A Scattered Fire of Stars

Disclaimer: JK Rowling owns everyone except Nemesis the cat, who is my creation, and Medea and her bar, who appear courtesy of Yolanda. "Queenie Greengrass" is from JKR's notebook, as are Morag MacDougal, Stephen Cornfoot, and Spinks whose first name I made up. I play in JKR's toy chest and make no profit.

A/N: Thanks as always due to the wonderful women of the SQ Writing Workshop. The little snake-woman statue is taken from images found in two books by Marija Gimbutas, "Language of the Goddess" and "Civilization of the Goddess."

Chapter Two: A Day In The Life of a Slytherin Girl

An I were a maiden

As many one is

For all the gold in England

I would not do amiss. - Anonymous, 16^th C. English ballad

"Accio coffee!"

One of the advantages - well, the only advantage, really - of living in Knockturn Alley was that no one bothered about underage magic, Queenie Greengrass thought, as she sipped her morning coffee - black, no sugar, extra-strong. Ministry officials were not welcome in Knockturn Alley, and so Mafalda Hopkirk and her minions never bothered poking their noses in Queenie's, or anyone else's business. Last summer, an elderly witch who made her living selling fingernails was Crucio'd and died of a heart attack, and the Ministry only made a token investigation. Knockturn Alley was off-limits.

Even if she hadn't lived in Knockturn Alley, Queenie wouldn't have been disposed to favor the Ministry. "Of course your father was innocent," her mother had said, on one of the rare occasions when Queenie and her mother exchanged more than a few words. "But that didn't matter to Bartemius Crouch. It was guilty until proven innocent with Crouch - your father was a Slytherin and knew some Death Eaters and that was enough to convict him in Crouch's eyes." Then Christabel Greengrass had gone on to her usual petulant whining about how if it wasn't for Crouch, they wouldn't have to live in Knockturn Alley, eking out a living from Christabel's small inheritance and whatever man she could lure into supporting her for a time, and Queenie had stopped listening.

Queenie refilled her coffee cup, put out a plate of food for Nemesis, her white Angora cat, and reached for the letter that the owl post had dropped off earlier that morning. It was addressed to "Miss Queenie G. Greengrass" and bore the Hogwarts crest. Queenie made a face as she slit open the letter with a hairpin. Being christened "Queenie Geraldine" after her grandmother and aunt was a cross to bear, Queenie thought. She wished her mother's family had prettier names; if I ever have children, which I doubt, I'll never saddle them with hideous names. "Queenie Greengrass" sounds like a barmaid. But then again, I am a barmaid. How fitting.

The letter opened and something shiny and silver fell out with a "plink!" Queenie picked it up; it was a badge with the word "Prefect" and a serpent engraved upon it. "Congratulations, New Fifth Year Prefects!" the letter from Hogwarts began.

"Nemesis! Look! I'm one of the new Slytherin prefects!" Queenie exulted, with a rare smile. "I did it! Or we did it. One more goal accomplished!" The white cat sniffed at the badge and went back to dozing in a patch of feeble sunlight that made its way through the small, grimy kitchen window. "Just two more years, Nemesis, and it's goodbye, Knockturn Alley!" As Queenie kissed the prefect's badge and smiled at it with a gleam of triumph in her eye, she looked not unlike a black-haired, blue-eyed version of her own feline familiar.

Queenie took the badge to her bedroom and placed it reverently in the top drawer of her worn dresser, where Nemesis couldn't swat it around or her mother, on the off chance she might come home before school started, accidentally misplace it. Turning to the large wall chart hanging at the head of her bed, Queenie waved her wand. A black line appeared through the sentence, "Slytherin Prefect, Fifth Year" and the word "Accomplished!" appeared beside it.

Queenie's wall chart was a reminder to her of the goals she had set way back in her first year at Hogwarts. Like any Slytherin, she was ambitious; but Queenie had no desire to become a Death Eater, rule the world, or even become Minister of Magic. She wanted to get top marks at Hogwarts, make as many O.W.L's and N.E.W.T.'s as she possibly could, and get a decent, well-paying job after she left school. She would have a beautiful house, with sunny rooms and a garden out back, and keep it pristinely clean. Nemesis, maybe another cat or two, perhaps a Fwooper and a jarvey in the garden to keep the gnomes out of the garden. Add in a hookup to the WWN so she could listen to Celestina Warbeck whenever she wanted, a few good books on the bookshelves...a beautiful, tranquil life far from the smell and squalor of Knockturn Alley, this was Queenie Greengrass' main ambition. There was also the matter of her father; if Richard Greengrass was still alive, which was improbable, Queenie wanted somehow to get him released from Azkaban. She had no idea how even to begin going about doing that. Perhaps after she left Hogwarts...Queenie had never known her father, imprisoned when she was a toddler, but Pansy Parkinson and Tracey Davis liked to remind her that she was the daughter of a convict and a gaolbird. Queenie knew that other Slytherins had lost parents to Azkaban, or had families who had been Death Eaters - Draco Malfoy most prominent among them. That didn't stop Pansy from thinking that Draco would make a fine husband one day. Queenie wondered if Pansy would manage to bully her sidekick Tracey into dating Vincent Crabbe this year. Better Tracey than me, Queenie thought. There were downsides to being in Pansy's clique.

Too bad Sinistra wasn't Head of Slytherin House, Queenie thought. Sinistra was Queenie's favorite teacher, even though Astronomy wasn't her best subject. Sinistra was warm and supportive and never blatantly played favorites, and never picked on any of her students. All the Slytherin girls admired Sinistra and looked up to her; Queenie had more respect and regard for Sinistra than she did her own mother. Snape, on the other hand, was cold and aloof and blatantly favored that Draco Malfoy just because he wanted to stay in Lucius Malfoy's good books. Queenie knew that Potions wasn't her best subject, either, but she studied hard and pushed herself to get decent marks - but Malfoy was Snape's golden boy who could do no wrong, and she, Queenie, though just as intelligent and capable, was ignored by her Head of House. Queenie didn't think that Malfoy was all that bright, nor despite Pansy Parkinson's opinion, particularly good-looking. Queenie thought of Malfoy as an annoying, spoilt, petulant brat, an opinion heartily seconded by her sometime friends, Blaise Zabini and Inigo Spinks, the only other students in Slytherin who didn't worship the ground Malfoy walked on, or, as Blaise put it in a more earthy fashion, "lick his poncy platinum arse." Blaise, Inigo and Queenie were friends something by default, because the two boys didn't like Draco and Queenie was not part of Pansy's clique - Pansy didn't want to associate with "that common girl from Knockturn Alley" and the other girls in Queenie's year were too afraid of Pansy to befriend Queenie. Now that Queenie was the female fifth-year Slytherin prefect, no doubt Pansy Parkinson would be fit to be tied. She would no longer be the ruler of the fifth year Slytherin girls' dorm.

Sitting on her bed, Queenie perused the list of prefects and Heads, looking for familiar names. Draco Malfoy was, inevitably, the male fifth-year Slytherin prefect.

"Figures," snorted Queenie as she scanned the other names. "Wonder how many arms Snape twisted to get Ferret-boy chosen. I'm going to have to put up with him as the other Prefect in my year for the rest of my time at Hogwarts. Oh joy!" Queenie read further. Gryffindor - Hermione Granger and Dean Thomas. Granger everyone knew; she was Hogwarts' top student, with the best marks in their year, even in Potions. Even Queenie had to admit that Hermione Granger was brilliant, and worked her tail off for her top marks, but oh, she was so self-righteous with her overbearing bossiness and that silly campaign to free the House-Elves. As for Dean Thomas, Queenie barely knew him, even though he was in her Potions classes. She vaguely recalled a tall, quiet boy who was a good artist. Ravenclaw - Morag MacDougal and Stephen Cornfoot. The Slytherins had Herbology with the Ravenclaws, and both Morag and Steve were nice enough. Hufflepuff - Hannah Abbott and Ernie Macmillan. Inigo fancied Hannah, who was blonde, gorgeous and popular, and no doubt would be begging Queenie to set them up on a date. Whether Hannah fancied Inigo was open to question. Hannah was a good head taller than Inigo, taller than most of the boys in school in fact. Queenie wondered what it would be like to be taller than most of the boys. At five feet, she was not in a position to know. She hated being short and curvy, and would have loved to be long-stemmed and regal. But there was no use complaining over things that couldn't be changed. The Head students were announced at the very end of the list, with a sentence or two gushing about how brilliant they were and how much credit they would bring to Hogwarts. Ravenclaw contributed the Head Boy, Sanjay Patil, and Gryffindor the Head Girl, Angelina Johnson. Smirking, Queenie wondered how many points Angelina would be taking off her obnoxious boyfriend, Fred- or was it George? Weasley. The Weasley twins were known for high spirits and also for hissing at newly sorted Slytherin boys at the Sorting Ceremony. Maybe I should use my new prefect's powers to take a few points off of the Weasley gits if they do that again this year, Queenie thought. I'll probably be turned into a canary for the rest of my life but they shouldn't get away with hissing tiny new Slytherins. Why not pick on someone their own size?But the Weasleys are Gryffindors, so everyone loves them. I hate how Slytherin is the pariah House at Hogwarts, and Gryffindor can do no wrong. I want to do something to change that. But what? How?

Queenie showered - the hot water ran out as usual before she got all the shampoo rinsed from her thick hair - dressed, plaited her hair and wound the plaits around her head, Charming them in place, put on her favorite silver hoop earrings in the shape of little serpents (paid for out of her own wages), and threw some Floo powder into the fireplace. "Blaise Zabini!"

Blaise's disembodied head appeared in the flames. "Queenie, you gorgeous creature, I was wondering when you'd call," he said, and winked. Blaise was pushing lately to be Queenie's boyfriend, and Queenie was equally pushing for them to stay just friends. Yes, Blaise was handsome, and intelligent, and charming, but Queenie wanted a boyfriend like she wanted a hole in the head. Romance and snogging were to wait until she left Hogwarts. Her mother had married her father thinking he'd take care of her, and that hadn't happened. He was in Azkaban, and Christabel was incapable of taking care of herself or a child. She was flighty and impractical and dependent. Queenie thought it would be a fate worse than death to end up like Christabel. No snogging, no shagging, no love, no dependency - not until she left Hogwarts and found a job.

"Guess who is the new Slytherin Prefect?" Queenie asked, ignoring Blaise's innuendo.

"Not me, this I know, alas. Er, let's see...could it be...Draco Malfoy? What a surprise!" Blaise rolled his eyes.

"Unfortunately, yes, Malfoy's a prefect, I'm sorry to say, but guess who else was chosen? Hint: girl, black hair, nose doesn't turn up."

Blaise grinned. "Congratulations! You deserve it. You always got the best marks of all of us...except Malfoy."

Queenie made a face. "Blech. Don't remind me. I'm going to have to work with the nasty git from now on, if we're both Prefects. Day in, day out, there'll be no avoiding Malfoy. And Snape loooves him so much. I wish Sinistra was our Head of House. Snape hates everyone but Malfoy. I get good marks, but he never notices. You and Pansy do, too, but with Snape the sun shines out of Malfoy's arse. If only we had rich fathers."

"Snape has to like you somewhat, you got picked to be Prefect," Blaise replied. "Besides, think about it. Snape's a young bachelor, you're a beautiful girl, if he favored you it would look really bad for him. People would think" -

"Oh Blaise, you had to go ruin my whingeing by being sensible, didn't you? I suppose you are right, but would it hurt for Snape to favor you, or me, or even Pansy, once in a while? Although, the thought of shagging Snape is too revolting to even contemplate. Don't ruin my lunch. And don't think flattery will get you anywhere either."

"You don't believe me, do you?" said Blaise with a downcast look.

"Who do you think I am? Lavender Brown or Parvati Patil? I'm not a brainless, giggling, divination-addled Gryffindor girl. With me you'll have to pull the other one, the one with bells on it. Listen," Queenie changed the subject, "I'm going shopping for my school supplies and then over to Gringotts' - want to Floo over and come with me?"

"Sure. I'll be right there." There was a whoosh and Blaise stepped out of the fireplace, brushing soot from his robes. "Where's Christabel?" he said, looking around.

"Mum's off to Majorca or someplace with a Quidditch player, I think. Left no money in the house, didn't say when she'd be back, as usual - good thing I have a job or I'd really be in a corner." Queenie jingled her purse, which contained the tips from her night's work at Medea's Bar, the sleaziest dive in Knockturn Alley. Medea's may have been unsavoury, a known lair of the worst of wizarding society, but the owner was kind enough to offer to hire a young witch in need, pay her well and treat her decently. "Not just kindness on my part, mind you, love," Medea had said to Queenie when Queenie tried to thank her for her kindness. "Pretty young women bring in the customers, you know."

"So, your mum's run off to Majorca and left you alone with your cat, and you're working at Medea's as an underage barmaid - you're lucky the Ministry hasn't stepped in and done something about it."

Queenie sighed. "Oh, Blaise, Blaise - have a look around you. Question: Where are we?"

Blaise looked around in bewilderment. "Er, we're...at your flat?"

"Bright boy! And where is my flat located? More precisely, what street is it on?"

"Um...Knockturn Alley?"

"Right-O! Fifty points for Slytherin!" Queenie snapped as the two of them clattered down the rickety stairs that led from the Greengrass flat to Knockturn Alley. "This is Knockturn Alley, where no-one gives a rat's arse! Maybe, just maybe, if I was dismembered and my body parts tied to the street lanterns, the Ministry might consider an investigation. But other than that, don't count on 'child abandonment' and 'violation of underage labour laws' to bring the Ministry knocking at the door."

Blaise sighed. "I suppose you're right. Anyway," he asked as they swept up Knockturn Alley, Queenie referring to her list of books and supplies the students would need for their fifth year, "Who are the other Prefects? And are you going to get everything secondhand? You have a job, can't you spend the money on new things?"

"No, I'm not buying anything new if I can help it, when secondhand will do just fine. Most of my hard-earned money's going right into Gringotts' vault. No one's going to notice my robes, because all the Hogwarts' uniforms look alike and Pansy will make fun of what I wear no matter where I get it. I'm not spending any money I don't have to."

"You know who you remind me of sometimes, Queenie? That man in the Muggle story - what was his name - Scrooby, Scroogey, something like that. He was a wealthy man but a miser, who never spent any money until he got scared by a ghost. I forget who wrote it but Muggles love that story, or so I've heard."

"A man named Scrooby who was scared by a ghost into spending all his money?" Queenie enquired, picking through the shelves at Askew's Secondhand Books. "That sounds ridiculous. I don't know any Muggle stories, nor do I want to. But take a look at this" - Queenie brandished a small book - "I think I'll buy it with the rest of my books. Two sickles, and it's not something I absolutely need. Who says I'm tight in the pocket?"

"Two sickles? Queenie Greengrass, big spender. What's it called - 'Prefects Who Gained Power?' - sounds like a thumping good read to me," said Blaise with a smirk.

"I think it might well come in very useful one day, Smart Alec," said Queenie as she paid for her supplies.

"Who are the other Prefects, anyway?" Blaise asked as they headed to Borgin and Burke's. Queenie rattled off the names from the list.

"Steve Cornfoot and Morag Macdougal are cool. I think you'll like them."

"I don't know about that - most people get on my nerves. If they're Ravenclaws, I'll give them a chance. If they're Gryffindors, forget it."

"I thought prefects were supposed to be good with people, Queenie. You're a school leader now. Time to stop being such a solitary girl. You need to make friends and show your 'leadership qualities.'"

"What you are saying, is you and Inigo aren't good enough for me anymore?" Queenie teased, and then changed the subject. "Anyhow. Look who this book used to belong to - 'P. Weasley.'" Queenie showed Blaise the name written in a copperplate hand on the flyleaf. "Hmph. You'd think that a Weasley would be reading a book called 'Prefects Who Have Too Many Children' or something like that."

Blaise laughed. "If all the Weasleys have seven children then in fifty years or so they'll take over the whole Wizarding world."

"Perish the thought," Queenie shuddered as they went into Gringotts, where Queenie deposited most of the money left over from her shopping expedition. Peering into her vault, she saw the reassuring glint of Sickles and Knuts and even some gold Galleons - her hard-earned, if ill-gotten gains from a summer spent as a barmaid at Medea's.

"So where are we off to now? Want to go get some ice cream?" Blaise asked.

"No, I can't, I'm sorry. I have to take all my new things home, and then get ready for my nightly stint as illegal teenage barmaid." Seeing Blaise's face fall, Queenie hastened on, "Let's get together next week, how's that? I do need to talk to you. And make some plans."

"Plans?"

"Slytherin plans, Blaise. Our House, from where 'every dark witch and wizard' comes. Now that You-Know-Who has returned, we're going to have it even worse, not just the likes of Malfoy but ones like us, who stood during Dumbledore's speech after Diggory died, whose parents never supported You-Know-Who but we're tainted just because we're in Slytherin. You think we're the school pariahs now, just you wait, it's going to get worse from this year on. I'm sick to death of this, Blaise. Sick and bloody tired of having all the other students look at me like I'm a Streeler in their flower garden just because I'm a Slytherin! I am NOT a Death Eater! I was sorry to hear about Diggory dying! So he was a Hufflepuff, he was our school Champion, and a good one, and he was really good-looking, too!" Queenie's normally soft voice grew shriller. "Don't you hate being known as a student in 'the House of Evil?' Admit it. It bothers you, me, and Inigo, if no one else. And now that I'm Prefect," Queenie's voice dropped again and she smiled, "things are going to change. No more of this school pariah business."

"That's a grand plan, and I do agree with you but...you can't single-handedly turn Slytherin's reputation around. You're the one who doesn't like people, anyway. You're the quiet one who sits in the back of the classroom and never speaks up."

Queenie rolled her eyes. "But I am a Slytherin, where we are cunning, ambitious, and tenacious. I refuse to let Malfoy and all the other little junior Death Eaters in training ruin Slytherin for us. We're a fine, noble house, just as worthy of existing as the rest of them. I'll talk to Sinistra - I know she can help us. I bet Sinistra doesn't like our House having a bad reputation either!" Queenie grinned, showing her sharp white teeth. "I am Prefect, I have power. No more sitting in the corner watching Parkinson and Malfoy speak for Slytherin House. It's our turn now."

"You're scary when you smile like that. You rather remind me of a Grindylow. So, Miss Quiet One, just how do you plan to rise to your new leadership occasion? Don't tell me all this was an act and you were just biding your time for four years."

"Oh, thanks one whole hell of a lot. About the Grindylow comment, I mean. Was I biding my time all these years? Um...yes. I fooled you all into thinking I was a quiet, mousy little thing, right?" Queenie reached up and gave Blaise a quick kiss. She hated to lead him on - he fancied her, she didn't fancy him back - but she needed all the help she could get in her self-appointed campaign to turn Slytherin House around. "See you next week."

Queenie trudged back up to Knockturn Alley, wishing she could Apparate. Yet another reason to look forward to being eighteen and out of school. Flying made Queenie broomsick, and she hated to Floo. Apparating was so much quicker, and didn't make one sick. She was nauseated with apprehension as it was, thinking of her brave speech to Blaise a few minutes ago. Would she have the guts to carry out her grand plans? Or was she getting herself in way over her head without a liferaft? A sign outside of Borgin and Burke's caught her eye, distracting her from her thoughts. "Five Knut Sale!" proclaimed the tatty hand-scrawled cardboard sign above a small bin of miscellaneous odds and ends.

"Why not," Queenie thought to herself, "I still have some money left." She pawed through the bin - most of the stuff in there was pure junk - and one small statue caught her eye. It was only a couple of inches high, and made of red clay, depicting a woman with a bird's face and snake's tail. It wasn't very well made, it looked like a cheap child's clay project, and yet Queenie found herself drawn to it. She wanted that little snake-woman figure.

"For five Knuts, what have I got to lose?" she thought as she went in and paid her money to Mr. Borgin. "I've already bought a book I don't really need, what's one little statue? It might look nice on my dresser."

Just as Queenie was leaving Borgin and Burke's, her new trinket tucked in her purse, who should happen to walk in but the parents of the other new Slytherin Prefect, Mr. and Mrs. Lucius Malfoy. Lucius was in head-to toe black velvet, and Narcissa, as always, was tall, slim, and icily elegant in tailored purple silk which matched her violet eyes and set off her crown of sleek platinum waves. Queenie was conscious of her worn, black robes and the fact that the De-Fuzzing charm she used on her upper lip that morning had left it red and blotchy. Queenie was thankful that there was no sign of Draco.

Both Malfoys ignored Queenie as they would a lesser being. They turned their attention to the glass case nearest the door, which contained a variety of shrunken heads, scraps from hangman's ropes, a Hand of Glory, and a magnificent necklace of fire opals, which Narcissa was eyeing. "Lucius," she said in a sweet yet commanding tone, "I want to try on that opal necklace."

"Certainly, dearest," was his reply. "It would look lovely with your coloring. Mr. Borgin!" Lucius called. "Mrs. Malfoy would like to look at that opal necklace. Yes, that one, right there."

Queenie had seen the label that proclaimed the necklace "cursed" and mentioned that it had claimed the lives of all its Muggle wearers. Mrs. Malfoy probably thought that as a pureblood, no mere opal necklace would be able to doom her. And of course Lucius would buy Narcissa the necklace - even after eighteen years of marriage, he adored his lovely, patrician wife - or so it was claimed. Queenie had never heard anything about Lucius cheating on his wife, even at Medea's where one heard much juicy gossip about the well-placed. Most pureblood wizards thought adultery was a Muggle abomination, anyway.

Resisting the temptation to conjure up a streamer of loo paper to trail from Narcissa Malfoy's elegant leather heel - if Lucius Malfoy caught her doing underage magic outside of Hogwarts, she would be in big trouble - Queenie hoisted her books and supplies onto her back and began her trek home.