When The Stars Come Out To Play

Poetry used is, in order of appearance: The Lake Isle of Innisfree by William Butler Yeats.

when the stars come out to play

- these are the days of our lives -

The lights were glittering on the lake, making an ethereal spectacle of the night. The laughter and shattering voices were all soft against the velvet sky: small tributes to the darkness, intricate adornment skittering along the horizon where night pinned her cloak to the world.

"I still can't believe you did it," Parris chuckled, raising his butterbeer in a lazy tribute, gazing around at the relatively solid pier that had been built. "I'm proud of you boys."

Lucius was grinning. The night had been chosen at random and had acquiesced: warm, the balmy breath of summer evenings, pleasant despite the slip into October. His fingers were slippery on his own bottle. "You should have more faith in us."

"It was all me, Professor," Wally boasted, and the others laughed. The little lanterns that lined the dock shook as footsteps wiggled the wood.

Professor Parris leaned down to where the shallows of the lake were dark with shadows. A few minnows darted here and there, perhaps, and the pebbles rattled in an ever-present whisper of arcane secrets. "Where's Lawrence?" he inquired, resting the empty butterbeer bottle on a post. "Haven't seen him around since yesterday."

"Researching, no doubt." Lucius fixed his gaze upon their Head of House. "He's working day and night, you know that? I bet he works on your project more than you do."

"I've told him to take a break. I don't ask this work of him. Surely you know that."

"Maybe he's with Rosier," Francis piped up, pacifying them both. "I'll tell them to come celebrate, if you like." The shorter boy looked from his Professor to Lucius, a nervous smile on his face.

"Don't you worry about it, Francis." Professor Parris gave them all a wave. "It's off to the comfort of bed for me. Don't stay up too late now. I can see the lake from my window, you know."

Wally grinned. "Oh, we always behave, Professor."

"As you say. Goodnight, boys."

There was a chorus of "'Night, Professor"s from the gathered crowd, and a few clapped him on the back as he trudged back towards the castle. Lucius grasped his bottle of butterbeer and raised it high, grinning at Wally and Francis. His eyes were shining with the glint of youth and freedom, the joy of knowing what you want ahead of you and knowing you can still achieve it. "Here's to us," he proclaimed.

"To us."

"To us!"

They downed the rest of the butterbeer, sharing a grin. Down by the end of the pier, two Hufflepuff boys were tussling. One fell in with a splash and a shriek; the others laughed, hands outstretched to pull him back up. The ripples from his fall went scurrying over the lake, and the reflecting strings of lights wavered like bobbing stars.

"It's such a beautiful night," Lucius said. He leaned against one of the posts, ankles and arms crossed. "Look out there on the lake; it's just like the sky. Dizzying. You can't tell up from down."

"It could go on forever," Francis replied shyly. "Which is reflecting which?"

"We're sandwiched between. There's something thrilling about that." Lucius shrugged, watching as Wally trailed off to more exciting company. "He's going to gamble again. He shouldn't." Condescending, "You know he doesn't have the money. Someday he'll gamble away his family's last galleon and his house and probably his own mother."

"That's harsh. You don't know what he's faced with, Lucius; you've never been there."

"He doesn't mind. Don't you hear him joke about it? He doesn't mind."

Francis looked away. "Let's not talk about it? Please? Do you have your poetry with you?"

"I don't feel like poetry." Lucius glanced at his feet, then across the mingling students' heads. "Anyway, there, Wally hasn't gone to gamble with those terrible Hufflepuffs; he's with some girl. Never seen her before."

"Will you admit you were too cruel about it, then?"

For a moment, Lucius' mouth reminded Francis too much of an older, less carefree man; it put him in mind of someone iron and cold, with little to smile about. Lucius said, icily, as the lord he would someday be, "Malfoys never admit their wrongs."

"Even if they are wrong?" Francis tried to jest lightly, offering one of his placating smiles. The dark hissed around them.

"We aren't." The ice melted; Lucius' eyes flashed amusement. "I'm not, at least. My father is, all the time. Thinks he knows everything just because he's got a couple years on me."

"A couple?" But Francis was relieved, and his laughter was too loud with the release of such relief. "Come and sit down. We can watch Wally trip all over himself to impress the girl. I think she's a fifth year. Blonde, hmm, it might be-"

Lucius was not listening, trying to find the softest spot in the grass. He pushed up his sleeves impatiently as he kicked at a rock pushing into his back. Francis settled down without complaint, elbow upon a knobby root, yawning.

"Hey, Francis?" The tow-headed youth leaned back against the tree. "What're you going to do after Hogwarts?"

If Francis froze in the darkness, Lucius didn't notice. "I don't know," he said uncertainly, after a long moment. "I'm not like you, I don't have a thousand options paving my path."

"I don't have a thousand options," Lucius protested. "I have one. Taking over my father's businesses. I just have a thousand dreams."

"Who says you can't have both?"

"I don't know." Nibbling on his lip, Lucius looked pensive; between the shadows, his skin shone faintly luminous, some young god who had slipped into the mortal world for a moment or two. "I don't know, Francis. I don't want my life to be a waste. I-" With a sudden vehemence, "I don't want to be like him. He doesn't even love Mother, they act like strangers. Polite strangers, but strangers. Sometimes I don't even know if he loves me."

Francis' voice was earnest. "He does, Lucius. He must. You're his son."

Bitterly, "And what does that mean?"

"That he should love you. And besides, everyone does. He should be proud of you. Do you remember your eleventh birthday, when you had that party, and you left us all milling around while your father took you riding on your new horse?"

Lucius snorted, stretching out his legs on the grass. "Are you trying to tell me how spoiled I was? I already know that."

Francis sighed. He nestled against the tree, the sleeve of his robe snagging against the bark. "Look. Your father - as the rest of the wizarding families do - has trouble expressing emotion. We aren't very good with these things. But he does care for you; even I can see that."

"Arthur Weasley's father doesn't have a problem with showing that he cares."

"You're jealous of Arthur?" Francis knew immediately he had said the wrong thing.

Lucius' back stiffened, and he sat up abruptly. "I am not. I never said that."

"I can't blame you. If-" Francis reached out, tentatively pressing his fingers to Lucius' bare forearm. "Lucius, were I you, I'd long for that too, I'd-"

"I am not jealous of Arthur Weasley," Lucius snapped, jerking to his feet. "He's a threadbare, hopeless little weasel, and I have utterly no desire to have anything to do with him. He should be jealous of me."

"Luce-"

"I'm going up to the castle," Lucius said icily, looking less like an idle god and more like a wrathful one as each second passed. Lips pressed tightly together, he stomped away up the hill: the young lordling with a temper tantrum, the spoiled side of him that rarely peeked its way through.

Francis let him go.

= = = = =

"Someone's in a happy mood tonight," Molly giggled, letting Arthur spin her around as they stepped out the portrait hole. "Any particular reason, or have you had one too many butterbeers?"

"And why shouldn't I be happy? I've the most beautiful girl in school by my side, and Evan Rosier doesn't."

Molly paled for an instant, stopping still where she stood. She drew Arthur back to her, holding both of his hands, staring earnestly up into his eyes. His almost comical concern, that familiar lopsided smile drooping with worry, was a comfort to her. "Arthur," she said. "Please, don't taunt him. It's bad enough, I - I don't want you to make it worse." When he looked ready to dismiss her anxiety as silly, she squeezed his hands desperately. "Please. Isn't it enough that I love you?"

He cupped her cheek with one hand, gently pulling her chin up as he leaned in to kiss her. "If you say it," he murmured to her lips, "it shall be so, my dear."

She didn't tell him that Evan Rosier said he did not love her. She didn't tell him that she'd met with Evan Rosier in a darkened classroom, trading words over Arthur's own future.

She just kissed him back, and tried not to think of Evan Rosier at all.

This was particularly difficult, as the very boy invading her thoughts rounded the corner with a familiar smirk. At his overly polite cough, she leapt from Arthur's arms and was ashamed to find her cheeks burning. As Arthur curled a protective arm about her shoulders, she sought the details of the floor.

"Isn't this interesting, Lawrence," Rosier drawled. "A little snogging session by the Gryffindor Tower." With a provocative smile at the pair, "Well, don't let us interrupt you. Carry on."

"What are you doing up here, Rosier?" Arthur growled, dismissing Rosier's companion as unimportant. Molly felt Arthur's fingers bruising into her skin and shrugged her shoulder irritably at his urgent grip. "I should-"

"You should what, Weasel? Tell on me for walking around?" He had that way of slouching just so, Molly thought, as if the entire world lay beneath him, with that arrogant smile that made her stomach twitch.

Remember what he said, she reminded herself angrily, and nestled closer to Arthur's side.

"Aren't they a cute couple, Lawrence? The redheaded weasel and his simpering little girlfriend. It's enough to make me sick."

"Rosier." The boy at his side took Rosier's arm insistently. "Come on, let's go. I don't want you getting us both in trouble tonight. Leave it, will you?"

"What's the matter?" Arthur jeered. "Can't handle the fighting, Slytherin? Scared?" To Molly, softly, he urged, "Get back into the common room. I'll find you in a moment." When she shook her head, he shoved her in that direction. "Go!"

"Arthur! No! There are two of them, you can't-"

"Can't what?" Rosier raised a delicate eyebrow, giving them both a mild sneer. "Are you scared? Going to run back into your little burrow and cry? If you aren't careful, Molly'll find out what a poor excuse she's got as a boyfriend. Pity, but you're no more than a sniveling rodent."

Lawrence jerked Rosier out of the way as Arthur lunged blindly and went crashing against the wall. Molly screamed, and Lawrence shoved the protesting Rosier behind him.

"Careful, Weasel," Rosier hissed poisonously as Lawrence dragged him away. "If you don't watch out, you might just end up-" But the rest of his words were muffled by Lawrence's hand, and Molly was left to soothe her spitting mad lover. Rosier struggled all the way down the hall, until he nearly sent the both of them tumbling down the stairs.

"What are you doing, Rosier?" Lawrence shoved away from him, breathing hard. "You could have gotten us both-"

"Oh, who cares?"

"I care!"

"Well, you weren't the one-" Rosier kicked the wall wrathfully, his frustration seeping out wherever it could manage to escape. "Damn it, Lawrence! Damn! Did you see them? I bet he kisses like a - a sponge! Did you see the way he treated her?"

"Tried to protect her?"

"Like a possession!"

Lawrence shook his head, disappointed amusement making his smile wry. "Is that any different than you've treated her, Ros? No, don't tell me; I'm tired of hearing about it. I wish you could control yourself, at least for my sake."

"Oh, and now you're playing at being my father? You've no right!"

"And you've no right to drag me - to drag us all - into your rebellion! Have a care for the rest of the world, or are you too far above us?"

Rosier turned, eyes glittering dangerously. "You didn't have to come with me. I never said, 'Oh, Lawrence, why don't you come walking with me, since I don't want to go down to the lake?' I never invited you."

"Well if you didn't want me to come-"

"If you didn't want to come!"

"Ros-"

"And here I thought we were friends!" Rosier took a step forward, jaw clenched tightly. Lawrence didn't like the way his fists were balled. "You're as bad as the Weasel, you know that, you're just like-"

"Rosier!" Lawrence drew in a deep breath and held up his hands. "You're upset, all right? You're angry, but don't take it out on me."

"You can't tell me-"

Seizing him by the arms, Lawrence shook him. "I'm the only one who sticks up for you and your stupid actions anymore, you know that, Ros? I'm the only one that stands by you and goes where you go and tries to overlook your drinking and your fighting and your depression - yes, you are, all right? Everyone else has given up on you, but I refuse to. I refuse to, Ros, because I'm your friend! And if you don't want me to be, that's fine, you can take care of yourself and turn into a bigger mess than Weasley, because it's your choice, but don't say I didn't try. Don't say I didn't care."

Lawrence thought he could literally see Rosier deflate. The boy lost his words somewhere in the barrage of Lawrence's, and his shoulders sank. "Lawrence, I'm sorry." Rosier slumped against the wall. "He just makes me mad," he protested quietly. "Don't know how he managed to get into Gryffindor, the spineless git. Couldn't have bribed his way in, unless they trade in dirt."

"Shh," Lawrence said. "Here, d'you want to go down to the party at the lake?"

Rosier looked disgusted. "I'd rather not."

"Suit yourself. I'm going to find Parris, I have to ask him if he's cross-checked the information from Blood Magicks with the old Encyclopædia, because the instructions to make-" He realized that Rosier hadn't been paying any attention. "Anyway. I'll be in Parris' office or in the library."

There was a polite cough from behind them. "My apologies, Lestrange, but you will not. Professor Parris has left for London on urgent business-" here his frown deepened - "and will not return for a fortnight. In that time, I shall be teaching his classes."

Lawrence sounded flustered as he faced Professor Dumbledore. "Y-yes, Professor Dumbledore, but - please, why did he leave? He never mentioned anything to me."

"It came up quite suddenly," Dumbledore said, giving Lawrence a patronizing smile. "Now, why don't you boys head down to the lake? There seems to be quite a celebration going on to christen your little dock. Don't worry about Professor Parris, he's just out on a bit of business. When he returns, I'm sure he'll tell you all about it."

The Headmaster watched the two boys step away down the hall and shook his head sadly. He had not been sure about letting Lawrence Lestrange aid Ernest to begin with, and now even he could not foresee what would happen.

He did not trust Ernest Parris, but he strongly suspected that Ernest did not trust him either.

= = = = =

"Francis? That you?"

The kneeling figure at the dock glanced up, silhouetted by the moonlight, and then straightened. "Wally? Sure it's me. What're you doing back down here? I thought you'd be busy in the Astronomy Tower by now."

The stocky Slytherin boy made his way towards the dock, hands stuck in the pockets of his robes. He gave a dejected shrug. "Nah. It was a mistake, I guess."

"A mistake?" Francis raised an eyebrow. "How so?"

"I can't talk to girls, Francis. I don't have anything to say! I end up talking about Quidditch strategy or how I won a few sickles betting on how many lessons Binns would spend on the Troll Wars, and they just get bored. Anyway, I was encouraged because she didn't sound bored, but she mistook me for - for someone else."

"You're just too brilliant for them," Francis laughed, patting him on the arm. "Who'd she think you were? There aren't many Walden Macnairs around this school, as far as I'm aware."

Wally kicked the dirt, not meeting Francis's eyes. "She thought - well, she goes, 'Oh, you're that Slytherin,' so I thought maybe she'd heard of me and didn't bother to tell her my name. Turns out she thought I was Lucius. You know, heir to a fortune, 'n all."

"Oh, Wal-"

"It's okay. She was a Hufflepuff anyway, right?" He gave a wry smile. "What've you been doing all this time? Everybody's left."

Francis shrugged. "Just hanging about. Looking at the stars on the water. I can't bring myself to go inside. Look what I found. I suppose Lucius carved them this morning when we were all in Hogsmeade buying butterbeer and whatnot."

Wally leaned down to read the words. "'I will arise and go now, for always night and day, I hear lake water lapping with low sounds by the shore. While I stand on the roadway, or on the pavements gray, I hear it in the deep heart's core.' Yeats."

"I think it's beautiful," Francis said, staring down at the words in the dock. He glanced up at Wally wistfully. "Beautiful like this lake at moments like this, where Hogwarts is all alight and the stars float like tiny lanterns. I can't bring myself to go back inside, because I know when I see the lake again it will just be mud and weeds and dark water."

Wally gave him a rueful grin. "You're a regular old poet, Francis."

"Me? No. That's Lucius."

"Lucius isn't a poet," Wally said fiercely. "He just pretends, because he thinks it makes him sound more intelligent and renaissance. He doesn't write it, anyway, just moons around with his little book groaning about the future."

"I sense some bitterness," Francis said, expressionless.

"Not really. Luce can't help the way he is. He just - is. He grew up that way, you know; I can't really blame him. If I were in his place, I'd probably be the same way." He looked at Francis, who was listening with a mild expression but gnawing with a telltale worry on his lip. "You really care about him, don't you? You've known him longer than any of us."

Francis shrugged. "We grew up together. It's just natural to - to follow him. He's Lucius."

"Like Lawrence and Rosier, y'mean." Wally leaned against a pole on the dock. "It's all right. I didn't grow up with you all. You know, sometimes I think Lucius looks at me - they all look at me - and they see a Weasley. I'm no different, just as dirt poor and hopeless. Just because I'm a Slytherin - that doesn't mean anything."

Without hesitation, a chuckled, "Lucius would never flatter a Weasley that much with that comparison."

After a minute, Wally grinned. "Thanks, Francis."

"Sure. It's getting cold out; you want to go up to the kitchens?"

"You sure you won't break down at leaving this lonely little lake?" Wally joked. He took Francis by the arm and pulled him away. "I'm up for it. Bet the house elves will have the fire going, and a bunch of those pastries we used to sneak up to the dorms back in fifth year." He trailed off into reminiscence. "Come on, Francis, I'm salivating. And it was your suggestion."

Francis glanced down at his feet once more, at the words carved deep into the wood of the dock - most likely with the aid of magic - and back out over the lake. It was dark and shadowed: an ominous sheet of black between the sky and the depths below.

"I'm coming," he said, and turned away to Hogwarts' lights.

= = = = =

"Look, there's no y factor to begin with! The force of the spell initiates-"

"But this only measures the force."

"But the problem asks-"

"-so we need to add-"

"With Wagner's Principle, right, and figure-"

"Ah hah!"

Lawrence and Lucius glanced up with matching triumphant grins, only to be met with the nonplussed stares of their housemates. Wally and Francis scarcely looked up from their chess game, and when they did they only gave the other two an incredulous raise of the eyebrow.

"Only you two," Wally said with fond disgust. "Advanced Arithmancy Theory, hah. That book weights more than I do!"

"Yes, but unlike you, it happens to be useful." Lawrence grinned. "So, Master Tactician Macnair, who's winning?"

"Me, of course." Francis whispered something to his knight, and the piece trotted forward obligingly. "Check, once again, Wally."

Wally grimaced. "You mean checkmate."

Pleased, "Why, so it is."

Leaning back in his chair, Wally dismissed his pieces and they trotted tiredly off the board. Francis watched them in amusement. "I'm no good at chess," Wally grumbled, resting his head against his hand. "You'd make a good tactician, Francis."

"Not as if we need many these days." Francis frowned. "Grindelwald is gone, Wal."

"Yeah, and it's to the Ministry with me."

Lucius set down his parchment and stretched. Lawrence followed suit, shutting the heavy tome they'd been working out of. "You sound almost disappointed that Grindelwald's coup failed," Lucius noted. "You think we'd be headed for greater things if he still struggled for power?"

"We'd just be faceless minions to him," Francis pointed out. "He had armies, spies, powerful wizards. A few green boys just out of Hogwarts? We'd have been lucky to be taken at all."

"He has a point." Lawrence set his quill down on the table, yawning. "Anyway, the age of revolutionaries is over. Didn't you hear the WWN report yesterday? Stephen Hornby - he's the retired head of the Magical Law Enforcement Department, wrote a book on the economy - had a special on how the wizarding world was finally settling down from Grindelwald. The brief repression is over and everything's looking up."

"What if we don't want to 'settle down?'"

They all glanced at Lucius. He shrugged uneasily. "Well? What if we don't? Who here honestly looks forward to the future, all offices and paperwork and becoming our fathers? There's nothing exciting, nothing to anticipate."

Lawrence elbowed him. "You're just unhappy we're leaving Hogwarts this year," he said lightly, trying to ignore the intensity of Lucius' words.

"I guess I'm due for the Ministry," Wally shrugged. "My father worked for the Committee for the Disposal of Magical Creatures. I guess I could prob'ly do that. I mean, it wouldn't be too bad, if I got to go around and see 'em all."

"Instead of sitting in an office signing papers, you mean," Lucius said bitterly.

"I thought about working in Diagon Alley," Francis put in, "like in Flourish & Blotts or some sort of place."

"Work in Knockturn!" Wally grinned, giving him an eager nod of the head. "Now that'd be exciting. You'd get to see all of those exciting things, the Dark Arts stuff we never even hear about! And then we'd have an excuse to go there, coming to visit you and all."

Francis looked uncertain. "Knockturn Alley? I don't - I don't think I could do that."

"Of course you can't, Francis." Lucius was leaning forward, arms crossed on his knees. His tone was dismissive. "You're Pureblood, you can't just go and work there. That's where Mudbloods and Squibs work, when they can't find other places. You don't have to know a lot of magic to shelve books."

"I-"

"No, you should come to the Ministry. Or you can work for me, I bet; Father wouldn't mind, you're more level headed, and he's already wary about signing over all the Malfoy property and stocks and businesses and things to me. He knows I don't want them."

"What about you, Lawrence?" Wally asked. "Ministry for you, too?"

Lawrence looked away. "You're going to laugh."

"We won't laugh!" they all promised, suddenly intrigued. "Honestly, we won't!"

He mumbled something.

"What?"

"I said, I thought about teaching here." At their startled looks, Lawrence added hurriedly, "I know, I know, but it wouldn't be so bad. Look at Parris! I could go on researching and things like that, and teach a few classes."

"But there aren't any openings," Francis pointed out.

"Shh, you didn't hear this from me, but after this year Parris might not come back. He's-"

"Telling secrets? Without me?" An arm snaked around Lawrence's neck and Rosier tousled his hair with the other arm. "Oh, go on, have your fun. And when you're all done whispering, come on up to the dorm, because I've got something to show you."

"What is it?"

"Is this why you've been in the library?"

"And when you sneaked out a few months ago-"

"-and never told us-"

Rosier smiled enigmatically. "Are you coming?"

The boys tramped after him up the stairs, all thoughts of Professor Parris forgotten and left discarded by fallen chess pieces. Rosier was in his element, the center of attention, everyone hanging on to his every word. He walked to his bed and drew back the curtains with a flourish, the others crowding around him.

"Here." He picked up the box, reached between the layers of tissue, and withdrew the object. It glinted softly in the darkness. "It's a present. For our weaselly friend."

The boys looked nonplussed. Wally said, after an expectant silence, "What is it?"

"It's a Muggle object," Rosier shrugged. "I read about them, they're called guns. You shoot them and they hurt people, kill them sometimes. I guess they're sort of like spells, only inferior Muggle things."

Lawrence's eyes widened. "I remember that, we learned about it in Muggle Studies-"

"Why do you take that useless class, Lawrence?" Lucius raised an eyebrow. "It's a waste of time."

"Your beloved poets are Muggles," Lawrence shot back. "Anyway, Ros, why are you giving Weasley a weapon? Isn't that a little - a little stupid?"

Rosier laughed delightedly. "Don't you see? Don't any of you see? He loves Muggle things. One, he'll get in trouble for having a weapon; we're not allowed to use the Killing Curse, so why should he have this? Or he won't know what it is and he'll play with it and end up causing a fuss and get in trouble anyway."

Wally was nodding slowly. "That's brilliant."

"And if he hurts someone?" Francis said sharply. "Or himself?"

"That'd be precious, having Weasley shoot himself by accident," Rosier chuckled. "Don't worry, Francis, I'll load it with blanks. Then it won't shoot a bullet or anything. I read all about them, I know what to do."

"Ros-"

"I know what I'm doing!" He nestled the gun back into its tissue, winking at the group. "You'll see. Weasley'll be delighted."

As they filtered away to their own beds, Lucius down to the common room to collect his book and parchment, Lawrence drew Rosier aside. His eyes still on the innocent looking box resting calmly on Rosier's pillow, he accused softly, "You aren't going to load it with blanks, are you. I know you, Ros."

Rosier just smiled. "You worry too much, Lawrence. Go to bed."

= = = = =

Ernest Parris hated to admit it, but he missed Hogwarts while he was away.

It was depressing to think he'd grown attached to the place. Seven years of school were one thing, and teaching yet another, but - a fondness? It was preposterous. Even so, he felt relieved to be rattling up to the front doors as the darkness shivered outside. London had felt different, colder, as if it didn't want him. The trip to Knockturn Alley had been worse.

And Tom. He didn't know what to think of Tom. Then again, he never did.

As he levitated his bag up over the steps, he found the doors already open and a form already waiting for him to enter. Taking a deep breath, he moved forward and into the warmth of the school.

"Ernest."

"Albus."

"Your class has done well in your absence," Dumbledore began, stepping beside him as Parris moved to the stairs. "I've taken them through blocking the simplest memory charms, and how to detect their existence. I seem to have forgotten what a delight teaching can be."

"Only a century ago, Headmaster Trimble held the Defense against the Dark Arts position for four years in the absence of another teacher," Parris said mildly. "It's not unheard of."

Dumbledore replied, just as mildly, "We like to have a diverse staff."

"Indeed."

"And your trip? I trust it went well?"

"Very well."

"I'm pleased to hear it."

Parris jerked his bag forward into his hand with a sudden vicious flick of his wand. The bag slumped in his grip. "I'll just be off, then," he said, voice clipped. "Got a lot to do, haven't slept very well. Lesson plans for tomorrow, and I need to see Lawrence-"

"Ah, yes." Dumbledore raised an eyebrow. "Before you go, Ernest, I wished to ask you. How is your research going with young Lestrange? He's doing well?"

"Very well. A shame you didn't take him on for extra teaching last year, in my absence."

Dumbledore nodded. "I may indeed regret it. And your research? Hogwarts' libraries have proven helpful?"

"Oh, yes." Ernest gave the Headmaster a smile, as impertinent as he dared. "But I shouldn't say more. After all, you aren't my research partner."

"No, I am not. Good evening, Ernest."

They exchanged nods and went their separate ways, Parris fumbling at the door to his rooms for a long moment in his anger. When he finally shouldered into the room with his baggage, he found it already full. Blinking, sleep-deprived, he stared. "Boys?"

Wally was sitting on his desk, playing with a paperweight, and nearly dropped it when Parris entered. Lucius and Lawrence immediately hurried forward with exclamations of "Professor!" and hands outstretched to take his bag. Rosier, leaning against the wall and thumbing through a book, only looked up lazily and grinned a hello.

"How was London?" Wally wanted to know. "Where'd you go?"

"Is everything all right?" Lucius put in.

"The book we were waiting for arrived while you were gone," Lawrence added.

Parris fixed them all with a stern look. "How exactly did you get into my rooms? The door was locked."

"Nothing a simple Alohomora can't fix." Rosier smiled coolly. "We went to old Pringle, Lawrence saying he'd left a few books he needed in your rooms, and he let Lawrence in to get them. He forgot to do the extra wards when he left."

"We wanted to surprise you," Lawrence added apologetically. "A big welcome back."

"Besides," a grinning Wally placated him, "you said we could come whenever we needed anything."

"And London?" Lucius leaned against Professor Parris' desk, arms crossed. "What were you doing up there? We had to have Dumbledore for two weeks."

"He said you learned memory charms." Parris let Lawrence sit his things beside his bed and shut the door at last. "Pop quiz, since you all seem so eager to learn by showing up in my rooms." At their groans, his smile brightened. "If you pass, I won't tell the Headmaster you broke in. If you fail, well, that's another matter."

"Professor!" came the exclamation. "That's not fair!"

"I happen to think Professor Dumbledore is a very capable teacher. You should be thoroughly knowledgeable." He reached into his pocket and withdrew his wand, a whip-thin willow one that was always kept well polished. "Come on, I want all of you to block it. It's a very minor, simple memory charm. Wands ready?"

Grumbling, they all withdrew their wands and faced him. Parris smiled at his students and raised his wand.

"Obliviate!"

He watched them all shift their wands in a quick blocking spell and nodded. Rosier was the first to realize it was over and relaxed, tucking his wand into his pocket with the same cocky grin. The others followed suit, Wally leaning back against the desk.

"It seems your escapades are safe from the Headmaster for the time being," Parris said, a wry smile making his lips curl. "What a shame. Now why don't you tell me what's been going on in my absence - and Evan Rosier, if you don't put that book down right now, it isn't going to be pretty."

Rosier looked up eagerly. "Lawrence told me you got it from the Restricted Section. Can you really take a sample of blood and mix it with a poison to-"

"Accio book," Parris said sharply, and tucked it under his arm as it reached him. "Look, boys. I don't want any of you to dig too deeply into the Dark Arts. Even Lawrence is kept under tight surveillance, and I do not allow him to read the more dangerous books. It is not a matter to treat lightly. You Slytherins should know that best of all, having assumed the worst reputation. Being in Slytherin does not make you directly associated with the Dark Arts, nor does having pure blood, and I would appreciate it if you kept away from such subject matter for good. If not that, at least while you remain at Hogwarts."

"Aw, Professor," Wally protested, but even he silenced at Parris' look. The boys were crowded together, looking ashamed and a bit rebellious.

"Dark Arts aren't the only way to hurt someone," Rosier finally said, his expression sullen at having been the brunt of Parris' lecture. "You can do all sorts of things."

"Quite right, Rosier, and that is exactly why magic is a responsibility as well as a privilege. Also," with a stern look, "never think that it cannot be taken away."

"Like Hagrid?" Lucius asked curiously. "How they broke his wand and expelled him? Father told me about it; he was on the Board of Governors at the time. Were you in school then?"

Parris looked grim. "I was."

"Serves them right for admitting giants in the first place," Rosier muttered.

"I wouldn't be too quick to judge," Parris said, a dangerous edge still in his voice. "Sometimes you can find allies in strange places. Hagrid is an unfortunate creature and the result of something that should never have happened, but part of his blood is good wizarding blood. And what does that tell us, Lawrence?"

The boy looked ponderous. "I don't know. That - that he's redeemable?"

"Blood is a curious thing," Parris answered slowly. "But I won't let you boys keep me up. It's been a long day, and bed is sounding appealing. Especially in the face of more bright young students to teach in the morning." He pulled a face.

"'Night, Professor," Wally said cheerfully, and the others echoed him. As they were making their way to the door, Parris suddenly took Lawrence by the arm.

"Before you go, I meant to ask. Where's Francis?"

The boys exchanged uncomfortable glances, fidgeting. When they all looked to Lucius expectantly, he glanced to the floor and finally spoke, sounding frustrated.

"We, um." He shrugged helplessly. "We don't know."

= = = = =

Narcissa was beautiful.

Everyone told her so. Like a Veela, her pale hair, tight-lipped smile. Dazzling. It became a mockery from the mouths of those hormonal boys who sent her Valentines, told her that she should model for Witch Weekly. It was all she heard, how lovely she'd grown up to be, how they all wanted to take her out.

What they never said was that Narcissa was lonely.

They called her a bitch sometimes when she refused to meet them for a drink, the cold and beautiful Ravenclaw bitch. She's not worth your time, they'd mutter; she'll only brush you off. They're all like that in Ravenclaw, minds off in their books instead of where they should be. That was the assumption, really; what no one said either was that those in Ravenclaw were clever, not always wise. They had wits and they knew how to use them.

Leaning back into the suds of her bath, Narcissa thought that all the Houses were largely underrated. Except perhaps for Gryffindor.

She liked the Prefects' bathroom - the largest luxury for being a Prefect, surely - because of its elegant baths with every tap imaginable, though she preferred the lilac bubbles that helped her mind relax. That was the thing about Hogwarts, at least - one could find privacy if one looked hard enough.

Her parents had opted for Beauxbatons, the school that her mother had attended, but she'd transferred to Hogwarts from second year on. She had had enough of aloof girls who pried into her life with upturned noses, enough of her parents' life as a whole, and rather suspected that most of the boys there didn't fancy girls anyway.

"What's the matter, 'Ciss?" Adelaide splashed to the surface of her painting, wrapping her arms about a rock as her pale hair undulated with the waves over her shoulders. "You're quiet tonight."

Narcissa had become something of a friend to Adelaide; she took hours in the Prefect's bath, talking with the playful mermaid. Adelaide had even admitted her story, which had quieted her spirits for a night and sent great fat teardrops rolling down her cheeks. Narcissa had felt sorry for the creature and had stayed until her bath turned cold, wrapping herself in towels and sitting beside the painting.

"I'm thinking," she said after a moment, nibbling on her thumbnail. It was an unfortunate habit of hers. "It's only October and I want the year to be over for good. Just imagine; no more Hogwarts, no more stupid boys, nothing."

Adelaide feigned surprise. "Why, I didn't know you favored girls."

Narcissa splashed at her. "I don't. I just haven't found - him. Someone decent. You know, this silly little first year tried to invite me to Hogsmeade the other day. Imagine! Eleven!"

"It was hardly more decent to be snatched from my waters and stolen by that disgusting fisherman," Adelaide retorted. "My hair was all in knots after that. If those men from the Ministry hadn't rescued me - and it was hardly a rescue at all, putting a Memory Charm on the fool and carting me off."

"You've said." Narcissa leaned back, shoulder muscles still tense from the exams that morning. Advanced Transfiguration had been especially stressing. "But they did commission a painting, and you look perfectly lovely."

Adelaide preened. She was far too vain, but Narcissa supposed she'd had years of Prefects trickling in to stare and flirt with her and could not really blame her. "Anyway," Adelaide added, nibbling on her lip in a pout, "what'll you do after the year is out? I shan't ever see you again."

"If I do as my parents suggest, I'll make a good marriage and either stay at home as a trophy wife or find some esteemed position in the Ministry and live out my days. An heir, I suppose." She looked vaguely displeased with this notion. "I don't think I'm ready for any of the above; a child, least of all."

"At least you get to marry. I'm stuck on this rock forever." Adelaide rested her chin on her arms, wide eyes peering animatedly out of the portrait. "Any potential candidates for the husband?"

"Here?" Narcissa's laugh was scornful as she leaned over to empty the tub. "Hardly."

"Well, you'll never get anywhere if you moon about in this bathroom." After a thought, she quickly amended, "Though I get so lonely, what would I do without you? Everyone else that comes in doesn't want to talk to me, just stare."

"I'd rather be in there," she gestured with a jerk of her chin, "with you, than up in Ravenclaw. It's worse than Slytherin sometimes; they all want to prove how clever they are, so clever, manipulating and being secretive. I want to shout at them. It's like Beauxbatons all over again, but more focused."

Adelaide giggled. "You must enjoy it, you are Ravenclaw. Besides, you know that's not true; you like it here so much better than that silly French school."

Climbing carefully from the tub, Narcissa reached for the pile of huge cotton towels and wrapped her hair in one. She began to dry herself. "It's not silly," she shot back, a tad defensive, and then smiled wryly. "I'm more clever than all of them, you know, in staying out of their games. That's why I'm in Ravenclaw, not anything else."

A smile quirked on Adelaide's face and she flipped her tail with a great splash. "If that's what you think, 'Ciss."

"It is what I think." What was wrong with her tonight? She couldn't even keep her patience with Adelaide. Toweling off her hair more roughly than she meant, Narcissa frowned sharply at the painting and reached for her robes. "I don't need any of them. Even my parents; they'll see; I'll be someone, without any of this frippery and especially without a crutch of a husband. Good night, Adelaide."

The flirtatious mermaid still looked amused as she flicked at her hair. "'Night, 'Ciss. Come back soon? Sometimes that awful Myrtle ghost leaves her toilet and comes up here to talk to me. I'd much rather talk to you."

"Flattered," Narcissa muttered, yanking her sleeve irritably over her elbow. "Really."

Turning sober, a rare occurrence for Adelaide, the mermaid leaned forward with eyes earnest. "You really are good company," she said. "Even paintings get lonely. And I get as tired of these silly boys as you do."

It was Narcissa's turn to smirk. "You know you love it, you flirt. What else would you do with your days? But if it's any comfort, you're good company too. For a painting."

Adelaide splashed her, giggling, as Narcissa made for the exit. She shut the door quietly - it was later at night than she'd guessed, and the shadows were warning her to muffle her steps. It was unlikely she'd be admonished for walking about late, as she was a Prefect, though one never knew. Some professor in a sour mood could cross her path.

She wasn't expecting anyone, however; she rarely encountered anyone up in this area, unless they were making for the Prefects' bath themselves.

Maybe that was why she rounded the corner and screamed loud enough to wake the dead.