The Ambiguous Artifice

by murkybluematter

Harriet Potter's third year masquerading as a pureblood boy promises to be even more complicated than the last two. All she wants is to get through her studies unimpeded, but with pureblood politics, ancient artifacts, and adolescent hormones getting in the way... well, at least she's up to the challenge. Alanna the Lioness take on HP, book three.

7. Chapter 7

The Ambiguous Artifice:

Chapter 7:

[AbAbAb]

Archie had never really considered blue to be his color. He'd been told many-a-time that he looked dashing in shades of red and positively shone in golden hues, but as Sirius had been the one telling him this it was no wonder that he'd never realized how blue brought out the silver in his eyes until he'd begun donning the career tract robes at AIM. They swished around him as he walked, as though teased by an invisible breeze.

Hermione often said the cut of their school robes was ridiculous, usually while huffily stumbling over the extra fabric at the bottom, and Archie hummed agreeably, not sure his friend would appreciate a lecture on traditional wizarding fashion, nor lessons in how to make the fabric flair appropriately while walking. It was a shame, though, for Archie suspected Hermione would be utterly intimidating with the right kind of strut.

He was contemplatively comparing their respective strides as they walked through the halls toward the cafeteria for an afternoon snack, but before he could decide if Hermione was more of a lilting gait or a careless stroll, an oily hand came down on his shoulder from behind.

"Mr. Potter, a word, if you aren't currently engaged?"

Archie stifled a groan at the too-familiar voice. The last person he wanted to give a word to was Master Tallum, head potioneer at AIM. His expression when he turned to face the venerable man was, however, entirely expectant, "Yes, sir? Is it about my last homework assignment? Cause I know it was a little off topic, but you have to admit the question of whether hummingflies are sentient is more important than how their wings can be used in cough syrups. I mean, imagine the implications—"

"Er, no," Tallum cleared his throat in a clumsy ad hoc conversational maneuver that Archie had been trained out of before he was five, "Actually I was hoping you'd come by my office this week to answer a few questions about your internship this summer. I just received the newsletter with the summer's research reports in it, and I must say I was surprised to see 'Harry Potter' in the by-line! The English Guild is notoriously picky in its interns, you know."

"Oh, are they?" Archie struggled to keep a relaxed expression on his face. Harry had gone over her work with him, but he wasn't sure he could answer detailed questions from a Potions Master about it.

"Yes, indeed! To think such talent lay under my very nose—why aren't you in the Potions Mastery tract, young man?" Tallum demanded.

"I want to be a Healer," Archie shrugged apologetically, "I love potions, but I want to use my talent in the field to come up with cures to rare illnesses. I took the internship in part because it was such a rare opportunity and in part to compensate for not being able to join the Potions tract here at AIM."

"Your research at the English Guild doesn't seem to be closely related to Healing Potions," Tallum frowned.

"I knew I wasn't ready to pursue anything so complex, especially in the short time-frame," Archie said, definitely reaching now, "So I chose a topic that I thought the Guild would be interested in, since they were funding my research."

"I see," Tallum still looked mildly confused.

"I'm a little busy this week," Archie invented suddenly, "But what if I give you my notes from this summer? I'll have to find them, but they should be able to explain things in much better detail than we could go over in a conversation. I'm really terrible at oral explanations, anyway." He rubbed his neck sheepishly, and was pleased to see Tallum looking giving him an appeased nod.

"See that you do," the older man said, "The possibilities are certainly intriguing…"

He strode off down the hallway, and when Archie made to take up walking again Hermione stayed him with a firm hand on his arm.

"What's going on, Harry?" she asked, her hair bouncing a bit as she tilted her head expectantly.

"What ever could you mean?" Archie smiled, attempting to diffuse the tense atmosphere.

"You are exceptionally good at oral explanations," Hermione said, her voice more accusing than complementary, "And we certainly aren't all that busy this week."

"I could have other stuff to…" he trailed off with a sigh at her disbelieving expression. He wondered what Hermione would say if she did know just how many side-projects he worked on when he was 'goofing off in his room all weekend.' There was one project in particular that was taking a huge amount of his time and energy to work through, but he knew his friend wouldn't believe that—he'd cultivated his care-free personality so effectively, after all. Instead, he said, "I just didn't want to talk about my internship with Master Tallum."

"You've been avoiding the subject with me, too," Hermione said, frowning, "You were so excited about the internship last term, and I even ordered that edition of the English Guild's periodical so I could read your work, but whenever I ask you to explain what you meant by most of it you brush me off. Are you getting it copyrighted first, or something?"

Archie shook his head, a bit taken aback by Hermione's persistence. "I just…" he affected a pouty expression, "I don't like all the attention. It was just a bit of fun! I thought I could do some off-beat experimenting over the summer, just to keep me busy; I had no idea everyone would take it so seriously!"

"It seemed like important work, though," Hermione said, brow still furrowed, "How can you not be proud of something you spent so much energy on? I'd be glad if people were paying attention to something I'd done—how many thirteen-year-olds can say they've made an academic breakthrough in any field?"

Archie shuffled uncomfortably, "I don't like people having such high expectations of me, especially since if I decide to get a Potions Mastery I'll use it for Healing, not this kind of methodology research."

Hermione hesitated, but eventually said, "I understand that you want to have control of your career, but at some point you might have to weigh your right to follow your dreams against the responsibility you have to natural talent. If a musical genius decided he'd rather become a mediocre anthropologist than a peerless composer, it's his right, but…is it really for the best?"

Archie could not stand one more second of Hermione's melancholy expression, so he clapped a hand over his heart in a heavy swoon, "Are you calling me a mediocre Healer?! I'll have you recall we tied in the last Craniofacial Alterations exam."

"Of course not!" Hermione looked absolutely appalled—for half a second. Then her sharp brown eyes caught his playful grin and she blew out the incensed breath she'd sucked in with an exasperated eye-roll, "You know I respect your Healing ability," she said, "Why can't you take anything seriously, Harry?"

"Because I have you to do that for me," Archie smiled, taking Hermione's hand and leading her toward the mess hall once more. He was a little disappointed to notice that Hermione hardly blushed at all—it was becoming much more difficult to tease her as their friendship progressed. Clearly he'd have to become even more charming somehow.

-0

[AbAbAb]

-0

The afternoon found Archie and Hermione underneath their favorite tree, both enjoying the silence of the other's company while they each read whichever textbook they were currently engrossed in. For Archie, it was actually a medical periodical from the late eighties. He'd finished his schoolwork for the week and while he should probably be catching up on the syllabi Harry had sent over for the new semester, he was dreading the thought of it. Harry was taking Magical Theory, Arithmancy, and Ancient Runes this year, on top of the usual subjects, and her potions work was getting even more advanced, apparently. He didn't know how he was going to keep up, seeing as he had extra electives starting this term as well. Harry didn't seem worried about the extra work, but she never worried about anything, as far as he could tell.

So he was putting off the overwhelmed feeling he just knew was creeping up on him by relaxing. At least, he was until a page dressed in the school colors came jogging over to them. He wondered if he'd forgotten to return a library book, until he caught sight of the patch on the front of the boy's robes that signified the wearer worked in the owlrey. The boy produced a letter from a messenger bag over his shoulder and said, "Potter, right?"

Archie nodded, standing up to take the letter with a smile and a quick, "Thanks."

Harriett Potter was written in fancy script on the outside of the envelope. When Archie had first arrived, the poor professors had all been terribly confused as to why he had shown up when they were expecting a girl called Harriett Potter. He set them straight quick enough, and now the majority of the staff and students were laboring under the impression that his parents had a very poor sense of humor.

"Is your father still addressing your letters as if you're a girl?" Hermione said, her eyes narrowed in indignation on his behalf as he sat back down beside her.

"It's still pretty funny," Archie said, shrugging, "And he's not one to let go of a joke until it's breathed its last."

"It's a wonder you didn't turn out worse," Hermione sniffed. After a moment, she sent him an apologetic glance, "I mean, I'm sure your relatives mean well. Not that I've ever met them. Am I ever going to meet them?"

Archie pretended to think about that for all of three seconds, "Sure. Someday."

Hermione sighed, "I don't know why you're so reluctant. I'm perfectly nice."

"It's not you, 'Mione," Archie laughed, "I don't want to expose your ethereal self to the plebeians that make up my beloved family, that's all."

"They can't be that bad," Hermione said, a smile tugging at her mouth, "You said your father was an Auror, for goodness sake. And your mother's a researcher for a very private company, right?"

"And yet they still address my letters to 'Harriett,'" Archie said.

"Yes, well," Hermione frowned down at her book, deflated. "You've met my parents," she tried.

"And now I know from whence your loveliness springs," Archie said automatically, distracted by the letter he was unfolding. As he glanced down at the signature he couldn't help but blanche in surprise. Quickly, he tucked the letter back into it envelope and stowed it in the pages of his periodical with a movement he knew was less than casual, but couldn't help.

"What is it?" Hermione, observant as ever, asked, "Bad news?"

"Sort of," Archie shrugged uncomfortably, "Nothing too important, though."

Seeing that he would say no more, Hermione went back to her book, but not before saying, "You've been holding a lot of things back, lately."

Archie wasn't sure how to respond to that. He had been, after all. He just wished Hermione could understand that it was for her own good that he did.

The letter burned at the back of his mind. Why would the British Ministry of Magic send Harry a letter? Did they know? Were they coming for them? Was he going to be detained and Harry shipped off to Azkaban? He calmed himself with deep, slow breaths, only the knowledge that surely James would have sent a warning if Harry was in trouble with the government keeping him from tearing the letter open right there, Hermione's curiosity be damned.

When he got a moment to himself later that afternoon he ripped into it with shaking hands. His heartbeat slowed nominally when he saw that it was from the Department of Mysteries, not the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, but only enough that he could hear his own frantic thoughts over its pounding.

Harry, what have you done?

-0

[HpHpHp]

-0

In the aftermath of clearing Percy's name and settling the question of Flint's assignments in the professors' minds once and for all, Rigel couldn't help but let her guard down the tiniest bit, thinking that surely she'd solved all foreseeable problems for the time being.

That was when the letter, addressed in screaming red ink, came from AIM. She froze only an instant before collecting herself enough to detach it from the owl and stow it in her book bag.

"News from home?" Pansy asked, face slightly eager. Ever since Lily had sent Rigel a picture of little Addy gurgling happily in her pram, Pansy had kept a curious eye on Rigel's post, clearly hoping for another picture. Rigel would have to write to her parents requesting additional prints.

For the moment, she shook her head, trying to conceal the feeling of dread the sight of the letter had given her. Archie had only been back a month—what could have gone wrong? "It's just from Harry," she said, faking a disinterested shrug.

"What's wrong?" Draco asked from the seat beside her.

She silently cursed whatever was giving her friend his newfound perceptiveness, "I'm sure it's nothing. I just wasn't expecting to hear from her so soon. It's odd."

"So you think something's happened?" Draco frowned, "You should check—better than walking around with it hanging over your head."

Rigel shook her head, "I'll read it later. I don't want to be distracted during classes today."

"If you don't trust us not to look over your shoulder, just say so," Draco snorted, turning back to his food.

Pansy offered Rigel a sympathetic smile, "Rigel is entitled to protect his cousin's privacy—or were you not going to read over his shoulder?"

Draco glanced at Rigel sidelong, "Of course I was. If Rigel wants me not to, he should just say so, instead of making up an excuse."

"Rigel's too polite for that," Pansy said, seeming a bit exasperated, "And just when, exactly, did you become the rude one in our group, Draco? What is going on with you lately?"

"None of your business," Draco said, smiling slightly to soften the words, "See, Rigel? It's that easy."

Rigel and Pansy shared a long-suffering look, but Pansy dropped the subject in any case.

For Rigel's part, she was still going to wait to read Archie's letter. Even if Draco didn't read the letter itself, there was no telling what her suddenly observant friend would be able to tell from her face as she read it.

It was a Wednesday, which meant the only class she was doubled up on was Transfigurations, at which time she also had a Potions lesson with Snape. She figured she could read the letter after lunch. Whatever trouble Archie was having, it would keep until that afternoon.

The morning passed quickly, and after stopping by the kitchens for a quick snack to tide her over, Rigel turned back to ten o'clock and ghosted through the dungeons under her invisibility cloak.

Snape seemed to be perusing a publication of some kind when she arrived in their usual lab, and Rigel was surprised to note that no cauldron had been prepared for their lesson that day.

"Good morning, Professor," she said politely as she shut the door behind her, "Are we having a theoretical lesson today?"

"In a manner of speaking," Snape looked up and gestured for her to take the periodical he'd been reading.

Upon glancing at the cover, Rigel immediately recognized it as the issue of the Guild's newsletter containing her summer research. "The Guild's internship reports?" she asked, curious as to why Snape would bring them to her attention.

"What do you know about this 'shaped imbuing' your…cousin claims to have come up with?" Snape asked, eyeing her shrewdly.

"Just what she's told me," Rigel shrugged, "It's a bit difficult to explain, I gather, though she said she did her best in the word limit the Guild allowed her."

"It is intriguing," Snape said, not seeming terribly pleased at the words leaving his mouth, "Such an expansion of the field bears looking into." Rigel looked up, hardly daring to believe her ears. "If I were to undertake such research, however, I would need much more detailed information on the subject."

Rigel tried very hard not to let the giddy feeling of flattered disbelief show on her face. Master Snape wanted to expand on her research for his next project? "I could ask my cousin for more extended notes on her project," Rigel said after a moment of inwardly beaming to herself, "I'm sure she'd be delighted to send you any information you need—she's an avid follower of your work, Professor."

"So you've said," he didn't seem to be able to quell his slight sneer of disbelief, "Can you recreate her methodology?"

Rigel grimaced, "No, I don't think so. It requires a level of magic manipulation I don't have the control for. I'm sure you'd be able to do it, Professor. It's based on wandless magic to hear Harry describe it."

"You have wandless capabilities as well," Snape pointed out sharply, "And unless I miss my guess the method is not unlike the potion you created for Draco's birthday last year."

Rigel carefully affected a look of slight guilt, "I, ah, may have had Harry's help with my gift that year," she tried to look sheepish, "I didn't want Draco to think I hadn't put effort into his gift, but in truth Harry helped me come up with the idea and imbue it. That's where she started developing the theory for her eventual research project, actually."

Snape's face only darkened, "If I find that you have been involved in helping your cousin plagiarize your own research, I will—"

"I haven't!" Rigel burst out, offended and appalled that Snape had jumped to that conclusion. Surely Rigel having access to some of Harry's methods hadn't been that suspicious…had it? "Sorry, Professor," she added quickly, "I just meant we haven't done anything like that. Harry's research is completely her own—she would never take that kind of help. Her integrity means a lot to her."

Snape did not look entirely convinced. After a moment of consideration, he said, "You are still passing along much of what I teach you, are you not?"

Rigel nodded carefully, hoping Snape hadn't changed his mind about being okay with that arrangement. "She'd be happy to give you credit if—"

This time Snape interrupted her, "Don't be ridiculous. It is time I met this girl, however. I want to be certain my teachings are not enabling an imbecile." At Rigel's offended look, the Potions Master smirked, "I'm afraid I cannot take your word in this case, Mr. Black. I know how biased your opinions of your own family often are."

She frowned, but inclined her head in understanding, "I could arrange a meeting next summer, then."

"What is wrong with the winter holiday?" Snape asked, brows arching, "Does your cousin not return home for Yule?"

Rigel blinked. That was a bit soon, but…she supposed she could make it work. As long as Snape didn't suggest she be there as well. There was simply no way Archie could play either Harry or Rigel convincingly around Professor Snape. His potions knowledge was good, but not that good.

"All right," Rigel said, "I'll write her about it. I'm sure she'd be honored to meet you, sir."

Snape inclined his head, only the mocking glint in his eye betraying his thoughts on her statement, "Be sure to request those notes, as well, Mr. Black. In the meantime, why don't we start on today's lesson?"

To her mild confusion, he led her across the lab to a sideboard, on which stood a cauldron full of what appeared to be an already-completed potion.

"I brewed this earlier," Snape said, so casually that Rigel immediately felt wary, "It's under a stasis charm. I want to see how your instincts are developing. When I lift the stasis charm, you will imbue whatever amount of magic you deem sufficient for its cohesion, and while you imbue you will apply your senses to the potion and determine its purpose."

Rigel grinned a bit—she did enjoy a challenge, and Snape never failed to deliver in that regard.

Linking her core to the potion was second nature by now, so the imbuing process began swiftly. It continued a little too swiftly, however, and it wasn't long before Rigel felt her brow break out in a light sweat. Whatever this potion was, it would be powerful—she could feel her core expending magic at a worrying rate. She tried to ignore the drained feeling that was beginning to set in, but it sapped her focus even as she tried to concentrate on the potion itself.

She could feel the familiar, satisfied feeling that meant all the ingredients were balanced according to their properties, but the mental 'taste' of the potion was unlike anything she'd experienced before. It definitely wasn't a love potion, as those had a distinct sense of headiness about them. It lacked the aggressiveness of a transformative potion, and she didn't think it could be any sort of externally applied potion simply because it was the wrong consistency. It looked as though it was definitely made to be drunk. As much magic as she was putting in it, the potion would have to effect some extraordinary change, as well. But what? It felt closest to some kind of healing potion, but at the same time it felt completely wrong. Dangerous.

When the potion finally felt 'full' to her extended senses, Rigel wearily withdrew the connection and caught herself on the lab bench before her knees gave out.

"What…was that?" she panted, wiping a hand across her forehead to push back her sweaty bangs.

"You tell me," Snape said, a displeased frown in his voice.

"A…healing draught?" she guessed, "For someone extremely close to death, given how much magic is involved."

"I doubt it's ever been considered a medical potion before," Snape said with dark amusement, "This brew is one of the components in raising inferi from the grave."

Rigel couldn't help but recoil from the cauldron reflexively, "Isn't it illegal?"

"I have a research brewing license," he said, "Only selling it would violate my oath. It is not my intention to instruct you in its preparation, in any case. I chose it for this exercise because I was fairly certain you would not have come across its kind before now. It is important for a brewer to be able to recognize the darker concoctions, even if he never attempts them himself."

She nodded her understanding. No wonder it had seemed so alien and wrong to her senses—it was a potion that would enact the most challenging of magic, to force re-animation where true life had already fled. It reminded her enough of Riddle Jr.'s possession of the basilisk to make her glad she wouldn't be studying the draught, no matter how interesting the theory itself would likely prove.

"I wonder that you had so much trouble with the imbuing," Snape said, voice casual once again.

"It is a powerful potion," Rigel said slowly.

"Not so much more so than Aconite Alleviation," her professor said, brows descending, "Have you been using magic excessively this morning?"

"No," Rigel said, mentally grimacing as she realized where this conversation was heading, "I…don't have as much magic as I used to."

"Explain," his tone was positively forbidding.

"I had my thirteenth birthday over the summer," she began, unsure how to explain, "So my core changed significantly."

"It doesn't work that way," Snape said, "Magic only increases with age, unless you were in a severe magical accident over the summer, and simply didn't see fit to inform your Head of House."

"Ah—no, I wasn't," Rigel said. She debated for a moment, then realized there wasn't any way to hide her lack of stamina if indeed her power levels had changed so much. "Will you keep what I tell you in confidence?" she asked, knowing it was an insulting question, but needing to make sure the knowledge that Rigel Black was magically powerful wouldn't reach anyone who knew that Archie was only moderately above average.

As expected, Snape favored her with an especially annoyed expression as he said, "You are a Slytherin." Apparently that was reassurance enough.

"My magic got out of hand after my birthday," she said, "It was completely unusable that way, so I fixed it. But now I have less magic than before."

She'd never seen someone as pale as Snape blanche before, but she didn't have time to wonder at the impossibility of such a thing before Snape was shaking her by the shoulders urgently. "What did you do?" he snarled, "You foolish boy, what kind of ritual did you attempt—"

"I didn't!" Rigel said, wondering why she was always having to protest her own innocence, but sure that she didn't want Snape thinking she'd tried to sacrifice part of her magic permanently in a dark ritual—she knew better what sorts of evil a wizard's magic could wreak once freed of his will. "I didn't get rid of it, I just…repressed it to manageable levels."

Snape's eyes narrowed to angry slits, "How?"

Rigel held back a sigh as she fingered the black gloves she wore to hide her rings from casual appraisal. If she would be keeping them as Harry, she didn't want too many people knowing what they looked like. "I found a jeweler who could make suppressors and commissioned a ring that reduces my usable magic to reasonable levels."

"Take it off," Snape said.

She frowned, "It's the only thing keeping my magic in check. I don't want to endanger either of us."

"Remove. The. Ring." Snape seemed very insistent, but Rigel had asked Binny to spell her rings irremovable for a reason.

"I won't," Rigel said, quiet but firm. "I'm sorry I won't be able to imbue as many high-level potions in a row, Professor, but this is for the best."

"You are too young to know what is best for anyone, especially yourself," Snape snapped, "You cannot become dependent on a dampener, or you will never be capable of wielding the full power of your magic."

"I know," she said, shrugging slightly, "I don't mind. I don't need that much magic." No one needs that much magic, she added silently.

"Never could I have imagined such laziness and waste would take residence in your person, Rigel Black," Snape's stare was heavy with disbelief and disgust, "You are dismissing potential that every other wizard in Britain would—and have—killed for."

"Exactly," Rigel muttered. For the first time she thought maybe it was better that she had such magic, if the alternative was that someone like Lucius Malfoy might have actually tried to use it to its fullest, most dangerous potential.

Snape turned away to pace quickly across the lab and back, and she thought she actually heard a growl in his voice as he said, "You cannot possibly expect that ignoring this problem will in any way work. Magic does not fade away when it is repressed—it grows stronger. You of all people should know that."

Rigel winced, realizing that he had a point. One of the reasons her magic had been so unwieldy first year was because of how successfully she'd repressed it as a child. Still… "It isn't the same situation," Rigel said, "I'm not relying on myself, but on an external stabilizer."

"Stabilizer?" Snape let out a vicious sneer, "It is crippling you, boy."

"It's protecting me, and everyone around me," she bristled, tired of being reprimanded for making the responsible decision regarding her magic, "You would have me selfishly grasp at the power I could wield, wrestling with it for years and years, apologizing every time it lashes out at those around me, praying it doesn't maim anyone when I get upset, just so—what? So I can say I'm the most magically powerful Potions Master to ever live? I don't care about the power. It's useless to me. I just want to brew potions, and do you know what happens when I take off my ring and try to imbue anything? It explodes in my face!"

"That's because you cannot control it yet—"

"No one can control it, Professor," Rigel said, her voice rising, "Don't you think I thought about that possibility before I decided to permanently affix a piece of powerful magic to my finger?"

"Where did you even get such a ridiculous idea?" Snape growled.

Rigel blinked, taken aback at the slightly tangential question, "My aunt Lily."

Her Professor froze, "What?"

"Aunt Lily has a bracelet that she wears for the same reason," Rigel said.

"She certainly does not," Snape sounded very sure of that.

"She does," Rigel disagreed, "She started wearing it after Harry was born, when it became clear that no matter how many years she tried to control it, her magic would always be too powerful to be safe." She hoped her mother didn't mind her telling Snape about her bracelet, but from how awkward their meeting at the hospital was last year, she didn't think she had to worry about them talking to one another ever again.

Snape was very quiet for a moment. He still looked furious, but she had the feeling some of his anger had been redirected for some reason. When he spoke again, it was quieter, if just as severe, "Your aunt is muggleborn. She does not have generations of control bred into her family line—as a pureblood you have no such disadvantage. There is no excuse for your refusal to control your magic."

Rigel could feel herself growing angrier the longer Snape dismissed her concerns and belittled her efforts to control her own life. She was tempted for a moment to give into the anger, to shout at him that he didn't understand the fear and anxiety that came with carrying a loaded weapon everywhere she went. She didn't, though. Just because she wore a suppressor didn't mean she was suddenly free to give reign to her emotions whenever she pleased. Even without the danger of a magical accident, letting her frustrations crowd her mind was a terrible habit to indulge.

So she took a deep breath, then said, "Respectfully, it is my decision to make, Professor."

"And I am to accommodate your new handicap in determining our lessons, I suppose?" he sneered. She winced, but said nothing. If Snape refused to teach her because she was less powerful, well, it would be awful, and probably mean the end of her purpose in coming to Hogwarts, but not the end of everything. The last two years hadn't been a waste, after all. Some things were still more important than her own ambitions.

At her impassive expression, Snape seemed to deflate. His face looked positively aged as he shook his head slowly, a bitter twist to his mouth. "Far be it from me to prevent you wallowing in mediocrity, Mr. Black."

"Thank you for respecting my choice, Professor," she said softly.

A snide look was the only response as Snape swept off to the cabinets and began pulling out ingredients and piling them on the counter in a brisk manner. When she cautiously joined him at one of the lab stations, he said flatly, "If you are determined to languish magically, at the least I will force your potions ability to its maximum extent."

After that, Professor Snape proceeded with the morning's lesson as though the entire incident had not occurred, aside from being slightly more demanding than usual in his instruction.

Rigel was relieved that they'd worked through the matter, though she wasn't so optimistic as to think the issue settled entirely. Likely Snape was merely waiting for an opportunity to change her mind.

Sure enough, as she packed up her things at the end of the lesson, Snape said, "I would not have expected a braggart like Sirius Black to so easily acquiesce to his son's magic being effectively sealed."

There was something in his voice that made her think he was fishing for information—did he hope to use her sense of familial duty to sway her opinion? Or was he looking for someone other than Rigel to blame for her decision? Either way, there was a chance she could use this to forestall the possible complication that was Snape's knowledge.

She looked up at Snape through her bangs, a plea that Rispah would have been proud of in her eyes, "You won't tell him, will you?"

Snape's lip curled, but something almost satisfied flashed in his eyes before he sneered, "How can he not already be aware of your foolishness?"

"My core matured in the night," Rigel said, biting a lip. "After the initial stage, the increased power didn't manifest outwardly. It only acted up when I tried using it, and since we aren't allowed to do magic over the summer I didn't try around my family, so Father didn't see any change."

"You did not go to him when you realized your magic was beyond your control?" Snape was definitely deriving some sort of pleasure from this, she thought, but she had committed to the story and would stick with it. She doubted Sirius cared either way about Snape's option of him, in any case.

"I don't need other people to solve my problems for me," she said, tilting her chin stubbornly so that she appeared as a prideful child.

"Clearly," Snape's sarcasm could not possibly bite any deeper.

"I don't," she insisted, "My family doesn't need to be bothered with things I can take care of myself." At the last bit, she allowed her lower lip to tremble ever so slightly.

It was enough to make Snape pause. A suspicious look overcame his face once more, and he asked, "Do you fear their reaction?"

Rigel swallowed, "I…no." She didn't even try to sound convincing.

"You foolish child, they would only be proud of your gifts," Snape hissed fiercely, "And enraged to see you squandering them."

"Pride only flows to a certain point before it turns to fear," Rigel said, allowing her eyes to flash, "A child who gets straight O's is something you brag about, but a child whose magic can kill with a thought? Being dangerous is not something to be proud of, Professor."

"You are wrong about that, boy, though you are too naïve to realize it yet," Snape said, "Even so, your father is many ignoble things, but afraid of powerful magic he is not. Your argument holds no water."

"Many people are not afraid of the idea of something until they are confronted with the thing itself," Rigel said darkly, "My aunt's family had no idea what magic was, but when it showed up in their daughter they learned to fear it fast enough."

"Your aunt's family are muggles," Snape said, clearly exasperated, "Ignorant about magic in every way. Of course they fear what they do not understand."

"They were people confronted with something they were supposed to love, did love, but couldn't control," Rigel returned, not realizing until she said it out loud that she believed it. Blowing out a half-hearted sigh, she added, "Wizards aren't so different from muggles when it comes to how they react to fear. My uncle Remus never talks about his father, and I don't think it's because he's dead."

In fact, she was pretty sure Remus had once said that he'd been bitten as a child in an act of revenge against his father, who had said some inflammatory things about werewolves in the presence of one Fenrir Greyback. She wasn't sure gaining a son as a werewolf had changed his opinion overmuch.

Snape did not, apparently, have anything to say to that.

Just to sink the point home, she added in a small voice, "I just don't want them to be afraid of me all the time. And I don't want to hurt any of them. My father and the other adults could protect themselves, but what about Harry? What about Addy? I have to know I'm not a danger to anyone, Professor. Being pretty sure isn't good enough, and that's all my control would amount to."

"You don't know that," Snape said after a moment, "You could benefit the world in so many ways, Rigel."

At the use of her first name, she had to blink back an awkward surge of moisture in her eyes. She hated disappointing this man, her mentor in so many ways, but pleasing him had become less important than protecting her secret. No one could know that Rigel Black had powerful magic. Snape had to agree to keep it to himself, and the best way to do that was to make him see that it didn't matter as long as she refused to use it.

"I've weighed the risks and made my decision," she said, the words coming out rushed as she hiked her bag over her shoulder and backed toward the door, "I'll see you next class, Professor. I've got—I'm late for lunch."

She left before he could point out that with the time-turner under her shirt she couldn't be late for anything.

-0

[HpHpHp]

-0

She stopped her half-run a few corridors away, ducking into an alcove to regain a bit of her composure. Of all the people she lied to, Snape was one of the most difficult, second only to Draco in terms of the wracking amount of guilt that assaulted her gut afterwards.

To distract herself, she took out the letter from her cousin and began to read it by the meager torchlight. By the end, she felt so sick she had to sit down on the floor and pull her knees to her chest. She knew it wasn't going to be good, but a letter from the Ministry?

Archie had included the letter in his missive, and after scanning it once Rigel saw it for the politely worded demand that it was. The Department of Mysteries was intrigued by her proposed new brewing technique, and 'requested' several samples be sent to their offices by owl at her earliest convenience. She didn't know how long they would wait before reiterating their request, but considering the amount of time it took to get a letter from AIM to Hogwarts, she should probably start working on them yesterday.

In fact…a smile slowly started to spread across her face. That's exactly what she would do.

She flipped to a blank page in her notebook and wrote down the exact time and date. After a moment of thought, she scratched out the time and wrote 11:45am, so she would be sure to make it back to lunch before her friends missed her.

Then she took out her time-turner and steeled herself. She'd never turned more than a few hours at a time, but this time she wouldn't have to worry about making it to certain places at certain times. With her invisibility cloak, she would just disappear. Ignoring the little voice in her head that told her she was running from her problems, she began to turn the hourglass, spinning it and spinning it, past the twenty-four-hour mark and on and on until the world bled and she closed her eyes and fell back into reality with an odd whirring motion.

She cast the tempus charm, and was pleased to see that she had traveled exactly two days into the past. She figured she could brew the samples for the Ministry, write up all her notes on shaped imbuing for Snape, Tallum, and anyone else who requested information in the future, and still send them off to Archie before the Ministry found a reason to harass her for noncompliance.

In theory she could just mail the potions directly to the Ministry herself, but who knew what sort of tracing charms the Department of Mysteries might employ on any packages sent there. Better to have it all come from Archie, just in case.

She started toward her lab, then stopped as her stomach growled. Right, she thought, food would evidently have to come before brewing.

She turned toward the kitchens instead and slipped her cloak off just before ducking inside. It was a little past lunch time, so most of the elves were washing dishes, but Binny didn't hesitate to toss the goblet she was drying to a friend and skip over to the pantries at the sight of Rigel's embarrassed grin.

"You is being hungry already?" Binny asked in French with a little laugh, "Lunch is being not long ago."

"I'm a growing boy," Rigel said in the same language after a pause to get her tense straight.

"You is growing in the wrong direction if you isn't exercising," Binny said, and Rigel marveled at how much more natural the accented language sounded when the house elf spoke.

"I'll run all the way to class," she promised.

"You is still being late," Binny pointed out, a mock-stern expression crossing her small face briefly.

"You won't tell on me, will you?" Rigel asked, accepting the plate of chicken with only a small grimace. She was getting used to eating meat, though she doubted she'd ever enjoy the taste.

"Binny is only telling if Dumbledore is asking," there was a twinkle in the elf's big eyes that made Rigel think that was rather unlikely to happen.

She was learning words related to travel that month, so she and Binny chatted for a bit about an imaginary trip to Lithuania they would one day take, and when she'd cleared her plate, she got up to go. As she told the house elf she'd see her that night for dinner as well, Rigel stopped, realizing suddenly that she had no where to sleep that night, since her bed would be occupied by herself already.

"Binny," she said slowly, "Is there…anywhere besides the dorms I could find a bed lying around?" As far as she knew there weren't any unoccupied rooms in the dorms themselves, at least not in the Slytherin dorms, where students always spread out to fill any vacancies.

Binny blinked before saying, almost automatically, "Students isn't allowed out of the dorms after curfew."

"But if I wanted to take a nap during the day," Rigel said innocently, "In between classes, you know."

Binny fixed her with a rather suspicious look for a house elf, "You isn't getting up to any hanky-panky is you?"

Rigel could not stop the laugh that sprung from her lips, "Definitely not!" She leaned closer to Binny and said, conspiratorially, "Girls have cooties, you know."

"I isn't knowing anything about it," Binny sniffed, "And neither is you, apparently."

Rigel laughed again, "So, barring hanky-panky, is there a place students can nap?"

"There is being the Hospital Wing…" Binny said slowly, "But if you is not being sick…there is being one other place that is having beds. It isn't a place students is going."

The house elf was frowning, but it sounded like a promising place to Rigel if other people wouldn't be going there. "Are students not allowed there?" She hoped it wasn't something like the staff room.

Binny thought for a long moment before saying, "There is being no rule against it. I is showing you?"

Rigel smiled wide in relieved thanks, "If you're not too busy, I'd really appreciate it, Binny."

"Binny is never being too busy for her friends," Binny said brightly.

"I'm honored to be counted among them," Rigel said, quite sincerely.

Binny held out her hand, and Rigel took it with care. She wasn't sure, but she suspected her human muscles were much stronger proportionately to a house elf, as they used magic to augment almost everything they did.

With a noticeable crack, they teleported, and when Rigel looked around she saw an unfamiliar corridor with a painting of…dancing trolls on a nearby wall.

"Where are we?" she asked, wondering why she'd never been down this hallway before.

"Seventh floor," Binny said, "This is being the entrance to the come and go room."

"The what?" she had never heard of such a room; she was sure she'd have remembered such an odd name.

"The room where things is coming and going," Binny said earnestly, "The Room of Lost Things."

A memory sparked, and Rigel struggled to capture it, "You…told me about this room once, didn't you?"

"You is remembering!" Binny clapped her hands happily, "Yes, I is telling you the first time we is meeting. I is telling you about the place lost things go."

"So it's around here?" Rigel grinned, "Do people lose beds very often at Hogwarts?"

At the least she could curl up on a pile of old robes, she figured.

"People is losing everything at Hogwarts," Binny giggled, "You is seeing. Come."

She started walking down the corridor, but when she reached the other side of the troll tapestry she turned about and went back the way they'd came. Rigel followed her, thinking she'd gotten confused, until Binny turned around again and paced back the way they'd been going originally.

Before she could even ask what was going on, a door appeared on the opposite wall.

Aware that her mouth was slightly open, Rigel wordlessly followed Binny inside. Her first thought was that she'd never seen so much clutter before, even in the attic at Grimmauld Place. There were stacks of things everywhere, all sorts of things that Rigel could not for the life of her imagine anyone losing. Books, sure, and the occasional sock, but chandeliers? Coat racks taller than her and broomsticks that didn't even look broken and—was that a garden gnome?

"This is all stuff people have lost at Hogwarts?" she asked, slightly awed. She knew Hogwarts had been around a while, but it was one thing to know it and another to see something like this just laying about.

"Or is not wanting to be finding," Binny said, nodding so fast her ears flapped. "This room is having everything; you is only needing to ask."

"Ask the room?" she said, a bit confused, "Can it hear us?" The idea of a sentient room was a tad alarming, but not outside the realm of possibilities, given that it was Hogwarts.

"It is not hearing, but it is knowing," Binny said, frowning as she tired to explain, "You is thinking very hard, thinking thrice, and the room is finding."

"I think what I need three times?" at Binny's nod, Rigel sucked in a deep breath and 'shouted' I need a bed in her head. I need a bed I need a bed I need a—

She nearly fell over as the room transformed itself around her. The stacks of things were gone, and the room looked considerably smaller. It was completely bare, in fact, save for a single twin-sized bed that looked a lot like the one in her dorm. In fact… "Is this my pillowcase?" she touched the material carefully, "But I didn't lose it…will it be in here from now on?"

If the room worked by pulling things from elsewhere in the castle, she'd have to be careful what she asked for.

"It is not taking," Binny shook her head with a smile, "It is providing. Only things in the Room of Lost Things is staying in the come and go room forever."

It was confusing to think that there were multiple different rooms inside the same room, but Rigel told herself not to be surprised. Magic was like that, after all.

"Can it provide anything?" Rigel asked, stunned that this kind of resource was available and no one even used it.

"It isn't providing food," Binny said, looking a bit defiant, as though Rigel were considering replacing her services in the kitchen with the come and go room.

"I'll definitely see you for dinner then," Rigel said, smiling reassuringly at the elf.

Binny nodded seriously, then said, a bit sadly, "I is needed in the kitchens. I is seeing you!" She waved, curtseyed, and popped out of the room with a crack.

For one worried moment Rigel looked around in search of an exit—it would be just her luck to get trapped in a room that half the time didn't even exist. As she thought about needing to get out, however, a door appeared on the far wall.

She smiled, and it was not innocent. The door disappeared, and a few moments later the pewter cauldron she'd been imagining materialized on the floor beside her.

"This is going to be fun," she said, setting her school bag on the bed. She doubted the room could produce ingredients, as perishables likely counted as food as far as the laws of conjuring were concerned, but she had more than enough supplies for a couple days of intense brewing. She hadn't brewed straight through the night in a long time, not since coming to Hogwarts and finding so many other things to spend time learning and doing besides potions. She found herself quite looking forward to it.

Her enthusiasm lasted approximately twenty minutes, at which point she attempted to imbue the base of her Portable Protection Potion and discovered, to her utter dismay, that she couldn't shape the magic into the correct shield charm. She tried several times, and in each instance the magic slipped away from her grasp and dissipated as unshaped raw power that did nothing but give the potion an iridescent shimmer after a while.

She vanished the potion and sat down on the bed, thinking hard. With trepidation, she tried several everyday spells and found nothing overtly wrong with their execution. Puzzled, she tried more advanced charms, but they worked just fine, too. Why couldn't she imbue shaped magic? She hadn't had a problem imbuing since she started wearing the—

Oh, no. Rigel scowled down at the glove protecting the forest green suppressant ring from her glare. It had locked a good portion of her magic away, and while what was left was more than enough for everyday magic and imbuing, what if it had compromised her wandless magic capabilities as well? It wasn't something she would have anticipated, as the point of the suppressant was to increase the control she had over her power, but if wandless magic depended in part on the user's strength of magic…she had definitely shot herself in the foot.

She ran a hand through her short hair and scowled at the air. Nothing could ever be simple, could it? In donning the suppressor she regained her regular imbuing ability, but apparently sacrificed her shaped imbuing. She couldn't just remove the suppressor, because then she'd lose all control and not be able to imbue anything. And she only had a few days before the Ministry would start expecting samples and possibly investigating the delay. Imagining Archie trying to explain to British Ministry personnel why, exactly, Harriett Potter was a boy made her shudder. It would be the undoing of everything they had worked for.

What are the odds that the Ministry will accept a polite refusal? she thought morosely. Maybe she could sneak into the Library and look for books on wandless magic. Wizards without a lot of magic could learn to use it wandlessly, couldn't they? Maybe she could learn the old-fashioned way instead of relying on the power behind her core to control the magic without a wand.

As she was thinking it, a book appeared quite suddenly on the bed next to her. Unbelieving she could be so lucky, Rigel picked up the thin tome and read the faded lettering on the spine. A Treatise on the Wielding of Wandless Power, it said. She smiled grimly and whispered a "thanks" to the room at large before settling into the bed cushions and flipping to the first page.

The book was rather old, and the language antiquated, but it introduced the theory behind wandless magic in a way Rigel had never come across. The author, whose name was too faded to make out on the spine, argued that without a wand to give form and structure to magic, a wizard had to condense his magic so compactly that its shape would hold up de facto once it was released. This, the author noted, required two major factors. The first was an immensely focused will on the wizard's behalf, as his mental directions became the pressure necessary to compress the free-flowing magic of a wizard's core into a stable form. The second factor was magical power. According to the book, it took much more magic to perform a spell wandlessly than it did with a wand because the magic had to be densely packed into the shape of a spell, rather than merely flowing through the pattern created by a wand.

It was the difference, the writer explained, between making ice with a mold and making a snowball by hand. If you have a mold, you can fill it half with water and the water will naturally expand to fill the rest of the mold when it freezes. If you start with snow, however, and attempt to make the same sized ball of ice, you have to pack the snow very tightly together to get it to hold its shape, and you end up with a denser, heavier ball than the ice made with a mold. For wand magic, the wand movements provided a mold for your magic to fill and spread out in naturally. Wandless magic meant packing magic so closely that it would hold a shape without the 'walls' of a mold to keep it in place while the magic 'set.'

Rigel no longer had enough magic to pack a high-level shield charm densely enough to hold its shape without a wand to manifest through. On the other hand, if she took off her suppressant it would be akin to trying to make a snowball in the midst of an avalanche, she thought wryly.

The solution seemed to be recalibrating the suppressant band. She needed it to leave her with the same amount of magic she'd had before her thirteenth birthday. She could talk to Frein when she got back to the Lower Allies over the winter break, but what to do until then? How could she adjust the amount of magic she had access to by herself?

Unbidden, a memory of that day in Frein's shop came back to her. After expending most of her energy in measuring the strength of her core, she'd been able to brew normally for the rest of the day. She wasn't sure, but she thought she remembered making one more shaped-imbued prank-potion that afternoon for curiosity's sake. If she could expend energy fast enough, then, she would have a temporary window in which she could shaped-imbue…in theory. The trick would be in not expending too much. She wasn't sure if she even remembered how her magic felt before her birthday, but she had to try.

An idea struck her, and though she was half-afraid it was too good to work, she thought at the come and go room, I need a…magic measuring device. That was as specific as she could get, she realized, as she didn't know what it was actually called, but she pictured the device as clearly as she could, hoping that if the room could provide a copy of an actual book it would be able to provide an actual magical device despite its complex nature.

It wasn't instantaneous, but when a long crystal tube attached to a metal sphere appeared in her lap, a grin threatened to tickle her ears it was so wide.

"Yes," she breathed, clutching the tube like a lifeline. She would be in Binny's debt forever, she decided, and would have to make it one of her life's projects to make sure the elf never wanted for anything.

Trepidatiously, she slipped off her gloves and removed the suppressant ring very carefully. It was difficult to get off, despite her sweaty fingers, because Binny had helped her spell it so that it could never fall off on accident or be removed by anyone but herself back in early September when she'd reached the castle. She had to bend her will to removing it, but once off it lay cool in her palm like any other ring. She set it aside carefully, and took a few steps away from the bed before focusing on the measuring device.

It was harder than she remembered to get her magic to start flowing through the tube. She had to coax it a bit, as though it had fallen asleep or become dormant. Once the flow began, however, it was like a dam bursting. She struggled to keep the device from shaking around as power coursed through her hand and bathed the crystal tube with light. The sphere on the end went through rapid color changes from red through orange, yellow, and green, only beginning to slow slightly when it reached blue. She poured more and more magic into the device, trying to feel her core at the same time and decide when it was back to barely-manageable levels. The sphere continued to darken from indigo to violet, and by the time she was able to get a hold on the flow and reign it back, the device was a brilliant purple.

She eyed it with some trepidation—was it a shade darker than it had been in August? Ignoring the worrying implications of that possibility for the moment, she placed the device back on the bed and stretched out her magical senses, prodding her core experimentally.

It arched like a cat under her examination, and Rigel was sure that if it were able, her magic would have purred. A little bit disturbed, she focused her intent and asked her magic to bring one of the pillows on the bed to her. With barely a breath of pause, the pillow flew neatly into her arms, despite her wand still being in her pocket. Smiling, Rigel tossed it back to the bed. She sent a politely worded request to the come and go room, and tossed up a "thank you" when two more standard cauldrons appeared beside the first.

Now she could start brewing.

-0

[HpHpHP]

-0

It was a little over two days later that Rigel felt ready to rejoin the time stream. She lost count of how many batches of Portable Protection Potion she'd brewed, all she knew was that she'd completely filled the remaining spaces in her undetectably-extended brewer's bag, and that was quite a feat if she did say so herself. After the brewing was finished (well, after her magic had regenerated to the point that she felt uncomfortable working without the suppressant ring on), she'd turned her attention to writing up official notes on her process.

She tried to make them as detailed as possible, and with the help from the book on wandless magic she thought she was able to explain the theory much more clearly than she had in the Guild's report. She finally had terminology to express a lot of the magic manipulation that went on in shaped brewing, and since she wasn't limited to a couple pages like in her research report, she felt free to explain every aspect of the brewing process to the point of near-redundancy.

She made three copies of the notes—two to send to Archie along with two dozen bottles of protection potion, and one to give to Professor Snape after enough time had passed that having had her cousin mail the notes to her would be a plausible story. All three copies had been written with dicto-quills, as she was taking no chances with handwriting charms where the Department of Mysteries and Professor Snape were concerned.

The original notes she would keep for herself, as well as all the extra vials of protection potion. The next time someone requested information or samples from she or Archie, Rigel wouldn't be caught flat-footed.

It was late afternoon and she was quite hungry, but even though she'd been taking all of her meals with Binny in the kitchens (sometimes at very odd hours of the day in order to avoid other versions of herself who were also eating in the kitchens), she decided to wait to eat until rejoining the time she thought of as 'present,' which was actually several hours earlier than the time she was in currently.

When she turned back to 11:45 that Wednesday, she'd be just in time to join Pansy and Draco for lunch.

It was a bit surreal stepping out of the first floor bathroom without the invisibility cloak on and catching up to her friends in the Great Hall. She hadn't talked to anyone but Binny for the last few days, and most of that was in French.

As soon as she sat down, Draco turned to her and said, "Rigel, what did McGonagall say about the alternative method for animate to inanimate transfigurations again?"

Rigel blinked. "I…don't remember," she said honestly. That lesson seemed like a lifetime ago.

"It was ten minutes ago," Draco raised an eyebrow.

"You don't remember either," she attempted weakly.

"I wasn't paying attention," Draco waved a hand dismissively, "I'm sure you were taking notes, though."

Rigel shrugged, poking at her potatoes, "Well, you're welcome to take a look at them."

Her friend seemed to drop the subject, but later that night when she was catching up on homework in the common room with the others she caught him staring at her from his seat next to her on the couch.

"What?" she asked, covering her mouth to hide a yawn a moment later. It was only seven in the evening, but as the last few days caught up to her it felt like midnight.

"Why are you tired?" Draco demanded, looking her over closely.

"Didn't sleep well," she said automatically.

Draco huffed, "You slept ten hours last night, just like you've done every other night since the beginning of term. Are you ill, Rigel?" A concerned look passed over his face, and he lowered his voice to keep the others from overhearing, "Is your…condition getting worse?"

The worried expression in his eyes kept Rigel from dismissing his questions. She felt guilt try and climb up from her stomach but she swallowed against it and gave what she hoped was a reassuring smile, "I've been taking a new medication," she said quietly, "It makes me sleep longer." She told herself she wasn't lying, if you counted the sleep-cycle-extending potion as a form of medication.

Draco looked both relieved and sympathetic, so Rigel smiled and nudged him in the ribs, "What's your excuse, hmm? Why weren't you paying attention in Transfiguration today?"

Draco abruptly scowled, "Blaise was distracting me."

"I didn't see him doing anything," Rigel said slowly, trying to remember if anything about that particular Transfiguration lesson stuck out in her mind. It was ordinary in every way as far as she could recall.

"He doesn't have to do anything," Draco said petulantly, "He annoys me just being these days."

"Okay," Rigel said, accepting that Draco was in another of the weird moods he was prone to this semester, "Have you asked him to stop…being however it is that annoys you?"

Draco sighed, twirling his quill between his fingers morosely, "It's not his fault. But that doesn't mean it's not aggravating."

"Whatever you say, Draco," Rigel said, smiling a bit. Her friend would explain himself eventually, she was sure. Until then, she had more than enough on her own plate to deal with.

-0

[HpHpHp]

-0

September bled into October, and one crisp autumn morning Draco said he had something new to show them in their unofficial Dueling lessons on the lawn. Up until then they'd been learning footwork-drills and spending a lot of time on aim-and-dodge exercises.

"It's a new exercise Professor Lupin has been teaching us all," Draco said, still panting a bit from their warm-up run. "First you have to learn the color charm."

"The one that turns its victim a bright color where it hits?" Rigel smiled, "My dad and uncles use it all the time. The incantation is colouris, right?"

Draco nodded, "The wand movement is two quick flourishes, but it's pretty easy to cut the wand movement short once you get the hang of the spell. You have to focus on the color you want very carefully, though."

"Let's see it," Pansy said, pulling out her wand in anticipation of imitating Draco's movements.

When Draco playfully aimed his wand at Rigel's leg, she gave it a taunting wiggle. "Colouris!" he said, brandishing his wand in an exaggerated double flourish for their sake. A jet a neon yellow light shot from his wand in a straight line to Rigel's shin. Her lower leg turned completely yellow, like someone had colored it in with a highlighter.

"The color erasing charm is just a broad swiping motion, with the incantation eradere," Draco said, jogging over to Rigel to demonstrate that one as well. Her leg resumed normal coloring, and Rigel shook it out reflexively, despite feeling no effects whatsoever from the spell.

"So what's the exercise?" Pansy asked while trying out the wand motions a few times.

"It's like battle simulation," Draco said, "The attacker gets three colors of light to work with—red, orange, and yellow. The defender has to alter his response depending on what type of light comes at him."

Rigel nodded to show she was listening, all the while thinking it sounded a lot like some of Flint's practice drills from last year.

"Red light means a spell you either don't know the counter for or can't counter, like an Unforgivable," Draco shivered a bit, "Orange is a spell with effects you have to counter, like Jelly-legs. You either dodge or, if it hits you, cast the color erasing charm before you're allowed to move or cast anything else. Yellow is a spell you can shield against, so you can dodge or cast a Protego if you see a yellow light coming. If you get hit with either a red or yellow light, you lose."

"Interesting," Pansy said. Her face closed into a mask of concentration, and she said, "Colouris!" fiercely while brandishing her wand in Draco's direction.

It caught him in the arm, and while the color was weak, it was recognizably orange. Grinning, Draco cancelled the color with his erasing charm and said, "Good one. Picture the color more intently in your mind. It's supposed to simulate the amount of concentration you'd have to use to cast a spell on the fly."

Rigel tried the spell herself on a patch of ground not far from the trio, smiling in satisfaction when the blades seemed to have been painted red a moment later. "This sounds fun. Does one person attack at a time, or is it like a real duel?"

"We started with one attacking and the other defending in class," Draco smirked, "But I think a free-for-all sounds much more entertaining."

With matching grins of anticipation, the three Slytherins spread out by mutual accord.

"Anyone who gets more than fifty feet from the others forfeits," Rigel suggested.

"And the last one standing gets the other two's notes in History," Pansy added, flashing a positively wicked smile.

Rigel privately reflected that perhaps the radical increase in competitive activity had brought out a previously-dormant side of their usually-prim friend, but Draco was calling, "Let the duel begin!" before she could dwell on the matter. She certainly didn't mind this new side of Pansy. Even if she does cheat, she thought with surprise as Pansy fired her first red-colored spell before Draco had even finished speaking.

Rigel had never faced two opponents at once before, so even though her summer lessons with Leo and Remus had given her plenty of practice dodging, she realized immediately that knowing what to dodge wasn't as easy as seeing the spells coming, though keeping track of both her friends long enough to do even that was hard enough.

It took a lot of split-second decision making to be able to decide immediately how to respond to the red, orange, or yellow lights. They weren't moving at the actual speed light moved at, obviously, but spells still cut through the air pretty quickly. You couldn't just dodge everything indiscriminately, because you risked tiring yourself out, and constant dodging meant no chance for offensive maneuvers.

Their first round didn't last long. Rigel ganged up with Pansy on Draco, one of them tricking him into countering a yellow spell while the other used his distraction with the shield to come at him from the side and stick him with a red light to the leg. After that, Pansy got Rigel by firing three orange spells in a row—one to her chest and one on either side of her—to force her into taking one of them. Unfortunately for Rigel, she got caught in her wand arm while trying to dodge, and wasn't fast enough figuring out how to un-color herself with her left hand before Pansy shot a yellow spell neatly into her shoulder.

Pansy patted down an imaginary stray hair as she struck a carefree pose, "Up for another one, boys?"

Draco and Rigel shared an evil grin. Pansy's confident smile faltered only for a moment before she grinned back, "Bring it on, gentleman."

Needless to say, they were all three disheveled and flush-cheeked by the time they hurried back to their common room to shower and change. Rigel had won the second round rather cunningly, but Draco had beaten them both soundly in rounds three and four. Apparently the blonde boy had been holding back some of his skills to give them a chance. It was only fair, Draco had said, since they were new to the exercise and he'd been practicing in class. Rigel and Pansy both vowed to seek revenge in the name of their pride the next morning.

As they entered the common room, Blaise was stepping out into the hallway. He eyed the three of them with raised eyebrows.

"What are you doing out so early?" Draco asked the dark-skinned boy.

Blaise smirked, "I would ask you the same, but by your stench and appearance it's obvious that you've just lost a fight against a mountain troll."

"We might have won," Rigel said reasonably.

"Yeah, maybe we're as good at dodging clubs as you are at dodging questions," Draco added.

"So blunt lately, Draco," Blaise said admonishingly, "You'll catch more flies with honey than vinegar—and more with traps than obvious bait."

With that, their friend slipped off into the dungeons, leaving the three of them to hurry back to their rooms before the rest of the House started waking up as well.

-0

[HpHpHp]

-0

The first time Rigel caught Draco struggling with his transfigurations, she didn't realize what was wrong. Their course material was steadily growing more difficult, and it made sense that even Draco, who was rather talented at transfigurations, would have a bit of trouble with them.

It wasn't until she saw him wrestle with the engorgement charm, a spell they'd learned in their second year, that she realized what the problem was. The engorgement charm wasn't technically challenging, but the power behind the charm had to be proportionate to the thing you were trying to engorge. Draco was attempting to enlarge one of the bushes near the lake to use as mock cover for their dueling practice that morning, but the bush barely quivered under his annoyed gaze.

Rigel took over wordlessly, but at that point she decided she'd waited long enough. It was one thing not to pry into her friend's private business, but watching him harm himself was a different matter.

She waited until they were alone in their dorm room later that day, Draco sprawled face down on his bedspread, writing a letter to his mother. Rigel pretended to be looking over the recipe for a potion Snape had her learning while she worked up her nerve. It felt wrong to confront Draco so bluntly about his problems, but…well, he'd do the same for her, she supposed.

"You've been taking too much suppressant potion," she said finally.

It took Draco a second to register what she'd said, and when he did, a frown crossed over his face, "What are you talking about?"

"The suppressant potion you take," Rigel said patiently, "You've been miscalculating the dosage."

"And if I said I don't know what you're talking about?" Draco said slowly, setting down his quill.

"I'd have to ask if you think I'm stupid, Draco. The suppressant potion has a distinctive smell, first of all, and even if I hadn't seen you take it when you think no one's looking, I can see the effect it's having on your magic," Rigel said, "It's starting to mess with your conscious magic as well as your unconscious magic because you are taking it too often."

Draco let out a slow breath, propping his head up in his hands and looking at Rigel sidelong, "I know. I have to keep taking it, though."

"Take less," Rigel said, trying to be firm without sounding like she was mothering him, "The teachers are going to notice soon."

"I can't," Draco said, grimacing, "It's not working as well as it used to, so I have to take more."

"You've been taking it since this summer," Rigel said, trying to make it sound like a guess, though she already knew the answer.

He nodded, looking downcast, "Yeah. I hoped it would get better with time, but…it's getting worse. I—Rigel—"

Her friend looked so torn. She could see there was a part of him that wanted to confide in her, but there was also a nervous reluctance that Rigel had seen often enough in the mirror to recognize as fear of acceptance. "You can tell me," she said, as supportive as she could, "You don't have to, but you can. It won't change how I see you."

Draco laughed a little, the sound bitter, "Do you know what I see when I face the boggart?"

Rigel blinked at the non sequitur, but shook her head mutely, turning so that she was facing Draco's bed more fully, giving him her undivided attention.

"It's me," Draco said. His voice shook just a tiny bit before he cleared his throat and firmed it, "The boggart is myself, only…I'm mad."

By the look on his face, she could tell he didn't mean angry.

Draco went on in a kind of daze, as though once he'd begun the words just slipped out of their own accord, "It just screams and laughs and screams and laughs. Sometimes I can get it to change, to sound more like a little kid laughing, but more often it stops laughing, and then it starts whispering…awful, mad things." Draco rolled over so that he was looking up at the ceiling, and Rigel felt absurdly like a muggle therapist as he went on, "I'm half Black, you know. You understand better than anyone about the madness that runs in the family, especially through the branch lines. Aunt Bella is a bit unhinged already."

Rigel nodded, though Draco didn't see it. The Black's were near-infamous for the madness that plagued their family tree. The sane members were incredibly talented, highly functional witches and wizards, the insane ones, however…well, it wasn't only their wealth and power that had kept the Black name feared throughout the ages.

"I suppose you've figured out I came into a gift over the summer," Draco said, resignation colored with relief in his voice, "I think I'm losing my mind, sometimes."

"You aren't," Rigel said fiercely.

"Not yet, maybe," Draco's face was screwed up in an expression of despair, "It's only a matter of time. I'm going to lose my mind, and with it everything I've ever wanted. The Malfoy Heir can't be insane, Rigel. My father will be forced to sire another son, and if my mother can't bear any more children he'll have to—to—divorce her, and we'll both be sent to the French countryside to live out the rest of our lives in shame and it'll be all my fault."

She couldn't believe her ears. She'd known Draco was struggling with whatever his new gift was, but she had no idea he was working under such a dire estimation of his predicament. She slid off her bed and climbed onto Draco's, waiting while he sighed and sat up to make room.

"You are not going to go insane, Draco Malfoy," she said, trying to project as much confidence as she could in her voice, "For one thing, I won't stand for it."

He snorted, "Because you have so much say in it."

"I do," she said, sniffing haughtily, "I saved your mind from the sleeping sickness, remember? In doing so I claimed it as conquered territory. If any madness tried to trespass, I'll break back in and show it what's what."

Draco laughed softly, "I'm not sure my father would appreciate an heir controlled by the Black family any more than a mad one."

"Both better than a magicless one, though," Rigel said, affecting a stern expression, "You are going to be more careful with those potions, aren't you, Dray?"

"My father is the one who bought these potions for me," Draco said, frowning.

She barely restrained herself from saying 'I know' and instead said, "They aren't meant to be a long-term solution." She couldn't help the slightly guilty thought that she was being a complete hypocrite by cautioning Draco against suppressors, but ignored it. Their situations weren't the same.

Draco looked sharply at her, "You don't even mean that."

Rigel blinked, "Yes I do. You need to wean yourself off of them or you won't reach your full potential." Now she definitely felt like a hypocrite.

"Why do you look so unconvinced of your own words, then?" Draco demanded, an angry scowl in place.

Rigel was surprised—she didn't think she'd shown anything but earnestness on her face just then.

"Oh, don't act so surprised," Draco said, rolling his eyes, "You aren't nearly as mysterious as you think."

She narrowed her eyes and considered everything she had been ignoring about Draco's behavior since September.

"What?" he asked defensively, "I'm not the one acting suspiciously."

Rigel's frown deepened, and a sinking fear began to creep over her, "Draco…does your gift tell you things about other people? You've been quite good at guessing what I'm thinking, lately, and forgive me, but usually Pansy is the observant one."

Draco flinched minutely, but it was enough to fill Rigel with dread.

"Are you some kind of natural telepath?" she asked, trying not to panic. How much might he have already learned from her if that were the case? She thought her Occlumency shields were good enough that she would at least detect an attempt at reading her mind, but a natural gift for Legilimency might be able to bypass such defenses without effort.

"I wish," Draco said darkly, "Voices I could handle. It's…feelings," he said the word with utter distain.

"Empathy?" she tried to disguise the gratitude she felt for the universe in that moment by sounding nonchalant.

"Don't bother," Draco said, "Even with the suppressant muting everything I can feel your relief. Don't worry, I won't be reading your mind any time soon—not that I don't want to. Your emotions never make any sense."

Choosing to ignore that can of worms, Rigel said, "That's a very rare gift. I didn't realize it ran in the Malfoy family."

"It doesn't," Draco glared half-heartedly at her, "It's your fault I have it."

Rigel raised an incredulous eyebrow, "What do you mean?"

"Your potion," Draco said, "The one you gave me this summer. That's what brought this on."

"That's not how it works," Rigel disagreed, "The Potentialis Potion only reveals gifts that are already there. You came into it naturally as your core matured."

"No," Draco said, shaking his head, "I was thirteen weeks before the party, remember? The empathy started after I took your potion."

"Maybe it just helped you notice it," Rigel said weakly. Inwardly she was panicking. It couldn't be true, could it? The Potentialis Potion wasn't described as doing what Draco claimed it had—unlocking a latent or unexpressed gift that would otherwise have stayed part of the wizard's recessive traits, but then again…it wouldn't be the first time her magic had done something unusual.

Draco looked more weary than angry at her, "I would have noticed debilitating headaches and mental breakdowns without help, I think. It was hell, Rigel. I didn't even know what was going on at first. Every time one of my parents became even the slightest bit upset or concerned I'd fly off the handle, screaming and wailing uncontrollably. I thought I'd been possessed."

Rigel could feel her face losing color, but she didn't interrupt. If what Draco said was true, she deserved to hear this.

"I was bedridden by the third day, couldn't eat, couldn't sleep, just lay there slowly losing my mind. They had to force nutrient potions down my throat. I'm lucky my parents are as levelheaded as they are. We had to dismiss one of the house elves, even. He'd always been a bit odd, but his line has been with the Malfoy family for hundreds of years. In letting him go we separated him from his mother and brothers for the rest of his life, but we had to because every time he got near me his mental illness made me feel like I was crazy, too. It took me weeks to even sort out what was me and what was other people, and even then if someone's emotions were strong enough they changed mine, making me sad or angry or scared or—or—" Draco let out a shaky breath, running his hand through his hair agitatedly, "At least with the potion I just get headaches when the emotions around me are too strong."

Rigel swallowed, feeling wretched for many things, but mostly for not noticing that Draco's problem was so serious. "Don't you get the good emotions, too, though?" she asked, tentative.

"Good feelings aren't as powerful as negative ones, and they don't last as long," Draco said matter-of-factly, "But even so they can overwhelm me if it's concentrated enough. You saw me at the welcoming feast, Rigel, and that was with the potion still in my system. That much excitement in one place felt like a hammer pounding away at me. Most of the time I don't get any good emotions, though. Proportionately there are apparently many more unhappy people than happy in the world. And teenagers are the worst," he added, burying his head in his hands with a groan, "I see what Uncle Sev meant now, nothing but angst and jealousy and pettiness and—and—I hate it."

"I'm so sorry, Draco," Rigel said, wondering if she should pat his shoulder comfortingly.

"I know," Draco laughed hollowly, "Your guilt is one emotion I've got an excellent handle on, you feel it so often."

"What?" she asked, taken aback.

"The other day you felt guilty about leaving to go to the bathroom," Draco said, rolling his eyes a bit, "It's a little ridiculous how often you fall back on that emotion."

Rigel hid a wince, realizing Draco must have been picking up on her guilt about using the time-turner without telling him and Pansy for weeks.

"And now you're feeling guilty about feeling guilty," Draco said, exasperated, "Just stop."

Rigel calmed herself with a force of will, and felt satisfied with the knowledge that at least Draco would not be able to tell the reason for her emotions without serious guesswork on his part. She felt secure enough in her ability to misdirect him in regards to her secrets.

How was she going to help Draco, though? She could offer to make a weaker dose of the potion to start weaning him off of it, but if the gift was as overwhelming as he said, Hogwarts would be a terrible place to try and learn to control it.

"Have you thought about learning Occlumency?" she asked after a moment of thought, "Perhaps Snape could teach you."

"He's been trying, but he doesn't have a lot of free time now that school's started again, and he was busy with important research this summer so father didn't want to demand too much of him," Draco said dispiritedly.

That explained why Mr. Malfoy had commissioned the potions instead of having Snape make them, at least. That, and it was probably easier for Malfoy to pay for the work of an anonymous stranger than to ask a close friend for a delicate favor.

"We'll just have to figure it out ourselves, then," Rigel said, smiling grimly.

"We?" Draco looked so hopeful she couldn't help but give him a quick hug.

"Of course, Dray. We're in this together now. I'll lend you the books that were the most helpful when I started Occlumency. We'll have meditation time before bed every night, and once you can access your mindscape on your own, I'll come in and help you design something to help control your gift, okay?" Rigel wasn't entirely sure that would work, but it was the most logical first step, "Meanwhile you should practice letting the potion wear off in a controlled environment when you can. Just focus on one or two other people, try to differentiate their emotions from yours, pay attention to when you can feel their emotions trying to interact with your own."

Draco nodded slowly, "Yes…I can do that." He looked more than a little relieved, and Rigel thought perhaps shouldering the problem by himself had contributed greatly to the despair he had shown earlier.

"You might talk to Remus—Professor Lupin, I mean—about sitting out the rest of the boggart unit, too," Rigel said, "I'm sure he'd allow you to complete some sort of alternative assignment if you asked."

"Everyone will think I'm a coward," Draco shook his head, "I'm not going to refuse to face the boggart when Greengrass can handle it."

"No one would have to know," Rigel tried to reason, "Professor Lupin would help you keep up appearances, I think."

"I would know," Draco said shortly, "I'll figure it out eventually."

"All right," Rigel shrugged. Then she asked, "Are you going to tell Pansy?"

To her surprise, Draco didn't look hesitant so much as uneasy at the mention of Pansy's name, "I'm…not sure. Does Pansy seem different this year to you?"

Rigel blinked, "Not particularly. She's a bit taller, I suppose."

Draco shook his head, "It's just…sometimes I get these emotions from her that don't make any sense. They aren't the kind of emotions I'd ever expect from Pansy, of all people. Then again," he sighed, "It's probably just me. I don't fully understand everything my gift tells me, especially when I use the suppressant potion. I suppose I should tell her. I think I'll wait until we know if Occlumency is going to get me anywhere, though. I want to have a plan when I tell her, so she doesn't worry too much."

Rigel nodded her agreement. She went to slip off the bed, but Draco's hand on her shoulder stopped her.

"Thanks, Rigel," he said, a sober look of sincerity on his face, "I know I've been a prat about this whole thing. I'm going to try and get this under control, like you said, and I want you to know that I'm grateful to have a friend who tells me what I need to hear. I don't blame you for the Potentialis Potion, either," he added.

Rigel thanked him for his understanding, but there was a specter of dread lurking in the back of her mind all the same. Draco wasn't the only one she'd made that potion for. Her cousin had begged her and pestered her about making him one once he turned thirteen, and Rigel, once she had her brewing abilities back under control, had done so.

Archie would have told me if something weird had happened though…wouldn't he?

-0

[HpHpHp]

-0

As the weeks went on, Rigel found that time-turned life strangely suited her. It hadn't taken her long, she ruefully reflected, to begin spending mind-boggling amounts of folded time each day studying anything and everything that she could justify as 'academic,' which was, she silently argued to herself at times, the purpose of the time-turner in the first place. She rationalized that the hours of time she spent with her friends each day were hours that other students who didn't have so many classes and academic pursuits would have anyway, so even when she used the time-turner to live those hours, she wasn't using the time-turner non-academically. It was making up for the hours from each actual day that she spent in learning. If some of the things she learned were technically extra-curricular…well, it was still academic to study Occlumency and practice brewing potions, wasn't it?

She half-expected to burn out after a couple months, figuring that the stress of living so many days each week would eventually catch up to her and cause some sort of mental fatigue that required her to take a break from such enthusiastic use of the device. As the end of October neared, however, her mind and body showed no signs of slowing down. With the time-turner, in fact, she felt better than she ever had. She had time to eat, sleep, and exercise as much as she wanted, and the time she spent with her friends more than offset the extra study time crammed into each day.

It was even becoming easier to hide its use from her friends as she got the hang of her schedule. She was never either too consistent or too irregular in the times and places she slipped away and rejoined them. Even Draco, with his slowly improving grip on the emotions of those around him, hadn't seemed to notice.

Speaking of Draco's gift, Rigel almost wished she hadn't offered to help him harness it. It wasn't that she liked the idea of her friend in constant discomfort—quite the opposite, she'd do almost anything to keep Draco from pain—but for some reason when she'd pictured teaching Draco to control his gift, she'd imagined finding a more effective way of preventing the effect it had on his everyday life.

Draco, it turned out, had a different interpretation on what controlling his ability meant. After giving Rigel a very strange look the first time she'd wondered aloud if they might construct a containment field of some sort in Draco's mind once his Occlumency was good enough, her friend had explained very patiently that he didn't want make his empathy go away—he wanted to make it useful.

In retrospect Rigel supposed that of course Draco would want to harness the natural advantage his empathy could afford him socially and politically, considering who his father was and what kind of work the young scion would eventually go into. She just hadn't anticipated that Draco would take to the idea of practicing his gift so…enthusiastically.

"Stop worrying, Pans," Draco said. He was ensconced in a low-backed armchair with a book on meditation and focusing techniques, but he lowered it for a moment to look at Pansy over its top, "You're going to do fine on that test."

He had become positively imperious about the emotions of others, Rigel noticed. Once he identified what someone was feeling, Draco had developed a tendency of telling them quite bluntly not to feel it, particularly if the emotion was one he himself didn't want to be feeling. Rigel hoped quietly that this habit would go away once Draco learned to ignore the emotions around him, but in light of her friend's sometimes domineering personality, her hopes weren't particularly high.

Pansy, who was pouring over her Care of Magical Creatures notes on the couch next to Rigel, looked up distractedly. "What an unhelpful prediction, Draco," she sighed, "No one is going to do fine on this test, because we haven't been taught anything comprehensive. The study guides Professor Pettigrew handed out are just gibberish."

"You should ask Rookwood what the tests were like in his third year," Rigel said, "Since Pettigrew is new this year, he'll probably rely on the last teacher's notes and exams, at least to help him determine appropriate content."

"Brilliant," Pansy snapped her book shut, ignoring the roll of parchment that got smashed between the pages, "Thanks, Rye."

She got up and wove her way across the common room, presumably looking for the upperclassman in question.

"I'm telling you there's something different about Pansy lately," Draco muttered.

Rigel ignored him, mostly because he'd said the same thing so many times in the past few weeks that she no longer had any novel reply to give. Instead, she focused on trying to understand the emergent patterns of late-stage lung diseases as related to age and vitality of the victim. Patient, she mentally corrected herself, not victim. Archie had some rather pointed things to say about her callous discussion of sick people in their last letter exchange. In her defense, she didn't actually treat any real people the way Archie did whenever his class had volunteer duty at the local hospital. All Rigel did was learn the theory, which sometimes made it difficult to humanize the subjects.

Before Draco could espouse his latest theory as to what, exactly, was different about Pansy this year, the girl in question returned, Rookwood in tow. Rigel obligingly moved to a different couch so that the two creature specialists could spread out Pansy's notes between them, and wasn't terribly surprised when Rosier wandered over a few minutes later and dropped gracefully into the cushion beside her.

"Evening, Rosier," she said, quickly finishing the paragraph she was reading. The odds of Rosier not starting a conversation were slim, after all.

"And what are you reading tonight, Rigel?" the golden-eyed boy asked through half-mast eyelids, "Another anatomy textbook?"

"Treatise on airborne pathogens," Rigel said, lifting the cover in case for some reason he was interested in noting the title.

"Got into the Healing class this year, then?" he guessed.

"Not really," Rigel said vaguely, "I still have the occasional lesson in my free time, but I didn't have room in my schedule to be in the regular class."

"What did you take in its place?" Rosier asked, visibly surprised, "Besides Potions, Healing is all you seem to study in your free time."

"I opted to take Arithmancy and Ancient Runes," Rigel said, not bothering to mention Magical Theory, for which she only officially attended the lab section. "Since my cousin Harry takes Healing classes in America, I can learn enough through correspondence with her that making room for a whole class here seemed unnecessary. Arithmancy and Runes would be much harder for me to self-study."

"Interesting criteria," Rosier said slowly, "Most people take the classes they're good at or interested in pursuing a career in, if only so that they might take the OWL's and NEWT's that will qualify them for future employment in the field. Why study Healing if you'll have no credentials to apply for an internship when you finish Hogwarts?"

Rigel shrugged, "I haven't decided what I want to do for sure yet. I'd prefer to concentrate on maximizing my learning now, and worrying about the future later. I can always take the Healing NEWT if I want to, even without taking more lessons with Madam Pomfrey. It's so rare for students from Hogwarts to have a Healing NEWT in any case, because the program here is so small, so even major hospitals like St. Mungo's will interview candidates without credentials if they show an aptitude."

All of which was technically true. She disliked spouting such long-winded lies, but when she and Archie switched back one day, she didn't want someone she'd gone to school with to think it odd if they happened to hear that Rigel Black had become a Mediwizard. She felt a momentary pang at the thought that she would have to cut ties with all of the friends she had here when she graduated. She shied away from the implications with the ease of practice, however. She didn't have to worry about that, at least, for a while yet.

"For entry-level positions," Rosier said, "Do you plan on cleaning bed-pans for six months when you turn seventeen?"

"If they need cleaning," Rigel shrugged, unconcerned with so unlikely a future.

Rosier laughed. "Big words. Are you really so unconcerned with your own future?" he asked, unconsciously mimicking her thoughts.

Rigel considered this; "I find that making too many plans for the future can undermine one's ability to appreciate the present."

"Or maybe you're just confident in your ability to secure a worthy position regardless of academic credentials," Rosier mused, "I wonder, is it a faith in your own abilities, or the ability to trade on your family connections?"

Rigel felt herself still for a moment before slowly closing her book and setting it deliberately aside. "I don't understand," she said.

The upperclassman considered her with sharp interest, "Your father is very well-liked at St. Mungo's. Aside from volunteering, he heads a committee for organizing fundraising events and personally donates an embarrassing amount of galleons every Yule. That kind of clout is very useful for someone seeking employment in a competitive field."

She couldn't quite believe he had actually insinuated what she thought he had. After peering into his expression for a moment and receiving nothing but impassive amusement, she took a breath and let it out slowly, deciding what to say. Eventually she said, "My father invests so much time and money into St. Mungo's for the same reason I want to learn about Healing for its own sake, not for a mark or job prospects."

"And what reason is—"

She could see the exact moment the realization hit him, regret flashing across his face and trepidation replacing smooth aloofness in his eyes. Before he could talk his way backwards she added, quiet enough to be chiding, "She passed in the winter, close to Yule."

"Rigel, I didn't mean—"

"Yes he did."

They both turned to see that Draco had been following their entire conversation, his face set in an angry glare.

"I'm certain Rosier spoke in ignorance, not malice," Rigel said, not feeling particularly sympathetic as Rosier winced. She would be generous because Rosier was a friend, but she wished she knew what he'd hoped to accomplish with such tactless inquiry. "My mother passed a long time ago, and there's no reason he would remember the details of her illness when he was so young at the time."

"And I'm certain he did that on purpose," Draco said, shooting Rigel a meaningful look that told her he'd been using his rudimentary grasp of empathy to read Rosier's emotions during the conversation. "He was positively pleased as he said it."

Rosier frowned, looking indignant, but also unsure whether he was allowed to defend himself after his thoughtless blunder.

"He didn't realize his mistake until the words were out," Rigel said, sighing. That much was obvious, even without a gift in empathy. "He's perfectly sorry now."

"Now that you called him on it," Draco growled, "Rigel, when are you going to see that he enjoys tormenting people?"

"I don't," Rosier bit out. His face was pale and he seemed, for the first time since Rigel had met him, at a loss for what to say. "I don't torment people," he said again, clenching one fist ineffectually.

"You do," Draco argued, "What else do you call purposely making people uncomfortable and asking inappropriate questions just to see them squirm? It's impermissible, and yet no one says anything because your Father has bought up half the businesses in Diagon Alley. You're just like him, bullying people into doing what you want for a bit of amusement—"

"Do not compare me to that man," Rosier spat so venomously that Draco actually leaned back a few inches, a shocked expression on his face. If Rigel had to guess, she'd say he just got a huge backlash of emotion he'd been unprepared for. Personally she thought it served him right for using his gift to try and outmaneuver someone he didn't get along with.

Rigel glanced around the common room and noticed they were drawing attention from nearby groups. "Maybe we should talk about something else," she suggested.

"No, I think Draco and I need to settle whatever this is now, before it festers any longer," Rosier said, uncommonly stiff.

"Agreed," Draco sniffed, standing with exaggerated ceremony, "After you, Rosier."

Before Rigel could say that this had all been a misunderstanding, both boys had left their group of couches and made their way into a private study room, closing the door resolutely behind themselves.

She looked over at Pansy helplessly, wondering how she'd managed to make such a mess of a quiet evening, but Pansy had nothing to say besides "boys."

After a moment of private consideration, Rigel decided that pretty much summed up the situation.

-0

[DmDmDm]

-0

Draco considered himself very contained, in most situations. He did not stomp his feet or shout when things failed to go his way, but that didn't mean he sat idly by and watched while something he found personally reprehensible was going on before his eyes, either. Rosier's little mind game had been going on long enough, and it was past time that somebody put a stop to it. That somebody was clearly not going to be Rigel Black,

Rosier shut the door to the study room behind them, and they each claimed a seat on opposite sides of the small wooden table. The older scion seemed to have some of his usual equilibrium back as he lounged indolently and favored Draco with a displeased expression, but Draco could tell, if he concentrated for a moment, that Rosier was actually feeling off-balance and uneasy.

"What is it that you thought you were doing just now?" Draco asked bluntly. In a ballroom with the eyes of ones peers all around, a man had to be circumspect. In a private conversation from one pureblood to another, however, directness was always preferred.

"I was holding a conversation," Rosier said smoothly.

"Usually you're much better at not swallowing your foot while you talk," Draco pointed out.

He had the pleasure of seeing the older Slytherin grimace, "I misspoke, yes, and I'll apologize to Rigel for my lapse in memory, but I fail to see why you need to take me to task for a question I already regret asking. Rather, I'd like to know why it is that every time I have a conversation with Rigel you become personally offended, Draco."

Draco scowled openly—the use of his personal name was an obvious ploy, but it didn't stop it from rankling. "Perhaps it is because every time you have a conversation with Rigel you upset him, and he's too polite to be offended on his own behalf."

Rosier visibly checked himself from scowling back, and Draco took the moment to lay a mental brush over the part of his magic he was coming to recognize as his empathic senses. It told him in vague impressions that Rosier felt defensive but not overtly guilty. Draco supposed that meant Rosier thought his actions justified in some way; he withheld a snort, but couldn't crush the spark of curiosity that had him wondering what the older boy's motives in antagonizing Rigel could possibly be.

"As difficult as I know it is for you to believe, you are not the only one with Rigel's best interests at heart," Rosier said quietly, "Yes, I provoke the boy sometimes, but Rigel is exactly the type of person who needs to be provoked. You've known him as long as I have; don't pretend you don't know his character. He avoids everything that makes him uncomfortable, including other people more often than not. Do you think that's a habit his friends should encourage?"

"Rigel doesn't avoid us," Draco said, "He's been around all the time, lately."

"Around, yes, but engaged?" Rosier asked, his voice pointed, "He sits among you all and reads, but how often does he volunteer information about how his life is going? Or initiate casual contact?"

"That's none of your business," Draco said, more sharply than he'd intended. Really, though, where did Rosier get off thinking he could decide what was and wasn't good for Rigel? He didn't know what he was talking about.

Rosier's eyes narrowed and his emotions became suspicious. Draco groaned internally as he realized he'd given something away with his vehement protest. "You know something," the older boy said.

"Just leave Rigel alone," Draco said.

"You really want Rigel to end up alone?" Rosier asked, a mocking note back in his voice, "Because that's where he's headed. He'll never seek out friendship or companionship of his own volition."

"He's not required to," Draco tried.

"But he wants to, can't you see that?" Rosier argued, leaning forward and giving off an earnest vibe Draco had a hard time disregarding, "Rigel soaks up friendship and affection like a sponge when he lets his guard down, but left to his own devices he pulls away. He needs people to pull him back in again."

Draco wasn't convinced, "Rigel has secrets. There are things you don't understand—and things I don't understand, too—and making him too uncomfortable is only going to push him away."

"Is it?" Rosier asked, "It hasn't yet."

Draco opened his mouth to argue and then stopped, thinking. Rosier, the sick bastard, was right. Every time Draco had urged Rigel to get angry and say something in response to Rosier's prodding, his friend had effectively shrugged it off and decided it wasn't worth getting upset over.

"Rigel says he has strict boundaries, maybe even believes it, but every time someone crosses one he forgives them," Rosier said knowingly, "Rigel wants to be close to people; deep down, he wants to drop his mask, which is all I want him to do. I want him to relax around his friends, to tell us uncomfortable truths he keeps to himself, to realize that no matter what he says or does we've already got his back, and to understand that getting close to someone doesn't have to be scary or confusing. Right now he pretends to trust us, to believe that we care, but in reality he shoulders everything himself and doesn't trust us to want to help him, or to forgive him any imperfections. That's unhealthy, and it isn't fair to us, either."

Draco couldn't believe he was even considering Rosier's arguments, but…some of it made sense. Rosier didn't know about Rigel's medical condition that made it uncomfortable for him to touch people too much—come to that he didn't know much about it, either—but before Rigel had confessed to it he remembered wondering if Rigel had been mistreated or traumatized somehow. He was just so unnaturally cautious and spatially aware of his surroundings.

Still… "It's not our place to confront Rigel about his issues," Draco had to point out, "We're his peers, not his parents."

"If not his friends, then who?" Rosier countered, "His father, who doesn't seem to see Rigel even when he's looking right at him? Professor Snape, who couldn't nourish emotional bonds in a child if it was his own, much less the son of his hated rival? Perhaps we should leave it to his cousin, off living in America most of the year and by all accounts more antisocial than Rigel is?"

Draco had nothing to say to that.

"Or maybe you think Rigel will work it out for himself, given time?" Rosier's expression was positively sardonic now, "Do you think Rigel will leave his self-imposed comfort zone on his own? No. He'll nurture what he sees as one-sided friendships, always willing to help others but never accepting any help in return, smiling and making small talk while whatever secrets he's keeping slowly eat away at him from the inside out. You've seen the contradictions embedded in the life he leads, Draco. You know it can't last. Isn't it better to show him now that getting closer to people doesn't mean facing rejection when something less than perfect shows through that veneer of his?"

Draco held up a hand so that Rosier would stop talking for a moment. He needed to think. Everything Rosier was saying sounded so overbearing and presumptuous, but…is he wrong?

Hadn't Draco thought similar things, at different times in the past? Rigel was his best friend, who he'd do anything for, but…did Rigel understand that? He knew Rigel took his side of the friendship very seriously, but he never expected anything of Draco, even after Draco had repeatedly asked Rigel to let him help with anything he could. Was Rosier right in suggesting that a more demonstrative show of trust and affection was necessary to get through to Rigel? Draco grimaced. Rosier still didn't know about Rigel's condition, and it really wasn't his place to tell the older boy, no matter how genuine his concern felt to Draco's rudimentary empathic understanding.

"I understand where you're coming from," Draco said slowly, "But I have to strongly advise you that even though things like sitting closer to Rigel or touching his hair seem casual to you, they aren't to Rigel. He takes physical contact extremely seriously, and that part really does make him uncomfortable and confused, and I don't think you can acclimate him to it, not matter how often you try."

Rosier considered Draco's words carefully. "He hasn't had a strong adverse reaction yet," he said after a moment, "It can't be that strong of a psychological barrier. It seems to me that he keeps a distance on purpose, but not out of fear or extreme paranoia. It's more like he thinks he ought to."

Draco could feel Rosier's confusion as he tried to figure it out, and felt a deep sympathy that he was pretty sure came from himself—he certainly knew how it felt to be utterly perplexed by Rigel Black. "Just trust me on this one thing," Draco said eventually, "Don't try to use physical contact to break through Rigel's social barriers—he'll be too polite to tell you so, but there are reasons you don't understand for why it upsets him."

"All right," Rosier shrugged, "I'll try a different approach." He winced, "Although, I was trying that tonight and rather botched it, I fear. I thought if I caught him off-guard with a pointed question he might reveal something more than his usual vague answers to queries about his goals and ambitions."

Draco sat back, satisfied with that concession. He could have left then, but something compelled him to ask, "How do you really feel about Rigel, Rosier?"

He didn't listen to Rosier's answer—the words weren't important. He listened to his empathy instead. When Rosier talked about Rigel he didn't give off any of the strange, sadistic excitement Draco had been expecting. Rosier felt fond of Rigel; he felt concerned, intrigued, and something warm that felt a little like kinship but more active, for lack of a better descriptive. There was a pleased sort of curiosity underlying it all, and just a tiny bit of possessiveness that Draco really wasn't surprised by at all.

Draco wasn't entirely pleased with this vague assessment, but he felt much better than he had going into the conversation. Maybe Rosier wasn't as obnoxious as Draco had originally assumed. Scarily enough, he found himself agreeing with the upperclassman more than not. He still thought Rosier was an overbearing ponce, but maybe—just maybe—the other Slytherin had a point when it came to Rigel Black.

When they rejoined the common room, Rigel looked each of them over warily, as though searching for signs that they'd been brawling like muggles. Honestly.

Rosier reclaimed his seat next to Rigel and very earnestly said, "I'm sorry for the insinuations I made earlier, Rigel. I went too far with my speech, and I can only hope you'll forgive me. I was only trying to gauge your reaction, but that's no excuse for my rudeness."

Rigel, to no one's surprise, only tilted his head and said, "It is already forgotten. Only—why were you trying to get a reaction?"

"Just wondering what's under that mask you always wear," Rosier said, actually winking his ridiculously orange eye at the other boy.

Predictably, Rigel frowned at that, "People are entitled to their masks, Rosier."

"Are they?" Draco said mildly. He knew it was cruel, but he just couldn't resist seeing the look on Rigel's face when he realized that Draco was agreeing with Rosier, "Sometimes provoking people is the only way to get an honest reaction out of them, isn't it, Aldon?"

The brief but acute horror on Rigel's face as the boy glanced between the two of them proved that point quite nicely, Draco thought. He tried not to smirk too obviously as he retook his own seat and settled back in to read. Things would be more interesting from now on. He'd been a passive friend to Rigel for a while, now. Perhaps it was time to change that.

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[end of chapter eight].

A/N: So…it's a little late. But just a little! And nearly 20,000 words . You'll be happy to know that my sister did whack me upside my head when she realized I missed my self-imposed deadline. She also stood over me making imaginary whipping motions as I put the final touches on this today. Sorry it's a little wordier than usual in places. The next chapter is where things start picking up—Halloween, you know—so if this one seems fillery, it is, which is one of the reasons I didn't want you all to wait too long for it.

So many of my brilliant readers accurately guessed Draco's gift, and I can't decide if I'm more proud or embarrassed. At least the hints weren't ambiguous, I suppose. I might make them a little more veiled in the future, though…stay clever, faithful readers. Happy Summer!