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.

11. Chapter 11

A/N: Here it is: the gala. I wanted to show this in all of its layers, so there are several POV shifts involved—it's not all from Harry's perspective tonight. Hopefully some of the other characters' perspectives will give you readers insight into the complexities that Harry herself often doesn't pick up on in their entirety. As always, enjoy.

The Ambiguous Artifice:

Chapter 11:

Draco looked into the mirror and recognized intrinsically that which looked back at him. A young lord on the cusp of ascendance, his clothes and jewels only the accompaniments of his station. The true reflection of his position lay bare in his eyes—Malfoy grey, the color of sober grace, and in the set of his shoulders—poised with the duty of his birthright, but far from bent beneath its weight. He looked and felt older than his thirteen years.

The last addition was the silver dagger his godfather had gifted him that summer. As coming of age presents went, it was spectacular in symbolism and, because it was Uncle Severus, usefulness. A plethora of enchantments made it as deadly as it was beautiful, and Draco knew his godfather had only allowed its incredible splendor so that he may carry it ceremoniously in places true weapons were discouraged, as he would tonight. It did look fine with his silver-trimmed robes, Draco was pleased to note.

A cleared throat turned his attention to his dressing room doorway, where his father loitered with a mixture of pride and regret bare on his usually impassive face.

"Severus has excellent taste, for all that he rarely employs it on his own behalf," his father remarked, eyeing the dagger that hung weightlessly at Draco's waist with approval.

"The taste was incidental, I suspect," Draco said, a grin tugging at his mouth as he met his father's gaze through the mirror. "It's charmed to open locks—and to only strike true in the hand of one of my own blood."

"Keep it away from Bellatrix," Lucius drawled. Draco chuckled, nodding his agreement. His father examined him carefully for a long moment. "You have grown up so quickly, my son."

"It does not seem quick to me," Draco said, turning his gaze back to the mirror, this time seeing the flaws—the slight ganglyness that spoke of heights not yet reached, the chin that was not quite as firm as what his father's granite profile boasted.

"It will accelerate before you realize," Lucius said, "When you look back on tonight you will remember it as a milestone."

"It's just another party at the Parkinsons' estate," Draco said, raising an eyebrow in skepticism, "We've been to dozens."

"Not a gala," Lucius said, shaking his head slowly.

"I've been to other galas," Draco pointed out.

"This one will be different," his father said, eyes serious in a way that made Draco instinctually pay closer attention. "The sphere is widening this year. The Parkinsons are very well connected. There will be a great many Ministry officials in attendance with their families. More Neutral and even Light leaning families there, as well."

"Really?" Draco processed this silently. Tilting the field away from a concentration of Dark families was not necessarily a bad thing, politically speaking.

"You will pay special attention to Miss Parkinson tonight," Lucius said, "Flaunt our close connection."

"I will, Father," Draco said, frowning a little, "Though…I do not wish to send the wrong message. Pansy is beginning courting negotiations this winter—"

"You could do much worse than Rose Parkinson's daughter," Lucius cut across him sharply.

"Yes, Father," Draco said, automatically obedient.

His father eyed him through the mirror thoughtfully. "Perhaps you had a different prospect in mind?" Draco blinked in slow confusion. "Your friendship with Heir Black is quite close, Draco," Lucius prompted drolly.

Draco's nose wrinkled instinctively before he could still it. "Rigel is a friend, Father." There was a confusion in his breast that voiced some uncertainty about the exact nature of his relationship with Rigel Black, but it was easy to ignore. "Like you and Severus," he offered when his father looked unconvinced.

Lucius laughed shortly. "Severus and I were not always such good friends, Draco."

"I thought you were schoolmates," Draco said, eyes narrowing. He was sure his father and godfather had told him they met at Hogwarts.

"He was several years younger than I," Lucius said dismissively, moving from the doorway at last and approaching the large window on Draco's left. It looked out over his mother's garden, which the house elves decorated beautifully with silver lights in the winter months.

"How did you become close, then?" Draco asked, now curious as to why he'd never heard the story. "Through the SOW party?"

Lucius' smirk was incredibly wry. "In fact, when Severus first petitioned to join the Party I suspected him a spy." Draco's mouth fell open, prompting a dark chuckle from his father. "Oh, yes. He was a nobody in school—kept to himself and distained Society in all its forms. I don't blame him—Society is no place for a halfblood whelp without family to recommend him, which is exactly what Severus was. Then he took his Mastery at seventeen—breaking half a dozen records in the process—and suddenly all his reticence and taciturn disgust disappeared. He made the right friends, said the right things, and he was talented—so talented that he didn't need to say or do the right things, don't you see? The Party would have accepted him anyway, on merit alone."

"You suspected him of playing his way in?" Draco whistled. "I hope you didn't say that to his face."

"Of course I did," Lucius smirked, "I was young and indelicate—this was before I married your mother. Snape was easily provoked. A slur to his heritage brought his acerbic nature to the fore with little trouble; he was suspiciously resentful when it came to blood rights, for one who pledged himself to a Party created on the basis of their existence. I accused him of treachery and duplicitousness and demanded a duel to satisfy the honor of the Party."

Draco could not believe his ears. "You…what?"

"Don't look so surprised." His father sighed with acute chagrin. "I lost, of course. Severus annihilated me on the dueling field. I retracted my accusations at once and shortly thereafter the two of us became friends. I even sponsored his ascendance in the Party after that. I never forgot, though." Lucius had a far away look in his eyes all of a sudden. It made trepidation blossom in Draco's gut. "And I still have my suspicions. Severus is a little too close to Dumbledore, for all that he is employed at Hogwarts. Your godfather does not enjoy teaching."

"You don't say," Draco snorted. That much was certainly obvious.

"Whatever his excuses about contributing to the next generation—however arduous a task it may be, as he says—it has always felt off to me," Lucius said. He clenched his hand into a slow fist. "Severus is valuable to the Party, and he has become a good friend to our family, but he has secrets, Draco."

"Why are you telling me this now?" Draco asked after a moment of silence. "I know you've cautioned me about speaking freely on certain subjects with Uncle Severus before, but you've never said anything so explicit about questioning his…his loyalties."

"I tell you this to illustrate my relationship with Severus, which you claim is just like your relationship with Rigel," Lucius said, voice pointed. Draco swallowed. Before he could formulate a response, not sure if he ought to defend Rigel or Snape or neither, his father went on. "I understand your friendship with Heir Black, Draco. Talent calls to Malfoys—I raised you to respect it, to seek it out. Rigel is also family, which rightly elevates him even more in your esteem. You can be his friend, but I must tell you to be careful. Like we are careful with Severus. For all his seeming good-naturedness and harmless intellectual façade, Rigel Black has secrets, too. I am sure of it."

Draco knew as much already, had known as much almost from the start. But Lucius and Severus had been friends well over a decade, even with what was apparently a sea of doubt between them. He and Rigel would be just the same. He, the powerful, charismatic Lord Malfoy, and Rigel the anti-social but endearing academic who everyone esteems but only Draco really understands. Pansy would be there, too. It would be perfect. Or as close to perfect as real life got. Certainty wasn't the gold standard for everything—much less the Malfoy standard, which meant considerably more.

Draco moved a stray hair back into its place, then turned from the mirror at last. "Ready, Father? We best not keep Mother waiting."

"If your mother is finished with her coiffure, I'll go to the gala in stockings," Lucius said, nonetheless following him from the room. As they approached the floo room to await the lady of the house, his father placed a hand on his shoulder that was heavy with meaning. "You will be careful, Son. Use your gift. Discover whatever you can, whenever you can. Keep the knowledge close. It is impossible to predict what—or who—may become critical to your future."

"I will, Father," Draco said, attempting to assure himself as much as anything. He would try to be careful. He had a feeling that carefulness was a ship that had sailed without his realizing it, however. Unlike Lucius and Severus, who approached friendship with wariness and restraint, Draco was already neck-deep in it. He couldn't imagine his future in any capacity without Rigel in it. His father may as well advise him to be suspicious of himself, so awkward and unwieldy the imperative felt.

Still, tonight was as good a time as any to approach his friendship anew. He would pay closer attention, and try harder to see things as they were, rather than as he would have them be. Somehow he doubted Rigel would even notice his increased scrutiny. Draco heaved a mental sigh. It was probably better that his friend was so oblivious. Draco wanted to take his father's advice seriously, but he didn't want Rigel to think him actually doubtful—Rigel had enough trouble understanding their friendship as it was. The last thing he needed to do was add complications to what was already a difficult concept for Rigel to grasp.

Sometimes he wished he could have simple friends—ones with simple needs and easy-to-suss-out goals, ones who didn't hide behind personas of gilded lies and who never over-analyzed anything Draco did or said. His wishing never lasted very long, though. That sort of friendship was for boring people, with small minds and even smaller lives. Draco was made for more interesting things, even if sometimes the interesting things were the most troublesome.

-0

[HpHpHp]

-0

Harry gave up looking for some semblance of herself in the mirror after a few unsuccessful minutes and simply settled for staring at the strangely glittering creature within. Her mother had made good on her promise to help her in dressing for the gala that night, but Harry hadn't imagined that her assistance would characterized by such…alteration. Lily had, with her cautious permission, grown her hair out several inches, until it was long enough to twirl around the ends of her mother's wand like the ribbons of a party balloon. The effect was very feminine, she had to admit, but the way the curls stuck together in formation even when she shook her head was a bit eerie.

"Stop moving," Lily laughed, "They haven't set completely yet."

"They look very set," Harry said, voice dubious.

"That's because you're used to wearing it messy." Lily rolled her eyes. "James is just the same—every time I style his hair he claims I've cemented it. Just because it isn't tousled with flyaways…" she trailed off with a distracted mutter as her wand made another pass over the curls at Harry's nape.

Addy gurgled somewhat unhappily from her blanket across the room, summoning Lily to her side like an ancient Sheba. Harry took the moment to lower her glasses at the mirror, examining her eyes suspiciously. Her mother had done…something to her eyelashes, darkening and thickening them in a way that gave her gaze an unnatural intensity. Lily assured her it was subtle, but Harry thought it entirely alien, even with the frames of her glasses to divert attention. Her eyebrows had been thinned, giving her a wide-eyed look that she wasn't sure she approved of, and she was pretty sure her mother had altered the color of her lips slightly when she wasn't looking. She had no idea how she would undo all of it before she went back to Hogwarts, but with luck at least some of the spells would be temporary.

Her mother was playing a guessing game of some sort with her little sister while she examined her face. Addy was making variously insistent noises while Lily tried to figure out what exactly the infant wanted. Harry wasn't sure Addy was actually communicating at all, as in her observation infants tended toward nonsensical noise making for mere practice's sake, but her parents had lately begun asserting the opinion that Addy was interacting intelligently with the world around her. She supposed they had more experience than she did on the matter.

"Your ball?" Lily said, holding up said toy with an exaggeratedly questioning expression on her face, "Or your blanket?"

Whatever Addy gurgled must have made sense to Lily, who smiled indulgently, "Your blanket? Okay, here's your blanket." The ceremony with which she handed over the snitch-patterned cloth would have done royalty proud.

"She's just so smart," Lily said, pride in her smile as she returned to the vanity. "Before you know it she'll be talking away. I'm going to teach her French, I think, once she's able to articulate most of the sounds."

"Shouldn't we teach her English first?" Harry said, smiling.

"Bilingualism starts young," Lily said, smoothing her hands over Harry's curls with a satisfied air, "I learned French in primary school, you know."

"I didn't," Harry said, surprised.

Lily nodded, smiling a bit wryly. "I suppose I don't speak it much anymore, but I was quite good at a young age. I even applied to Beauxbatons when I got my letter outlining my schooling options. I didn't get in, of course—it's listed as a school that accepts muggleborns, but I'm afraid that's mostly for posturing purposes. They only really accept those from old French families, and of those they prefer the ones with old money, besides."

"So you went to America," Harry said, wondering how she'd never known Lily hadn't gotten into the school of her choice either, all those years ago.

"So I went to America," Lily agreed. She smiled softly. "It was for the best, in the end. I'd never have gotten my grounding in experimental Charms at Beauxbatons. They're very traditionalist when it comes to spell casting. I think Addy might do well there, though… at least, with the Potter family name, they can't refuse her application."

Harry wasn't sure what to say to that. She wondered if it still stung, being refused admittance to the elite French school. At least Harry had grown up knowing intellectually that she wouldn't be accepted to Hogwarts—for Lily the knowledge of her magical abilities and the disappointment of her blood status must have come all at once.

"If we'd thought far enough ahead with you, James and I would have taught you another language, too," Lily said sadly, "We didn't mean to limit your choice of school to America or Australia—we just got so caught up in the moment, growing with you day by day, and by the time we realized your future bore serious consideration, it was too late to give you a background in another tongue. Not enough to be schooled in it, anyway."

"It's all right," Harry said, trying to cheer her mother up again before they fell into a conversation of regrets. "When you teach Addy, maybe I can learn, too. It'll be fun, learning together. And when she gets old enough we can take a family trip to Paris."

"That sounds lovely," Lily said, beaming. "What did I do to deserve such an understanding daughter?"

"You gave me a father whose behavior instills a good deal of patience and understanding," Harry said.

"Speaking of which," Lily laughed, "Run into the study and tell your father it's time for him to begin dressing. He and Sirius always wait until the last minute."

Harry slipped out of the room, her steps almost mincing in the unfamiliar slippers she had donned to match her delicate dress robes.

The light was on in the study, but the door was closed, which immediately struck Harry as odd. Closed doors weren't exactly a thing in their house, unless someone was sleeping. Wondering if her father and uncle were plotting something interesting for their joke line, she crept closer on silk-clad feet.

"—still can't believe we're attending Satan's circus again," James was saying, "And the rest of them got roped into it as well somehow."

"Not Remus," Sirius said, sounding as though he was leaning close to the door.

"Well we can't all be werewolves," James sighed. "Even if it does get one out of a surprising number of fussy parties. What happened to the Split, anyway?"

"It's weakening," Sirius said, his voice nonchalant, "We knew it wasn't forever. Twelve years is a long time to have held Society so apart. We can't stay separate indefinitely—won't solve anything."

"How Neutral of you." James sounded annoyed. "Don't see any Dark purebloods going to Dumbledore's soiree though, do you?"

"Maybe this year they will," Sirius shot back. Harry could tell from the absurdist bite to his words that he was joking. "The gala is practically a Ministry event anyway, this year. Lord Parkinson's intellectual crowd will all peek in as well, no doubt. Lily and the kids will be fine."

"I know." James heaved a long breath. "I'm just dreading it. Security is going to be a nightmare. The Minister invited half his cabinet, and the other half will probably gate crash. We can't search the guests as they enter without offending everyone's family honor and all that rot, and ceremonial weapons are permitted anyway—not to mention the damage you can do with a wand, if you don't mind being found out as the perpetrator. I've got a team at the estate now, getting familiar with the layout, but with this many people expected I doubt it will make any difference how many Aurors are there."

"It's going to be fine," Sirius insisted, "I'm sure you've planned for every eventuality."

"If I'd had time in the last two months to tie my own shoes I'm sure I would have, too," James said, audibly exasperated. "We've been run ragged with all this jewel searching nonsense."

There was a short pause, into which Sirius made a kind of 'hmm' sound. "How is that going, anyway?"

"Not well. The goblins are breathing down our necks and not saying anything helpful at the same time. We know this thing has something to do with upsetting magical creatures' natural temperament, but there's no solid information on what kind of a danger it poses to society at large. Hogwarts was the first real lead we had, with that mess on Halloween sending the office into a tailspin. We can't exactly raid the place without real evidence on where or who to search. The ward inspection was the best idea we had, and sodding Malfoy came up with that one!"

"How is the cow party mixed up in this anyway?" Sirius asked.

"We don't know," James groaned, "They seem as eager to butt into the investigation as the goblins. If only we knew what this thing was supposed to do, we might have a better idea for motive. I've asked Remus to keep an eye out at the school. I need to go through your library though, if you don't mind. We need hard facts on this thing before we have another mass dragon escape or the selkies go rouge or…whatever. All we know so far is it's dangerous, and whoever has it isn't being careful."

Harry fought against the impulse to step forward, open the door, and go to her father, tell him who she thought had the Dominion Jewel—tell him that it was called that, even. Only the knowledge that she couldn't explain how she'd come by such information kept her feet rooted to the carpet. Maybe she could send in an anonymous tip to the DMLE. Then again, random information wasn't exactly the sort of evidence James needed to perform a legal search and seizure. She could investigate, though. Remus would be keeping his eyes open, apparently, but he didn't know where to look. Harry allowed herself a determined smile. She would add her eyes to Pettigrew's movements. When she had proof to present, she could go to her father. Or, she amended mentally, Archie could go to James.

She knocked on the door before opening it to stick her head in. "Mom says it's time to get dressed, Dad. You too, uncle Sirius."

James blinked at her rather stupidly. "Fawn? Is that you?"

"Course it's me," Harry rolled her eyes, fighting a flush. She didn't look that different.

"You look sparkling, kid," Sirius said, winking, "Lily up to her old magic, eh?"

"I was held as wandpoint for over an hour," Harry deadpanned, "Now it's your turn."

James winced. "She always puts glue in my hair."

The two men wandered off in search of combs and Harry headed to the floo room to wait. Archie was already there when she strode in and debated the merits of sitting and wrinkling the back of her robes or standing awkwardly for the next fifteen minutes or so.

"Don't do it—Aunt Lily will throw a fit," Archie warned her, apparently reading her mind.

"She probably won't," Harry said, biting her lip indecisively.

"She spent ages picking those out," Archie reminded her. Harry glanced down at the loose flowing folds of lavender and sighed. Standing it was.

She leaned one shoulder against the fireplace, surveying her cousin briefly. "Where are your gloves?"

Grimacing, Archie pulled a pair of black dress gloves out of his pockets. "They feel weird. Like I can't use my hands."

"You have to wear them," Harry said, stroking lightly over her own silk-covered fingers.

"I know," Archie moaned, "But how am I supposed to eat?"

"You don't need to eat," Harry said, "I rarely partake at parties."

"Right," Archie sighed despondently, "I'm pretending to be a robot."

"Put your gloves on, robot," Harry chuckled. Archie reluctantly pulled them over his fingers, hiding the green rings that mirrored the ones on her own finger. She'd procured a cheap ring of fake jade for Archie, to match the suppressor she wore, and even without the gloves she didn't think anyone would notice the difference. Rigel was known to prefer wearing gloves, though, so Archie would wear gloves tonight as well.

"Is this going to work?" Archie asked, swallowing with obvious trepidation.

"Just keep your head down," Harry said calmly, "No matter what you do, no one can prove you aren't Rigel Black. My friends will chalk up irregularities to being in Sirius' presence most of the time, so relax when you're with him. When you aren't, just keep your mouth shut unless directly addressed. Better to seem preoccupied than to risk contradicting something they think is true about you. If you get into trouble, just feign amusement. It might be an inside joke."

"The fate of my life hangs on your inside jokes," Archie sighed.

"It hangs on your ability to fake a laugh," Harry corrected him.

Archie laughed loudly, clutching his belly and relaxing all his features into mirth.

"What's so funny?"

James, Sirius, and Lily filed into the floo room, her little sister propped on Sirius' shoulder. All four were dressed to the nines, even Addy, who looked surprisingly alert in her cobalt dress, which made the red hair on her head pop luridly.

"It's an inside joke," Harry said, sending Archie into another round of laughter, this time genuine.

"That's the spirit," Sirius said, rubbing his hands together, "Now. The Parkinsons are an all right lot, so all we need to worry about are the other dark wizards—"

"Sirius," James shook his head exasperatedly.

"What?" Sirius held a wounded hand to his heart. "I'm saying this for Harry's sake, Prongs. Unlike the rest of us, she hasn't dealt with these kind of snobby, tight-eyed people before. Harry, just remember that you can't be formally charged on capital offenses until you're seventeen, so—"

"Please don't encourage my daughter to murder anyone," Lily pleaded.

"Especially anyone she hasn't met yet!" Archie said, grinning. "She might get along really well with the party nobs."

"She'd better not," James grimaced.

"Yeah, no schmoozing with the politicians, Harry," Sirius said.

"I'll just stand in a corner, make no noise, and pretend not to exist," Harry said.

"I don't know, corners can be dangerous places to stand at parties," James mused, "Perhaps you should just stay home."

"She can't," Archie said, pouting, "Professor Snape wants to meet her."

"What?" Sirius frowned, "She's only going to see Snape?"

"He wants to talk to you, too," Archie said innocently.

"Let's not go," Sirius said, eye twitching. Harry marveled at how well he reversed roles, depending on who he was performing for. Hadn't he just played devil's advocate to James' bemoaning about attending the gala? She wondered if that was what a lifetime of practice at dissembling afforded one.

"It's too late, we're already dressed," Lily said, smiling indulgently. "We're going to be endlessly polite and friendly, show everyone how happy and healthy our family is, and have a lovely time. Does everyone have their emergency portkeys?"

"And did everyone put extension charms on their pockets?" Sirius added earnestly. "Remus is partial to chocolate biscuits, so every time you pass a refreshment table be sure to surreptitiously sneak one."

"On the bright side, they probably won't invite us back," Harry said.

"Or we'll be a huge hit," Sirius protested.

"Someone is going to get hit," James muttered.

"Let's just go," Lily sighed, taking Addy from Sirius in preparation for the floo trip.

Sirius volunteered to go first, spinning away in green smoke and ash with a look that was a little too eager to be believable. Archie followed, with Harry close behind. They stepped out of the way for her parents to come through, and once they were all assembled, an extremely well-mannered house elf directed them from the ornate floo room to the adjacent hallway.

It was a corridor of glittering mirrors and gilded portraiture, and as they walked along it eyes followed them from every angle, either their own or someone else's. They could see other groups forming a cue up ahead, waiting to be announced at the entrance to the ballroom.

Harry glanced up to see an enormous archway entwined with golden fairy lights over the main doors. It was like walking through the gates of a grand estate, only inside the house. She had always known that her family, even with their more-than-comfortably-sized houses, understated their income in terms of material possessions. Most of their gold lay in their vaults, uncounted except by goblins, and for the most part ignored. Coming to houses like this had opened her eyes to the true extravagance that was pureblood wealth. It was impossible to ignore the incredible details etched into the frames of each mirror and painting they passed, nor the sumptuous oriental rug that ran the entire length of the corridor beneath their feet.

As they passed beneath the archway, Harry almost couldn't believe the scope of the room before her. She had been to the Rosiers' ballroom the previous year, but the ceilings that had seemed impossibly large then were now dwarfed in her memory by the sight before her. The ballroom itself was shaped something like an arch, much higher in the middle over the dance floor than around the edges. Even the low ends of the room were two stories in themselves, however, with three staircases spaced evenly on the left and right sides of the room that led up to spacious indoor balconies. She could already see dozens of people gazing down over the low banisters, observing the room from what was probably a spectacular viewpoint. On the far end of the room from the main entrance, she could just glimpse a long table that likely held refreshments for the dancers, many of whom already moved gracefully in the center of the classically tiled floor.

She couldn't see where the music was coming from at first, until she realized it emanated from a giant chandelier hanging in the epicenter of the ballroom. The ornament dripped with pearls and what she suspected were real diamonds, rather than crystals. It struck her how clever is was to center the music above the dance floor. The dancers would be able to hear it equally well whichever side they were on, yet the music would be fainter from the edges of the room, where people were more inclined to strike up conversation.

They reached the front of the receiving line, and Sirius hung back with Archie to allow the Potters to go first. Usually James wouldn't be in the receiving line, as he was there in official capacity in addition to being a guest, but as his family was there, and particularly as his children were to be presented for the first time, he was bound by the duties of his House to make introductions.

"Lord James Potter, Lady Lillian Potter, and daughters Harriett and Adriana Potter," the announcer called out, cueing them to step forward to where the Parkinsons waited, expressions politely expectant. She could see Pansy on her mother's left, dressed in forest green robes with filigreed gold at her waist and hem.

James approached first, with Lily at his elbow. Harry stood a half-step back on her mother's side, just far enough away that Addy's grasping fingers couldn't pull at her hair from where she perched.

"Lord Potter," Mr. Parkinson intoned, "We are grateful for all of your help in organizing the security details for this evening."

"Let us hope they prove superfluous," James said, inclining his head shortly.

"And Lillian, it had been much too long," Mrs. Parkinson said, stepping forward to embrace Lily briefly, mindful of Addy sitting in Lily's right arm.

"So long you've forgotten to call me Lily," her mother said, a soft smile adorning her face. "How are you, Rose? I daresay you've outdone yourself this year."

"There, you see, Cassius?" Mrs. Parkinson smiled widely, "I told you the fairy lights weren't too much. I shall tell anyone who says otherwise that the Lillian Potter has given the party her aesthetic approval—that will still their tongues."

"First we ought to still our own, at least until the introductions are complete, my dear," Mr. Parkinson said, a slight hint of amusement in his tone.

"Of course," Mrs. Parkinson laughed lightly, "It was so good to see you again that I forgot myself. Lord Potter, Lady Potter, let me present to you my daughter, Pandora—"

"Honestly, Mother," Pansy sighed.

"—who prefers to be called Pansy," Mrs. Parkinson finished with an indulgent glance in her daughter's direction.

"It is a pleasure to meet you, Pansy," Lily said with a sly smile of her own. "You might get on well with our own daughters, Harriett, who insists that she was named Harry, and Adriana, who we call Addy for brevity's sake."

"I'm sure I will," Pansy said, turning curious eyes in Harry's direction.

Harry's instincts summoned up a deferential bow before she could stop herself. Halfway through she realized she was wearing skirts, but had no graceful option except to complete the dip as naturally as she was able and offer a smile to the Parkinsons that she hoped took the edge off of any perceived slight.

"How charming," Mrs. Parkinson said, positively beaming at her. "It is so wonderful to finally meet you, Harry. And you as well, of course, Addy." She wiggled her gloved fingers shyly at Addy, who blinked big blue eyes in her direction and gurgled a bit.

"Thank you for having us at your estate this evening, Lord Parkinson, Lady Parkinson," Harry said, keeping her voice soft even though without the voice-altering charm she didn't sound too much like Rigel these days. "It's lovely to meet you, Pansy," she added, offering her friend a distant smile.

"You are most welcome, all of you," Mr. Parkinson said. With a sweep of his hands he gestured to the ballroom at large. "Please, enjoy your night."

They moved off to one side to allow Sirius and Archie space to greet their hosts.

"I didn't know you knew the Parkinsons, Mum," Harry remarked as they waited.

"Long ago," Lily said, "Before the Split, Dark and Light aligned families nearly always attended the same functions. Some charity, some political, others just for fun. There used to be a grand Yule Ball at the Ministry each year, but they stopped throwing it when prominent members from either side of the Split refused to attend as long as families from the other side were attending. I did not know Rose Parkinson so well as all that, however. She is an eminently friendly soul, and pretends to a greater affection than we carried in truth between us."

"It is part of her charm," James put in, "And the only thing that makes her husband's company bearable."

Lily discretely elbowed James in the side. "Be nice. He is our host, and he was perfectly polite."

"Exactly," James snorted, "Perfectly polite. And not one iota more."

"It's not as if they owe us anything," Lily said quietly, "Politeness is more than enough, for tonight."

"More than we expected, at any rate," James allowed. He ran a hand through his hair automatically, only to wince when he intercepted his wife's annoyed glare.

"Hold Addy while I fix this," Lily said, shifting the infant to her hands and holding her in Harry's direction.

Harry tried to shake her head, but Lily was depositing the baby in her arms before she could voice a protest. To her surprise, Addy seemed perfectly content to finger Harry's short curls while sucking on her own fist. Of course, she realized a moment later. She was projecting her aura now, so Addy wasn't unnerved by her presence. Taking full advantage, she pressed Addy close to kiss her cheek in a rarely allowed show of affection. Addy smiled, a bubble of spit dripping cheerfully from her open lips.

Lily casually plucked her husband's handkerchief from his breast pocket and wiped the drool away before taking Addy back into her arms. Before she could return James' handkerchief to his pocket, they were approached by a portly man in a bowler hat who said, "Potter! At last! That fellow you assigned me won't stop hovering."

"Minister." James greeted him with a professional smile. "It is his job to hover."

"Well tell him to do it from further away." The Minister, who Harry now recognized as the confidently smiling man in the Prophet, flapped his hands agitatedly. "How am I to charm new contributors for my next campaign with that stony mug looming over my shoulder?"

"I'll tell Dawlish to loom from ten feet, how's that?" James said, a smile tucked away into the corner of his mouth.

"Not satisfactory," the Minister said, frowning, "I need your pretty face, Potter. Come guard me." James gave Lily an apologetic glance, which the Minister caught with a jolt of exaggerated surprise. "Oh! Your lovely wife must come, too. My wife is dying to see her, anyway." The Minister peered at Harry with curiosity. "This your daughter, Potter? My little sunshine would be glad to entertain her for a while."

Remembering Draco's disparaging comments about the Minister's daughter the year before, Harry said quickly, "I'll wait here for Archie and Sirius."

"Black?" the Minister smiled widely, "Good, good. Tell him I want to talk to him before he leaves tonight—now that the Black House is Neutral again, we have a few things to discuss."

Harry thought that sounded rather ominous, and was suddenly glad to be inconsequential as she waved sarcastically to her parents, who were herded quite expertly into the crowd.

Archie and Sirius joined her not a minute later. "Did they lose you already?" Sirius asked with a laugh.

"They were captured by the Minister and pressed into his service," Harry said, "I barely escaped with my life. He's after you next, Uncle Sirius."

"Thanks for the warning," Sirius said, "Now I know who to avoid."

"Not talking about me, I hope."

Regulus Black emerged from the crowd just behind his brother, who gave a half-hearted wince as he turned to greet him. He was dressed impeccably, if severely, in all black, his dark hair pushed back neatly in contrast to Sirius' wild mane.

"Reggie," Sirius said bracingly, "How are you?"

"Just tickled to see you, brother," Regulus said. His voice could have been mistaken for the scraping of a knife across stale bread.

"It's wonderful to see you, too, Uncle," Archie put in before Sirius could give a retort, "What have you been up to?"

"The usual," Regulus said, sounding bored, "Protecting people from their own stupidity."

"I told you when you specialized in ward construction that you would spend all your time arguing with architects," Sirius said archly.

"At least I spend my time doing something," Regulus said, one eyebrow lifting, "When was the last time you added to our family's fortunes instead of merely depleting them, Brother?"

"I have a team of incredibly talented investors who do that for me," Sirius said, waving his hand dismissively.

"And how do they feel about you going Neutral?" Regulus asked, a sly smirk adorning one cheek, "Are they just ecstatic? Does it warm their accounting books to know that all those galleons you've been funneling into the Light Party's donation fund are safe in the vault where they belong?"

"My employees don't give a rat's arse what I do with my money," Sirius said, scowling.

"Hmm, and what about Dumbledore?" Regulus pressed, his smirk widening further. "How is the old puppet-master getting along without your oh-so-regular contributions?"

Harry's eyes widened as she realized for the first time that Sirius claiming Neutral status might have greater repercussions than he had intimated to them.

"Lord Dumbledore will be fine for a few years," Sirius said stiffly.

"So you admit you swung Neutral only in name, in a distasteful attempt to squirm your way back into the world your son has already begun to embrace, like a child swimming after its parent into deepening water." Regulus had lost his smirk, and now looked merely disdainful. "Is Lord Potter donating double, to compensate for your clinging need to smother your Heir? Or perhaps you're still funneling galleons in your friend's name."

Sirius stiffened and even Archie looked shocked that his Uncle would state such an accusation out loud.

"You impugn my honor, Brother?" Sirius actually sneered, a look that brought him closer to the old paintings of Black Family Heads than Harry had ever known he could come. "You only insult yourself, as I am the Lord of the House you serve."

"As long as you acknowledge that I am the only one of us currently serving the House of Black," Regulus said smoothly, and oily smile his answer to Sirius' affront. "Well, me and your son, that is."

He gave Archie an ironic nod, which Archie did not return, instead meeting his uncle's gaze evenly, insulted pride on his father's behalf obvious in his eyes.

Regulus shrugged minutely at Archie's silence, and turned his attention to Harry instead. "Who's this, then?"

"I'm Harry," she said, smiling ever so politely, "Your…second cousin once removed, Mr. Black."

"Potter's Heiress," Regulus said, grimacing slightly, "Careful of the company you keep, Rigel."

With that, he walked off, leaving Sirius to fume for about thirty seconds before pulling himself together visibly.

"Well. Why don't you two run along and meet Archie's friends?" Sirius suggested. "I'm going to get a drink before I find some way to royally embarrass little Reggie until he remembers to avoid me."

She really couldn't tell if her uncle was kidding. They dutifully bid him goodbye, though, and began searching for her classmates.

"Stop searching so obviously," Archie said lowly after a moment, "I should be the one to recognize them, not you."

She didn't think anyone would be watching them so closely, but she did as he asked, scanning the room more subtly as Archie looked obviously about them.

"Maybe they aren't here yet," Archie said, frowning.

"The Malfoys at least have to be here," Harry told him, "They're close with the Parkinsons, and were probably one of the first families to arrive."

"I see blonde hair that way," Archie said, gesturing to the far side of the dance floor.

"I think that's Draco's parents," Harry said, "You don't want to talk to them yet—Mr. Malfoy can sense fear."

"I'm not afraid of him," Archie protested.

"You should be," Harry snorted. She caught sight of Millicent suddenly through a gap in the crowd. "This way."

She pretended to follow Archie, all the while mumbling directions, until he recognized the group of young purebloods she was leading him toward. She dearly hoped his memorizing pictures from backlogged society pages at the public library would get him through the introductions without hiccup.

Draco, Theo, Millicent, and Blaise all stood together near a pillar under one of the balconies. They looked over when Theo called "Rigel!" with a grin stretching his thin features.

"Hey Theo, good to see you," Archie said, smiling easily. He checked himself after a moment, reigning in his smile to a more reserved expression. "Draco, Millicent, Blaise. How's the party?"

"Excellent," Millicent said, "The food is being made continuously. It tastes like you plucked it from the chef's hands yourself."

"And the music is instrumental, thank Merlin," Blaise said with an appreciatory smirk, "Not that vocal extravagance last year."

"I liked the merfolk band," Theo protested.

"You would," Blaise snorted, "Sirens sing sweeter, and they can do it above water."

"And half the guests would suspect they were being hypnotized," Theo argued.

"Only the paranoid ones like you," Archie put in with a grin.

Well done, she mentally applauded him. All that time studying her friends' defining characteristics had paid off.

"At least I haven't left my cousin just standing there without an introduction," Theo sniffed. He relaxed into a more friendly expression a moment later. "Do you remember me, Miss Potter? We met in Quality Quidditch once."

"I remember you mistook me for me cousin, Mr. Nott," Harry said, smiling.

"You had shorter hair then," Theo said, coughing embarrassedly.

"It's Harriett, right?" Millicent said, leaning forward to catch Harry's eyes curiously.

"Just Harry is fine," she said, blinking uneasily from behind her glasses. Would Millicent think it odd that her eyes were less brilliant than rumored? "You're…Millicent, is that right?" She glanced at Archie as though double-checking.

Archie nodded, "Harry, this is Millicent Bulstrode, Theo you already know, Draco Malfoy, and Blaise Zabini." He nodded to each of them in turn.

Harry dipped a small curtsey, feeling entirely out of place doing so. "It's nice to finally meet you all. Rigel has told me so much about you."

"Not too much, I hope," Blaise said, eyeing her in what looked like indulgent amusement. "We hardly know a thing about you."

"We know she's interested in potions," Theo said, seemingly taking it upon himself, as the only one who'd met her before, to smooth her way into the conversation.

"More even than me, if you can believe it," Archie put in, grinning slightly.

"We really can't," Draco said drolly.

There was an awkward pause, in which Harry affected polite aloofness to hide the feeling that she was intruding on something. She had known intellectually that meeting her friends as Harry would be different from meeting the Weasleys, whose easy acceptance was a reflection on their open-heartedness, not on the way friendships worked in general. She wondered if she had adequately prepared herself emotionally, however, as her Slytherin friends visibly hesitated on how to proceed.

"Did you all hear about that dragon escape?" Archie said, painfully drawing the subject into neutral territory. "It was all over the news before Yule, but they haven't printed much since then. Have they caught them all yet?"

"Only three," Blaise said, "The press is keeping a lid on it, so it looks less like incompetence at this point."

"Even though that's what it is," Draco said, sneering, "Those dragon-lovers on the reserves can hardly control the beasts in their fear to hurt them."

"Dragons are kind of hard to control in the wild," Archie said fairly, "It's difficult to make them go anywhere, when they can run in so many directions; all they can do is keep them away from human settlements until they run out of energy and fall asleep."

"They aren't doing a very good job, though, are they?" Millicent said, shaking her head exasperatedly, "My father told me one of them went hunting in a menagerie in Spain a few days ago. Caused an international incident, since apparently it ate a few members of an endangered species they were trying to repopulate there."

"They shouldn't be breeding magical creatures at a menagerie anyway," Blaise said scathingly, "Wizards never get it right. The creatures end up with mutations that then end up in the genetic pool and weaken the species substantially."

"Like the unicorns they tried to breed in America," Draco said, mouth twisted in distaste, "The whole herd ended up slaughtered by a pack of rouge werewolves, because they couldn't run as fast as true unicorns ought to be able to."

"And the muggles running the American Ministry acted like it wasn't their fault!" Theo exclaimed, "Like they weren't messing with sacred magic their half-formed cores couldn't possibly underst—oh." He looked suddenly at Harry like he'd been jolted with low-grade lightning. "Uh, no offense. It's true, though…" he trailed off with an awkward mutter.

"No offense taken," she said faintly, her face perfectly blank even as her heart pounded uncomfortably hard in her stomach. He hadn't said the word 'mudblood' to describe the American officials—no one in polite company used the word so freely—but by calling them 'muggles' it was a strongly implied sentiment. Everyone knew the Americans didn't hold with pureblood elitism, and often overemployed muggleborns and halfbloods in their international departments as a big thumb to the nose at other countries.

Archie looked incredibly uncertain, likely feeling a strange sort of guilt that her own friends were treating her so carelessly. She should have told him to expect it—should have expected it more herself, really. She recalled how stilted and pointed all of them had been with one another, when they first arrived at Hogwarts, and they were all on somewhat even footing at the time. Now, with her the strange halfblood they'd just met, coming into their circle with only Rigel's recommendation to say they ought to like her, well, she could understand the defensive, even somewhat possessive look in their eyes as they assessed her. She was Rigel's other friend, the one he'd known since birth and possibly valued more than them. She understood the unspoken comparison that was going on, even as she felt it abominably unfair that she should have to compete for her friends' affection with herself.

She could feel Draco's gaze on her, and wondered what he was sensing from her emotions. Hurt? Understanding? Or Betrayal? Whatever it was, she doubted it made a whole lot of sense to him.

The conversation moved on in fits and starts, and Harry realized none of them were going to relax as long as she stood there, among them yet apart. The forced casualness became too much after a few minutes, and Harry quietly and politely excused herself, faking a friendly parting smile with what she thought was remarkable skill. Archie looked like he might protest, likely afraid of what he might say or do without her there. Harry had faith in him, though, and let him see the encouragement in her eyes as she turned away.

She felt oddly touched, that her friends could be so protective of 'Rigel,' but she also felt acutely shunned, knowing that at least part of their unfriendliness was because of her blood-status. It was always glossed over when they spoke of Harry to Rigel, but she ought to have predicted that something easily ignored in conversation would be more jarring when confronted for the first time in the flesh.

She supposed to them a lower blood status was something like a disease. Like spattergroit, maybe. It was one thing to describe the symptoms in compassionate terms in a textbook; facing the grotesque reality of the disease in the form of the actually afflicted would always be more difficult. It was an instinctive disgust, to them, and Harry supposed she would feel the same if confronted with something she had been raise to think disgusting—like a dead body, or a torture curse.

She took that knowledge into herself, making it clinical and holding it tightly until it didn't hurt anymore.

Not sure what to do with herself, she eventually settled on climbing to one of the balconies and taking in the party from above. If nothing else, it would be a glittering, beautiful memory that might distract her from the last fifteen minutes or so.

She chose the least occupied balcony, not wanting to fight for viewing space with other, much taller guests. The stairs curved elegantly as she ascended, giving her a moving perspective of the entire crowd as she climbed, from the line of people still entering under the main archway to the old biddies circling the hors-d'oeuvre table like particularly discerning vultures.

The gently swirling couples on the dance floor were somewhat mesmerizing from above, and Harry allowed herself to get lost in watching them for a moment. A taller body settled in next to her at the balcony, and after a moment, spoke.

"Rather graceful, aren't they?" she was surprised to recognize Rosier's voice and turned her head up toward him, but he wasn't looking at her. He was staring down at the dance floor in deep ennui. "Almost beautiful, when you can't see their faces."

She didn't know what to say to that, not sure Rosier even knew who he was talking to.

"That's my friend down there, with his future wife," the older boy said, almost to himself. "Looks happy, doesn't he?"

"Which one?" she asked, though she knew full well, able to see Rookwood and Selwyn's twirling figures from where she stood.

He glanced over at her for a moment, as though surprised she had answered, then did a double take. "Ri—no. You're…" His eyes flicked across her face, to her hair, her mouth, then settling on her glasses and the eyes behind them.

"I'm Harry," she offered, "Rigel's cousin."

"Aldon," Rosier said, smiling faintly, "Nice to meet you."

"You say that like you mean it," Harry said before she could stop herself.

"I do." Rosier blinked curiously down at her. "People being unfriendly?"

"No," she said quickly, shaking her head, "No, of course not. You just—ah, seem especially sincere."

"Well that's one I haven't heard before," Rosier laughed.

Harry blinked at him innocently, "Why's that? Do you lie a lot?"

"No more than most," he said, shrugging.

"Most people you know? Or no more than most people in general do?" she pressed.

"I suppose I can only speak for those I've met," he said slowly.

"Maybe you should keep better company," Harry said idly.

"You volunteering?"

She turned away to hide her smile, looking back over the pulsing crowd. "I was here first, but I guess I can't make you leave."

"You wound me, fair lady," Rosier said, sighing dramatically.

"Don't bother," Harry huffed, "Rigel's told me all about you."

"What does Rigel say about me?" Rosier asked, leaning toward her with undisguised interest.

"He says you like to confuse people," she told him.

Rosier looked perplexed at that, leaning back against the balcony banister with a thoughtful expression. "Rigel is intimidated by those who might see him too clearly. He confuses himself."

Harry looked back at the ballroom below them, wondering at that. She didn't know he thought so much about her—Rigel, that is.

"So what are you doing up here, cousin of Rigel's?" he asked, resuming a front-facing position next to her so he could gaze down in boredom at the masses.

"I don't really fit in down there," she said, surprising herself with her own honesty. Maybe she just needed to say it. Maybe if she said it out loud it would release some of the pressure in her chest. She looked sideways to judge his reaction, hoping for something other than pity or contempt. Understanding, maybe? He looked pained, at least. "It's all right," she said, not sure if she was reassuring him or herself, "I didn't really expect to. It just sort of hit me for a moment. It's quieter up here."

"Quieter in your head, you mean," Rosier said, "I understand."

For a little while that was enough. Even if he was only being nice to her because she reminded him of Rigel, or because he rejected everything his family stood for, including their hatred of people like her. She still appreciated it. They stood in silence, just soaking in the atmosphere passively.

"Want to count how many people we can see pretending not to be drunk?" Rosier suggested after a time.

"You're on," she said, scanning the crowd immediately, "There. That woman in the blue fur shawl just spilled her drink down her front, and now she's trying to wipe it up without looking like she's adjusting herself."

"The one giggling?" Rosier laughed lowly, "She's definitely tipsy. How about that man, in the brown top hat? He keeps teetering."

Harry shook her head. "He's wearing risers in his shoes to make himself seem taller. See how his tailored pants don't quite reach down to where they should? He's tried to disguise it by wearing boots, but you can tell because those are the boots he wears outside, and the pant leg is showing part of the boot that usually stays covered—see? The material is lighter where is doesn't normally get exposed to the elements."

Rosier stared at her. "How could you possibly see that? Do those glasses magnify things?"

Harry smiled secretively. They did indeed, though she didn't usually advertise that fact. "It would be pretty inefficient to wear glasses that only corrected my sight."

"You cheat!" he said, smiling widely.

"It's only cheating if I use this pair for Quidditch," she said.

"Well I feel cheated," Rosier protested.

"I'll let you have the next one," she said kindly.

"I only met you ten minutes ago and you're already patronizing me," he said incredulously.

"I was patronizing you the whole time," she told him sadly.

"All right, so that's how it is," he muttered, turning back to the dance floor with a scowl. "There. Lady in the orange shoes. Just started doing the steps to the Italian version of that dance while they're clearly playing the French music."

"I thought this song was Austrian," Harry frowned.

Rosier laughed, though not too unkindly, "Way off, Miss Potter."

"Just Harry," she said, feeling a bit like a broken record that night. "Oh, there's one—the man in those weirdly-cut satin robes, over by the far staircase."

"In the shadows there?" Rosier squinted. "He doesn't seem drunk."

"That because he just took a sobering potion," Harry laughed.

"You saw him?" he asked, smirking.

She shook her head. "See how he winces every time the lady next to him raises her voice to talk to that old man on her other side? And how he averts his eyes from the lights? That man has a serious hangover, and unless he got drunk at eight o clock this morning, it's because he just took a sobriety potion and is waiting for it to fully kick in. The cheaper ones take the buzz away first, then cure the headache once the willow bark fully breaks down in the system."

"You are uncommonly observant," Rosier sighed, "I am never going to win this."

"Is there anything you're good at?" she asked, laughing lightly. Her smile fell when he was quiet a moment too long.

"Probably," he said, not looking at her and letting out a short laugh she could tell was forced.

She felt like that was her cue to say something, but she wasn't really any good at comforting people. They lapsed into silence once more, not entirely uncomfortable, but not the easy calm that it had been, either.

"I should go back," she said eventually, "Check on my family."

"I'll walk you down," he said, the pureblood gentleman once again.

They descended the staircase slowly, neither particularly eager to rejoin the scene. As they reached the bottom, he grasped her hand suddenly.

"Would you like to dance?" his eyes stared down at her, imploring, but all Harry could think was how strange that would be, dancing with Aldon Rosier.

"Not on your life," she said, summoning the smile Rispah had taught her for use when turning people down to soften the bluntness of her speech.

"You and Rigel are quite a pair," Rosier said, smiling with the tiniest bit of self-deprecation as he released her.

She resisted the urge to roll her eyes. "If you say so, Rosier."

"It's Aldon," he said quietly, staring at her with a frown.

Belatedly she realized he hadn't introduced himself with a last name, which meant it was odd of her to use it. "Of course," she said, smiling sheepishly, "Rigel calls you that—sorry."

"It's all right," he said, gold eyes relaxing from their sharp inspection. He looked a little disappointed for some reason.

She glanced around the room indecisively. Should she rejoin her parents? Try to find Archie? A sudden glimpse of curtain-like black hair from across the room decided her—Professor Snape was here. "I have to go do something," she said, looking up at Rosier with a half-grimace. "It was nice to meet you. Thanks for…you know, distracting me."

Rosier bowed shallowly with a smirking grin. "Anytime at all, Miss Potter."

"Harry," she said, shooting him an annoyed look before she made a beeline through the crowd. Now was as good a time as any to have Archie 'introduce' her to Master Snape. She just had to find her cousin first.

-0

[ArArAr]

-0

He watched the Potter Heiress disappear into the sea of people around them and wondered that Fate should plague him with another Rigel Black—albeit a softer, more relaxed version that didn't seem to know it was strange to be so unflinchingly honest to someone you just met.

A tap on his shoulder turned his attention to Edmund, who had apparently danced through the soles of his shoes and finally abandoned the dance floor—though not his dancing partner, who even Aldon had to admit looked ravishing that night. Really, he could understand Edmund's fascination with the girl at times like these.

"Still sulking?" Alice asked, her kohl-lined eyes slightly narrowed in mocking appraisal.

Then she went and opened her mouth and Aldon remembered why he thought his friend could do better than that soulless harpy.

"Was that her?" Edmund asked, his eyes following the wake of the Potter Heiress with thinly disguised curiosity. "Rigel's cousin? I've heard people saying the Potters were here."

"It was," Aldon said, affecting a light-hearted expression for his friend's sake—no need to infect the happy with melancholy thoughts. "She's a bold one. Very much like Rigel." Only not nearly so defensive, he added to himself.

"They are engaged," Edmund rumbled, "Pansy informed me just before break."

He wasn't sure what he felt, but it was something between disgruntlement and longing. "They won't marry," he said, nothing but certainty infecting his tone.

"Sure that's not just wistful thinking?" Alice said. He could easily detect the pity and censure that colored her tone.

Aldon gave her his coldest smile. "It would be like marrying oneself, so alike are they. Such a waste. It won't bear fruit."

"You like her," Edmund said, smiling slightly.

"I don't dislike her," Aldon corrected. Honestly, he'd met the chit an hour ago.

"High praise," Alice rolled her eyes.

"She'll be an interesting one to watch, at least," Aldon allowed, generously ignoring Selwyn's attitude problems.

"Don't you have enough to interest you, Aldon?" Edmund looked disapproving, but that was not a novel look for him, at least where Aldon was concerned. Lifelong friendship did not exactly equate to a lifetime of support and encouragement in every pursuit—on either of their sides.

"Never enough," Aldon sighed. Nothing was ever enough to relieve the boredom. Some things pushed the cold feelings back for a while, but nothing he'd found so far could banish them completely.

-0

[HpHpHp]

-0

She could tell Archie was nervous as she subtly steered him in Snape's direction. He had been having a relatively good time with her friends, it seemed, though it didn't surprise her, as one of Archie's strengths was his ability to meld seamlessly into any situation he found himself in. She couldn't think of a single person he'd ever met that he didn't get on with.

"Just make the introduction and then make yourself scarce," she told him quietly as they wove through the crowd. "The last thing you want is to get caught up in a potions conversation—you're good, but not good enough to pass Snape's scrutiny."

"I know," Archie said, laughing a bit hysterically, "Why do you think I'm so concerned?"

"He won't be looking too closely at you," Harry assured him, "He'll take you for granted at this point. Keep it simple, and you'll be fine."

"Simple," Archie said, nodding. "I can do simple."

"There he is," Harry said, indicating a group up ahead that included the Malfoys and Regulus Black in addition to Snape himself.

Archie cleared his throat uncomfortably, but squared his shoulders and approached the little circle with something like aplomb. As he neared, the Malfoys stepped slightly back in an inclusionary way, and Harry couldn't help but be moved on Archie's behalf. The Malfoys really were too good to her—Rigel—whoever.

"Lord Malfoy, Lady Malfoy, Uncle Regulus." Archie's bow was perfectly deferential. "Please excuse me, but I would like to borrow Professor Snape for a moment."

Snape glanced from Archie to Harry without expression. "Excuse me, gentlemen, lady, I must attend to this."

The other three all intimated various degrees of gracious agreement, and Snape led her and Archie to the room's periphery, his face as unreadable as stone.

Archie, probably eager to get the interaction over with, turned to Snape with an open expression. "Sir, this is my cousin, Harriett Potter. Harry, Master Snape would like to speak with you regarding the potions knowledge that is passed between us." Neither Harry nor Snape spoke, instead opting to size one another up in silence. Archie waited a beat, then said, rather abruptly, "About that other thing, Professor Snape…" When Snape's eyes flicked toward him questioningly, Archie hastened, "The apprenticeship, I mean."

"What about it?" Snape asked, eyes assessing, "Have you reconsidered?"

"Not at all," Archie said, voice sure. "I had some advice for when you approached my father, though, if you don't mind it."

"I welcome it," Snape drawled, managing to only sound a tad bit sarcastic and long-suffering.

"Try to time it so that you make the offer in front of my uncle Regulus," Archie said, eyes careful. "If you make it seem as though it's a matter concerning me as the Black Heir, not just as my father's son, he will feel obligated to consider it seriously. With my uncle there watching, I believe my father will be more likely to evaluate the offer from the perspective of the Family, rather than just in terms of what he thinks would be best for me."

Snape looked as surprised as Harry felt. She had no idea Archie was so empathetic when it came to Sirius' impulses. She always underestimated the close bond that existed between the two.

"An astute suggestion, Mr. Black." Snape inclined his head slowly. "I will take it under advisement."

With a final glace between the two of them, Archie began slowly edging away. "I'll just leave you to it, then."

Harry bowed deeply to her professor, saying quietly, "I cannot thank you enough for your lassitude in this matter. Rigel's second-hand instruction has been inestimably valuable to my own education, and it is thanks to you that I am afforded it, Master Snape."

She lifted her head when he did not immediately respond, meeting fathomless black eyes with no small amount of trepidation. If he wanted to, Snape could easily refuse to 'share' any more of his knowledge with Harriett Potter, thus rendering their explanation for her impeccable potions education rather holey.

It was a strange feeling, to be completely at another's mercy in such a way. She couldn't say she enjoyed it, but she comforted herself with the knowledge that even if he completely refused her any future knowledge, she would still be studying under him in Rigel's guise. It would make their eventual reversal less believable perhaps, but it wouldn't do irreversible damage to their deception. It was with equanimity, then, that she met Snape's gaze, ready for whatever he thought to throw her way.

-0

[SsSsSs]

-0

It was not often that Severus had to consciously force himself to look at something. He had not led a sheltered existence, and had come across and catalogued innumerable disgusting and chill-inducing specimens of nature. He flinched from neither man nor beast, but at that moment it was difficult to prevent his eyes turning away from the sight before them.

The girl had been sent to torture him, perhaps in payment for some offense he'd laid against the gods. Every feature was a barb, digging into his soul with careless momentum. Her hair, arranged in exactly the style Lily had favored as a girl. Her eyes, a watered-down bastardization of the green they imitated. More than their color, though, it was the expression they carried that had him grinding his teeth. The girl looked at him like he were a magistrate, and she awaited a stay of execution order. Didn't she know how foolish it was to give power over oneself to a complete stranger? She gazed up at him calmly, even with the fervent hope burning in her eyes. Was she an idiot, to place so much unnecessary faith in a name she'd read in some backlogged Guild periodical?

He supposed there was a simple way to find out.

He couldn't recall what inane speech she'd made as he considered the merits of walking away, but it didn't matter. He would not be swayed by words of supplication or gratitude, no matter how neatly thought out. He cared only for talent, and he need only discover whether she truly possessed any, or whether she was, as he half-suspected, merely riding her more talented cousin's coattails.

"I read the notes you sent me," he informed her, aware that the silkiness in his tone had been known to send grown men into tremors. "You have a very forthright style of explanation, which will serve you well in academic endeavors. It is much like Rigel's."

The flat insinuation ought to have taken the anticipatory flush right out of her cheeks—instead she merely raised an eyebrow as though he'd said something somewhat interesting, but ultimately trite.

"Rigel and I are both academics—we learned our styles from the same essays and issues growing up." She did not appear to give his unstated accusation any weight. "Did you find the notes interesting? Do you think the brewing technique I outlined might be worth implementing on a larger scale?"

He did, in fact, find the possibilities raised by such a process intriguing, but that was not the substance of the discussion he wanted to have. "It seemed altogether impossible for most mid-level brewers to imitate," he said, sneering slightly in a habitual reflex that was directed more at himself than at the girl. It had taken enormous amounts of concentration and willpower for him to replicate even the most rudimentary of the shaped imbuing recipes outlined in the notes she'd sent him. That with the instructions before him and the knowledge that what he was attempting was theoretically possible. The idea that this slip of a girl had created such a technique on accident was an insult to the abilities of Potions Masters everywhere.

"Most people don't bother learning wandless magic." The child shrugged—shrugged, as though such a skill ought to be taken for granted. "Once you can perform the requisite magic, the brewing itself is simple."

"Forgive me," he said lowly, eyes flashing in what his students would recognize as a warning, "But how is it that you are able to perform the requisite magic, Miss Potter?"

She looked wary for a moment, then noticeably relaxed, as though she'd considered it, but ultimately dismissed his words as a threat. "I've always had good magical control, Master Snape."

"This technique requires excellent magical control," he said sharply, looking for any sign of a lie in her attentive expression. "And a not inconsiderable amount of raw magic to power that control. Frankly, I doubt you have the reserves necessary to make this a worthwhile technique."

Her eyes widened slightly in what he assumed was belated understanding, but she didn't appear either guilty or conniving as she answered, merely…sheepish. "It's true I don't have an incredibly powerful core or anything." She actually smiled up at him as though apologizing for the natural state of her magic. "But I've enough for one relatively-powerful Shaped Imbued potion before my core runs dangerously low. It does make the research slow-going, but it's not as though I can do magic over the holidays anyway—I may as well use it all in my experiments."

Severus stared down at her, not sure if she was deliberately misinterpreting his words or just immune to insinuation. He had only glanced at her aura at the Guild's workshop, mostly out of curiosity's sake, but he had noted her low reserves. Did she think she could bluff her way around a basic lack of power? She couldn't know that he was able to easily discern her core's magic level through her aura, but she ought to know that eventually she would need to prove in person that she could use the technique she was claiming to have invented.

She continued to stand there patiently, not fidgeting or showing any signs of unease even while he took an uncomfortably long time in answering each of her statements. Feeling no remorse for any discomfort she was suppressing, Severus took a moment to adjust his magical sight. He would check her aura again, just to be sure of his assessment.

Her Occlumency shields came into focus first, and he frowned as he took in their general shape and feel—they were very similar to the way Rigel's had been constructed, the last time he'd bothered to peruse them, making him suspect that his student had been teaching his cousin more than just potions. Severus turned his attention to the next level of his magical sight, the aura.

What he found didn't make immediate sense. Her magic reserves appeared perfectly adequate—slightly above average, in fact. He didn't understand how he could have misread the projection that summer; her aura was rudimentary in its simplicity. Nothing complicated about this one, he thought, the snideness calming his mind and allowing him to reach for the obvious explanation. Clearly she'd exercised her magic heavily before the open house that day. If she had brewed one final Shaped Imbued potion before the presentations, the aura he had read reflected her state of exhaustion, not her true average.

In retrospect, he ought to have found the low levels of magic he'd observed a little odd. Whatever else could be said about her parents, their magic was strong.

"Tell me about your schooling," he said eventually, opting to drop the subject of her magical ability completely—he would take it as true that she could have come up with her technique.

"I attend the American Institute of Magic," she said, looking a little perplexed.

"You are not in the Potions tract," he prompted, remembering Rigel's convoluted explanation of this fact.

The girl nodded slowly. "The Healing tract at AIM is better than the Potions tract. The knowledge I would have learned in Master Tallum's classes I can pick up more efficiently in self-study. The Healing classes there are superb, however, imparting knowledge that cannot be learned from books. By joining the Healing tract, I optimize my learning."

"Which will you choose, in the end?" he asked.

"Potions," she said. The statement was neither earnest in an attempt to convince him nor casually thoughtless. It was a simple relation of fact.

"Why learn to Heal at all, then?"

She gave him an odd look. "Rigel has already explained this, hasn't he?"

"He did a poor job of it," Severus told her, smirking slightly. Rigel was at times both long-winded and incredibly circulatory in conversation, when he truly cared about the subject matter.

Looking slightly exasperated, she sighed. "I'm learning Healing because Rigel could not attend AIM himself. The same reason he is studying under your expertise, Master Snape. We both have near-equal interest in both subjects. So we each chose the one we could get the best instruction for at our respective schools, and we trade tutelage whenever we have the chance."

"It seems rather incredible that the two of you would be such devoted scholars from so young an age," he said, making his disbelief plain. "However did you come up with such a scheme?"

"Needs must," she said, shrugging slightly. He could tell she was becoming uncomfortable as his questions became more personal.

"And so you want my permission to continue learning through Rigel all that I teach him," Severus said, mercifully moving back to a neutral conversational point.

"I would very much appreciate it," she said, accentuating her statement with a short nod. "You don't know me, but I'm just as dedicated as Rigel is, in regards to potions. I've spent my whole life studying the field, but not everything can be learned from books. The Guild's internship showed me just how much more I could learn from a Master, and to be frank, you're the best, Sir. I won't squander your teachings. I won't use them for unscrupulous gain or take credit for the knowledge in any way. I just want to be a good Potions Master."

"Mistress," he corrected absently. Her face twisted in something like distaste for a moment before it smoothed into a nod of agreement. He filed that reaction away, thinking the chit may be wiser in the ways of the field she wished so fervently to enter than he'd assumed.

"As you are aware, I am attempting to take Rigel on as my apprentice this year," Severus told her, allowing a forbidding expression to cross his face. "You are asking me to essentially put my name behind two apprentices, to take responsibility for your potions career as well as your cousin's."

"You'll hardly notice me," the girl said quickly. "I'll be like the invisible apprentice who never bothers you. Rigel will do all the work of teaching me."

"And I will bear all the accountability," Severus countered. "If you blow yourself up attempting a potion you are not prepared to attempt, questions will be asked. Am I to say that I carelessly allowed upper-level knowledge to be imparted without supervision or controls of any kind?"

"You could deny all knowledge," she said, blinking up at him. "No one has to know I blew myself up trying to brew a potion whose recipe I got from you through Rigel. I'll tell my parents I want to experiment with free brewing—"

"You will not," Severus snapped, unable to believe the nerve underlying her words.

"I won't," she hastily assured him, "I'll just mention it in passing, and then if I get blown up they can tell the Department of Magical Accidents how they should have seen it coming, and it will be terribly sad but no one will question you about it."

He stared at her for a moment, not entirely sure there was an appropriate response to that bit of nonsense.

She sighed at his lack of response. "I'm sorry, Sir. Sometimes my hypotheticals run away with me. Suffice to say I'm not planning on blowing myself up. The labs at AIM and the one I use at home all have excellent safety provisions built in. Explosion wards and everything. I promise not to die in a potion-related mishap."

"Your share Rigel's inability to be sincerely reassuring." He scowled at her.

"Rigel gets it from me," she said, smiling in an odd way that he immediately disregarded as irrelevant.

He was no closer to deciding what to do about the girl than he had been at the beginning of the conversation, though it was now apparent he didn't have a good reason to dismiss her out of hand. A part of him was amiable to humoring the continued leeching, if only because it would please Rigel so well for some reason. He also had to admire the girl's spirit, from an intellectual standpoint. She certainly seemed to have the dedication and drive that he looked for in students. She might have done very well at Hogwarts, had she been born a couple decades sooner. He took a moment to disparage those who voted to ban half bloods for depriving him of perfectly good academic stock.

"It would mean immense amounts of individual study," he told her, hating the hopeful, happy look that lit up her face at his words. "I'm not agreeing—yet. I will consider this matter further. You should be prepared to work incredibly hard, however."

"I prefer self-study anyway," she said, looking as though she was only restraining a triumphant smile through sheer willpower. "Sir, you won't regret this—"

"I have not agreed," he hissed disgruntledly.

"Of course," she said, smoothing her expression expertly. "Take all the time you need."

The implication that he required more time to consider because he was a slow-thinker did not sit well with him either, and he thought spitefully that he would make her wait for a decision much longer, for that.

"This is dependent upon Rigel's father agreeing to the apprenticeship as well," he reminded her, determined to wipe the happiness from her soul.

"Sirius will agree," she said confidently. After a pause, she leveled a sharp look at him. "As long as you don't antagonize him needlessly."

"Excuse me?" he growled.

"Just try to be nice," she said cajolingly, as though she were dropping him off at the schoolyard and encouraging him to make friends. "Talk about Rigel and nothing else. Emphasize the good things that Rigel will get from the arrangement. And downplay the advantages you'll get politically in the Guild from having a talented apprentice."

He could not begin to fathom how she knew so much about Guild politics. What were they teaching their interns these days? Just as he was on the cusp of a cutting retort, their conversation was interrupted by an obnoxiously familiar voice.

"Snape! Who dragged you out of a lab?"

They both turned to see Malcolm Hurst, Aldermaster of said Guild, melting out of the crowd like a specter sent by the Fates to haunt him. Why, in the name of all decency, had he thought he could attend this circus without getting cornered by one of the ringmasters?

"Malcolm," he said, intentionally freezing any hint of welcome from his tone. "Don't you have someone else to impress?"

"I've been impressing people all night," Hurst said, smiling like the press goober he so often aped. "I need a break talking to someone who doesn't put stock in pandering and charm."

"Lucky me," he drawled.

"And who's—Harry!" To his surprise, the Aldermaster recognized the girl immediately on site, stepping forward to embrace her like a long-lost daughter. "I didn't know you'd be here. How is your third year going? That old fusspot Tallum treating you well, I hope?"

"My schooling is going well, Master Hurst," she said, smiling politely and even fondly up at the other man. "How is your wife? And Leo?"

"My other half couldn't be here tonight—work in the clinic has been piling up these last weeks," the man said regretfully. Severus vaguely recalled his wife had started a St. Mungo's funded clinic in one of the less savory alleys beyond Knockturn. He had no idea where the Potter chit would have met the woman, however—she wasn't known for skulking about the Guild like some other Masters' wives he could mention. "And Leo I haven't seen in days—he's moved out, now, so you'd know better than I how he's doing, I daresay."

So the girl had an in with the Aldermaster's son? That certainly explained how she got her internship. Judging by her embarrassed glance in his direction, she knew exactly what he was thinking. Not immune to insinuation after all, then.

"Perhaps if I tell him I saw you here, he'll be more inclined to accompany me next year," Hurst was saying thoughtfully.

"This doesn't seem his scene," the girl said, smiling slightly at some humor he was not a party to.

"Nor yours, I would have said," Hurst said, not unkindly.

The girl bowed her head agreeably enough. Unselfconsciously anti-social, then. Severus told himself firmly that he was not going to award the girl points just for that. It surprised him how like Rigel she was, though. One Marauder offspring turning out atypical from his expectations could be passed off as a fluke—two, however, bore contemplation. Was it Lily's influence? Or the werewolf's?

The girl spoke up before he could let his mind wader too far down that unpleasantly paved road. It was not his place to speculate on the lives of others, especially those not under his Slytherin banner.

"I ought to go check on my parents, see if they need help with Addy," she said, inclining her head once more in a polite farewell. "It was wonderful to finally meet you, Master Snape. Have a pleasant evening, Master Hurst."

As she left, Hurst turned eyes on him that were both curious and serious. "So you've officially met our most interesting new brewer—how did you find her? She reminds me of you, sometimes."

"I beg your pardon?" Snape sneered. It was an ice age too soon for any whelp of James Potter to be compared to him.

"Hardworking, passionate about the field, innovative, proud," Hurst ticked the traits off on his fingers with a small smirk. "She's much more polite than you, though, and more forgiving, too. I once witnessed one of her fellow interns deliberately sabotage her potion, and she didn't so much as send an accusatory glare at him—just fixed the mistake and presented the final product like nothing had happened."

"She is exceedingly foolish," Severus said, "She will never reach the position in the Guild she yearns for."

"Why's that?" Hurst asked mildly. "Because she's a woman?"

"Because she is weak," he said, mouth drawn in a harsh line. "She places her hopes in others, instead of relying only on herself. She lacks the competitiveness to move other, more ruthless brewers out of her path. She will defer to everyone around her until she ends up playing second fiddle at some large-scale, small-impact brewing company. Her name will never see the major journals, and she will fade, bitter and resentful, into obscurity."

"That's a bit harsh, Severus," Hurst said, voice soft but admonishing. "Harry Potter is an extraordinary young lady, and I believe her talent will take her places where ruthless competitiveness is unnecessary."

"Going to see to that?" he asked snidely.

"I see to all new talent in need of encouragement," Hurst said stiffly, not missing the accusation of favoritism. "Harry doesn't need my help—but yes, she will always have it. And not because of her friendship with my son and wife."

"So you say," Severus drawled, not believing a word of it.

Hurst bristled subtly, and snapped, "I did not know they were friends until after I'd evaluated her brewing skills. Her potions speak for themselves—I thought her much older, and more experienced, in fact, when I went looking for their maker, and no one was more surprised than I to find that the brewer I'd been tracking down was Heiress Potter, but there she was. Not everything requires such cynicism, Severus. Sometimes the young do surprise us. Surely you know that, working at Hogwarts for so many years. There must have been students that you just knew, immediately, were something special."

His mind lit immediately on Rigel Black, and he could not deny that such outliers apparently existed. He just thought it unlikely that they could exist so close together, in the same family, even. Statistically, it struck him as impossible.

"Where did you come across her work?" he questioned suddenly, realizing the implications of what Hurst had just said.

"I…came across it accidentally," Hurst said, looking uncomfortable.

Intrigued at the usually open man's reticence, Severus pressed. "You make it sound as though she were distributing—surely they haven't given the girl a license already? The Ministry is not quite that foolish, I daresay."

"She works through licensed distributers," Hurst said quickly, obviously not wanting Snape to think anything untoward of the girl.

He simply couldn't believe what he was hearing. "Plural? At her age? Who?"

Hurst grimaced, "It really isn't common knowledge. I shouldn't have said anything, I just didn't want you to be to dismissive of the young lady—she really is quite talented."

"Who?" Severus repeated, intimidation tactics coming automatically to the fore.

"One of them is Horace Burke," Hurst said, looking reluctant, "And that's all I can say, really. I'd appreciate if you kept this knowledge to yourself, however—she sells her potions anonymously, and I don't believe her parents are fully appraised of her activities…"

Snape's eyes narrowed. He used Burke himself for certain ingredient acquisition—his quality was always assured. If he distributed even one of the girl's potions, it meant she had access to some very well written recipes. Whatever was she selling potions at thirteen for? And without the knowledge of the elder Potters? Somehow he doubted she was strapped for funds. Did she simply enjoy the practice? She could donate them to St. Mungo's were that the case. Severus himself had done that while studying for his Masters examination—many potions students did, as there was never any need to waste good potions.

It struck him again how similar she and Rigel were turning out to be, at least in terms of how they dealt with the world around them. Rigel, too, avoided the supervisionary involvement of adults wherever possible. If he had not warded the time-turner in his desk drawer himself before the winter holidays, he might suspect Rigel of playing a very dangerous game with him. As it was, he was slowly coming to accept that against all odds there were two incredibly talented and ridiculously secretive young potions brewers in England. Salazar help them all when those two became old enough to apply for Guild membership. He had a bad feeling that the field as he knew it was going to be shortly turned on its head.

"I will keep this information to myself," Severus agreed after a long moment. He would certainly be talking to Horace Burke, however. Clearly he needed more information on this Potter girl, if he was to make her his de facto proxy apprentice through Rigel. He ignored the part of himself that pointed out his diction indicated he had already made his decision on the matter. He was certainly not invested in her circumstances already. He would decide if and when the girl was deemed a suitable vessel for his expertise, and no amount of mysterious backstory was going to intrigue him into capitulating sooner.

-0

[HpHpHp]

-0

Harry walked away from the Potions Masters feeling cautiously pleased. She thought it had gone well—even if her nerves had gotten the better of her at the end and caused her to act as though under a mild babbling charm. All she could do now was wait.

She circled the room in search of her family members, thinking vaguely that her mother might like her to carry Addy for a while. Babies got heavy, she gathered, if you held them long enough.

She passed the Parkinsons, where it looked like the receiving line was finally dying down—how late was fashionably late, anyway? Surely whoever had just arrived was pushing propriety. After sparing the party a curious glance, she saw to her surprise that it was Marcus Flint and an older gentleman who was, presumably, Lord Flint. She fought the impulse to freeze or duck guiltily, reminding herself that Harriett Potter did not know either man.

As she passed close enough to overhear the conversation, she caught Flint Sr. saying, "Home sick, unfortunately, otherwise she would have loved to be here, isn't that right, Marcus?"

Marcus' response was an annoyed grunt, followed by, "I feel a bit sick myself." He broke away from the group abruptly and made a surly beeline for the bar. Harry just managed to turn her face casually away as he passed her.

She moved on, weaving here and there around increasingly drunk partygoers. Apparently the Parkinsons were not at all stingy with their refreshments.

A few minutes later, she found her friends once more; they had drifted somewhat from the spot under one of the balconies that they'd occupied earlier. Archie was with them, but so were Adrian Pucey, Lucian Bole, and Caelum Lestrange—and he and Archie didn't appear to be having a polite conversation.

"—which is why I can't fathom the level of sheer nerve you managed to summon in trespassing for the second year running where no one wants a—"

"Do shut up, Lestrange, no one is listening," Harry cut in, smoothly stepping up beside Archie so that she was physically between him and Lestrange. Archie could hold his own in petty bickering, she knew from experience, but he should haven't to put up with the pretty boy's nonsensical venom when there were perfectly good ways of stemming it.

"You." The icy-eyed boy sneered elegantly down at her. "What has it come to, that they allow the rabble to roam in hallowed halls?"

"I missed you too, Caelum." she smiled sweetly at him. "How's your final year shaping up?"

"Don't talk to me like we're friends," the black-haired boy hissed, trying and failing at not looking alarmed.

"But we are," she blinked innocently up at him, widening her eyes in a show of hurt confusion. "You told me your favorite color and everything."

"I did not," he snapped.

"Then how do I know it's dark blue?" she asked reasonably.

"It isn't," he growled, clearly annoyed. His expression only grew darker when several of the others chuckled lowly. Lestrange visibly collected himself, apparently realizing how foolish she had made him sound. "Still up to your usual nonsense, Potter. How plebian."

She bowed mockingly, not bothering to hide her satisfied smile.

"How do you two…ah, know one another?" Bole was apparently the only one brave enough to ask.

Lestrange turned to the other boy with a smirking expression. "We happened to intern at roughly the same time at the Potions Guild this summer. I got in on merit, of course, while she…well, I suppose she filled the novelty quota."

Harry moued thoughtfully. "He's right. It probably was novel for the Guild to have an intern with real talent for a change."

"Talent is about dedication," Lestrange spat, "Any two year old can throw random things in a cauldron and call it a new discovery. If you had any sense of what being a true potions maker was about, you'd build on the tradition before you, not blow it to smithereens with your wild half-blood ideas."

"Maybe you're right," Harry sighed sadly, "I guess only purebloods can have good ideas." She turned to Archie ostentatiously and said, "Rigel, would you mind telling Master Snape that Caelum Lestrange—that's C-A-E-L-U-M—thinks that he ought to keep his half blood ideas to himself, for the good of potions brewers everywhere?"

"I'd be happy to pass along the message," Archie said, smiling slightly, "Do you have a card I could include with the note, Lestrange?"

The older boy looked close to frothing with rage, but instead he merely shot her a glare that promised retribution, turned, and strode off with a disgusted huff.

"He's getting better at taking his lumps," Harry observed into the silence that followed.

Archie nodded in agreement. "Not one call for his mother that whole time."

Theo, Millicent, and Pucey all snorted with laughter, and the others visibly relaxed. "I don't know how you two manage to just smile through his vitriol," Bole said, shaking his head. "Don't you know how powerful his parents are in the Party?"

"Our parents aren't in the Party," Archie reminded him delicately. "So we don't give two knuts what Lestrange thinks."

"And he's mostly bluster, anyway," Harry said fairly, "He's not so bad if you get to know him—just likes to push people's buttons, that's all."

"He just insulted you in about a dozen different ways," Draco spoke up, eyeing her oddly again.

"He didn't really mean it," Harry said, shrugging.

"Sure sounded like he did," Millicent muttered, looking at Harry with something like reconsideration.

"You can't always tell what a person means by the words they say," Harry said. In fact, she'd been far more uncomfortable with her friends' insincere politeness earlier than she was with Lestrange's honest disparagement. At least his insults could be met head on.

"Very well put," came a voice just behind her. She turned to see Pansy, finally free of the receiving line, smiling widely at her. "You're wise, Miss Potter. We could use more women of wisdom in the world."

Harry blinked, taken aback at the rich compliment, and hesitated before saying, "You are too kind, Miss Parkinson."

"Just Pansy," the blonde reminded her gently. After waiting for Harry to nod, she tilted her head, sending shoulder-length blonde hair swaying. "Would you honor me with this dance, Miss Potter?"

Harry could admit that was the last thing she expected her friend to say. "I—don't dance very well. Sorry."

Pansy laughed lightly, "That's what Rigel said to me once, but I saw him dance a set with Millie earlier, so you'll forgive me if I don't entirely believe you, Harry."

She shot a look at Archie, who shrugged sheepishly. She turned back to Pansy to come up with another polite refusal, but Pansy cut across her.

"You wouldn't refuse your host a dance, surely?" her blue eyes gazed assessingly into hers, and Harry found she could not find a good excuse after all. At her hesitation, Pansy went for the kill. "Rigel once refused me a dance, and I was rather heart-broken. If you turn me away, too, I shall develop a complex."

Harry allowed exasperation to narrow her eyes, but nevertheless knew she was outmatched. "It would be my pleasure," she said, managing not to grit her teeth noticeably.

She couldn't even blame anyone but herself, she thought with irony, as it had been her as Rigel who ducked out of dancing with Pansy and thus set the proud girl on the idea. Knowing that didn't make her feel any less awkward, however, as she accompanied Pansy to the dance floor.

-0

[PpPpPp]

-0

Pansy was certain Harriett Potter did not realize the service she was doing her, dancing the most popular set with the halfblood friend of a friend. Already people were turning to look—sidelong and very surreptitiously, but Pansy could easily pick them out.

They took their positions among the other couples on the floor, and Pansy had to stifle a surprised chuckle when the green-eyed girl took up the dominant position seemingly without conscious thought, despite the fact that, as they were both girls, blood status ought to have been the next deciding factor in the roles they danced. They grasped hands lightly, as the starting position demanded, and Pansy leaned forward to say quietly, "You know that technically I should be leading, don't you?"

Harriett flushed, her eyes widening with slight dismay. "Forgive my impertinence," she said, grimacing a bit. "I am more familiar with this form. I meant no disrespect."

"I know," Pansy told her, smiling reassuringly, "I don't mind, in fact. You are Rigel's cousin, and that makes us equals in my mind. I merely wanted you to know, in case you decide to dance with someone else tonight."

The other girl's eyes widened again, this time in surprise and, she thought, something like gratitude. Pansy wondered if the others had been less than polite to her—she would have words with Draco, if that were the case. Rigel was depending on them to make Harriett feel welcome. If they did marry, and Pansy was not sure at all that Rigel would put forth the effort in finding himself a better match if he already had a girl suited to his hobbies and habits at home, they would be seeing a lot more of her. That, coupled with the fact that if it came to a choice between his friends and his family, Pansy was not at all sure Rigel would choose them, meant that they had to make a good impression.

They began to move through the dance steps, mirroring one another in each choreographed spin and gesture. Harriett wasn't bad, per say, but she was obviously uncomfortable with the entire activity. It was all Pansy could do not to smile with amusement as a particularly grandiose hand flourish made Harriett's nose wrinkle with distaste.

It really was a shame the girl was half-blooded, she thought. It showed great courage to come to an unfamiliar place and stand up to sneers and titters when there was nothing to be gained from it, in the end. The other girl also seemed to be clever and polite. Harriett might have made a prodigious match, had she been born pure. Pansy might have considered her for herself, in fact, if things had been different. She certainly had Rigel's talent for dissembling, if the interaction Pansy had overheard with Lestrange was any indication. Pansy admitted to herself that it was one of the things she liked most in her dark-haired friend, and to find it in someone she didn't already think of platonically was a rare pleasure.

With a mental sigh, Pansy turned her thoughts away from such matters. No matter the current pending legislation, her parents would never allow her to marry someone less than pure. They didn't have a strong prejudice against half bloods themselves, but the fact that others did made it a foolish move socially and politically. Still, she thought, one could never fully predict the whims of society. Things might change in that regard.

Why, only two centuries before it would have been completely unheard of for two women to dance together, and look at them now. Society was a fickle thing. It was all well and good to stifle and contain their offspring into strictly heterosexual matches, but once their population became dangerously depleted, the old biddies certainly changed their tune. In a strange way, they actually had blood mania to thank for the openness of Wizarding relationships in modern times, she mused. When purebloods became desperate for more children to fill out their ranks, in competition as they were with all the new muggleborns who came pouring into the Wizarding world each generation, it was suddenly less important to uphold conventional standards of sexuality and more important to encourage any couple, regardless of makeup, to marry and have babies with whatever magical assistance was necessary.

As she twirled and spun on autopilot, Pansy thought cynically that it didn't hurt that having the option of a homosexual relationship doubled the candidates with which one could be matched without resorting to incest. Pureblood insanity had taken a dramatic drop off when people warmed to the idea that marrying your sister wasn't necessary when you had a fourth cousin twice removed who could bear children with the right combination of potions. And how like the upper echelons of Society to veil this pragmatic change behind a pretense of cultural openness and an encouragement of love and free will.

The dance was coming to a close, so Pansy pulled her wandering attention back to her partner, who looked a little too relieved to be perfectly polite when the music wound down at last.

"That was lovely," Pansy said, placing her arm on Harriett's as they exited the dance floor.

"Yes," Harriett said, smiling in a way that Pansy could tell was fake, but only because she'd seen a similar smile on Rigel's face so often. "Thank you very much for the dance, Pansy."

"Anytime," Pansy said, smiling at the uneasy look that produced on the other girl's face. "I must return to my parents. Will you escort me there?"

Harriett adjusted her glasses uncomfortably, but inclined her head nevertheless. "I should check on mine as well; perhaps I will spot them on the way."

As they maneuvered through the crowd, Pansy couldn't help but think that Harriett had never escorted anyone anywhere before. The green-eyed girl had noticeable trouble navigating the crush on both of their behalf, and several times had to stop and recover Pansy from where she'd been cut off between groups of people. With her incredibly apologetic grimaces each time it happened, Harriett came off entirely endearing, though Pansy had to wonder why someone obviously unaccustomed to leading would have practiced the lead position in dancing so singularly. Perhaps she had learned from Rigel. She would have to ask her friend when she saw him again. However innocuous Harriett Potter tried to come across, there was something curious about her that tugged at Pansy's mind even as she told herself to let it go.

-0

[HpHpHp]

-0

It was with acute relief that she spotted Pansy's parents at last through the sea of people. To her surprise, her own parents were there with them, in a group that looked as though it was made up of all the most important people in the room. The Minister stood at James' side, along with several prominent Wizengamot members, including Marchbanks and Ogden, who Harry never seemed to see apart. On the other side of the circle stood Lord Riddle, the Lestranges, the Malfoys, and, of course, the Parkinsons.

Harry left Pansy with her parents, and circled the group until she reached Lily's far side, where Addy was propped on one slender hip.

"Harry, we wondered where you and Archie had gotten to," her mother said, smiling brightly down at her. "Are you enjoying yourself?"

"It's a lovely party," she said, smiling slightly, "Would you like me to hold Addy for a while?"

"Please," Lily sighed gratefully. "Your father is on duty, so he can't exactly relieve me."

Addy was handed down into Harry's unsure grasp. Her little sister blinked up at her assessingly and she awkwardly adjusted her until the babe felt somewhat comfortable in her arms. Eventually Addy seemed to decide Harry was not an immediate threat, and began dozing against her shoulder unselfconsciously. Harry comforted herself that if Addy managed to drool all down her robes, at least most of the people present would be too intoxicated to notice. Half the conversations around her seemed punctuated by giggles with unusual frequency.

Lily was having a lively conversation with Tiberius Ogden about the latest project she was working on for her experimental contracting company. Madam Marchbanks appeared to be tittering along to a story Rose Parkinson was relating with sparkling humor in her eyes. The Minister was in quiet conversation with what Harry thought was one of his cabinet members, James looking on stoically. Riddle was engaged in discussion with the Lestranges, Mr. Malfoy, and Mr. Parkinson, but Harry noticed the Lord's eyes were fixed on a point across the room. Harry turned subtly under the pretense of readjusting the sleepy Addy in order to follow his line of sight.

She could just make out the dark clad form of Professor Snape, in close conversation with both brothers Black across the hall. They were all three strikingly tall, which made them stand out from the crowd even at a distance. Riddle was not the only one eyeing the three, she noticed, and no wonder when it was common knowledge that Snape and Sirius despised one another.

Harry could not prevent the silent prayer that graced her lips, just in case anyone was listening, that the conversation happening across the room would go smoothly. It would be revolutionary for Snape to take her on as an apprentice—a thirteen-year-old was almost unheard of. The things she would learn…

She tore her eyes away, aware that there was nothing she could do at that point. She cast about for a distraction, and her eyes lit immediately upon her mother, almost magnetically drawn. Blinking, she took in Lily with fresh eyes, suddenly realizing that she had never been to a formal event with her mother before, and had never seen her like…this. She was captivating—not just her beauty, which Harry had always taken for granted, but her sheer presence. She was certain Lily had never had such an aura of charm and grace about her before—what had happened to her tired, over-worked mother who lounged about the house after dinner in her pajamas?

At some point in her musings, she noticed Archie approach their circle on the other side, with Draco leading him to a place near Mr. Malfoy. Their eyes met and they exchanged brief smiles, but there was little opportunity for a proper greeting across the many different conversations around them.

Harry turned back to watching her mother with a frown. Perhaps it was the dress robes, she thought, but immediately dismissed the idea—she had seen her mother dressed up before. Lily's modest robes in no way outshone the plunging, glittering ensembles of the society matrons around them, besides. It was something in the way she held herself, the way she responded to others. Harry stepped closer, to better observe this new phenomenon.

"You young people always want to change things," Ogden was complaining tiredly. "No respect for the way things have been done for generations."

"It is not a lack of respect that drives us forward in search of progress," Lily said, her voice light yet sure. "Just the opposite—we build on the monuments of the past in reverence and appreciation."

"It is not called appreciation when one alters a masterpiece—rather, it is desecration," the elder Lestrange, Rodolphus, cut in brusquely.

Lily was perfectly unruffled, somehow managing to look humbly intrigued by Lord Lestrange's comment even while saying, "I do not think tradition is like a painting—not a stale, stagnant creation to be hung on the wall unchanged for centuries. Rather, it is a living thing, contributed to by all who inherit it even as it is preserved."

"You cannot preserve something and change it," Bellatrix said, her lip curling.

"But surely such a standard is self-defeating," Lily said, a kind concern in her expression now. "Imagine your own manors and estates, handed down through the generations from fathers and mothers to sons and daughters—they cannot remain completely unchanged, can they? You must update them to adhere to modern standards of comfort, perhaps add on a wing here or a garden there, attend to various repairs and improvements constantly, even as you preserve them in their entirety for the next generation. The result is the beautiful ballroom we stand in. More than a relic of the past, it is an heirloom that we live within. Is tradition not just so?"

Harry was amazed to see the lords and ladies around her carefully considering Lily's words. Somehow she had delivered them as an offering, not a challenge. Somehow her mother had put a group of proud, disdainful purebloods at ease by combining a sense of admiration for them with a soft confidence that was all her own, and wasn't abrasive in the least.

"Still, it does not do to renovate a historical home beyond recognition, wouldn't you agree?" Narcissa said from across the circle. "At that point one may as well build a new manor entirely."

"Is there no merit in building new homes?" Lily asked softly, eyes earnest without demanding anything. "Not everyone has an ancestral manor, after all. And what happens when your family grows too large for its walls? All great manors were new once, were they not?"

"Interesting argument," Lord Riddle spoke up. All eyes turned to him in deference. "In that analogy, all the great witches and wizards of our past would be the architects of the future we now inhabit. By implication, you're saying that the present legacy they left is now…inadequate?"

Lily stood strong beneath the disapproving gazes that swung her way. "The measure of time itself is decay—it isn't a question of inadequacy, merely of inevitability. When a volcano first erupts, it is brilliant and powerful. It creates an island with rich soil that blossoms into a flourishing paradise naturally. Years pass, however, and the ocean of time beats away at the island's shores, diminishing it. This degeneration does not call into question the might of the first volcano. It merely calls for a new volcano, a fresh source of power that could bring new life to something in the midst of decline."

"A new volcano might also destroy the island completely," Lord Malfoy said smoothly, one eyebrow raised, "Depending on where and how it erupts."

"That is true," Lily allowed, "Change should always be approached slowly, with great care. Just because something requires care, however, does not mean that it isn't worth doing. The traditions of our past are not pedestals. They are stepping stones. Some of the greatest and most respected of our heroes were the daring innovators of their time. The Egyptian pharaohs, the Chinese mystics, Merlin, the Founders, and so on. To resist change is to shy away from the possibility of greatness. There are risks, of course, but also great opportunity."

"How very true," Riddle said, his voice, while not loud, carrying easily through the noise around them. "Stepping stones, indeed. Still, to move in the wrong direction would be as disastrous as standing still. Better to follow those stones along the path the wise men before us have laid out. To press forward is admirable—but only insofar as one sights along the proper trajectory. We are not wiser than the Founders, surely?"

Lily bowed her head graciously, conceding the point, though she did add, "How difficult it is to know where the path may lead before one walks it."

Riddle smiled, and the conversation was ended. Until Harry picked up the faintest of hisses, words whispered mockingly on an invisible breeze to roost in her ears. "Some of us see more clearly than others."

She saw Riddle's eyes flick toward Archie, and Harry looked to him, too, but Archie remained completely oblivious, not having heard the comment, as he didn't actually speak Parseltongue, and certain pitches of the language were lower than the average human register. Harry tried not to wince as Riddle's eyes narrowed and a frown briefly creased his brow. She would have to relay the comment to Archie later, and see if he could slip mention of it into conversation if he ever had occasion to speak to Riddle alone.

Lily took Addy back, looking incredibly graceful despite cradling a baby in one arm. Harry had to take a moment to truly admire her mother's carriage that evening. She had lost not an iota of her own self-worth, yet she had made everyone around her feel entirely valued and important despite arguing blatantly against their way of life. Harry had no idea how to go about replicating such a thing, but she could certainly admire it from afar. It struck her that her mother could play a crowd as well as Sirius did—only she did it without being self-deprecating or hyperbolic.

Her father, too, was changed by her aura. James looked like a Lord with Lily at his elbow, seeming stoic instead of stiff, and reserved rather than proud.

A movement across the circle distracted her; Riddle was stepping back from the group with quiet apologies to the Parkinsons. Mr. Malfoy stepped back with him, sending a glance across the hall in a very familiar direction. Sure enough, when Harry casually glanced around she saw Snape walking away from the Black brothers with a triumphant smirk on his face. She lost her focus for a moment, caught up in the implications of that. Did Sirius agree? Was she—Rigel—really going to be Master Snape's apprentice this year? She had to fight to keep from beaming in happiness—had she ever imagined that their ruse might come so far?

Her thoughts realigned themselves to the present moment when she caught Snape sending a discrete nod to Mr. Malfoy, who followed Mr. Riddle out of the room in short order. They were going to discuss the situation with the artifact, she realized, and Pettigrew too, probably. She wished she could go after them—her curiosity was burning her up inside; she couldn't be so reckless, however. Eavesdropping so obviously as to excuse herself in front of all these powerful people was just asking for trouble.

Not five minutes after Riddle's subtle exit, as though her thoughts of trouble had summoned the thing itself, a sound that no one was prepared for smothered the flames of conversation like a sudden vacuum. A hoarse cry of shock and pain, followed sharply by the sound of a body hitting the tiled floor.

Mr. Ogden had collapsed, crumbling to the ground in a spray of blood that caught several hideously expensive ball gowns even as their wearers stumbled back in horror.

Madam Marchbanks let out a cry like a wounded animal and lashed her foot toward her fallen companion in a move that made no sense until Harry saw it connect with some sort of golden thing on the old man's back, flinging it away. There was more frantic retreating as those closest sought to avoid coming into contact with whatever it was.

Her father surged forward, between the golden thing, which was writhing and skittering across the ground now, and the Minister. When it was close enough, he brought a booted foot crunching down onto the biggest part of the contraption, and it twitched like a crushed bug before going still.

Marchbanks meanwhile had knelt beside Ogden with tears running down her face, pressing gloved hands to the wounds on his back and whispering frantic pleas under her breath.

"We need a Healer!" someone shouted. Everyone started looking around as though they would see the traditional Healer robes somewhere in this crowd of glitterati.

"Where is Master Healer Cunnington?" James asked, moving to kneel by the injured man's side as well. Harry recognized the name of the Chief of Healing at Mt. Mungo's and felt acute relief that such a well-practiced Healer was in the vicinity. Mr. Ogden would be in good hands.

"He left early," Mr. Parkinson said, tense anxiety in his voice.

"Intoxicated," someone else muttered scornfully.

"Is anyone trained in mediwizardry?" Rose Parkinson called to the room abroad, half of which was just now noticing that something was wrong.

"Snape," someone called uncertainly.

"Not here," Mr. Parkinson said, his eyes flicking to the archway where Snape had left not minutes earlier with Riddle and Mr. Malfoy. He looked clearly torn between going in search of the man and staying to mediate the tragedy unfolding.

"I will go and search for him," Bellatrix said, stepping carefully around the fallen man before heading for the entryway.

"There's no time," someone from the crowd snapped, "Look at the blood."

There was indeed a pool of red rapidly spreading from Ogden's prone form.

"There must be someone here trained in Healing!" Mrs. Malfoy exclaimed, one gloved hand raised to her mouth in utter dismay.

Harry turned her eyes toward Archie even as James looked up from the floor and said, "My daughter is." All eyes turned, somewhat incredulously, in her direction, and she froze uncertainly. "Harry, can you…?"

There was nothing for it, she supposed distantly as her father's pleading eyes met hers. She stepped forward on shaking legs, digging deep in her pocket for her wand as she knelt down to see the damage. She should ask for Archie to do it—but how would she convince them that he was more qualified? Her eyes sought his for a panicked moment, but Archie only gazed steadily back at her, eye bright with trust and confidence. With a deep, steadying breath, she moved Madam Marchbanks' hands aside and ripped Ogden's robes with one hand while quietly casting the spell that would slow localized blood flow with the other. Once she could see the wound, she let out a deep sigh of relief—there were stab marks on his lower back, but none appeared to have brushed his spine. To be sure, she sent her consciousness into Healer mode, probing the extent of the damage swiftly.

The spine was fine, but one of the strikes had come in at an angle and torn right through the right renal artery that led to that kidney, severely damaging the inferior vena cava as well, which explained why there was so much blood. Ogden would die quickly in cardiovascular collapse if she didn't fix that immediately.

"Mr. Parkinson, do you keep a supply of Blood Replenisher Potions in the house?" she asked, her voice somewhat monotone as most of her attention was diverted to making sure the Ureter wasn't damaged—she didn't need bodily waste spilling out into the abdominal cavity.

"Accio Blood Replenisher," was Mr. Parkinson's response.

"Archie, can you give it to him?" Harry said, not glancing away from Ogden to see if anyone found her request odd. She needed his help, so the ruse was just going to have to adjust if necessary.

A few moments later, Archie was beside her on the ground. "I'm going to spell it into his stomach," he told her quietly, taking out his own wand.

"After that, check his lungs," Harry said, "His breathing is too shallow, for someone unconscious."

She turned her attention to knitting the major blood vessels back together carefully, aware of how important the kidneys were to a number of bodily functions. It was imperative that their homeostasis not be upset. Once she could feel the Blood Replenisher begin to work, she turned her attention to siphoning away the blood that had leaked internally around the kidney and spine.

"His left twelfth rib deflected one of the thrusts," Archie said at her ear, "It's fractured."

"It can wait," Harry said, "What about his breathing?"

With a subtle nod of approval, Archie said, "No wound accounts for it. Check his blood for toxins."

Harry frowned. "Poison…" she grimaced at what her magic was telling her. "Some kind of paralytic. No wonder the muscles around the entrance wounds have all seized up."

"Poison!" Marchbanks' exclamation caught the attention of those around them who were watching with morbid concern. "Is he going to die?"

"Not if we counteract it," Harry said, trying to both reassure the woman and concentrate on what needed to be done.

Out of the corner of her eye she saw Mrs. Parkinson and Mrs. Malfoy step up to draw Marchbanks slightly away, comforting her with soft murmurs. She appreciated their initiative in giving them the space they needed to fix this.

"I can keep his lungs working for a while, but if it's already in the blood stream, we have to stop it before it can damage the heart too severely—otherwise we're looking at long-term recovery in St. Mungo's," Archie said quietly.

"Do you recognize it?" Harry asked, eyes tight with stress. "It looks like saxitoxin to me, but that doesn't make any sense."

"Like in shellfish?" Archie wrinkled his nose, "It would have to be extremely concentrated to have so fast an effect. Though if it got into the inferior vena cava when it was nicked, I guess it wouldn't have to be that powerful."

"Let's assume we're right, and flush it out," Harry decided. There were only a few poisons that needed special means of removal, and saxitoxin wasn't one of them. Provided they were careful, they should be able to detox Ogden with minimal difficulty.

It took a good ten minutes, even with two of them sweeping Ogden's system. Archie took care of flushing the delicate heart and lungs while Harry focused on the liver and kidneys—thankfully, not much of it had gotten to the extremities and the digestive tract was largely unaffected. They did have to painstakingly comb through the soft tissues of the brain to make sure absolutely none of it was left behind in the cerebral cortex.

As his breathing evened out and color returned to his cheeks, Ogden began to visibly retreat from death's door. She could vaguely hear people around them murmuring optimistically as she and Archie paused to wipe the sweat from their brows.

"I'll take the fractured rib," she said after a moment, "Will you finish up the flesh wounds?" Archie was very good at cosmetic Healing, or so he claimed.

Archie nodded, sparing a glance up at Marchbanks and the two ladies who held her hands. "He's going to be fine, Madam. Won't even have a scar—though he will have to take a regimen of muscle-strengtheners for his heart. He'll probably end up feeling better than before by the end of it."

Marchbanks broke down in relieved tears, even as Archie turned his wand back to the task before them. She had no trouble with the bone—it was hardly broken at all, and Harry was very familiar with fixing broken bones, even if she mostly practiced on animals. A glow of satisfaction lit her face as she rocked back on her heels finally and watched Archie close the last few inches of open skin on Ogden's lower back. After checking the elder's vital signs and sensing no sign of further bodily distress, they both stood.

"He's fine, now," Harry said, gesturing Marchbanks forward. "You can wake him."

With a breathless laugh of pure happiness, the elder knelt and hurriedly repaired and cleaned Ogden's robes to their previous glorious state. She then pressed her wand to his side and whispered, "Enervate."

Ogden coughed, groaned, and pushed himself up from the tile with a confused grimace. "What—what happened?" he said, bracing himself on his hands and knees before climbing to his feet slowly, supported by Madam Marchbanks the entire way.

"You were attacked, Tiberius," Marchbanks said, arranging his hair with gentle, trembling fingers. "There was so much blood…"

"Attacked by who?" Ogden said, looking around the room with enraged suspicion.

"This." James stepped closer from where he had stood out of the way while Harry and Archie worked. He held up a mangled, golden device that on closer inspection seemed to have been made up of intricately interlocked gears. It might have resembled some kind of insect, before it was crushed, she thought. Many of its limbs tapered into sharp, lethal-looking points that dripped with red blood, marking them as the instruments of Ogden's wounds.

"What on earth…?" Ogden cringed away from the metal thing. "How did that even get in here?"

"I've been examining it," James said, holding it by one bladed leg to demonstrate its mechanisms. "This part here retracts—it appears that it could have masqueraded as a regular object smaller than the palm of a hand, which then transformed upon activation."

"So someone smuggled this weapon into my home," Mr. Parkinson looked rigidly livid. "Can it be traced?"

"It's covered in Elder Ogden's blood, now, so the only thing it would lead us to is him," James said, shaking his head.

Harry was looking at the mangled golden thing with something like nagging horror, knowing that it reminded her of something, but not sure what. Where had she seen an insect like that before…? With a jolt of memory, she paled. She opened her mouth, then shut it abruptly—that hadn't happened to Harry. It had happened to Rigel.

"Rigel," she said pointedly. Archie looked over at her with a questioning eyebrow. "Doesn't that seem familiar? Remember in your first year, when you were attacked…?"

Archie gave her a blank look and blinked. "Um, sort of…it was that Jordan fellow, wasn't it?"

Draco was suddenly there at Archie's elbow, "Lee Jordan? You're talking about that spider thing he tried to use on you? It had a paralytic agent too, didn't it?"

Archie nodded unsurely, clearly trying to recall what she'd told him of the incident. "Yes. It had a neuro component too, though, to induce memory loss. It was primarily organic, too, while this thing seems to be mostly mechanical."

"Not to mention all of Jordan Sr.'s breeding experiments were destroyed after the Ministry was apprised of his illegal activities." Blaise Zabini had come up behind them to join their little powwow.

"That would explain how unsophisticated this one is compared to the one that attacked Rigel, though," Harry pointed out. "The poison on its blades was raw saxitoxin, not synthesized or anything like the neurotoxic venom bred into the insect that Rigel destroyed."

"How crude," Blaise wrinkled his nose in academic displeasure.

Meanwhile, James was interrogating Mr. Ogden about who may have motive to arrange for such a thing.

"No one at this gala has any grievance against me," Ogden said stoutly.

"It might have been stowed away on an unsuspecting wizard's person," James said, frowning, "By the looks of it, the insect might have been disguised as a piece of jewelry, a boot buckle, anything really. Anyone you might suspect could be a lead."

"Tiberius," Marchbanks said suddenly, "Where is your pocket watch?"

"My…" Ogden paled and swayed, "No. He wouldn't." Nevertheless he began to search his pockets frantically, looking more disturbed by the second.

"It was a gift from his nephew," Marchbanks told James quietly.

"One Leonard Jordan the first," Blaise muttered, dramatic irony thick in his voice.

"He wouldn't," Ogden insisted, his ancient visage drawn with pain. "He's capable of such an invention, I don't deny, but he wouldn't use it like this."

"He was asking about his inheritance," Marchbanks said, one hand on Ogden's arm, "He wasn't pleased that you were considering marriage to me so late in life."

"He's fallen on hard times," Ogden insisted, face red with suppressed emotion. "He hasn't got a truly violet bone in his—in his—" He clutched at his chest, wheezing a bit.

Harry and Archie started forward automatically, with Archie just barely remembering to hang back and let her do the diagnostic charm. "Your heart is still weak, Elder Ogden," she said respectfully, "You'll need to avoid putting stress on it for at least a week. Nothing that raises your blood pressure, if you can help it."

"Who are you?" Ogden asked, one wizened brow raised somewhat incredulously at her presumption.

"She's—" Marchbanks broke off as she realized they hadn't been properly introduced. "Auror Potter's daughter. She saved your life, Tiberius, along with young Mr. Black."

"Saved—" Ogden seemed to come to the sudden realization that he didn't know where his wounds had gone. "I thought a Healer…"

"There wasn't time to find one," Marchbanks said, voice tight, "You were bleeding out, Tiberius."

"From that little thing?" Ogden looked shocked, "Its blades are barely the width of my finger!"

"One of them nicked your inferior vena cava," Harry told him, "It was unlucky—if not for that there might have been time to move you to St. Mungo's for treatment."

"And if not for the poison," Archie piped up helpfully.

"Poison?" Tiberius looked incredibly shaken.

"It almost stopped your lungs, Tibby," Marchbanks said, clutching his arm a little tighter.

"You say your nephew gave this to you as a pocket watch?" James clarified.

"I…suppose so," Ogden said, looking defeated. "I received it as a Yule present from the whole Jordan family. My great niece even wrapped it in pink ribbon. I just can't believe that they would… and over money?"

"They might not all be involved," James said, gruffly reassuring, "After all, if it looked like a watch to you, any one of them could have fooled the others. They may even have bought it in a shop thinking it innocuous. We'll know more when we question them." With a nod of his head, he motioned two Aurors, who had been hanging back in lieu of clear action to take, to step forward. "We'll need your nephew's last known address."

"You may want to question his great-nephew, Lee Jordan, especially closely, Auror Potter," Draco spoke loud enough for James to hear, drawing the attention of Ogden and the others, as well.

"Why is that, Heir Malfoy?" James asked, his professional mask fully donned.

"Lee Jordan orchestrated a similar attack in our first year on a fellow student," Draco said, "The insect was different in construct, but the use of poison is similar. And the attack on Mr. Ogden at my family's garden party two years ago also involved poison."

James frowned. "Dawlish, see to it that someone digs up the incident report on that attack, as well. Heir Malfoy is probably correct in relating them. We will look into Lee Jordan's means and motive carefully," he added, nodding gratefully in Draco's direction.

As Aurors were organized and scrambled, Mr. and Mrs. Parkinson began retaking control of the party. Harry was surprised they were going to continue as though nothing had happened, but she supposed it was the biggest event of the season, and no one had actually died.

Ogden came over to where Harry and Archie stood, something like shock and disbelief still manning his expression. "I must thank the two of you for your timely assistance," he said gravely. Marchbanks, still clutching his elbow, nodded in agreement. "It alarms me to think how fortunate I was to be within saving distance of two young people so learned in the Healing arts. It is a rare skill, in these times, and the night could all too easily have ended very differently."

Harry privately reflected that it wasn't so much a rare skill as it was a skill primarily taught to muggleborns and halfbloods, who attended schools like AIM. Hogwarts did not emphasize Healing abilities, and hadn't for some time, offering only a few scant students a year the opportunity to begin learning the art before they graduated. Even with Madam Pomfrey's tutelage, Harry would not have been able to save Ogden's life just using what she'd learned at Hogwarts alone; she had learned the nuances of poison treatment from Archie's notes, after all, not to mention all that she'd absorbed about the kidneys from one of the assignments he'd sent her.

She wondered suddenly if Dumbledore deemphasized subjects that foreign schools like AIM emphasized on purpose, like Alchemy, to give those children of lesser blood a competitive edge in the workforce despite numerous Ministry sanctions discouraging employers from hiring those schooled abroad. Certainly Lily would have had a much harder time finding a job at her contract company if there had been a plethora of purebloods equally trained in experimental charms.

No, she concluded with a mental shake of her head, that would be too manipulative on too large a scale, even for a professional politician like Riddle, much less a respected public figure like Dumbledore. Out loud she merely said, "No thanks necessary, Elder Ogden—we learned first aid for a reason."

"That was quite a bit more than first aid." Lily came over, smiling proudly, one arm around Addy and the other coming to embrace Harry briefly. "I had no idea your studies were so progressed."

"Treating blunt trauma is the first thing they teach at AIM," Archie said, smiling a bit, "The later years are all reserved for diagnosing and treating more complicated things, like wounds inflicted by curses or other forms of foreign magic, virulent diseases, and injuries to more delicate parts of the body like the brain, eyes, reproductive organs…" he trailed off at the somewhat odd look Draco was giving him. "What? I read Harry's syllabi."

"I know, I just didn't realize you were so excited about Healing," Draco muttered. He looked a bit put off. Harry supposed that wasn't an emotion he was used to feeling from Rigel, to be fair.

"Whatever the reason, I am grateful," Ogden said, smiling indulgently, "To you both. Mr. Black, I am already indebted to you, as you may recall. I am chagrined to have to offer you once more my life in debt to your timely assistance."

Archie bowed deeply, a flush rising on his skin that Harry would tease him about later. "It is the duty of one wizard to another, Elder Ogden. There is nothing but respect between us."

"I hope you are not as humble as your friend, Miss Potter," Ogden chortled, turning tired eyes her direction. "I really must thank someone for my continued health."

"She is much worse," Archie told him conspiratorially, "But she wears it better."

Elbowing Archie discretely in the side, Harry bowed her head under Ogden's curious gaze. "No thanks are necessary, Elder," she said politely. "Your wellbeing is gratification enough. Do see a professional healer, though, at your earliest convenience." Such was common sense, but she had a nervous sense of complete liability that she hadn't anticipated. Did real Healers feel this way?

"I will see to it myself," Marchbanks cut in, giving Harry a soft smile. "Thank you, Miss Potter. We had heard from our friend, Master Thompson, that you had a rare talent. How fortunate that it extends across such disparate disciplines."

The elders took their leave, heading slowly toward the entryway. She noticed they passed Riddle on his way back in, and stopped to talk for a short moment. Whatever they said drew Riddle's focus directly to Archie, who didn't seem to notice as he spoke animatedly with Draco and Blaise about what had just happened.

Riddle paused until Malfoy and Snape, who had come hurrying into the room shortly after him with Bellatrix at their side, caught up. They exchanged words briefly, and then all three began making their way across the ballroom.

Harry felt the distinct urge to run, but her mother had a proud hand on her shoulder and Addy had at least three locks of her hair clutched in a grubby fist and Archie was turning to her with a concerned look—

"What?" she said, blinking, "Sorry, I wasn't listening."

Archie laughed, though she noted it was a bit strained. "Draco was just asking about your wand, Harry."

"My—" she tilted her head in an effort to disguise the freezing dread that came upon her. "What about it, Mr. Malfoy?"

Draco had a hard look on his face, but it was tempered by confusion, not outright accusation. "It looked like Rigel's."

Lily, who of course overheard that comment, frowned, "That's odd. They aren't of similar woods, are they? What was yours again, Harry? Ash?"

"Elm," Harry said blandly, not meeting Archie's increasingly doom-filled gaze.

Lily looked confused for a moment, "I thought Archie had Elm."

"He has Holly," Harry said, fighting valiantly to keep her expression bored.

"I must have misremembered," Lily said, smiling, "It seems like so long ago, now."

"Children grow up so quickly," Mrs. Malfoy said, gazing at Draco somewhat despondently.

Draco flushed slightly in embarrassment, but was unfortunately not distracted from his confusion for long. "I've seen you use your wand a thousand times, Rigel, and I'm sure it looked odd just now."

Archie had apparently decided to just get the mystery over with, and began digging in his pocket with an expression that clearly said he was humoring Draco. Harry wished she could tell Archie that now was the worse possible time to do this, with Professor Snape coming their way along with Malfoy Sr. and Riddle himself, but instead she had to affect a mildly curious look along with everyone else looking on—namely Mrs. Malfoy, Mrs. Parkinson, Lily, Draco, and Pansy. The only reprieve was that James and Mr. Parkinson were occupied discussing the filing of a report on the assassination attempt, and any of the other partygoers who might have been interested in the drama involving Mr. Ogden had left when he did.

"Here, what's so odd about—oh." Archie looked down at the wand in his hand as though in stunned surprise. "Harry—this is yours." He laughed lowly, shaking his head as though unable to believe it. "We've switched again."

"Again?" Harry, too let her eyebrows rise in surprised amusement. She dug into her own pocket to produce the holly wand. Sighing with exasperation, she held it out to her cousin with a roll of her eyes. "I specifically reminded you this morning to take the right one once we were done flying. You always just grab whichever is closer."

"Well you didn't notice, either," Archie said, smiling teasingly.

"Only because I don't use it over the break anyway," Harry said, taking the elm wand and putting it into her pocket casually.

"You used it just now," Draco said, still looking a bit incredulous. "Are you telling me you use each others' wands without even noticing?"

Harry and Archie exchanged a look. "I suppose," Harry said, shrugging, "Is that odd?"

She knew very well that it was, but it wasn't as though they could prove she and Archie were lying. What other explanation could they think of for their switched wands, besides?

"You two always did share everything," Lily said, shaking her head fondly. Turning to the other adults, Lily smiled, "They used to wear one another's clothes when they were young. We'd dress them in the mornings, but by noon they'd traded half their garments for seemingly no reason whatsoever."

"Aunt Lily," Archie protested, his ears pinking.

Undeterred, Lily smirked faintly, "Why, the number of times I had to go through Sirius' laundry to find all of Harry's dresses—"

The other mothers tittered in delighted laughter while Draco turned incredibly amused eyes on his friend, successfully distracted. "You did what, Rigel?"

"Harry made me," Archie muttered, unable to look anyone in the eye.

With eyes on her, Harry shrugged in a deliberately nonchalant way. "His clothes were more comfortable. And he looks better in lace, anyway."

With low chuckles, the conversation moved on, at last, to other things. Riddle and Mr. Malfoy began conversing in low tones with Mr. Parkinson, no doubt divining what exactly had occurred in their absence. Her eyes caught those of Professor Snape, however, who was looking between she and Archie with a considering expression. It wasn't quite suspicious, but it seemed dangerously thoughtful to Harry, who knew very well that Snape knew how much trouble Rigel had using most wands that were not his own. Would he believe that Harry's wand was an exception to that?

Lily shifted Addy higher on her hip, and the movement caused her suppresser bracelet to catch the light dazzlingly. Snape's eyes shifted from Archie to Lily, and his gaze sharpened in realization and disappointment after considering the bracelet for a moment. Seeing his look, Lily followed his eye line to her suppresser and flushed almost guiltily. She sent the Potions Master a look that pleaded for understanding, but Snape turned pointedly away, lip curled in utter disgust.

Harry turned her eyes away and tried to pretend she didn't see the exchange. Somehow, the gala was not turning out like she'd thought it would. She remembered being bored at the previous one, but not consistently uncomfortable. Was that the difference between being a pureblood and a halfblood? A boy and a girl?

Mrs. Parkinson left with Mrs. Malfoy to begin the lengthy process of making the rounds to various groups of important partygoers and assuring them that all was well. Harry supposed somewhat cynically that most of them had been too proud to gawp like tourists as Ogden bled out on the floor, but weren't too proud to solicit the juicy gossip from a reliable source afterwards.

"I'm going to get food," Archie said at her elbow. At her raised eyebrow, he grinned sheepishly, "I uh…worked up an appetite Healing." Deciding that that was believable enough not to make him seem out of character, she waved him off. Draco followed her cousin, though he did send her a single, penetrating look as he left. Pansy was assisting her mother in talking to as many people as possible before speculation ran rampant. The male adults were in heavy discussion, James and the Minister included, which left Harry with Lily and Addy, the latter of whom was looking very cranky.

Lily shushed her quietly, grimacing as she shifted the baby once more on her hip.

"Want me to hold her again?" Harry asked.

Lily smiled, "Are you sure? You always seem so convinced she isn't going to let you."

Harry smiled back. "Tonight is lucky, I think."

"Very lucky," Lily said, suddenly serious. "Harry, that was an amazing thing you did. When you first insisted on joining the Healing tract instead of the Potions tract just so you and Archie could live some sort of vicarious half-life through one another, well, it made my heart ache. I think now, though, that maybe you were meant to. You saved a man's life today, little Fawn. And from what I understand, Archie saved his life a year and a half ago with some very specialized potions knowledge that I can only assume came from you. I think Fate had a hand in that. You two are going to do great things."

"It really wasn't that big a deal," Harry said, "If there had been someone else within hearing that knew how to Heal, they would have done the same."

"Well this time it was you, and you did wonderfully. And to thank you, I'm awarding you babysitting duties for the duration of one hour," Lily said cheekily, transferring Addy to Harry's shoulder with a sigh of relief. "I'd put a weightless charm on her, but I'm half-afraid I'll forget I'm holding her and let go."

"I'll watch her," Harry said, smirking, "Go dance with Dad." From what she could see, James seemed to be winding up his discussion with Malfoy, Parkinson, Riddle, and the Minister.

"What a marvelous idea," her mother mused, eyes twinkling, "It has been too long since James drooled at my feet, hasn't it?"

Grimacing, Harry made a face that only Addy could see. "Whatever you say, Mum. I'm going to take Addy someplace quieter so she can rest."

"Find us before midnight," Lily said absently, already eyeing her father like she was a cat and he a particularly lively ice mouse. "Sirius will want to toast together."

Murmuring a promise to do so, Harry resituated Addy more comfortably and wandered off, in search of a corner that was quiet enough to calm Addy down without being dark enough to risk coming across something unsavory. Eventually, she decided a balcony was her best bet and chose one at random.

She took the stairs carefully, very aware of how fragile the thing in her arms was, and how little she knew about infant anatomy, in case of an accident. Mentally adding that to her list of things to learn once she got her time-turner back, she ascended the final step and looked up, then faltered.

Rosier was up there with Rookwood and Selwyn, and all three were looking entirely curious. She hesitated, but realized it would be churlish to retreat at this point. Instead, she inclined her head politely in Rosier's general direction and hoped he would just leave her alone. She was tired, and quite ready to give up the evening as a bad job. Well, apart from her talking to Professor Snape as herself. That part she was pleased with.

He didn't, of course, leave her alone, instead waving his friends over to meet her. She supposed she couldn't be too annoyed—from Rosier's perspective, he was probably taking social pity on Rigel's pathetically friendless cousin. From that angle, he was actually being very nice.

"Miss Potter," he said, "This is Edmund Rookwood and his fiancé Alesana Selwyn."

"Congratulations," she said, eyes flicking to the lovely dark-stoned ring on Selwyn's finger. "It's lovely to meet you both. Rigel had mentioned you many times."

"Thank you," Rookwood rumbled, giving Selwyn a proud, smoldering look. Turning his eyes back to Harry, he added, "We can say the same of you, Miss Potter."

She blinked. She didn't really talk about herself that often when she was Rigel…did she?

Selwyn smirked slightly, her beautiful eyes rimmed flawlessly in kohl. "Why so surprised? You must know how he esteems you."

"I'm all he's ever known," Harry said, a bit wryly.

"Not any longer, though" Rosier said, smile like a razor.

Impervious to his attempt to goad her, Harry smiled back, just as sharply. "That's true. It's nice to see him make friends. He's so prone to trouble, as I'm sure you've noticed. Perhaps, once you've known him as long as I have, you'll be better at keeping him out of it."

Rosier looked positively offended, which made it worth throwing herself under the bus. She could not quite suppress the amusement she felt at getting under his skin for a change. As Rigel she worried about offended him—they were friends, after all. As Harry, though, she could say whatever she wished.

Rookwood chuckled appreciatively. "Careful with this one, Aldon. She is under no obligation to put up with you."

"I noticed," Rosier said, looking as though he was holding back a pout. "She refused to dance with me, you know, then went and danced a set with Pansy. It hurt my feelings."

Harry suppressed a snort. "When have you ever denied Miss Parkinson something? The girl is impossible to refuse—Merlin knows I tried." When Rosier insisted on holding onto his hurt expression, she sighed. "Miss Parkinson invited me personally tonight. How could I refuse her invitation in light of that?"

The golden-eyed boy hummed. "I suppose that's true. Very well, I forgive you. Provided you dance with me at the next gala."

"I won't be at the next gala," Harry said, disbelief coloring her expression. "I told you, I'm only here because I was specifically invited, and Rigel wanted to introduce me to Professor Snape."

"Snape?" Selwyn's eyebrow lifted. "Why?"

"I'm his biggest fan," Harry deadpanned.

"Regardless." Rosier waved a hand, looking mildly disturbed. "If need be I will personally invite you to the next gala."

"Your family hosted the last one," Harry said, "You can't host it again next year."

Rosier's eyes sharpened just a tad. "Rigel really tells you everything, does he?"

"Yes." Harry intensified her gaze until she knew it could give a grown man shivers and held Rosier's eyes. "Everything."

The upperclassman dropped his gaze with a grimace, distinctly uncomfortable of a sudden.

Selwyn laughed. "I like you, Miss Potter. Most halfbloods would think twice before antagonizing the son of Lord Rosier."

Not sure if she should be flattered or offended, Harry demurred. "Do you know many halfbloods, Miss Selwyn?"

"Very good," Selwyn said, eyes flashing. "If you do return next year, keep that gumption. It will serve you well."

Harry was about to ask what she meant by that when Addy began to fuss. Harry began juggling her awkwardly, really not sure what she should do to make her stop. When she began crying louder, Harry winced and cast an imploring look at the other three. "How do I—ah—stop this?"

"Haven't you any experience with her?" Rosier asked, "She is your sister."

"Not really," Harry said, attempting to switch Addy around—maybe she wanted to see something? "She sort of dislikes me." At her less than graceful handling, Addy let out a shrill shout of annoyance that caused several nearby people to look over in annoyance.

"Let me," Selwyn said sharply, scooping Addy out of Harry's hands with natural ease. The dark-haired girl held the baby closer to her chest, instead of further away to spare her ears. She rocked very gently back and forth, her free hand stroking Addy's soft hair. Harry started to profusely thank the girl, only to pause upon registering the acute look of longing on the other girl's face. Selwyn looked more fond of Addy in that moment than even Harry was, and she considered herself quite attached to the small wailing creature.

"You're very good with her," Harry said, injecting the proper amount of gratitude into her tone.

"I had a little sister, once," Selwyn said softly, her attention far away. "She was sickly, but she had a cry that could shatter crystal. I used to hold her for hours at night, when my mother needed to rest."

Harry, noting the past tense with a pang, kept silent as Rookwood curled an arm around the older girl. Noticing their sympathetic expressions, Selwyn's face closed abruptly. "We lost her to the Fade. The doctors warned us, of course. Everyone knows the risks. It was a foolish ambition."

Harry found she couldn't tear her eyes from Addy in that moment. She knew about the difficulties pureblooded families had in producing more than one child—everyone did, just as Selwyn said. The cause wasn't completely understood, but healers thought it had something to do with the nature of magic taking root. Pureblooded mothers could often carry one child to term, but after that it became exponentially more difficult. Second children were often squibs, but more often they were born weak and struggled to live despite nothing being physically wrong with them.

When such a child died, they called it fading, and textbooks described the slow, inevitable drain of strength and life that afflicted the infant. No book could describe the horror of standing by while a child died, however. Looking at her little sister, Harry was struck by how much she took for granted in her life. How many of the women at this gala had lost infants? How many were too afraid to try, paralyzed by the probability of tragedy. Were there others, even among her own friends, who might have had younger siblings?

"Take good care of her," Selwyn said, shifting to hand the now-quiet Addy back to Harry.

"I will," Harry promised. She was unable to keep herself from wondering, as Selwyn walked away, if her little sister was the reason she could see thestrals. Harry hoped not.

Rookwood and Rosier bid her a quick farewell, hurrying after their friend.

There was a very large clock of white gold hanging over the refreshment table, and with the hands only minutes from striking midnight, Harry supposed she ought to find her family once more. After everything that had happened tonight, she couldn't say she wasn't looking forward to going home. She just wanted to lock herself in her lab for days, or at least until her mind stopped feeling like a sieve, leaking thoughts and emotions into the rest of her body like a flash flood.

Maybe the new year would be better. Simpler. She could go back to being Rigel, soon, and concentrate on her upcoming apprenticeship. Ignoring the little voice telling her that pretending to be someone else wasn't supposed to be easier than being yourself, Harry cast one last glance over the glittering assembly, then turned away.

-0

[TrTrTr]

-0

The sounds of several hundred indisposed notables filled the room, but he could not join in their frivolity. He had too many things to consider, in light of all he had learned that night. Plans to make. Vengeance to take. His position required he make nice with the fabulously wealthy and powerful as the year was made new, but is was all he could do to survey the hall without losing his dinner. Jewels dribbled from ears and down necklines like rivulets of particularly pristine drool, marking their wearers as members of that indescribably extravagant class of wastrels. How distastefully predictable they seemed to him.

His perusal of the scene was interrupted as the young Lord Black and his family caught his attention. Sufficiently distracted from his distain, his lips curled at the thought of Dumbledore's faction now short all that precious funding. Not to mention the Wizengamot votes. And it was all thanks to the man's heir, the enigmatic Rigel Black.

How very innocuous the boy looked, smiling in anticipation just as a dozen other young wizards were as the clock counted down the seconds in a loud ventriloquism spell. He looked different than last he saw him, but he supposed that was the fluidity of youth. There was something suspicious about the boy, nonetheless. Already an anomaly, tonight the young Heir Black demonstrated knowledge of Healing that was inexplicable in light of what he knew of his schooling. Lucius had certainly not mentioned any Healing classes. He would have to interrogate Severus more closely on the matter, but even if the boy was incredibly gifted, he could not have learned so much in four months of third-year Healing classes. From Cassius' report, Black had demonstrated at least as much capability as his cousin, who had the benefit of two and a half years of intensive study in the art, at the best Healing program in the Western Hemisphere, no less.

It patently did not square. Then add to that the spectacle of a witch and wizard accidentally using one another's wand. Unheard of. A witch would sooner accidentally take another's child from the playground. It shouldn't even be possible to use another's wand with such a degree of skill, at least without consistent practice and the wand's full allegiance. Might they have been swapping wands for so long that it became moot? Could a wand have dual allegiances? He didn't know, and that displeased him. Perhaps a visit to Ollivanders was in order.

The girl, too, was suspicious. More, in fact, from what little he'd seen to judge. Severus had spent nearly fifteen minutes in deep conversation with the chit, which was red flag enough, but her aura was off, too. At his first, perfunctory glance, it was nothing special. When he'd reentered the ballroom after her Healing, however, it hadn't fluctuated one bit. She ought to have been nearly drained, if her magic levels were accurately reflected, but they didn't have a dent in them. Her cousin, however, had ravenously attached himself to the food table shortly thereafter.

Had Rigel Black been supplying the majority of the magic without anyone noticing? Why would the girl pretend to be doing the work? To secure a life debt? It would be difficult to conceal such a ruse under the noses of some of the sharpest witches and wizards he knew, however. On the other hand, why would she conceal the true levels of her magic? There weren't many wizards with the skill to even read auras, much less falsify their own. To think that a little girl had picked up the ability by chance was absurd. But what need could she possibly have?

He had briefly considered plucking the information from her mind, but a quick scan had revealed Occlumency shields at least as substantial as her cousin's: likely able to detect his attempt, at any rate. He would have to come by the understanding honestly, it seemed. There was at least a dram of satisfaction to by found by such inefficient measures. Now was not the time, however.

With a deft mental compartmentalization, he turned his attention to more important matters. He had things other than thirteen-year-olds to consider at the moment. His mind's eye turned to Hogwarts, and the rat who thought he could escape there with his prize. That could be his only priority. No one fooled Tom Riddle and lived to gloat about it.

-0—0-0

-0-0

-0

[end of chapter eleven].

A/N: So there it is. The gala. If things in this chapter don't seem immediately relevant, well, you're not wrong. Some of this is a set up for problems to come. In retrospect, the events set into motion in this chapter will be clearer, I hope. That said, my readers are much more clever than I, so I don't doubt your anticipations will be near the mark.

A/N2: I have do dedicate this chapter, and every chapter, really, to Alan Rickman, whose artistry and scope brought the character of Severus out of the pages and beyond even the most dedicated fan's imagination. My interpretation of Snape will never hold a candle, but it and others like it will always be expressed in relation to the character that Alan Rickman perfected, and in that way, his work will live on.