Now, Draco. Any spell will do."

Mr. Malfoy clenched his jaw but turned to look at Draco as well. Draco straightened and pulled out his wand quickly. Apparently he had enough experience with his parents to know that now was not a time to disobey them. Draco pointed his wand at the cup that was sitting on the little side table next to Rigel's bed. A moment and a muttered incantation later, the cup morphed seamlessly into a silver snuffbox.

"Very nice," McGonagall commented approvingly.

Draco looked back at his parents, who were exchanging another long, though significantly less heated, look.

"Oh, for Salazar's sake, Lucius," Snape said, "I could have told you that Draco's core has in fact not been damaged. I was just in your son's mind, if you recall. That is why I maintain that Black could not have forced his way through it."

Rigel wanted to say that she hadn't forced her way through it, she had asked, but she didn't think anyone would listen to her at this point, and she didn't want to make herself sound crazier than she already did. She knew how other witches and wizards saw magic after all; as a tool, not an entity in its own right.

"But that is what happened," Draco spoke up. Everyone turned to look at him, and he flushed delicately, "At least, that's what it seemed like. I was in my mind by myself one moment, and then the next Rigel was coming out of my magical core. How could have he gotten in there without going through it?"

There was silence as the others mulled that over.

"Well, putting that aside for now, perhaps Mr. Black should continue his story?" Madam Pomphrey suggested hesitantly.

"There's not much to tell after that," Rigel said, "After I got through Draco's core, I saw Draco, and together we fought off the sickness until Professor Snape arrived to get rid of it completely."

Draco nodded his agreement, "Apparently all that work we did was for nothing, though, because Unc…ah, the Professor sent it off in about a second."

"How exactly did you engage the sickness?" Madam Pomphrey asked clinically.

"We just sent our magic at it," Rigel said, "It's destroyed on contact when it touches magic I think, which is probably why it left Draco's magical core alone even when it had covered the rest of his mind."

"You mean to say that you, too, could use magic while you were in Mr. Malfoy's mind?" Dumbledore clarified.

"Yes, Professor," Rigel said.

"Well, I'd say that certainly argues in favor of Mr. Black's actually being there, wouldn't you?" Dumbledore smiled at her, and Rigel blinked back, glad that someone believed her but not sure how genuine the Headmaster was in general. Then again, anyone who went along with one of the twins' pranks had to be okay, so she smiled slightly back.

Snape sent Dumbledore an exasperated look, "Albus, I want to believe Mr. Black. In fact I," he paused, and sent he a long look, "I have in the past dismissed his claims when they seemed fantastic, to my own detriment. But this time…it simply isn't possible. If wizards could go into each other's magical cores, affect them to the extent that Mr. Black proposes, they would. They don't, because it can't be done."

"Indeed," Mr. Malfoy was looking at Rigel as though he didn't quite know what to make of her, "A wizard's magic is one of the few things he can depend on in this world. If another wizard were to have free access to it as Mr. Black claims…well, the consequences would be enormous. Ordinary wizards wouldn't bother shooting spells at one another; they'd simply attack their opponent's magical core directly and be done with it."

"Perhaps," Dumbledore suggested, "Instead of enumerating the reasons Mr. Black's account cannot be possible, we should wonder instead how Mr. Black is able to do what is, for other wizards, certainly impossible."

Snape opened his mouth, but glanced at Rigel and snapped it shut again. His eyes pierced her, and he said, "It would not be the first time I have been mistaken when it comes to you, Mr. Black, and I doubt it would be the last. Instead of arguing about this, why don't we test it?"

"A wonderful idea, Severus," Narcissa said, looking rather glad to be sitting down during all this, "It's a wonder anything gets done around here with all you scholars waxing theoretical all the time." She smiled in a way that probably made a lot of people underestimate her as she spoke, and Rigel made a mental note to always assume Narcissa Malfoy was twice as clever as she acted, at least.

"How shall we go about it?" Minerva asked practically, "We didn't notice anything while Rigel was apparently in Draco's mind, and we were all sitting right here."

"Ah, my dear Minerva, we did not know what to look for before," Dumbledore said, "I think that this test will be most illuminating. Yes, now who shall we…?"

"Can I wake Pansy up?" Rigel asked immediately. Draco sent her an approving look.

"I don't see why not," Dumbledore agreed. "Let us adjourn to Miss Parkinson's bedside, then."

Rigel slipped from the bed, noticing as she did so that the only thing missing from her attire were her shoes, which were tucked neatly under the end of the bed. She moved down to Pansy's bedside and sat in the chair Dumbledore obligingly conjured for her.

"I don't know how long it will take," Rigel said, looking toward Snape, "Can you wait ten minutes, then try Legilimency every two minutes?"

Snape inclined his head, "Lucius, Albus, you two will monitor any magical connection formed between the two children?"

"Indeed, I know just the spell," Albus said, looking excited, "It was originally invented by a Russian puppet dancer who wanted to make his dolls come alive by transferring the consciousness of various people who came to his shows into…ah, right, well, the point is it tracks the consciousness it is directed at. If you will permit me…" He pointed his wand at Rigel and her whole body lit up like it was glowing a faint blue color. "Now, if this works as you told us, the light should change so that it encompasses only your mind, then just your magical core, then to Miss Parkinson's magical core, and then to Miss Parkinson's mind, and so on. Ready, Mr. Black?"

Rigel nodded and relaxed her physical body as best she could. She fell into the familiar meditation mode, falling, falling into her mindscape. It was a chilly as ever on her mountain. Harry wondered vaguely why her mind was actually cold when Draco's didn't feel cold at all despite all that ice, but then she was moving as quickly as she could through her mind toward her magical core. She was careful to close the door to the Space Room behind her, in case anyone thought to take advantage of her being out of her mind, so to speak, and took a moment to make sure her eyes were a flat grey before she dove once more into the bright burning sun at the center of her mind.

She followed the same path as before, but she didn't hesitate as much this time. Harry forged the connection between her core and Pansy's (and sent a pulse of energy along it to make sure it was, in fact, Pansy's), and then sent her consciousness shooting along the connection. She stopped at the outside of Pansy's core, which was shrouded in thick, green branches. Harry could actually smell pine and sap as she got closer, and the branches all seemed to be from different types of trees. She put a hand to the branches carefully, non-threateningly, and watched as the leaves curled around her hand and the branches parted just the tiniest bit. Vines wrapped around her and seemed to pull her in deeper. She leaned forward into the thick meshing of branches and leaves, seeing nothing but green all around her as she got deeper, and then, through the branches, she saw something else. The leaves around her grew silver as she stepped through them, and when they parted she came to a clearing, ringed by silver colored trees all around. At the center of the clearing was a pool of liquid that shimmered in non-existent light. It looked like a pool of mercury, or liquid platinum. It was thick and syrupy, and the trees around the clearing seemed to drink from it. She could see their roots dipping into the edges of the pool, and all of the trees that drank from it grew silver and shimmering too.

Fascinated, she approached the little pool slowly, projecting good intent as best she could. It didn't so much as ripple, even when Harry dipped a toe into the metallic substance. It seemed to absorb the motion calmly, and Harry thought it definitely suited Pansy to have such an accepting magical core.

"I need to get through here, to help Pansy," she said to the pool respectfully, "Will you let me through?"

In response, the pool shimmered and shifted until silvery liquid steps formed at the edge of the pool leading down into the well of magic. Harry thanked the pool and stepped forward onto the stairs. She walked down into the pool, which drifted over her head like she was going into a molten tunnel that led to the bottom of the pool. She walked until she couldn't see the entrance and only then did a light appear on the other side.

Harry emerged in a peaceful little enclave. The pool of quicksilver substance smoothed out again behind her once she'd stepped all the way off of the stairs, and Harry glanced around. The clearing she was in had lush grass growing on the ground. It was surrounded on all sides by a thick layer of trees and tree branches, so much so that she couldn't see what lay beyond them. A patch of daisies was growing on one side of the forest clearing, and lying next to the patch on her stomach, idly stringing daisies together in a circlet, was Pansy.

"Pan," Harry called as she stepped across the clearing. Pansy looked over and froze, before a huge smile broke out over her face.

"Rigel!" Pansy got to her feet and greeted her like she was hosting a picnic, "What a pleasant surprise. You've grown your hair out. How are you?"

"I'm fine, Pan, and this is just how my hair is for my mental avatar. How are you doing?" Harry grinned at her blonde friend.

"As well as can be suspected, I suppose," she gestured vaguely toward the line of trees that Harry guessed hid the blackened portion of her mind, "What are you doing here?"

"Getting you out, of course. Not that this place isn't lovely," Harry glanced around the picturesque clearing, "But Draco and I need you in the real world."

"Draco?" Pansy asked, smiling hopefully.

"He's just fine, and woke up not long ago himself," Harry assured her, "Now we need to clear a path to the mists that border the outer edges of your mind. If we get a section of the mists cleared, Professor Snape can come in and banish the rest of the sickness from your mind."

"You mean that awful black oozing stuff? Yes, please," Pansy sighed, "It's just ruining the landscape. What do we have to do?"

"Well, we've so far just thrown magic at it," Harry shrugged sheepishly, "So whatever your magic does will probably help."

Pansy thought for a moment. "Alright," she said, "My magic is that pool, correct? I've been able to do some things, like grow grass and these daisies, so I'll see what I can do."

"Great," Harry said, "Also, don't be alarmed." She summoned a ball of fire to her hand, "I promise my magic won't char your landscape. It will set the sickness alight though, so it might seem like everything is on fire, but it isn't."

Pansy blinked, "Whatever you say, Rigel. Shall we?" So saying, she stared very hard at a patch of branches enshrouding their clearing until they shifted and moved apart. Beyond them lay a forest, blanketed in black, and Harry watched for a moment as Pansy summoned some of the mercury-like substance from the pool and sent it toward the black stuff. It moved gracefully, and much like Draco's waves seemed to dissolve the blackness it encountered instantly. Unlike Draco's water, it did so gently, almost teasingly, moving along in a strange and erratic dance that sent splashes of the silver liquid all over the place.

Harry followed, sending her fire where they met with a particularly dense section of black tar, but following Pansy's lead as far as direction. Soon they made it to the edge of the woods where the mists began, and Harry poured fires into the mist to evaporate the sickness out of it quickly.

A minute or two later, Snape was there with them, taking charge and willing the sickness away from Pansy's mind completely. He insisted on watching Harry go back through Pansy's core this time, so Harry obligingly approached the pond, which seemed to sense her intent and re-opened the passage, complete with shimmering stairs, for her to walk into. Harry waved to Snape and Pansy over her shoulder, both of whom were watching her departure with interest, and traveled back along the pathways until she was in her own head again and could exit her meditative state by walking into her own mind mists.

When she opened her eyes, Snape was already explaining what he'd seen to the others.

"…nothing I've seen a core do before. It practically invited him through…"

Rigel tuned him out in favor of focusing on Pansy, who had opened her eyes and was staring at the people standing around her bed with polite confusion. Draco stepped forward to grin brightly into their friend's face.

"You're awake," he said brightly, "Good thing too, because we need more people of good sense in this Hospital Wing." He lowered his voice conspiratorially, "The adults are having a hard time grasping how we got rid of the sickness, even though they've just done a spell that proved to them that Rigel was telling the truth, not to mention Snape was there both times to witness."

Pansy's brow lifted, but like the poised and prepared pureblooded woman she was, she merely inclined her head to Draco to show that she understood the situation and turned to the Malfoy's, who were standing on Pansy's left side, "Hello Narcissa, I hope the day finds you in good health."

"It is I who should be concerned for your health, dear Pansy," Narcissa said, a smile in her eye, "I am truly glad to see you are recovered."

"All thanks to Rigel and Professor Snape, it seems," Pansy said, smiling warmly at Rigel and sending a look of thanks to Snape, who had finished recounting what he'd seen and was now paying attention to Pansy once more.

"Indeed it does," Dumbledore said jovially, "Well, things have certainly been explained to my satisfaction."

Snape and Mr. Malfoy shared a look that said 'satisfaction' would not have been the word they chose, but neither interrupted.

"Now all that's left to decide is how to wake the rest of the children up," Dumbledore continued, "I'm sure we can get several Legilimens from St. Mungo's here to help our Professor Snape—"

"A fine idea considering the likely reaction of three-quarters of the afflicted students at finding Severus in their minds," Minerva muttered.

"—but it appears young Mr. Black will be working by himself on his end of the cure," the Headmaster finished.

Rigel frowned dubiously. She was exhausted even with the Pepper-up Potion from all the energy she expended in Draco's mind, fighting the sickness the hard way.

Madam Pomphrey settled it by breaking in firmly, "Not until tomorrow afternoon at the earliest. None of the other children are in immediate danger, and Mr. Black requires at least a day of no magic usage to recover his core levels."

"I can leave the Hospital Wing, though, can't I?" Rigel asked. At Pomphrey's disapproving look, she wheedled, "I don't need to be Quarantined anymore, and it would reduce the chances of me catching the sickness again from one of my other friends in here."

Surprisingly, Snape spoke up for her, "The boy has a point. It would not help his magic recovery at all to have to fight off another bout of the sickness tonight."

"Oh, very well," the nurse said, "But you will check in with me tomorrow morning, and you will not do anything strenuous tonight. That goes for you two as well," she glared at Pansy and Draco, "And no Quidditch."

"Yes, ma'am," Rigel said, smiling slightly. Draco and Pansy nodded their agreement just as readily.

"Wonderful," Dumbledore said, "I have a few letters to send now that this business is all cleared up, so if you will excuse me. Minerva, I may require assistance, if you wouldn't mind? Splendid. Mr. Malfoy, Mrs. Malfoy, I trust Severus can see you out when you go." The headmaster gave a little wave and strode out of the Hospital Wing with a spring in his step and a whistle on his lips. McGonagall followed him out, and Pomphrey went off to file her medical report on the Malfoy case.

Snape surveyed them all for a moment, then said, "My absence has caused many things to pile up in my office. Come and see me before you leave, Lucius, Narcissa. Mr. Black, I will see you back here tomorrow afternoon to begin waking patients. Until then, no brewing, and no homework. I shall negotiate your missed assignments with your other Professors and inform you of which ones you will complete. The same goes for you two as well, Mr. Malfoy, Miss Parkinson." He swept off purposefully, leaving the Malfoy's, Pansy, and Rigel behind.

"I should get going as well," Pansy said demurely, "There are a few people who should be informed of my recovery, and I must write to my parents. Good day, Mr. Malfoy. Lovely to see you, Narcissa." She turned to Rigel and Draco, "I'll meet you guys at dinner."

"Give your mother my best, Pansy," Narcissa said. Pansy nodded and rose gracefully from her sickbed. Rigel rose from her seat as well and made to follow her, but Draco put a hand on her arm and shook his head slightly. Perplexed, Rigel relaxed her stance once more and turned to face the older purebloods.

"Mr. Black," Mr. Malfoy began stiffly, "No matter how it came about, the fact remains that were it not for your actions, Draco would be lost to us. For that the Malfoy family owes you a debt, of equal value to the life of our Heir."

"You may call upon us to fulfill this debt day or night, now or twenty years from now," Narcissa continued, "A blood debt you have sown, and blood ties you shall reap. For safeguarding the life of our son where none other stepped forward, you, Rigel Black, shall be made a son in magic as though you were a son in blood, until such time as the debt that lies between us is fulfilled."

Rigel looked between the two adults. Narcissa's face was solemn and Mr. Malfoy's expression was harshly set. Both gazed silently at her, waiting for words she didn't know how to say.

"It means you're an honorary Malfoy," Draco leaned over beside her to explain quietly, "It's family tradition that when the life of either the Malfoy patriarch or the scion is owed to someone outside of the family, that person becomes a part of the family in spirit until the debt is fulfilled. You now have the informal social position of a Malfoy, and access to all of our connections and holdings." Rigel stared at Draco with what she knew was an expression of disbelief warring with overwhelming shock. He nudged her gently, "It's a matter of honor, and more importantly, blood. You have to accept formally. Go on."

Rigel turned back to Draco's parents and swallowed. She felt something hot in her gut that was part embarrassment, part shock, and part shame. Would they be so keen to appease their honor by inviting her into their family if she was a halfblood? And what would Sirius think when he heard that his son was rubbing elbows with the Malfoy's? Then again…Rigel thought about the pained and almost desperate looks on the Malfoy's faces when Madam Pomphrey had told them Draco rejected the coma-sustaining potions he needed to last out the sickness. She thought about the good she might be able to do with the advantage of the Malfoy name. Archie could get a job in any Hospital he wanted with a Malfoy backing. The Black name was nothing to sneeze at, of course, but aside from volunteering in the children's ward from time to time, Sirius was a veritable recluse since Diana died. Rigel's uncle had no where near the connections the Malfoy's had, and while Rigel didn't approve of the way the Malfoy's went about acquiring those connections, she could not, as a Slytherin, deny their potential usefulness. And a life debt? Rigel was all too aware of how likely it was that someone in her position—that is, someone playing a dangerous game with even more dangerous people—would have a use for just such a debt.

"My actions were in the service of a friend," Rigel said carefully, "And not initiated with an ulterior purpose in mind. I accept the debt between us only with the understanding that I will never take advantage of your family's honor, and with the hope that I will not become a burden to the Malfoy name. It is my wish that this debt not hang between us, heavy and awkward, but rather that it be set from our minds and forgotten until such time as it becomes relevant once more."

Mr. Malfoy inclined his head slowly, "Well spoken, Mr. Black."

"Though your own family of course has the greater claim," Narcissa added, "We hope that you will come to naturally think of us as your secondary family. We don't mean to replace the ones already in your life, but instead to add to that life as best a family can."

Rigel's smile was small, but genuine, "Thank you, Mr. Malfoy, Mrs. Malfoy. In truth I have already begun to think of Draco as my brother, and surely no one could ask for a better second family than yours."

"Please, just call me Narcissa," Narcissa said, effectively breaking the tension in the room with a teasing smile, "All this Mr. and Mrs. doesn't feel very familial, now does it?"

"I suppose not, my lady," Rigel said, willing to forgo the Mrs. but not quite up to actually calling Draco's mother 'Narcissa' yet. "Well, I shall leave you to Draco, then. I hope the next time we meet is under more pleasant circumstances."

"Circumstances would be hard pressed to become worse," Mr. Malfoy said, and he seemed to have unfrozen just a fraction, "Good day, Mr. Black."

"Good day," Rigel told them, and sent Draco a 'see-you-later' grin before leaving the Hospital Wing as quickly as was polite. She had letters to write before a certain uncle of hers got any ideas about charging up to Hogwarts and checking on his son. Not that she thought he would be allowed to. She was pretty sure Dumbledore was keeping all the parents away with the excuse of the necessary Quarantine. The Malfoy's were probably only let into the school because their son was in serious mortal danger, unlike the other children. Still, Sirius deserved a letter now that she was able to write one.

-_-[HpHpHp]-_-

Dear Sirius—

No, no, that wasn't right.

Dear Dad,

I bet by now you've gotten some appropriately vague and unsatisfying letter from the school saying I was admitted to the Hospital Wing for the past few days or some such. I'm sure you've seen the papers, and to be honest I was briefly afflicted with the sickness that's going around the school. Don't worry though, I'm perfectly fine, and in fact they've recently figured out a cure for the illness, so all the other kids are going to be fine, too.

Okay, okay. To be even more honest, I was the one who came up with the cure. It was sort of an accident how it happened, but they're giving me credit for it, and I have to help out with waking the other kids up from their enchanted sleeps, too. It's going to keep me so busy—when am I going to find the time for a good prank? Feel sorry for me? You should. When I stumbled upon the solution for this silly sickness, I ended up saving Draco Malfoy's life in the process. Don't get me wrong, I like Draco, but his parents went and made me an honorary Malfoy on account of the life debt they owe me or something. I don't think it actually means anything, I mean, I don't exactly want or need a second family when I've got you, do I? Anyway, one good thing is that this means the Cow Party can't use the sickness to undermine Dumbledore, right? There isn't any proof that they're the ones behind it, of course, but maybe it would help if you put out the word that the sickness was cured. Hint that Dumbledore played a strong role in the discovering of a cure if you can. I'll back it up, and since I came up with the cure, who's to gainsay me? Let Aunt Lily and Uncle Potter and Uncle Remus know that I'm okay too, won't you?

I can't wait to see you in June. Unless I fail all my finals because of the course work I missed and they keep me in summer school, but hey at least everyone else in my grade will fail too. Maybe they'll cancel final exams altogether. If you wanted to write to the Headmaster expressing your concern as a parent for your child's academic progress, perhaps emphasizing how unfair you think it would be to test the first-years who've been asleep since February on material they never covered, I certainly wouldn't complain. Don't get any funny ideas about coming up here to check on me once the Quarantine is lifted though. I love you, dad, but it would be so lame if my father had to come personally check up on me—they'd think I really was a Malfoy, instead of a Black, who everyone knows can stand just fine on their own two feet.

Anyway, I miss you tons (no one appreciates a good joke around here, except maybe the Weasley twins), and I fully expect you to pick me up at Kings Cross in your most embarrassing outfit to make up for not coming and checking up on me in person. Just please don't bring the snakes.

Give my best to everyone,

Love,

-Your son

P.S- what do you want for your birthday? I just realized I better have it planned out before I come home, since it's in mid-June.

There. Rigel stopped the Dicto-quill. She'd down-played the sickness, done damage control on the whole Malfoy-life-debt thing she was still trying not to think about, and played the embarrassed teenager card to make sure Sirius didn't come up to the school. Now all she had to do was send it. She would write to Archie as well, letting him know that everything was okay, but that could wait until later in the week.

Rigel stood from where she'd been sitting on her bed in the dorm room. Draco hadn't come back, so he was probably still spending some time with his parents. Theo, of course, was still in the Hospital Wing, but even so she retreated into the bathroom before changing into clothes she hadn't been wearing for three days straight. It wouldn't do to develop habits that weren't conducive to her secret-keeping after all.

She left the first-year dorms and was crossing through the common room to the false-wall entrance when someone called her name from a couch near one of the fireplaces.

"Black!"

Rigel turned her head. It was Flint. She slowed, then changed direction to walk over to him. He was sitting with Adrian Pucey and Lucian Bole, probably talking Quidditch. "What is it, Flint?" she asked, nodding to Adrian, who she knew, and giving Bole a polite look as well.

Flint smirked up at her, "Perhaps you can help us with something, Mr. Black. You see, not long ago we saw a girl who looked remarkably like Pansy Parkinson stroll through here. Now normally we would assume we were mistaken, as it is common knowledge that Miss Parkinson fell prey to the sickness on Thursday afternoon, but this girl was walking with Aldon Rosier and Edmund Rookwood, who are known to be close associates with Parkinson."

Rigel looked at Flint rather blankly, knowing what he wanted her to say, but not going to say it until he asked.

"So you see our conundrum," Flint went on blithely, "How is it that a girl who should by all rights be laid up in Quarantine is walking around the school with a skip in her step when Adrian here saw her collapse himself?"

Rigel smiled very slightly, "Why Flint, didn't you know? The sickness had been cured."

"Cured?" Pucey leaned forward with interest, "Are you sure?"

"Quite," Rigel said, "I was there when Pansy woke up, and Draco's awake as well. The other kids will start returning to their Houses tomorrow, I believe."

"How was it cured?" Bole asked, his eyes narrowed thoughtfully, "Was it Snape? He's been gone for a while. Was he researching a cure?"

Rigel tilted her head to the side, "Yes, Professor Snape was instrumental to the cure. He went on a trip to get supplies for some potions he was brewing for the victims of the sickness, and when he came back the illness was cured." Technically, Rigel thought to herself, that was all true.

"Interesting that Parkinson and Malfoy would be the first two to be cured," Flint remarked, a mocking glint in his eye.

"Yes," Pucey said, "You'd think they'd wake up the ones who'd been under the illness the longest first."

"Snape wouldn't want his godson to be afflicted a moment longer than he had to," Bole said dismissively, "And I hear Snape is good friends with the Parkinson's too."

"If that's the case those poor Hufflepuffs will never be woken up," Pucey said sadly, fighting a grin.

"A shame the sickness was stopped before it had time to infect the whole Ravenclaw Quidditch team, eh Flint?" Bole added.

Flint grunted, "No need. We'll crush them in the final match either way. All the better if they're conscious enough to see it."

Rigel lifted a mental eyebrow. She hadn't been paying much attention to Quidditch since she started brewing for Snape, but she supposed the season would be coming to a close soon.

"Oh, and Black?" Flint brought her out of her thoughts, "That letter you were supposed to send for me? Don't worry about it."

Rigel frowned, but quickly realized he meant the assignments she was supposed to be completing. She thought she was caught up, but there were probably a bunch due on Monday that she hadn't even gotten from him yet.

"No, I'll send it," she said, "Just remind me tonight."

"Didn't you hear me?" Flint frowned, "I said you don't need to—"

"I'll send it," Rigel said firmly. She wasn't going to give him any wriggle room in the Vows they had taken, whether he meant to be kind or not, "Really, Flint, I said I would do it so I will. A Black doesn't go back on his word."

Flint narrowed his eyes at her, but Pucey and Bole were beginning to look at them strangely, so he shrugged, "As you will, Black."

"If that's all?" she asked, "Actually I'm going to the Owlrey now if you want to get your letter." It was a bit of a risk handing off the assignments in person, but if she wanted to get them done by Monday she should get started tonight. Who knew how long she would be working with Snape and Pomphrey tomorrow.

"Alright," Flint said, getting up, "Wait here." He stalked off to his dorm room and came back quickly with a roll of parchment tied securely. Rigel tried not to fidget under the curious stares of the other two Slytherin Quidditch players as she took the scroll and tucked it into her robes.

"See you around, Flint. Pucey. Bole," Rigel nodded to each of the upperclassmen, who either nodded or waved back, and left the common room, heading for the Owlrey.

-_-[HpHpHp]-_-

Rigel spent the rest of the evening, save dinner which was a very uncomfortable affair involving numerous stares from the people around Draco, Pansy, and Rigel who didn't know the sickness had been cured, working on Flint's assignments. There were indeed several due on Monday, and Rigel thanked Merlin she had kept up on the extra essays she did for Flint before she'd gotten sick and subsequently spent two days in meditation. She hadn't missed one, but if she'd waited until the weekend was over to get those assignments she would have missed three. She was lucky Flint reminded her, and she told herself she would keep up on the assignments in the future so that if something unexpected came up again she wouldn't risk reneging on their agreement by default.

She managed to finish all three essays that night, though she relied heavily on the Map to make it back from mailing the assignments in the Owlrey without running into any teachers after curfew.

The next morning, she, Pansy and Draco met up at the Hospital Wing to get checked over by Madam Pomphrey. The nurse reluctantly proclaimed them fit, and Rigel was told to come back that afternoon to start helping Snape wake up the other students.

"Let's go outside," Draco said suddenly as they were walking out of the Wing, "We've been cooped up too long. I don't know about you guys, but I don't think my mindscape counts as fresh air."

"Good idea," Pansy said, "We're probably all due some vitamin D no matter what Pomphrey says. Especially you, Rigel. You haven't been out of the potions lab much in the past few months."

Rigel nodded agreeably. It would be nice to get out of the castle and remember that the rest of the world still existed beyond the sickness.

They strolled across the grounds, not going anywhere, just enjoying the sun and one another's company.

"You know my parents have invited you to the manor this summer," Pansy remarked to Rigel as they walked, "Draco will be over several times I imagine, but my father invited you specifically, Rigel. I wrote him about how you cured me of the sickness, and he is very interested to further his acquaintance with you."

"What exactly did you tell him?" Rigel asked uncomfortably. Snape had told her not to downplay what she'd done, but on the other hand every ounce of attention on her added to the likelihood that someone would see through her pretense. Pansy's father had struck her as an extremely intelligent and frankly ruthless kind of man, and that was exactly the kind of a man she didn't want to get to know too well.

"Why the truth, of course," Pansy said innocently, "That you were fulfilling the promise you made over Christmas break to look after my best interests admirably."

Rigel didn't remember actually promising to do anything, but she did remember Mr. Parkinson saying something about her duty as a friend to Pansy, and she supposed she'd tacitly agreed. Still. "Pan, I'd rather not make everyone think I'm some kind of hero, or super-powered wizard, or genius or something. I was lucky Snape had taught me enough this semester to guess my way through the whole thing, and I'm afraid if people make too big a deal out of this they'll expect me to be something I'm not."

"Something you're not?" Pansy raised her eyebrows, "Rigel, you are all those things, though maybe not in the way you mean. You did save Draco's life, on purpose or accident, so you're a hero by default. You also did something that apparently should have been impossible, twice, so technically you do have some sort of power that most wizards would consider extraordinary."

"And everyone knows you're a genius at potions," Draco put in, "How many first-years are competent enough to take over for Snape when he's out of the country?"

Rigel shrugged, "I guess. I just want to make potions, though. I don't want to be some great famous wizard, and if people start expecting things like that from me now, they'll only be disappointed later on."

"So let them be disappointed," Draco said like it was the most obvious thing in the world, "Who cares what they think? Just live your life how you want, Rigel, but don't deny something when it's so obvious. You are great, whether you like it or not."

Rigel smirked and simpered, "Aww, Dray, I think you're great too."

"Me too," Pansy giggled, "So great."

"Shut up," Draco scowled, but the corner of his mouth was twitching.

They laughed, teased Draco, and laughed some more. Pansy told them she had finally gotten her mom to agree to let her take cooking lessons over the summer, and Draco said his father was going to get him the new Nimbus broom before September. Rigel promised she would try and convince her dad to let her see them that summer. They were outside so long that when they came back in, the Great Hall was already empty.

"We missed lunch," Draco frowned.

"Madam Pomphrey's not going to be happy with us skipping meals," Pansy added.

Rigel cocked her head, considering, "You know I just realized you guys have never been to the kitchens."

"Have you?" Pansy asked curiously.

"Come on," Rigel said, turning and heading for the stairs that would take them to the basement level, "I should have shown you anyway."

"Yes, you should have," Draco said, looking torn between curiosity and indignation, "You never tell us anything, Rigel."

"It's his nature," Pansy patted Draco's arm sadly, "Unless he's been hit with a jelly-brains jinx, our Rigel is as closed-mouthed as a clam."

Rigel ducked her head, not thrilled to be reminded of that particular incident.

Draco chuckled, "I remember that." He put on an incredibly wondering tone and said, " 'the sky is going to rain honey tomorrow.' "

Rigel rolled her eyes a bit, "I did not say that."

Pansy joined in, snickering, "You did so. 'Oh, are you an angel, Malfoy?' "

Rigel nudged them each with an elbow, "Alright, you two. We're here, so stop making fun of me or you'll embarrass me in front of Binny."

"Binny?" they repeated blankly.

Rigel shook her head and reached up to tickle the pear. She turned the doorknob and led the way through the portrait hole. There was a moderate amount of activity, mostly centered around the sinks, and Rigel supposed they were cleaning the dishes from lunch. Draco and Pansy climbed in behind her, looking around with interest at the cavernous underground kitchen.

Rigel had barely closed the door behind her when a familiar house elf with a necklace of champagne corks skipped up to them.

"You is back, Young Sir!" Binny said cheerfully, smiling up at her before turning to the other two and sweeping them a curtsey with her pink doily, "Welcome to the kitchens, Young Miss and Young Sir. I is Binny. Is you needing anything today?"

"I'm afraid we missed lunch today on accident, Binny," Rigel explained, "Is there any food left?"

Binny giggled, "There is always food. Come and sit, Young Sirs and Miss." She gestured them over to a long table before bustling off to find food for them, and Pansy and Draco sat with raised eyebrows.

"Come here much, do you?" Draco said wryly, "I always thought you were so skinny because you skipped meals, but if you've been coming here to get food you must be naturally miniscule."

"You're only about an inch taller than me, Draco," Rigel pointed out, "And I'm taller than Pansy."

"Pansy's a girl, no offense Pans," Draco said.

Pansy shrugged, "Why would I take offense. It's a compliment to be a recognized female. He does have a point though," Pansy eyed Rigel skeptically, "You really should eat more or something."

Rigel smiled, "My aunt Lily will fatten me up when I go home, don't worry." In truth, she was frowning inside. She didn't think she was that small for her age, but she knew that in the coming years the difference between herself and the other boys her age would become more obvious. She made a mental note to think on that problem over the summer.

Binny came back with a selection of meats, cheeses, and for Rigel a salad with a side of strawberries. "Is you wanting anything else?"

"This is lovely, thank you, Binny," Pansy said politely. Draco looked at her askance and Pansy stepped on his foot beneath the table.

"Oh! Ah, yes, Binny, everything looks great," Draco fumbled, shooting hurt looks at Pansy.

"Young Miss and Sir is being too kind," Binny said happily, "You is coming back often, yes?"

"We shall certainly try," Pansy said, "Though the school year is almost over."

"Binny is being here always," the house elf shrugged, "If you is coming next year, then I is seeing you next year. Good day, Young Sirs and Miss."

"Bye, Binny," Rigel said, "Thanks."

The house elf waved off her thanks and went back to the sinks. The three first-years dug into their late lunch and chatted about the end of the Quidditch season coming up. Draco suggested that Rigel could win the game single handedly for them by making her patented baby-owl face at the Gryffindor team, and Pansy suggested Draco could win the game single-handedly by distracting the Gryffindor team with a well-timed fainting spell, to which Draco hotly replied that perhaps if Pansy would work on her feminine whiles a little more she could be the distraction. Rigel was really going to miss her friends when she went home, though she had to admit she was looking forward to the end of term.

After they'd eaten, Rigel and her friends parted and she headed up to the Hospital Wing to meet Snape and Pomphrey. She walked into the Wing to find the two adults already waiting for her.

"Ah, Mr. Black," Pomphrey bustled her over to the far end of the Wing, where the patients who'd been there the longest were sleeping, "Good, now we can begin."

Snape explained what they would be doing. Rigel was to use her ability to cross through people's magical cores to go into each child's mind and first explain to them what was happening if they were confused, then help them clear a path to the mists. Snape would wait five minutes then begin periodically checking the mental barriers the sickness erected for weakness, so that he could enter the child's mind and clear the sickness out completely. Once they had a better idea of how quickly she worked on average, he wouldn't have to check so often, and once Rigel got the hang of things Snape would go back to his work as a Potions Master and professor and they would call in an Occlumens from St. Mungo's to help Rigel wake the rest.

Rigel was once again excused from classes for the duration of her work in the Hospital Wing, and she wondered how she would ever catch up in her classes for finals in a couple months if she missed so much school.

So every day for the next two and a half weeks, Rigel went to the Hospital Wing and broke into people's minds. The first day was the worst. The children she woke first had been trapped in their minds the longest, over two months for most of them, and as a result were rather skittish when she suddenly appeared in their mindscape. Most of them didn't understand what was going on, as when they had fallen sick no one really knew much about the sickness, so they weren't even aware of what had happened to them. Rigel had to explain everything, as calmly as she could, which took a lot of time. She then had to convince the students that she was trustworthy, or in some cases even real, because unlike Draco and Pansy, these kids didn't know her and had no reason to let her toss fire around in their mindscapes without an explanation. Usually they were more at ease once Snape appeared and banished the blackness from their minds, but getting to that point took more out of her than actually fighting off the blackness with her magic did. She was getting tired of explaining the same thing over and over, despite how necessary it was to be as kind and patient with the poor confused students as she could be.

That's not to say it was a boring job. In fact, it was fascinating. Each and every one of the students had a different magical core, and a different mindscape. Even kids she'd never talked to in any of her classes before seemed like good acquaintances by the time she exited their minds. She just felt like she knew them after experiencing their magical cores and exploring their mindscapes, though she knew most of them didn't recognize her in her mental avatar form, and were very surprised to find she was a Slytherin first-year upon waking up.

One Ravenclaw had a magical core that felt like a windstorm, with a tornado at its heart. A second-year Hufflepuff actually had a mindscape like a tropical island, with a huge volcano in the center that was the link to her magma-core. She'd been in her mindscape so long that she had actually mostly beaten the sickness back to the water's edge of her island, and used her magic to plant bright, colorful flowers along the sides of her volcano in complicated patterns. Another Ravenclaw told her blankly that the 'black stuff' crawling all over his mind didn't really bug him. He'd created a thick cloud with his magic and spent his time lounging about on it, occasionally tossing a lightning bolt, the manifestation of his magical core, down to the ground beneath him for fun. She got to see Neville's carefully tended mental greenhouse, which he proudly told her was blooming already, though he'd only started building it out of boredom a few weeks ago. Rigel met Ron in his scorching mindscape, which was a great desert. He told her that he'd gone to Egypt to see his brother at work a year before and had loved the desert immediately, though his actual core was a water element, manifesting in a little oasis.

Some kids, like Ron, or like Millicent, had figured out how to manipulate their magic against the sickness already, but had been unable to eradicate it fully because they lacked the stamina. These she merely had to point in the right direction, and they did most of the work clearing a path to their mists for her. Others had little or no conscious control over their mental magic and sometimes created things on instinct or out of extreme boredom, but were mostly no help in disrupting the mental barrier around their minds from within. Nevertheless, no matter how much or little help they were, no matter how easy or difficult it was to get their cooperation, Rigel kept at it. She treated each and every kid whose mind she entered with respect and patience, and by the time she was waking the last students up at the end of the two and a half weeks, word had spread throughout the school that the youngest Black, first-year Slytherin, was the one who'd been curing everyone of the sickness.

Everywhere she went, classmates and even a few teachers stared. It wasn't that noticeable when she was still working in the Hospital Wing with Pomphrey and Gina Whitefield, the Occlumens St. Mungo's had sent to replace Snape, but when Rigel finally resumed classes with the other first-years, the attention became obvious. Mostly the stares were curious, excited, grateful, interested, or some combination thereof, but Rigel didn't miss the looks that were puzzled, skeptical, calculating, and cautious either. There were whispers that she must have some kind of strange power, to be able to do something none of the teachers could do, and suggestions that her innocuous appearance was all a mask, but in spite of the suspicions of a few, most of the school was in better spirits than it had been all semester, and the prevailing opinion, according to Pansy, was that Rigel Black was to thank for it. And thank her they did.

She no longer received nasty looks when she went to the Gryffindor common room looking for Percy to study with, and more than a few of their Ravenclaw and Hufflepuff classmates found time to stop by Rigel's desk or table and thank her personally for helping them get rid of the sickness. Even upperclassmen would sometimes send her serious, thankful looks or nods, as it seemed almost everyone in the school had known someone in the younger years who had fallen ill, be it a team-member, younger sibling or cousin, or just a fellow Housemate.

All the attention was, quite frankly, driving her mad.

Rigel didn't want to be the school's latest darling. She didn't want people she'd never met before coming up to her in the hall and patting her on the back fondly. She didn't like the way Headmaster Dumbledore twinkled at her merrily as he awarded Slytherin House sixty points for her assistance in ridding the school of the miserable sickness for good. Rigel especially didn't like the way even her own Housemates had begun treating her differently. Draco and Pansy didn't, of course, but the others all changed their attitudes toward her just slightly after they'd woken up. Davis and Greengrass avoided her entirely. Blaise sometimes sent her intense, brooding looks when he thought she couldn't see him staring at her. Millicent and Theo had started treating Rigel like a general or advisor of some kind, always asking her opinion on things and taking every word she said very seriously, as if she were some wise old guru. She was sick of the way people always looked at her when something interesting or challenging came up in class, as though she should be involved somehow.

When she couldn't take it anymore, she turned to the only thing that ever made sense to her. Potions. Rigel went to her lab and brewed whatever potion came to mind. Potions weren't complicated, she told herself soothingly as she worked. There was nothing abstract or unpredictable about them. When you got the recipe right, it worked, and when the formula didn't mesh, the potion flopped. Simple, reliable, and not at all extraordinary.

It wasn't that Rigel didn't want to be extraordinary. She did. She wanted to be the greatest Potions Mistress there ever was, and that would be something quite extraordinary indeed. What she didn't want was extraordinary attention and expectations before she'd even gotten to the point where she could let herself be extraordinary. Right now she was vulnerable. A minor, a liar, weaving a dangerous fiction over every inch of her life, and a criminal in the most technical definition of the word. She couldn't afford attention now, when someone looking too close would have such disastrous effects, and so she retreated into her potions lab, made excuses about missed schoolwork and studying to isolate and protect herself from all but her closest friends, and waited with baited breath for the school year to end. She just wanted to be Harry again, just for a little while. She wanted to talk to her mum, who she hadn't exchanged two words with since Christmas unless they were relayed through Sirius. She wanted to talk magical theory with Remus and relax with Archie in his dad's courtyard (even with the snakes) and play Quidditch with her dad and Uncle Sirius. She needed a break from all the confusion and intensity that hovered about her at Hogwarts. She needed to go home.

So she brewed, and stewed, and waited.

-_-[HpHpHp]-_-

Near the end of April, she finally got a letter back from Sirius. She took it with her to the Library where she needed to check out a few books on advanced Herbology for one of Flint's essays. It burned a hole in her concentration all through the half-hour she spent looking up information on the chemical composite of flesh-eating pest repellant, and it was with trembling hands that she shut Caring For Your Crops and took out the roll of parchment sealed with the Black family crest.

If Sirius had decided to come to the school regardless of her wishes, she was done. She had a stash of Polyjuice for June that she could use, but anyone besides her father would immediately realize she didn't look quite like Rigel. She and her cousin looked a lot alike, especially with the short hair and the contacts, but the difference was still noticeable, and there was no way she would somehow be able to see only Sirius and no one else while Sirius was here. It just wouldn't work. What she needed was some sort of conditional illusion, where a person saw different things depending on how the illusion recognized and targeted them, but she hadn't learned how to do anything like that.

Rigel broke the seal with the thought that even if Sirius expressed his intention to come and see her in person she'd have time to at least get out of the school and meet him on her terms to explain. Better to be expelled than to be revealed and put into prison. She took a steadying breath, mentally prepared to meet whatever was in the letter with all the cunning and guile that got her into Slytherin.

Hey Arch,

I won't pretend I'm not upset with you. When I read that article in the paper I was scared half to death. The only thing that stopped me from storming the school and screwing the Quarantine was the fact that it was the Prophet that reported it. Everyone knows you can't trust what that old dishrag says, and Malfoy's endorsement convinced me even less. I thought, if there really was something to be concerned about, Archie would have told me. After what we went through with your mother, I thought you of all people would know better than to keep something like a sickness to yourself. I understand that you didn't want to worry me, but I ended up being worried anyway and it would have been better if I could have at least had the comfort of knowing my son had been well enough to write to me. All of us were upset and confused when we got your letter. Dumbledore didn't send us any sort of letter about you getting sick, so to hear about it from you after the fact, once it was too late to do anything about it, was very upsetting. What if you hadn't been able to write to us? What if you hadn't gotten well? Would we have only heard of your death after the fact, too? I sent a few letters back and forth with Dumbledore and he explained things to me. I get now that you didn't actually ever succumb to the sickness, and since you didn't appear to be in danger Dumbledore didn't feel the need to inform me, but dammit Archie I shouldn't have to rely on the headmaster like all the other parents with crappy relationships with their kids do. I should have heard it from you. We expect this kind of thing from Harry, but you've always told me everything. I don't know what's happened since you went away to school, but I hate the feeling that we've grown apart so much that you don't even tell me when you're in trouble. I want to help you, Archie, but I can't do that if you pull away so much.

I'm not trying to lecture you, pup, you know I'm no good at that. I'm sorry it took so long to write back to you, but I needed some time to get my words straight. I was really frustrated when I read your letter, but Moony helped calm me down. James tried to help, but I admit I didn't listen to him as well as I should have. I guess I'm a bit jealous to be honest. He and Lily get letters from Harry every week, and I keep thinking how unfair it is that going away to school has improved their relationship with their kid, but its done just the opposite for us. I know you didn't want to go to Hogwarts, Arch. I'm sorry, okay? The whole reason I didn't want you to go to America was that I was afraid of letting you get too far away from me, but I guess that was for nothing if you feel like you can't talk to me anymore. So here's the deal. I'm not angry, and I'm really only a little disappointed in you. I just want you to know that no matter how far apart we get, you can always tell me anything. You know that, right? I know you're growing up, and that's fine with me (though I'm sure I don't know why you would want to), but just know that you can always turn to me if you really need help. Even if you don't really need help. I'll be here.

I also want you to know how proud we are that you're finding ways to use your interest in Healing to help others even though you didn't get the Healing program you wanted. I believe you can do anything you put your mind too—you and Harry both, no matter where you go to school, and you've proven that by curing this sickness and saving your friend. The life debt with the Malfoy's…well, we can discuss that this summer. It'll have some repercussions I'm not sure you've thought out, but I would never tell you it would have been better if you hadn't saved a life. I've been dropping certain conjectures into a few ears here and there, and I've hinted at Dumbledore's involvement too. I even gave an interview with the Prophet, so look out for that even though normally I'd tell you to stay far away from that trashy tabloid.

I'll be at Kings Cross to pick you up from the train. Can't wait to see you this summer and check you over for alien probes. You can never be too careful. The snakes miss you. Moony sends his scolds, and also his exasperated look—no, wait, that one was for me. See you soon,

-Dad

Rigel rolled up the letter with a sunken heart. She felt worse than she had since Draco had fallen ill. How could she have been so stupid? Of course Sirius would expect more from his son, and of course she couldn't just pretend to sound like Archie in the tone of her letters and expect Sirius to be nice and fooled. Sirius and Archie were close, which was part of the reason Archie had to hide his going to America in the first place, and it wouldn't be enough to be falsely cheerful in her letters if she 1) only sent those letters every few months and 2) didn't include anything really important and personal in the letters. In acting like herself while pretending to be Archie, she'd hurt Sirius really bad, and probably strained Archie's relationship with his dad as well.

She took a shuddering breath and cradled her red-wigged head in her hands. She had to fix this somehow, and that meant writing a long letter to both Sirius and Archie. To Sirius she would explain that she still thought of him as her closest friend, didn't mean to hurt him, and apologize profusely, promising things would be different (or rather the same again) when she got home that summer. To Archie she would apologize as well, and tell him what she'd inadvertently done, hoping he'd forgive her. Rigel felt hot shame pool in her gut as she thought about her mistakes in the past couple of months. She should have told Sirius about the sickness immediately. She knew exactly how sensitive both Black's were about illness of any kind, and keeping Sirius in the dark before springing it on him had been cruel and thoughtless.

But if she'd told him, he would have dragged her out of school before the Quarantine went up, she reminded herself. Sirius would have completely freaked out, understandably, and the ruse would have been over just like that. She really didn't want to worry him, and she'd only sent that letter because she'd figured Dumbledore had already sent one. Rigel supposed she hadn't technically ever fallen into a coma, so maybe Dumbledore had been justified in keeping Sirius from knowing, or maybe he knew as well as she did how Diana's death had affected Sirius, and didn't want to hurt him any more than she did if he didn't have to.

Still, Sirius was a grown man, for all that he acted with the exuberance of a child, and he deserved to be respected as such, and given the opportunity to make his own decisions. She'd done the same thing to Sirius that she'd done to Professor Snape—tried to spare him worry and pain and ended up treating him like a child. Dumbledore could get away with making decisions like that. Rigel could not.

Rigel rubbed her eyes beneath the fake glasses, feeling her contacts sticking slightly in her eyes. She'd have to put in a new pair soon, along with the numerous other things she was supposed to be doing. She stowed the rolled up letter in her bag and was about to stand and re-shelve the Herbology book when a sudden voice cut through the silence of the Library.

"Aha!"

Rigel glanced up with surprise to find a small finger pointing about an inch away from the bridge of her nose. She looked down the finger to the hand, arm, and person it was attached to and blinked up into the face of the second-year Ravenclaw she'd first met in March, and then again just a few weeks ago when she'd woken the girl up from the sickness. Rigel recalled that the girl's mind had been mountainous, but unlike Rigel's White Mountain, the Ravenclaw had several smaller mountains in her mind, interspersed with grassy knolls, and covered with wild wood orchids.

The Ravenclaw was pointing at her with what looked like elation and frustration mixed together, and Rigel raised an eyebrow at the older girl's accusing stance. She stood carefully, grabbing her bag and readying herself in case she had to run. Madam Pince was already looking over at them with a murderous glare.

"Cho Chang, right?" Rigel said, a polite note of question in her words.

"Yes, that's right," Cho said, retracting her pointing finger but still looking fiercely at her, "And just who are you?"

Rigel shifted, a bit taken aback. She'd thought the girl had recognized her, and if she hadn't then why was she talking to her?

"I'm Reggie," she said, "We met a few months ago—"

"Don't give me that!" Cho snapped, her long dark hair trembling slightly as she glared at Rigel, "I've been looking all over for you since that day you were so nice to me, but I couldn't find you anywhere!"

Rigel glanced over, and sure enough Madam Pince was standing, clearly about to come and throw them out. Rigel held up her hands placatingly and smiled at the fearsome librarian. She took Cho's elbow and whispered, "Come on, let's continue this discussion more quietly, not in the middle of the Library."

"Why?" Cho hissed, "Afraid someone else will figure it out?"

"I'm afraid Madam Pince will come kick us out," Rigel said, steering them to the secluded biography section, "Now explain what you're so worked up about, please."

The Ravenclaw took back her elbow and flipped her hair back huffily, "Why did you lie to me when I asked you your name? Who are you?"

"What makes you think I lied to you?" Rigel asked carefully, "I mean, just because you haven't seen me around doesn't mean anything. I mostly stick to my common room anyway."

"Oh, please," Cho rolled her eyes, "Do I look like a Gryffindor to you?" Rigel wondered if she should take offense on principle of the Gryffindor robes she was wearing, but Cho kept talking, "After I couldn't find you for a couple weeks I checked the school registry Professor Flitwick keeps in his office. I checked all the grade levels, even though I knew you couldn't be more than a third year, and there is no Reggie anything in the whole school. There's a Reginald Turnblatt, but he's got blonde hair, and he's a Hufflepuff besides. There's a Roger Davis in my House, but he looks nothing like you. I even thought it could be a nickname for a last name, but all the close R-names like Rochester and such have dark hair. The closest red-head is Ronald Weasley, but he has way more freckles and is significantly taller than you."

Rigel was looking at Cho is sheer shock by the time she'd finished, "You did all that research just to find somebody who you talked to once?"

She smiled a bit smugly, "Never underestimate a Ravenclaw. Ravens are notoriously tenacious when it comes to curiosity, as well as naturally opportunistic. Besides," her face lost some of its smugness and looked troubled for a moment, "You were really nice to me. I wanted to thank you properly, at least until I realized you'd lied to me about who you were." She was scowling again, "Seriously, what is up with that?"

Rigel sighed, scratching the back of the red wig she had on, "Well, it's sort of a long story."

"I like stories," Cho said bluntly.

"Ah, okay then. Well, as you've deduced my name isn't Reggie, and the reason I lied about that is because this isn't what I really look like. I'm here is disguise, and I didn't want to have to explain the whole reason why when I told you my real name, because it looks a bit suspicious for me to be walking around in robes that don't belong to me or even my House, disguising myself…" Rigel glanced sheepishly at Cho, who raised her eyebrows but gestured for him to continue. "So, the thing is Madam Pince sort of really hates me."

"What did you do?" Cho asked, frowning, "Did you do something to one of her books? Because you really shouldn't treat books so—"

"I didn't do anything!" Rigel exclaimed quietly, "I just walked in the first weekend of term and when she found out my name she flipped out. It turns out my father may have set fire to a few…rows of Divination books while he was here, and Pince decided to bar me from the Library on the suspicion that I would follow in my dad's footsteps. The problem is, I do a lot of extra studying, so I need to come into the Library, so I came up with the idea to disguise myself so that Madam Pince wouldn't recognize me and throw me out. I still can't actually check out books, because as you realized Reggie doesn't exist, but I can come here and look things up now."

Cho looked like she wasn't sure if she should laugh or not, "You're skulking around in disguise…to study? Are you a Ravenclaw?"

"No, I'm not a Ravenclaw," Rigel said nervously.

"You must be a Slytherin, then," Cho said decisively. "A Gryffindor would be brave enough to do it, and brash enough too, but you already admitted those weren't your real robes, so you must be a Slytherin."

"Uh, yeah I am," Rigel admitted. She winced a bit, waiting for Cho to stomp off, well aware of how Slytherins were perceived by most of the school.

"Huh," Cho said, "A Slytherin who's not afraid to waltz around in lion's robes. Interesting."

"You're not mad that I'm a Slytherin?" Rigel asked blankly.

Cho shrugged, "It would be pretty stupid to be mad at a quarter of the school just for being what they are, but I know what you mean. Normally I would be a bit leery of a Slytherin in disguise, because I really don't think you guys need an excuse to be sneaky, but a Slytherin did me a good turn recently, what with getting me out of my own head and all."

"So you're not going to rat me out to Madam Pince?" Rigel asked.

"I won't if you tell me your name," Cho said.

"I'm starting to think Ravenclaws are just the ones who were too smart for Slytherin," Rigel sighed, "You are one tricky girl."

"Thank you," Cho said.

"I'm Rigel," she told the older girl finally, "I'm a first-year Slytherin, and—"

"You're Rigel Black!" Cho exclaimed, staring at her, "Let me see." She reached forward to take off Rigel's wig with a snatch that tugged at the tucked strands of hair and made Rigel grit her teach on a wince. Before she could recover, Cho plucked the glasses from her face and tilted her head interestedly, "Huh, well what do you know. You looked different with long hair, though."

"I cut it all off right before school started," Rigel said, "But I still kind of picture myself with long hair."

"I can't believe you're Rigel Black," Cho said, sounding almost disappointed, "You were so cool in my mindscape, like calm and collected, and here you are running around with red hair and Gryff robes and… did you draw those freckles on yourself?"

Rigel flushed and snatched the wig back from the Ravenclaw, "Maybe."

Cho laughed heartily, but reached forward to help Rigel straighten the wig once more and handed back her glasses nonetheless, "Man, that's too funny."

"Don't go telling people, please?" Rigel said, "I don't want it getting back to Pince."

"Oh, I won't," Cho said lightly, "I have a feeling this is going to be the kind of thing I'll want to be able to hold over your head when you're all grown up and famous."

Rigel rolled her eyes, "Why does everyone think I'm going to be famous?"

Cho looked at her incredulously, "Because you already are, at least here at Hogwarts. Every single kid who got sick, which is most of the first through third years at the school, knows exactly who woke them up and got them better."

"Professor Snape and a Mind Healer?" Rigel mumbled halfheartedly.

"We know who made it possible for us to be cured," Cho said seriously, "And none of us are ever going to forget that. Just you wait, Rigel Black. Your name will go down in history one way or another."

Rigel didn't say anything. She couldn't deny what Cho was telling her, but she was uncomfortably aware of how easily her name could go down in history 'the other' way.

Rigel said goodbye to Cho and left the Library. She had several serious letters to write, and she'd promised she would help Draco with his Quidditch game after dinner. Thoughts of fame and infamy could wait.

-_-[HpHpHp]-_-

On the sixth of May, Rigel was pulled into a very serious conversation with a very unlikely group of Slytherin upperclassmen.

Alesana Selwyn caught her elbow as she was walking through the common room and effectively hauled her over to a corner by the far fireplace where Rookwood, Rosier, and Flint were sitting on a couple of couches that had been pulled close to face one another, bent over something on the table in the center and talking in low voices. "Come here, young Black, you might find something to interest you."

Rigel would like to say she allowed herself to be pulled toward the group, but in truth Selwyn was significantly stronger than she was, so there was no 'allowing' about it. Yet another thing she'd have to fix if she was going to pull off being a boy in the long run. The three older boys looked up at them as Selwyn, and Rigel by default, reached their group. They leaned back enough that Rigel could see what they were bent over. It was a newspaper, the Daily Prophet to be exact, and they seemed to have been discussing an article with great interest.

"Alice, so nice of you to join us," Rosier said smoothly, "And you've brought Mr. Black as well, how fortuitous."

"Why is that, Rosier?" Rigel asked politely.

"It's because we were just talking about you, Black," Flint grunted with amusement, shaking his head at Rosier's lofty manner.

"Surely three such interesting upperclassman such as yourself have something better to talk about," Rigel said rather dryly, "Don't you have final exams to study for or something?" Probably she should be more respectful, but she was running out of her infinite patience as the school year drew to a close. She just wanted to rest for a moment away from all the lies and intrigues. Usually it didn't bother her, but the idea of three upperclassman who were all Heirs to an intimidating amount of political and social power pooling their information to discuss her made her want to groan with frustration. She knew Flint wouldn't give her away—couldn't—but it was still unnerving that they would even want to talk about her. None of them were stupid, and no matter how well she'd covered her tracks there was always a trail somewhere to her secrets.

The other three exchanged amused looks at the very idea of studying for something as trifling as an exam, and ignored her question completely.

Selwyn sat down on the couch between Rookwood and Rosier and stared pointedly at the other couch until Rigel sank into the seat next to Flint. "Show Black the article," she said, nudging Rosier in the arm.

He slid the paper over toward Rigel, who picked it up to skim.

THE HOGWARTS MALADY: AN IN-DEPTH EXPOSÉ

It looked to be an entire write up, from beginning to end, on the sickness, written, of course, by Rita Skeeter. There were little subtitles like: FEARFUL BEGINNINGS: THE JONES CASE and A TROUBLESOME TURN: ALLERGIES CAUSE A SNAG IN THE TREATMENT. Rigel sighed and began reading through it. Surprisingly, most of the information was, as far as Rigel knew, correct.

It detailed the sudden appearance of the sickness, how it struck the youngest Hufflepuffs first, and slowly spread by House and age as people got their friends sick despite the Quarantine. It went through the symptoms, referencing notes that Madam Pomphrey had given the Healers at St. Mungo's, and it was remarkably on-target with what the illness actually did. There were short quotes from a few anonymous students who had fallen ill, describing the blackness that invaded the mind, and Rigel recognized a few of her own phrases and assumed the kids had just repeated what she'd told them when she explained how the sickness had erected a mental barrier that could only be broken from the inside, which kept them from being woken as long as it was in place.

They were all, Rigel was dismayed to see, quite adamant that it had been Arcturus Rigel Black who saved them from the sickness, with help from a Healer or Professor Snape once Rigel had taught them how to break through the barrier from the inside. Rigel groaned, "They make it sound like I'm some sort of super Legilimens."

"It gets better," Rosier said cheerfully, "Just keep reading."

She did, and he was right…if you stretched the meaning of the word 'better' until it came out looking like 'worse.'

Good readers, this reporter was shocked as well, but after a little more digging it was revealed that Arcturus Black was in fact the one responsible for the cure. That's right, Arcturus Black, first-year Slytherin and Heir to the Noble and Most Ancient House of Black, somehow accomplished what several anonymous Healers at St. Mungo's agree should have been impossible. How is it that Young Mr. Black was able to break through mental barriers that stopped even the strongest of Legilimens, but was not able to completely eradicate the sickness from the minds of those he helped without assistance? It sounds to this reporter as if Mr. Black is not a Legilimens at all, but something else entirely, someone able to surpass mental barriers with a skill of his own. Surely the Headmaster will take measures to ensure Mr. Black's classmates' mental privacy, should that be the case. In any event it seems that Young Mr. Black is proving to be a very gifted young man.

Some, however, would disagree with this assessment. This reporter interviewed Young Mr. Black's infamous father, co-founder of the Marauder practical joke line and well-known ladies man in his youth, Sirius Black. Mr. Black had this to say about the accounts of his son's involvement in the sickness: "My son is no Mind Master," he laughs, "When I sent him off to Hogwarts he was just like any other eleven-year-old. He's always had an interest in Healing, that's true, but he's never been trained in it like you're probably imagining. Anything he's learned that aided him in discovering a way around the sickness was picked up at school. You mark my words, Dumbledore knows what he's doing at Hogwarts. He's teaching those kids right if a boy who's been learning magic there for only a year can find a solution to such a formidable illness."

Mr. Black has certainly given us some food for thought. If, indeed, Young Mr. Black has no special talents of his own, then we can certainly be proud of the education our youth is receiving at Hogwarts, but on the other hand does it seem likely that if a student succeeds where his teacher fails he was relying solely on his teacher's teachings? Only time will tell if Young Mr. Black is more than meets the eye, but for now parents everywhere can rest safe knowing that the Hogwarts Malady has been cured, the children safely awoken, and the Quarantine lifted. There are even rumors that the Headmaster is planning a complete reform of the medical operations at Hogwarts, which will offer safer, more efficient Healing services to the students and staff. All in all, things are looking up at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry.

"How in Merlin's name did Skeeter manage to make an entire article that was supposed to be on an illness about one eleven-year-old boy who didn't even have the illness?" Rigel muttered, scowling. She really didn't want this kind of attention, though at least Sirius had warned her he was speaking to the paper in his letter.

"You should be proud, Black," Flint said, a glint to his eyes, "If your dream is to be a Healer, I mean. After this any Hospital would be mad not to hire Arcturus Black."

Rigel grimaced ruefully. Archie's career as a Healer would definitely be helped by this article in the future, but she knew Archie would hate the idea of taking credit for someone else's work. "It has nothing to do with Healing," she said, "I didn't Heal anyone, I just used what Professor Snape taught me to help him cure the sickness, which wasn't even really a sickness. It didn't make anyone sick. It was more like a contagious curse, so if anything what I did was creative curse-breaking, not healing."

Selwyn laughed, "Poor little snake. Not much for attention, are you?"

"I can't see why anyone would be," Rigel said, "All it brings is trouble."

"Says the honorary Malfoy," Flint smirked. Rigel's eyes widened and Flint chuckled, "Oh, yes, we've heard about that as well. Draco Malfoy seems to be under the impression that you saved his life, and that you're now his brother by magic as well as his cousin by blood."

Rigel looked down at her robes uneasily, "The Malfoy's are too kind."

"But not mistaken?" Rosier's golden eyes shone eerily in the firelight, "So you did save Draco Malfoy's life. How could that be when from your own account the sickness isn't even really an illness at all?"

Rigel shifted under his gaze, "Draco was an exception. He had an allergy to…one of the ingredients in the potions he needed to stay stable under the coma. I sort of saved him by default, by helping cure the sickness before the time he had on the life-sustaining spells ran out."

"So you weren't trying to save him?" Rookwood clarified.

"Well, I guess I was," Rigel said, "But I would have done it for anyone. I didn't need to be adopted by the Malfoy's. They're great, but I have a family."

"But you did save their Heir," Selwyn said.

"I saved my friend," Rigel corrected.

"Well whoever you saved or didn't save," Rosier broke in, "The fact is that it ended the sickness, and as a result Dumbledore's credibility is higher than ever. Now that the children are safe again, no one wants to admit they ever doubted the Headmaster."

"And with this article suggesting that Dumbledore's teachings are what gave you the power you needed to cure the sickness, most people are of the opinion that the Headmaster should keep doing what he's doing, in all areas of his doings," Flint added.

"In other words," Selwyn concluded, "Dumbledore's opinion is good as goblin gold in the wizarding world right now, and rumor has it that his opinion is very much against a certain set of laws that were supposed to come up for discussion before the Wizengamot this summer."

"The mixed-blood marriage laws," Rigel said flatly, "You think they'll be voted against in the Wizengamot now that Dumbledore's faction has the advantage once more?"

"Oh, I very much doubt the SOW Party would be foolish enough to push the laws into consideration while the political winds were not at their backs," Rosier said breezily.

"So they'll table the laws until they have the support they need," Rigel said, understanding dawning. In other words, the threat the laws presented was postponed, not defeated. The Cow Party would just keep the laws from being voted upon until they were sure they could win the vote, and since they were the ones proposing the laws, they could wait as long as they wanted with the excuse of still working on the draft. That meant they could suddenly push the laws through at any time, as soon as they had the support they needed to pass it.

"No one wants to risk losing when they don't have to," Selwyn said vaguely.

"No doubt the SOW Party will be very interested in how exactly the sickness that so fortuitously arose in Dumbledore's school while the law Dumbledore would have so venomously opposed was being introduced came to be cured miraculously by a mere first-year," Rosier said quietly, "I know I'm interested. And you, Edmund?"

"It certainly is interesting, Aldon, that the truth about the cure is so muddled. Most Slytherins are under the impression that Professor Snape played a significant if not dominant role in stopping the sickness," Rookwood said mildly, not missing the slightly guilty look on Rigel's face at that. She might have given several Slytherins that exact, and not precisely false impression. "Most of the younger students, particularly those afflicted by the sickness itself, would say that you, Mr. Black, were primarily responsible for their recovery, with only supplemental help from the Mind Healers. Other reports say that Professor Snape was in fact out of the country when Draco Malfoy fell ill, and of course the Prophet article suggests that Dumbledore played a part in the cure."

"All anyone knows for sure is that somehow Rigel Black got involved—and what a first-year who wasn't sick was doing in the Quarantine no one seems to know—and that the first-year ended up curing the sickness, acquiring a life-debt from the Malfoy's, and becoming solely responsible for curing the rest of the patients as well," Rosier continued. Rigel was slowly sinking further into the low-backed couch, wondering how exactly Rosier and Rookwood had gotten so good as double-teaming a person.

"Your involvement can of course be explained by what Selwyn has told us—namely that you were brewing an exorbitant amount of potions for Professor Snape as far back as February. Presumably Snape had you brewing for the sickness and so just let you continue brewing for the Wing while he was out of the country. If he was indeed gone while Draco Malfoy was ill, then it would make sense that you felt you needed to become involved, both because Malfoy is your friend and because you were given a position of powerful leverage as Snape's replacement," Rookwood said, "What doesn't add up is why you personally had to help awaken every single student. It can't be because Dumbledore didn't want to involve anyone else, because he hired a Healer from St. Mungo's to takes Snape's place in the cure."

"On the other hand," Rosier said, eyes gleaming cheerfully, "It does add up if for some reason no one else could cure those students. In other words, the only solution is that you, Rigel Black, were able to do something that no one else could do. Something that couldn't be taught, couldn't be passed off to someone older, and therefore something that had nothing to do with Snape or Dumbledore. And that is certainly interesting."

"What's also interesting is that you were so dismissive of the illness actually being an illness," Rookwood said, "That suggests you have Healer training or knowledge of some kind, though your father denied it in his interview and you yourself seemed impressed and curious when I healed your wrist last semester. Not to mention the fact that by your own admission you hate hospitals and Mediwizards. In short, the anomalies are beginning to add up, Mr. Black."

Rigel glanced back and forth between the two of them, "Are you finished?" At their amused nods, Rigel took a breath and said, "First of all, you have figured out most of it. I cured the sickness by doing something that I am told no one else can, though it doesn't seem so difficult to me, only a little confusing. Snape taught me some of the things I used to get around the sickness, though he didn't put them together the way I did, and that's why I said he influenced the cure heavily. Dumbledore facilitated the cure, and since it's his Potions Master that taught me what I needed to figure out a cure, what was said about his school being responsible for the cure is true too. I have self-training for Medi-wizardry, and I only started that after the winter break, precisely because I didn't want to have to rely on other Mediwizards and hospitals. Did I get everything?"

"Everything but the actual cure," Selwyn said, rolling her eyes, "Aren't you going to tell us exactly what you did?"

"What do you think I did?" Rigel asked innocently.

"In other words, no he's not," Flint grunted.

"Fine, then," Rosier sighed, "Keep your talents secret. One day we will figure you out entirely, Mr. Black."

"And until then we will be watching closely," Rookwood said in his mountain's rumble.

Rigel nodded her acceptance, knowing that any protestation would only make them more interested. She left the four upperclassman to make of the situation what they would. She just wanted to get home for the summer.

-_-[HpHpHp]-_-

The final Quidditch match was played in the third week of May. Unlike the first match, Rigel and Pansy sat with their classmates in the Slytherin section, cheering on their team and just letting off some of the energy they'd pent up while studying for final exams. Slytherin won, and the cheers in the actual student section were nearly deafening. The entire House glowed with pride for the rest of the week, though the boasting was kept to a tasteful amount by most of the upper years at least.

The afterglow didn't last long, however. Soon finals were upon them, and the students who'd been struck by the sickness were especially stressed out over the prospect of the exams. Though Dumbledore had made an announcement that any student who failed the exam due to sickness would still pass and be able to take extra tutoring in the fall to bring themselves up to curriculum, no one wanted to be stuck in extra lessons the following year.

Rigel wasn't too worried. She knew she could at least pass the finals, and she had so many other things to do before summer that studying was something to be done when there was nothing else to be done. She was keeping up with Flint's assignments, and her own of course. She was studying Healing as much as she could, trying to bring herself up to where Archie would be, and therefore where her parents would expect her to be by the end of the first year at AIM. Her Occlumency could wait, but Rigel knew Lily wouldn't be able to keep James and Sirius from demanding to see some Healing for the whole summer, no matter the laws about underage magic.

So she studied the textbooks she'd taken from the Potter Library and by the first of June she was confident that she could heal a minor bone fracture (she'd only healed a bird's wing so far, and bird bones were very light and thin, but she had the basic concept down), which was right on schedule with where Archie would be, though he would be faster and more confident than she was and have a better understanding of the theory behind it. Rigel was learning Healing like most muggles learned algebra. She could follow the situation-specific formulas and come out even at the end, but she had no idea how or why the equations worked the way they did.

She was also sending letters back and forth to Archie, coordinating their return trip home, and so it was that the first Wednesday in June saw her writing yet another letter. This letter was unique because she was writing it with a handwriting charm instead of a Dicto-quill. Usually, Rigel dictated her letters to Sirius, Remus, and the rest, so that her handwriting wouldn't give her away, and only wrote her letters to Archie because it didn't matter if it was her handwriting on those, since no one in America would be able to tell. This time, she was writing to Archie with the new handwriting charm she'd learned so that he could compare it to his own and approve it before she tried it on Sirius. The charm was two parts. First you cast the charm over the sample of handwriting you wanted to imitate, then you cast the charm over your dominant hand, and everything you wrote with that hand would be in the sample handwriting for approximately one hour.

She leaned back on her dorm room bed and admired her work. It really did look like one of Archie's letters. She was about to seal it when Theo spoke up from the bed next to her.

"Hey, Rigel, can you help me with this?"

Rigel looked over. Theo was sitting on the foot of his bed, both feet on the lid of his trunk, which sat just below him, and was clearly trying to get the over-sized trunk to close.

"Are you packing tonight?" she asked curiously. They would finish their finals the next day, but they didn't leave for a couple more days after that, on the first Saturday of the month.

"I just need to make sure it all fits," Theo explained, huffing as he strained his muscles to push down on the lid, "Otherwise I'll have to donate some of my shoes to the lost and found or something."

Draco glanced over from his own bed on the other side of Rigel and grinned, "I think the fact that you're standing on it means that all of your things do not, in fact, fit in that trunk."

"I really think I can persuade it otherwise," Theo said good-naturedly, "Come on, Rigel, help me."

Rigel got up and went to stand by Theo's trunk, "What do you want me to do?"

"I don't know," Theo scratched his head, "Sit on it or something."

Rigel shook her head, but went to sit obediently on Theo's uncooperative trunk.

-_-Hp-_-

Draco's POV:

Draco watched as Rigel went to contribute to Theo's impossible packing methods. He would never participate in something so ungainly himself, but he had to admit it was pretty funny watching his roommates make fools over themselves for a piece of luggage. His eyes drifted back to the letter Rigel had been writing, which was now lying quite exposed on his bed. He couldn't help thinking there was something different about it.

Then he realized with a jolt of surprise that the handwriting was different. Why, it wasn't at all like Rigel's usual handwriting, which was generally small, unslanted cursive. Instead, the letter that Draco had just watched Rigel write was in a large, loopy handwriting that moved erratically across the parchment instead of in the neat, near-perfect rows Rigel generally took notes in. Was he more lazy in a letter home? Was the handwriting some sort of code that meant different things depending on—no. No, he was being silly. It could be anything. He generally wrote his father with a dicto-quill, Draco knew, so maybe it was because he secretly had really bad handwriting. A bad habit he consciously broke to take notes. Every. Single. Day. Draco frowned, thinking. He supposed it made sense if Rigel had been writing with a handwriting charm, but why would he? Draco shook his head and turned back to his own letter home. He would just add weird handwriting fluctuations to the growing list of really strange things he knew about his friend.

All in all it had been a very weird semester. He'd come to Hogwarts expecting…not exactly what he'd found. The Quidditch was pretty much what he'd thought it would be. Classes, too, were fairly straightforward. But other things…

His friends, for instance, were not at all what he had been expecting. He'd known Pansy already, the little blonde girl who always hung around his mother when Mr. Parkinson came to talk to his father. He'd really expected, however, that he would mostly hang around with Crabbe and Goyle, both of whom had been constant fixtures, rather like two ugly suits of armor, in his life before Hogwarts. Draco had fully expected to walk the halls of Hogwarts with his pseudo-bodyguards in the left and right wings, but then Rigel Black had walked up to that sorting hat and, completely ignoring other people's carefully thought out expectations of their time here at Hogwarts, gotten himself sorted into Slytherin.

Immediately, something changed. He would not be reporting on the Black scion from afar, like his mother had asked him to, but from the next bed over as a dorm-mate. And then Black had to make himself so interesting, and before Draco knew it he was Rigel, and Parkinson was Pansy, and they were all three best friends. Well, sort of. It was hard to claim to be someone's best friend while also being perfectly aware that they were keeping major secrets from you. Just like it was hard to claim that someone was your best friend when you were also sort of reporting on said best friend to your parents. Still, it was a Slytherin sort of friendship, like the kind Draco often suspected his father and godfather had, and that suited Draco just fine.

The sickness he had definitely not seen coming, and the thing with Lee Jordan trying to kill Rigel had come from complete nowhere. The strangest thing, though, was Rigel himself. The boy was, objectively speaking, odd. He was a vegetarian. He slept in his clothes. He had a strange, almost innate knowledge of the castle layout from the very first week. He spoke about his magic like it had a mind of its own, and all evidence that Draco could see seemed to support the theory that it did have a mind of its own. He was so good with potions that Uncle Severus had been immediately impressed. He could walk through people's magical cores. And despite everything he could do—levitating Longbottom in mid-air just a day after learning the spell, flying for weeks one-handed with a broken wrist, pulling a potions essay out of his own mind without references—he didn't care. Rigel treated everything he did like it was just something to keep him busy until he could brew potions again.

It drove Draco crazy, and even Pansy, Miss Patience herself, grew extremely frustrated with Rigel every now and then. How could someone have so much sheer ability and just not give it a thought? Magic was an inconvenience to him, and yet it was his unique way with magic that allowed him to save Draco's life. His father had made Rigel a Malfoy, and Rigel had just blinked like he didn't get why they would do something that he saw as being so unnecessary. Rigel Black was exasperating, confusing, and Draco knew he hardly agreed with anything Draco said or believed, though Rigel never actually came out and said it. But even though Draco had always imagined friends as people who supported and agreed with you no matter what, Rigel was undeniably one of the best friends he'd ever had. Pansy was the other best friend he'd ever had, and most of what made her so great was that she was the only other person who understood just how weird Rigel really was.

So even though Pansy was a girl, and even though Rigel lied to him all the time, Draco was pretty sure those things didn't matter, because after the year of craziness they'd had, Draco thought maybe friends weren't the ones who agreed with you. They were the ones who saved your life and then listened to you complain about how aggravating your life-saving friend was. Draco rolled up his letter to his father carefully, knowing that any smudged ink would be remarked upon, and thought as he tied it closed that even though it hadn't been what he expected, his first year at Hogwarts was one he would never forget.

-_-[HpHpHp]-_-

Regular POV:

Their compartment was completely full on the train ride home, and they didn't hate anyone in it. Millicent had taken the empty sixth seat, and so they spent the ride talking and making promises to write, visit, and meet up over the summer completely sans the usual train-ride drama. The Weasley Twins came and said their goodbyes, along with Ron and even Percy, prompting Draco to mutter half-heartedly about their compartment becoming infested with Weasels. Neville stopped by too, and surprisingly Cho Chang, whose appearance was unexpected enough to have all of Rigel's classmates looking at her with varying expressions that said 'who-are-you-and-why-do-you-know-all-these-people-who-aren't-Slytherins?' Rigel shrugged noncommittally and a collective eye-roll (except for Pansy, who didn't roll her eyes) went around the compartment.

Rigel had never been so glad to see the outline of Kings Cross station in the distance. She wanted to be home so badly it ached. Though her first-year at Hogwarts had been both everything and nothing she'd expected it to be, she was so tired. It wasn't magical exhaustion like when she'd been brewing Snowhit for Snape, and it wasn't mental exhaustion like when fighting the sickness in Draco's head. It was pure, soul-deep exhaustion that came from the strain of constant lying, constant deception, constant pretense. Her soul was wrung out, and she didn't think she could be Rigel for one more minute. She needed Archie. She needed Remus. She needed to see her mom and dad and Sirius and have them see her for her, Harry, not Archie or whoever she was pretending to be anymore.

She needed a break from the person she was at Hogwarts, even if just for a week or so before she'd visit her friends as Rigel again. She would sleep in her pajamas, see green eyes looking back at her from the mirror, and not talk about Harry Potter in the third person even once. She would brew all day long, she thought dreamily, and not have to pretend she cared about other classes and assignments.

Rigel stood as the train began to slow. "Well, it's been a great year, guys. I'll miss you all, and don't forget to write. I'll see you in September," she said. She waved in a show of exaggerated cheerfulness, and left the compartment before any of her dumbfounded friends could react to her abrupt departure.

Rigel ducked into the nearest bathroom and locked herself in a stall while she took out a vial of Polyjuice Potion from her pocket and the fresh lock of hair Archie had mailed her at the end of May. She downed the dose and gritted her teeth against the uncomfortable twisting sensation in her gut. A few minutes later she emerged as Archie's twin and went to stand by the doors so that when the train stopped she'd be ready to go. She had her trunk in her pocket, along with enough Polyjuice doses to last her until midnight, and when the Hogwarts Express finally stopped completely Rigel hopped onto the platform with a step as light as her heart. She was almost there.

Sirius was hard to miss, and it wasn't because of the pink-and-yellow top hat he was wearing. It was his expression, half-hopeful and half-anxious, that was so out of place among the crowd of cheerful, waving parents and guardians. Rigel smiled as wide as Archie's mouth would allow her to and took off toward her Uncle at a run. His face registered a moment of surprise, and then he was holding out his arms to catch her as she rocketed through the air toward him.

"Dad!" she landed on him with all the finesse of a flying rhino, but Sirius caught her anyway and used her momentum to twirl her in a circle like he was want to do to people. She hugged him tight, but not as tightly as Sirius held her.

"Archie," he breathed with relief. He set her down carefully and looked searchingly into her face, "How are you?"

"Great now that I'm back!" she said. She grabbed Sirius's arm and began towing him out of the platform, determined to get away before her friends came looking. "It's so great to see you again, Dad. I'm sorry I didn't write more, but you won't believe all the things I have to tell you! No, really, I don't think you'll believe me at all, which is why I didn't bother putting it in a letter, but I'm going to tell you anyway. So much stuff happened this last semester! Did you know Slytherin won the Quidditch Cup? Ravenclaw won the House Cup, but the Quidditch one is the only one that really matters. Draco didn't play, but Avery Pucey did, and he helped me with my Herbology homework once."

She chattered on and on and on as they made their way through the winding streets of London to an apparition point. Sirius didn't once interrupt her, instead just watching and listening with his smile getting bigger and more relaxed the more she talked.

"And I'm pretty sure I passed all my finals, but Binns had us write three feet on a goblin rebellion he only mentioned like once in October. Three whole feet! And—"

"Woah, there, pup," Sirius broke in with a laugh, "You can tell me everything when we get home, and then again when we go to Godric's Hollow for dinner. Just tell me this," here he looked at her with a more serious expression, "Did you like Hogwarts? I mean, really like it?"

Rigel looked into the grey eyes that would always be brighter than what a contact could imitate and answered as honestly as she could, "Hogwarts was wonderful, Dad. It was everything you'd told me and more, but nothing is as good as coming home."

-_-[HpHpHp]-_-

Snape's POV:

The office of Severus Snape was unusually bare. Some might say that it was always rather Spartan, and that the odds of it somehow becoming more so were rather impossible, but after spending most of the day packing up his office for the summer break, even Severus Snape had to admit, looking around, that his office was quite bare. Gone were the shelves of embalmed ingredients that served as both a macabre decoration to his admittedly offbeat sense of humor and as deterrent for any non-Slytherin student ornery enough to attempt a visit longer than the time it took to completely dismiss them. Gone was the comfortable chair that usually sat behind the desk. Gone were the papers almost always sitting on top of the desk, and as soon as he cleaned out the last drawer he, too, would be gone. Away from meddlesome old men with beards too long to be sanitary, away from children who didn't know the right end of a stirring rod from the sharp end of their sub-standard steel knives. Away from teaching and grading and worrying about how many of his students were going to cause near-fatal accidents because they couldn't be bothered to read the directions before tossing ingredients around like they were tossing around their mother's spice rack. He would have three months of peace to brew, research, and experiment—in other words, to relax.

First, though, he had to pack away this one last drawer. The first thing on top was the bag of medi-balls he's given Black to train his magic with. A quick look in the bag confirmed that every single one of them was as bright, steady green as the day the little brat had handed them over to him. As if they didn't understand the concept of naturally declining magical energy at all. He shook his head. Was nothing that child did normal? Severus really didn't know what to make of Rigel Black. If someone had asked him at the beginning of the school year if he'd be taking the son of one of his enemies on as his trial-apprentice, he'd have taken 100 points from Gryffindor for asking such an impertinent question, because really only an idiotic Gryffindor would ask something so clearly ludicrous of a man like Severus Snape, who so clearly did not have time for lunacy.

Of course, that was before Rigel Black had gotten sorted into Slytherin and showed himself to have a stubborn will and an eye for potions—and more importantly, a heart for potions.

Severus packed the bag of medi-minis away in the box and pulled a few other odds and ends that always seemed to collect in his office when he had no where else to keep such things out of the drawer. The last thing, tucked into the very bottom of the drawer against the back, was a silk-wrapped bundle that he froze upon seeing. He sighed and pulled it out, lowering himself to the ground to sit and look tiredly at the bundle.

The Potions Master gazed at the innocuous little bundle and wondered how it had come to this. He unwrapped it slowly, and there, in the silk, was a pile of perfectly preserved ginseng. It didn't look like much, and indeed in the grand scheme of the sickness it wouldn't have been much, but it was enough to keep one child supplied with Snowhit and Aurora's Breath for several months at least. Severus Snape stared at the bundle for a long while. There was nothing special about the ginseng itself, but rather what it represented.

The ginseng symbolized a lie, his lie to be exact. There was nothing remarkable about the fact that he had lied—Severus Snape lied for a living, as many, many people would attest. It was this particular lie, however, the why and how of it, that merited deep contemplation.

He had lied to Rigel Black, lied in the boy's own mindscape, when he told Black that his telling Severus about Draco's illness would have made no difference. In truth, Severus had set aside this ginseng and preserved it the very moment he realized they were running low. He had looked over Draco's allergy list himself when Lucius had turned it in, and he had known that it was only a matter of time before his godson fell sick as well. So he had made sure that when Draco fell ill he would be taken care of. Of course that plan only worked if he was made aware of the fact that his godson was ill, but instead of telling Black that, instead of explaining about the hidden ginseng, he had lied.

He told the boy that he hadn't made anything worse with his mistake, and let the boy go on believing that Draco's life truly was still in danger even though Severus had only stopped by the Hospital Wing to check up on Draco before getting started on brewing him the necessary potions when Narcissa had noticed Draco's hand twitch. He let Black think he'd saved Draco when nobody else could, let Draco and even Lucius and Narcissa think it, not telling his oldest friend of the stash of ginseng he'd prepared, though he knew what that would mean to them in terms of the Life they felt they owed the boy.

Severus could have easily justified his actions by saying that if he'd told the truth the sickness might never have been cured. If Black didn't think his best friend was in mortal danger, he wouldn't have tried so hard to save him. But the truth was that the sickness was cured the moment Black had gotten into Draco's mind, and he had done that before Severus had shown up and lied to him.

So why had he lied? It was simple, and yet it was so complicated he could scarcely fathom it. Severus Snape simply, and impossibly, didn't want to hurt the boy. Black had felt guilty already for what he thought he'd done, and he'd done much for Draco, despite the fact that his godson would have been okay without Black's help. He didn't need to make the boy feel worse after the fact, so he'd invented a fiction in which Black really had saved Draco from certain death. If Severus thought about it long enough, it really wasn't much of a lie. Black had been operating under the assumption that Draco was going to die, and even if he was wrong, he had still done a hero's work, for a hero's reason. Surely, then, it wasn't so much to ask that he receive a hero's reward. Narcissa and Lucius could afford the Life Debt—Severus knew Black was not the kind of boy to demand an impossible payment, or more likely any payment at all. No one got hurt, in the end, and his pseudo-apprentice gained both confidence and acclaim, both of which would help him later.

The trouble was that Severus Snape had shown sympathy and even kindness for someone who was not just a student, not just a Slytherin, but a Black. A Black. He hated the Blacks. Hated the whole, diseased family. Sirius Black was a name etched with hate on Severus' every schoolyard memory, and to behave in such a way toward his son—to show kindness and go out of his way to avoid hurting the child—such a thing even Albus would have considered beyond him. Yet so it was.

Severus wrapped the bundle of Ginseng back up and placed it in the box with the rest. He stood and hefted the box under an arm, using the other to douse the lights and lock up behind him. As he walked the dungeon corridors for the last time until September, he couldn't help but shake his head at the way the year had turned out. Last August he never would have imagined that he'd find the perfect heir to his potions expertise in the child of his most bitter childhood enemy. Things were changing. He was changing. Only time would tell if the world could really change for the better.

-_-[HpHpHp]-_-

-_-[Hp]-_-

[Hp]

[end of chapter twenty-one].

A/N: This is the end of The Pureblood Pretense, book one in this series. I will be posting the epilogue to this book at the same time as I post the first chapter of the next book in the series, that way if you have this story on Alert, you should receive a notice that this one has been updated, and you'll know to find the next story on my profile. Look out for: The Serpentine Subterfuge.

Much love,

-Violet