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.

13. Chapter 13

A/N: Sorry in advance to any students of Egyptian history—I've run it pretty ragged here.

The Ambiguous Artifice:

Chapter 13:

Rigel wasn't sure why she'd thought that obtaining a prophecy on the subject of the Jewel would herald some progress on her understanding of the artifact; it hadn't seemed to do Pettigrew much good, if his continued late-night bumbling through the library was any indication. She'd had to give up following him around the narrow stacks about the third week in March—it was just too depressing. She reasoned that as long as he was in the library, he wasn't up to anything more nefarious than incompetent research methodology. It would serve her time better to begin her own research on the subject, she thought, and from then on she spent the time Pettigrew sweated over crumbling Dark Arts books deep in the history section, sure that the answer to the mysterious artifact lay in the past, not in pursuit of other, equally vague methods of dominion, as Pettigrew seemed to believe.

There just had to be some record of such a powerful artifact—if humans could be counted on to do one thing through the annals of history, it was to take advantage of dubious avenues of power. She believed absolutely that power attracted attention, and so she was far from surprised to find a series of oblique references to an artifact like the jewel in the oldest of historical records available. The trouble with ancient history, she found, was that truth was rarely separated from myth, and an accurate recounting often played second fiddle to an interesting story. Each new source she found seemed increasingly removed from the rigors of credentials that she was accustomed to in her usual research.

One particularly ambiguous account concerned the pharaoh Amenhotep I, who, according to one historian, had lived a modest life tending to his mother until he suddenly conspired to kill his two older brothers and ascend to the throne unopposed. Once in power, he waged war on surrounding nations with a tenacity that granted him the epithets "bull who conquers the lands" and "he who inspires great terror." His rule was apparently so awe-inducing that after his demise he was deified with cult-like fervor. This was not altogether unusual for ancient pharaohs, who didn't do much to keep their magical abilities from the eyes of their mostly muggle subjects, but the historian whose account Rigel was perusing argued that Amenhotep's success was owed to his having been in possession of the Dominion Jewel.

Part of his evidence for this came from the order given by Hatshepsut fifty years later to demolish Amenhotep's mortuary complex. The Egyptian queen's personal scribe noted later that all involved in the complex's dismantling were unceremoniously executed halfway through the project without recorded cause.

Such hasty and unceremonious a mass execution was not typical of Hatshepsut's reign, the historian wrote. All evidence points to something powerful and dangerous being there unearthed, and subsequently guarded with great jealousy. It may not be too presumptuous to note, the author added, that Hatshepsut's reign, while not as violently war-oriented as many others, was characterized by an unusual and almost obsessive ambition to remake the face of the natural world in the queen's image. Hatshepsut's unprecedented (and nearly inconceivable) archeological feats might thus be cast in a more sinister light…

Rigel's eyes unfocused on a yawn, and she paused in her reading to take a peek in Pettigrew's direction. He was slumped over a table not far from the Restricted Section, looking close to sleep.

Rigel shut the book and replaced it on the shelf quietly, resigning herself to another night of wasted effort. Every possible account of the jewel was the same—someone previously ordinary (in terms of Wizarding kings, at any rate) reportedly obtained the stone just prior to going on a power-fueled bender. How many of those stories were possible and how many simply some historian's attempt to make sense of a ruler's sudden change in personality? She had no way of knowing. There didn't seem to be much consistency in the way in which the jewel helped one achieve power, either. Some reported acquirers gained unheard of military prowess, while others gained a sudden power over the natural world, or were all at once able to subjugate large groups of creatures or muggles or even other wizards. How could one jewel give someone so diverse a power? And why, if it could give power over literally everything, didn't all of its so-called possessors become masters of everything? The stories consistently compartmentalized the kind of power each jewel-bearer exercised. That made no sense, as far as she could tell. It would be like someone making a philosopher's stone and only turning things to gold with it, never producing the elixir of life.

It's probably all nonsense anyway, she thought to herself despondently. No one who actually had contact with such an artifact would risk writing something down about it. Unless they were incredibly thick, she added, watching Pettigrew furiously scribble notes all across a piece of parchment with no apparent care that they might fall into the wrong hands.

Then again, the jewel seemed to draw megalomaniacs—or at least create them, she allowed. Ego-driven people who obsessed over power probably rarely considered that another might gain that power in their stead through a careless mistake. She didn't want the power, but what if Pettigrew dropped his notes when she wasn't around to pick them up? Who knew what sort of person might come across them?

She shook her head, well aware that she was now being paranoid. They were at Hogwarts, after all, not some evil villain's secret base. If a student saw a piece of parchment with mysterious notes scribbled all over it they'd probably throw it straight in the trash. She had yet to meet a student who could stomach any more studying than passing his or her exams required.

By the way the Creatures professor was nodding, it wouldn't be long before he packed it up for the night, so she didn't bother picking another book to read. Instead she watched the little man thoughtfully from under her cloak, wondering what had possessed this person to take possession of the jewel in the first place. He didn't seem the domineering type, nor the power-hungry. Someone who truly lusted for power wouldn't be wasting their time in a library trying to research how to correctly use the jewel—they'd be out using it, and damn the consequences. She wasn't sure Pettigrew had used the jewel at all since the disaster on Halloween, and she liked to think it was because he hadn't meant to cause such a clamor.

The fact that he was persisting in digging deeper into the mystery didn't reflect well on him, but she couldn't entirely blame him. That prophecy hadn't been particularly forgiving. All that stuff about taking control or having it taken, bearing the cost and bewareing the consequence of losing control—or was it power? She was too tired to recall. Was 'bewareing' even a word?

In the end, the sum of all she read on the subject seemed to be that the jewel was very dangerous. History would likely have been better off without it.

-0

[HpHpHp]

-0

She slept a full eleven hours when she finally got back to the Come and Go Room, and woke just in time to pick up where one of her previous selves had left off on Saturday after lunch.

She rejoined her friends in the common room just as Draco and Pansy broke off to change for their Dueling Club meeting. Theo and Millicent had come once or twice, but neither seemed particularly devoted to developing the skill, and Blaise had flatly refused to even attempt it, claiming physical exertion to be the least diverting thing he could think of.

They met up with several of their housemates who now attended the club religiously, including Rookwood and Rosier, the latter of whom was wearing one of the hideously expensive 'toiling robes' that he'd commissioned over the winter break. As far as Rigel could tell, it was a glorified sweat-proof smock, but she had seem him receive some very admiring comments from others in the club, so she had to conclude that she simply knew nothing about fashion.

They arrived at their usual spot by the lake to find numerous members of other Houses already warming up, and while she and Pansy began stretching, Draco set about in an approving fashion to supervise the newer members who hadn't quite got a hang of the regimen yet.

"He's really come into his own," Pansy commented, mid-bend.

"He's a natural leader," Rigel agreed.

"Naturally bossy, you mean," Pansy smirked.

"I think direction is only considered bossy when it's unsolicited," Rigel remarked. "It doesn't hurt that he knows exactly which direction is the right one every time, either."

Draco had made leaps and strides with his gift of late. He could read others' emotions faster and more accurately, now, and made unapologetic use of this knowledge when dealing with his club members. Others thought it uncanny how the young snake could always tell who was confused but pretending not to be because of pride and who was growing annoyed and wished to be left alone for a while. Rigel could see the confidence her friend was gaining in what had previously been the most troublesome area of his life, however, and was proud of him for coming so far in so short a time.

When it came time to pair everyone up, Draco hesitated upon assigning Rigel a partner. "You've pretty much surpassed everyone young enough to reasonably pair you with," Draco admitted, looking resigned. "If I pair you with a seventh year from the Dueling class, it will be taken as an insult. Especially if you win, which I wouldn't put past you at this point. You're a bloody natural."

She wasn't, she knew, but there was no way to explain her rapid progress in the subject to Draco. She spent long hours perfecting what her friend taught her from Remus' class, as well as going over what she remembered of Leo's lessons from winter break. It did feel a bit like cheating, but she reasoned that she needed those hours of exercise the balance the time-turned hours she spent hunched over a book or scroll.

"Would you be averse to pairing with Neville?" Draco asked after a short pause.

"Not at all," Rigel said. Neville had come quite far since they started the club meetings. He still cast relatively slowly, but he was becoming harder to predict as experience gave him a measure of creativity.

"He needs to work on shielding between offensive spells," Draco told her, "So try to use wide-area spells he can't dodge."

"Will do," she said, saluting in the irreverent way that she knew her friend detested, just to see him lose his serious composure for a moment as he rolled his eyes at her.

She found Neville, and the two of them claimed a section of grass as their own. The air filled with the sounds of enthusiastically cast magic and she lost herself easily to the familiar rhythm of a one-on-one duel. It had grown from the exercise of a necessary skill to a very enjoyable practice over the year. When she worked with Leo, she could feel the intensity in every movement, and the idea that what she learned could save her life one day was never far from her mind. Here, though, she practiced with those who had never seen magic used to systematically attempt to harm another. To them, it was more like a game, an exhibition skill that they might one day be called upon to demonstrate in competition, but which no one anticipated using in earnest. The last Wizarding war to involve Great Britain was beyond living memory. Grindelwald's campaigns were a page in the history book much like the goblin wars, to those here.

After several engaging but ultimately unchallenging duels, she and Neville cooled off in the shade and took turns pointing out which of the other members was using the most interesting combinations that afternoon.

"Hey Neville," she said after a time, "My dad mentioned something over the break I thought was curious."

"About me?" Neville looked bewildered. "I don't think we've met."

"That's what's odd," Rigel said, "He seemed to think we'd had a play date at some point while we were younger, but I can't remember ever meeting you before Hogwarts."

Neville furrowed his brows. "I don't remember that either. I did think it odd, though," he offered abruptly, "I mean, my mum is really close with your cousin Harriett's mum, and you're really close with Miss Potter, so I did sort of wonder why we hadn't ever…met. I just figured your family wasn't too social, maybe. My family isn't that social, really, but I met Ron a bunch of times before we started school, since our dads worked at the Ministry together."

"Dad acted really odd when I said I didn't remember, too," Rigel said, an ominous feeling in her heart for reasons she didn't quite understand. "He tried to brush it off as his mistake, but something about it didn't sit right with me."

"I'm getting an uncomfortable feeling, but I don't know why," Neville said hesitantly, "Like there's something important I'm supposed to know but don't."

"Yes!" Rigel said, breathing deeply. "That's it exactly. What does it mean?"

"That we should let it go and pretend that this conversation never happened?" Neville suggested weakly. "I'm getting a very strong 'stop thinking about this' vibe."

"Doesn't that make you want to know what's causing it?" Rigel said.

"Not really," Neville said, frowning, "It makes me feel like I'm about to break an oath I don't remember taking, and that is scary enough that I'd rather live in ignorance."

Rigel didn't think that was very Gryffindor of him, but she couldn't exactly say so. She would have to work out the answer to this most troubling revelation on her own, she supposed. "We can talk about something else," she offered. She didn't think Neville had anything else to tell her, in any case.

The mystery of the play-date that wasn't hovered in the back of her mind, troubling her sleep late into the night when all other thoughts had been quieted. It sent her delving into tomes on memory, on bindings of magic that might affect the mind, and drove her to write a long letter to Archie trying to articulate the feeling of foreboding that crept upon her at every attempt to recall something that probably hadn't happened, and couldn't possibly be important if it had. She turned it over unhappily: that is, until something much more immediate occurred to redirect her attention.

-0

[HpHpHp]

-0

She had half-hoped her talk with Snape would be enough for him to let the subject of her magic lie for a while, but before she'd even thought about how she was going to go about doing something she wasn't sure was possible, the Potions master forestalled her from leaving his office one evening to inquire just how her magic control was coming along.

"Not at all," she said, quite blunt. "If I try to use even the simplest of spells without the suppressor it floods my wand until something explodes."

"Have you been practicing?" Snape demanded.

"Not really," Rigel frowned. "I assumed someone might disapprove of me exploding things."

"Do not take a tone you may regret, Mr. Black," Snape drawled. He looked entirely disgruntled.

"Sorry, Sir." She dropped her eyes in brief submission, then said, "Is that all?"

"It is not all," Snape sneered, "Not if you haven't made any progress. You gave me your word in this, recall. I am not above taking this over your head if I must."

"You promised not to tell my family, if you recall," Rigel said, fighting to maintain politeness.

"I do not break my promises," Snape hissed, visibly affronted.

"Neither do I," Rigel said, not actually sure at this point if that was true. "I'll work on it. I need more time."

She took her leave abruptly, sure that he would have more to say if she gave him the chance. She knew what she'd promised; she just didn't see any point in pushing it. It's not like they were starting free brewing tomorrow. Snape said himself it would be next year sometime. She could work on it over the summer, if she really had to, when she didn't have a dozen other distractions.

She had never known her Head of House to make an idle threat, but it somehow still caught her completely flat-footed when he requested she meet him in a disused classroom close to his office one Sunday morning soon after that. They never met on Sundays, as Snape usually reserved that day for marking and preparatory work for his classes. The location was odd, too, and if she'd received the message any other way than straight from the professor's mouth she might have been suspicious.

When she saw the wizard Snape had brought with him, she could only think that she ought to have been suspicious after all. Lord Riddle, in all his richly tailored glory, stood calmly in the center of the empty room, as though he often spent his time lying in wait for unsuspecting third-years. She resisted the urge to run a hand nervously through her hair, instead closing the door gently behind her and turning to her Head of House with questioning eyes. She was entirely content to ignore the well-dressed elephant in the room—forever, if she had to.

"Am I early?" she asked, despite knowing full well there was no plausible reason for Snape to be meeting with Riddle in the same place he'd asked to meet her unless her day was about to go very downhill.

"You are perfectly on time, as well you should be," Snape said, beckoning her to step forward to where the two men waited. "You are acquainted with Lord Riddle, are you not?"

"Tangentially," she said, completely confused as to what Riddle wanted with her—for surely that was the only explanation for Snape setting up a meeting on their behalf.

"Our acquaintance is not so peripheral as that, Mr. Black," Riddle said. He was eyeing her speculatively, which perplexed her, as she believed Riddle had already taken her measure and found her to be a simple, if terribly unlucky, child.

"If you say so, Mr. Riddle," she allowed, feeling petty amusement as Riddle's brow ticked with displeasure at hearing the lack of title. He was no doubt accustomed to more respect from his Slytherins, but she would hold her respect until she knew what he wanted. If he intended to go back on their deal, she would have to find a way to dissuade him.

"He's less polite than I remember," Riddle said mildly, giving Snape a chiding glance. "Your influence, no doubt."

"The boy is remarkably headstrong, for one who knows so little of the world," Snape said, keeping his eyes on Rigel as he spoke, that she might see exactly how annoyed she'd made him lately.

"Thus the need for my interference," Riddle said, chuckling softly.

"What interference is that, Mr. Riddle?" Rigel asked, wary at receiving their combined focus.

"You have not told him why I am here," Riddle observed.

"I believe he would have come less readily were he to be forewarned of my intentions," Snape said, voice wry.

"This is an ambush," Rigel concluded suddenly. "Why?"

"You have not kept your word—" Snape began.

"My magic again?" Rigel bit off a sharp sigh. "I told you I need time, Professor."

"I do not believe you," Snape said. "You have dug your heels in against learning to control your magic from the start. It is clear that if you are not made to do it, you will see no progress."

Rigel had nothing to say to that, as it was, she had to admit quietly, the truth. Still, she didn't like being cornered. "What has this to do with Mr. Riddle? Is this your way of forcing my hand—revealing me to those whose interest I sought to avoid, so that my reasons for avoiding the issue become null? What's next? Are you going to take me to Dumbledore's office and parade me before him as well?"

"Watch your tongue, Rigel," Snape growled. He seemed to be saying it more for Riddle's sake than for any want of her respect in that moment. Snape's face was laced with understanding, and she forced herself not to be angry by focusing on the evidence that he was not trying to bring her many plans to ruin. "I have not betrayed you. I brought Lord Riddle here to help you. He has the experience you need to guide you in this."

"Indeed," Riddle cut in. "I was young once. I remember the feeling, the sudden influx of power that came, almost over night, like a blessing from the world. It can be intimidating, at times, the knowledge that you are destined for great things, but it is not something to be ignored—embrace it! This power was meant for you, Mr. Black. Once you accept that, all these doubts will disappear." He accompanied the last with a wave of his hand that was entirely dismissive of her 'doubts.'

"With all due respect, Sir, I don't think that's true," Rigel said, thoroughly unimpressed.

"That is because you are inexperienced in the ways of the world," Riddle sneered. "You know nothing yet of the incredible opportunity that power brings."

"Those aren't the sort of opportunities I'm looking for," Rigel said, attempting to diplomatically convey that she did not, in fact, aspire to be like Riddle in any way.

"Then you are a fool, Rigel Black," Riddle said. "Unfortunately for you, a fool is not something we can afford to abide." She didn't like the sound of that at all, and fought briefly with the impulse to step back toward the door.

"Lord Riddle, perhaps—" Snape attempted to cut in, but was silenced by an imperious hand.

"No, Severus. The boy is being unconscionably narrow-sighted. This is not about you, Mr. Black," Riddle said sternly. "Slytherin needs strong wizards to represent it—the more the better. The Black Family needs a powerful Heir to steer it back in the proper direction. The politics of this cannot be ignored. You must learn quickly, and take your place at the helm of this new generation, for the good of our world."

She could see Snape wincing from the corner of her eye, and it occurred to her that this was not what he'd anticipated in inviting Riddle here. Her Head of House must know that this was exactly what Rigel did not want to hear. If anything could have solidified her suspicion that powerful magic attracted attention and trouble, this was it. With the cat out of the bag, so to speak, what was she to do now?

Riddle was saying something else, something about power being the ultimate decider in everything, but all Rigel could think was—did the politician really think her so stupid that she might believe he had some altruistic compassion for the House of Slytherin itself, or the Black Family in particular? It was painfully obvious he meant the SOW Party needed her power, needed to shift the balance toward Dark politics once more. Did he think because she was a friend to his sycophants' heirs that she would toe the line politically and socially as well? Had she given him that impression somehow?

"So if you will not think of yourself, of the doors and avenues that open before the command of true power, then think of others—of your House and your Family," Riddle concluded, smiling in a way that she was sure had won him many favors in the past.

"It is others I think of when I choose not to use all my magic," Rigel said, knowing that someone like Riddle was not likely to understand, but also knowing that it was the only truth she could give him. "Their safety. The integrity of their relationships with me. My magic would put these things in jeopardy, if it could. I will not risk attempting to use it for something as abstract as political gain."

Riddle's face darkened, and there was a shadow of the boy that she had met in the Chamber of Secrets staring out at her suddenly. "Your obstinance leaves me no choice, Black."

"It is not your choice, Sir," she said, wary.

"Magic belongs to the world, Mr. Black," Riddle said, a sinister smirk that she did not trust at all tucked into his cheek.

Rigel frowned, wondering why Riddle thought that he spoke for the world. As she attempted to reiterate her refusal, however, Riddle's wand was in his hand and she felt a violent tug on both her gloves. They flew across the room and into Riddle's hand before she could so much as make a fist in protest. She fisted her hands afterwards, though, glaring at Riddle and taking several steps backward in open refusal.

Another twitch of Riddle's wand and her basilisk scale ring grew loose and slippery, wiggling its way off her finger of its own accord. Even as she tried to hold it with her other hand, it jerked away and finally broke free to join her gloves in Riddle's hand. He looked down at the ring curiously. "Basilisk scale. Pretty, but not what we're after, is it?" His wand moved but the suppressor on her finger didn't budge. After Snape had threatened to make her take it off, she'd had Binny make extra certain it could not be taken off by anyone but herself. No doubt the house-elf magic was putting up an unexpected fight against Riddle's summons.

"Well-warded little thing, isn't it?" Riddle said, too casually. His unconcerned tone made her half-afraid he would simply cut off her entire finger. When his wand moved again, however, the ring still didn't move. Instead, it burned. Gasping, Rigel clutched her hand in pain and surprise. It felt like her ring had somehow been made molten, so hot it grew, and yet to her eyes the ring appeared unchanged. Was the spell on the ring or on her hand? Or on her mind? She couldn't focus past the agonizing searing. Her hand was twitching uncontrollably in thwarted instinct, trying and failing to remove itself from the object of its torture.

"Stop it," she panted, tears swimming to her eyes as her brain fought against the incoming sensory signals.

"It will stop when you remove it," Riddle said, voice still casual.

"Lord Riddle, this is still Dumbledore's school," Snape said sharply. She thanked him for his attempt even as she cursed him for being too beholden to Riddle to demand that he cease for her sake.

"He will notice nothing amiss," Riddle snapped. "Take the ring off, Black."

"I can't," she tried, a last, vain attempt to dissuade him. "It's spelled to be irremovable."

"You lie," Riddle said. He was plainly amused. "Fine attempt, but I can read you even without an aura. Take it off, or I will set your boots on fire."

Rigel liked her boots. Also, the pain in her hand was starting to grow mind numbing, and she realized she was fighting a losing battle. Slowly, in deference to her pride and fury, she worked the ring off her hand and slipped it into her pocket with the most annoyed scowl she could muster. She wasn't about to hand it over—the politician would probably refuse to return it on principle, even after he got whatever it was he wanted.

She wanted to continue to glare at Riddle, but her magic seized all of her attention in the next moment. It had noticed it was free. A riot occurred beneath her naval, and power, thick and furious, stormed through her with the grace of an ogre tumbling down a hill. It ran too hot in her veins, snaking through any available outlet to pour out into the air around her like air into a vacuum. The weight of it gathering around her pressed her head and shoulders down and her arms inward to curl about her ribcage protectively. It felt as though she were being squeezed on all sides. She imagined this was what being hugged by a giant who was trying to kill you would be like.

"Not so uneager after all, are you?" she heard Riddle say. Her head shot up to retort angrily that it wasn't her doing, but as her attention shifted so did her magic's attention. It swept away from her in a wave that had her pulling in deep gulps of air as the pressure around her eased. Riddle snarled in surprise, however, as the magic was suddenly upon him, pushing and tugging in equal measures at his previously immaculate hair and clothes. "That's quite enough, Mr. Black," he said firmly, his fingers tightening on his wand as he flexed his own magic to gain breathing room.

"It isn't me," Rigel snapped, her hands shaking as the magic continued to pour out of her in a rampage of freedom claimed at last. "I told you I can't control it."

"And so it happens to harass me, the object of your ire, rather than Master Snape?" Riddle shook his head in a superior way. "I don't think so. This is your doing, whether you know it or not. Now you must take control consciously."

Rigel, anger and trepidation warring in equal measure within her, attempted to call her magic back coaxingly. Please, she tried, Come back here. Settle down. The magic drew back from Riddle immediately, but it did not return docilely to her side. It turned on her with a vengeance, coursing through the air with irrepressible speed and violence, making her the center of a displeased tornado of magic. She reached out toward it gamely, a grim expression of determination on her face. She had to get it under control. Her hand had barely left her side before it was swatted back with a malevolent lash of power.

There was a raised welt on the back of her hand where she'd been struck. She stared at it for a moment in disbelief. This wasn't the magic she knew. Normally it was only unruly in use. She had never been unable to suppress it—just unable to control it once it manifested. This…it was as though the magic had at last rejected her authority completely. It no longer deigned to even be contained within her.

"Control it!" Riddle said above the sound of air slashing about her.

"I can't," Rigel gritted out. "Haven't you heard anything I've said?"

"When you believe you can't, then of course you can't," Riddle scoffed.

"People keep saying that," Rigel snapped, utterly sick of people telling her the only problem was her own perception. "Only saying 'believe in yourself' is nonsense that doesn't actually help."

"True enough," Riddle allowed, still openly amused at her expense. She hoped his perfect teeth all fell out during one of his speeches. "Start with a focus, then. Attend all your will toward one thing, one feeling, one instinct. Even if it is destructive, try and force the magic to destroy the thing you choose."

"I don't want to destroy," Rigel said, face tight.

"It is easier to begin that way," Riddle said, mockingly patient. "Once you can control the more…passionate aspects of power, the technical applications will follow. Now, choose something to direct its attention to—not me, if you please—and will it. It will answer."

"How?" she asked, trying to calm her mind by breathing very slowly.

"Your wand, of course," Riddle said. His arms were crossed and he gazed at her as one would a child refusing to eat its vegetables.

Harry took out her wand, which had been busy burning a hole in her pocket in response to the nearness of her magic, and pointed it at a desk on the far side of the room, well away from Professor Snape. Riddle could get stuffed with splinters for all she cared. Her magic, perhaps drawn to the wand as electricity to a good conductor, swirled around her hand impatiently, building there until her entire forearm struggled against the currents. She hesitated on incanting the Bombardment Hex, having no way to aim reliably with her arm shaking all over the place, but the intention had scarcely entered her mind before her wand was suddenly alive with magic pouring through it. It shot out of her core as though she'd pulled the cork form a champagne bottle after shaking it vigorously, and the magic in the air around her joined it readily, merging with the spell and transforming it visibly as it flew through the air.

The magic, which resembled more closely a miniature cyclone than any spell she'd ever seen, impacted one of the pushed-aside desks and…devoured it. There was no other way to put it. The faded wood turned black upon contact with the magic, then began to dissolve as though exposed to acid, or particularly fast-working termites. In the space of a few seconds, there was nothing left of it, not even a pile of ash on the floor where it had been.

"What spell was that?" Riddle asked, the kind of awe in his voice that musicians reserved for works of Beethoven.

"Bombarda," she said, rubbing her now-sore wand arm.

Riddle frowned. "That was nothing like a Bombarda."

"My magic does what it wants," Rigel grumbled. Said magic had returned to her and was now whistling sharply in her left ear like a spoiled child, begging for another sweet. Irritably, she attempted to quell it once more, picturing it receding back into her core and laying dormant. Immediately, the wind around her picked up and sent her stumbling sideways. Okay, okay, she capitulated, raising her hands to her face to protect it as the wind took on an edge that cut through her robes in several places. When it had calmed marginally to a stern wind, she examined the rips with deep resignation. "Sirius is going to be displeased. He just had these tailored," she muttered morosely. If she asked for new ones, he'd send her Archie-sized robes and she'd have to fix the hem herself.

"Again," Riddle said decisively. "Continue focusing the destructive tendencies in your magic until you can rein it in reliably."

Rigel frowned. "I don't think it's a good idea to encourage my magic's 'destructive tendencies.' It's only going to teach it bad habits."

"That is not how magic works," Riddle said, a snide curl to his lip.

"Magic is highly impressionable," she argued.

"Children's magic is impressionable," Riddle shot back, "As is wild magic. A fully fledged wizard's is not."

She opened her mouth again, but Snape, closer now but still far enough that his robes barely stirred in the breeze of her magic, broke in at last. "Rigel, you must listen to Lord Riddle. He knows what he is doing. He dealt with this very issue himself, once."

Riddle was full on smirking as he said, "I never let my magic grow so unruly, but yes, the theory will be much the same. Now, do it again."

Seeing that she was outgunned, Rigel gracelessly jabbed her wand at a different desk and sent her magic toward it with a great mental push. The desk turned into a bust of Riddle's smiling face, then imploded.

"Very amusing," Riddle said, looking anything but. "Try it again."

Sighing, Rigel rallied her mental fortitude. This was going to be a long morning. It didn't take much time to destroy all the desks in the room, thus necessitating the men to begin conjuring targets for her magic's wrath. Snape stuck with simple pieces of furniture and the occasional straw dummy, but Riddle was especially creative. His targets inevitably took the shape of delicate china vases, stained-glass windowpanes, golden mirrors, and once an elaborate replica of Hogwarts itself done in crystal. When he conjured a live bunny, Rigel's temper, frayed thin from a pounding headache and constant struggling against the unruly tide of her magic, simply snapped. She transfigured the bunny into a viper without even pausing to think about it, sending it snapping at Riddle's ankles with a thoroughly vexed slash of her wand.

Riddle vanished the snake with a wide smile and began to clap, slowly and very patronizingly. "Well done, Mr. Black."

Realizing that her magic had obeyed an impulse that was not entirely destructive, Rigel reined in her ire and took a slow breath. She surveyed her magic for a long moment, noting that while it still encircled her in a steady current, she felt much less like she stood in the eye of a hurricane. Now it was as though she was a planet, rings of magic orbiting her body rhythmically, but not threateningly.

"See how much easier it is to control, now?" Riddle said, smiling superiorly down at her.

"I could have told you that expending a large amount of my magic makes it easier to control," Rigel said, giving an unimpressed eyebrow flick. "It is, after all, the point of the suppresser I wear. Take a large part of it away, and it isn't hard to control at all. Your way works too, but it seems idiotic to destroy a classroom every time I want to pass a Transfiguration quiz, don't you think?"

"What is idiotic," Riddle said in a low voice, coming within arm's reach of Rigel and seeming completely unaffected by the wind that buffeted his face, "is thinking that I will be intimidated by this power as others are. You would do well to set a respectful tone to your tongue before I silence it, boy."

"I respectfully do not see the practicality of such a violent method of control, Mr. Riddle," Rigel said. She refused to be intimidated by the man just because everyone else was.

"You will see when you want to see," Riddle said, eyes sliding over hers in a way that reminded her she was looking at a man rumored to be an incredibly subtle Legilimens. "Control takes time. It also required a good deal of practice. You have let it go too long, with rather predictable results. It will take dedicated attention to prune the wildness from your magic now that it has taken root."

Rigel resented the implication that her unruly magic was her own fault—it had always been that way…hadn't it? She couldn't remember why she thought so, but she was sure it wasn't something she'd caused by wearing the suppressor alone. The problems had started before that.

"That is not to say you lack potential," Riddle went on, a calculating glint now hardening his eyes. "You may yet be useful, Mr. Black, if you but stretch out your hands to the world around you. Your magic will lead you to extraordinary places, but you must first grasp the reins. I can show you how. Let me tutor you personally during your summer holiday. With my help, you could do great things."

Rigel was frozen in speechless disbelief for a long moment. Had he just…offered to mentor her? She glanced at Snape to see what he made of Riddle's unexpected suggestion, but her professor's gaze, while wide with something like shock, held neither approval nor censure. She swallowed soundlessly and scrambled for an answer that would not offend the man.

"That is very generous of you, Sir," she said, hoping he didn't pick up on how her magic became more agitated with her unease. "I must decline, however. I've made other arrangements for the summer. Also I…do not seek the sort of greatness you could help me achieve."

"Do not try my patience with this naïve insistence that power is not something you desire," Riddle said softly, a dangerous edge to his voice. "Power is a matter of necessity. It is practical to develop every talent Fate gives you."

"Even so, I do have other plans," Rigel said, making an attempt at firmness. "I'm sorry, but I will develop the rest of the control I need on my own. Thank you very much for your help today, Lord Riddle. I am in your debt."

Riddle's face was closed tight with anger, and he turned from her without another word. "Talk some sense into your student, Severus," he hissed, tossing her gloves and her other ring to the Potions master on his way out the door. "I'll be in your office."

The door shut behind him and Snape turned to her with an entirely resigned expression. "You would have me tell him no, I take it?"

Rigel grimaced a bit in sympathy, but nodded. "Sorry, Professor. I really can't agree to that, though."

"I'm not sure what he was thinking, even offering," Snape muttered. With an annoyed snort, he got out his wand and began setting the classroom to rights. "Mr. Black," he said after a minute of conjuring new desks, "I feel I should tell you…this was not entirely what I intended, in bringing Lord Riddle here today."

"I know," Rigel said quickly. It was hard to be mad at Snape for doing what he thought was best for her—especially when Riddle had so effectively drawn her ire in his direction. "I understand that you were trying to help me. I just…I hate that everything to do with my magic is so violent and destructive. Without the suppressor, I can't do anything without it blowing up in my face, and then I'm told the answer is to be so destructive that I burn through power like Draco at a tart festival—" Snape snorted in amusement, but Rigel ignored him, well into her rant now, "—and it seems so pointless when I could just wear the suppressor and not have to blow anything up, and what's the point of having all that extra magic if the only thing it's good for is mass destruction anyway?"

She shoved her hand into her pocket and took out the suppressor ring, flinching slightly as her magic picked up around her and began oscillating wildly back and forth, making her stumble a bit as she struggled to get the ring back on her finger without dropping it. When she tried pushing it on, however, a pressure built up around her finger that blocked it, like a hundred miniscule gusts of wind all rushing around her finger madly. It burned terribly where the friction from the wind scraped against the tender skin left by Riddle's earlier attempt to remove the ring, and she whimpered in a way she knew was pathetic at the renewed pain.

"I can't even get this stupid thing on," she whispered, blinking back moisture from her eyes. She would not cry in front of her Head of House like a child. She was just so frustrated by it all. She wanted to crawl into a dark hole and stay there for a week or two. She'd rather do anything but deal with her magic for a single moment longer. "I'm so sick of this," she said tiredly.

Pale, spindly fingers covered her own, stopping her attempt at forcing the ring any further. Rigel relaxed, glad that one thing, at least, had been taken out of her hands. As she ceased trying to put the suppressor on, the pressure of her magic eased, confused by the sudden lack of direction in her mind, no doubt. In the wake of that ebb, Snape slid the ring onto her finger swiftly, not giving her magic any time to react. She felt the roar of her power as it sank into her skin and seeped back into her core; echoes of anger rang in her bones, and she trembled, knowing somehow that the next time she released it, it would be worse.

"Thank you," she said, mouth a bit stiff in the aftermath of such a long, emotionally trying morning. "Sorry I snapped at you before, about bringing Riddle here. Does Dumbledore know too, now, though?"

"I cannot speak to what the headmaster does or does not know," Snape said, handing over her gloves with the ring of scale and stepping back a pace to put some distance between them once more. "Lord Riddle had some business with the headmaster today in regards to an event they are cooperating to organize in the coming months. He stopped by to see me in my office, as he usually does on the rare occasion he visits the school, and we had a very long and involved discussion on the merits of regulating the migration patterns of certain magical species of birds." At Rigel's small smile, Snape cleared his throat uncomfortably. "When Lord Riddle told me of his visit, I admit I thought it opportune. It was clear to me that you needed motivation of some kind to take control of your magic completely. I…believed you might relate to another who had dealt with the same sort of problem. It was not my intention to corner you, though I see now how it may have appeared. I merely wished you to understand that your situation is not unique."

As that was probably the closest Snape could get to saying, 'I wanted you to know you aren't alone,' Rigel was touched. Any lingering resentment she felt at his highhandedness melted away, and she summoned the most grateful, reassuring smile she was able. "Thanks, Professor. I'll…work on my magic, all right? If only to prevent you summoning Lord Riddle on me again." She hitched up her mouth on one side at the last, to let him know she was joking, and that he was already forgiven.

"See that you do," Snape said shortly. His gruff tone was utterly belied by the spots of color high on his cheeks. "If that is all, I must go make a very powerful man extremely unhappy."

"Good luck," Rigel said, grinning a bit, "I hear they bite."

"Only when provoked," Snape sneered. He left the classroom and turned in the direction of his office, while Rigel turned toward the kitchens. She was going to eat a bar of chocolate the size of her head, then think about everything that had just happened. Then she was going to sleep. Possibly for years.

-0

[SsSsSs]

-0

How long had it been since his plans last resulted in unmitigated disaster? He pondered this in wry self-deprecation as he parted ways with his student. It been some time, he noted, since he misread a situation so egregiously. No. Not the situation. Riddle. Lips pressed into a thin line of displeasure, he was in no mood to find the man lounging behind his desk as he entered the room. Riddle did not bother to stand as Severus entered, so Severus conjured an intimidating armchair and sank into it with a scowl.

"Could you have been any more confrontational?" Severus asked, very interested to know why Riddle had completely disregarded his advice and suggestions for dealing with Rigel.

"I could have cut out his tongue for his insolence," Riddle said, the smallest of smiles playing in the corner of one cheek. It relaxed Severus minutely to know that the man was not as angry as he had seemed. Why put on a show for the boy's benefit? Did he think he could scare Rigel Black into submission? The child had killed a basilisk, for Salazar's sake.

"I requested your assistance in this matter so that you could calm the boy's fears," Severus said, forcing patience into his words. "You were to make the magic seem normal, not terrorize him and then draw out its destructive energies—do not think I missed that little manipulation, Lord Riddle."

"It isn't normal," Riddle scoffed, "Nor should it be treated as such. It is extraordinary. He will be extraordinary, if he ever gets his head on straight."

"And riling him up is supposed to help straighten him out, is it? You were feeding the restlessness in his magic," he said angrily. "What is going to happen when the energy you mingled with his is absorbed by his core?"

"Rigel Black could use a little more restlessness," Riddle informed him. "It will give him drive."

"Or drive him mad," Severus snapped.

"I didn't give him that much." Riddle was openly restraining an eye-roll. "Just a little nudge."

"In the wrong direction," Severus seethed. "Could you not see the trouble he already has with it? The magic is so detached from his will that it was physically injuring the boy. Making his magic wilder is only going to make it harder for him to control. That is the precise converse of what I asked you to do."

"I know what I am doing, Severus," Riddle said, a warning in his tone that Severus easily ignored.

"Whatever you are doing is irrelevant to my point," he spat. "That is my student. I decide what is best for him, not you. You overstep your bounds, Lord Riddle."

"My bounds?" Riddle clutched both armrests and leaned forward on a hiss. "Do not ssseek to inssstruct me on my limitsss, Ssseverusss." It was as close to Parseltongue as Riddle could come while still being intelligible, and it was always a sign of grave danger, but Severus was not finished.

"You hold dominion over me, not the child," he said, nostrils flaring with rage. "I stood by as you tormented him physically and emotionally in the vain belief that you had a purpose that served his best interests, but that is the last time I will do so."

"Your lack of understanding does not reflect upon my methods' validity," Riddle said.

"I understand the result well enough," Severus said. His eyes narrowed to catch Riddle's next expression. "His magic was so wild at the end that he could not re-don his suppressor. He nearly broke a finger trying."

The fleeting surprise that flickered in Riddle's eyes was the only thing that saved the man from the full infliction of Severus' ire. "That is impossible. Magic is not intelligent in the way you are implying."

"That's what I used to say about Rigel's magic," Severus said flatly. "It seems I shall be reconsidering that opinion. You would do well to reconsider your approach with him, as well. At this moment it is unlikely he will willingly come within ten feet of you. Somehow I doubt that was your intention."

Riddle scowled. "Cease, Severus, your point is made. I will consider your words. I must reject your assumption that the boy is yours alone to influence, however. Our plans may require his allegiance—and not just to you."

"Prepare to be disappointed," Severus said, cynically amused. "You know very little of Rigel, it seems, if you think he will be swayed to any political agenda. The boy cares nothing for politics."

"Do not sound so proud, Severus," Riddle admonished slyly. "You once felt similarly, did you not? Look at you now. A Party man, unless I am very much mistaken."

"Our circumstances are not the same." Severus felt an old bitterness churning like acid in his gut. "Rigel has strong familial ties, much stronger than the ties of friendship he has forged in Slytherin." Even as he said it, Severus was not so sure of the truth in that. Many things contradicted that idea: the strange social dissembling between Rigel and his father, the singular academic interests that isolated him still further, the distance between the depth of his talent and his family's ability to even comprehend it.

"New ties can easily replace old ones," Riddle said, leaning back now to look across the desk from beneath lowered eyelids. "You could be a father figure, if you but put forth the appropriate effort, Severus." Severus immediately squashed the ambiguous feelings that bloomed at such words said aloud, but not before Riddle sensed them. "You'd make a good role model for the boy, Severus. You deserve such a child to teach, to foster and mold as though he were your own son."

Damn the man's cunning. He never failed to root out the most vulnerable parts of a person, no matter how well concealed. "The boy does not look to adults for personal guidance," he said after a long moment, ignoring the sting of his own words. "That is why you will find it so difficult to manipulate him to your side. He seeks only academic appreciation; no other acclaim even mildly interests him."

"Hence the need to motivate him through necessity," Riddle said, tapping a finger on the desk pointedly. "If he thinks he can avoid an issue, he will, is this not so? I have noticed that trait in conversations with the boy; always he sidesteps when he senses the approach of confrontation—except, of course, when he is motivated by a principle greater than himself." The older man seemed to be talking almost to himself, now, and Severus did not disturb him—if Riddle wished to speak aloud his plans, the better for Severus. "Perhaps that is the leverage I need. If he will not strive for himself, perhaps he can be made to strive for another…"

Riddle lapsed into a pensive silence, and Severus knew better than to interrupt him. Riddle's thoughts were precious, and those who intruded upon them learned swiftly of the cost they incurred.

"That girl," Riddle spoke again, this time glancing in Severus' direction to let him know the question was not rhetorical. "The Potter girl—Black is close to her, is he not?"

"Extremely," Severus agreed. "They were raised as siblings, and appear to esteem one another before most others, for whatever reason. You think to use the girl to motivate him?" He could not articulate how he felt about that idea. It would depend on the nature of the motivation, he supposed.

"Perhaps," Riddle said vaguely, clearly still in the process of generating plans. "There is something…off about the combination of the two. I haven't grasped the exact trigger, but many things incite my suspicions. They look remarkably alike, and yet I have heard no rumors of infidelity or conspiracy regarding either the Potters or the late Lady Black. Then there is their dovetailing academic interests. What fostered such intellectual tendencies in a family of brash-headed Gryffindors? Something doesn't add up."

"There is a rumor," Severus offered, his lip curling at the distaste he felt in relating gossip of any kind. Riddle was the sort to demand any and all information pertinent to a discussion implicitly, however, no matter the seeming triviality of it. "Regulus related it to me in a desire to know if I found any merit in its claims. There is a belief that the boy possesses some sort of passive metamorphic ability that has affected his physical development somehow."

"I have never heard of such a thing." Riddle frowned.

"Nor I," Severus agreed, inclining his head. "And yet they do look uncannily alike. His father is apparently of the opinion that Rigel's close bond with his cousin brought out an unconscious desire to identify with her. It would explain why they have similar interests, and, if there is any truth in the metamorphic talent, why they appear as twins despite having different parents."

"Have you seen evidence to support this theory?" Riddle asked.

Severus hesitated. When Riddle caught the pause and lifted a single, demanding eyebrow, he was forced to say, "I thought I noticed his features blurring once. When I looked again, however, they were as they always are. It may have been a trick of the light—or a simple muscle contortion; he was ill at the time."

"Or the illness may have caused the magic to slip for an instant," Riddle mused. "You checked him for Polyjuice?"

"Every day for a week," Severus snorted, still annoyed at that erroneous suspicion. It had been a colossal waste of time, coming up with flimsy pretexts for keeping Rigel under his watch longer than an hour successively.

"Normally I would dismiss a claim like this—magic does not behave in such a way," Riddle said, frowning. "To even suggest that one's magic might accidentally, unconsciously, yet consistently enact a physical change for years—one that evolves over time, no less—is preposterous. And yet…apparently Rigel Black is rewriting the rules of magic before our eyes." There was no small amount of frustration in Riddle's expression, and Severus felt some small measure of satisfaction at the sight of it. Welcome, he wanted to say, to the club.

"If this is the case, then the boy has an unnatural dependency on this halfblood girl," Riddle added, now looking sharply displeased. "He will have to be broken of that connection if he is to move forward."

Severus could not suppress the scowl that moved his features at those blunt words of portent.

Riddle merely smiled at his disapproval. "Weren't you better off, Severus, once it was all said and done? Surely you don't regret the doors that opened once that one swung closed behind you?"

Severus drew his best sneer to the fore. "Life's choices are absolute. There is no room for regret in the well-organized mind."

"So noncommittal, Severus," Riddle complained, smiling fully now. "Will I ever know the depths of your soul?"

"Find an easier soul to plumb," Severus suggested sharply.

"Oh, I intend to," Riddle said, drawing himself up a bit straighter. An unconscious attempt to intimidate whatever he was thinking about, Severus had guessed from experience. "Where is the rat?"

Now they came to Riddle's true purpose in coming to Hogwarts, Severus recognized. The pretense of meeting with Dumbledore was just that; Riddle had all summer to plan his little tournament. He wanted Pettigrew dealt with now.

"He will be at the noon meal," Severus assured him.

"Good." Riddle's eyes flashed. "I want him to see my face and know that he is not so untouchable here in Dumbledore's castle as he thinks."

"The headmaster will notice if you curse the man," Severus reminded him. At times Riddle's thirst for vengeance overrode his otherwise careful scheming.

"I don't need to curse him." Riddle smirked. "He is a scurrying rodent. When he recognizes my ire in the flesh he will crawl back of his own accord like the sniveling coward he is. He has only lasted so long in this rebellion because he is removed from the reality of his transgression. How easy it is for the mouse to laugh at the snake while it sleeps safe in its den. When the snake comes to call, the mouse laughs no longer. Pettigrew's spinelessness will reveal itself shortly, Severus. He will be back at my side before the month is out."

Severus was not so sure. He did not know Pettigrew well, thank Merlin, but what he had observed over the past months did not mesh with what he thought he knew of the man. Something had changed him. He stood straighter as he walked, made eye contact in the hallways with Severus when before he would have scurried in the opposite direction at his approach.

Perhaps sensing his doubt, Riddle said sharply, "If he does not repent, my next visit will not be so lenient. He is fortunate that I do not wish to cause a scene at present. It is not beyond my political capital to do so, however. Tell him that, won't you, Severus?"

"I will attempt to convey the depth of your bereavement at his departure, My Lord," Severus drawled.

"Your sense of humor knows no wisdom, Severus," Riddle sighed.

"That is why you recruited me, I believe," Severus reminded him.

"It is why I allow you to berate me, at any rate," Riddle said, resignation in every syllable.

"Criticism is healthy," Severus told him.

"Is that what you tell your students?" Riddle asked, amused.

"Some more often than others," Severus snorted.

Riddle stood with a fluid grace that had made more than one person accuse him of vampiric inclinations. "Come, let us adjourn to the Great Hall. I have a rodent to intimidate and you have a student to check on."

Severus scowled as he followed Riddle out of the office. He had no intention of seeking out Rigel at lunch like an overprotective parent after his child's first day of school. When they entered the Hall and he didn't see Rigel seated at the Slytherin table, he told himself firmly that he was not worried. He steadfastly ignored Riddle's annoyingly knowing smile to the contrary. The man was too nosy for Severus' patience. He would be well rid of him that afternoon.

-0

[PpPpPp]

-0

He hadn't expected to see him here, of all places. There was a part of him that thought he should be alarmed by this unexpected occurrence, but most of him was strangely calm. Unaffected. Uninterested. He knew if he thought about it that this was unusual. He would have been afraid, he knows, not long ago, but that feeling was a lifetime away. It didn't belong to him anymore.

He knew it was the Jewel, giving him power, courage. It focused his mind on what was important, and Tom Riddle wasn't important anymore. What was important…? The Jewel. The Jewel was important. His mind turned away from the man sending daggers through his eyes from just a few seats down the table. His vision narrowed to the prophecy. Why hadn't he made a copy? He could remember much of it, from poring obsessively over each line for weeks after he'd forced the centaur to tell him what it knew—the Jewel was good at forcing creatures to obey him. He almost never lost control anymore. He'd turned two acromantula from their intention to make a meal of him the other night. His progress was impressive. The satisfaction filled him up, making the food he mechanically swallowed almost irrelevant to his hunger. Then dissatisfaction, stronger and more biting, gnawed at him. He still hadn't unlocked its full powers. The wyrm still resisted…

A debilitating depression gripped him, sending his fork stabbing into his potato with something like frustrated rage. After a moment, the feeling passed, and he was able to focus his thoughts again. The prophecy. The prophecy was the key. It said he had to prove his right to dominion by dominating others. He was trying. He could subjugate most of the creatures in the forest, now. It wasn't enough, though. He had to 'reign beyond the weak' or something…what else could he try? What would prove him worthy? He had to take control of something powerful. Just dominating magical creatures clearly wasn't enough. 'Master the other' it had said. Maybe…maybe he was supposed to master someone else, not something else. Another wizard…?

The feeling of greed was swift, rushing into his veins eagerly. That was the Jewel, he knew. He could feel it burning in his pocket, even through the mokeskin pouch he kept it in to avoid having it summoned or stolen from his person. He began to smile down at his plate. If the Jewel liked that idea, then he must be on the right track. His smile faded once more as he looked around himself and wondered how he was to accomplish such a thing. He was in no position of power. Those ancient pharaohs had it easy—they could boss their slaves around all day and no one would bat an eye. Who could Peter control?

He looked speculatively up and down the staff table. He had wizards in plenty, but…the likes of Albus Dumbledore? Tom Riddle? Severus Snape? Filius Flitwick? Who was he kidding? The depression swallowed him violently, weighing on his shoulders like a boulder. What a hopeless task. His eyes lit on his old friend, Remus. The sandy-haired man ate sedately, but he knew that was a façade. Peter would be a fool to try subjugating a werewolf. It was a shame, for his old friend was trusting, even now. He might have been able to convince him…convince him…of what? He had something to tell Remus. Something important, a warning…he shook his head. Focus. Find a wizard to control.

His frustration ate at him. Anyone with enough magic to qualify as 'beyond weak' would not be controlled by him. He may have to start small. Like with the creatures. Work his way up. Yes. Not all wizards were on the level of Albus Dumbledore, after all. He could start with a woman. Not McGonagall, obviously, but someone easy to fool. A weak woman, or…a child, even. His eyes lit greedily on the expanse of students chattering boisterously there below him. It was so obvious! Their innocent faces were like beacons to his desperation. It would not be so difficult. He only had to decide which one…

-0

[HpHpHp]

-0

When March dwindled to a close, Rigel welcomed April with mixed feelings. On the one hand, everything about the term so far had been exhausting. She was starting to feel the toll of the time-turner daily. She couldn't quite bring herself to stop using it so frequently—it was addicting, in a way, knowing that she had so much more time than everyone else. She knew it was borrowed time—she was aging, even if no one else would be able to tell. It would be a relief, as well as a shame, when the device was taken away from her for the summer. On the other hand, she was learning so much, and progressing so quickly in her dueling, even without being able to use most of the tricks Leo had taught her. The coming of April meant only two months left at Hogwarts. It meant only two more months with her friends. It also meant she had two months to get useful information on what Pettigrew was doing with the jewel—something more than circumstantial conjecture and one cryptic poem.

The big things lurked in the background, however, largely detached from the day-to-day life that she considered 'real.' As she sat in the Gryffindor common room going over Transfiguration theory with Percy, she didn't feel at all connected to the version of herself the Map said was studying in the Room of Requirement, nor to the version that she'd glimpsed walking toward the library at roughly the same time she had been going to dinner. The real version of her—the one that interacted with others, the one who walked without an invisibility cloak and whose whereabouts were kept track of—lived a simple life. She spent time with her friends, studied, ate, and slept. Today, she listened to Percy pontificate on the half-life of semi-permanent Transfigurations.

"So it's really dependent on the material you start with, as much as it is the amount of power that goes into the spell," Percy was saying, gesturing with his quill to a table full of example figures for various materials.

"These numbers are directly proportionate to a material's magical coefficient," Rigel said suddenly, bending closer. "Look, the half-life of walnut is one third that of cypress—because the magical coefficient of cypress is one third that of walnut!"

"The what?" Percy asked, alarmed. "That isn't in any of my review sheets. Is that NEWT material?"

He looked ready to burst a vein, so Rigel said quickly, "It's an Alchemy term, not Transfigurations." NEWT students were growing increasingly touchy, with exams coming up in a matter of weeks.

"What do you know about Alchemy?" Percy asked, settling down visibly and adjusting his glasses calmly as though he hadn't almost taken her head off. "I did know it was related to Transfiguration, but I've never heard them compared mathematically."

"I read about it in my spare time," Rigel said, carefully casual. "In Alchemy, you have to calculate the amount of magic needed to change however many units of the starting material into however many units of the ending material. It's all about balancing materials and magic. Alchemists have worked out standard coefficients for measuring the amount of magic needed to transform materials. They describe how resistant a certain material is to transformation. This sounds like the same thing, only in reverse. How long a material stays Transfigured in a Semi-permanent Transfiguration is inversely related to how resistant the material is. The more resistant it is, the shorter the spell lasts, right?"

"Yes, that's one of the principles," Percy said. "So you're saying the rate that the magic wears off is always a perfect inverse of its magical coefficient? That's very interesting. I wonder how long it took to standardize the math like that. It would be fascinating to read a history of the development of the two fields…" He broke off with a sigh. "I don't have time, though. So much reviewing to do…"

"I'll look for some books in the library, and then tell you which one is the best so you can read it over the summer," Rigel offered.

"You don't have to—"

"I'm interested too," Rigel said firmly. "And I have tons of free time."

"Apparently," Percy said, looking jealous for a moment. "Well, anyway. Where were we?"

"You were about to tell me how being in a magically saturated environment can affect something's half-life," Rigel said.

"Right." Percy cleared his throat. "Well—"

"No one cares!"

Percy scowled across the room at where Fred and George were racing down the stairwell that led up to their dorm room. The both had gigantic hats on their heads. Fred's read, "I'm the Birthday Boy!" while George's said, "No, I Am!"

"You don't even know what we're talking about," Percy rolled his eyes.

"I know you were about to talk," Fred said, plopping down on the table with his legs crossed a moment later.

"My notes," Percy groaned, pushing Fred until he leaned far enough that the Head Boy could rescue his crumpled parchment. "Why do you always do this?"

"Ah-ah-ah," George shook his finger admonishingly as he came to rest one hip against the table on Rigel's other side. "It's our birthday, Perce. You're not allowed to be mad at us."

"You two turned my favorite quill into a hamster on my birthday," Percy said.

"That was a birthday present," George said, blinking.

"Obviously," Fred added with a grin.

"Speaking of which!" Rigel cut in, smiling widely, "I brought your presents with me." She dug into her bag quickly and produced two handsomely wrapped boxes, one green and purple for Fred and one orange and blue for George.

They took them almost gingerly, exchanging surreptitious glances. "What did you get us, then?" George asked, oh-so-casually.

"It's a surprise," she said sweetly. "Why don't you open them?"

"We can open them later," Fred said, laughing nervously.

"But I want to see you open them," Rigel frowned, affecting a sad sort of disappointment. "Don't you like them? I Transfigured the wrapping paper myself."

With pained grimaces, the twins began examining each box carefully. "Looking for traps?" Percy asked, snorting incredulously.

"Well…" George eyed her suspiciously. "Our pup does owe us a prank. And today is April Fool's Day. And it's our birthday. It's pretty much the golden opportunity for revenge."

Fred nodded in agreement, peeling a corner of the paper back on his box and tensing dramatically, as though waiting for a bomb to go off.

"Would I do that to my two favorite tricksters on their birthday?" Rigel asked, one hand placed over her heart in acute dismay.

"I hope so," Percy muttered, smirking a bit.

"We should probably get it over with," George sighed.

"We do deserve it," Fred said, in a tone that would have suited a soldier marching off to war in defense of his homeland.

They ripped back the paper as one and…nothing happened. They stared in confusion down at two identical, completely nondescript cardboard boxes. Exchanging another long look, they each took hold of a flap and pulled, wincing, outward. The boxes opened and a plethora of sweets spilled out rather anticlimactically onto the table.

"Uh…" Fred pawed through his box quickly, noting the wide range of assortment. "Thanks, Rigel."

"Some of them I got at Hogsmeade," she said, pointing them out, "But some of them I baked myself in the kitchens, see?"

George pulled out a bag of fudge with a most nervous expression. "Looks good, Rigel. Thanks."

"Try a piece," Rigel encouraged them, smiling. "It's really good. You like chocolate, right?"

"They love chocolate fudge," Percy said helpfully, grinning along, "Why, at Yule they ate a half a pound each!"

"I, um, had a big dinner," George said warily.

"Me too," Fred said, smiling apologetically. "We'll have some later."

She pulled out The Look. Eyes wide, mouth trembling slightly, she blinked once. "You…don't like it, do you?" She bit the smallest corner of her lip. "It's okay. You…you don't have to eat it. Give it away, I don't mind." She looked down into her lap as though she simply could not bear to look them in the eye as she said it. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to gross you out. You probably think a potions maker can't bake anything that doesn't taste like slugs."

"We'll have some!" George said desperately, clapping a hand on her shoulder. "Really. We just wanted to save it for later—greedy, that's us, right Fred?"

"Right," Fred gulped. When Rigel looked up she saw him gazing resignedly at the fudge. "Can't wait."

"Oh, good!" Rigel smiled brightly, clapping her hands twice just to see the twins flinch.

They slumped in defeat and each took a chocolate square from their bags. They held them up and gave a 'cheers'-ing motion that bumped the pieces together before tilting their heads back and swallowing the fudge as though knocking back a vial of Skele-gro. They both froze, eyes closed, as a few seconds stretched into a minute, then a minute more. Eventually, they gazed at one another with relieved confusion, then looked at Rigel suspiciously.

"How was it?" Rigel asked, still smiling.

"Ah, pretty good, I think," George said, scratching his head with a slight frown.

"You ate it too fast to tell?" Rigel laughed. "Well, have another piece. Maybe this one will be more memorable."

The twins paled at her words, and shuddered minutely. The suspense appeared to be actually killing them. "We'll eat the rest later," George choked out after a silent inner struggle. "It was greattoseeyouRigelbye!" He ran off toward the dorms with his box of sweets, Fred fast behind him.

"Happy birthday!" she called, waving exaggeratedly after them.

When Percy stopped laughing, he said, "What's really wrong with the sweets?"

"Nothing at all," Rigel said loftily.

"Nothing…?" Percy shook his head, "Really? You know they're going up to the secret lab they think I don't know about to test them extensively, don't you?"

"Then I guess the joke's on them for being so suspicious," Rigel said, smirking a bit.

"That's…pretty funny, actually," Percy said, smirking back. "They'll agonize over this all night. It's a good way to get them back for that Valentine's Day thing."

"Oh, this isn't my revenge," Rigel said, affecting a surprised tone. "Oh, no. My vengeance can wait until they've driven themselves positively mad with suspense. When they start seeing shadows around every corner, when they start questioning if any of it is real or if it's just their paranoia—that's when they won't see me coming."

"Mother always said to beware a Slytherin's revenge," Percy said, looking uneasy, yet impressed.

"She should have said to beware a Marauder's revenge," Rigel said. "It comes ever so creatively."

"I think I'll take care not to stand too close to my younger brothers for a while," Percy remarked, smiling a bit unsurely.

"See that you do." Rigel smiled back.

-0

[HpHpHp]

-0

With the first week in April came yet another Ministry-mandated psychological evaluation. Snape seemed entirely jaded with the process at this point, running through the questions rapidly and without much interest. When they finished the final question, Snape sat back with a satisfied nod.

"This is very good, Rigel," Snape said. She blinked at the use of her first name, which she didn't often hear from her Head of House. "Most students who have been afforded this privilege do not do half as well. Many end up running themselves ragged trying to keep track of everything, and almost all have to deal with increasingly suspicious classmates by this point. Yet you say you haven't been spotted even once somewhere you weren't supposed to be. It is impressive—if worrying, considering that it means your skill at sneaking about it is much greater than I am comfortable with as your Head of House."

She smiled at the wry joke. "What can I say? My classmates are quite unobservant." Also, she had an Invisibility Cloak and the Marauder's Map, which made avoiding the problems that came up for other students granted the use of a time-turner rather easy.

"So it would seem." Snape shook his head disapprovingly. "I shall have to remedy that, if my Slytherins are to be worthy of the name."

"Don't think too badly of them," Rigel said, smirking a bit, "We can't all be paragons of this noble House. It would be unfair to hold them to my standards of Slytherinness."

"Would it now?" Snape asked, sardonic.

"Oh yes," Rigel said sadly. "They'd have to be able to cure incurable sicknesses, slay basilisks, take twelve classes at once while winning the hearts of the people, and talk to snakes."

"Is that all?" Snape raised an eyebrow. "Two Gryffindor feats, one hallmark of Ravenclaw, one ambition worthy of a Hufflepuff, and a single genetic accident to mark your true House. I can't say I'm impressed."

"You haven't heard about my stunning good looks," Rigel said seriously. "I can melt a heart at ten paces."

"Another genetic happenstance," Snape said dismissively. "Your father had looks, for all the good it did him."

Amazed at such a casual, barely contemptuous mention of Sirius, she eagerly continued the banter. "He did land Mum. She was an amazing witch."

After a slightly uncomfortable pause, Snape lifted his chin at her. "Is that your plan, then? Use your looks to attract a mate and then—what? Bask in your self-proclaimed Slytherinness?"

Rigel wrinkled her nose. "What an awful picture." After a laugh, she said, "No, I'm actually hoping everyone forgets about all that nonsense. It's such rubbish, what people say about me."

Snape looked ready to refute that statement, but instead he continued playing along. Someone must have put him in a good mood that evening. "And how will you catch your intended prey if you give up all your remarkable Slytherinness and good looks?" He sneered at the phrase 'good looks' as though it meant 'acute maculopapular dermatitis.'

Rigel shook her head on a self-deprecating chuckle. "I don't have to land anyone—I already have, didn't you know?"

"What?" Snape's eyebrows drew together sharply. "What are you talking about, Rigel?"

Rigel blinked. She didn't know why Snape sounded so serious all of a sudden. She thought they'd been joking around. "I just meant I'm engaged to Harry, that's all. I thought everyone knew."

"You are engaged to your cousin?" Snape sounded completely incredulous. "I thought Black dispensed with that sort of thing? Does he want your children to come out like Bellatrix?"

Rigel's eyebrows rose at that blunt implication. "Our relation is relatively distant," she said after a moment. It's not so unusual."

"It seems entirely premature," Snape said, sneering slightly in his disapproval. She wondered why it mattered to him who she married.

"We've known each other our whole lives," Rigel attempted to explain. "It's not like I don't know Harry."

"Your cousin is all you know," Snape said. "You cling to her like a security blanket."

"I what?" Rigel let out an incredulous laugh. "What gave you that idea?"

"You think the world of her, do not deny it," Snape said sternly. "You two do everything together or for one another, you look like each other, and now you want to marry one another? It's absurd. Whatever gave you the idea that you should tie yourself to the first person you can stand? Just because you know one another well does not mean you are well suited. There is an entire world of people who can show you different perspectives and give you new ideas. It is ridiculous to deny yourself even the possibility of discovering something new about yourself simply for the sake of convenience."

"It's really not like that," Rigel backpedaled, very confused at how this conversation had gotten so weird.

"Whose idea was this?" Snape demanded. "Your father's? Is he really so eager to merge his and Potter's lineages that he would force—"

"No!" Rigel exclaimed, "It's nothing like that, Professor, really. It's just—it's a formality at this point, that's all. I'm not being forced into anything, and neither is Harry."

Snape scoffed. "Harriett Potter should be so fortunate as th—" he paused suddenly, eyes narrowed in thought. "That's it, isn't it? The engagement is a ploy your family has come up with for her sake." His eyes flashed in the most potent of rage. "How dare they use you as some kind of shield against the realities of Potter's choice in bride. Your future is not a birthday cake, to be given out in shares to whoever comes sniffing—"

"Professor!" Rigel raised her voice sharply, realizing he was working himself into a fury. "Please calm down." At his silent glare, she smiled reassuringly. "Thank you for being concerned, but it is misplaced in this case. My future is not in any danger of being, um, eaten by party guests…or whatever that metaphor at the end was. Honestly. I'm sorry I brought it up. It's not important, and it doesn't matter to me at all one way or another. So…you don't have to get mad on my behalf, okay?"

"Someone should," Snape growled.

"I appreciate it," Rigel said again. "I just don't think it's necessary at this point. If I ever feel like my love life is being unduly infringed upon, I shall inform you immediately." They stared at one another for a long moment, and both seemed to realize how ridiculous that sounded. Snape looked away with a snort, and Rigel let out a breathless laugh. "Wow. That was cheesy," she said. "Sorry."

"It is I who should apologize," Snape said, unusually magnanimous. He had seemed nicer, somehow, since that morning with Riddle. Maybe he thought he had to make it up to her. Rigel almost preferred the stern taskmaster she was accustomed to, though. He at least wasn't confusing.

"Let's forget this conversation even happened," Rigel said. "I have to get back before curfew. See you tomorrow, Professor."

"Good evening, Mr. Black," Snape said, sounding more defeated than dismissive.

She left his office wondering if it wasn't Snape who needed the psych evaluation. He had definitely been off, lately. At least around her.

Once she was a fair distance away, she got out the Map and searched for a particular dot. If she wasn't mistaken, it would be somewhere around the Quidditch pitch…there. Still in the stands, as usual. Flint was incredibly predictable, at least in regards to his post-practice routine. Draco was on his way toward the Slytherin common room, so she took the long way through the dungeons to avoid him. He would have questions if he saw her heading away from the common room at this time of night.

After dodging a couple of prefects who had begun patrolling early, Rigel slipped out of the front doors and hurried through the chilly night down to the pitch. Flint was halfway up the stands, scribbling away on a roll of parchment. He looked up as her boots echoed on the stairs, relaxing a bit when he recognized her.

"Come to harass me about spending too much time on Quidditch and not enough on NEWT prep?" he asked lazily, still writing. "You can forget it. Pansy already gave me an earful."

Rigel chuckled. "She usually knows what's best for people. I've actually come to take some of that NEWT prep off your hands, though. Do you have this week's assignments?"

"With me?" Flint asked, looking incredulous. After a pause in which Rigel raised her eyebrows expectantly, he barked out a laugh. "Yeah, I've got them. I usually mail them after practice. No witnesses this late."

"How do you get past the prefects?" she asked, curious.

"I glare at them until they go away," Flint grunted. "Unless it's that walking rulebook Weasley. Him I have to hex."

She favored him with an unimpressed look. "The assignments, Flint?"

He dug deep into one of his pockets and pulled out a wrinkled packet. "That's all of them."

"Good," she said vaguely, paging through them.

"Rigel," Flint said, his tone making her look up. "I mean that's all of them. Ever."

She blinked. "Ever? But…it's only April."

He smirked. "From here on out it's just test-prep for seventh-years. There's some out-of-class work, but it's stuff I actually need to do."

"You're going to do test-prep work?" she wondered if she'd crossed into a parallel dimension recently.

Flint glared at her, and she could see why the prefects avoided him. "I have to get top marks if I want a job that pays enough to support my mother."

Oh. That was…very responsible of him, actually. "How is she?" she asked.

He thought about it for a moment before answering. "She writes more often, now. I think she likes working, and living alone. She seems almost at peace. I have you to thank for that."

"I was glad to help," Rigel said smiling a bit. "Let me know if she mentions anything she needs. I can get hold of Harry any time."

"You've done enough," Flint said gruffly. "Our debts are nearly met. Soon you'll be finished with all of this. Relieved?"

"I suppose," she said, musing. "I don't mind the learning. It has been a very educating experience. I feel almost as though I've done the last three years here already. I'm going to be very bored come fifth year."

"You'll find something to do," Flint scoffed. "Probably read the whole damn library by the time you graduate." She had a brief fantasy of doing just that, and smiled. "Meanwhile, I'll have to keep your ridiculous secret for the rest of my life," Flint complained, rolling his neck as though it pained him at the idea of keeping up his end of the bargain.

Rigel found it hard to be sympathetic. "I'm sure not doing anything will be terribly difficult for you," she said, heavily sarcastic. "Try not to strain anything while you keep your mouth shut."

"It's touching that you've grown to care so much about my wellbeing these three years," Flint remarked.

"Almost as touching as you actually applying yourself to make a better life for your dear, sweet mum," Rigel shot back.

"Watch it," Flint growled.

"Oh, it's too late to intimidate me," Rigel said, "I already know your secret. You toil deep into the night, reading frantically by the light of a single candle, lit by the strength of your love—" Flint took a swing at her, which she ducked, laughing. "You've spent too long on a broom, Flint," she said, clicking her tongue softly. "You're slow on the ground."

"You'll be in the ground if you don't scram before I remember that you haven't done the last of my essays yet," Flint threatened. She waved off his words with a small smile, making her way down the stands once more. "Wait," he called after her suddenly, "How do you avoid the prefects?"

"They avoid me," she called back.

"Brat!" she heard him bark down at her.

"Grump!" she shot over her shoulder.

She honestly couldn't remember why she'd ever been afraid of Flint. He was just a ticked off ogre living in a teenage boy's body. Her face grimaced at that mental image. She supposed on second thought that did sound pretty terrifying. The papers in her pocket rustled as she hurried across the lawn. Soon she'd be pretty much rid of him. It would almost be sad, she thought, when she no longer had Flint's work to keep her so much busier than her peers. She'd been doing his essays since almost the day she started at Hogwarts. They were as much a part of her school experience as moving staircases, at this point.

Perhaps she'd see if Archie would send her his essay topics next year—it might be interesting to compare the styles of schooling, since AIM was considered a progressive, relatively modern institution, while Hogwarts was one of the last bastions of neoclassical Wizarding education.

Lost in plans for the future, she fingered her time-turner eagerly. If she went back just a couple of days, she could probably finish all of Flint's essays by the end of the week. Then she'd be done forever. The next couple of months suddenly seemed full of possibility.

-0

[HpHpHp]

-0

By mid-April the nights were finally warm enough that she didn't need her heaviest cloak to go walking by the forest. Her lessons with Madam Pomfrey were coming along apace. There were very few kinds of physical trauma she couldn't Heal, and the matron had promised her that if she kept up her studies over the summer they could start on ailments caused by jinxes, hexes, curses, and other forms of magic. Pomfrey told her that one of the advantages of learning at Hogwarts was the profusion of such injuries—she'd have plenty to practice on, once she got the basics down.

As was now usual for her nighttime strolls, Treeslider found her within minutes of her entering the tree line. She heard his hissing song through the underbrush as he approached, irrepressibly cheerful.

"Juiccy moussse coming sssoon, nicce and fat, not too chewy," he sang sibilantly. She could tell if she listened very carefully that his little chant rhymed in his language, but her Parseltongue ability sort of jumbled the translation in her head until it sounded like English—silly English, at that.

"Over here," she called out into the trees.

"I know, I know," the boomslang snake hissed back, "I sssmell you."

He came shooting out from a nearby bush and coiled happily around her feet. His green scales flexed adroitly as he climbed her boot, head swaying eagerly toward the pocket she'd stowed the mouse in. "Hungry?" she laughed, fishing the wrapped treat out and holding it up by the tail for his perusal. "I'm afraid I only found a little one thisss night." The mouse was substantial, of course, thick and fresh, but Treeslider had high standards in his food.

"It isss pitiful," the snake agreed mournfully, an eager look in his bulging eyes that gave lie to his disapproval. "I know you did your bessst, Ssspeaker."

"Your approval meansss much," she said. She didn't bother with an eye roll, as she was fairly certain it would be lost on the reptile. "Have you ssseen any animalsss in need of help tonight?"

The snake swayed silently for a moment. "If I have not ssseen any, do I ssstill get the moussse?"

Rigel smiled. "Asss long asss you tell the truth."

The snake made a parody of a nod by bobbing its head. Had he learned that from her or had he always done that? She couldn't remember. "I have ssseen nothing. I ssswear."

"That'sss odd," she said, tilting her head. She'd always been able to find at least one injured animal with Treeslider's help.

"It isss becaussse there are no predatorsss on thisss ssside of the foressst anymore," Treeslider said, eyes fixed only on the mouse.

"None?" Rigel frowned. "That doesssn't make sssenssse."

"It isss sssensssible for them," Treeslider said uninterestedly, "Bad thingsss have been happening to the biggessst, baddessst creaturesss in thessse partsss."

"What kind of thingsss?" she asked.

"Sssome have been found ssslain," Treeslider said, writhing a little uneasily now. "Ssstrong onesss, like the ssspidersss, sssometimesss. Sssome have lossst their witsss, and wander, aimlesssss, without themssselvesss. Sssome, like the horsssemen, jussst left without warning. No one knowsss why."

Rigel dropped the mouse for the snake to devour while she pondered his words. Not many things were big enough to kill an acromantula, and centaurs were not easily run out of their own territory, even a part of it. As to the report of creatures being robbed of their faculties completely…that was worrying. Could it be Pettigrew's doing? She hated to automatically blame him for what could be an unrelated mystery, but she had seen him go into the forest numerous times. She hadn't ever been able to follow him past the edge of the Map, but she had seen him stumble out looking a bit worse for wear on a few occasions.

It seemed a senseless thing, killing creatures in the forest for sport. The centaur's portent hadn't said anything about slaying spiders, as far as she could decipher. It seemed more about controlling great power. She supposed something so vague could be interpreted in a variety of ways, but if Pettigrew thought he needed to kill things to gain power that was undeniably very bad. The other things, though…how would he scare the centaurs away? Did it have something to do with the prophecy he'd somehow gotten a copy of? Perhaps he'd angered them, or threatened them with the jewel somehow. The jewel…could it be responsible for taking away the minds of otherwise sentient creatures? What would be the point of such a power? The more she learned about the Dominion Jewel the more she wondered who on earth would countenance creating something so obviously ill advised.

She was jarred from her thoughts as Treeslider began trembling suddenly on the ground at her feet. Crouching down, she looked over him in concern, but could see nothing obviously the matter. "Indigessstion?" she asked, a bit amused.

"Do not insssult me, Ssspeaker," Treeslider complained, still shaking. "There isss a feeling. It comesss ssso frequently thessse daysss."

"Where doesss it hurt?" she asked, peering down at him.

"Not a feeling of pain," the snake hissed. "It isss a feeling of fear."

"Where does it come from?" Rigel asked, stroking the snake's head soothingly. "From a thought? A memory?"

"Elsssewhere," the snake said, shaking its head agitatedly. "It comesss to the foressst from elsssewhere. It doesssn't belong. The foressst hatesss it."

"But what isss it?" she pressed.

"I don't know," Treeslider said, sending a snake-glare into the trees. "But I wisssh it would leave."

"Isss it in the foressst now?" Rigel asked, looking the direction he was, "Can you sssenssse it?"

"Over there," the snake said irritably, jabbing his shaking tail in the direction of his glare.

In her head the cadence, memorized painstakingly over days of study, rang out unsummoned. The birds and beasts and flowers will conspire through the hours to contend these rising powers. Could it be? She dove into her bag and pulled out the Marauder's Map, scanning it breathlessly. The last she'd checked, Pettigrew had been in his quarters, pacing swiftly back and forth between his rooms. As her eyes devoured the parchment, she realized with dismay that the man was nowhere on the Map. That could only mean he had slipped past her and gone deep into the forest while she'd been walking.

Rigel set off determinedly into the dark, resolved to figure out just what Pettigrew was doing once and for all. If he was killing creatures or wiping their minds somehow, then he needed to be turned over to the authorities at once. Studying a mysterious artifact was one thing. Even accidentally causing a huge ruckus on Halloween that put people's lives in danger didn't condemn him completely. Torturing sentient beings, however, most certainly crossed a line. She couldn't in good conscience wait any longer for the man to come to his senses if things were the way Treeslider intimated.

Treeslider hissed in annoyance, trailing clumsily through the leaves in her wake. "What are you doing, Ssspeaker? Don't go that way. You do not want to encounter that one! He issss not one to ssspeak before roasssting hisss visssitors!"

Rigel slowed her jog, turning with alarm to say, "What? Roasssting?"

Before Treeslider could answer, she heard a roar, plain as day, if rather distant, echo through the trees behind her. What on earth…? As far as she knew, the Forbidden Forest didn't have any animals that roared so loudly within its borders. Had a family of manticores moved in recently?

She rushed toward the sound, knowing as she did so that this was incredibly idiotic. She could hear Snape's voice in head telling her to go back and get a teacher, but really, what professor would just jump up and follow her into the depths of the Forbidden Forest on her word? And how would she explain that she knew Pettigrew was in there because she had a magic map that violated about a dozen rules of privacy in the code of ethics? And what if they came too late? Something big and loud sounded very angry. She didn't know what she'd be able to do if it was a manticore, but she knew what she couldn't do: nothing.

She left Treeslider behind as she sprinted toward the roars, which got louder much quicker than she'd anticipated. It sounded as if the sound was a long way off, until all of a sudden it was right in front of her, as though she'd crossed an invisible barrier that had been muddling the sound. She pushed through a densely growing copse of trees and stumbled to a stop abruptly at the scene on the other side.

Pettigrew was indeed standing on one side of the clearing, but her numb brain nearly overlooked him in its preoccupation with the other occupant. There was a dragon in the forest. There was a Dragon. In the forest. She fell back against the tree behind her, clutching at the bark with shaking fingers. She didn't know enough about dragons to identify the breed, but it dwarfed the clearing with its wingspan, and its clawed limbs dug great swathes of dirt from the forest floor as it roared its rage to the sky. She gazed open-mouthed at the enormous grey-scaled reptile, and all she could think for one hysterical moment was why couldn't it have been manticores?

She drew two deep breaths and forced her thoughts into a linear and useful direction. How did it get here? Her brain made the leap easily—it was one of the escaped dragons that had been running loose since the winter holidays. Why would it come to Hogwarts? She didn't know. Hunger? Had the dragon been killing the acromantula for food? No, focus, why would it stay here? How could it, with no one noticing? It looked like it would be as tall as the trees if it straightened to its full height…oh. She narrowed her eyes at the dragon, now calm enough to take in the enormous metal shackles that hung from its neck and forepaws. Chains ran between them and down into the earth. There was no telling how deep they were embedded, but it had to be at least a hundred feet to keep a dragon grounded.

Why would anyone want to keep a dragon in the Forbidden Forest? Her eyes moved to the other figure in the clearing. Pettigrew stood to one side of the enormous beast, holding something high in his hand, as though warding the creature off. Neither the man nor the dragon had noticed her entrance, each focused entirely on the other in an obvious battle of wills.

She huddled against the tree, in no hurry to jump in the middle of this particular scenario until she knew exactly what was going on. The dragon made a sudden movement with its neck, a sort of horse cough-sneeze that made it shake its head violently. A tendril of smoke escaped its nostrils, but nothing more. It was trying to use its flame, she realized, but something was preventing it. Pettigrew appeared to be panting harshly, his arms trembling even though the red jewel he held could not possibly be very heavy at all. He must be doing something to the dragon with it, she surmised. Pettigrew took a step forward, still holding the jewel between himself and the reptile like a shield—or maybe a sword, from how the dragon flinched back, pawing the ground in agitation.

Pettigrew continued to step forward, pushing the dragon back until it reached the far end of the clearing. With its back against the thick trees and its shackles at the end of their chains, the dragon growled and whined, dropping its head in a cringing motion that didn't seem very dragon-like at all. Before long, Pettigrew stood triumphantly over the dragon's nose, breathing hard but standing tall. In his flush of success, he relaxed his hold on the jewel, lowering it ever so slightly.

In the blink of an eye, the dragon struck. Its talon slashed through the air and caught Pettigrew's leg with a spray of blood. He sprawled to the ground, and the dragon seized immediately on the moment to sink its teeth into the man's arm, raised instinctively to protect his face. The reptile shook its head back and forth like a dog with a bit of rope, flinging Pettigrew across the clearing like a rag doll.

It then surged forward, and Rigel realized Pettigrew, now lying prostrate on the ground, was not yet out of the range that the dragon's shackles allowed. Springing into motion, she grabbed for her wand and shot a summoning charm at his prone form, managing to get him clear of the dragon's teeth just in time. Unfortunately, the reptile's attention then shifted rather predictably to the thing protecting its prey—her.

Rigel had the absurd urge to smile and hold out her hands non-threateningly. Unfortunately, she didn't think a dragon was likely to respond to something that worked on a suspicious dog. The dragon snorted threateningly at her, and a thick funnel of black smoke filled the air between them. The beast seemed to realize at the same time she did that it was able to use its fire now that Pettigrew wasn't suppressing it with the jewel. Her eyes widened as the dragon inhaled deeply, a glint in its snake-like eyes that Rigel recognized as Treeslider's I-am-about-to-eat-this-mouse-look.

"We're the mice," she said breathlessly, frozen before the vision of her impending death. Many ideas raced through her mind in that half-moment. Dodge to the side or roll out of the way—except a dragon's flame was meters wide and she could never get the speed on foot to outrun it. Use the protective potion, she had several doses in her bag—except there was no time to locate one and complete the circle before she was cinders. Try and use the jewel the way Pettigrew had—except she had no idea how it worked. Even as all this ran through her mind, a paralyzing fear turned the blood in her veins to slush. Her airways felt clogged and her mind felt like a blind man grasping and clutching at thin air at he fell from a cliff he'd never seen coming.

She didn't notice her fingers moving, had no awareness that her hands were coming together behind her back, stripping the gloves smoothly away, nor that her jade ring loosened and fell to the dirt even as the dragon's belly turned the glowing red of a newly lit furnace. The next thing she knew for certain was the blast of power that exploded from her chest, throwing her physically backwards into a tree even as it raced in the other direction toward the source of her fear.

The flames met something intangible halfway across the clearing, a pressure that swallowed them into nonexistence as though all the oxygen in its path had been sucked mercilessly away. The dragon ceased its fiery breath much sooner than Rigel would have thought, if she could have thought of anything beyond the numb shock that had subverted her usual neurological pathways. It coughed and hacked pitifully, looking as angry and confused as its reptilian features would allow. Rigel felt the magic come back to her like a blow to the head, sending the world tilting drunkenly as her vision swam and reality became a hard thing to focus on past the rush of energy setting her nerve endings randomly alight.

"What…how…" Pettigrew was attempting to push himself off the ground, looking from her to the dragon with pained confusion. He paled at the sight of the furious reptile. It roared at him defiantly, and he flinched back against the ground violently. "I don't…what's happening…no, no, no," he chanted, shaking his head as though throwing off a terrible memory. His gaze was drawn to the blood-red jewel still clasped in one hand, and he began to tremble, shaking his hand frantically as though trying to shake it away from him, even as his fingers clutched it ever tighter.

"Don't move around so much," Rigel said distractedly, her eyes still mostly on the creature across the clearing. "You'll make your injuries worse."

"My what?" Pettigrew looked entirely confused, until he looked down at his body with a shocked gasp. She wondered how he hadn't noticed getting slashed open by a dragon, but maybe the trauma of being thrown fifty feet had affected his memory. "Oh…oh Merlin…" He attempted to staunch the bleeding on his leg and arm, the latter of which looked like it had be dislocated from its socket. He only had one hand, though: the one attached to the mangled arm, which he could barely move, as the other refused to let go of the jewel. He was starting to hyperventilate and probably about to go into shock, so Rigel attempted to snap him out of it.

"Professor," she said sharply.

"Who, me?" Pettigrew blinked helplessly up at her. "Yes?"

"We have to get out of here," she said, thinking quickly. There was no way Pettigrew could walk on that leg. She shot her wand into the air, intending to shoot red sparks above their location. Instead, her magic shot out a cacophony of light and sound that looked like a firework display shot at close range above the tree line. The dragon let out a roar that was almost a squeal, rubbing its nose to the dirt in acute distress at the loud noise. "Way to piss it off," she groaned at her magic in frustration.

"What?" Pettigrew whimpered.

"Not you," she snapped. She took a deep breath. She had to calm down. She dug through her bag to find one of her protection potions. She was pretty sure it wouldn't hold up against a dragon, as the shield it was based on certainly wouldn't have, but it was better than nothing. She hoped someone had seen that light show. She hoped they could last until help came. "Can you stop it from flaming, Professor?" she asked. She didn't want to encourage him to use the jewel, but if the alternative was dying…well, she really didn't want to die before she at least invented a potion to cure spattergroit or something.

"I…no, no I can't," he said, shaking his head back and forth quickly, even as he looked at the jewel with something like terrified hunger. She didn't know if he was disheartened by his recent failure or trying to somehow pretend he didn't know what she was talking about, but either way it seemed he would be of no help. Swallowing her contempt, she completed the protection circle, shoved a Blood-Replenishing Potion into Pettigrew's good hand, and turned to face the dragon herself.

Normally she would make a better attempt to see to his injuries, but at the moment her magic was everywhere except in her control. It filled the clearing with wind that changed direction every other second, giving the entire clearing a surreal feeling that made it hard to concentrate on the gritty reality of the danger before her. The dragon seemed to be biding its time before it tried roasting her again—and why hadn't she stopped to let Treeslider explain that there was a dragon in the woods before she rushed ahead?

There was no guarantee help was coming. She needed to think faster. What did she know about dragons? Not a lot, except that in the stories Ron told about his brother Charlie they were a lot bigger. It was also a bit more docile than she might have expected. It had been at least five minutes since it sent fire their way. Had Pettigrew damaged its flame-maker somehow? Or maybe…she thought back to every little comment Ron had thrown out in their conversations. It wasn't a fully-grown dragon at all. It—it was an adolescent dragon, she realized. That's why it was so small, compared to what she'd heard of adult dragons. That was why it needed so long between jets of fire, too—it hadn't developed that ability fully, yet.

She looked over the creature in a new light, taking in the spindly legs and tapered torso. It looked sick, she thought. How long had it been here? It was probably starving, if most of the animals had left this part of the forest and it couldn't move beyond this clearing. No wonder it was so angry. The creature was probably severely weakened and nearing desperate straits in regard to its own survival. She wondered if it had ever been out on its own before it escaped the reserve. It had probably been born and bred in captivity.

She shook her head sharply and marshaled her defenses as smoke began seeping from the reptile's nostrils once more. This was no time to be feeling sorry for something that could bite her in half without trying. She pulled on her magic insistently, hoping beyond hope that it would come to her defense again. Between it and her protective potion, they might just survive.

As the fire raced toward them across the clearing, she heard Pettigrew squeak in terror from the ground beside her before his body twisted in the corner of her vision and then—disappeared. She tore her gaze from the flames jettisoning toward her in sheer disbelief. Had he just Disapparated? No, there was a small rat curled on the ground where he'd just lain, bleeding out from wounds on two of its limbs, a deep red jewel almost as big as its body on the ground next to it. Idiot, was all she could think, even as her eyes darted back to the more pressing matter of fire blooming into white-hot doom before her protective barrier. He was going to die if he stayed transformed with injuries like that. And a rat would burn to death faster than a human, anyway.

The flames were so close she could feel the hair on her head trying hard to catch fire. They didn't penetrate the shield, though, and whether that was because her magic lent a helping hand or because the protective potion was strong enough to stand up to an immature dragon's flame, she didn't know. As the dragon roared its frustration to the sky, she thought it was time to take things on the offensive while she could. Not many spells could penetrate a dragon's thick hide, but she could attack it peripherally, she thought. If its reaction to the firework display her magic had put on was anything to go by, it had sensitive hearing. That strength was about to become a weakness.

Mentally apologizing to the beast, she cast a Wailing Charm with as much power as she dared. It wasn't as powerful as a Caterwauling Charm, but she didn't know how to cast one of those. It didn't matter, in the end. Her magic took the Wailing Charm and magnified it so effectively that she lost hearing entirely as her eardrums burst with a ringing pain that sent her to her knees. She frantically gasped out a Muffliato, but couldn't hear to know if she'd been successful or not. She didn't even notice she had been screaming until her throat began to hurt.

The only saving grace was that the dragon was affected just as badly, if not worse, than she was. She watched through the tears that filled half her vision as the reptile thrashed and writhed wildly in its bindings. She mouthed apologies to no one in particular, forcing herself to keep looking at the poor beast, knowing that its pain was her fault. The shackles were beginning to cut into its skin, scales fracturing in various places where the dragon lashed mindlessly against the metal. Its mouth was open wide, and she knew if her ears weren't filled with blood they would be filled with its guttural cries.

As she watched, the strain on the thick iron links finally became too much and one shackle blew apart in a spray of metal. The dragon noticed something different amidst the pain that drove it, and struggled all the harder against the other chains. She wondered if she shouldn't just release it. It was awful, locking the thing up like that. Reason intruded, however. Where would it go? What if it hurt someone else? What if it ate all the goats in Hogsmeade or something? An image of a thousand goats bleating from the inside of a dragon's belly drifted across her mind before she refocused it forcibly.

Her choice was taken as the other shackles gave way at last. With scarcely a moment's pause, the dragon shot off the ground and exploded out of the trees, wheeling away into the night. She realized in immediate retrospect that it would want to get as far away from the insanely loud noise as possible. That was good. It would lick its wounds somewhere and she could tell…tell someone about it. Sometime.

She was too dizzy to stand, so she crawled unsteadily toward where the rat lay several paces away. It was unconscious, probably because of the extent of its injuries. She poked it gently, but insistently, until it began to stir. She had to tumble backwards as Pettigrew retook his human form without warning, clutching at his own ears, which she guessed from the blood leaking out had probably also been ruptured.

"Sorry," she mouthed. He didn't appear to notice, focused only on his own injuries—and, of course, the jewel, which he snatched up from the ground and stuffed in his pocket with a guilty desperation that she found a bit sad, considering the situation.

She took out the antidote to the protection potion, not sure what would happen if she tried using her magic to make a ward-disruptor. She'd probably electrocute them both. Once free of the circle, she made her way, clumsily and very slowly, back to where she'd been standing before her ring had come off. How had that happened, anyway? Had she unconsciously known what to do? More likely her magic had taken advantage of the mental absence caused by her terror, she thought darkly.

She found her gloves fairly easily and shoved them in her pocket. Now where did that ring land? The ground swam in and out of focus too fast for her to see effectively. She knelt and began shifting her hands through the grass. After a moment, the bent position of her head became too much for her stomach, and she lost her dinner, just barely remembering to turn her head to the side so that she didn't throw up right where she was looking for her ring. Digging through a pile of her own puke was probably the first thing on the list of things she didn't want to do right now. Second was falling unconscious before she got her magic back under control. The thought of it raging around free while she wasn't there to attempt to corral it was sickening.

She coughed out the last of the bile in her stomach and got back to searching. Eventually her fingers found it, barely visible in the green grass of the clearing. She paused before grasping it fully, remembering what happened last time. She focused all her attention on a tree on the other side of the clearing, channeling anger, fear, anything she could pull from the dredges of her emotions, strung out though they were. Her magic perked up like a hungry dog at the sudden intensity of the emotions she let pour over her. She felt its intention shift, and the wind started to divert itself away from her. It seemed curious at first, not sure why the tree was important. She supposed she wasn't manufacturing emotions sincerely enough. She imagined the tree infested with flesh-eating slugs, focused all her attention on the disgust she felt at the idea. Her magic roared as it recognized the challenge.

It swept across the clearing eagerly, zeroing in on the tree Rigel was making the center of every prominent thought, even as her fingers twitched toward the jade ring—which she was not thinking about! Her magic shuddered to a sudden halt, its attention evolving violently midway to the tree. Cursing, she abandoned the pretense and grabbed for the ring as fast as she could, shoving it onto her finger so hard she jammed the knuckle. The pure, unadulterated rage that coursed through her as the magic was forcefully reabsorbed into her skin left her newly nauseated. She gagged and dry heaved for several minutes before she felt stable again. Or, as stable as someone with no balance in their inner ear could feel.

She took a moment to curse her bad luck at being in such a predicament, and her own stupidity for rushing into such a situation, and Riddle in particular simply because she didn't believe all that demolition in the classroom had helped her magic at all. If anything, it was more powerful and even harder to control, now.

She would gather her strength for a moment, then figure out a way to get her and Pettigrew back to the castle. She felt a sudden rush of heat behind her that made the hairs on the back of her neck stand up. She spun on her knees, gasping at the way the world whirled on the wrong axis. Had the dragon come back? How hadn't she noticed it landing? Was it going to—?

Rigel blinked at the sight before her. It was a phoenix, not a dragon, and attached to its tail feathers was the headmaster himself, looking serious indeed as he surveyed the clearing. His sharp eyes took in Pettigrew lying in a pool of blood, Rigel sitting next to a puddle of her own vomit, the shackles on the other side of the clearing, the scorch marks on the ground where the vegetation had been razed, and the remains of the protection circle she'd broken. He strode forward swiftly, saying something she couldn't hear.

She pointed to her ears carefully, almost poking herself in the eye in her dizziness. "I can't hear," she said, probably too loudly. "There was a dragon. I ruptured our ears running it off. Professor Pettigrew needs a Healer." The headmaster looked both concerned and incredibly perplexed. She supposed some of that might have come out garbled.

Nevertheless, the headmaster moved without delay. He stepped forward to grasp Pettigrew's uninjured arm gently, then the two men and Fawkes disappeared in a flash of fire. A bit of the tension in her relaxed. The headmaster would send someone for her. She was going to be okay. Even as she thought that, Dumbledore was back, this time with a hand held out for her. With a weak smile, she took it, and then warmth and heat enveloped her. When she opened her eyes, it was to the blinding white of the Hospital Wing.

Madam Pomfrey had her hands on Rigel's head almost before she had registered where she was. She could see the matron's mouth moving, but it was many minutes before she could hear the tirade the older woman was heaping on her ears.

"—kind of reckless, ridiculously thickheaded nonsense is it to cast a Wailing Charm so loud it breaks half the castle windows? You're lucky there's anything left of your eardrum to repair!" she seethed, her wand jabbing Rigel in the ear pointedly with every other word. She was pretty sure that wasn't part of the healing process.

"I'm sorry," she muttered, "It's not like I had any choice. There was a bloody dragon chained up in the Forbidden Forest!"

"And just what were you doing in the Forbidden Forest, young man?" Pomfrey demanded, glaring.

Headmaster Dumbledore chose that moment to cut in. "I would appreciate an explanation to that as well, Mr. Black."

Right. Of course he would. Because being almost fried by a dragon wasn't enough for Fate. She had to get detention, too.

"I was walking near the edge of the woods when this snake I know told me that someone in the forest was in trouble," she invented, sticking just close enough to the truth that Dumbledore wouldn't be able to tell she lied unless he employed some serious Legilimency. "I did think about getting a teacher, but I thought it would be better to respond quickly. I followed the sound of roaring and found a dragon in one of the forest clearings. Professor Pettigrew was trying to fight it off, but he got hurt, so I stepped in to get him out of harm's way. It…got complicated after that. Basically I made a really loud noise and the dragon broke free of the shackles and flew off. You should probably send someone looking for it. It's probably injured and angry, but also desperately hungry if I had to guess, so they should probably bring it a goat or something. Do dragons eat goats?"

"He's delirious," Pomfrey sighed, "Goats and dragons. What nonsense."

"Hmm," Dumbledore said, stroking his beard slowly. "It seems Professor Pettigrew is fortunate to have such a quick-thinking rescuer. You may want to go easy on the noise charms next time, though."

"Next time!" The nurse glared daggers at the headmaster. "There will be no next time if he wants to be treated in this infirmary."

"Teach me how to repair eardrums and I'll do it myself next time," Rigel said, smiling fondly up at the prickly woman.

"You won't either," Pomfrey snapped. "You're not patching yourself up while I'm around."

"Whatever you say, Madam Pomfrey." She grinned, watching the matron's eyes narrow as she realized she'd been tricked.

"Bed rest," the nurse growled. "Overnight. Now."

"Yes, ma'am," Rigel said, settling back into the bed she'd been laid up on.

Dumbledore gave her one last, penetrating look before nodding farewell and requesting Madam Pomfrey fetch him when Pettigrew woke up from his Healing-induced sleep. As Pomfrey shut off the lights to the ward, Rigel slipped gratefully into oblivion. In the morning she would figure out the rest of it—what to do now that she knew Pettigrew was using the jewel for ill, how to explain to Pansy that she'd managed to piss off a dragon since they last spoke, and how to justify to herself the idiotic choices she'd made over the last few hours. Her last thought before falling asleep was that for once she hadn't used the time turner when she should have. If she'd used it right when she realized there was something wrong in the forest, she could have gone back and gotten help before any of it even happened.

That was one mistake she swore she would not make again.

-0

[HpHpHp]

-0

When she woke next, the Hospital Wing was as silent as a graveyard. The windows let in the barest of moonlight, and she wondered if she'd been asleep a few hours or a whole day. She slipped out from the blankets, shivering slightly as the cold tile met her bare feet. She didn't know who had taken her shoes off, but it relieved her to note that nothing else on her person had been removed, save her bag, which hung from the chair by her bed.

She brushed past the curtain quietly, aware that there might be another sleeping nearby. A bed two down from hers with the curtains drawn tightly around it confirmed her suspicion. Pettigrew was still recovering from his injuries, too, then. She stood there for a moment in the semi-darkness, thinking. After all she knew now, there was nothing else she could do. It didn't seem right, but it was definitely the course of action that made the most sense.

She crept closer to Pettigrew's bed and slid back the curtain slowly. He was terribly still, his breathing even, but relatively shallow. She supposed the Healing had probably taken a lot out of him; he wasn't exactly in the peak of physical condition to begin with. On the chair beside him was his coat, stained with blood and grass and scorch marks. She kept her breathing soft and moved toward it. Inside one of the pockets would be the jewel, unattended for probably the first time since Pettigrew had come across it.

Resolved, she began rifling through the pockets carefully, sending glances over at Pettigrew's sleeping form every so often to be sure he lay undisturbed. She found no trace of the jewel, until she came to a small, mokeskin pouch in the innermost pocket. She clenched her fist around it, feeling nothing within but knowing that an undetectable extension charm was likely at work. She gritted her teeth with a feeling of defeat. Everyone knew mokeskin pouches could only be opened by their owners. Even if she took the pouch, it would disappear from her hands the moment it sensed it was getting too far from its master's reach. They were incredibly rare, but she had to admit it was the perfect place for Pettigrew to keep the jewel. Until he took it out himself, if could quite literally not be taken from him.

As she was putting the pouch back, she heard a low groan break through Pettigrew's lips. She froze, but her mind was getting used to thinking quickly. She took the coat in both hands and draped it over Pettigrew's supine form just a moment before his eyes opened, unfocused until they zeroed in on her embarrassed smile.

"Sorry," she said. "You were shivering so hard the bed frame rattled. I thought maybe you were cold."

"I was?" Pettigrew struggled to sit up, wincing and moaning at the stiffness in his hurt limbs. He caught sight of the coat and clutched it with his good hand. "Yes. Thank you." His eyes darted between her and the coat frantically, and she knew he was wondering if she was telling the truth.

"Well, I'm glad you're okay," she said, backing away a bit. "That was a close call, huh? I mean, with the dragon and all. Heh."

"Yes," he said, licking his lower lip nervously. "I…did they ask you what happened? What did you say?"

She couldn't help but think he really ought to work on his subtlety, if he was going to play such dangerous games. "Oh, yeah," she said, outwardly nonchalant. "I told them how I heard the roaring and went running toward it. I tried to help when I saw you were being attacked. Guess I made things worse, though, huh? Sorry about bursting your eardrums like that. I misjudged the power of my noise spell." She laughed sheepishly. "Say, what were you doing in the forest, anyway? Pretty bad luck to run into a dragon like that."

She couldn't let on that she thought he'd been the one to tie the dragon up like that. Now that she could think clearly without fearing for her life, it seemed likely that Pettigrew had been practicing his mastery of the jewel on the dragon—and any other creatures he happened to come across, if Treeslider could be believed.

"I…was tending to some of the creatures," he squeaked out after a suspiciously long pause. "I am the Care of Magical Creatures professor, after all. I was as surprised as anyone to find a dragon in that clearing. It just attacked me! I could have been killed!"

Anyone who came across it could have been killed, she thought irritably. It was just so irresponsible. "Well, good thing Dumbledore rescued us, then," she said, affecting a yawn. "I'm going back to bed. Get well soon, Professor."

She trotted back to her own bed and closed her eyes, pretending to a tiredness she didn't feel. Had he bought her act? There was no way to be sure. She would have to keep her distance for the next couple of weeks, until he relaxed his guard.

-0

[HpHpHp]

-0

Madam Pomfrey was an eagle-eyed old bird, and extremely watchful when it came to things she considered 'in her nest,' but Rigel was able to slip past her with the help of the time-turner and her Invisibility Cloak. She'd be back before the matron even missed her, and in the meantime she had a job to do.

The Owlery was loud and crowded with birds, but she blocked all that out as she scribbled a brief note that, she hoped, would be enough to put an end to this jewel nonsense once and for all.

To: Aurors searching for the Dominion Jewel

Peter Pettigrew, employed at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, seen attempting to control creatures in the Forbidden Forest with a blood-red stone.

-A very concerned citizen

-0—0—0

-0—0

-0

[end of chapter thirteen].

A/N: We are so close to the end! I got so excited I wrote this one a little faster than usual. I hope it satisfies at a mere 21,000 words. I wanted to thank every single person who has ever reviewed, even if it was just to say you think the story needs work, for helping The Ambiguous Artifice break 2,000 reviews. That's amazing! You all are the runaway train behind me that brought me back to a sprint with this story, so thanks for that, too! Chapter fourteen promises to be a doozy, so it may take longer than normal to complete. That said, I'll do my best ^^. I hope everyone is having a great week.

In addition, I cannot take credit for the grammatical amazingness of this chapter (which many of you may notice is a head above my usual work in that department). I finally caved and realized it was a disservice to you readers to post something that wasn't as perfect as it could be, especially with something as easy to fix as poor word choice. Much thanks to Mary for her editing skills and patience (seriously, in the original version I said things like 'bread in captivity' lol).

All the best,

-Violet