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.

9. Chapter 9

A/N: This is much overdo, for which I apologize! I'm working toward a much shorter wait on the next chapter. I also deeply apologize to anyone who likes cats. It's…yeah. Sorry.

The Ambiguous Artifice:

Chapter Nine:

Draco thought Rigel must be either very brave or very stupid. When he and Pansy had offered to escort their friend to Professor Snape's office that morning, they expected to witness a dressing down of epic proportions; what they hadn't expected was their soft-spoken friend's vehement, unequivocal resistance.

"—stupid, arrogant boy—"

"You forgot reckless," Rigel's disgruntled tone made Draco wince just imagining the look it must have inspired on their Head of House's face.

"I'm only working up to it, you impetuous fool!"

Pansy gave a sigh of exasperation from the other side of Snape's closed office door. Even the thick, insular wood couldn't muffle their professor's ire. Draco hoped no one happened down this hallway before Snape and Rigel were finished…talking. It was one thing for Pansy and him to overhear such an argument—they were Rigel's friends. Other people were not meant to witness Rigel's belligerence, however; it was a side he only showed to people he trusted. Just as well they were there to guard the door, really.

"He could at least try not to antagonize the professor," Pansy said quietly.

"He's become noticeably more self-asserting of late," Draco huffed, sotto voce, "Not yet sure if it's a good thing or not."

"I think not, at least from Professor Snape's perspective," Pansy commented, leaning shamelessly toward the office door as the voices within dipped in volume.

"It wasn't impetuous or reckless, Professor," Rigel argued, sounding perfectly reasonable in a way Draco knew drove his godfather mad. His father used such a tone on Uncle Severus to embarrassing effect, after all. "Please give me a little credit. I did take a moment to come up with a plan before rushing into danger."

"Exactly: rushing into danger," Snape snarled, "With no thought for your own wellbeing or anything except your insatiable need to involve yourself in affairs far above your pay-grade."

"I just told you I did think before I went after Remus," Rigel said, ever patient. Draco personally thought he'd get further with their Head of House by apologizing profusely and claiming to not have been thinking clearly. Telling Snape he'd purposely done something stupid wasn't exactly a good defense.

"And what thoughts, pray tell, did your puny, prepubescent brain come up with that justified so foolhardy and ill-advised a course of action, Mr. Black?"

"He's getting sarcastic with his rhetorical questions," Pansy noted.

"Not a good sign," Draco agreed.

"I thought that any perceived danger to my own person was greatly outweighed in this case by the potential danger to every other inhabitant of this castle should Remus truly have become lost to the wolf." Rigel's voice was definitely getting testier. "And I thought that the danger to my fellow students and professors was even then greatly outweighed by the potential catastrophe for creature rights that any incident involving Remus attacking Hogwarts personnel was sure to provoke. You act like my actions were unnecessary, Professor, but they weren't. The alternative to someone stopping Remus from biting Professor Pettigrew is unthinkable."

There was a short pause, in which Draco and Pansy exchanged raised eyebrows. That wasn't exactly the argument Rigel had given them the night before. Did their friend really care so much about the politics of creature rights? Or was he playing up the bigger-picture angle in an appeal to Snape's mercenary, objective nature? Draco thought he'd missed the mark, were that the case. There was nothing objective about the way his godfather favored Rigel.

"Even if you disregard all that," Rigel went on, "Even if you tell me that other people's safety and wellbeing somehow shouldn't matter as much to me as my own, it still makes sense for me to have done what I did."

"Is that so." Snape didn't sound at all curious.

"Remus means enough to me personally that any injury to him would be an injury to me," Rigel said. This was the argument Draco recognized. He wondered if it would be so compelling the second time. "I won't argue that my intervention might have saved Remus his hearing, since I admittedly didn't know that when I decided to help. I know Remus, though, and I know that if he'd even scratched someone in that uncontrolled state he would never forgive himself. It would kill him to have harmed another person, no matter that it wasn't his fault. He would feel that him being here in a school full of innocents at this time of the month was culpable enough."

"And he'd be right," Snape growled. Pansy silently put her hand to her head in dismay. Draco had to concur, that was not the right thing to say to Rigel.

"You don't mean that," Rigel said, sounding shocked.

"Don't tell me what I mean, boy," Snape spat.

"But you…your Wolfsbane is the reason Remus is here. It's because of your breakthrough that we know he's not dangerous at the full moon," Rigel said, "It's why I was able to confront and contain him so easily, even though I'm just a third-year. Sir…you can't think that your potion failed last night. It didn't! Something else just overrode it for a little while and confused Remus! Please, Professor, if you don't believe in its effectiveness, how are other people to trust its effects?"

"Why should I care?" Draco could picture Snape flinging his hand dismissively as he said that.

"Because it's your name on the line too, you know," Rigel snapped, seemingly fed up, "If people distrust the New Wolfsbane and think it doesn't do what you said it does, your credibility will be shot to pieces. It will throw your entire body of work into question in the eyes of some. Surely you care about the effect a werewolf incident at Hogwarts would have on your career, since you obviously don't care about anyone else who could have been hurt last night." The last was said with a tone bordering on disapproval.

"I care about how you could have been hurt last night, you stupid child!" Snape was roaring now, and Draco couldn't help but flinch back from the door a bit at the sudden shout. "Everyone else can go to hell as far as I'm concerned. You're the one I put two and a half years of time and attention into! You're the one who begged to be taken under my wing! The one I gave advanced potions lessons to far before most Masters would have given a student the time of day. The one I agreed to make my apprentice in January at only thirteen years of age—or had you forgotten that the trial period we agreed on would be up in just a few short months? I must say your latest behavior does not give me much reassurance in the matter of your good sense, Mr. Black. Perhaps I've wasted my time, after all, and you'd prefer to throw your life away at the first opportunity instead of dedicating it to any work of true import."

"I—you—that's not fair," Rigel got out, but it was clear the heat was entirely extinguished from his voice. "Of course I still want to be your apprentice. I just—you can't make me choose potions over everything else. I would choose it over most things, you know that, but…when someone I care about is in trouble I can't refuse to help them by claiming to be saving my own life to help other people later on. That's nonsensical."

"It certainly isn't—"

"You're saying that if someone you cared about was in danger—Draco, say he was kidnapped by ransomers—and for some reason Mr. and Mrs. Malfoy were unable to do anything, you would just, what? Shrug your shoulders? Ask someone who wasn't as good at potions as you are to risk their life to save Draco?"

"I am a grown wizard, Rigel," Snape said. He sounded weary all of a sudden. "When I need to enter a dangerous situation I do so fully prepared to handle whatever lies ahead."

"Why can't you see that I was prepared to handle this?" Rigel asked, "Potions isn't the only thing I'm good for, you know."

Draco was startled to hear Snape let out a bitter laugh, "What I would have given to hear you say that at any other time."

"I live to aggravate, Sir," Rigel said, a wryly amused tone entering his voice as well.

"I hope you give equal amounts of frustration to everyone you know, Mr. Black," Snape shot back, "I should be highly put out to discover that you'd reserved an uneven share of it for me."

"Ask Draco sometime how often I drive him to gritted teeth, Professor," Rigel said, a bit of sheepishness in his voice.

"Perhaps I shall ask him now—if he and Miss Parkinson are finished eavesdropping at the door, that is."

Draco and Pansy both winced, but caught was caught. There'd be no sneaking off surreptitiously now.

The door swung open and Draco hoped he looked perfectly at ease as he sauntered into the small office. "Finished if you are, Sir," he said, grinning up at his godfather in the same impish way he'd used to great effect at a much younger age.

"You guys waited for me?" Rigel looked utterly surprised to see them still there.

"Just in case we needed to rush in and silence you before you said something really idiotic, Rigel," Pansy said, smiling in a helpful way.

"In that case, you missed your cue, Miss Parkinson," Snape snorted, "Several times."

"My apologies, Professor Snape." Pansy dipped a small curtsey that Draco was sure none of the other girls their age could pull off so thoughtlessly. "It's so difficult to hear anything through antique oak."

"Salazar Slytherin designed the acoustics in the adjacent hallway specifically so that students awaiting their punishment would be able to hear clearly the cries of the student being disciplined before them," Snape informed her.

"How interesting," Pansy murmured, face full of guile.

"Are you going to give me detention?" Rigel asked suddenly.

Draco tried valiantly not to gape. What kind of idiot tempted their Head of House so blatantly? Why was he cursed with such embarrassingly unsubtle friends?

"What I'm going to give you is a chance to convince me that these past two years have not been in vain," Snape sneered. "There are six weeks until the end of term. That is how long you have to assure me that you've the proper temperament for the responsibilities and expectations any apprentice of mine must meet."

Draco mentally groaned. He could tell by the fervent determination that was suddenly radiating on his empathic radar that his friend was planning to barricade himself in his lab until winter break.

"I won't let you down, Sir," Rigel said, his calm, assured expression betraying none of the desperate conviction that was bubbling underneath. It amazed Draco sometimes that other people thought Rigel cold.

"He won't be starting until tomorrow, unfortunately," Draco cut in, placing his hand on Rigel's shoulder proprietarily, "Today Rigel's atonement allotment had been booked by his friends in payment for scaring the life out of us yesterday."

"Oh, has it?" Rigel asked, amused.

"Certainly," Pansy sniffed, "You apologized to us first, after all, so our vengeance… ah. penance, that is, must come before Professor Snape's."

"What will we be doing today?" Rigel asked, looking with trepidation between Draco and Pansy, seeming to have forgotten Snape was still standing there. Good, Draco thought with a smirk, let him recognize who he should really be paying attention to.

"Dueling," Draco said, crossing his arms, "If you think you're up for it, that is. I know a real wizard is leagues beyond your usual prey—I promise, we won't be as easy to take down as some old werewolf."

His friend affected a fearful expression, glancing up at Professor Snape with nervous hesitation. "I really shouldn't just rush into danger like that, Draco. My life is more important than a duel with you and Pansy, after all—"

"Get out," Snape scowled, sweeping his robes around him imperiously, "I don't want to see any of you until the school week resumes."

"Yes, Professor," they chorused, hurrying out the door without further delay.

"Are we really going to duel?" Rigel asked once they'd traversed a far enough difference from Snape's office, "Or did you just say that to diffuse the tension?"

"Are you accusing us of lying to a teacher?" Pansy asked, pressing a hand to her heart in dismay.

"Never." Rigel shook his head. "Don't know what I was thinking. Shall we go and change, then?"

They turned toward the Slytherin common room at the next intersection. Upon reaching the dorms, Pansy peeled off into the room she shared with Millicent, and Rigel and Draco continued on to their own.

When they entered, Draco immediately bit back a curse. A cloying, insistent emotion was battering at his empathy, and he wanted nothing to do with it. He hastily tried muting his sense with the Occlumency he'd been practicing, but he wasn't yet good enough to block it out completely. Resigning himself to feeling slightly nauseated, Draco hurried toward his trunk as quickly and quietly as he could.

He grabbed his loose training attire and began changing as swiftly as he was able, pointedly not looking in the direction of his roommate's hangings. After he shrugged on his lightweight tunic he realized Rigel, the blessed idiot, was taking his sweet time gathering up his clothing and looked to be planning on changing in the bathroom.

Draco threw a pair of socks at Rigel with impeccable aim. As they bounced off his friend's head, Rigel whipped around and frowned at him like he was the idiot.

"What?" Rigel said, standing.

Draco motioned frantically at the four-poster bed across the room, where the hangings were drawn shut rather pointedly.

"Oh, is Theo sleeping?" Rigel whispered, looking and feeling apologetic.

"Sleep—" Draco bit back a groan of disbelief. Only Rigel. Shaking his head, Draco left the room posthaste, unable to stand another moment of the clenching, twisting sweetness that was trying to invade his head.

It was a few long minutes before his friend joined him in the hallway. Rigel's raised eyebrow as he asked why Draco hadn't gone ahead to the common room was the straw that did it.

"Because I didn't want Pansy to hear me tell you what a complete idiot you are!" Draco whisper-shouted as he glanced about to make sure no one would overhear them.

"What have I done now?" Rigel asked, genuinely nonplussed.

"Rigel, when a bloke has his hangings drawn in the middle of the day, what do you think that means?" Draco said, rubbing his forehead.

Rigel actually blinked in confusion. "I…thought he was napping. You think he was studying or something? I wasn't making that much…noise…oh. It—he—oh."

Draco sighed. At least he didn't have to spell it out.

"Really?" Rigel wrinkled his nose as though completely put-off by the very idea.

Draco snorted. As though Rigel had never—he cut the thought off. It was…no. Just no.

"I've never noticed him—I mean—" It was almost amusing to see his stoic friend so flustered. "He didn't used to do that, did he?"

What did Rigel want, a timeline? Embarrassed, Draco shrugged. "Guess he discovered himself this summer. Can we not talk about it anymore? Just…be more aware, okay?"

Rigel nodded seriously, every plane of his face a study in carefully disguised horror. It was have been hilarious, if it weren't so odd. Surely Rigel had—no, no, still not going there.

Draco shook his head to clear it. Maybe his empathy was getting stronger if he was still getting echoes of a strange curiosity all the way in the hall.

"Pansy must be waiting," he muttered, turning to lead the way out into the common room before things got any more weird.

Is was a bit surreal, meeting in the middle of the day all dressed in their running clothes. The common room was bustling with students attempting to rush through their Sunday homework, and it was several moments before they spotted Pansy being clucked over by two upperclassmen Draco definitely could have gone without seeing.

"But it doesn't suit you at all, Pansy," Rosier was saying mournfully, "The color is positively drab, my dear."

"It's built for functionality, not appearance, Aldon," Pansy said chidingly, "And there, you see? Draco and Rigel are wearing just the same."

Rosier turned to eye their plain, somewhat worn attire with equal parts confusion and distaste. Before he could issue whatever scathing comment Draco could see floating behind his sharp, oddly-colored eyes, Rookwood, with his usual aptitude for blunting his friend's razor wit, cut in. "Are you going to play Quidditch, then?"

"They could play Quidditch in sensible clothing," Rosier sniffed. No doubt his definition of 'sensible' was uncannily close to the actual definition of 'flattering.'

"We're exercising, I already told you," Pansy sighed, "It would be entirely wasteful to muck about in the dirt in my dress robes, don't you agree?"

"I'm sure I wouldn't know," Rosier frowned, "What sort of exercise involves getting dirty, anyway? Are you gardening for Professor Sprout, or something?"

Draco could feel the disbelief coming from Rigel, who was gazing at Rosier is something like wonderment, but the sad truth was that Rosier likely couldn't fathom any appropriate physical activity that involved soiling one's clothing. His idea of exercise was likely limited to Quidditch, abraxan-riding, and indoor stage dueling. Draco doubted he'd ever even seen someone doing sit-ups or push-ups, much less the wide variety of calisthenics and stretches that Rigel had somewhat sadistically incorporated into their daily regimen. The only people Draco knew who did any sort of exercise, in fact, were all members of their House Quidditch teams.

"We're going running," Draco said, restraining the eye-roll he could feel building up only because before Draco made Flint's team roster he hadn't done any actual exercise, either.

"Then we stretch and build our muscle groups before practicing our footwork, then our wandwork," Pansy added, smiling.

"I knew you enjoyed the outdoors, Pansy, but I admit I didn't realize the three of you were such…enthusiasts," Rosier said, still looking a bit confused, but also radiating more interest by the second. Draco sighed inwardly. The worst thing about Rosier was his damnable curiosity.

"Oh yes, though we usually go out much earlier," Pansy said, a bit of pride showing through her smile, "It's remarkably refreshing, and energizing, as counterintuitive as it sounds. It was difficult at first, but I'd say Draco and I have come a long way since we started, haven't we?"

Draco smiled back, nodding in agreement. They weren't quite caught up to Rigel's level in terms of the strength or speed of their repetitions, but they were leaps from where they'd begun.

"Has Rigel not improved, then?" Rookwood asked, a curious light to his expression. This was why he and Rosier made such good friends, Draco decided.

Pansy laughed lightly, but Draco could feel the edge of a more pointed emotion than amusement as she said, "Rigel is leagues ahead of the two of us, I'm afraid—he's been at it much longer, after all."

As Rosier and Rookwood gazed with interest at Rigel, who was doing his best impression of an embarrassed clam, Draco tried to figure out what emotion he was getting from Pansy, exactly. It wasn't anything like jealousy or dislike. It was more like the feeling of sharp satisfaction you'd get if you were doing well at a game you particularly enjoyed playing. He didn't know why revealing that Rigel was good at exercising should bring Pansy so much enjoyment, but there it was.

He'd been getting similar feelings from Pansy all year, and he wasn't quite sure what to do about it. He'd always known Pansy was smart and good at reading people, but lately she seemed more…manipulative, almost. She gave off flashes of dark amusement when her face showed polite concern, or sometimes Draco would sense a deep, scornful boredom that clashed jarringly with her earnestly fascinated expression as she listened to an upperclassman's anecdote. Before this year, Draco would have said Pansy was like a particularly quick-witted flower: amusing but soft. Was she growing into something sharper? Or had this facet of her character always been there, and he was only now becoming aware of her thorns?

Rosier suddenly clapped his hands together. "This is so fascinating. Can we watch?"

Now Pansy was definitely feeling smug, but her words were perfectly demure. "It won't be very exciting to see. Surely you have more important things to occupy your time?"

"What could be more important than broadening our horizons?" Rosier asked, spreading his arms grandly, "We're ever so curious about this sort of exertion. Aren't we, Rookwood? And who knows? With you three fine, upcoming scions promoting it, I'm sure it'll be all the rage in no time."

"Perhaps you should participate," Rigel suggested. Draco had to hold back a laugh at the innocent expression on his friend's face. "It's a lot of fun, once you get used to sweating."

Rosier could not stop the curl that tugged his lip upwards in instinctive disgust. "Ah, no thank you, Rigel. I'm sure we'll be content to watch."

"But perhaps we will participate next time, if it does look as fun as you say," Rookwood said, a small smirk tugging at his otherwise stony features.

"Hmm, yes, who knows?" Rosier said, looking extremely unhappy at such a prospect.

Draco decided then that Rookwood was an all right sort, despite the company he kept. At least he knew when to take his partner down a peg.

"Shall we, then?" Pansy lead their little party across the common room. Draco didn't know if this was going to be a disaster or a lark, but he did know that whatever Rosier claimed about their clothing's unsuitability, Pansy looked all kinds of…suitable in her jogging trousers.

Even though it was chilly, the lawn was still populated by a fair few students. Suddenly Draco wasn't so sure that making a spectacle of themselves was going to be as fun as it had sounded when he suggested it. After a moment, however, he straightened his shoulders and shrugged all thoughts of the other students to the back of his mind. Malfoys did not change their plans simply because others became witness to them. If it was worth doing privately, he should not be embarrassed to do it publically. His reasons remained the same, after all, and a Malfoy's reasoning was beyond contestation.

Ignoring the curious looks they were receiving, Draco began stretching alongside Rigel and Pansy as though it were any other morning. He had to reflect that there had probably never been three people better at collectively pretending not to notice something than he, Rigel, and Pansy in that moment of calm, unruffled stretching.

The moment was broken, of course, when Rosier said, "What does that one do?"

Rigel paused mid-twist and said, "Lower-back stretch."

"Ah," Rosier said, nodding seriously.

Draco dutifully suppressed a scoff. He was nearly certain at this point that Rosier was exaggerating his ignorant fascination on purpose. The git.

They left the two upperclassman to their own devices while they made a circuit around the lake. People seemed generally content to ignore them once it was clear they weren't doing anything more interesting than going for a jog. That disregard evaporated, of course, when they returned to their starting point and Draco began leading them through their footwork drills.

Before they'd even gotten through all of them, they were interrupted by a pair of inquisitive Gryffindors who apparently weren't raised to mind their own business.

"Are those the exercises from Dueling class, Malfoy?" Weasley sidled into their space like a homeless dog sniffing for scraps. "We weren't assigned any practice, were we?"

"Some people have the dedication of character learn without being forced to, Weasley," Draco told him, not pausing in his complex shuffle even once.

"Is that why Parkinson and Rigel are following along?" the redhead asked, scratching his nose in the most plebian way Draco had ever seen. "Only they aren't even in Dueling."

"Yes," he sniffed, "In life there's this thing called taking advantage of all your resources—not that you have any resources—and that means Rigel and Pansy don't need to be enrolled in a class to reap the benefits of instruction."

"So you're tutoring your friends in what Professor Lupin teaches us," Weasley said, scowling a bit as he attempted to ignore the insult Draco had given at his expense.

"Very clever of you to figure that out," Draco drawled.

"All right, you prat, I was just making conversation—" Weasley started, but Longbottom, of all people, cut across him.

"I think it's nice, what Malfoy's doing," the lump of porridge masquerading as a pureblood scion even seemed to mean it.

"It isn't nice; it's practical," Draco corrected him, wondering why all of a sudden people thought Slytherins were going soft. It was all Rigel's fault, he concluded. If not for his mushy reputation Draco wouldn't have to be twice as acerbic to make up for it.

"Well either way…" Longbottom visibly steeled himself, hands shaking slightly. "Would it be all right if we joined in? I don't know m-much about Dueling, but maybe I could try," he trailed off in confidence at the end, looking down at his feet as though wondering how they'd brought him here.

Draco actually had to stop and stare at the Longbottom heir for a moment he was so perplexed. When had he ever been inviting to this kid? Did he think that just because he was vague acquaintances with Rigel meant Draco was by proxy his friend as well? He opened his mouth to disabuse the poor, disturbed young man of this notion, but predictably Rigel seized the moment for his own misguided sense of fairness.

"That's a great idea, Neville," the dark-haired boy said, "We practice so often together, our moves are becoming predictable. A little new blood will be just the thing, won't it, guys?"

Pansy tilted her head in that politely calculating way of hers and nodded slowly. "Why not? It would be a good chance to diversify our range of tactics."

Draco had to pause at that. It would be nice to go up against new opponents; it would be nice seeing Rigel trounce somebody else for a change, at that. Draco didn't know how his friend was improving so quickly, but he'd shot ahead of Draco and Pansy in terms of fluidity and speed in the last few weeks. Draco would accuse him of sneaking in extra practices if he didn't spend most of every single day with Rigel. He supposed some people just had a knack for certain things.

"It might not be fair." Draco couldn't resist the small smirk that slid into place as he eyed Longbottom and Weasley in their weekend robes. "We practice daily, and keep in good condition." The unspoken 'unlike you' did not go unscowled upon by the more freckled of the Gryffindor duo.

"Everyone starts somewhere," Rigel said evenly, "And Ron is in Dueling with you, right? So he can help Neville with the steps. They'll be at our pace in no time."

Draco shot Rigel an annoyed look—surely he was not suggesting they start including Weasley and Longbottom in their morning practices. That was their time.

"We could make it a weekly thing," Pansy jumped in, sending Draco a reassuring glance. At least one of his friends could be counted upon to read his mind, then. "If it goes well, that is."

Rookwood stepped forward from where he and Rosier had been keeping a respectful distance. "In that case, why don't we join now as well? From what I've witnessed, you three do seem to know what you're doing."

"The more the merrier," Rigel said, and Draco doubted he was even being ironic.

"How will it work, then?" Weasley said, eyeing the five Slytherins with a mildly flattering amount of caution, "Should we starting doing all those jumping things and push-up exercises?"

"You can join in those next week," Pansy said briskly, "For now you should stretch, focusing on your legs, arms, and wrists."

As Pansy lead the four newcomers through a beginners stretching routine, Draco pulled Rigel aside and asked, "Are we really doing this? It's going to slow down our training."

"Only for a short while," Rigel said, smiling a bit, "And we still have our weekday practices. This is just some extra inter-house cooperation."

Draco snorted, "More like an inter-house charity project."

"You can put it on your resume," Rigel said blithely.

He had to laugh at that. Wait until he told his parents he'd started a dueling charity for the tragically under-trained at Hogwarts. "What shall we call it?" he asked, grinning, "I need an appropriately impressive title to put after 'President and CEO' on the business cards."

Rigel thought for a moment, "How about the Slytherin Association of Defense?"

"You want people to call it 'SAD?'" Draco lifted an eyebrow at Rigel's innocuous expression. He could feel the amusement flitting through Rigel's mind as easily as the sun shining through the clouds.

"Then how about the Defense Association For Teens?" Rigel smirked.

"'DAFT' is worse than 'SAD.'" Draco rolled his eyes.

"Then what about Draco's Ultimate Life Lessons?" Rigel suggested.

"Now you're just being ridiculous," Draco laughed. How did Rigel come up with this stuff? "It has to be simple, easy to remember, and explicit. Let's call it the Dueling Club."

Rigel winced, "Remember the dueling club from last year?"

"Oh. Well, we don't want it associated with Lockhart." Draco frowned. "Should we just call it the Defense Association, then?"

Rigel tilted his head in exaggerated thoughtfulness. "That's perfect. And we can call it the DA for short, and when anyone asks what the DA stands for, you know what we'll tell them?"

Draco was almost afraid to ask.

"We'll say it stands for Draco's Army," Rigel said, nodding sagely.

He groaned at the utter cheesiness of that idea. "Just go back to stretching, Rigel, and leave the thinking to me."

"Yes, sir!" Rigel saluted him with a jaunty wink and quickstepped over to the others before Draco had a chance to reply. Honestly, his friends were quite ridiculous sometimes. Draco's Army indeed.

-0

[HpHpHp]

-0

Rigel was inundated with mail on Monday morning. The perfunctory post-Halloween 'are-you-alive?' letter from Archie was expected, as was the short, concerned-yet-proud note from Sirius, who'd apparently heard the story from Remus already. At least her uncle's timeliness saved her the trouble of telling Sirius herself, though Rigel knew her reply would have to be at once apologetic and self-deprecating in order to properly downplay the whole ordeal.

The missives attached to Archie's letter were a bit less expected, though not unwelcome. Leo had written yet another long, somewhat rambling letter by the looks of it. Rigel found herself more and more often becoming an ear to his troubles, and wondered if he was becoming a bit overwhelmed by his position. On the other hand, he might just be a remarkably poor letter-writer.

The last letter was from Caelum Lestrange, and Rigel had to suppress an incredulous laugh as she hastily tucked it away with the others to read later in the day. The curiosity burned at her all through her first two classes, though, and when she finally time-turned back to Advanced Potions after lunch, she stepped into the first unassuming alcove and ripped the letters open with the tip of her wand.

Harry,

Tired of America yet? When are you coming back to the alleys? It's rather dull here without you. I haven't beat anyone into the dirt in ages—I do hope you're practicing, and not just that stuffy exhibition style they teach in schools these days, otherwise I may be obliged to remind you how ineffectual that ridged nonsense is in real life. We'll have to find a new practice spot, though. The Phoenix opened its courtyard to the folk who lost housing units in the latest Ministry raid, so it'll be a bit crowded until at least the new year, I'd wager. Maybe you can come to my house for our lessons—that's right! I've got my own digs now. Da has been pestering me to get out of the house and find a job for ages. I haven't time for what he calls 'gainful employment,' of course, but my unofficial full-time gig does come with certain benefits, at least in the homestead arena.

Da talks about you often, and wants to know what your summer plans are—I wouldn't mind knowing myself, to tell the truth. Will you be wrapped up in another of your potions projects? Or maybe you'd like to do something more fun. There's a tournament in the lower alleys mid-July, and the organizers aren't exactly meticulous about the names that appear on the entrance forms. Might be a good chance to test your progress. If you do end up working with my Da again, be a sport and tell him I'm working at Ma's clinic. She's covering for me, keeping the lectures on 'wasting time with those ragtag friends of yours' to a minimum. I'm not complaining or anything; I brought it on myself when I decided not to tell him. He doesn't understand the lower alleys. He tries not to think about how many of Ma's relatives are in the court of rogues, and his station wouldn't let him approve of the work I do even if he were to know of it. I guess I don't need to tell you what it's like to keep secrets from your family—sometimes I think you know more than I do, on that account.

Well, I won't bore you with more maudlin musings at the moment. Plenty of time to wear your ears out when you come home. Time enough to wear your feet out, too! You'd better not have gone soft at your prissy American school, Harry. I'll set Marek on you if you have—he's been dying to teach you proper knife-fighting.

With those pleasant prospects to look forward to, stay safe, and I'll see you soon.

-Leo

Rigel shook her head as she folded the letter neatly and tucked it away. Definitely a terrible letter-writer. Leo sounded incredibly bored, and she wasn't sure if that was an improvement over his tired, somewhat bogged down tone in the previous letter or not. She didn't want her friend to be overly troubled, but a bored Lionel Hurst could not possibly be a good thing.

Lestrange's letter was, if anything, at least a refreshing change from her usual correspondence.

Potter,

What have you been doing all semester? I haven't heard a lick of news about that tacky brewing technique you droned on about at the showcase. If you think you can keep the research all hush-hush now that you're not interning at the Guild anymore you've got another thing coming. That process you published was completely nonsensical, and if you don't send me your actual notes on the subject I shall tout you as a fraud to every influential Potions Master my parents are acquainted with—which is quite a lot, in case your feeble American education doesn't teach you about important things like Society.

What are you doing this winter? Wasting away in some mediocre lab, no doubt. The labs here at Durmstrang are state of the art, and it's almost a shame I'll have to leave them when I graduate this spring, but of course I'll be moving on to bigger and better things. Everyone here is scrambling to pick a specialty before they graduate, but naturally I've already secured a proper apprenticeship for the summer. Master Whitaker clearly recognizes talent when he sees it, as he's requested I accompany him on a research trip to Chile this June. If I show merit he promises to keep me on until I've taken my Mastery. I'll have my credentials before my nineteenth birthday, I don't doubt. Not as impressive as Master Snape's record, but I don't think they should let candidates take the Mastery exam before they've even had a real apprenticeship. What good is a seventeen-year-old Master without any experience? No doubt you're one of those arrogant twits who thinks you can pass your examinations right after you graduate school, as Snape did. Well forget that nonsense right now and resign yourself to an apprenticeship like everyone else, you self-centered novice. Maybe if you're very good I'll let you be my apprentice once I have my Mastery. You can clean my cauldrons. If you haven't blown yourself up with your ridiculous tinkering before then.

Are you coming to the gala? Mother is letting me go again this year. I was politely asked not to show my face last year, something about an unfortunate incident involving your stupid cousin at the previous year's gala. I need someone to insult besides your dratted 'relative,' though. The twerp makes it entirely too easy.

You'd better send me those notes! And if you have any new breakthroughs I better be the first to hear about them. What's the point of pretending to be your friend, otherwise?

Don't take all month about it.

Your future Master,

-C. Lestrange

Rigel allowed herself an incredulous laugh before tucking that letter away as well. Only Lestrange would be such an obnoxious jerk and still manage to make himself sound desperate for attention. She would have to tell him that, when she wrote back to inform him that she wouldn't be his apprentice if he were the last Potions Master alive. She'd start her own Guild before that happened, in fact.

Reading the letters hadn't taken nearly as long as she thought it would, so she was significantly early for her Advanced Potions lesson. She didn't have anything better to do, however, and she certainly shouldn't be showing her face anywhere else in the castle while she was ostensibly attending Transfigurations, so she slipped down to Lab One under her invisibility cloak. She could at least get some studying done in the hallway before Professor Snape got there to unlock the door.

When she quietly arrived in the corridor leading to the Lab, however, she saw the door standing wide open, with stark, unforgiving light flooding out into the hallway. She slowed her approach, wondering what Snape was doing there so early—he had a class, didn't he? She was about to take her cloak off and step into the light when she heard a cultured voice that was definitely not Snape's acerbic drawl say, "Are you going to ignore me all morning, then?"

"As long as I am able." That was certainly Snape's resigned reverberation.

"It wasn't my idea to come here, Severus." Rigel recognized the other voice by its deceptively light remonstration, and had to wonder what Lucius Malfoy was doing at Hogwarts in the middle of the school day.

"It was your idea to cancel my morning classes in the guise of securing my opinion on the state of Hogwarts' wards, though, was it not, Lucius?"

"Ah, but I have come to entreat your opinion on the matter. In any case, I thought you'd enjoy a break from your tedious duties. Do not tell me you've begun to suddenly enjoy teaching after all these years."

Rigel kept her cloak firmly around her and crept silently closer to the door. She really shouldn't be eavesdropping, and she had no actual reason to be suspicious of two old friends having a casual conversation in the dungeons, but there was something screaming at her instincts that this wasn't all it seemed. It was too convenient that Malfoy happened to stop by Snape's domain just after a mysterious force caused a creature attack at Hogwarts. Something suspicious in her gut nudged her closer to the doorway, insisting that she pay close attention to whatever came next.

"My opinion is that the wards are just fine, and that the incident on Halloween had absolutely nothing to do with the age of the castle's magic, as you very well know. I do not have time to indulge this fiction today, and would appreciate if you could make your fake report to the other governors and leave." Snape was moving briskly back and forth across the lab, taking ingredients from various cupboards and pulling out equipment according to some mental checklist only he was privy to.

Malfoy was leaning against one of the spotless workspaces, watching Snape circle the room lazily as he said, "I'm sure I don't know what you mean. As a member of the Board of Education I have a vested interest in ensuring the security at Hogwarts remains unmatched in the world."

"And as his representative you have a vested interest in making my life more difficult than it needs to be," Snape scoffed.

"Not more than necessary," Malfoy gently stressed, "You must agree that getting to the bottom of this incident is in everyone's best interest right now. Dumbledore doesn't need any more bad press, and we certainly don't need traitors running about willy-nilly, sparking phenomena of national curiosity and living untouched by the vengeance they've so unwisely earned."

"I told you I don't know that it's him," Snape said with the air of someone repeating something for the umpteenth time, "Any number of things could have caused the madness we witnessed on Hallows Eve."

"If he had but a moment to explain to our lord what he thinks he's doing here, I'm sure we could clear up this little mystery in no time," Malfoy said, a venom behind his mild words belying the innocent nature of his suggestion. Who were they talking about? Someone at Hogwarts who shouldn't be?

"I can't touch him while he's holed up in this school." Snape had stopped gathering ingredients and stood, scowling, at an angle that let him view both Malfoy and the door. It would have been the perfect position to watch for eavesdroppers—if an eavesdropper hadn't been under an invisibility cloak, at least. "You know that. He knows that. Even the rat knows that, which is why he's made his bed here in the first place. He's only hiding in plain sight because he knows the Party has no power here. Dumbledore swallowed some half-spun tale about repentance and redemption, no doubt. I argued against his placement, but I have limited sway over the appointments—obviously, or the wolf would not be begging at our door, either."

Rigel rolled her eyes at Snape's callous reduction of Remus to his condition, but largely ignored that comment in focusing on the rest of what he'd said. The only person she could think of at Hogwarts that was a Party member besides Snape was Pettigrew. At least, he was the only new addition to the staff that fit the description. It sounded very much like Peter Pettigrew had come to Hogwarts not as a spy for Riddle, as she'd half-assumed, but rather to find refuge from the powerful statesman. And Riddle suspected Pettigrew had something to do with what happened on Halloween, apparently.

"He must leave sometime," Malfoy said, an annoyed frown crossing his elegant features, "Perhaps over the holidays we can catch him out."

"I doubt it," Snape sneered, "For all his utter ineptitude, he is not careless. He's too cowardly to make a foolhardy mistake. I watch him carefully, but of course he knows I am watching. He may well remain on the premises over break, as well."

Malfoy rubbed his temples delicately, "Well he will want a full report, in any case. Your eyewitness account of the Halloween debacle as well, I don't doubt. Can you get away?"

"Not before the holiday," Snape flicked a hand dismissively, resuming his collection of materials.

"You must come to the gala, then," Malfoy said, relaxing a bit as the conversation moved away from serious waters.

"If I must," Snape snorted, "Who's hosting, again?"

"The Parkinsons," Malfoy said, sounding amused for some reason.

"Salazar save me from that woman's incessant matchmaking attempts," Snape muttered into the standard size three beaker he was inspecting for dust.

"Take a date, then." Malfoy's grin was unrelenting.

"Don't be absurd." Snape's face twisted in distaste. "I won't be staying long enough to entertain a guest."

"You're never any fun, Severus," Malfoy sighed.

"You forget how dangerous it is for your health when I have fun, Lucius." Snape straightened his shoulders somewhat predatorily. "Perhaps you'd like to remember at the end of term."

Malfoy grimaced, but Rigel thought it was good-natured. "I remember just fine, old friend. No need to emasculate me in the ring again—once was more than enough, and Narcissa still laughs anytime someone mentions peacocks."

"A common occurrence, I'd imagine, as you keep a herd of the beasts on your property," Snape smirked.

"A reminder." Malfoy shrugged unconcernedly. "I shall not forget the lesson in humility you dealt me that day. What callow youths we were, Severus."

"Speak for yourself, Sir Peacock," Snape said, drawing his wand to check the time. "I have an appointment at ten. I trust you can see your way to the gates without antagonizing anyone else?"

"Oh I don't know." Malfoy pretended to consider. "Perhaps I'll stop by McGonagall's classroom and tell her I'm doing a surprise quality of education audit while I'm in the neighborhood."

"Do as you wish, but recall that if you do antagonize her into transfiguring you, Narcissa is not here to change you back."

That was argument enough for Malfoy, it seemed, who began to move toward the door. Rigel scrambled backwards as quietly as she was able, but she still could have sworn Snape's eyes shot to exactly the spot she had been standing in for a few agonizing seconds. He didn't say anything, however, and Rigel could only hope he hadn't thought it necessary to use Occlumency to scan the area. She ducked around the corner in time to avoid colliding with Mr. Malfoy as he swept toward the nearest staircase, and waited an agonizing ten whole minutes before carefully stowing her invisibility cloak in an expanded pocket and making her way as casually as possible back toward Lab One.

It was a good thing they were going over a potion she'd already studied that day, as Rigel's mind was not as focused on brewing as it should have been. There were too many interesting implications to consider. Pettigrew had somehow betrayed the SOW Party and sought asylum at Hogwarts where Riddle's vengeance couldn't reach him. Whatever he'd done must have been pretty bad, to make him think running to Dumbledore was his best option.

She wondered if she should tell someone—Remus, maybe—that Pettigrew had potentially switched sides again, and might be in trouble. They weren't exactly friends anymore, but as Rigel understood it that was because when Pettigrew chose the SOW Party he discontinued his associations with the Marauders. There must be something left of the friendly Gryffindor boy her parents had once described, though. No one betrayed the Party; it was a for-life sort of commitment. To try and back out was social and economic suicide. Plenty of examples had been made to that effect in the early days of the Party's ascendance, including some of what used to be the most powerful, wealthy families in Wizarding society.

Then again, was it really her business? A part of her said no, nothing was her business unless it directly related to her family or her potions work. A different, blossoming part of her hesitated to be so indifferent, however. If Pettigrew did have something to do with Halloween, then he was at least indirectly a threat to Remus, and possibly a problem with the potential to impact thousands of people all over the country, if his influence on the creatures of Hogwarts was any indication. She had no proof that this was the case, but…perhaps she could acquire some? Riddle must know something about whatever was going on. He was presumably going to discuss said happenings at the gala with Professor Snape, in fact. Since she already knew the meeting was to take place perhaps she could simply…keep an eye out that night for anything of interest. It couldn't hurt to listen in for a short while—if only to make sure Riddle was keeping his promise about not interfering at Hogwarts. That was undeniably her business…right?

-0

[HpHpHp]

-0

Rigel put Malfoy's visit out of her mind until two weeks later, when its consequences unceremoniously marched through the front doors.

"Who're they?" Millicent asked from across the table.

Rigel looked up with the others to see a group of adult witches and wizards gathered at the entrance to the Great Hall.

"Ward experts," Draco said knowledgably, "They're here to inspect the Hogwarts defenses by order of the Board of Governors. My father commissioned them personally after that mess on Halloween."

"And the goblins?" Theo asked, raising an eyebrow.

Draco frowned and stood in his seat a little to peer over the heads of his peers, "Oh. I don't know. My father didn't say anything about goblins in his letter."

"Perhaps they know something about what happened that night," Pansy said, tilting her head consideringly.

"No need for them to come all this way to provide information," Blaise said, frowning, "Goblins don't trouble themselves for wizards very often, and certainly never without a vested interest of their own."

"Yeah, not like they care if a bunch of wizard kids get eaten by spiders," Theo said, shuddering a bit.

"Hogwarts is home to tons of really rare and valuable magical objects, though," Pansy pointed out, "Some of them are probably goblin-made. Maybe they want to personally see that those objects are well-protected."

Rigel thought that argument sounded a bit weak. If Goblins cared about goblin-made artifacts in that way, they were just as likely to be glad if those objects became vulnerable. Treasures that were well guarded by wizards weren't any use to goblins, after all.

She gazed thoughtfully at the group that was now milling about the Great Hall freely, looking up and around at infrastructure and wards that were presumably visible to their experienced eyes. Was it all an act? A ploy to excuse Malfoy's presence in the school those weeks ago? Looking at the goblins' fierce expressions, she doubted it. There was a deadly earnestness to their focus as they swept the hall, clawed hands firmly clasped around strange looking devices that beeped in low increments.

One passed by their table, and Rigel felt her stomach drop with alarm as its little device began beeping like mad just as it drew abreast of her seat. The goblin swung toward her in a move almost too fast to track, one hand leaving the device to seize the front of her robes and yank her bodily out of her seat.

Up close its face was arresting in its snarling suspicion. She brought both hands up automatically in a move drilled into her by Leo, one on the goblin's wrist and one on the outside of its elbow. The arm attached to the hand holding her robes was thin, but strong. The joint below her right hand was just brittle. It wouldn't take too much pressure to snap it backwards, should it come to that. All of this information went through her head in an instant, but Rigel was nothing if not infinitely cautious. Instead of devolving into sudden violence, she braced her feet and lifted her chin, using her height in a weak attempt at intimidation as she said, "What?"

"You have an artifact of power on you," the goblin ground out, the words sounding like gears grinding without oil to slick them.

"So?" Rigel said, more calm than she felt. Inside she was trying to figure out what had set the little device off. Her time-turner? Her invisibility cloak? The Marauder's Map? She had all three on her at the moment. Depending on what the device was designed to detect, it could be any of them, or the combination of all three.

"Let's have a look," the goblin grinned nastily, raising the device with his other hand and pointing it at her person.

It began to beep faster and faster as it approached her sternum, where the time-turner nestled safely beneath her clothes. The goblin tossed the device aside and reached greedily for the neck of her robes, but his fingers had barely grazed her collar when a pale, long-fingered hand clamped down on its wrist and jerked the goblin back. She just remembered to let go of the creature's bony joint before it was thrown several feet away from her.

Professor Snape stepped menacingly between Rigel and the goblin, his tall, black-draped form more comforting than she would like to admit.

"You are here to search the castle, not its inhabitants," Snape said. His voice was soft, but his words carried in the utter silence that Rigel now noticed ruled the hall.

"It takes a wizard to use the artifact," the goblin spat, its device now back in its hands, "The boy lit up the magometer. He's guilty."

This, Rigel thought as whispers began to travel the hall, was not going to be good PR. Perhaps she would take up the Weasley twins on their personal image offer after all.

"My student carries a Ministry-sanctioned magical device on his person that has nothing to do with your ineffectual investigation," Snape said, his tone entirely dismissive. "I suggest you move on with your task if you don't want to be hauled in front of an inter-species relations committee to answer for the brutality you displayed toward this child of thirteen."

She could not see the goblin around Snape's torso, but she could hear the frustration in its voice when it growled, "Not until I see the artifact. You could be protecting—"

"Protecting the very thing that is a danger to my students? Do not insult me again, goblin." Rigel could see the shiver go through the crowd at those words, and imagined the fury on Snape's face must be something to behold.

"I must ascertain its purpose," the goblin insisted, though it certainly sounded less eager to cross her Head of House now.

"Its purpose is to keep my student alive," Snape sneered, "By all means, remove it from his person for your little inspection and explain to your superiors how you broke the Goblin Peace Accords by murdering a wizard child in cold blood in front of a thousand witnesses."

The goblin spluttered, and she could see its feet slid back in clear panic. Rigel could feel the heaviness of the stares now leveled at her, and while she applauded Snape for defending her education so thoroughly, she wondered if claiming she needed some kind of life-sustaining medical device was really the only way to distract from her time-turner. She was going to have a lot of explaining to do, at this rate.

Professor Dumbledore finally stepped down from the dais and began serenely leading the group of ward-inspectors out of the hall, the goblins following grudgingly after.

Professor Snape turned to Rigel and inspected her person quickly before giving her a satisfied nod and a gesture to regain her seat. She sat down slowly, still trying to catch up to everything that had just happened. The goblins were looking for something specific, an artifact of significant magical power, and they had good reason to suspect it was at Hogwarts, being used by a wizard in a way that presumably had something to do with driving magical creatures mad. She could see why that might concern the goblins, but she wondered vaguely how they knew about such an artifact before her mind jerked her back to the most vital of present concerns.

If Pettigrew was indeed involved in the Halloween debacle as Snape and Malfoy suspected, then he had the artifact, and he was sitting right there at the Head Table—no don't look! Time for that later. Focus, Rigel. The goblins had left the hall to search the rest of the castle, which meant they might not find the artifact if Pettigrew had it on him, which meant it might be all her fault if something awful happened because the goblins had left because of her—no, that's not right, concentrate! Professor Snape had dramatically stepped in to shield her from the goblin but in doing so had essentially prevented the goblins from continuing their search in the Great Hall, effectively protecting Pettigrew as well. Why. Theory one: her Head of House valued her education so highly that is was more important than stopping a potential uprising of magical creatures—false. Theory two: Professor Snape had his own, secret reasons for not wanting Pettigrew found out right there in the hall in front of everyone. Possible. He wanted the artifact for himself? No—Riddle wants it. Rigel felt her eyes grow wide as all the pieces came together at once.

Riddle had tasked Pettigrew with finding or retrieving some kind of artifact. Pettigrew had found it, and, instead of returning to Riddle, had gotten it into his head to run to Hogwarts instead. Maybe he was power-hungry. Maybe he was an idiot. Probably he was both, Rigel decided. This artifact meant something to the goblins, but it was important enough that the Ministry was (maybe, likely) conducting raids on the lower alleys in an attempt to track it down. All this started only a few months ago, however, which means it was an artifact that hadn't been discovered until recently, or at least had gone missing from its usual location recently.

A stolen artifact…Rigel's mind flashed to that summer, a redheaded curse-breaker casually mentioning a break in at a high-profile archeological site. It flashed again to the night of Halloween, the sight of a pudgy professor startled out of his reverie, something round catching the light as it rolled out of sight. A niggling memory dug at her mind until, with a burst of realization, she saw a panicked-face Pettigrew rooting around in the alley dust for a grubby paper sack, looking apoplectic despite being barely bruised by her clumsy collision. She was whirling with newfound knowledge, dizzy as the strands of chance and circumstances pulled tight in sudden irrefutability, settling into a picture that staggered even as it awed.

A hand on her shoulder jerked her violently back to the present, and her brain finally grasped the most immediate and insistent of concerns. Her time-turner secret was safe, but now everyone thought she was on magical life-support. Right. On the bright side, no one thought she was responsible for the mess on Halloween, which is how things could have gone without Snape's timely (if ultimately self-serving) assistance.

"Are you okay, Rigel?" Pansy asked quietly from her left.

Rigel told her head to nod evenly, but only managed a half-coordinated jerk that she doubted reassured anyone. Trying again, she cleared her throat. "I'm fine. Thanks. Sorry. That was…weird, wasn't it?"

"Uh…yeah," Theo said, leaning across the table in a parody of discretion, "No offense, Rigel, but what on earth is going on? What was Snape talking about?"

"I'd…rather not talk about it." It came out more as a plea than a statement, but her friends—her amazing, too-nice friends—settled back as though it had been a command.

The rest of the meal, they casually shielded her from the curious and mildly horrified inquiries of their fellow students, and despite her gratitude all Rigel could think about was how she was going to lie to them when the numbness wore off. Whatever Snape's intentions, he had played into her hands rather efficiently, if cruelly. Draco already thought Rigel Black sickly, plagued with some sort of chronic illness that kept him from feeling comfortable in his own skin. If a few others thought Rigel was fragile, vulnerable in some way that healthy children would find difficult to conceptualize, it might be for the best. Perhaps some of them would keep their distance, would bow to the instinctual defense mechanism that tells the brain not to get attached to wilting flowers and old people.

And maybe, if everything went terribly wrong one day and she and Archie lost control of their artifice, Rigel Black could quietly succumb to an undescribed malady that everyone had sort of seen coming for a while. She tried not to think about the coldness it would take to slowly, methodically break her friends' hearts. She tried, but she couldn't flinch away from the despairing look in Draco's eyes, nor the trembling fear in Pansy's elegant fingers. It had only been five minutes, and already she could not bear to watch their pained confusion. Years of this…it could not be. She would have to explain it some other way, at least for those who were already too attached to keep their distance.

They made it as far as the common room before her friends rounded on her in denial and desperation.

"Rigel, what—"

"Your not, please say you're not—"

"—can't do this to us, Rigel, you can't—"

"Stop." Rigel took two deep breaths as her friends all visibly fought to control themselves. "Sorry. I just—sorry." She blew out a breath. "I'm doing this wrong. I'm fine, you guys. Just fine, I'm not—not dying, I promise."

"How can you say that?" Draco snapped, "What in Merlin's name qualifies as fine on your sociopathic planet?"

"I am," Rigel insisted, quietly but firmly, "I mean it. I'm not—whatever you're thinking, I'm not."

"Professor Snape said—" Pansy cut herself off with a hollow laugh, "Well, we all heard what he said. What did he mean?"

"He was just exaggerating to get the goblin to leave me alone," Rigel said, running a shaking hand through her hair, "I do have a magical device on me. But it's not—it's not life-sustaining, or anything. Professor Snape was protecting me, is all. He knew I didn't want to show it to the goblin."

"Why not?" Blaise said, a dark frown on his face, "What could be worth such an extreme claim?"

"I'm not supposed to show people my device," Rigel said, honest in that at least, "Not supposed to have it, really. It's…experimental. It's something only I have, and to let news of it leak out would be…a bad idea."

It sounded incredibly lame to her ears, too vague to be believable, but perhaps she had underestimated her mysteriousness in the eyes of her friends, because they slowly began to relax before her eyes.

"So you're okay—or as okay as you usually are," Draco clarified, blowing out a slow breath. "Good. That's good. Don't ever scare us like that again."

"Blame Professor Snape this time," Rigel said, shrugging uncomfortably.

"Is that device why you never change in front of us?" Theo asked suddenly, a look of guilty realization on his face.

"Part of the reason, yes," Rigel said. At least, it was part of the reason this year.

"I am a terrible person." Theo's face screwed up in dismay. "I take back all the things I said about you being cock-shy—"

"THEODORE!" Pansy and Millicent shrieked in unified shock and disgust.

"Well I just meant—" he attempted to backpedal as Draco and Blaise groaned in shared embarrassment.

"It's okay," Rigel said, relaxing into a smile and shaking her head, "I don't really mind. If it was someone else, I'd think they were odd, too."

"Yeah, but…" Theo attempted an awkward smile. "I'll get you an awesome Yule present, okay? The best ever, I promise."

"Ah, you don't have to get me anything," Rigel blinked, taken aback. She really didn't deserve to get presents out of this mess.

"Not get you—Rigel, you cheapskate! You weren't going to get me anything, were you?" Theo exclaimed, forgetting his embarrassment in favor of outrage.

"No, I was! Am, I mean," Rigel said quickly, holding back a laugh, "I just haven't decided what, yet."

"Well it better be good," Theo said suspiciously.

The others laughed, and Rigel sent the sandy-haired boy a grateful smile. For all his indelicacy, he certainly knew how to diffuse an emotionally difficult situation with style.

She went to bed that night with her friendships intact, and despite the compounding difficulties she'd had dumped on her head that evening, she couldn't bring herself to regret how things had turned out, at least. Additional complications were nothing novel, for her, and if the alternative was a clear-cut tragedy, she'd take an ambiguous artifice any day.

-0

[HpHpHp]

-0

The next morning saw the ward inspectors back in the Great Hall, though there didn't seem to be any goblins this time. Rigel, Draco, and Pansy were in good spirits after their morning workout and tucked into breakfast with brisk efficiency, ignoring the wizards milling about.

"Recon you scared off those gold-munchers," Theo said, grinning at Rigel from across the table.

"You shouldn't call them that," Blaise said absently as he scanned the morning's post.

"I'll call them whatever I want after they assaulted my friend," Theo said, lifting his nose in half-joking superiority.

"The goblin army hasn't declared war on Rigel," Millicent snorted, "It was one goblin who got a little carried away doing his job. Let's not sensationalize—"

"Too late." Blaise lifted the front cover of the Prophet for everyone to see.

HOGWARTS STUDENT ATTACKED BY VICIOUS MAGIC-HUNGRY GOBLIN!

"That's a bit much for a headline, isn't it?" Rigel asked faintly, wondering how she was supposed to explain this one to her family.

"It sort of wraps around the page awkwardly," Pansy agreed, "And that picture of you isn't even recent."

"They got a picture of me?" Now that was disturbing, seeing as she hadn't posed for a picture in all the time she'd spent as Rigel.

"Not really. Looks like they acquired a picture taken during one of last-year's Quidditch matches," Theo said, examining the page with interest.

"It doesn't say anything too specific," Blaise said in what was probably meant to be a reassuring tone, "Just that the goblin attempted to confiscate a magical item you had on your person against your wishes. It phrases it more like 'steal' than 'confiscate' and more like 'attempted murder' than 'against your wishes,' of course."

Rigel was already drafting the letter to Sirius in her head. She would have to intimate that she'd had the Marauder's Map on her at the time, and hadn't wanted to reveal it. He'd probably think the whole thing a laugh, once she explained that she hadn't been in any real danger.

"On the bright side, no more slimy goblins," Theo said cheerfully, piling another helping of eggs onto his plate.

"Think they'll give up the search, then?" Millicent asked, frowning, "Only whatever they were searching for must have been pretty dangerous, and probably valuable, too."

"Goblins never give up on treasure," Blaise said, "They can be pretty sly in their pursuit, however."

"How do you mean?" Pansy asked, eyes sharp.

"Look at the wizards inspecting the wards," Blaise said knowingly, "They aren't all the same as the ones here last night, are they?"

They all surreptitiously looked about, though Rigel wasn't sure how Blaise expected them to remember what all the ward experts had looked like. Then Rigel caught sight of flaming red hair standing by the Gryffindor table and abruptly ducked back down in disbelieving panic. What were the blasted odds of him being here?

Draco flinched next to her and dropped a demanding glare her direction, "What?"

Trying to stem the anxiety that was probably flooding his senses at the moment, Rigel shrugged, "Nothing."

Draco rolled his eyes, "I already saw your panicked face. What is it?"

In deference to Millicent, Blaise, and Theo, none of whom knew about Draco's empathy yet, Rigel refrained from arguing Draco's claim. Instead, she affected nonchalance and said, "Blaise is right, that's all. There's at least one inspector here who definitely wasn't last night."

"You know him," Pansy guessed suddenly, "That's why you were so surprised, right?"

Rigel really wished her friends were less perceptive sometimes. "Not very well," she said, "I met him this summer. He's Ron Weasley's older brother, William Weasley."

"A Weasley?" Draco wrinkled his nose slightly, "There's no way my father hired a Weasley to inspect the wards."

"He works for Gringotts," Rigel corrected.

"The goblins sent him to finish the search," Millicent hummed in an impressed way, "Very clever, since most people don't remember that the goblins employ wizards and witches in certain departments."

"Curse-breaking departments," Theo shuddered, "You think Hogwarts is cursed?"

"Just the Defense position," Draco said, smirking.

"Maybe the artifact they're looking for is cursed," Blaise suggested, eyes alight at the prospect of an interesting mystery.

"Why don't you ask Mr. Weasley?" Pansy said, smiling suddenly, "He appears to be headed this way."

Rigel contained her dread, she knew she did, and yet Draco still shot her a concerned look as the tall redheaded wizard loped toward the Slytherin table. She resisted the urge to slouch, knowing it was too late for that as the curse-breaker stopped in the isle beside them.

"Mr. Black?"

Looking up at the freckle-faced, blue-eyed wizard, listening to the familiar cadence of his voice, she recognized him immediately as 'Will' of the lower alleys. There was no way he didn't recognize her as Harry, but there was also no way she could acknowledge that connection despite what would look like overwhelming evidence. She would just have to bluff her way through it.

"Hello, Mr. Weasley," she said, smiling politely as she turned outward in her seat, "How have you been of late? Are your parents well?"

He seemed a bit taken aback to see her there, acting so normally, but shrugged casually nonetheless. "They're great. Mum mentioned you last time I was home."

"She's a lovely woman," Rigel said, "Will you give her my regards?"

"Of course," he said, somewhat slower than was perfectly polite. She could see the suspicion all over his face as he traced her features, but she knew that he couldn't say anything here, unless he wanted to advertise his own dalliances in the alley to all and sundry. "I'm here in official capacity on behalf on Gringotts, as you may have guessed."

Rigel inclined her head. "I'm very sorry for my part in that incident last night," she said, "Please extend my deepest apologies and understanding to your employers. It was not my intention to cause any difficulties in your search."

"Thank you," Weasley said, blinking in wary surprise, "Though that sentiment was essentially what I was meant to convey to you. The goblins want you to know that they would never harm a wizard unwarranted, and that Stonetoe simply got a bit carried away with excitement last night. Everyone at Gringotts is very eager to recover the object of our search."

"It must be an important magical object to warrant such intense scrutiny of even young students," Pansy spoke up, "Perhaps we could help you search. What does it look like?"

"That's classified," the redhead said, flashing his teeth in a winning grin, "Sorry."

"Of course," Pansy smiled back, just as winning, "How silly of me. We'll leave the search to your capable expertise, then, Mr. Weasley."

"I'm honored by your esteem," the curse-breaker leaned closer in a half-bow, "Though between you and me, we could use more pretty girls on the team."

Pansy giggled obligingly, and Weasley rose once more with a nod to Rigel. "Drop by the Burrow sometime, Black. Mother would love to see you again, and I'm sure you and I could find a lot of things to talk about."

Rigel tried very hard not to gulp, even though her polite agreement was entirely ruined by the fact that Draco could feel her uneasy trepidation and was giving her a very measuring look as she attempted to turn calmly back to her food.

"That's interesting," Blaise said, his eyes lowering to half-lid as the curse-breaker wandered off, "I wonder how classified it is, exactly. Is Gringotts keeping the information among its own personnel?"

"Can't be," Rigel said, eager for the distraction, "The Ministry has been conducting raids in search of just such an artifact. The Aurors must know what they're looking for."

"I haven't heard anything about raids," Draco said, frowning, "Father always keeps an ear out for that sort of thing."

"Not on prominent wizards," Rigel said, trying not to roll her eyes. Sometimes she wondered if her friends struggled to remember that there were people other than rich purebloods in their Wizarding community. "They've been raiding the lower alleys in London."

"The what?" Millicent raised an eyebrow, "You mean that collection of slums tucked into the Wizarding space around Diagon? It'd be a good place to hide something, I suppose."

"It isn't just slums," Rigel said, a bit defensively. She caught herself and moderated her tone a bit before adding, "There are some nice neighborhoods back there, reputable merchants, too."

"Apothecaries, you mean," Blaise smirked, "We might have known you'd trek through even a place like that for good ingredients, Rigel."

"Don't knock it until you've tried it, eh?" Theo laughed, "Get it? 'Knock' like Knockturn Alley?"

The others shook their heads or rolled their eyes in various shows of exasperation.

"Returning to the point—are you sure the Ministry is searching for the same artifact?" Pansy asked Rigel.

"What are the odds there are two mysterious missing artifacts?" Rigel said.

"The Ministry might be using the missing goblin treasure as an excuse to conduct more raids," Draco pointed out, "It's the sort of thing they'd—" he cut himself off with a cough, probably in response to the offense Rigel couldn't help but feel at his words.

Her father wouldn't sanction raids against innocent people for no real reason. She was sure he was using his personnel to sweep the alleys for clues to the whereabouts of the missing object. Leo had made the efforts sound crude and clumsy, true, but she supposed it was natural for Leo to be a bit biased about people coming into his 'jurisdiction' to exercise the law.

The conversation picked back up after an awkward pause, but Rigel didn't hear much of it. She spent the rest of breakfast lost in thought, and vowed to spend some time-turned hours over the next week looking into the practices of Aurors and their relationship with various sectors of the British magical community. She was tired of having questions about things she ought to be well versed in, having grown up in close proximity to them. It was past time she stopped taking certain things for granted.

-0

[HpHpHp]

-0

November marched onward and snow began piling up on branches as the lake tried to freeze in fits and starts. Some mornings it was simply too cold to run outside, and Pansy, Draco, and Rigel had taken to huffing and puffing their way up the numerous staircases in the castle to keep things interesting.

It was on one of these idyllic mornings, high in the divination tower, that they stopped to catch their breath in a spacious reading alcove off the spiraling staircase.

"This… is so much worse… than jogging," Draco panted, hands on his knees, "My calves are going to mutiny and send me tumbling down this staircase to my doom."

"On the bright side, your arse will look amazing in your burial trousers," Pansy laughed breathlessly.

Rigel and Draco were momentarily too taken aback by the word 'arse' coming out of their blonde friend's mouth to share her amusement.

"What?" Pansy blinked at them. "Oh. Sorry."

"Don't apologize," Draco said suddenly, straightening. He opened his mouth again. Closed it. Cleared his throat uncertainly.

"Just say it," Pansy said, frowning.

"Sometimes it feels like you're not being honest with us," Draco blurted.

Pansy raised both eyebrows and looked from Draco to Rigel and back, as if to say, who's dishonest?

"Okay fair enough," Draco conceded, "And I did apologize about keeping the empathy thing from you but it was a difficult time for me—"

"It's all right, Drake," Pansy smirked, "I forgave you for that already, remember? After you groveled and promised to wear a bow-tie to the gala this year."

Draco winced, "Yes. I remember. I—well, never mind, I guess. Sorry I said anything."

He made as if to start climbing steps again, but Pansy abruptly said, "No. Wait."

Rigel felt as if she was watching something critical unfold but didn't know what.

Draco and Pansy stared at each other for a long moment before Pansy sighed. "Let's sit," she said, "I suppose it's time I fessed up to something."

Wondering if Pansy, too, had come into a mysterious gift on her thirteenth birthday, Rigel was taken aback when her petite friend said, "I'm not a very honest person, by nature."

"That's not true," Rigel said, patting her friend's hand gently, "You're the most open, generous person I know, Pan."

Rather than smiling and accepting the compliment as her due as Rigel had expected, Pansy grimaced a bit awkwardly. "That's the thing, I'm really…not. I just…" she seemed at a loss for what to say.

"I've noticed that often your emotions don't really match up with that you do or say," Draco said tentatively, "At first I thought I was reading you wrong, but lately I've been thinking maybe I don't know you as well as I thought. And that's not something you should feel bad about," he rushed on, "So please, please stop feeling bad about it, because it's making me feel queasy." Pansy laughed, though it was a bit hollow, and Draco continued in a softer voice, "I think it reflects badly on me, Pan, not you. I'm the one who should have been paying closer attention, I think."

"Don't say that," Pansy frowned, "It isn't like I've been dropping hints—quite the opposite. You're not responsible for this confusion. I am."

"I'm confused, too," Rigel put in, feeling that she may as well be honest if they were, "Mostly about what we're talking about right now."

Draco and Pansy both laughed at that, and Pansy even smiled wryly. "You know I really thought you'd be the first to notice, Rigel. I knew as soon as I met you that if anyone had enough experience with social deception to sniff out my subterfuge, it would be you."

"Me?" Rigel tilted her head, "I've never been any good at reading other people. That's your area of expertise."

"So it is," Pansy said, sobering a bit, "I'm very good at figuring out other people. I can find out their likes, dislikes, wants, needs, fears, anything, really, with just a few short conversations."

Rigel was suddenly looking at the long, get-to-know you conversations she'd shared with Pansy back in first-year very differently. "It's an impressive ability," she offered weakly.

"More impressive when you combine it with my talent for dissembling," Pansy said, "You're good at that part of it, Rigel. For a while I thought you were like me, except then I realized you didn't understand other people at all. You only knew how to present yourself in a certain light, not how to see the ways other people were presenting themselves. I think you've gotten better at it, over the last few years, but I was born good at it. I've told you guys I didn't have many friends before you two, haven't I? The truth is, I couldn't stand playing nice as a child. I could read all the petty undercurrents in every simpering, fake conversation and it drove me mad to have to sit still and listen to hours of meaningless drivel and smile prettily while people patronized me and—" she broke off with a sound of acute vexation. "Well, you get it."

"I sort of remember you as a child," Draco said, nodding slowly, "I can't remember specifics, but I do recall asking my mother once why I had to keep going on play dates with you when you didn't want to play. She told me you were refreshing company. I didn't really understand that at the time, I just knew your house was boring."

"I was a rotten child," Pansy freely admitted, "Spoiled and headstrong. And it took a long time for me to deign to participate in social moors. When I finally did, though, well, I was good at it. I am good at it, aren't I?"

"You are," Draco smiled, and it was as much admiring as reassuring, "I doubted my assessment for months, and I could actually feel your true emotions. That's some serious skill, Pans."

Pansy smiled demurely, and even knowing now that it was put on, Rigel couldn't see any artifice in it. "Does it bother you, though?" Pansy asked after a moment, "Because I'm not sure I could stop now, even if I wanted to. I've come to enjoy it. It's like a game, you see?"

"I would never deny you your entertainment," Draco said, smirking suddenly, "I just want to play on your side. If you'll have a poor player like me in your corner."

Pansy lit up with surprised pleasure, and Rigel wasn't even going to try and guess if it was real or not. If it was what Pansy wanted her to see, then that's what she would see. Rigel could hardly extend any less than the courtesy she wished from others for herself, could she? The only difference was that Pansy played at duplicity, while Rigel was actually duplicitous. If Rigel could not forgive Pansy her manipulations, then how could she ever forgive herself for what she was doing, when it was exponentially worse?

"Can I ask what your true character is?" Draco asked after a moment of thought, "Is that even a valid question?"

"That's hard to say," Pansy said, sighing a bit, "Everyone manipulates their own character to a certain degree. To decide how much of what you purposely put on comes from a place of genuine feeling—it's difficult, you know? Some of what you see is my own personality exaggerated. Some of it is reactions and responses I make up depending on my mood which may or may not be similar to the mood I'm trying to portray. Sometimes I feign an emotion so well I forget whether or not I felt it to begin with. I feel it by the end, so it's true in a way. In another way it's just a form of self-manipulation, to match the manipulation of others in a way that makes it hard to distinguish between authenticity and artifice. I try not to over-think it, to be honest."

"I think everyone self-manipulates," Rigel shrugged, "I mean, if someone wishes they were braver or kinder or more patient and they emulate those qualities for long enough, don't they become a real part of their personality? The only difference is that most people don't even realize it's a pretense—they imagine it more along the lines of personal development. Your personality is just a little more fluid, Pan. There are lots of people like you out there, I bet." A few ladies from the court of the rogue came immediately to mind, in fact.

"The three of us are quite the deceptive bunch," Draco said at last, "It's no wonder they call us the Sneaky Snakes."

"Wasn't it the Slimy Snakes?" Pansy asked, smiling slightly.

"The Surreptitious Snakes, for certain," Rigel laughed.

"The Sly Snakes."

"The Scheming Snakes."

"The Stealthy Snakes."

"The Secretive Snakes."

"The Shifty Snakes."

"The… Shady Snakes?" Rigel frowned, "I should have said Suspicious Snakes."

"Too late, your lame answer shall live forever in infamy," Draco sighed, "You know there are people in this school who think you're cool, Rigel?"

"None that know me, surely," Rigel smiled.

"Adrian thinks you're cool, actually," Pansy said, "And… I think that Chang girl has a bit of a tendresse for you."

"It's pronounced 'tendre,'" Rigel corrected automatically.

"You speak French now?" Pansy asked archly.

"He does, actually," Draco said, shaking his head, "Caught him practicing with a house elf not long ago."

"You have the most diverting hobbies, Rigel," Pansy said. Then she grinned, suddenly, "Actually that's excellent! You can help me prepare phrases for my miai."

"You're what?" Rigel asked at the same time that Draco bit off a surprised exclamation.

"Already?" Draco was scowling in open dislike.

"I'm fourteen," Pansy shrugged, "It's within propriety."

"It's customary to wait until after OWL's," Draco scoffed, "You could be a complete idiot for all they know."

"Come again?" Pansy said, a dangerous glint in her eyes.

"Obviously you aren't," Draco backtracked easily, "But they're taking quite a risk. Who is it, anyway?"

"One of the Duval boys, I gather," Pansy said, seeming largely disinterested.

"Practically paupers," Draco said disapprovingly, "What is your father thinking?"

"Of course I'm not going to marry a Duval," Pansy rolled her eyes, "You're missing the point. If I start meeting men on the continent now, word of my beauty and charm will be already disseminated by the time I start seriously looking for prospects. The Duvals may be in hard straights now, but they still know everyone who's anyone in Paris."

"That's a lot of forethought to put into engagement prospects," Rigel commented.

"Not an unusual amount," Pansy said, smiling slightly, "Don't tell me your family hasn't even begun discussions on the subject."

Rigel realized abruptly that she was about to come off rather hypocritical. "I'm already engaged, actually. To Harry."

"What!?" Draco and Pansy could not have looked more shocked.

"Yeah, we…signed the paperwork last summer," Rigel said, affecting a sheepish expression, "I thought I mentioned it."

"You certainly did not mention anything of the sort," Pansy choked out, "Why—how could you make such a decision out of the blue like that. Early engagements are generally planned from birth, but you made it quite clear you'd never entertained even the idea of being engaged to Miss Potter when you last spoke of such things. What changed, Rigel?"

"And why didn't you tell us?" Draco added, still looking appalled.

She wasn't even going to guess how Pansy knew about the conversation she'd had with Rosier and Rookwood almost two years ago. "We changed our minds, that's all. It's going to be a very long engagement, in any case, so it isn't as though anything's set in stone. I didn't realize it would interest you so much."

"Not interest—it's only the rest of your life, Rigel!" Draco threw up his hands, utterly irate, "We haven't even met her yet. What if she hates us?"

Rigel felt an acute stab of guilt that wasn't softened at all by the pang of remorse that accompanied it. That Draco would consider Rigel's potential future partner to be something that would intimately affect his life…she hadn't really properly faced the fact that Pansy and Draco fully expected them to be friends forever, but now that reality was staring her down accusingly. "I—I know she'll love you both," Rigel said, swallowing tightly, "How could she not?"

If Draco had feathers, Rigel would have been able to watch them settle in proud appeasement. "Still," he said, "She probably isn't good enough for you."

Rigel laughed and tried to convince herself that it was not at all hysterical. "She'd likely agree with you on that."

"I'm sure she's wonderful," Pansy said, though her voice was a bit strained, "Rigel is an excellent judge of character, after all."

"Oh he isn't, either," Draco grumbled, "He's probably marrying her so he doesn't have to put any effort into thinking about it."

"Guilty," Rigel said, amused once more.

"Don't admit to it," Pansy admonished her exasperatedly, "You'll ruin Miss Potter's consequence before she's even been out."

"Out of what?" Rigel asked, grinning.

"Out in society," Pansy rolled her eyes.

"I'm not sure she's coming out in society," Rigel told her, "At least not anytime soon."

Pansy blinked, looking crestfallen for a moment. "Isn't she…coming to the gala this year?"

"Why would she—" Rigel cut herself off abruptly. Hadn't Mr. Malfoy mentioned the Parkinsons were hosting the gala that year? "Did you…send her an invitation, Pan?"

Pansy lifted her chin stubbornly, "Yes, I did. She would have been invited anyway, with her father the head Auror at the DMLE. I just included an invitation for her…separately, as well. In case her family doesn't want to come."

"Harry isn't really a party person," Rigel said, trying not to get her friend's hopes up. How could she possibly go as Harry? Unless Archie wanted to go as her, of course. She stifled a smile at the image of Archie in a dress. She rather thought he could pull it off, for some reason.

"You must simply convince her to come," Pansy said firmly, "If you're going to marry this girl some day, Draco and I deserve to meet her at least, don't we?"

"I'll see what I can do," Rigel said, intending to do no such thing.

"Tell her we don't bite," Draco suggested, smirking.

"I try not to lie to my cousin," Rigel said. Everyone else, on the other hand…well, a girl had to do what she had to do.

"Now that that's settled, we really ought to get moving again if we want to make breakfast," Pansy said, jogging in place for a moment, "And on the way down, you can help me with my phrases for when I meet Duval, Rigel."

"I live to serve," Rigel said, affecting a snooty French accent as she began the trek down the long spiral staircase.

"Ooh, that's a good one," Pansy grinned, "How do you say that in French?"

-0

[HpHpHp]

-0

As winter break approached, their classes became steadily more challenging, in preparation for midterm examinations. Even Rigel's unofficial electives began issuing more complex and time-consuming assignments as her mastery over the basics became apparent.

Dumbledore's Alchemy class was as laid-back as ever, even as the material they covered gained momentum, and her Magical Theory class, while fascinating, didn't give her much to stress over, either. Her Healing classes, on the other hand, had recently taken a rather sobering turn.

"It's best if you don't overthink it," Pomfrey said gently.

Rigel wasn't sure what there was to overthink about killing an innocent animal. It seemed pretty clear to her that she had erred grievously and the cat laying on the tiny operating table had paid the price.

They had moved on from studying things like lacerations and broken bones and into the territory of life-threatening injuries and conditions. She had practiced on animals before, of course, both in Madam Pomfrey's lessons and on her own, in the woods. This wasn't the first time an animal she'd been trying to save had died, either—sometimes she got to them in the forest too late. This was the first time an animal had died of wounds she was responsible for giving it, however, and the difference seemed appreciable.

"I thought I could do it," she said, a bit numbly. She had studied the process thoroughly before attempting a limb-restoration, and she had successfully re-attached several fingers and toes on other animals in the weeks leading up to this. Somehow, though, she hadn't been able to move quickly enough this time, hadn't properly appreciated how time-consuming the reconnection of severed nerves and muscle fibers would be, or how quickly the blood would seep out of the cat's tiny body.

"I know you did," Pomfrey sighed, "I did, too. The first is always the hardest, Mr. Black.

"I don't want there to be any more," she said, "I didn't—why didn't you save it, when it became clear I was failing?"

"It's a lesson you need to learn," Madam Pomfrey said regretfully, "It's the worst part of Healer training, and some don't have the stomach for it. This won't be the last mammal you lose on the table, and it certainly won't be the last time you feel wracking guilt for failing a patient. You can't always save them, though. I know it sounds awful, but it's the hard truth. If you are serious about this career, it's better to learn now how to distance yourself from the lives you touch. You're always going to do more good than bad as a Healer, in the grand balance of things, but you won't be perfect for every single patient you treat."

"It's different," Rigel argued, gazing down at the mutilated feline, "If I fail to save someone who comes to me for Healing, it's different from being the one to hurt them in the first place. If I'd known the cat would die, I wouldn't have wanted to practice on it, Madam Pomfrey."

The older witch sighed again, "I know how you feel. If there was another way to reliably teach our craft I would use it, Mr. Black. In some schools they let students practice on real people, taking the young adepts to clinics and research hospitals to heal the cases that chance sends their way that day. They get plenty of practice with everyday hurts. They don't take those students to the emergency rooms, though. In a life-or-death situation there's no time to practice—you either know how to save the patient or you don't. If you've never practiced the procedure before, chances are you won't. If you wait for a guiltless opportunity like the one you describe to arise, you might be practicing your first serious Healing on your best friend."

"So I should just ignore it, then?" she asked, sick to her stomach, "Just focus on the people I might save one day and forget about the creatures I'm hurting now?"

"No," the mediwitch shook her head firmly, "Do not forget. Heal, child, as much as you're able. Heal all you can, to make up for the ones you cant, and the ones you hurt. Make this training mean something, and if it makes you feel better, send a prayer for their souls to the Great Mother Goddess."

Rigel didn't observe the old religions, but she did take a moment to make a promise to herself. She would keep careful track of the animals that died by her hand, and she would repay that debt tenfold with her Healing gifts, even if she never became a real Healer like Archie would. Even if their whole ruse ended tomorrow and she never needed to pretend to have Healing abilities again, she would still use the gift as often as she could. It was the only thing she could do, in light of the cost its learning demanded.

"Are you ready to go again?" Madam Pomfrey asked after a long moment.

"Perhaps I should study more first," Rigel said, reluctant to see a repeat of the last half-hour.

"You already know what you did wrong," Pomfrey said sternly, "Shying away from the dirty work is a disservice to your teachings."

And my victims, Rigel added with a sickened lurch. Nevertheless, she gently prepared the dead cat for disposal and turned her attention to the next specimen.

The tabby had long fur, probably just recently grown out in deference to the winter cold. It slept peacefully under the machinations of a Deep Sleep Charm, and although Rigel knew the cat had been given copious amounts of numbing solutions, she still felt like the worst of beasts as she intoned the Severing Charm and watched its leg detach itself at the upper-thigh.

Moving faster than she had last time, Rigel raced against the cat's own circulatory system to stymie the bleeding while at the same time reattaching the fragile tissues before necrosis could take hold. Some cell death at the site of separation was unavoidable, but if she worked fast enough the cat wouldn't even know the difference when it awoke. If it awoke.

She was doing better this time, she realized as the bone fused seamlessly and the ligaments were sewn back together under her watchful gaze. Her wand moved back and forth in a flurry, and this time she attached the blood vessels before bothering with the muscles or nerves. Once blood could circulate normally throughout the leg without spilling out onto the table, she rapidly built up enough muscle tissue to keep the leg stable at the joining, then set her attention to the nerve damage. This was by far the most difficult part, concentration wise, as nerves were exceedingly complicated to deal with even using magic. Her mistake last time had been in attempting to simultaneously deal with the nerves and other damage. Now, with the life-threatening issues dealt with, she was free to devote her entire focus to delicately repairing the synapses and receptors.

Almost before she knew it, she was lacing the epidermal together and finishing up with an expertly finessed hair-growth charm. She admired her handiwork for just a moment, flush with success and the knowledge of how far she'd come in the last months.

Madam Pomfrey took out her wand with a satisfied nod. The nurse enervated the sleeping feline, who stumbled to its feet with a twitchy shake of its head. It looked disoriented for a moment, then leapt from the table to the floor with only a slight spasm in the leg muscle to show where the neurons were reasserting themselves.

Pomfrey herded the cat into a traveling case with a bit of food and water, and Rigel cleaned up the operating area, wiping down all the surfaces and disposing of everything into a bright red litterbin that Pomfrey assured her the elves were very careful about handling.

Before she left for lunch, though she wasn't sure she'd be able to eat a thing, she said, "Madam Pomfrey?"

"Yes, Mr. Black?" the mediwitch said absently, scribbling away in a notebook that Rigel presumed kept tack of her academic progress.

"Do you think it would be possible from now on to practice on different animals?" she asked.

"Cats are very good examples of mammalian systems," Pomfrey said.

"Yes, but do you think we could use, well, useful animals from now on?" Rigel pressed, "The cat that I killed…it's just a waste, you see? If I could use some of its parts in a potion, I think I'd feel better about it. Animals have to be killed for certain potions ingredients anyway. Perhaps we could contact an ingredient collection company and ask for specimens that are slotted to be euthanized already. They could have the ingredients when we're finished. I'll harvest them myself."

"I suppose that would be good practice for your anatomy lessons, too," Pomfrey said slowly, "Yes. I'll get in touch with some people right away."

"Thank you, Madam," Rigel said, feeling a little better about the grisly business already.

"Thank you, Mr. Black," Pomfrey smiled softly, "You're a good student. You did very well today, and it's always a good sign when a Healer cares about the animals he practices on. I think you will make a fine, compassionate addition to our field one day."

"You're too kind, Madam," Rigel fingered her bangs self-consciously.

"One can never be too kind, Mr. Black."

Rigel supposed, as words to live by went, that those were as good as any.

-0

[HpHpHp]

-0

Amidst all the diligent studying and cramming for the end of semester, Rigel did have one admittedly frivolous project to keep her creativity occupied when the rest of her brain was strained from what sometimes felt like constant abuse.

She hadn't forgotten what she owed the Weasley Twins after the paper flower prank, and her vengeance would be as poetic as it was sweet.

A pouch full of pink powder sat on her workstation beside a large bag of Bertie Bott's Every Flavor Beans and a small cauldron of simmering slime. The 'potion' was completely colorless and stuck to the sides of the cauldron belligerently despite Rigel's frequent stirring. Its recipe was of her own design, though it was really a bastardized version of a toxin-expulsion draught.

Once ingested, the actual toxin-expulsion draught would bind to any ingested poison and expel it as expediently as possible. It was a rather gruesome solution for internal poisoning, as the potion tended to expulse itself through any and all convenient orifices, including nose, mouth, eyes, and pores. Most people preferred to take a bezoar. The Weasley Twins, unfortunately for them, would not be given the choice.

Rigel had removed the binding agent from the potion's design, as she wasn't planning on actually poisoning her redheaded friends. This time. She'd also swapped out most of the ingredients for similar ones that lacked significant pigment and had less offenses tastes. She'd then used a bleaching agent to sap the color from the potion entirely, and the result was an expulsion solution that would be neigh-undetectable prior to ingestion.

The potion would be painstakingly painted over the beans (a Weasley favorite, she had observed) and set on a drying rack until the coating was smooth and transparent. It would probably take hours, but Rigel had all the time in the world. She tried not to laugh maniacally as that thought crossed her mind. She wasn't entirely beholden to her father's genetics, after all. Lily always had a sense of dignified grace when she was enacting vengeance upon an unsuspecting fool, and there was no reason Rigel couldn't emulate that half of her upbringing, too.

The pouch of powder was originally just the Marauders' standard colored sneezing powder. She had bought it with the idea to send it to Archie as a thank-you for working so hard, but she would have to postpone that care package until the next Hogsmeade trip. Her cousin would agree that teaching a lesson was more important.

The powder was designed with the intention of making the victim sneeze uncontrollably until they washed the powder off—except the powder turned to goo upon contact with liquid, making it impossible to wash off. The Weasley Twins would, of course, know to vanish the powder instead of washing it, but that was why Rigel had modified it, as well. She had painstakingly sifted out the sneeze-inducing component to the powder, leaving behind a tinted dust that would turn invisible upon contact with skin, making it rather easy to ignore once past the initial encounter. To that, she'd added a large supply of craft glitter, obtained with the help of her generous friend Binny, who she gathered had simply raided the school's Yule decorating supplies.

The glitter was a red herring. It would pull the attention from the innocuous-seeming dust it was mixed with, and with a little luck Rigel would have an epic, impossible-to-see-coming yet painfully-obvious-in-retrospect revenge prank.

It was a shame the Weasley Twins forgot who they were pranking when they set Rigel Black in their sights. Once a Marauder, always a Marauder; they would not be making that mistake again.

-0

[HpHpHp]

-0

She decided to strike on a Friday morning, partly in deference to the narrative portion of her prank, and partly because people were more alert and upbeat as the weekend approached. She didn't want anyone to miss the show.

The owls swooped down from the rafters in what Rigel had to say was her most anticipated mail time ever. A nondescript barn owl floated down like an avenging angel to alight righteously before the eyes of two sinners—okay, Rigel shook her head, that was probably enough poetry for one prank.

From her carefully selected seat she had a perfect view of the Weasley Twins' slightly bemused expressions. She had addressed one letter to each of them, and personalized the font enough to make the envelopes look inviting and official rather than suspicious. The twins shrugged and tore into the letters simultaneously. The explosion of glitter that followed could only have been explained by the rather strong localized pressure charm she had painstakingly cast on the envelopes' contents the night before.

Twin disco balls blinked amidst the glittering fallout in the moment of stunned silence before the hall burst into appreciative laughter.

Rigel allowed herself a modest chuckle. Draco's elbow tapped hers discretely, however, and she realized he could probably feel the utter glee she was suppressing. She spared him a winsome grin, then focused her attention back on the Gryffindor table. The Weasley Twins were laughing along good-naturedly, digging around in the piles of sparkling dust to find the cards she'd also included in the letter bombs.

Knowing what they said (sorry, not sorry in advance), she was ready with a toast from her water goblet as they swung their heads in her direction with identical smirks. They dusted themselves off dramatically, Fred even going so far as to shake his head over Angelina Johnson's eggs, and sauntered over to the Slytherin table to friendly catcalls and whistles.

"Oh, Fred, what are we going to do with our disobedient pup?" George asked mournfully, scratching his glitter-infested hair with the air of a put upon parent.

"Discipline, George, that's what today's youth is lacking," Fred sighed, wistfully clasping his hands together in despair.

"Out with the old, in with the new," Rigel said airily.

Fred snickered, "I'm not sure I'd go that far, little pup."

"It was only a glitter bomb," George added, looking both amused and apologetic as he informed Rigel she wasn't the second coming of pranking legend.

"But it was good, right?" She widened her eyes a tad, making sure to smile just like a child showing his parents his first magic trick. "It took forever to get all the glitter in the envelopes."

"It was great, Rigel," George said, definitely hiding amusement now, "I take it we're even for the flower prank now?"

"Of course!" Rigel leaned forward earnestly, "I was a little worried I took things too far, actually. I didn't want to tip the scales back the other way. I just couldn't resist doing two envelopes of glitter." She added a guilty little smile for maximum effect, ignoring the muffled choking going on beside her. Draco should really work on his subtlety.

"We won't take it too personally," Fred promised her, leaning in to ruffle her hair. She quickly ducked back with an indignant look, narrowly avoiding the powder clinging amongst the glitter getting in her hair.

"It washes off really easy under water," she informed them, affecting a serious expression, "So you can get rid of it all tonight."

"Ah, no offense, pup, but we'll probably just evanesco it if it's all the same to you," George said apologetically.

She gazed in mild horror at them, "Oh, no! Whatever you do, don't try and vanish it. I nicked it from my dad's experimental supply, and his notes were pretty clear about the kind of reaction that might produce." At Fred and George's uneasy expressions, she scratched the back of her neck nervously, "It's okay though, right? One day isn't too bad. I mean it's not like you have Snape today or anything."

They did have Snape, in fact, first thing that morning, in a double block that would last until noon. She knew that when she planned the prank, of course, but it was a simple matter to fake distraught realization as she gazed back and forth between their awkward expressions.

"Oh, no," she said again, "I didn't—you're going to lose points, and it's all my fault!"

"It's okay, pup," Fred said, putting on a smile, "We lose points all the time. Don't feel bad. It was a good prank."

"No, I feel awful," Rigel moaned, her shoulders slumping forward, "I'm so sorry, you guys."

"Rigel, it's fine," George said firmly, "You can't always predict how a prank will turn out. It's our fault for getting caught in it, right?"

Rigel sniffed, blinking rapidly to give the impression that she was fighting tears. "I don't know. It seems so wrong." Before they could contradict her again, she lifted her head brightly, saying, "Wait, I know!" She made a show of digging around in her bag until she pulled out the bag of Bertie Bott's Beans. "Here, take these. I know it doesn't make up for the points, but they're your favorite, too, right? I only have one bag…but you could share?"

"Oh, you really don't have to," George said, though he was certainly eyeing the bag with interest.

"I want to," Rigel insisted, pressing the bag into Fred's hands, "Take it as my apology for going too far. I clearly shouldn't be trusted with this much responsibility."

She thought she was laying it on a bit thick by that point, but Fred and George took the bag with big, grateful smiles. She held onto her innocently apologetic expression as long as she possibly could, but once the twins had each taken a handful of the beans and tipped them into their mouths she really couldn't hold back a pleased smirk any longer.

"Done being an idiot, now?" Draco asked mildly.

"Just about," Rigel said calmly, watching the twins glance at each other, then her with growing suspicion.

"Puppy," Fred said slowly, "You haven't gone and done something unnecessary, have you?"

"What's necessity got to do with cold-served revenge, Draco?"

"Nothing that I can think of, Rigel," Draco said obligingly.

"What's in the beans, Rigel?" George asked, groaning a bit at what Rigel assumed was his own stupidity.

"I'm sure I don't know," Rigel inspected her nails with forced cruelty, "I heard they're trying a new poison flavor for the holidays, though. Gee, what are the odds one would make its way into this bag?"

Fred appeared to be contemplating the merits of self-induced regurgitation, but George put a hand on his brother's arm reassuringly. "Rigel wouldn't actually poison us," he said confidently, "Monstrously deceive us, and lead us on for a humiliating ten minutes, maybe, but not poison us."

"You sound pretty sure," Rigel noted, trying to look as unmerciful and cold as her young, smooth cheeks would allow.

"I don't think you want to be rid of us just yet," George smirked. The effect was somewhat dashing, at least until a narrow stream of clear liquid began to dribble out of his nose. It rolled down to his lip, collecting the heretofore ignored modified sneezing powder and ballooning out into a glob of pink goo. "What?" he touched his hand to his face and pulled it away incredulously. "Oh, no."

Fred, meanwhile, was attempting to stem the flow of pink slime that was running down his cheeks as his eyes leaked expulsion draught in a process that, while painless, looked absolutely disgusting. "What have you done, Rigel?" he asked, voice rising a bit in carefully controlled panic.

"I just thought people should know who the real piles of goo behind the paper flower prank are," Rigel said, though she kept her voice low enough that only Fred and George and a couple of her friends could really hear her. The point was to get the elegance of the prank across to the twins, not undermine their work with the original prank, after all.

By now the toxin-expulsion draught they'd ingested had started to ooze out their pores, and everywhere the powder on their skin and clothes came into contact with the oozing liquid it blossomed into rivulets of fluorescent, sticky goop, until soon it looked like Fred and George were giant pink popsicles that had been left out in the sun too long.

The hall was roaring with laughter as people stood on their seats to get a better look at the walking piles of sparkly slime that were the Weasley Twins.

Rigel had to school her expression into one of sober concern as Professor Snape made his way past their spectacle on his way out of the hall.

"You appear to have liquefied these two Gryffindors, Mr. Black," the professor said with supreme unconcern. She could read the appreciation in his eye, however, and flattered herself that he seemed ever so slightly curious as to how she'd done it.

"They're just a little melted, Professor," she said, smiling modestly.

"In your opinion, will they re-solidify before their morning block?" Snape asked, professional courtesy oozing in his voice.

"They might be a bit soft in the head still," she said, faking concern.

"Back to normal, then," Snape's smirk was positively cutting as he strode away, "Good."

The Slytherins sitting near enough to hear that exchange gave a healthy laugh in his wake.

"I suppose now you're going to tell us not to evanesco this, either?" Fred said, his voice muffled by the layer of slime that coated his face.

"No, go ahead," she said, smiling too-innocently.

He hesitated visibly, goo-covered hand poised on his wand but clearly expecting another trick.

George groaned in sudden realization, "We could have evanescoed the glitter in the first place, couldn't we?"

"That probably would have be the wisest course, yes," Rigel allowed.

"You realize we can never trust you again," Fred said morosely, clenching his eyes shut and muttering the vanishing spell with extreme trepidation.

"You say that, but…" Rigel trailed off with a winsome smile as Draco and Pansy chuckled appreciatively.

Once satisfied that Fred's goo had vanished without obvious side effects, George followed suit. Rigel thought the incident might teach them not to always do things at the same time. If there'd been any delay between the two in opening their letters or eating the spiked beans, she might have only caught one of them.

"Well, I can honestly say I've never seen a prank like that before," George said, after inspecting himself for any lingering goo, of course.

"What he said." Fred leaned toward Rigel conspiratorially. "Only how did you get the goo to come out of our, ahem…" he waggled his eyebrows in a way that Rigel really couldn't help but flush at. She had been trying not to think about that aspect of the expulsion draught.

"A true master never divulges his secrets," she managed to choke out as her ears turned red.

"Probably for the best." George grimaced good-naturedly. "Some things should be left to the imagination."

Secretly relieved that Fred and George weren't actually all that upset about her getting one over on them, Rigel readily agreed that the finer aspects of her prank should not be available to the masses.

"I think we've entertained those masses enough for one day, in any event." Fred glanced about at the raptly interested students around the hall and waved to signal that the show was over. People went back to their breakfasts readily enough, though she could hear speculation about what exactly had happened threading through most of the conversations around them.

"Though Rigel did most of the entertainment." George shook his head admiringly. "Clearly we need to talk about your pathological acting skills, little pup."

"I employ them mainly in self-defense," Rigel said.

Draco snorted in an entirely obvious way. "I'm sorry. What?"

Rigel shot him a betrayed look, "I do. It's not my fault I'm surrounded by aggressively nosy people who also happen to be incredibly gullible."

"You're aware that you shouldn't have said that out loud, right?" Pansy sighed.

"You're aware that that's only what I want you to think, right?" Rigel said.

"I'm not sure that makes any sense," George felt compelled to point out.

"I'm not sure that anything makes sense, anymore," Fred added, looking a bit glum.

"As long as no one is certain of anything we can all go about our lives in peace," Rigel said, shrugging.

Everyone was certain they had nothing to say to that.

-0

[HpHpHp]

-0

The end of first semester wound down rather anticlimactically, in Rigel's opinion. Slytherin scraped a win in their Quidditch match with Gryffindor, lending good spirits to the last couple weeks of classes despite the numerous tests and assignments coming due. Rigel was just polishing off the very last of Flint's essays when Draco poked his head into their dorm room and said, "Nearly ready?"

She tucked the parchment rolls away in her bag and slipped off the bed with a grin, "Lost track of time. I'll change now."

It was the last Sunday before break, and the sixth meeting of their unofficial defense association. After the initial couple weeks of awkwardness, Draco had taken to teaching like a fish dropped in an unfamiliar, but not altogether unpleasant new pond. Draco claimed he just enjoyed bossing other people around, but Rigel suspected he found real satisfaction in the way the others looked to him for information and direction.

They collected Pansy, Rosier, and Rookwood in the common room, waving cheerfully to Pucey, who had taken to ribbing them about their little rendezvous with the Gryffindors every chance he got.

"Another play date?" the fifth-year called across the room.

"You're welcome to come if you're feeling left out," Rosier smirked, "We've more than enough toys for everyone."

"Ask me again in the spring, when my arse doesn't hurt so much from Flint's training!" Pucey laughed. Bole and Derrick, who sat close together on an adjacent couch, joined in a moment later.

"It's going to hurt worse in the spring, I promise," Flint spoke up ominously from a chair nearby.

Amidst playful groans and complaints, their group exited the common room with anticipatory energy in their steps. After a few weeks to settle into the rhythm of things, they'd all grown to greatly enjoy the weekend dueling practice. It was engaging and challenging to face off against different people, and as it wasn't for class credit or marks, it was fun and largely free of pressure, too.

That wasn't to say it was lacking intensity, of course.

"Bout time you lot showed up," Ron yawned, stretching his not-quite-noticeable-yet biceps as they approached their usual spot on the lawn. Neville, who seemed to be practicing a complicated wrist exercise, glanced up with a smile as they drew near.

"We wanted to give you as much extra preparation time as possible," Pansy said, smiling sharply, "You're going to need it this week."

"That's what you said last week." Ron allowed a confident eyebrow to quirk upwards.

"It was true then, too." Pansy lowered her lashes coyly. "Or have you forgot who won?"

"I hope you're up for a rematch, then?" Ron smirked.

"If you think you'd like to lose again," Pansy said, beginning to idly hop from foot to foot in an effort to warm her muscles in the cold December air.

Those two, Rigel reflected, had certainly managed to bring out the competitive spirit in one another. While most of them changed dueling partners regularly, Pansy and Ron had fallen into a weekly rivalry. She supposed they were a good match on the dueling pitch—Ron had a strategist's mind, from what she'd gleaned over the weeks, and Pansy was by far the most devious of their dueling circle. They matched wits as much as wands when they squared off, and Rigel was glad someone seemed willing to take Pansy seriously besides Draco and her. Rosier had refused on principle to duel the blonde girl, and Rookwood had seemed out of his element the one time he'd tried. Neville…well, he seemed scared to death of Pansy for some reason, which Rigel supposed meant he was the only one with any good sense in the group.

"Enough posturing," Draco rolled his eyes, "We've got a lot to do before you two get another go at each other."

"Yes, Grand Dueler Draco," Pansy dipped an elegant curtsey despite wearing loose-fitting running pants.

"Of course, Magnanimous Master Malfoy," Ron parroted, doing his own wobbly approximation of a bow.

It was a testament to six weeks of practice that Draco restrained himself to a mild scowl in the face of Ron's obvious facetiousness.

They started with an easy jog that didn't take them too far along the banks of the lake. The four newcomers still weren't in the same league of conditioning that Pansy, Draco, and Rigel were, probably because they only really exercised once a week, so Draco tended to focus their efforts on exercises and moves that would help their dueling specifically, instead of the full-body fitness that the third-year Slytherins worked toward in their early morning practices.

Footwork drills and combination exercises took up the next twenty minutes or so, and once Draco was satisfied everyone had warmed up diligently, they broke into pairs. Rigel had dueled Neville last week, and Rosier the week before, so she squared off with Rookwood this time, a slow-simmering excitement laying low in her gut.

Rookwood was by far her most challenging opponent. Neville wasn't at all aggressive, Rosier was cunning but lacked ruthlessness, and Draco preferred coaching to dueling most weeks. Rookwood, though, was level headed, efficient, and difficult to read because his movements were so minimalist. His impressive repertoire of spells didn't hurt, either. Anyone who didn't know better would think it an unfair match up, a small third-year against a mountain-like sixth-year. Rigel didn't flatter herself when she acknowledged her own skill, however. The three and a half months since the beginning of the school year had been more like eight for her; she had as many hours to go over foot-drills and practice the maneuvers Leo had shown her as she could motivate herself to take.

It wasn't cheating, she told herself, since they weren't in any sort of competition, but it did give her a little guilty start every time one of her friends mentioned how scarily fast she was improving. Her quick progress, coupled with the fact that she didn't have to worry about her magic acting without her permission now that it was suppressed all the time, meant Rigel had grown into her instincts at last. She wouldn't call herself dangerous, or anything, but her skillset was certainly impressive for a thirteen-year-old.

They spread out a good distance from one another, with Pansy and Ron the farthest from Rigel and Rookwood. Neville and Rosier were the least likely to go overboard in their practice, so they were in between the more serious pairs.

"The usual rules apply," Draco announced, "Only this time let's try not to noticeably disfigure anyone—I'm looking at you, Pansy. If Weasley gets sent to the Hospital Wing one more time he's going to set a record."

"I thought the boils gave him character," Pansy twirled her wand carelessly.

"Detention builds character, too, and that's what we're all going to get if you keep getting carried away," Draco said. Rigel thought the amusement in his tone rather undermined the bark to his words. "All right. Ready? Set? Begin."

Rigel darted sideways to avoid an oncoming orange-colored hex she didn't recognize and threw up a shield a heartbeat later to intercept a fast-moving incarcerous that Rookwood had neatly placed in her path. That's what I get for being predictable, Rigel thought as she muttered the words for the tripping jinx under her breathe while sliding to avoid the concussion of a shield-smasher colliding with her protego a moment later.

Rookwood's dueling style was hard and fast. His impressive stamina meant there was very little pause between spells, which left his opponent feeling overwhelmed with the need to defend against the constant pressure. Rigel's best skill by far was dodging, however, and her on-the-go offense neatly avoided the issue of getting bogged down on defense altogether. With a sprinkling of shield charms thrown in as a nod to the 'pick-your-battles' philosophy, Rigel had a flexible style all her own that tended to dominate the dueling space just through its sheer mobility. Rookwood didn't seem to mind, of course, since Rigel almost never saw him move during a duel. She sometimes wondered if he did the footwork drills at the beginning of their sessions just to humor Draco.

She mentally thanked Remus for all his work with her that summer as she ducked and dove around spells with comfortable agility. Rookwood's expression never faltered, for all that not a single one of his spells came close to hitting. If it was to be a game of attrition, Rigel rather thought her physical stamina could outlast Rookwood's core reserves.

To make sure of this, she randomly began increasing the power behind some of her spells, forcing the upperclassman to hurriedly reinforce his shields every time one threatened to break through. She jumped high over a tarantallegra placed at her kneecaps, then mentally cursed when she saw Rookwood use her slow jump to break his usual fast-paced rhythm and begin a complicated series of wand-movements that she just knew spelled trouble.

As soon as her feet touched down, she leapt backwards to put space between her and whatever was coming next. Not a moment too soon, as the earth between them swiftly transitioned from dry, brittle grass to smooth, slick ice. Wondering how on earth Rookwood had managed to transfigure so much ground so quickly, Rigel cast an underpowered sticking charm to her feet and began factoring in twice as much necessary time in avoiding spells.

It was a stopgap measure at best, as proven when one of her feet stuck just a second too long and she was forced she shield a spell she ought to have been able to hop right over. Curse Rookwood for thinking to aim for her feet, now the slowest-moving part of her. She tried to distract him with a couple of closely timed stupefys, but Rookwood swatted them away like flies and sent back a vertigo jinx that she just managed to recognize in time to prepare the counter-charm as it approached.

The vertigo-jinx was one of the annoying ones you couldn't shield against. All one could do was prepare defense ahead of time and cancel it quickly. Although she lost perception for a moment, she had already sent her muscles diving to the side as the jinx connected, and so when she reoriented herself it was some feet to the right of where Rookwood's follow-up incarcerous had attempted to snare her.

One trail of rope has wrapped itself around her left ankle, however, and even as she cast a finite at the conjured binding she knew she should have gone with relashio. Finite was an area-effect cancelling spell and so the sticking charm on her left foot was now gone as well. Rookwood had already sent another spell in her direction, and she didn't recognize it. Shielding would be ill advised, but dodging now would be likely result in a windmill maneuver that left her exposed as her left foot undermined her right.

The spell was too low to duck, but not too high to leap over in a last-ditch effort at surprise. She cast a severely over-powered lumos charm as she squeezed her eyes shut and pushed hard off her right foot, tucking herself into a dive-roll that, if she timed it right, would take her right over the incoming spell and much closer to Rookwood himself.

She came out of the roll a mere three feet from her opponent, and a mirror shield at precisely the right angle prevented Rookwood from firing any spells he wouldn't want to dodge at close range. The momentum from her roll was still carrying her forward, her left foot and right knee sliding across the ice easily as she kept in a crouch to minimize the target she presented.

Rookwood was blinking rapidly at what Rigel assumed was a great big black spot across his vision, but he wasn't done yet. He canceled her mirror shield with a projected mirror shield of his own that destabilized hers into collapsing, and his wand began to move in swift patterns as his brow knit with the concentration his next spell demanded. Before he could complete it, though, Rigel was already within his guard, propelling her momentum abruptly upwards with the sticking charm on her right foot and chopping her left hand down on his right forearm in a move that targeted the muscles he used to keep a good grip on his wand. Her knees dug into Rookwood's chest at the same time, and while any other boy his age would likely be completely winded, Rookwood merely stumbled backwards at her added weight.

It was enough. Rigel tumbled to the ground on top of the larger boy, wand at his throat even as his own wand fell to the dirt from a forcibly lax grip.

"Concede?" Rigel smiled from her seat upon his chest, panting through her triumph even as she inspected her opponent for any real damage.

"I'm not sure that counts," Rookwood grumbled, looking a little put out as he gazed up at the sky.

She gently pressed her wand into the thick muscle of his neck. "Would you like me to stupefy you?"

"No," he decided, sighing deeply in a way that dislodged Rigel from her perch and sent her laughing to the ground.

They both sat up and shared an easy grin. Rookwood was never a poor sport, though Rigel thought she was the only one he'd actually lost to so far.

"Rigel won again?" Draco shook his head as he made his way over, "How many weeks it that running, now?"

"Rigel always wins," Rookwood said genially, "Except once when he dueled you."

"Draco can read my moves too easily," Rigel complained. She didn't understand how a little empathy could give him such an advantage in their duels. It wasn't like her emotions could tell him what sort of spells she was going to use. Perhaps it was simply that she couldn't take him by surprise when he could tell if she was about to do something devious. She did tend to win a lot of her duels on the grounds of creative surprises, come to think of it.

"I've been dueling you longer," Draco said, "Still, it was a good duel, from both of you. Edmund, you've finally figured out that stopping Rigel from dodging is the only way to gain advantage over the pacing, and Rigel…I can't tell if you planned all that or just panicked at the end, but it did work, and Professor Lupin says that results are undeniable."

An expression he'd picked up from Sirius, if Rigel didn't miss her guess. It sounded like the sort of argument he would use to get his way.

Rigel and Rookwood nodded their thanks at the roundabout praise, and Rookwood asked, "How did the others do?"

"Neville lasted a whole five minutes against Rosier," Draco said, smiling. Rigel decided not to let him know how proud he looked of the Gryffindor he would have said six weeks ago was a waste of good oxygen. "They dueled a couple of times before tiring out. Aldon has no stamina, I swear."

Rigel could barely comprehend Draco referring to Rosier by his first name, but something had certainly changed between the two of them over the last couple of months. They were friendlier, now, and sometimes when Rigel came across them she got the weird feeling they'd been talking about her. She shook her head. It was probably her suspicious imagination.

"Did Ron finally beat Pansy?" Rigel asked, looking over at where her blonde-haired friend seemed in deep conspiracy with the redhead. It was not an uncommon sight, as both were the type to go over their duel with a fine-toothed comb afterwards. Pansy had an analytical streak that Rigel could only assume came from her father, Mr. Parkinson, and Ron never missed a chance to break a maneuver down to its basic elements. Too much exposure to Quidditch as a child, she thought.

"Pansy thinks not, but Weasley is calling it a draw," Draco said, smirking, "All I know is that Pansy snapped when Weasley tried to get a hair-removal charm to connect and it's lucky the poor bastard made it out alive, frankly.

Upon closer inspection, Ron did look a bit worse for wear. Pansy had a thing about hair, as Draco and Rigel could personally attest, having spent endless hours the victim of her over-zealous braiding habits more times than they cared to remember.

"Well, let's huddle up, since everyone's done, now," Draco said, clapping his hands together smartly.

They gathered with the others, passing around congratulations and encouragement where appropriate as they all stretched out muscles carefully to avoid injury.

"Great work today!" Draco said. He looked pleased as punch, and Rigel thought again what a good thing this odd habit had become. It gave him an outlet apart from Quidditch to focus his energy on when wrangling with his empathy left him annoyed and feeling stifled. "Rigel, Edmund, that was some very fast-paced dueling. Neville, you've gotten a real hang of the rhythm of spell-exchange, now. Next you should work on purposely disrupting that rhythm periodically so your opponent doesn't get too comfortable. Aldon, you should practice casting the higher-level spells until your core bulks up a bit—you were flagging at the end of the second duel. Also, try to find a little killer instinct. I know Neville doesn't exactly inspire it, but I think a bit of drive will really take your dueling to the next level. Pansy, I wish you had a bit less killer instinct, to be honest. You're going to emotionally scar Weasley for life if you aren't careful, and then we'll have to replace him, and just when he's starting to not look like a complete clown in the ring." Everyone laughed good-naturedly at the scowling redhead. "If you all want, we can plan to meet up again the first Sunday after break."

They all agreed, and then Ron spoke up. "First of all, I'd like to say it's bogus that I'm the only one you still call by my last name, Draco. And secondly, I think we should make this a proper club."

"Remember the disaster at last year's 'dueling club?'" Rosier reminded him.

"This'll be different," Ron said, waving a hand vaguely, "Run by students. I've had several people ask about what I'm doing with a bunch of snakes every week, you know. I think they're interested, but they feel like they can't intrude as long as it's a private thing."

"We'd have to get permission," Draco said, not looking entirely put out at the idea.

"Percy can use his Head Boy magic for something useful, then," Ron said, grinning, "He knows the Head Girl real well, too, so between the two of them, it shouldn't be a problem."

"We can start advertising in common rooms after the new year, then," Pansy said, looking excited at the prospect of organizing something, "We'll have to make it clear we're only accepting dedicated members serious about improving their skills. I expect some will drop out once they understand the physical demands. We might get enough to do a tournament, though, by the end of the school year."

Neville looked slightly intimidated at the prospect of new members, but he said, "I'll ask Professor Sprout if she'll put a flyer in the Hufflepuff common room."

"Good idea, Nev," Rosier said, smiling. He seemed to have taken a bit of a liking to the slightly timid Gryffindor. "It should definitely be open to all Houses."

"Professor Flitwick likes me," Rookwood said. She supposed that was as good as an offer to talk to the Ravenclaw Head of House about it as well.

"It's settled, then," Draco said, "I'll draw up a charter of some kind over the holidays. Stay in shape, now, and don't forget to practice your drills. We don't want to look like a bunch of fools in front of our new members, right?"

"What could be foolish about learning Dueling from a third-year?" Rigel asked, smiling as Draco narrowed his eyes at her.

"I'm sure I can find a willing assistant couch among the upper years, provided we do get any new members," Draco sniffed, "You just worry about not knocking people over in your next duel, Rigel. We don't want to be banned for free-dueling, after all."

The others laughed at that, and Rigel quickly stifled a grimace. She really shouldn't have knocked Rookwood's wand from his hand bodily like that. It was, strictly speaking, bad form. It had just seemed like the most obvious thing to do at the time. Those sorts of instincts were the ones Leo would be pounding into her head over the break, too, so she would have to be doubly careful when their club resumed in the spring. No sense advertising herself to her peers as a violent brute, even if it was a more effectual style of dueling.

-0

[HpHpHp]

-0

By far the hardest thing she did before catching the train home that year wasn't packing, saying goodbye to her friends, or deciding which books to keep with her and which to leave in her dorm room. The hardest thing was surrendering her time-turner to Professor Snape's care the last day of term.

"I trust you've already completed your holiday assignments?" Snape asked, once the Ministry-required end-of-semester mental health checklist had been completed.

"Yes, sir," she said with no small amount of regret. What she would give to be able to take the innocuous golden necklace with her over the break. She had abused it terribly in the last two weeks, of course, to make up for all the time she would not be able to steal over the holiday, but just imagine what she could do with a time-turner at her parent's house! She could be at home with her family and in the alleys with Leo and studying in a library somewhere with Archie. For that matter, Archie could use it to—

She caught herself before the thought fully manifested. Maybe a break from the time-turner was for the best, after all. She didn't put a lot of stock in rules as a rule, but there were some lines she probably shouldn't cross. Like revealing the existence of a secret time-turner to her cousin and letting him use it to catch up on his studies. It pained her, leaving it at Hogwarts, but that very pain was a warning sign, she thought. It was time to resume a normal pace of living, perhaps.

"The two years is almost up," Snape said suddenly, breaking her from her reverie.

"They are," she agreed, a bit nervous, "Have you…made your decision?"

Snape inclined his head, his lips twisting in a way she found odd until he said, "I shall speak to your father upon the new year."

"My—why?" Rigel swallowed thickly. "Isn't it my choice?"

"It would be, if you were of age, as most apprentices are," Snape said, "As it is…he does have the power to gainsay this, Rigel."

He was not speaking to her as a student, she understood, but as a mentor. "I will speak to him when I get home," she said, thinking hard, "If he is warmed up to the idea…perhaps it will not be so difficult to acquire his permission. I think if it comes down to it, and I insist…well, he's never actually refused me anything." Archie had never asked to be apprenticed to the son of Sirius' hated rival, of course, but perhaps she could phrase it somewhat differently.

"You will both be attending the gala at the Parkinsons', will you not?" Snape asked, clear signs of plotting in his expression.

"I…suppose so," she said carefully, "I haven't heard from Si—my dad either way, but we went last year at the Rosiers'."

"Good," Snape nodded, "I am required to attend in any case, so that will be as good a place as any." With a sudden flick of his fingers, he added, "Your cousin, Miss Potter. She will also be there?"

"I'm really not sure," Rigel said, dread pooling in her stomach. She hadn't forgotten Snape had wanted to meet Harry—her—sometime over the break, but she hadn't thought he would suggest a place so public. Nor a place where Rigel was already supposed to be. "She doesn't go to parties."

"She will attend this one, if she wants to continue benefiting from my second-hand tutelage," Snape said sharply, "Tell her to seek me out, and I will judge whether or not such an arrangement is fit go on."

"I will tell her," she said quietly, "Thank you, Sir. Is there anything else?"

"Nothing that cannot wait for the new term," Snape said, leaning back in his office chair, "You may go, Mr. Black."

"Have a good holiday, Professor," she said, forcing a smile. All she could think as she made her way back to her dorm was that she really, really wished she could have kept the time-turner over winter break. How on earth was she going to be in two places at once without it? She just hoped Archie made good on his promise of a new plan for their disguises. Between Remus, Snape, her friends, and their families, they needed a miracle to make it through the holiday undiscovered.

-0—0-0

-0-0

-0

[end of chapter nine].

A/N: So! Quite a long Draco's POV at the beginning, there, for those of you who are fans. The whole thing tops out around a modest 23,800. Again, really sorry for the long wait on this one. The next chapter will, of course, cover winter break, which is bound to be rather confusing, I think. There's a lot of crossing of identities involved, so just mentally prepare yourself for that, dear readers. As always, you humble me by reading this bit of nonsense, and I can't wait to read all the theories and ideas you come up with after this chapter. Happy Halloween (super belated), and maybe if I'm a really really good worker elf I can get this next chapter out in time to wish you an relatively on-time Thanksgiving. No promises, but the next two weeks look pretty uneventful for me, and it's nice to have goals ^^.

Lots of love,

-Violet