Despite everything, Ariadne did enjoy the victory. It was hard not to, after all. The spirit in the Common Room was infectious, helped along by the Firewhisky and Fizzing Whizzbees that Fred and George had snuck in from Hogsmeade. Strictly for fifth years and above, of course, and when poor Ginny tried to sneak a sip, she was sent upstairs by Percy Weasley, which Ariadne thought was somewhat hypocritical given the amber liquid in his own cup.
McGonagall did not stop in at midnight, as she had promised, but very generously allowed the students an extra hour into their festivities. When she did come by, robed in tartan and with her hair in tight curlers, she feigned shock and indignation at the students' audacity to celebrate, and a small wink sent Ariadne's way was the only hint that McGongall was more agreeable than she let on.
It was easy, then, for thoughts of the ring to fall by the wayside. Why should it matter if it was enchanted if it wasn't anymore? If, as much as she wracked her brains, she'd never know who RT was? If Gryffindor had won the match and there was Butterbeer to drink and songs to be sung?
So, Ariadne enjoyed the victory as much as she possibly could. She held up the Firebolt with pride, she dragged Hermione away from researching Hippogriff executions, and she tripped Ron so that he fell into Parvati Patil for a laugh.
And when she went to bed that night with the burden of Sirius Black tucked deep in the back of her mind, Ariadne contented herself with the realization for just one night, she was a regular second-year. Who could cheer, could laugh, could celebrate with her friends without being whispered about.
But only for one night.
Because not three hours later, an ungodly scream emitted from the other side of the tower.
Rubbing her bleary eyes, Ariadne sat up as Romilda launched her pillow at the door, rolling back over as she did.
"Washappenin'?" Olive murmured, sleep mask still firmly in place.
Ariadne turned to Ginny, who had begun to reach for the bath robe hanging on one of her bed posts. "Was that–?"
"Ron," Ginny confirmed as she tied the robe at the waist with a panicked speed. She shoved on slippers and began to run out the door. Ariadne grabbed her wand from her nightstand and followed suit, kicking the sheets off her bed in her haste.
Doors opened in the hallway behind them as they sprinted for the stairs, a frazzled and frizzy-haired Hermione emerging from one corridor, evidently having run down from the floor above.
"Was that–?" she began, cutting herself off at Ariadne's wild nod. Hermione raced down the stairs, just barely avoiding pushing Ginny as she passed, and arrived first to the Common Room.
When Ariadne came down just a few seconds later, she found Ron, Harry, Neville, Seamus and Dean standing in the center, each clad in their pajamas. Hermione stood inches away from Ron, searching him frantically for some sort of injury. When Ginny joined the search, Ron pushed her away by the head.
"What's happened?" Ariadne asked from the foot of the stairs. No one seemed to hear her, so she asked once more.
The second time caught Harry's attention, and his head swiveled towards her at the sound of her voice. He remained silent, however, green eyes widening. Ariadne felt suddenly like her feet were frozen to the ground, the world swirling around her. She widened her eyes back.
By now, students had begun to swarm the Common Room, with the girls filtering in around Ariadne. Fred, who appeared to have not ceased partying, though Ariadne was not sure where, grabbed a Butterbeer from the floor and took a swig.
"Still going, eh Ron?"
Ron shook his head mutely, searching the boys' stairs for something. Finally, Percy Weasley emerged, adjusting the Head Boy pin onto his pajama top.
"Alright, everyone go back–"
"Perce–"interjected Ron. "It was Sirius Black! In our dormitory! With a knife!"
The Common Room went very still. But no one was stiller than Ariadne.
"What?" she croaked, looking to Harry for confirmation. He lifted his chin once, as if to nod.
Everyone's eyes were on her. Even Percy dared a glance in her direction before rebutting Ron cautiously.
"Now, Ron, you know that you're prone to night terrors when you eat dairy before–"
"I'm telling you!" the younger boy insisted, though his cheeks turned red.
"What is going on here?" Professor McGonagall insisted, stepping through the portrait into the Common Room having been summoned by the commotion. She placed her hands on her hips, making a menacing sight as she singled out her attack onto Percy Weasley directly.
"N-nothing, Professor," said Percy, straightening his back. "My brother Ron had a night terror–"
"I did not!" Ron yelled. Her turned to McGonagall directly. "Professor, when I woke up Sirius Black was standing over me with a knife!"
Ariadne flinched once more. She shut her eyes. Maybe if you can't see them…
Professor McGonagall sounded utterly taken aback. "He was not, Weasley," she denied on instinct. "How could he have possibly gotten through the portrait?"
"How am I supposed to know that?" Ron threw his hands up with an insolence that surely would have otherwise lost points, if not for McGonagall's confusion. "Why don't you ask him!" He pointed at Sir Cadogan in frustration.
McGonagall did just that, pushing open the portrait hole and returning outside to face him. "Sir Cadogan, I don't suppose you've just let a man enter the Tower?"
Ariadne held her breath. Let him be wrong, let them be wrong. Not now.
"Certainly, good lady!" Sir Cadogan cheered. Ariadne opened her eyes as the Common Room was stunned into silence once more. At least no one was pointing fingers at her this time. They hardly would have had the time to anyway, for the next thing that Sir Cadogan did was explain how, exactly, her father had entered the Common Room. Ariadne's eyes flashed involuntarily over to Neville, remembering the other night with Harry. And the poor thing was shaking in his pants.
"Who," McGonagall said slowly, her teeth clenched in frustration. She was angrier than Ariadne had ever seen her, casting disappointed glances about the room. "Who here could possibly have been utterly foolish enough to write down the week's passwords before leaving them lying around the castle?"
She needn't have asked, for the shaking was confession enough. But Neville raised a brave, trembling hand, and Professor McGonagall used it to drag him away.
The Common Room stayed up that night, everyone sitting together on high alert waiting to hear if Sirius Black had been caught. Everyone except Ariadne, that is, who quickly and quietly excused herself back to the solitude of her room.
Harry had stopped her at the stairs.
"It's alright," he insisted, voice earnest. "No one got hurt. Ron's fine." With a slight eye roll, Harry gestured towards Ron, who was evidently entertaining a large audience of first years with an impassioned retelling of his night. "I'll get him to stop. Just stay."
"No," Ariadne forced a wobbly smile onto her face. Harry always knew exactly what to say. Which made the fact that her father attempted to kill him tonight even worse, if something like that could get worse. "I just want to be in my bed. I'll see you at breakfast. I'm fine, Harry, so long as you both are. Really." She tacked on the last bit when she saw that he still hesitated, and Harry moved aside only reluctantly.
And as Ariadne laid in bed, eyes open and unseeing, she wondered if perhaps, contrary to the stories that she'd been told, her father might have been rather stupid. How was it that he'd managed to break into the boys' dormitory and yet get the wrong bed?
She was glad that he was stupid, of course. Glad that Ron hadn't been harmed and that Harry hadn't come close. But that was her father, and Harry and Ron were her friends. What would he have done? And why did he want to do it?
Why didn't he try to see her?
Luckily, the creak of the door opening aborted Ariadne's intrusive thought. She turned her head to find Ginny closing the door softly behind her. When they made eye contact, the redhead seemed surprised to find Ariadne awake.
"I figured Ron had more than enough on his plate with Fred, George, and Percy to look after him," she said quietly. "Are you alright?"
Ariadne nodded, though her voice felt caught in her throat. Ginny didn't mind, seating herself on Ariadne's bed gingerly. She patted Ariadne's arm with a caring hand. Ariadne sat up and rested her head onto Ginny's shoulder, reminded suddenly of the girl who said nothing about her father on their first day of school, determined to allow Ariadne the small mercy of brief anonymity.
She had missed her.
Making do on her promise to be at breakfast that morning, Ariadne passed the newly restored Fat Lady and her bodyguard trolls on her way to the Great Hall. Upon her arrival, she found Ron speaking animatedly to a medley of Gryffindors, Hufflepuffs, and Ravenclaws that had gathered around him.
"–standing over me. Filthy! Like a skeleton, and he was holding this great knife, at least twelve inches, but when he saw me, he ran–"
Harry, who had by now heard Ron's tale many times and was determinedly tuning it out, caught sight of Ariadne and jabbed him in the side with an elbow.
"Ow!" Ron yelped. "What was that for?"
Harry jerked his head in Ariadne's direction, an attempt at subtlety immediately offset by Ron's exclamation of "Ariadne!" His face and wildly gesticulating hands fell almost instantly.
The feeling of the entirety of the student body's eyes on her was growing worryingly familiar. Ariadne tilted her chin down as she made her way to the table, smiling feebly at the gaggle of curious students as she squeezed in between Harry and Ron.
"Go on," she encouraged Ron, pointedly ignoring the silence that had befallen the table. "Really. There– there was a knife?"
"Yes," said Ron slowly, but Ariadne only nodded encouragingly once more. Truthfully, seeing Ron tell the story significantly alleviated Ariadne's guilt about the situation, if only because of how evident it was that Ron was rather enjoying the experience.
She thought about it very rarely, if only because Ariadne so loathed the focus that even she often received, but it must have been very difficult for Ron to perceive himself as perpetually overlooked in favor of Harry. She could allow him to bask in the attention, at least for a little while.
Certain that she really was fine, Ron eagerly resumed regaling his enraptured fans.
Besides, the more fantastic Ron's stories became, the less dangerous her father began to appear, at least in her own mind. Sirius Black, the traitor who turned his best friends over to the Dark Lord before killing thirteen was far more frightening than Sirius Black, the nighttime lurker afraid of a fourteen-year-old boy.
"Boy," interrupted Seamus enthusiastically as seated himself at the table, looking rumpled from the night before. He pushed aside a listening Hufflepuff to make room for Dean, who was rubbing his tired eyes, and continued loudly. "S'a good thing Ariadne didn't sleep over again last night, eh Harry? 'Else Sirius Black would've had a real reason to kill you!"
Heat rose to Ariadne's face instantaneously. She did not dare to look at Harry by her side, shuffling away from him in fact. But if the "shut up, Seamus," that he delivered through clenched teeth was any indication, Harry was equally mortified. Ron was, of course howling with laughter.
The sound of a palm forcefully slapping against wood rang out from the table behind them. Ariadne cringed involuntarily. Please don't be–
"Potter…" a voice hissed.
–Draco.
She turned her head around slowly, humiliation giving way to frustration. Draco had stood up from the Slytherin table to hover over her, hands placed rather effeminately on his hips while Crabbe and Goyle postured behind him.
"What, Draco?" she asked, knowing full well what the issue was. Better to play dumb, Ariadne supposed.
Draco did not take his eyes off Harry, who matched the Slytherin's glare with his own. "I'm talking to Potter."
"And I'm talking to you."
"Fine," Draco huffed, folding his arms over his chest. He finally looked at her, silver eyes cold. "What's Finnegan talking about?"
"It's nothing." Ariadne mirrored his position. "I fell asleep one night, that's all."
"That's all?" Draco repeated incredulously. "You fell asleep in Potter's room? Are you out of your bloody mind? Have you given no thought to your reputation?" he spluttered furiously, sounding suddenly rather like his father. "I–I'll tell mother."
Ariadne rolled her eyes at Draco's shock. Merlin, it wasn't that big of a deal, Draco's Pureblood sensibilities be damned. "You will not," she said hotly. "Or else I'll tell Narcissa about Pansy Parkinson's late-night calls to the Manor this summer. Wonder what that would do to her reputation."
Draco's face tightened up preemptively and Pansy, who had been watching the interaction with untamed delight, paled as she whipped her head around, blunt ends of her hair hair brushing up against her jaw. She did not look to Ariadne, but to the end of her own House's table, where yet another clash against wood rang out.
"Pansy Parkinson's what?" A tall, surprisingly handsome fourth-year abruptly stood up at the back of the Slytherin tables, silencing his gaggle of admiring friends. Prescott Parkinson, unlike his less-fortunate sister, did not resemble a pug whatsoever.
Well. Perhaps Ariadne had spoken louder than she had intended.
Draco was almost certainly going to kill her. If Parkinson didn't get to her first, though she wasn't quite sure which sibling would be the one to do it.
"Malfoy, you dirty little toad," Parkinson hissed as he made his way toward the middle of the Hall. Ariadne cringed at the look on Draco's face, unsettled in a way that she had not seen him before. But ever considerate of his surroundings, Draco schooled his features and faced Parkinson head on.
Pansy jumped out of her seat and swatted away Prescott's outreached hand before the older boy was able to reach Draco's collar, though she kept her head down when her brother's infuriated glare turned to her.
They're like a bloody muggle soap opera, Ariadne thought. A soap opera she had practically directed herself. At least no one in the Hall was looking at her and Harry anymore, she supposed.
"Sit down, Pansy," Prescott commanded. "I'll deal with you later. Malfoy, I swear to Merlin that our fath–"
"LISTEN HERE, MY ABSOLUTE DOLT OF A GRANDSON!"
With the students wholly preoccupied with the gossip spilled by Ariadne and Seamus' equally loud mouths, and Merlin, was Ariadne ashamed to have grouped herself in there, one Neville Longbottom had failed to notice a foreboding red letter delivered amongst his mail this morning.
And while any other time she would have covered her ears at the noise, or perhaps pitied Neville for what must be a rather irritating home life, Ariadne decided that breakfast that the shrill voice of Augusta Longbottom was nothing but a godsend. Because when even Draco turned briefly to observe the source of the Howler, Ariadne seized the opportunity to grab Harry by the arm and run out of the Great Hall, Ron and Hermione following closely behind.
She groaned once they returned to the Common Room, covering her eyes with her fingers as she collapsed into a chair.
"Who does Draco think he is? My father?"
"I suppose they both would like to see me dead," Harry mused teasingly. "Maybe it's in the blood."
Ariadne dropped her left hand to glare at Harry with one eye. "Not funny yet," she said sharply, but her lips pulled up slightly despite herself.
"I warned you, didn't I?" Hermione reminded, looking far too pleased with herself as she opened up a tome on 18th century creature trials.
"You warned me people would think that I got murdered, not that they'd think I was some– some–"
"Trollop?" Ron offered up helpfully. Ariadne glared.
The older girl sniffed. "Some things are better left unsaid. Besides," Hermione looked up, keeping her finger trained on a sentence so as to not lose her place. "No one thinks you're a trollop. Pansy Parkinson on the other hand…"
"She had it coming," the redhead dismissed. "She asked me just last week if one of my parents was a tomato."
Harry stared at him.
"Well, I didn't say she was very inventive, did I?"
"It's not like she was actually sneaking over," Ariadne explained. She really hadn't meant to be overheard in the first place, but damage control was proving to be relatively futile. "We're thirteen, for Merlin's sake."
"Fourteen," Hermione and Ron chimed in simultaneously. Ron turned to face the girl with a grin before remembering himself. Or he remembered Scabbers, that is. Ariadne waved them both off with an impatient hand.
"Draco's thirteen, anyhow. And Pansy was just sticking her head in the fire, that's all. I'm not sure why it's so scandalous."
"Sticking her head in the what?" Harry asked. Hermione sighed and placed her quill down before leaning over to explain the intricate mechanics of Floo network.
Meanwhile, Ron shrugged. "It's not, really. Except some of the older families are old-fashioned about that kind of thing, even if it is innocent. I'd bet my pants that Parkinson's got one of them."
"Will Draco get in trouble?" asked Ariadne, feeling slightly guilty.
Ron began to laugh before realizing Ariadne's question was genuine. "I wish," he lowered his voice, eyeing Hermione furtively and wary of a rant regarding the gendered ills of wizarding society. "Like I said," Ron whispered. "It's really very old-fashioned."
"What is?" Ginny asked as she arrived downstairs, tightening her ponytail as she walked.
"Nothing!" Ron blurted quickly, and Ginny narrowed her eyes.
"You're a terrible liar, Ronald," she probed, and Ron gulped as his eyes darted between Ariadne, Hermione, and his sister. Ariadne kept her face blank, rather enjoying watching him sweat.
Harry, however, sighed before speaking up to save him. "'Morning, Ginny. Did you skip breakfast?"
Ginny reddened instantaneously as she finally noticed Harry, emitting a sound that was for the most part unintelligible. She nodded shyly, glancing at Ariadne before gathering the courage to try to speak once more.
"Yes I– late – Charms homework." she jumbled together. "Did– Did I miss anything?"
"Merlin's beard, Gin! Was that meant to be English?" Ron choked, and Ariadne kicked him. "What was that for?" he glared. Ariadne kicked him again.
"Not much," she answered Ginny for him, though Ron began to choke once more.
"Not much?" he repeated incredulously. "To describe the most scandalous breakfast we've ever had? You missed Seamus exposing–"
"Pansy was Floo calling Draco all night the whole summer and her brother Prescott found out!" Ariadne blurted. Merlin, she was the worst. But she could introspect later about her willingness to throw everyone besides herself under the bus later.
"She didn't!" Ginny exclaimed, shock lacing her words and jolting her out of her nerves. "What a trollop."
"It wasn't like that!" Ariadne exclaimed defensively (though perhaps she was projecting). Ginny waved her interjection away.
"Better everyone thinks it was," the younger girl replied. "That bint called me 'tomato-head' as I was leaving Herbology this morning." Ron looked deeply offended on his sister's behalf. Dead on about her creativity, though. "If anyone deserves to be on the wrong end of a bad rumor, it's Pansy Parkinson."
Ariadne sighed. At least she could confirm quite confidently that she had never compared someone's hair to anything in the produce aisle. Better Pansy than her, she supposed.
"Honestly, why's it got everybody up in arms?" Harry chimed in, though he quickly moved to correct himself as he watched Ron's indignation build at the remark. "The Floo! Not, erm, the tomato thing, Ginny."
"Tomato thing?" Ginny startled, evidently having forgotten Harry was there in her fervor over Pansy. Ariadne had assumed as much, considering this seemed to be the first time that Ginny had ever completed a sentence in his presence. And with his attention placed firmly on her, it appeared all of Ginny's other thoughts had disappeared from her brain.
"Yes, Pansy's jab this morning was rather cruel," rehashed Ariadne casually.
"Right!" Ginny exclaimed, though her eyes remained at Harry's feet. "Right," she repeated, before swallowing. "Harry," she began, shocking the other four. This was perhaps the first time that Ginny addressed the older boy directly. "I–I just wanted to thank you, Harry, for the broom."
Harry looked taken aback by the sheer earnestness of her gratitude, rubbing the back of his neck sheepishly. "It's no problem, Ginny," he replied. "Really. To be honest, it was A–"
"Hold on!" Ron interrupted, eyes darting forth between his sister and his best friend as he pieced together their betrayal. "The broom? Harry, mate, tell me you didn't."
"Oh!" Ginny reddened once more. "Sorry, H-Harry, I–"
Rather than continue to flounder in front of Harry, Ginny elected to dart out of the room. Probably for the best.
"Sorry, mate," Harry shrugged, not sounding all too sorry at all. "I promised Aria. Blame her instead."
Ron turned his ire towards Ariadne, mouth open as he poised himself to argue his case.
"Before you start at me," Ariadne began, holding her hands up placatingly. "Have you ever even seen Ginny fly?"
The redhead's scowl froze on his face, and when his brows furrowed slightly with tentative confusion, Ariadne allowed herself to press forward.
"She's got a knack for it, and I know for a fact that you lot never let her join in at home to keep the teams even. But she's good, Ron. Good enough to have a broom of her own, considering she has to sneak into the shed in your backyard to even ride one."
With the decency to look at least somewhat ashamed, Ron crossed his arms and leaned back into his seat, pouting slightly as he did.
"Besides," Ariadne added slyly, "who knows what models will be out by Christmas next year? Or your birthday, perhaps?"
Ron uncrossed his arms.
"Well, alright," he muttered, puffing up his chest as he sat forward. "I suppose it's a good thing that you gave the broom to Ginny. She could use the practice, after all."
The week resumed with Ron reveling in his fifteen minutes, which were admittedly quickly fading. With no further developments in her father's break-in, and with Ron having repeated the story nearly a dozen times over, Hogwarts had finally moved on to the next.
While Draco and Pansy's supposed secret trysts had distracted the student body, even that gossip fell to the wayside when fourth-year Cormac McLaggen was spotted in the Astronomy Tower with sixth-year Beatrice Haywood. Ariadne thought the news was relatively boring relative to a mass-murderer entering Hogwarts with a knife, but she was not about to look a gift hippogriff in the mouth.
One person who had not yet forgotten her father's intrusion, however, sent her a letter that Ariadne was (for once) quite ecstatic receive.
Dear Ariadne,
Merlin, our family likes their syllables, don't they? Ariadne's not as bad as Nymphadora, I suppose, but I reckon you must have a nickname that you go by. Not Black, surely?
Not sure if you remember, but I'm the Auror you ran away from back at the Malfoys (pink hair?). Got me in a spot of trouble at work, if I'm being honest. And I can be honest with you, 'cos I'm your cousin. Sort of. My name's Tonks. I'm not really too involved in that side of the family, but I heard that you're in Gryffindor, and you ran away from my Aunt Narcissa (swot) so I thought I might give this a shot.
Anyway! You're probably wondering why you're hearing from me. My mum tells me I can never just get to the point, but I think that's half the fun of it! I read about the break-in in the Prophet last Saturday. I'm working your dad's case – mostly grunt work on anything pertaining to it, 'cos it's still my last year of training. But I figured if you ever wanted to talk, I might be a good resource on account of my job, my charm, my wit, and of course, our blood relation.
Feel free to write me with whatever questions you want, or if you ever just want to vent. Or chat, please! Auror training is dreadfully dull right now, and my best mate lives in Romania and never has anything fun to discuss. If you ever need some boy (or girl!) advice from a wise older woman, I'm your gal.
Tonks
It would have been rather difficult for Ariadne to forget the pink-haired Auror that she had frantically evaded at the Manor that day. For one, Tonks had instantaneously and non-verbally charmed her hair from bubblegum pink to a shocking red, both colours that stood out amongst the otherwise relatively severe faction of the DMLE.
Secondly, of course, was that anyone who managed to shake the otherwise unshakeable Narcissa was memorable, indeed. Aunt Narcissa. Well, that certainly explained that.
To Ariadne, Tonks's existence in the Black family genealogy lifted a weight from her shoulders that she hadn't realized she was carrying. Quickly skimming the letter once more, what was once inevitable felt suddenly less so. Her blood, in other words, was no longer as tainted with prejudice as it once was. Tonks proved that she had a choice.
The sound of her name caused Ariadne to place the letter down. She tilted her head in curiosity at the sight of Harry rolling his eyes as he waited for Hermione to cease what appeared to be a scolding.
"– remind you that you and Ariadne are quite possibly the last two people in the entire universe for whom this would be a good idea."
"I've done it before–"
"And that turned out to be a mistake, Harry."
"–and already know the way, so there really is no risk," Harry continued, deftly ignoring Hermione.
"If I could put my two cents in," Ron chimed in seamlessly, wiping his face for the bit of bacon grease that had gathered at the corner of his mouth. "I'm all for you sneaking in, mate, but I've got to put my foot down at Ariadne tagging along. We forget all too often, I think, that she's a whole year beneath us. There are some things that the youngsters just haven't earned. It's a rite of passage, a necessary wai–"
"Tagging along?" Ariadne repeated hotly, cutting him off. "And why are you talking like that, you wizened old bag? I absolutely do too deserve to go, and there's not a thing at this school that you've earned and I haven't, Ronald." She took a calming breath, remembering herself. "But, er, where is it that we're going, exactly?"
"Ha!" crowed Ron, vindicated. "You don't even know! Just goes to show that you are too young, doesn't it?"
"Hogsmeade – this weekend." It was Harry who answered, smirking slightly at her tirade.
"Not Hogsmeade!" screeched Hermione. Several surrounding Gryffindors turned to stare at the noise, though she took no notice. "Am I the only one who remembers that your father–" she lowered her voice, staring at Ariadne pointedly, "– broke in here just last week?"
"Obviously not, Hermione," replied Ariadne, slightly annoyed. "Spare me the lecture, please. It's not like I can go anyway. I've got detention with Lupin, remember?"
"Even for this term?" asked Ron, bacon grease having somehow returned to the corner of his mouth.
"For forever, it feels like. I've got no choice but to wait until next year – when I've earned it." She balled up a napkin and threw it at Ron. "As for Harry, well…"
Said boy flashed her an innocent smile. Ariadne reached over Hermione's plate for another napkin to crumple, lobbing it at Harry this time. "If he were absolutely set on making an incredibly stupid decision, then he'd better be certain keeps his cloak on. At all times."
"Yes," Harry agreed, solemn tone dissonant with the grin on his face. "Should I, for some reason, make an incredibly stupid decision, I'll be sure to keep that in mind."
By the yells from Snape's office the following weekend, it appeared that Harry had been unable to keep his word.
Ariadne had spent more than enough time with Professor Lupin since the start of the semester. This was the first time alone with him since last December, however, when she'd bitten the bullet and finally asked about her mother.
The memory made Ariadne want to kick herself, embarrassed somewhat by the vulnerability that she'd displayed in front of a man who'd done nothing but hold her at arm's length.
The knowledge that Professor Lupin had been a Marauder meant that Lupin had not just known her father while they were in school. He had been his best friend. One of them, at least.
Fine, if he wanted to brush over an association with Sirius Black. But that meant he knew her. As her teacher, certainly, and aware of her desperation to learn more about her parents. But more than that, he knew about her. Perhaps even been there when she was born. She could admit that it stung a bit that he sought to distance himself from her as well. For longer, even, than just the school year.
And she had not forgotten how Lupin had reacted during that first anti-Dementor lesson, when Harry brought up her father. His growl had been brief enough that if Ariadne had not known, she would not have noticed. But even for just a moment, Professor Lupin had been more wolf than man. And try as she might, without the distraction of Harry's presence, Ariadne could not change what she knew.
Judging by the way that his weary eyes would dart occasionally to the empty chaise at her right, Ariadne could hazard a guess that Professor Lupin too longed for the buffer that Harry evidently had unconsciously provided.
Tough, thought Ariadne pettily, irritated by the silence in which she found herself sitting once more. 'Cos he's at Hogsmeade, having loads more fun than I am. I'm all you've got.
The clearing of Professor Lupin's throat caused Ariadne to worry very briefly that he perhaps could read her mind, though she rid herself of the thought quickly.
"Ariadne," he began, and she flicked her eyes up from the teacup in her hands to stare at him expectantly. "You've had quite an eventful week."
Straight to the point as always, thought Ariadne, feeling rather insolent. Snape would be proud to see her living up to his expectations.
"Would you be referring to Gryffindor's win, Professor? Or when my father broke into the dorms intent on murdering two of my friends?"
Lupin coughed. "Er– the latter."
"That was eventful," mused Ariadne as she tapped her fingers upon her cup. Lupin waited for her to elaborate, but she did not.
"I'm aware that he was found in the boys' dormitory," Lupin tried uncertainly before restarting more authoritatively. "But did Sirius– your father– attempt to contact you as well that night? Or perhaps, did you notice anything else suspicious that night? Er–outside, even?"
Ariadne grimaced, Lupin unknowingly prodding at a wound she'd rather pretend she did not have. Moreover, what in Merlin's name was he on about, 'outside'? Was he – surely he wasn't referring to himself, was he? Was it even a full moon that night? Not subtle at all, protecting your own skin.
"It's alright if he did," the professor kept his voice soothing, having interpreted her expression as an admission of guilt. It wasn't not, she supposed. "But it's imperative that you're honest with us, Ariadne, lest he–"
"Lupin! I want a word!"
A voice bellowed out from behind her. Ariadne whipped her head around to see who called, though she was disappointed almost instantaneously by the unmistakable sight of Snape's hooked nose sticking through the flames of Lupin's fireplace.
Lupin sighed softly, getting up from his seat with relative difficulty for someone his age.
"I'll just be a moment, Ariadne, and then we can resume our conversation," he promised, before grabbing a handful of powder from a hanging basket and clambering into the flames himself. Ariadne could of very little that she wanted to do less.
"Severus's office!" he enunciated clearly. The moment that his fist released the gray powder, however, Ariadne darted up from her chair and ran into the fireplace with him. She grabbed Lupin by his patched elbow and kept her own tucked firmly into her side, ignoring his noise of surprise as green flames enveloped them and her brain began to spin.
"Merlin," she choked, emerging from Snape's fireplace. His office was decidedly gloomier than Lupin's, a windowless room dimly lit only by candles that lined the walls. "That does not get any more pleasant. Better than Apparating, I suppose."
"Black," Snape snarled, beady black eyes glaring hatefully before he turned his attention to Professor Lupin. "What is she doing here?"
"I believed it would be better for Ariadne to come along with me than remain in her detention unsupervised," lied Lupin smoothly. Ariadne winked at Harry to clue him in on the truth, though she frowned when she noticed his white face and clenched fists. Ariadne followed his line of sight to the parchment ensnared in Snape's grip.
Oh, no.
"I have just found Potter with this piece of parchment." He slammed the Map down on his desk, spittle flying out of his mouth on the final word. "Given that Dark Magic is your… expertise, I thought that you might have an idea regarding where Potter might have obtained such an item."
Realization dawned almost imperceptibly on Lupin's face, his eyes tracing over the words Moony, Wormtail, Padfoot, and Prongs as he remained completely silent. He remained that way for a very long time, lips thin and unsettled as he stared. It had probably been nearly twenty years since he'd last seen it, after all.
"Well?"
Lupin looked up and, offering a slight warning glance at Ariadne and Harry, began to lie smoothly once more.
"Dark Magic?" Lupin repeated, mild tone laced with just a hint of condescension. "A piece of parchment designed to insult its reader? I'd have to imagine it was purchased a joke shop, Severus. Zonko's, perhaps."
"Zonko's?" Snape demanded, nearly quivering with rage. Ariadne had only seen him like this once before, when she had walked out of his classroom at the beginning of the year. Lupin, in contrast, looked positively serene. "Zonko's? When it's far more likely that he got it straight from the manufacturers?"
Ariadne emitted a silent gasp, daring a glance at Harry. He looked back, eyebrows raised in surprise. She nodded once, confirming his unspoken question.
Snape knew. Something, at least. But if Snape had gone to school with their parents, had known the not-so-secret boyhood identity of the Marauders, then why would he avoid accusing Lupin outright?
Ariadne observed Snape once more, his head cocked slightly as he stared at Professor Lupin. Snape's jaw was set and his gaze was hard, though his eyes held a smugness that surpassed his usual pompous air.
Vindication. He believes that he's been proven right– about something greater than just 'Moony.' But what could it be?
Before Ariadne had the chance to ponder any further, a panting redhead rushed through the doors of Snape's office. Ron spoke quickly, gasping for air with each phrase.
"That's– my– parchment," he choked, pointing towards the paper on Snape's desk. "Gift– from– Zonko's– ages ago…"
"Confirmation!" Lupin cheered joyously. "I suppose that clears everything up, doesn't it, Severus? I'll take this back, thank you." He plucked the Map off the desk, though he had to drag it from underneath Snape's pointer finger to remove it. "Ariadne, we must return to my office to complete your detention. And Ron, Harry, I'd like a word with you two about last week's Hinkypunk lesson, hm?"
All four of them waited until they were safely outside of Snape's office and secluded in the hall before they dared to speak of what had just occurred. But when Ron broke the silence, moony-eyed and impressed by Lupin's intervention, Lupin did not allow him the chance to speak.
"I don't want to hear it," he said tersely. "From any of you. I happen to know for a fact that this map was confiscated by Filch over a decade ago."
"Map?" Harry tried, but Professor Lupin did not budge.
"Don't bother. I don't want to know how it came into your possession, but I do want to know why in Merlin's name you would not think to turn it in. Particularly given the last time a student left information lying around the castle." He looked at Ariadne pointedly. "Have you not stopped to think a map showing any particular person's location would be extraordinarily useful to Black?"
"Not if he doesn't know how to use it," Ron scoffed. "Did you know them, then? The Marauders?" Harry caught Ariadne's eye before looking at the floor. Ariadne stared at a point just beyond Lupin's left ear, keeping her face innocent. So Harry had not told Ron – not yet, at least. That meant that it was just theirs for the time being – their shared inheritance.
"In a way," replied Lupin, cryptic as ever. "Harry."
Harry looked up.
"I cannot force you to take Sirius Black seriously. But I would have thought– hoped, at least, that the Dementors impressed a serious lesson onto you. Your parents gave their lives to keep you alive, Harry. A poor way to repay them – gambling their sacrifice for a bag of magic tricks."
Harry's face fell almost instantly, utterly taken aback by the words of a man who had otherwise been nothing but affable. Whose words actually could provide insight into his dead parents' feelings. Ariadne could not stay silent, no longer content to pretend.
"That's a terrible thing to say," she murmured quietly, observing the look of distress on Harry's face as he swallowed with difficulty. "And terribly unfair."
Lupin faltered momentarily and although his eyes softened, he continued to tuck the map away. Ariadne felt hot, suddenly, panic setting in at the threat.
"You can't do that!" she cried, desperation scrambling her mind. He couldn't– not this, not when it was practically all they had. "It's ours, Professor Lupin. I know you know that."
Lupin froze completely, map hovering over the inner pocket of his shabby tweed jacket. He looked up, staring at her as though she were a mild curiosity. "Yours?" he repeated quietly.
Ariadne squared her shoulders and nodded once. "Yes," she replied firmly. She paused for a moment before speaking again, this time allowing a bitterness that she would later regret to seep into her words. "I haven't always been alone, you know. I had a mother, once. I do still live with Narcissa. On top of all that, I'm not a complete idiot. I know that you made that map with my father. That you were best friends, loathe as you might be to admit it. I know more than that, even. You might have your secrets, Professor Lupin, but they're not as well kept as you seem to think."
Lupin's face shuttered instantly, his voice as hard and cold as his eyes. "I suppose by that logic then, Miss Black, that even you would have to admit that the person with the most right to this map is me."
She watched helplessly as Lupin turned on his heel and walked away without another word. Harry stood by her side, likewise watching their professor retreat, while Ron stood gaping at them both.
"Am I missing something?" the redhead asked, confusion present in his words.
"Sort of," replied Harry, though he did not yet offer up additional explanation. And although Ron clearly had follow-up questions to ask, he was prevented from doing so by the arrival of a teary-eyed Hermione.
"Where have you lot been?" she asked as she approached with a jog, not bothering to wipe away her tears. She held out a torn piece of paper when she got close enough, prompting Ariadne to unfreeze reflexively to take it.
"It's from Hagrid," Hermione explained, voice wobbly. "The hearing was a sham. Buckbeak is set to be executed."
It has been a while! I'm very sorry it's taken me so long to update! My computer actually broke, and I had to wait a while to get it fixed. I'm not super happy with this chapter, but I just wanted to get it up quickly. It's a lot of filler, really, so I also wanted to get it over with so that I could MOVE ON to the more interesting stuff!
Anyway! As usual, please leave a review (and let me know if you're even still reading)!